Why it's easy to demonstrate, the evidence given to the Warren Commission by members of the Dallas police, was all created. There are 44 photos and illustrations in, 'Ambush in Dealey Plaza'. Many prove Lee Oswald did not kill President Kennedy or Officer Tippit. LookBack Publications

    Life and adventures of "Billy" Dixon, of Adobe Walls, Texas panhandle: a narrative in which is described many things relating to the early Southwest, with an account of the fights between Indians and buffalo hunters at Adobe Walls and the desperate engagement at Buffalo Wallow, for which Congress voted the medal of honor to the survivors.

    

    

    Operating from camps in places like Kontum and Dak To, Special Forces recon men risked their lives behind enemy lines on the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos and Cambodia, conducting missions whose detection often meant death or something worse. Officially, they did not exist. Their government denied that they were operating in “neutral” countries; Hanoi denied the very existence of the Trail. If killed or captured in Laos or Cambodia, the Green Berets would be reported MIA or KIA—in Vietnam. They fought for each other and for their honor as soldiers. It is 1970. The United States Government is seeking a way out of the war “with honor” via a face-saving program called “Vietnamization.” This is the story of the fate of the recon men and the missions they conducted while highly skilled and motivated NVA hunter-killer teams pursued them on the enemy’s home turf. A recon team discovers a choke point on the enemy’s line of communication. For every day the Trail is blocked, enemy support of forces in the south is set back a month, giving South Vietnam a leg up. The special operators in Kontum are given the mission to do just that. There is a rub; the American president and his government must have “plausible deniability.” Therein lies the legacy of lies. “Very few authors have captured the action, intrigue and backstory of the secret missions as well as Colonel Gole does in ‘Legacy of Lies.’ A must read for those seeking the precursor to today’s military support to sensitive activities.” —Michael S. Repass, Major General, US Army (Retired) Special Forces “Gole’s novel is Fantastic! The best part, the top to bottom approach—from the White House, JCS, CINCPAC, MACV, down through SOG, right to the One-Zero firing tracers to mark his position for Covey.” —Colonel, USAF, (Ret) Tom Yarborough, author and decorated Covey pilot for SOG

    Environmental issues are central, as is the Navajo way of life, and weaving. When Annie McLeod's car is rammed and shoved into a ditch in the dead of night, she knows that something criminal is afoot on the Navajo reservation. She and her stepsons are injured in the crash, the latest in a string of problems. First, an experimental testing device showed toxins in reservation stream water; then Navajo weavers confided they believed something was wrong with their wool. Scientists solve problems, and Annie, a chemist, is determined to uncover the threats facing the Navajo people. From the analytical lab where she works in Phoenix, to the craggy mountains and remote canyons of the vast reservation, Annie's quest uncovers a deadly business, where the stakes keep rising and not everyone comes out alive.

    Carter would participate in a number of expeditions against the Comanche and other tribes in the Texas-area. It was during one of these campaigns that he was brevetted first lieutenant and awarded the Medal of Honor for his "most distinguished gallantry" against the Comanche in Blanco Canyon on a tributary of the Brazos River on October 10, 1871. He became a successful author in his later years writing several books based on his military career, including On the Border with Mackenzie (1935), as well as a series of booklets detailing his years as an Indian fighter on the Texas frontier. Carter writes: "IT IS nearly fifty years since these tragedies occurred. There are few survivors. The writer is, perhaps, the only one. This is written in the vague hope that this chronicle of the events of that period may possibly prove of some lasting and, perhaps, historical value to posterity. "The country all about the scene of these tragical events—the Texas Panhandle—was then wild, unsettled, covered with sage brush, scrub oak and chaparral, and its only inhabitants were Indians, buffalo, lobo wolves, coyotes, jack-rabbits, prairie-dogs and rattlesnakes, with here and there a few scattered herds of antelope. The railroad, that great civilizing agency, the telegraph, the telephone, and the many other marvelous inventions of man, have wrought such a wonderful transformation in our great western country that the American Indian will, if he has not already, become a race of the past, and history alone will record the remarkable deeds and strange career of an almost extinct people. With these miraculous changes has come the total extermination of the buffalo—the Indians' migratory companion and source of living—and pretty much all of the wild game that in almost countless numbers freely roamed those vast prairies. Where now the railroads girdle that country the nomadic redman lived his free and careless life and the bison thrived and roamed undisturbed at that period— where are now the appliances of modern civilization, and prosperous communities, then nothing but desolation reigned for many miles around. "In the expansion and peopling of this vast country, our little Army was most closely identified. In fact, it was the pioneer of civilization. The life was full of danger, hardships, privations, and sacrifices, little known or appreciated by the present generation. "Where populous towns, ranches and well-tilled farms, grain fields, orchards, and oil "gushers" are now located, with railroads either running through or near them, we were making trails, upon which the main roads now run, in search of hostile savages, for the purpose of punishing them or compelling them to go into the Indian reservations, and to permit the settlers, then held back by the murderous acts of these redskins, to advance and spread the civilization of the white man throughout the western tiers of counties in that far-off western panhandle of Texas."

     The young were disinterested in preserving the old ways of life and he realised that without a written language of their own, the culture, religion and folk-lore of the Blackfeet would soon fall into oblivion. “When I discovered that I could obtain the unbosoming of their secrets and that the door was open to me for study and investigation, I resolved that I would do my best to preserve all the knowledge available.” The Old North Trail: Life, Legends, and Religion of the Blackfeet Indians is the fruit of that study and investigation. McClintock was able to gain unprecedented access to Blackfoot culture due to the fact that he became adopted by Chief Mad Dog, the high priest of the Sun Dance, and spent four years living on the Blackfoot Reservation. “An intriguing . . . mixture of stories, legends, and descriptions of religious rituals, all woven into [McClintock’s] own personal account of his life with the Blackfeet. He tells of being inducted into the tribe, participating in family ceremonies, and living with his adoptive family. . . . Other times McClintock takes a serious anthropological approach as he describes the social customs of the tribe, including many of their songs, and catalogs the names, uses, and preparations of various herbs and medicinal plants. [The Old North Trail] has much more personal detail about Blackfoot daily life than can be found in any other sources from that period.” — Natural History Walter McClintock was born in Pittsburgh in 1879. He spent much of his life studying the Blackfeet Native Americans and wrote a number of anthropological books on his time with them as he grew to learn about their religion and culture. The Old North Trail is perhaps his most famous work, it was first published in 1910. McClintock eventually passed away in 1949.

    Finally, this book does it for the Seneca. It is enthralling history, told in a knowledgeable, highly readable way."-- Alvin M. Joseph, Jr., author of The Indian Heritage of America"This book is at once troubling and richly textured; for it draws skillfully and impartially on the resources of history, ethnology and psychology to chronicle the agony and decline of one of the proudest of American Indian peoples."-- Morris Opler Book World"Here is a carefully crafted masterpiece of anthropological and historical investigation. It is about both the specific renaissance of the Seneca and the possible renaissance of any people. On its specific subject matter, it will probably remain the definitive study for a long time."-- Christian Science Monitor"

    

    I try to tell what it was like for me and my brother Marines without fanfare or bravado and give the reader a vivid description of my 13 months.

    He, and the 128 men on board, depart their home port of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on a six-month deployment as part of the USS Carl Vinson battlegroup. The San Francisco, SSN-711, is the state-of-the-art in submarine technology of the U.S. Navy. The Akula class submarine Kasholot, K-322, is the state-of-the-art submarine of the Russian Navy. These two ships, commanded by very different men, are destined to hunt each other in the Cold War game until a science experiment gone wrong takes them back in time to December 19, 1941, and the beginning of World War II.

    This is the first in a series of true stories about a young helicopter pilot’s tour of duty in Vietnam.

     With all that has been said about Dodge City no true account of conditions as they were in the early days was accessible until publication of Robert Wright's 1911 book "Dodge City, the Cowboy Capital." The author was especially well qualified to write a history of the "wicked city of the plains" since he had lived on the frontier for many years previous to the founding of the city and lived in the city from its opening. He had all the experience gleaned as a plainsman, explorer, scout, trader and as mayor of the town. His is a most interesting narrative of early days, as well as a very valuable contribution to western history. Prior to founding Dodge City in 1868, at 16 years old Wright came West to Missouri. In 1859 he made the first of six overland trips across the plains to Denver. He was later appointed post trader at Fort Dodge in 1867, when Kiowa, Comanche, Cheyenne, Arapahoe, and Prairie Apache abounded there. Wright was acquainted with old-school Western sheriff and gunfighter Bat Masterson, of whom he said, "Bat is a gentleman by instinct. He is a man of pleasant manners, good address and mild disposition, until aroused, and then, for God's sake, look out! "Bat was a most loyal man to his friends. If anyone did him a favor, he never forgot it. I believe that if one of his friends was confined in jail and there was the least doubt of his innocence, he would take a crow-bar and 'jimmy' and dig him out, at the dead hour of midnight; and, if there were determined men guarding him, he would take these desperate chances...." Wright describes a typical day in Dodge: "Someone ran by my store at full speed, crying out, 'Our marshal is being murdered in the dance hall!' I, with several others, quickly ran to the dance hall and burst in the door. The house was so dense with smoke from the pistols a person could hardly see, but Ed Masterson had corralled a lot in one corner of the hall, with his sixshooter in his left hand, holding them there until assistance could reach him...." Wright also describes one hair-raising encounter he witnessed from a roof on his ranch: "The savages circled around the poor Mexican again and again; charged him from the front and rear and on both sides. Presently the poor fellow's horse went down, and he lay behind it for awhile. Then he cut the girth, took off the saddle, and started for the river, running at every possible chance, using the saddle as a shield, stopping to show fight only when the savages pressed him too closely

    The front lines are collapsing all around, bombs are falling. On Thuringia too, a state in the centre-east of Germany. The Second World War is nearing its end. Boys of fifteen and sixteen from the Jungvolk and Hitler Youth movements set off in the belief that they can still save the fatherland – they are determined to defend it, bravely and loyally. Inadequately armed, however, they are forced to retreat from the advancing enemy in an entirely pointless march. They are taken prisoner and transferred to one of the infamous camps near Bad Kreuznach. Conditions in the camp are tough. The diarist is fortunate enough to survive and to be released relatively early, at the end of June 1945. Germany, spring 2005. The fatherland too has survived and has been reunified. It is a year of commemoration days, of monuments and memorials, and in the run-up to the sixtieth anniversary it is already being declared by all the media as a year of remembrance of the downfall of the ‘Third Reich’. Inspired by this, the diarist, now seventy-five years old, remembers the notes and diary entries kept at that time by his fifteen-year-old self. Originally written on scraps of toilet paper, he copied them out after his fortunate return in July 1945, and has not looked at them since. The notes are very personal and honest and, above all, authentic. They give an insight into the experiences and the thoughts of a young boy who by his own admission left as a ‘proud soldier’ and returned home as a ‘pitiful vagabond’. It is a historical document. It is not the story of an individual fate. Thousands had the same experiences. That is why the diarist decided, with some hesitation, to publish his diary as a part of the historical truth, even if there already existed numerous reports and publications about the camps in Bad Kreuznach, Bretzenheim, Dietersheim, Bingen, Heidesheim and the other ‘Rhine Meadows camps’. All these records are testament to the fact that tyranny often abounds when one group of people is given unchecked power over another. According to Livy, as many as 2400 years ago the Gaulish king Brennus called to the defeated Romans: ‘Vae victis!’ – woe to the vanquished! Herwarth Metzel