J.W., Where Are You When We Need You, Pal? – Part 2
When I so rudely left you hanging last week, Lawyer Finis Bates had traveled to Enid, Oklahoma and identified the mummified remains of David George as those of the man he had known as John St. Helen. Under both names, the man had claimed to be John Wilkes Booth. Bates acquired the mummy from the mortuary and took it home with him to Memphis. To this point, this has been a strange and compelling story, but now the real fun begins.
All mummies, as you doubtless know, come with a curse, and the mummy possessed by Finis Bates apparently carried with it a real doozie! Mr. Bates had been a fairly successful lawyer and businessman for many years. His book, The Escape and Suicide of John Wilkes Booth,, was met with ridicule throughout the nation. Bates was made a laughing stock, and died penniless, his fortune and reputation destroyed by his association with what would soon become known as The Mummy of John Wilkes Booth.
For the next several years, the mummy was bought, sold, and traded among various traveling carnivals, and was presented across the nation as the mummy of John Wilkes Booth. In 1930, one of the carnivals passed through Chicago, Ill, where a team of physicians volunteered to examine and hopefully authenticate the remains as those of the Lincoln assassin. By means of a detailed physical examination and x-rays, the doctors verified that the mummy did, in fact, have a healed fracture of the left ankle, the one Booth had broken in his leap to the stage in Ford’s Theater. Other physical attributes associated with Booth were also verified, and the doctors’ conclusions were that the mummy could very well be the remains of John Wilkes Booth. The mummy continued its carnival circuit, and became something of a celebrity as it crisscrossed the nation.
But here’s the thing: the mummy carried with it a destructive curse. Throughout decades of travel with several different carnivals, extreme bad luck befell each of its owners along the way. Some carnivals went broke soon after acquiring the mummy; some owners died suddenly of unknown causes; every carnival or owner was victim to some kind of tragedy while the mummy was a part of its cast.
For some reason that is not made clear in the annals of history, the mummy was acquired by Reverend True Wilson in 1933. Reverend Wilson was not a carnival owner, and was not a man given to whimsical pursuits. In the 1920s, the minister was a stalwart lobbyist for the cause of prohibition, and was one of the major driving forces behind the movement. Several congressmen and senators were quoted as saying that prohibition would never have come about without the dedicated efforts of Reverend Wilson. Wilson himself saw Prohibition as the crowning achievement of his life…it was the source of his greatest pride.
The greatest possible tragedy befell Reverend True Wilson when Congress repealed Prohibition with the 21st Amendment. This repeal of Wilson’s pride and joy in life occurred only a few weeks after he had purchased the mummy of John Wilkes Booth. The repeal destroyed Wilson…he drifted away into seclusion and historical obscurity.
Did the mummy of John Wilkes Booth bring about the repeal of Prohibition just to destroy Reverend True Wilson by destroying that which he loved most? If so, it carries a pretty potent curse, and it gives me a devious idea.
The mummy was exhibited in various carnivals well into the 1960s, and was last reported seen in the late 1970s. Then it disappeared. Was it buried or destroyed by people trying to put an end to the curse? Was it secreted away into a private collection? Does it lie forgotten in some dusty attic or warehouse? I don’t know, but there are people around the nation who are actively looking for it. Can the mummy of John Wilkes Booth help the conservative cause to defeat the socialist menace that is methodically destroying the Constitution, our personal freedoms, and the American way of life? Maybe so.
I suggest we find the mummy and present it as a gift to Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, and the entire socialist wing of the Democrat party. Make them the official owners of the mummy…and the curse that goes with it. J.W. (the name I have fondly attached to the mummy, whoever he is) brought tragedy to Finis Bates. It destroyed several carnivals. Most telling to me, it had the power to overturn Prohibition, the thing which Reverend True Wilson loved the most. Obama, Reid, Pelosi, et. al. obviously love socialism and the destruction of the U.S. Constitution more than anything else. Republican leadership just as obviously recognize that fact, but are too inept or too corrupted by government machine politics to take the necessary steps to defeat the socialist menace. They need a little help.
Take some time this week to talk to your friends and family. Search through your attic and the dark corners of your garages and outbuildings. Somewhere, hopefully, one of us will find the mummy of John Wilkes Booth. Ship it to Washington, D.C. with a notarized certificate of title made out to the Democrat socialists. Then sit back and watch old J.W. do his work. Whether or not the mummy is really that of John Wilkes Booth, I suspect it will destroy socialism in this nation within a matter of weeks or months, giving us the opportunity to rebuild out country into the great nation envisioned by our founders.
Unleashing a mummy’s curse on our enemies is at best an unconventional political strategy that is certainly not PC, but hey! We do what we can with what we got! I’m not ashamed to reach out, for my children’s sake, to wherever help is available. Care to join me?
By the way, those of you who doubt the veracity of my little story can verify some of the facts by simply Googling various permutations of Booth, mummy, Finis Bates, and David E. George. Much of the story was published by major newspapers in Dallas, Enid, and Memphis. Finis Bates’ book is still available for purchase on Amazon.com. It actually sold more copies last year that a couple of my own missives. The mummy is real…the stories are verifiable…the conclusions are, well, speculative. I’m a natural skeptic, but I’m headed to my grandmother’s house to check out her attic.