I am posting this story for all my friends in the US.

I am not allowed to cross the border into the states, and this is why..
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..The Lone Butte Feud..
by Bobby7


I'm going to change just a few names, here. The other people, in this
tale are still in Lone Butte, or in the surrounding area, for the most
part, and I keep in touch with some of those who have moved away.
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Early in 1979 my wife, Francine and I, having come into a little money,
decided to look at property in the B.C. Interior. We wanted a place far
from town, and the crime associated with denser populations, to raise
our boys, Danny and Jimmy. A place where the boys could be a little
closer to nature.

We found our place, Lone Butte. It was ideal, population: 273, twelve
miles from 100 Mile House, the nearest place inhabited by more than five
hundred people, 100 Mile House is a small town on the Caribou Trail,
between Kamloops and Williams Lake. The town had one hotel the Exeter
Hotel, five restaurants, one pub, The Exeter Pub, one pharmacy, a post
office, two banks, one major food retailer, plus a few motels along the
highway.

It also had a hardware store, which sold everything from firearms to
motorcycles and parts. 100 Mile House boasted a brand new ‘mini’
shopping mall, housing the Bank of Montreal, and the 100 Mile Hardware
Store, as well as five or six speciality shops. Danny’s school was in
100 Mile House, as well

The house we found was older, but very well constructed, and sat well
back from the main road that passed through the village proper. You
needed to cross a “cattle guard” to get to our place, something I hadn’t
seen since I was a boy. It boasted huge evergreen trees on the property,
and a well, two hundred feet deep that produced the coldest, purest
water you could ever imagine.

And so, when all the papers were signed, in 1980, and the money had
changed hands, we moved in to our little Eden.

It was Eden to us. The dogs and cats loved their newfound freedom, and
the boys’ eyes sparkled when they got up in the morning. My beautiful
wife was even more radiant, as she started planning flower and vegetable
gardens, in the front and back of the property. Some of our new
neighbours stopped in to welcome us, and brought all manner of inviting
homemade foodstuffs, as part of their greetings.

One of the first things I did, after I had placed the furniture in the
final, of many, spots that Francine wanted them put, was to construct a
small log cabin, for the boys, at the back of the property. It had
running water, and electricity, I, then, constructed a frame, where
their hockey rink would be in the coming winter. I met some of my new
neighbours, who showed up to help me fall and peel the logs. Barrett
Irwin donated a ready-made roof for the project.

To my delight, I found that the garage was nearly full of seasoned wood;
almost enough to last us through the winter.

I started to cut and stack more wood for the winter, which was said to
be quite long and bitterly cold. We were mistaken, though, although the
mercury said -25 or -30 degrees, it never seemed as cold as the +20’s
and +30’s we were accustomed to on the coast. It lacked the dampness
that permeated the winters in the southern coastal region of B.C.

Our house was situated on Matsuda Road, named after a Japanese farmer,
hidden away by the community for the duration of the war, when a
suspicious Government was interring Japanese Canadians in labour camps.
Mr. Matsuda’s descendants lived down and across the road in front of our
home, and they were mighty good neighbours, too.

I was recovering from a very serious motorcycle accident when we
arrived, and had just graduated from a wheel chair. I was working in a
truck manufacturing plant at the time of the accident, and the pleasant,
but arduous labour, which was a part of my chores in our new homestead,
put some meat and muscle back on my frame. Muscle, which stood me in
good stead in the ensuing months at our new place.

By early summer, I had managed to stockpile enough wood for the coming
winter, and started building a go-cart, for the younger boy, Jimmy, and
an off road motorcycle, for his brother, Danny. They paid for my labour
and parts necessary by performing chores, in and around the house.

They never got anything for nothing, except for Christmas, birthdays,
and/or very special occasions. This strategy paid off in later years,
I'm pleased to say.

About a hundred yards separated my lot from the property on our right,
and the house was unoccupied when we arrived. This was about to change;
and for the worse.

The first indication that we had new neighbours, was a car we had not
seen before parked in front of the nearby house, and the sound of loud
music emanating from the premises The vehicle just appeared there one
morning. We never saw the people move in, nor the furniture they must
have unpacked, in the middle of the night.

We adapted quickly to our new life style, and were very pleased with the
slower pace evident in this small village. We got to know the denizens
slowly, and couldn’t help remarking just how different and eccentric
some of the villagers were.

For instance: ‘Old Tom’ Jones was a cowboy, a real one, who had driven,
branded, and coddled cattle through cold Caribou winters for more than
forty years. He owned an establishment straight out of a movie. He
rented rooms in the Lone Butte Hotel, a log structure built at the
middle of the century. He charged $8.00 a week for a room, and would
change your bedding once a week - if pressed to do so.

He was quite the ‘ladies’ man’, our Tom, and was the cause of many
jealousies and squabbling at all the social events, among the unmarried
women in town, and from surrounding areas.

He cooked wonderful Hamburgers and Fries in the kitchen, while holding a
dead cigar in his teeth He claimed the ashes enhanced the taste He
encouraged the villagers to show their arts & crafts in the hotel, and
tourists were only too happy in purchase some of the local treasures.

Then, there was my friend Richard (“Turk”) and his beautiful wife,
Viola. They had three young children, and Viola and Francine became fast
friends. Turk was something different, to say the very least. Though he
bathed daily, he stained his clothes with oil and grease, so that even
his clean jeans looked filthy. He grew his beard long, and was very loud
and boisterous. This, in fact, belied his peaceful character, and left
strangers a little apprehensive of him.

Needless to say, a night out in the local bars with Turk (and, he and I
shared many such nights) could prove to be most interesting and amusing.
He was also a motorcycle enthusiast, and one of his favourite pastimes
seemed to be continually crashing his bikes.

And, of course, there were the colourful ‘nick names’ that Turk
christened everyone with. George, who stood 6’ 11”, became ‘Tree Top’,
Jean, a French-speaking fellow, became, ‘Froggy’. I shared the name,
Bob, with three of his friends. We became, ‘Little Bob’, ‘ Medium Bob’,
and ‘Fat Bob’. I was the ‘medium’.

Two of our friends were named Mike, so one became, ‘Mike Mental’,
because of his intelligence, while the other became; ‘Mental Mike’,
because he really marched to the beat of a different drum. Francine
became; Francie, and Turk tormented her and Jean, because of their
accents; in a funny and respectful manner.

I have to mention my friend, Greg Case, here. He got ‘Casey’, as his
nickname, from Turk. Greg was a powerfully built young man, with a
perpetual smile on his face. He was one of the kindest and most gentle
men you could ever hope to meet. He loved Francine and the boys, and
gave me all kinds of help with my projects. Greg was never too busy, or
too tired, to help anyone who needed assistance.

Greg’s uncle, Charlie raised palomino Belgian draft horses, and I got to
help tend to these ‘gentle giants’ occasionally, which was always a
treat. These huge beasts were a delight to behold when they were hitched
to a wagon.

Francine and I toured the countryside, and took in the spectacular
scenery in our new domain. We bought some twenty four-baby chicks, and
some duck eggs, which I wanted to incubate at home. I took photographs
of all the log homes in the area, as well as those of some old churches,
rail fences, and antique farm machinery.

I cleared some of the property in the back of the house so we could
watch the beavers at work in the pond at the southern tip of our lot. I
repainted the house, inside and out, and Francine bought drapes and
curtains for our home. The trees I cut in the back were used to
construct the boys’ log house, which became a gathering place for the
youngsters of Lone Butte.

We set about enrolling the boys in their respective schools, and I
started get their ‘machines’ running. Jim had his go-cart, and Dan had a
75cc YZ Yamaha dirt bike. I gave the boys lessons for about a week, at
which time; their skills began to surpass mine. Danny graduated to a 100
cc YZ, and Jimmy inherited the 75 cc bike.

By the time a month had rolled by, and, we were pretty well adapted to
our new home, and to the relaxing pace of the country. We would go to
bed, exhausted by the work that we had accomplished, but we would wake
up, refreshed and invigorated, the next morning, prepared for another
strenuous day.

I wasn’t welcome in Tom’s hotel, not at first, anyway. He thought I was
a “Hippy”, because my hair was a little long, and I enjoyed walking
about, shirtless. His attitude would change, as people got to know our
newest neighbours.

After giving the next door neighbours time to get settled in, Francine
and I decided to pay them a visit, and welcome them to the village, as
we were welcomed when we arrived, not that long ago.

My first impression of “John” was, that I had not often seen such an
imposing man, as he was, in my time.

He stood over six feet tall, and must have weighed in the vicinity of
275 pounds. (If not, more) and had a perpetual scowl on his face. Though
his gut was a little slack, there was lot of muscle on his frame.

His wife, “Alice”, seemed at first, to be a shy and demure young lady..
Not so, as the reader will learn further along in this story.

I had, by this point, allowed my self the time to pursue one of my
favorite pastimes; sketching; in India ink and charcoal. There were many
log houses in the area, and I made short work of those. I sketched, old
barns, old farm machinery, all the old churches I could find.

The sketch on the cover of this book was done on March 19, 1981, and I
presented it to Tom about a month after I was allowed in the hotel, for
the first time.

My neighbours asked for some of my work, and used to hang them in the
hotel for a while, for the villagers to see, before they took them home
to adorn their walls. Tourists to the area saw some of my sketches, and
some were directed to my home, in hopes of acquiring some of my art.

The folks from Oregon and Washington State seemed to prefer the log home
sketches, and the Lone Butte Hotel ones sold very well.

Chris Esterbrook wanted me to sketch a team of horses tied to the
hitching rail in front of the Hotel on his canvas, and some tourists
wanted me to sketch their vehicles, or asked me to put their likenesses
in the sketch of the building. I was always happy to oblige. I started
to get a lot of demand for my work, and soon had a quaint little studio
set up in my garage.

By all estimates, I did over a hundred of the Hotel sketches, with a
variety of additions. While no two sketches were identical, the scale of
the building remained the same, and all the sketches were on 18’ X 24’
canvasses.

This was such a peaceful, comfortable time for Francine and me. We had
no idea of the nightmare in store for us, and, for many other people,
all around the area.

For those who have honoured my by reading my poems, you may have noticed
that I haven’t mentioned my drinking problem thus far. It’s coming, for
it, too, reared its ugly bead in the turbulent times that I am slowly
getting to it. My writing speed reflects my reluctance to dwell on the
events of the summer of ’81. But, I said I’d tell the story, and I will.

We made many new friends, in the period just prior to the arrival of
”John” and “Alice”, most of whom, I still run into, now and then. Our
house was over the “cattle guard’ that separated the range from the
village, and there was an oval road that gave access to the houses.

The neighbours had children, about my boys’ ages, and it was agreed by
all, that they could use this road as their “track” The kids were in
‘Seventh Heaven’; especially Jimmy, who paid for his go-cart gas by
renting the machine out.

Some of the friends we left behind on the coast came to visit, and we
all had a great time. I acquired a temporary job in town, helping to
erect an overhead crane. This proved to be a very exciting job, and I
got a contract to operate the crane, when it was, finally, erected. I
helped to construct some of the prettiest log homes you could ever
imagine.

While I was working in town, the trouble started!

John had marijuana plants growing on and around his property, and he had
purchased a bull calf and two pigs, which be said he was going to
slaughter for meat in the fall. Unknown to us, he had contracted the
neighborhood boys, including ours, to watch his crop.

The boys approached Francine with apprehension, and said that “John”
would be angry with them for allowing ‘T Bone’, the calf, to eat “Johns”
‘grass’.

Francine married me straight off the farm, and learned to speak English
only after we moved to BC, in the fall of ‘75. So, naturally, she
assumed they meant real grass, not pot. She told them not to worry, that
cows always ate grass. This was one of the many times that Francine’s
limited vocabulary provided some chuckles to me, and her friends.

I was concerned that “John” had begun cultivating marijuana, and that he
had engaged the kids in this endeavour. Since T Bone had eaten all of
“John’s” plants, I decided not to pursue the matter any further, and, I
purchased T Bone from him. He was more than happy to get rid of the
calf, and T Bone was immediately made a member of our clan.

After T-Bone had seen to his ‘potty,’ I would wash him down with a hose,
towel him dry, and bring him into the house, where he seemed to really
enjoy watching cartoons with the boys. He would chase, and, in turn, be
chased by our dogs, and would come anytime someone called his name. He
played with the chickens, and with the ducks, which we had successfully
hatched, and, he loved our cats.

Of course, this television watching came to an end when he reached five
hundred pounds, and would no longer fit through the door, but T Bone
continued to watch cartoons every day through the window. At times, the
boys would open the window, so that they could share popcorn with their
‘buddy’.

As you imagine, it was very amusing to see the calf wandering around
stoned. We kept T Bone until he was big enough to slaughter, but by then
he was too much like a family member to kill.

He was, however, at about nine hundred pounds, too big for us to keep on
the property, and he had a liking for some of the neighbour’s gardens.
T-bone, somehow, had solved the problem of crossing the cattle guard.
Their flowers were also at risk when T Bone roamed. T Bone was auctioned
off, and we saw no more of him.

That was the start of the “Summer of John”. We soon discovered that
“John” did not sleep at night; he prowled the area, stealing just about
anything that was not tied down. He got caught stealing from the village
convenience store, operated by Lawrence, and his wife.

When threatened with police, “John” said he would burn down their
store/home at night, while they slept. Lawrence and his wife believed
that “John” was capable of carrying out this threat, and they did not
report him to the RCMP.

"John'' began a slashing spree that left many residents with huge bills
to replace slashed tires, and to stitch up injured animals.
Anyone that "John" felt had slighted him; received his special brand of
payback.

No one was immune to his forays and he, apparently, no distinct
boundaries. He could be operating in 100 Mile House, or in Williams
Lake. ''John'' went where the pickings were easy.

Picking were easy, as folks around here never locked their doors,
garages, or barns. Crime, except for the occasional brawl at the local
watering holes, on some rare weekends, was virtually unheard of. I think
that this was one of the main reasons that the neighbours did not know
how to deal with ''John'' and his rowdy crew.

Most of the residents were from the Caribou, which had always had very
low crime statistics. The local RCMP was a very efficient police force,
but, as with all police forces that hire locals, they were not too
familiar to the likes of "John'', either.

Parents started keeping kids at home, in fear of this man, and the boys
watched the number of playmates slowly dwindle down to none. This was
very hard for the boys to understand, and as I became aware of what was
going on, I started to make inquiries about our next-door neighbour.

My wife told me most of this after I took an active role in halting
“John’s” marauding. She was afraid of the violence that could ensue.

And she was right!

In my younger days, I boxed, as an amateur, and as a semi- professional.
I bad spent about four years in the liquor industry, as a manager, a
waiter, and as a “bouncer”. I was not a stranger to violence.

“John’s” violence was of a different nature; it was unnecessary, and
frightening in ifs randomness. Any time I used force against another
person, the amount used was dictated by their actions, not mine, except
for the boxing, of course.

I approached my sons’ friends’ parents, and assured them that their
children were safe under my supervision, and slowly the kids started
coming back with their bikes, and motorcycles. I made trails, in the
woods in back of the property for them, as, by this time, “John” had
started diving erratically, and dangerously around the neighborhood.

One weekend, we invited ‘Stark’ Clark. a log peeler, and his girlfriend,
Daphne, for a Bar B Q at the house. My friends, Greg Case, Mike Smith,
and Wes Elliot, were also there. Stark Clark worked for the log house
manufacturing firm where I was employed, erecting an overhead crane to
speed up production. He was, pound for pound, one of the strongest men I
have ever met.

Clark had met his girlfriend through an ad in the newspaper. He had
herpes, and he ran an ad, seeking a woman with the same disease to
contact him. Daphne was an exquisite lady, and they made a very
impressive couple. Clark had had his tires slashed in town, and
recognized “John’s” truck as the vehicle he had seen leaving the scene,
“John” spotted Clark’s truck at about the same time... And the “Feud”
was on!!

“John” came charging over, spoiling for a fight; Clark obliged with a
beautiful right cross that should have knocked “John” down, if not out.
Instead of going down “John” pulled out his Buck knife, and tried to
disembowel Clark; But, I stepped in between them, and caught “John’s”
arm on the upswing, and took away his knife. “John” retreated to his
home. Greg said that he was amazed that I didn’t get cut, so vicious was
“John’s” sweep with the blade. I really didn’t even consider it, at the
time.

The next day, “John” started speeding around the “oval” and the kids
couldn’t ride their bikes. I waited until he went to the Post Office,
located right beside Lawrence’s Lone Butte General Store, and confronted
him outside. He had his dog Sabbath, with him, and he sicced the dog on
me. I kicked it in the throat, and it convulsed on the road. Then I
proceeded to blacken “John’s” eyes and bloody his nose.

I have never before, or since, hit a man as hard as I hit “John” and not
have him go down. He couldn’t touch me, but I couldn’t finish him off,
either. The fight stopped when he couldn’t see out of both eyes and had
bled buckets on the road. His dog had recovered, but, chose wisely, and
scurried off back home.
I bad broken a knuckle on “John’s” hard head, and I went into Lawrence's
store to buy some tape for my hand.There were about ten people in the
store, and that’s when Lawrence’s wife told me
about the theft, and the threat.

No one seemed upset at the violence that had transpired moments earlier,
and, it was about then, that I became aware of the fear that the
villagers had, of this man.

The kids were discussing going back to school, and “John” stayed well
away from me for a while. But it was not forgotten! Not by a long shot.

Wes Elliot, who bad been at the Bar B Q with Greg and Clark, had his
tires slashed, at a cost of $l60O.00, and had all his chickens and pigs
killed. “Rob”, an employee at the BC Liquor Store, had caught “John” and
“Alice” stealing vodka, and had called the police. He later lost two
sets of tires and all the windows on his van.

An unknown assailant also knocked him unconscious, as he left the pub.
From behind!

Things were coming to a head. One morning, “John” kept speeding around
the oval as the kids were leaving for school. I waited until I heard the
school bus leave, and I took my Winchester 22 Magnum, a present from
Greg Case, purchased at the 100 Mile Hardware Store, off the wall.

I loaded the tube and breech with seventeen rounds of ammunition, and
stuck seventeen more in my shirt pocket. I walked up to his truck, and
pumped the two tubes of bullets into the radiator, brakes, tires, and
the alternator.

“John” came to the window, but never emerged. He would have been safe; I
made sure I used all the bullets up on the truck. But he didn’t know
that. I waited for the police to show up. they didn’t.

The neighbors had not called them! Even though they had seen me shooting
the vehicle! The speeding stopped! I didn’t shoot the old Pontiac he
had; “Alice” drove that, and she drove responsibly.

Once, “John” took offence to the way a lady drove by his house. His dog
ran out, and she tooted her horn. He followed her van, forced it over to
the side of the road, and beat up the lady’s passenger; her brother. He
then tried to force the lady into performing oral sex on him. Had it not
been for some passers-by, he might have succeeded.

The time had come for me to see if something more permanent could be
done to restore the tranquility, we had before he arrived. I was walking
past the Hotel, when old Tom called me. He bad a bruise on his check,
and the sparkle he usually had in his eyes was not there, in.

Tom told me that “John” bad been in. and had tried leaving without
paying for his burger and fries. When Tom confronted him, “John” had
pushed him into the counter, accounting for the mark on his cheek.

The police bad been called frequently about “John”, but he just made his
court appearances. and was back on the street, the same day. Their hands
were tied, but they were very sympathetic to the villager’s plight.

100 Mile House had not escaped “John’s” attentions, either. A rush of
break-ins and vandalism had begun just after, “John” and “Alice” had
moved here. But, unless they were caught in the act, nothing could be
done to stop them. By now, it was apparent that “Alice” was accompanying
“John” on his crime sprees.

There seemed to be no end to his acts of destruction, vandalism, and
outright terrorism. He had taken to bringing some rough looking
characters home, and some of the women in the village were being
subjected to their lewd comments.

Such a comment was made to Francine, and I went next door, to “John’s
place to “discuss” proper behavior with these people. After the
discussion, and when the ambulance had taken the one who had insulted
Francine to the 100 Mile House Hospital, the insults and untoward
remarks died off and the girls want back to enjoying their walks in
peace.

My friend, Tom Belanger and I, had done a little work with a
construction company in the area, as “powder-monkeys”, since we both had
explosives ‘tickets’. The fact that I had a ‘powder ticket’ led to more
trouble from “John”, and to suspicion by the police.

He, and some of his rough crowd decided to rob the Bank of Montreal, in
the shopping mall in 100 Mile House. They employed dynamite, stolen from
the same company that Tom and I had worked for. Their intent was to blow
up the night deposit box, and make off with the cash.

They didn’t get any money!

The police calculated that they had used ten sticks of dynamite, where
one stick would have sufficed. They did succeed, however, in destroying
five businesses in the small shopping plaza, which was not even six
months old, and one of the accomplices was permanently deafened by the
concussion of the blest.

“John” returned home and planted the remainder of the stolen dynamite
(eight slicks) under my back porch, along with six lines of ”B” fuse and
caps, which were necessary to detonate the explosives. He then called
the police and said that be had seen me put the dynamite there. Next
morning, the RCMP” Bomb Disposal Unit showed up at my door!

The officers asked me if l would allow them to search the property
without a warrant.

I obliged, of course.

They found the dynamite!

I had played broomball with one of the attending officers; Cst. Buck,
and he knew that I had not planted it there. His, superiors, however,
wanted more proof than that, and so, I was flown to the RCMP detachment
in Prince George, where I underwent a Polygraph test.

Of course, I passed the test, and then, the Police homed in on "John".
They determined that he could not have been where he claimed he was when
he ‘saw’ me put the explosives under my back porch, where it was found,
and I was cleared of any suspicion. I was very relieved, but I was very
angry with "John'' and I decided. ''Enough is enough!"

I asked my boys to help me with a plan to make ''John" and "Alice" go
away. "Alice", you see, had been visiting Francine, and some jewelry and
some of her favorite crystal had disappeared, along with a modest sum of
cash The boys and their friends were delighted to help, so I proceeded
to make "John's" life as miserable as he had made it for me, and other
folks', in the surrounding area.

I decided to subject him to a constant barrage of noise! I figured that
if I could deprive him of, sleep, the community would be a lot safer,
and it would force him into another face-to-face confrontation.

I talked to my police friend, whose name really was ‘ Buck’. and
outlined what I had in mind. He, 'unofficially' agreed with my plan, but
he warned me to be very careful. He thought that ''John'' was one of the
most dangerous individuals that he had encountered in his career, as a
police officer. I did not pay too much attention to his advice, as I had
encountered characters, such as “John” before, in the big cities.

Danny and Jimmy, along with their friends, were encouraged to make as
much noise as possible with their motorcycles, paying particular
attention to rev up the motors in front of ''John's'' door.

After two days of noise, ''John' appeared on his porch, with a shotgun.
I got my rifle and walked down toward his house, and he hurried back
inside. I instructed the boys to run their bikes on the strip of land
between the houses, and to make a lot more noise ''John'' got tired of
this, and ran out of his back door to chase them away.

I had told the boys to flee down one of many trails I bad made in the
woods, and they did, with ''John' in hot pursuit! I took another trail
that intersected this one, and waited behind a large tree. I picked up a
big branch, about five inches in diameter, and four feet in length When
boys passed by the tree, I stepped out on the trail and laid the branch
across "John's" forehead. He did go down that time.

And he stayed down!

We were back in our yard for twenty minutes, before he staggered out of
the woods, with blood streaming down his face.

That night, I went to the pub at the Exeter Hotel. I knew that "John"
was often there, and he had left his place, after he cleaned up the
blood. When I arrived, he was trying to goad Greg Case into a fight. I
knew that he had bought another Buck knife, and, that he was prepared to
use it.

Greg was a very powerful young man, but he had had his hips shattered by
a horse, which kicked him, and was not very agile. When ''John" and Greg
went outside, I followed them into the parking lot. Greg hit ''John",
and sure enough, ''John'' pulled the knife! I kicked it out of his hand,
and proceeded to give him a boxing lesson, to the nth degree!

He had to go to the hospital, that night; I broke his nose, knocked out
three of his teeth, and broke his thumb, when he tried grappling with
me.

When he got back from the hospital, I took a walk in front of his house.
"John" opened his door, and sicced his dog, Sabbath on me. "John" was
armed with an axe handle

I got the dog by the throat, and I choked it, all the while, dodging the
axe handle. When the dog passed out, I threw it in the back of
''John's'' truck. I, then turned my full attention to "John. ''Alice”,
by that time, had come out on the porch, and was screaming at her
husband to kill me, which he was certainly trying to do.

I managed to step under one of his swings, and, I hip-tossed him into
the back of his pick up, where Sabbath was starting to come to. The dog,
confused, I guess, started to chew on "John's" leg and I left the scene
with "John” screaming to the dog; "It's me, Sabu! It's me!" I went home
and had a couple of beers, to calm me down.

I only had a few in my fridge, so I went over to Lawrence's store to get
some more. I forgot to bring my wallet, but Lawrence’s wife said I could
pay for them another time, and I became the first person in Lone Butte
to get credit, there.

The next day, when I went to get the mail, ‘old Tom’ called me over. His
manner was quite gruff, but you could see right through the old softy. I
went to see what he wanted, and he took me into the back of the hotel
where he kept his supplies and opened his fridge. Inside was an
assortment of things, necessary to his trade, and, two - dozen bottles
of beer. He informed me that this beer was mine, and that, I would have
stop in for one, when I passed by the hotel.

People in Lone Butte were aware of the steps I had taken, and, responded
in kind.

Too, much, in fact!

I had my beer and was back home, when Bobby Matsuda, our neighbour,
beckoned me. He had a beer in his hand. Bobby doesn't drink; the beer
was for me.

Vic Powers called me after I came home from Bobby’s house, and asked if
I felt like company. I said. ''Sure”, “Come on over”. A few minutes
later he arrived, with two boxes of beer.

It seemed that everyone in the village wanted to buy me a beer, and I
obliged them by drinking it.

My house was suddenly, the place where the men felt comfortable to drop
in for a chat and a beer! France's social life cranked up a notch, too.

I drank so much beer, in the next little while, that I sort of let
"John" slip my mind. While I was having a beer with Barrett Irwin, Wes
Elliot, and Mike Smith at our picnic table, Francine went off to help
the boys find a motorcycle part that they had lost.

There were about five vehicles in front of ''John's" house, and I really
didn't give it much thought until a shot rang out!

John was on the porch, surrounded by his ''rough trade" friends, and he
was holding a smoking shotgun!

I grabbed my rifle, and raced down the street, heading towards his
place, to bring my wife and kids home. ''John" pointed the shotgun in my
direction:

And, the "Feud" got much more intense!

I fired about ten rounds into the ground below his porch and the whole
crew ran inside. "John" appeared at the window, still holding his
shotgun, so, I fired a round directly above his head! And, he dove for
cover. I saw a hand come up, and pull the drapes closed, so I returned
to my yard, with Francine and the kids, in tow.

This time, someone had called the police!

Four police cars skidded over the cattle guard, and, onto our street. I
placed my rifle against the tree, and sat back down at the picnic table.
The police first went to ''John's". place, and I awaited their visit,
while sipping on my beer. When they came ever, I saw that my friend Cst.
Buck, (I swear, that really was his name), was with the group.

I told him what had happened, and he said that "Alice" had informed him
that her husband was not there. She had told him, (Cst. Buck), that he
had gone to Williams Lake, and would not be back until the following
day.

I said that this was a lie, and that I had seen him run into the woods,
behind his house.

I was invited to attend the police station, to give a sworn statement. I
said that I would not go and leave Francine and the kids alone.

A compromise was reached, and an officer said that be would remain with
my family until I got back.

While I was at the police station, "John" made of the mistakes that
proved to be his undoing!

He came back out of the bush, where he had been hiding, and slashed one
of the tires on the unmarked patrol car, which was parked in my
driveway. I had noticed a flurry of activity at the station, but it
wasn't until I got home, a few hours later, that I learned just what had
gone on, in my absence, and the reason for the commotion at police
headquarters quad.

The officer who had stayed at my home, I can't remember his name, (I
never asked his name, because I didn't like him, or his attitude, very
much) was so enraged, that he called the station and asked the dog
handler to bring the police dog out to my place.

They turned the dog loose, and my wife said that about five minutes
later, she could hear "John'', crying out in distress, in the back
field. She said that it took the police, at least five minutes, or so,
to get to where "John" and the dog were locked in combat. Apparently,
''John" had to visit the hospital again that night, but, through no
fault of mine, this time.

When the police brought me home, Cst. Buck said he was leaving my
Winchester rifle with me, for my protection. He said that he didn't
know if charges against me would be forthcoming, or not.

I thought "John” might take a break from the action, but he was
persistent, if not too smart. The following day, I replaced the rings on
Danny's Yamaha YZ dirt bike. I took it out, to carefully break them in.
As I passed in front of his house, he ran out and fired two shots at me,
with a Nickel- Plated, 22 caliber Derringer!

This handgun, was another of ''John's” big mistakes!

The range of a Derringer of this caliber is about twenty feet! He missed
me, but managed to take out a window on Chris Esterbrook's welding barn,
just this side of the cattle- guard. I continued to break in the YZ's
rings, and I heard no more from "John", that day.

"John" was charged with assault, and sexual interference, as a result of
the time he chased, and assaulted the lady, and her brother, in their
van. "Alice", in the meantime, was in an advanced a state of pregnancy,
and did not go around with ''John'', on his nocturnal forays.

Her condition did not seem to matter to her husband; he was out
'’Foxing' around at night, when the boys and I didn't keep him too
tired!

He actually did refer to himself as ‘‘The Fox", and he raided more than
hen houses! Not for food, of course but to kill the chickens. "John"
killed off all of Wes Elliot's chickens and pigs, on one such foray. Of
course, after spending the night in the open, all the meat from their
carcasses was spoiled.


We are getting to the crunch, and I won't keep you too much longer.
Every time that ''John" did something to me, I paid him back in kind,
but much worse. But, the lessons seemed to be lost on him.

One of his friends, who had decided that it was too dangerous to be
around the "Fox", told me that "John" drank a 'mickey' of vodka in
chocolate milk, for breakfast, every day. Maybe, it was this drinking,
that made him so crazy, I don't know. But, as my drinking increased,
so did the degree of violence I inflicted on him, every chance I got.

The ‘camel’s back’ was broken, so to speak, in the last week of July.

Our Sheep Dog - Wolf cross, Cindy, developed Canine Hepatitis, and our
cats, both, disappeared. . The vet said that it was probably from
tainted water, but we gave her fresh water each day, and I suspected
“John” of poisoning her.

A neighbour, Bill Godreau, saw "John" deliberately shoot his cat, and
throw its body into our yard.

"John" phoned the police, and said that I had shot the animal, but, the
neighbour intercepted the police before they got to me, and told them
what he bad seen.

Since Bill described the gun as a Derringer type handgun, the police
were able to obtain a search - warrant for his house. They found
fourteen guns, hidden in various parts of his home, but not the
Derringer. The other weapons were seized, and examined. They were
returned to "John", as they had not been reported stolen by anyone in
the area.

Then, he poisoned my Akita, Chopper. Chopper later recovered, but I sold
him because I could not just keep him in the house, twenty-four hours a
day, and I was afraid to let him out.

With no dog to warn me, "John” grew bolder, and entered my garage one
night. He ruined some of my incomplete sketches, and slashed the tires
on Danny's YZ, and Jimmy's go-cart.

I took to sleeping in the garage, and, it paid off! I caught him coming
into the garage, two nights later, and I chased him, all the way to his
front door. I would never have believed that a man, as big as he was,
could run as fast as he did, that night. I would not go into his house,
because of “Alice”, and her condition.

"John" really lost it, then! At six o'clock, the next, morning I
caught him heading towards my house, with a lighted 'Molotov ****tail'
in his hand!

I threw a rock a rock at him, and, I was lucky enough to hit the bottle
of gas, which promptly burst in flames. His pants were burning, as he
ran into his house. I watched from the kitchen window, and I saw him
emerge with his shotgun. I took my rifle, aimed carefully, and shot him
in the forearm.

I, then, for the first time, called the police! I was frightened,
myself, for I know, in my heart that I would have killed him, but for
the lucky hit with the rock. Had it not exploded the gas, and “John” was
going to throw the Molotov ****tail at my house, I would have shot him,
right between the eyes.

It should have occurred to me, long before this, to be frightened!

The police arrived, with guns drawn!

I laid down my rifle, and sat down at the picnic table, to watch the
events unfold.

Bill Godreau, who lived just across street, was getting ready for work
and had witnessed all of this. He was very cooperative with the police.
They arrested "John", and me, and, I spent two days in custody. The
police, then, canvassed the neighbourhood, and now, people were willing
to talk to them.

"John" was charged with attempted murder, reckless endangerment, and
remanded in custody in Prince George. He still had to face the charges
of theft from the Government Liquor Store, and the sexual assault on the
lady in the van, who I mentioned earlier in this tale, as well as the
assault on her brother.

While "John" was in custody,” Alice" gave birth to a baby boy.
Francine relented, and invited her over, because, she said “A new
mother needs a woman to talk to” and "Alice" didn't have a single friend
in the area. As l mentioned earlier, one of "John's" pals' told him that
be had seen ''Alice'' in our home. When his lawyer secured bail for him,
"John" returned to Lone Butte.

He broke ''Alice's'' arm, and the infant was injured, when he fell to
the floor. He was arrested again, and while he was in custody, this
time, "A1ice's" mother, who Francine had called, took "Alice" and the
baby to live with her, on Vancouver Island. Where, she remains, to this
day.

I was sentenced to thirty days in jail. The Judge found that I was not
guilty of careless and reckless use of a firearm. But, I was found
guilty of possession of a firearm without the mandatory Firearms’
Acquisition Certificate (F.A.C.). I served nine days, and was sent home
with a ban on owning firearms, and/or ammunition for five years.

John was sentenced to two years, for each of the three counts, to be
served 'concurrently' plus a lifetime ban from possessing and/or owning
firearms or ammunition. He was released, eighteen months later.
''Alice'' had refused to testify against him, and charges pertaining to
her and the baby's injures were dropped. "John” moved to Ontario, and
you will read his last chapter, at the end of this tale.

I think that "John" won the 'Feud', though!

Francine was afraid of reprisals from "John's" friends, and insisted
that we sell the house, and move away; Which, sadly, we did. The 'Feud"
cost us our Eden, and it cost the boys a freedom they had never before
experienced, or since, I might add It caused us to leave a lot of
friends in Lone Butte, friends that we had grown quite attached to.

Before leaving Lone Butte, and after “John” was incarcerated, I was
offered a job as ‘bouncer’ at the Lone Butte Cabaret, a new
establishment in the area.

It was one of those log buildings, of which I spoke earlier, and I had
actually worked on its construction, although, not on its final
assembly.
It turned out to be a very rewarding, and fun filled job. It was my duty
to see that animosity between the two or three groups of ‘bikers’ in 100
Mile House, Clinton, and William’s Lake did not erupt in violence at the
cabaret.

I had fellow, named Dan, who was my assistant, working on the floor, and
I acted as the ‘cooler’. Much to my amusement, Dan had a bit of trouble
with some of these men, and asked me to help with the situation. The men
were clustered around the door, and did not seem to be too happy with
the fact that they were asked to leave. I started to talk, calmly, to
the ‘biker’ who seemed to be ‘in charge’ of the group.

Suddenly, one his friends grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. Words
were whispered in his ear, and the ‘leader’ shot a few glances my way.
The leader then asked me my name. I told him, and his attitude changed
completely. He said that there would be no trouble from him, or his
group, in my establishment. Indeed, they were a very well behaved lot
each time they visited the cabaret.

I later heard, from a reliable source, that this ‘leader’, had, earlier,
been involved in a brawl with “John” in Clinton, and had been
hospitalized, with multiple knife wounds. I worked at this cabaret until
our final month in Lone Butte, and, aside from having to escort some
very drunk and rowdy folks from the bar, never had a single problem. The
‘bikers’ were model citizens in my cabaret.

In fact, Francine and I were invited to the 100 Mile House ‘bikers’
party about two weeks before we moved away. She asked Java’s wife why we
had never been invited before, as I knew all of the folks there. She was
told, much to our amusement, that the ‘bikers’ were afraid I might wreck
their clubhouse.

We moved back to the coast, where I took a course in Court Interpreting,
and worked in the court system for a while. Francine volunteered a lot
of her time to assist elders in care homes, and helping others, in their
own homes.

My sons continued their education, and Danny started his own business.
Jimmy got a job as a subcontractor, a profession he still works at.

My sons blessed us with three wonderful grandchildren, which Francine
got to pamper and enjoy until her untimely death, at the age of
forty-four

…………………………The End.…………………………………………

Author's Notes:


''John'' moved to Toronto, where he shot a man, who was tying to make
off with his gas barbeque. He used, of course, a shotgun! He was
sentenced to twenty years in the penitentiary. I don't know what has
become of him since, nor do I care to know.

“Alice”, and her son live with her mother, on Vancouver Island. I have
not heard from her. The only contact we had was when her mother wrote
Francine a thank you note. (She included $100.00 with the note)

Old Tom Jones fell down the stairs at the Lone Butte Hotel, while
changing bedding for a couple from Oregon. He broke his neck and never
regained consciousness.

Greg Case moved to Saskatchewan, where he married a very nice young
lady. He works in a slaughterhouse.
He's coming to visit during his vacation, this fall.

Wes Elliot divorced his wife. and moved to Surrey, where he repairs
motorcycles. (Wes lost more to “John” than did anyone else in the area).

'Stark' Clark and his wife, Daphne moved away. I have, sadly to say,
lost touch with them.

Chris Esterbrook still operates his garage and welding barn in Lone
Butte. He has another of my Lone Butte Hotel sketches in his garage.

Mike Smith was present when I 'shot up' "John's" truck, and when "John"
and Clark had their fight in my yard. He lives in Forest Grove with
his lovely wife. They, and operate, an upholstery business in 100 Mile
House. I talked to Mike, not even two weeks ago. I hope to visit him
this summer, with my new wife, Sharon, or maybe this fall, along with
Greg, and his wife. too.

The last time I was in the Caribou, Rob, who worked at the Liquor
Store, and, who was ambushed by “John”, was still there.

Barret Irwin’s lovely wife, Karen, succumbed to a long illness, and
Barrett retired from BC Rail, where he had worked for thirty years.

Our next door neighbour, Doug Townsend, who's son, Jeff, was Danny's
best friend, moved to Surrey, where he was promoted to warehouse manager
for the same food chain he worked for, in 100 Mile House.
Danny and Jeff still keep in touch.

Lawrence and his wife retired, and moved to Forest Grove. Their daughter
now operates the Lone Butte General Store and lives in the attached
mobile - home, where she grew up.

Vic Powers retired from the School Board. He still lives in Lone Butte
and recently sold a mobile - home to my friend, Mike Smith.

Francine, my true, blue friend: My lovely, and, oh, so patient partner
of thirty years, passed away, suddenly, on January 22. 1995, at the age
of forty-four.

Danny now owns, and operates, a wood- working shop in Abbotsford, not
far from where I live, now.

Jimmy is a successful sub-contractor in the construction industry, and
lives in Mission about five miles from us.
************************************************************

***The enclosed sketch, of the Lone Butte Hotel, was returned to me,
after the death of ‘old’ Tom Jones.

It now hangs on the wall of my friend, Gordon Watts, in Port Coquitlam.
Gord, is a friend we left behind, when we moved to Lone Butte.

He, and his dear wife, Wilda, along with their children, Bruce and
Kelly, visited us during the ‘Feud’, and saw some small part of the
‘action’.

Gord and Wilda were friends of ours since 1976, and our children were
very close, also.

I still see Gord, from time to time. I gave the sketch to Wilda, when I
moved my family back down to the coast.

Wilda passed away about a year before Francine.

This story was painful to write, but, strangely enough, I feel better
for having shared it, with you.

RJF.25/ 01/2005.

What a life you have had Bobby! What a remarkable woman Francine was!

Alada.. I have been blessed, all my life, by people who believed in me..
I believe that I added to their lives, also..

I have never taken a friend, or lover/wife, for granted, and I have
always respected my friends, and their points of views.

Some may think of me as uncivilized, but, they are those who do not know
me..

Thanks for reading and commenting, love..I appreciate it very
much..

Bobby sent me this story about a month ago and I look at him in an even
brighter light! This man and his family, friends and neighbors went
through pure hell! I'm still so baffled as to how that crazy psycho next
door neighbor got away with as much as he did! He completely tormented
the small community and the police knew all about him! Bobby did what he
had to do to protect everyone he loved! click----------->click to Bobby!

Peggy!!

Thanks love..Now, I know why I love you!!

Thanks for letting us get to know you better. An amazing story of your
life!

Thank you, Eileena9..

It is something that people will know after they get to know me..

I prefer to give them a choice..

They can pass on by, or, as some of my great friends have done,
understand what I am, and what I represent..

Peace to You and Yours..

Bob..

Thanks for the Email, Mary, but, I would prefer that any comments about
my writings be posted here, love..

Bobby,,, I am honored and so thankful to have met you and to have you in
my life,,, Thank you for sharing a part of you with all of us,,,
Beautiful Bobby simply Beautiful,,, I so love reading these stories of
Love courage and overcoming obstacles in ones Journey of life,,,

LAmom..It is I who is honoured.

Thank you for reading, and for the very kind comments..

Bobby you are amazing,,,