RoCkY Colorado: NEVER FORGET

Please forgive me, for I have a deep passion for researching cold cases.  Everyday I ponder how these chilling stories got a grasp on me.  Over the years, I have concluded that one of the main reasons behind this morbid obsession is because many people forget about these victims.  Years fly by, and unsolved cases become buried underneath the dust of even more murder victims.  Although I can't put on latex gloves and investigate until I find the culprits, I can ease their angelic souls and let them know that I did not forget.  Even more, I can spread the awareness of these cases so people have a better understanding of these intense and continuous crimes.  Perhaps this mindfulness can prevent people from being snatched from their loved ones.  It takes years to build a life, but it only takes a second to lose it.  

Floyd T. Hafley, II was murdered on May 1, 2005.  From all the articles and interviews I've read, it appears that he drove to the Denver Wrangler, a gay bar located at the intersection of 17th and Logan Street in Denver, CO.  Apparently he was too drunk to drive and asked a bartender to call him a taxi.  Hafley was seen waiting outside the bar around 2am.  Three hours later he was found about fifteen driving minutes away in a Dahlia Shopping Center parking lot.  The stockbroker was found alive without his clothes, wallet, or class ring.  All he had was seven bullets in his forty year-old body.  He died later that morning in the hospital.  

None of my research specified whether or not he was picked up by the cab.  I would assume the assigned taxi driver would be one of the first likely suspects interviewed.  The fact that this was not even mentioned makes me believe he was picked up by someone else.  It literally could have been anyone.  It could have been someone in the bar who noticed his wallet was overflowing with cash.  It could have been a ruthless, random driver who had a thirst for blood.  It could have been an ex lover.  It could have been someone he drunkenly bumped into on the way to the bar's bathroom.  It could have been a bartender.  It could have been a man who wanted a homosexual encounter, but could not stomach this stranger spilling his secret.  It could have been someone who disturbingly thought they were doing an act of religious beliefs by eliminating a gay sinner off the street.  I don't know if it was personal, and I am not confident I will ever find out if one of my suspicions is actually true.  

Hafley's parents believe that whatever did happen to their son commenced in the bar.  The one thing that makes me agree with this is how busy and lit up the surrounding area is.  Maybe it was because the Broncos game was on and it was not two o'clock in the morning, but regardless, the upscale atmosphere had other establishments that appeared to also stay open to Saturday night owls.  I may never find out what happened in that three hour span, but along with the Hafley family and the executioner, I will never forget.  

RoCkY Colorado: "I Cannot Wait Any Longer To Impress You"

Did you ever wish to meet someone who just adores you?  Someone who is just head over heals in love with you?  DId you ever wonder if this someone already exists and you just don't know it yet?  Be careful what you wish for because such individuals exist.  Individuals who can bring a whole new terminology to certain words, such as love and stalk.  

Another location I accompanied my rental car to while visiting Denver was the Golden Hours Motel.  A quick google search informed me that John Warnock Hinckley Jr. spent sixteen days here right before driving to Washington D.C. to fire six bullets at, then president, Ronald Reagan.  

The Golden Hours Motel is located on West Colfax Avenue in Lakewood, Colorado.  While driving there, I had the slightest idea of who Hinckley was, but I believe there's always the possibility of capturing energy in the form of orbs in photographs.  Sometimes I think you can even feel the leftover negativity in places where such gloomy and psychotic ideas were formed years ago.  The crisp and polluted air has a way of tickling your stomach, much in the way how panic caresses your inner lining.  My research also suggested that, "If you listen closely you can hear the wind cry Jodie Foster."  

The only things my ears heard there was heavy traffic and the sounds of poverty escaping each dilapidated, motel door.  I did not spend much time in the small complex, which I do regret now that I know the intense truth of exactly who stayed in room 29 from March 8th to March 23rd in the year 1981.  

Hinckley Jr. was born on May 29, 1955 in Oklahoma.  His prosperous family moved to Texas, and then to Evergreen, Colorado in 1974.  He spent most of his time outside the Hinckley nest, attending school in Texas, and eventually  moving to New Haven, Connecticut.  Although he enrolled at Yale University, this was neither his focus, nor his influence behind the move.  He was dedicated to stalking Jodie Foster, who was also a student at Yale.  Jodie Foster also starred in Taxi Driver, which dangerously attracted Hinckley Jr.  His fascination rapidly escalated into a perilous obsession, which influenced him to slide poems and letters under her door and frequently call her.  

Apparently, he was devoted to gaining her attention in the hopes of impressing her.  He went as far as shadowing Jimmy Carter during his presidential run, but got busted in Nashville, Tennessee.  After failing, he shifted gears and put his target on the newly elected president's chest, which belonged to Ronald Reagan.  

Hinckley spent over two weeks at the Golden Hours Motel plotting the president's assassination.  He rented the room next to one of the hotel's maids, Ginger Aucourt.  Ginger and her daughter, Stacy, both described the criminal as a quiet and friendly man who kept to himself.  They recalled him having no visitors, nor did they see any signs of drugs or alcohol abuse.  On March 23, 1981, Hinckley Jr. left a $55.40 unpaid bill and continued his dysfunctional road trip to Washington D.C.  He checked into the Park Central Hotel which is a couple of blocks away from the White House.  At 2:25pm on March 30, 1981, Hinckley Jr. pulled the trigger of a .22 caliber revolver six times.  Although he directly missed the president with all six shots, one bullet backfired off the limousine and flew into Reagan's chest.  

Ultimately, Hinckley Jr. was found not guilty due to reason of insanity.  Instead of decomposing in prison, he has been mentally institutionalized ever since.  The public was so unsettled with his final verdict that as a result, the Insanity Defense Reform Act was created in 1984.  

There's no doubt in my mind that this man is damaged to the extreme, but if this man really is insane to the point where he can practically be excused from attempting to murder the president, how in the world did he drive from Colorado to Washington D.C. alone?  Yes, I recently took a three day road trip from New Jersey to Colorado, but I completely relied on a GPS system.  I just can't fathom a "crazy" man possessing the wisdom required to follow a map across the United States of America, yet somehow cannot be held responsible for his horrific actions.  I wonder if his money infested parents hired Johnny Cochran to defend him.  

During Hinckley's investigation, police did recover a letter written to Jodie Foster in his Park Central Hotel room.

"Over the past seven months, I've left you dozens of poems, letters, and love messages in the faint hope that you could develop an interest in me.  Although we talked on the phone a couple of times I never had the nerve to simply approach you and introduce myself....The reason I'm going ahead with this attempt now is because I cannot wait any longer to impress you."  
-John Hinckley, Jr.

RoCkY Colorado: The Things You Can Hear Over the Phone

Halloween is creeping up on us.  Let's embrace the scares that come along with the leaf falling season and get our blood pumping with some true stories of horror.  

Back in April while I was visiting Denver, Colorado, I discovered that the internet holds an endless amount of chilling stories that happened over the years in the large state of Colorado.  Being the weirdo that I am, of course I spent time driving to creepy places to photograph the eerie energy dancing in the wind.  

Just recently, I thoroughly researched the two stories and areas I visited, and I found them to be a little more heart wrenching and blood curdling than I originally thought.  Somehow, the few pictures I have hold so much more terror now while looking at them as opposed to the day I actually captured the shots.  

The first place I cruised my rental to was a Seven Eleven located at West Colfax Avenue and Perry Street in Denver.  On Saturday, December 20, 1997, nineteen year-old, Michael Avila, was beaten to death while his fiancee, Tia Jacobson, listened on the other end of the Seven Eleven pay phone.  While attempting to dig up facts on this horrible murder, I searched through years worth of unsolved crimes resting in the Denver Police Department Cold Case Unit in order to find it.  With the help of this combined with the Denver Post, I was able to process the true emotion and devastation behind that wicked time.  

The more detailed version of the story reveals that the once kick boxer asked his brother, Mark, to drive him to the Seven Eleven pay phone to call his fiancee around 2:30AM.  There, an unknown man got out of his 1987 Buick Riviera and joined two other nameless men, who jumped over a fence near the convenience store parking lot,in bashing their victim to a bloody pulp.   Michael died twelve hours later in the hospital.  Unfortunately, these three random slayers caught Michael off guard.  Although he had trained in martial arts, he also had been battling testicular cancer for the past ten months.  

Although this intense mystery is negatively haunting, there is a brighter light that I came across during my mini investigation. Prior to this grisly event, Mark claimed that Michael disclosed a dream he had.  Michael told Mark that in his dream he was jumped and wouldn't be there to witness the birth of Mark's child.  Even more intriguing, Michael reportedly stated, "Don't be surprised if the baby looks like me."  He then proceeded to tell Mark how he was going to be reincarnated through Mark's unborn baby.  

Even though this reincarnation cannot truly be confirmed, nor denied for that matter, the one strange thing my research did reveal is that the baby's due date was February 12 and Michael's birthday was February 13.  Again, no confirmation, but certainly something that makes you go hmmm.  

My second Rocky Colorado exploration is up next...

EAR THERAPY: Dirty Heads

The last guitars that were strum before my eyes belonged to the Dirty Heads.  The band played inside the infamous Festival Pier located in Philadelphia.  Beings how it was my first time there, I was not clear on what to expect.  For starters, crossing the street towards the blaring music was like jumping into a mini paradise.  The small, outdoor venue was decorated with sand and tents.  It induced the feeling of the beach without having to hide your beer from the seagulls, and after a couple cranberry vodkas, you forgot about the ocean being nonexistent.  

I always prefer smaller venues because the performers seem to take a more personable approach with the audience.  A warm feeling of intimacy creeps at your heart, and the bands appear to hold more comfort with their words and actions.  The interaction between the band and audience always appears to be absent in a stadium type venue.  Festival Pier allows the music loving beings to be overwhelmed with peace and cordiality.  

This positive vibes in the environment only add to the grooving melody pouring out of the speakers.  The Dirty Heads rocked the stage, just as they did the last time I attended their concert.  The band mates really seem to enjoy what they have chosen to do with their lives.  Emotion drips out of their lyrics while they frolic on stage to their own beat.  It takes a special kind of sad soul to not enjoy yourself while a dynamic band performs in a wondrous concert venue.  

GOODFELLAS

1990

DIRECTOR:  MARTIN SCORSESE

WRITERS:  NICHOLAS PILEGGI (BOOK "WISEGUY" AND SCREENPLAY) AND MARTIN SCORSESE (SCREENPLAY)

STARRING:  RAY LIOTTA, ROBERT DE NIRO, JOE PESCI, PAUL SORVINO, AND LORRAINE BRACCO

I finally convinced my girlfriend to watch Goodfellas.  i am jealous.  I wish I can eliminate amazing movies from my memory just so I can watch them for the first time all over again.  To ponder to myself, who the fuck is that guy in the trunk and what did he do to those three guys to make them want to stab him to a bloody pulp before shooting him, all over again.  

There's no other fictional character I would rather be than Henry Hill.  I feel this movie has the same effect on everyone who genuinely enjoys it.  It makes you fantasize about what it would be like leaving your real life to become a mobster or a mob wife or anything else as long as you're connected in some way.  The image of life consisting of a constant cash flow and respect in return for flexing your muscles every so often seems exciting, yet completely folkloric.  Deep down inside, the viewer has sniff at least a little bit of bullshit.  I cannot confirm nor deny if the mobster image and lifestyle is accurate, but what I can disclose and raise red flags on is the real life man, Henry Hill.  

I used to think the real Henry Hill was the tenacious and charismatic wise guy I idolized from the film.  That was until I read the book "On the Run" which is written by Hill's children, Gina and Gregg.  The book exposes and shatters Hill's whole persona.  Gina and Gregg's memory of events strays far from their father's version of his mobster life.  Apparently, Henry Hill is a much better story teller than he is a father.  

Only few people know the absolute truth of what went on behind closed doors at the Hill's residencies, but I cannot deny wondering what his kids were doing while he was playing cards throughout the night.  While Henry Hill was cleaning enemy blood off the floor, who was getting his kids ready for school the next day?  Every minute Hill was with his girlfriends, mafioso friends, and behind bars is another minute he was not at home achieving in daddy duties.  Instead, Gina and Gregg recall countless memories of Henry Hill failing at parenting.  

One event that stands out in my mind from the book is when the two describe jolting awake in the middle of the night while Hill ripped the mirror off their bedroom wall so he and his party guests could snort cocaine off of it.  Gina and Gregg also illustrate how it felt bouncing from school to school while their family was in the witness protection program.  Their father couldn't cut his old habits loose and as a result, the kids would be forced to up and leave their school, friends, and entire life in a short heart beat again and again.  Every sentimental scene from the movie was actually a mentally damaging hardship for Henry Hill's kids.  

Goodfellas was, is, and always will be one of my favorite films of all time.  It's brilliant how cinema can fool your mind and manipulate you to think whatever it is that they want you to think.  It's like giving people's brains a two hour vacation.  It is responsible for my extreme love for movies, writing, and filmmaking.