A note to Mr. Tipton

Dear sir:

I do not know where you live (nor do I want to know). I do not know anyone who might read and forward this message to you. But here’s a shot in the dark.

Two things are not in my nature – hatred and vengeance. Of course, in the years since 1987, such thoughts have occurred to me, but you should take great comfort in that those who were harmed that night in March of 1987 merely wanted their lives back. Even Jimmy, who lost 15 years of his life, wanted nothing more than to breathe the air and walk about freely, playing his guitar and living off his justly earned court settlement. We are good people, I suppose you could say, but not unusual people. Most are like us, living their own lives, wanting peace and a little prosperity. Concepts like revenge, even “justice”, are not on our agendas. Life offers neither, and the former, revenge, is only satisfying to actors in TV and movie dramas. In real life, it is self-defeating and empty. It is a tainted effort that harms everyone, giver and receiver alike.

“Truth” is another matter. I seek truth in my activities, not just in this matter, but in many, many others. You must understand now that the law cannot reach you, that you are protected by passage of time so that no matter what anyone else might want, you cannot be touched by the law. None other than the United States Supreme Court ruled it so. Since those ordinary nine men and women are considered the highest legal authority in the land, you are safe from any legal action at any time by anyone. You are also safe from revenge, as far as my eyes can see. Neither I or anyone I know wants to harm you.

I do not wish to contact you. I do not wish to speak with you in person or by phone. I am going to offer an email address here. It is mpthct at proton dot me. That is a secure site that is encrypted so that any message I might receive there (along with any I send out) is completely private. (If you are curious, visit Protonmail.com.)   Anyone else wanting to visit my messages received at that site is shut out. That is why Protonmail, a Swiss company, was founded. People wanted privacy.

I have some questions that I would like to have answered before I pass this mortal coil (I am currently approaching age 74, double my age on the night of the event):

1.  Why us? Why my family?
2. Why my eight-year old daughter? Why her? Did you know her, or know of her?
3. Did you arrange for two windows to be unlocked that night? If so, how?
4. You seemed to know the layout of the house. Why so?
5. You stole my jacket. I know why. It was cold outside. But you also took a wallet containing credit cards, evidence that if found on you would have led to long-term imprisonment. Why did you take that risk? It appears you wanted it to be found far away from your home. I get that. But did the items you took with you contain a means of conveying any other message to us?
6. You and I, though we have never met in person, did have eye contact one night before the event. I was in our basement painting storm windows when I felt eyes upon me. I looked out our basement window and saw you (or someone) looking in. I had no idea of your identity or ambitions, but I freaked and shut everything down and went to our other home. What were you doing that night? Were you hoping it was not me down there, but someone else? (Note:  “Other home sounds like landed gentry. We were renters in one place, transitioning to the Virginia Lane house, a modest home.]

This is all I seek – answers to confounding questions that are now 37 years unanswered. I want to be able to say, before my passage, that yes, I know not only how it happened (long answered), but why it happened. You have that answer. That is all I want from you, all I will ever ask of you. Please oblige me.

To date, the police department, the detectives, the courts and judges and attorneys and most of all, three sets of journalists that have passed through, and have been unable to answer (or ask) any of the above questions. They are caught short in their efforts and abilities by the inability to ask the right questions of the right people. Interestingly, they have studiously ignored me, as if I were not there that night, as if I were not the one my daughter came to after. In 2017 the local newspaper ran a three-part series on the event and my daughter that did not mention me in any way, nor even refer to me. That struck me as purposeful, and led to the questions asked above. It was a conundrum.

As the saying goes, if we do not ask the right questions, the answers do not matter. Please indulge me sir, and then get on with your life as I will mine. I believe in redemption. I have seen it, and know its power. Be well.