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The Uni-Bomber & Me


Location: Unknown

Sub-title: Son, have you ever been arrested?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I have been arrested, more than once. Want to know why? Keep reading . . . .

The first time I got arrested . . . .

(1). Twenty-two years ago, in 1986, there was a family crisis that caused me to have a bout with insomnia. I had gone for seven or eight days and nights without any sleep, and had become addled and disoriented. I accidentally broke a couple of windows. The cops whisked me off to a hospital where I was treated for insomnia and released. I paid for the windows and the charges were dropped.

(a.) I was a lot stressed out over the mysterious death of some of my high dollar horses (amongst other things). One of them was an own daughter of the famous World's Champion Cutting Horse, ‘Doc's Oak'. Her name was ‘Oak N Sugar'. I had turned down an offer of ten thousand dollars for her, because (I figured) she was worth a lot more as a performance Quarter Horse, and might produce a hundred thousand dollars worth of offspring later on as a brood mare. She was beautifully bred Sugar Bars on the bottom side.

The horses were either killed or died mysteriously in summer of 1985, the same month that The New West House published the anti-environmentalist manifesto titled The Wilderness Rape, written by myself. I was on the road on a book tour at the time. Because of the strangeness of the circumstances and the fact that the Sheriff's officers were there to file a report, my (then) wife (Linda Phares Chappell, now deceased) was scared out of her mind and I told her to go stay with her parents, because I suspected there might be grave danger. I also told Linda to call the Veterinarian and have him come out and do a post mortem operation on Oak N Sugar to find out what killed her.

When the results from the post mortem operation came back from the lab, they determined she had died of "Some strange kind of internal poisoning" that they could not or would not identify. (*Ted Hoffman of Knight Veterinary Hospital in Mtn. Home, Idaho did the post mortem).

That was the year that the government was spraying for grasshoppers, so I shrugged, wrote it off to grasshopper spray, and hoped that it wasn't eco-terrorism. However, the veterinarian told me candidly that grasshopper spray wouldn't tear a horse up on the inside like that, and that grasshopper spray wouldn't kill horses. But, to allay Linda's fear, I let her think it was the grasshopper spray. And some people said that they were using some more powerful spray than usual that year, spray that was not prescribed, or allowed by rule, but some sprayers were using it anyway. So, I never did know for sure what killed the horses, but was suspicious.

Because of the trauma with the horses and other strange goings on in the area, Linda got scared and left home in 1986. Can't say that I blame her. It was probably in her best interest, and the best interest of our children. There was a war going on out there, and I felt compelled to go and fight that war.

(a) The Uni-Bomber was on a rampage and it was later determined that he had a hit list. I never did know for certain whether or not my name was on that list, but it was a generally safe assumption, given the circumstances of the times. If this were true, the most likely target would have been my home, with my wife & kids inside. Eco-terrorism was heating up all over the west. The spotted owl eco-terrorists were wreaking havoc all up and down the Pacific Coast, sabotaging equipment, starting fires, spiking trees, bombing sporadically, threatening to ‘kill people to save animals'. (They even published a book by that title.) The Uni-Bomber was one of their cult heroes.

(b) From 1986 through 1989 I had been working periodically with Bill Dennison, President of the Timber Association of California, and many other grassroots groups, including the Yellow Ribbon Coalition. Because I had sold ten thousand copies of ‘The Wilderness Rape' from Sacramento to Portland, Bill Dennison and The Timber Association had me out to entertain a crowd of five thousand plus in Redding, California at a rally to protest the spotted owl fraud.

(c) A few years later, the Uni-Bomber sent a package addressed to Bill Dennison who had recently retired. His successor, Gill Murray, opened the package because it was addressed to the President of the Timber Association. The package blew up and killed Gill Murray and nearly killed his secretary.

(d) Back in 1986, the first time I got arrested, I had reason to be stressed out, because I intuitively knew my name was probably on some eco-terrorist hit list.

(f). In 1986, after having experienced that bout with insomnia, a doctor prescribed some pills for me to get to sleep with, but the pills left me dazed the next morning, and unable to function. Even though they cost about $100 a bottle, I threw them away, went to the grocery store and bought a nice fat bottle of dark red Basque wine. I woke up in the morning fresh and alert and ready to roll. Ever since then, I drink red wine to go to sleep with, and highly recommend it to anyone who needs a little sleep. Yes, I do have a favorite brand.

The next time I got arrested . . . .

(2). In 1987, Claude Dallas was captured (captured again, after he had fled from prison to avoid assassination). He went to trial on the charge of escape. There is a long history behind this story. We (me and my friends) all believed that Claude was relatively ‘innocent' by circumstance. Had I known then what I discovered later, I would have done a lot more to probe deeper into that case, and would have gone to greater lengths to help.

(a) I first met Claude Dallas when I was seventeen, at the McDermitt, Nevada Fourth of July Rodeo in 1969. There's a great story to go with this, but I'll forego that for now.

(b) In 1987, (seven years prior to Gill Murray's assassination), Coco Ikes called me in Bruneau and asked me to help raise money to pay Claude's attorney's fees. Although Coco had enough money to do that all by herself, she wanted to find out how many people would step forward and pitch in to help old Claude. We set up a loose-knit committee to raise funds and support.

(c) I agreed to manage the media, and start a fund raiser. I put out press releases and fueled the fire. On my way to Sacramento to give a talk for the Timber Association of California, I stopped in Elko, Nevada during the Cowboy Poetry Gathering and leased the sale barn at the Elko County Fair Grounds to hold a benefit auction. I did not tell the Fair Board who the benefit was for. I then put out a press release to the effect that a benefit for Claude Dallas would be held in the sale barn at the Elko County Fair Grounds.

(d) When the mayor of Elko found out, and the Fair Board found out, and a few flagrant locals were irate, they cancelled our lease on the sale barn and refunded the money. I did not know they would do that, but figured that if they did, our committee would reap the benefits of major media coverage.

(e) The Mayor of Elko issued a statement about the benefit auction and me, and made a few denigrating remarks addressed to me and our Committee. So, I wrote a front page article to retaliate, blasting the Mayor and all of his cast and crew. The article took up half the front page on both the Elko Frees Press and the Elko Independent newspapers. I also did a television interview with Lori Gilbert that went national.

(f) Let's back up a bit. From 1986 through 1988 there was a divorce going on, and a controversy over between Linda, her parents, and me. The divorce decree had awarded me custody of the children, because Linda fled, and lost custody by default. Her parents wanted her to have the kids, so they hired a top flight lawyer (*Michael McLaughlin, now a Supreme Court Judge). I had to defend myself, so I used a top flight lawyer. (*Barry Marcus, who basically worked on a pro bono basis in this particular case).

(g) The Claude Dallas case was headline news and old Jack Wayne Chappell was in the middle of it. Due to all the turmoil and controversy, the bankers cut off all my credit, bounced a dozen or more checks that should have been paid. I had to cover those out of hand, and by 1988 I was forced to liquidate all material assets.

(h) In 1987, having no more credit and no more money, all I really had was what I made on my book tour. My goal had always been to get books out nationally. I was headed from Elko to Sacramento and doing the Claude Dallas thing as a favor. I had a presentation to make in Sacramento that I hoped would make some money, but I needed to make a clean, sweet presentation in Sacramento.

(i) When I do public speaking, I like to wear contact lenses, because you get a clearer line of communication than if you wear glasses. I had no contact lenses, so, when I first got in to Elko, I went to see an eye doctor and told him, "I have to have some lenses, because I have interviews and presentations to make. I have no money in the bank right now, but I'm picking up a check in California, and if you'll hold a check for me until I send money to the bank, I'll call you when I get the deposit made, and you can go ahead and send in the check." The eye doctor said, "Sure. I can do that." The check was for about $300 to cover the eye exam and a supply of lenses.

(j) Then, not knowing that the mayor was going to raise hell over the Claude Dallas benefit, I went about my business. The mayor fired away at me on a tangent, I shot back, and shot him down, then took off to Sacramento.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . .

(i). The mayor of Elko was pissed, and one of the local citizens who became irate was the doggoned eye doctor who was (presumably) one of the mayor's cronies. He had a hold check in his hand, and he and the mayor and their other (presumed) crony, the city prosecutor, MIGHT have, just maybe, figured out that if they sent that check in and it bounced, they could charge me with a felony and have me sitting next to Claude Dallas in jail.

(j). Unbeknown to me, as I innocently toured California, the check was sent in, sure enough, it bounced, and I can just pretend to hear that old mayor saying, "Hot dickety dawg! We got ‘eem, now, boys!"

(l). After my presentation in Sacramento where I did not get the check I had anticipated, I was on my way to Grant's Pass Oregon to meet with Jim Peterson, Editor in Chief of Evergreen Magazine, and leader of the local chapter of the Yellow Ribbon Coalition. I had to get a check in Grant's Pass to cover the eye doctor, but wasn't worried, because he had agreed to hold the check until I called him to let him know that the deposit had been made. (That used to be a common practice).

I was tired from driving and stopped at a roadside park to take a nap. A cop happened by and wanted to see my driver's license, so I gave it to him. He ran it through the computer, and realized he had a notorious outlaw in his sights. He took me to jail. I called my mom who called my brother, who called one of his girlfriends in Elko.

(m). Mom wired the money for the check to the gal pal in Elko, she went and paid the check, and they dropped the charges, (very likely) knowing full well I could sue their asses for conspiracy and false arrest. (I have a few lawyer friends in Nevada). They very likely didn't want to run that risk. Of course this is only an assumption on my part, but you can bet I would have sued them if they hadn't left me alone.

(n). Conclusion? I hope the mayor and the prosecutor and the eye doctor all had a good laugh in 1987. They got their chicken-hearted revenge. And, yep, I got arrested.

The next time I got arrested . . . .

Excerpt from pg. 42 of the 2002 edition of ‘The Wilderness Rape', by Jack Wayne Chappell:

‘On April 24, 1995 a historic murder shocked most of the nation to its senses:

The Unibomber murdered Gilbert Murray, President of the Timber Association of California. With all the press and sensationalism came a general awareness that the Unibomber was a sociopath who espoused the same general philosophy as other radical militants in the "green" movement. Gil Murray, a fine American man, a family man, gifted forester, murdered in the prime of his life . . .'

(3). In 1995 I was staying with a friend in Reno, taking a break for touring the country and working with grassroots coalitions. I was learning how to play semi-professional poker, shoeing horses, selling books, and giving talks locally. My friend's name is Gloria Taylor, she and her mother shared a house at that time and had extra room. She worked for Harrah's Casino. We met when she called me to come out and shoe a couple of problem horses, and we were immediately attracted to each other. We dated, and before long she invited me to come and stay at her place for a while until I found a place of my own.

(a.) When the news came in about the murder of Gill Murray, and the newspapers alleged that the Uni-Bomber had a ‘hit list', I thought: Well, now, no kidding. Sure took them long enough to figure that out. Both Grant Gerber and I had figured that one out many long years ago. Grant Gerber is a cowboy lawyer in Elko, and long time anti-environmentalist activist. The Uni-Bomber never knew where I was or where I would show up next, because I knew better than to publicize my appearances. But this time I had made a big mistake. I had been using Gloria's address as my own personal business address.

(b.) Though I was never acquainted with Gill Murray, I was well acquainted with Bill Dennison, the intended target. I quickly put two and two together and came up with 4. The Uni-Bomber had to be affiliated with the radical eco-group Earth First! There were also articles in the Reno paper about eco-sabotage and equipment being bombed in western Montana.

(c.) I had a friend in western Montana by the name of Bruce Vincent, so I called him to ask about the bombings up there. Bruce informed me that some very sophisticated bombs were being used, and one bomb was powerful enough that it had actually flipped over a D8 Caterpillar. He also said the Earth First people were prowling about all over western Montana.

(d). Since I had been all through western Montana and had sold over 5,000 protest books from the Big Hole all the way to Kalispell; since I then suspected that the Uni-Bomber was there in western Montana and would no doubt have picked up a copy of my manifesto, unbeknown to Gloria, I called the FBI in Carson City and left a message telling them that I had reason to suspect that the Uni-Bomber was hiding out there.

Note: I had not told Gloria about my dead horses, or much about my political activism, because I didn't want to alarm her.

(e). I had figured on settling in Reno and setting up a home office, so had notified people of my whereabouts and had published my mailing address at Gloria Taylor's residence. When I hung up the phone after calling the FBI, I thought, Oh, my God, Jackie, you just screwed up bad. If that sonofabitch finds out where you're living, he'll bomb this house and kill Gloria and her mother both. When Gloria got home from work, she knew I was upset, but didn't know why, and I wasn't about to tell her. That night I had a dream, and in the dream I had walked out of Gloria's house in Reno, and Gloria's horses were lying dead in the corral with bullet holes between their eyes. The dream, I figured, was a serious warning.

(f.) I knew where the Uni-Bomber was, and I became very angry that the FBI hadn't figured it out and gone and got the sonofabitch. The threat to Gloria and her mother's life I kept to myself, but I was burning angry on the inside and this caused a lot of stress between Gloria and I.

(g.) About that time a call came in from my mother, asking me to phone my brother, because another known terrorist in Owyhee County, Idaho had killed a bunch of Gordon King's cows, skinned off their brands, skinned the brands off the calves, and put someone else's brands on the calves. I knew something had to be done, that this situation was critical, and that I had to go. If the FBI ignored my tip (and they were receiving about a thousand tips per day, so it was likely they did ignore it), if that were the case, there had to be a way to entrap him (the Uni-Bomber). As to the Owyhee County cow killer, Sheriff Tim Nettleton assured me that the situation was under control. I wasn't sure, but wanted to make sure. So I had three jobs to attend to at once. 1. To flush out the Uni-Bomber; 2. to expose the cow killer terrorist; and; 3. to pay my way by selling books.

(h.) I told Gloria I had to go and she agreed, knowing that something was bad wrong. My old truck had worn out, so I told Gloria that if she would put up her Visa Card and get me a rental car, I would go sell enough books to buy a car of my own, and I'd pay the rent on the temporary car. She agreed. The rental company said that the car was to stay in state, unless permitted to leave the state. If I left the state, I was to call and let them know.

(i.) I had a lot of thinking to do about how to approach this problem, so I drove to Lovelock, Nevada and laid up for a couple of days, doing sales and thinking. I had made a lot of calls from Gloria's place, and had sent out some letters and an affidavit to the Attorney General's Office in Idaho, testifying as to what I knew about the ‘cow killer'. Anxiety stricken, I checked in with the local police and they contacted Sheriff Tim Nettleton, who told them to tell me to calm down and ‘let the law take its course'. I wasn't sure I had the time to let the law takes it's course. Gloria didn't know that she and her mother's life might be in serious danger. All this might sound a little fantastic, but it is true to the best of my knowledge and belief at this time, and I'd be willing to sign an affidavit to that effect.

(j.) While in Lovelock I ran into and old friend and famous cowboy, Jerry Chapin, former Nevada State Champion Bronc Rider, former cowboss, and then State Brand Inspector. Jerry had heard about the notorious ‘cow killer' and we both knew who he was. Both knowing he was a dangerous fellow, we did speculate as to what would be the outcome of this episode, and neither of us could draw any firm conclusion.

(k.) Knowing intuitively that the Uni-Bomber was somewhere in western Montana, and knowing something had to be done, I determined to work my way to Evanston, Wyoming and think about things as I went. I was acquainted with a few people there who might have interest in what I had surmised. I called Gloria to let her know I would be going out of state, and to let the rental car company know. In Evanston, I ran into an unexpected and unpleasant surprise.

(l.) Unbeknown to me, there were drug wars between gangs going on in Salt Lake City and all areas north, south, and east of SLC. When in Evanston, I always stayed at the same place, a quiet little motel that had a rustic lounge connected to the building. I pulled in there about dark and decided to have a glass of wine or two before checking into a room.

As luck would have it, I was wearing a cowboy scarf and ball cap, and having done sales all day, I took off my long sleeved shirt and threw it over the back seat before I entered the bar. The bartender recognized me and handed me a glass of wine. I said thanks and laid some money on the bar. There I was, wearing a ball cap, T-shirt, and bright blue scarf.

There were two rough looking men seated at the bar about three seats down. They stared at me, and then got up and came over, one to my left and the other to my right. They were wearing baggy clothes and both had baggy sweat shirts. Under the waist line of their sweat shirts, hip guns were not at all well concealed, and I thought, Uh-oh. What is this?

The two men, with death in their eyes, started grilling me about what I was doing in there. I called to the bartender saying, "Hey, tell these men you know me. My name is Jack Wayne Chappell, I'm from Idaho, and I write books."

I could describe these guys in greater detail, but I'll wait. In brief, one was husky and dark complexioned, what a writer would call ‘swarthy'; he was about 5'10", and weighed about a hundred and ninety pounds. The other was about 6'2", blond, and thin. Both had mean looks. The dark complexioned guy said, "Yeah? Well, we're from California, and were here on business. I want to know ~ where's the book." The way he said it was hard. The shooting kind of hard.

I said, "You just sit right down here. Let me buy you a drink! Bartender, get these two fine men a drink."

(m.) I had been around enough to know that I had stumbled into a pair of drug dealers who, because I was wearing a T-shirt, ball cap, and scarf, had mistaken me for a drug dealer from a rival gang. I entreated the bartender to tell them that he knew me, and being the astute gentleman that he was, he said, "Yeah, we know Jack. He's a writer. Here, I'll get your drinks."

The drug dealers (or paid street soldiers, whichever they were, did sit, but they were not at all convinced, and the swarthy one said, "I want to look over your books."

The bartender brought each a drink, I paid, and said, "I have three boxes of books right out in my car. You're welcome to come with me and look."

The swarthy one said, "Oh, I'm going to. You better have clean books."

I said, "I do. Let's go. I'll show you."

My car was right across the short parking way, about four car lengths from the door of the bar. My car was parked, back to the bar, front to the motel. I left my drink on the bar, half finished. The swarthy guy followed a couple of steps behind me as I walked to my car, popped open the trunk, open a box of books, and handed him a copy of ‘The Wilderness Rape'.

"This is not the kind of book I want to look at," he said.

"Well," I replied, "it's a good little book. It has a lot of good stories and a lot of good science. You and you friend can have that copy. Hey, let's go finish that drink."

The swarthy guy was puzzled, and he was thumbing through the book a little dumbfounded. We started walking back to the bar. His thin pal was now outside the bar door, and had a hand under his sweatshirt on the butt of his gun. The swarthy guy kept looking in the book, as if looking for stashed money or drugs. The thin guy looked ready to draw and shoot.

I said to the swarthy guy, "Hey, go ahead without me for a minute, I'm gonna get a travelers check and I'll buy you boys another round." With that I turned and marched back to my car, hopped in, stuck the key in the ignition, fire up and backed up, then took off as fast as I could go, and here those sonsofbitches came. They jumped in their car and came right after me. Heck I didn't have a gun.

Sound wild? There should be a police report in Evanston.

I knew the town, and they didn't. I shut off my headlights, ducked down a couple of side streets, knowing I'd never outrun them, and there was no way to get from where I was to the police station without getting shot. The police station was clear on the other side of town, and I couldn't outrun them in the rental car.

I drove to the nearest residential area, drove the car onto a vacant lot, shut it off, took the keys, and ran to the first residence with a porch light on, and pounded on the door.

A man opened the door and I said, "Call the cops! Call them right now. Some drug guys are after me, and I want to be arrested!" The man say, "Sure! Just get the hell outa here!" I said, "Okay. I'm gonna hide, but I'll be right here close by somewhere. Tell the cops to hurry! Those guys are right back there, and they're getting close!" The man said, "Okay, just git!"

I stripped off my white T-shirt and tossed it so it wouldn't show up in the dark, and ran across a yard and rolled up under a hedge row, covering myself with leaves. I laid quiet and still. I could hear the drug guys talking from somewhere near my car. Then, thankfully, I heard a police siren from a distance. The siren kept getting closer, I heard the drug guys talk some more, then I heard their car doors slam and heard them take off.

The police showed up fast. Those Evanston Blues were right on the ball. I laid still to make sure what was what, and pretty soon a flashlight shined in my eyes. I said, "I sure hope you guys are the cops." A man said, "We sure are. Get out from under there." I did.

I explained the situation to them and told them that jail was the safest place to put me because those drug guys were still hunting for me. They said, "Okay. You say you had a drink. We can arrest you for drunk in public."

I asked how much the fine was and they said ‘Fifty bucks." I said, "I'll pay it." They took me to jail and went out and prowled for the bad guys, who got the message and left town. The next day I called Gloria Taylor, explained the situation to her, and she wired the Evanston Blues the fifty dollars to make bail for me. I went about Evanston area doing a few sales and talked to a few people, then headed for Idaho to see what I could get done there. I sent the judge an affidavit, told him to keep the bail money to pay the fine, and thanked the cops for saving my ass.

They did not drop the charges of ‘drunk in public', but for fifty dollars, I wasn't about to belabor the charge. I felt lucky to get out of that one alive.

The next time I got arrested . . . .

. . . . Was just a few days later . . . .

(4). A day or so after spending the night in jail in Evanston, I checked into a room in Preston, Idaho, not too far away from Evanston. In the Salt Lake newspaper I read about the drug wars in and around Salt Lake. Now I had a better idea as to why those guys thought I was a rival gang member. (I made a mental note never to wear a T-shirt and scarf into another lounge.)

(a.) In Preston, I felt safe and sound and was out and about doing sales when a sedan with two baggy closed guys playing a boom box and cruising town started following me. I thought: Oh schidt, I hope that gang doesn't have a make on this car and they're all looking for me in these parts.

I didn't want to get crazy, because I wasn't absolutely sure they were following me by intention, they may have just been cruising town and had fallen in behind me by coincidence. So, I made a lazy side turn without putting on my turn signal, and they drove on by, but looked at me as they did. I turned down a side alley went around several different directions around several different blocks and headed out of town toward Pocatello.

Sure enough, as soon as I headed out of Preston on the highway heading for I-80, here those sonofabitches came. I stomped on the gas. I couldn't go back to the cops in Preston, because it was a two lane road and I'd never get back by the gang bangers. Again, I had been through this country before, and knew that about five miles ahead there was a turn off the highway, over a railroad track and out along the side of a wheat field, with a rutted irrigation road that you had to know how to drive on, or you'd get high-centered and stuck. Those guys wouldn't know how to straddle ruts and jump ditches in a street car. They'd get stuck. And, if I got stuck, I could always take off on foot and they'd never catch me. There was a back way out on the north end of that wheat field.

(b.) I outran the bastards to the turn off, dove off the highway, up the hill and across the railroad track, jumped and irrigation ditch, straddled the ruts in the field road, and, looking in the rear view mirror through the dust, it appeared that they stopped on the tracks and didn't dare follow. Five miles later, I drove out the back end of the wheat field, drove on out to the freeway and checked into a motel at a truck stop south of McCammon.

(c.) The former manager of this truck stop was an acquaintance of mine and I thought he was still in charge when I checked into the motel. I told the motel checker I would stay for two days, but would pay for one night at a time. I was hoping I was far enough north to be out of the range of the gang-bangers. Next day I went to Lava Hot Springs to do sales, but all of my buyers were out of town. When I pulled back into the truck stop motel for my second night's stay, I saw a car pass by that looked like the same one that had followed me out from Preston.

Now, I can't swear it was the same guys, but I was alarmed because they may have had me & my rental car marked. I went into the restaurant, and was going to go see the manager and tell him I'd had a bad day, didn't have enough money for room & meals, but I would call for a com-check.

(d.) To my surprise, the old Idaho manager had been replaced by a rectum from California. This guy was a real jerk. I talked to him briefly, told him I wanted my room and I'd go get a check.

Tired and hungry, and in bit of a foul mood, I went and got a bottle of wine from the truck stop store, took it into the restaurant and ordered a meal. I didn't have enough money on me to pay for the room and the meal and the wine, but figured I'd call Gloria or any other of my allies and have them send a com-check to the fuel desk at the truck stop.

Out of sorts, I guess I may have been snarling and angry as I sat there eating and drinking. The waiter came up and said, "Hey, the manager wants to talk to you."

Since the manager was a rectum, I said, "Well, tell him I'll be along shortly."

(e.) Several things were on my mind. The cops wouldn't believe me about the Uni-Bomber, or being chased by the drug dealers. They'd just check their computers and find out I was hospitalized for insomnia once, and arrested several times, and the idiots would arrest me again, unless I called for a com-check.

(f.) Since it was altogether likely that this drug gang had me marked and knew where I was, and since they had the car marked, the best thing I could possibly do would be to tell the manager to kiss my ass, and get myself arrested. Gloria would have to come get the car and take it back to Nevada, the drug runners would beat feet when the cops showed up, and I'd be safe and sound in jail in Pocatello. This sounded like a sweetheart deal to me, so I told the manager (politely) that if he wanted to have me arrested, I'd be happy to oblige. He did. I got a free ride to Pocatello in a Sheriff's mobile.

(g.) Next day they released me after I talked to the judge. I went and did some sales, went and got the car, drove back to Pokey and checked into a motel, called Gloria, who said she was coming to get the rental car. By this time, Gloria was out of sorts, but I'll give her credit. She stayed cool, even though she didn't what the effenelle was going on. She just wanted to cut all ties, but that's not exactly how things worked out.

(f.) In Pocatello something odd and completely coincidental happened. I observed a group of Earth First! radicals from California that I recognized from their hair-brained ‘Redwood Summer' ecotage campaign. I called the FBI and told the agent I spoke to that these lunatics were in town and up to no good.

(h.) The next day I phoned a friend and went to Blackfoot where I knew I could raise a few bucks to buy another car with. In Backfoot I picked up a Pocatello newspaper in Martha's Restaurant and read the headline: ANDERSON LUMBER BURNS TO THE GROUND!

(i.) I called the FBI and cussed them out good and proper for their failure to apprehend the Uni-Bomber, and for ignoring my warning about the eco-terrorists in Pocatello. Yes, I was cussing into a boss agent's answering machine. However, I do believe that I finally got their attention.

(j.) I sent a money order to the truck stop to pay the bill for the meal and the un-used motel room, called the prosecutor in Pocatello who dropped the charge for failure to pay at the truck stop, and went about doing PR and sales in Blackfoot.

(k.) I ate dinner every night at the Colonial Inn in Blackfoot, and there ran into Sandy Gillum, an insurance broker who lived in Spokane, Washington. She invited me to come and visit. This seemed perfect to me, because I could ease on up through eastern Montana, try to sniff out more about the Uni-Bomber, and beat feet to Spokane without any of the Earth First eco-terrorists even knowing I had been there.

(l.) So, I raised some money, bought old non-descript car, and eased on through eastern Montana, on up to Spokane.

The next time I got arrested has a prelude . . . .

1. Naturally, Sandy Gillum didn't know much about me. She owned Zimmerman-Gillum Independent Insurance Agency in Spokane. She was so ashamed of the old beater car I was driving that she bought me a little Ford Ranger pickup. Turned out to be a good truck. I told her I'd get back to her for the favor, and have reserved some treasury stock in an upstart company to compensate her for her generosity. Sandy had no idea what the effenelle was going on with me either, and I wasn't about to tell her. I decided to lay low that winter and hope the FBI caught up to the Uni-Bomber.

(a.) Having been competitive at horse shows and rodeos in my youth, I missed having a sport to indulge in. Having discovered how fun it was to play poker, I was playing poker and drinking wine at night to keep myself preoccupied. There really wasn't much else I knew how to do. It beat the hell out of being hospitalized for insomnia.

(b.) I had getting back with Gloria Taylor in mind, because I figured I owed her a favor. I wanted to get her some money, so I called her. I moseyed on down to Pendleton to play poker at the Wildhorse Casino and do sales around that area. Playing poker gave me time to think about things.

(c.) I did sales all through Oregon while moseying on down to Reno. I gave Gloria Taylor some money, renewed our friendship, and went on about my business, headed back through northern California, headed back to Oregon selling books and playing cards.

(d.) I stopped again in Redding at the Hilltop Casino. I was playing Omaha hi-low thankful to be alive and enjoying life. Like always, the drinks were cut off at one o'clock in the morning, and it was about 3:00 a.m. when I left. I figured on sleeping in my camper again, because if I rented a motel room I'd get kicked out at 10:00 a.m. which would be a short nap after a long night.

(e.) Driving toward a parking lot at about 25mph, I didn't realize that Hillside Blvd was a state highway and that the speed limit was 55mph. I pulled into the parking lot, shut off the pickup, and went to crawl into my camper to bed. All of sudden there's these red and blue lights flashing, and two cops, very much on the fight. I protested, they protested my protest, and hauled me off to jail. Next morning they let me go, and later reduced the charges. I had to pay a fine for ‘reckless driving'???? — doing 25mph in a 55mph zone. You know what that white stuff is on chickenschidt, don't you?

The next time I got arrested . . . .

1. I decided to chill out and play cards at the Wildhorse Casino in Pendleton while figuring out what to do next. Casinos are safe havens when danger is about, because of their fabulous security systems. I have often taken advantage of that fact.

Naturally, I was very upset about the cow killer, the Uni-Bomber, the multitude of eco-terrorists who were constantly bombing logging equipment, spiking trees, practicing political subterfuge & sabotage everywhere in the Pacific Northwest. These criminals were NEVER bought being brought to justice and the Uni-Bomber actually had a cult following of eco-freaks who were then and are now bent on the destroying America from within.

Things in America seemed to be going to hell in a hand-basket, and the law was practically siding up with the eco-terrorists. I was pissed, and decided to pull a protest prank in Ontario, Oregon. The details on this one are confidential. However, it was a harmless political stunt for which I knew I would be arrested. No crime was committed, but the cops in Ontario thought I was nuts. They grilled me thoroughly, but I didn't tell them what I was doing or why. All I did was walk into the security booth outside of Ore-Ida about midnight and told them to call the cops and have me arrested. They asked what for, and I said, "Because I told you to, now do it!"

(a.) Political activism can be a dangerous hobby. People love to stick their heads in the sand and ignore real danger, hoping that sooner or later it will go away. Not many people are willing to risk being arrested or going up against the corrupt and crooked laws that Congress has put on their books. People, I am here to tell you that the law is not God. God's law will always prevail. The government is not God, though many people worship the government as though it were.

(b.) There are now and always have been egomaniacal politicians and tyrants who have such delusions of grandeur that they think themselves to be supreme beings and gods. Megalomania is a common phenomenon in politics. Many people have branded me as a radical, but I'm not. Look below the surface. It's the other side — it's environmental socialism that is radical. Right now today, there are many powerful people in politics (if you'll tolerate a little light-hearted alliteration) who are in bed and politically copulating with radical environmental groups.

(c.) I'm just a man who believes in freedom and the right to the pursuit of happiness. I'm not radical at all. When the citizenry fails to uphold the Bill of Rights, human rights are out the window. There is a Campaign Promise at the end of this mini-manifesto, so if you've followed along this far, please do continue. Yes, I was arrested again in Ontario, Oregon. But, they couldn't think of anything to charge me with, because I hadn't broken any laws. They did rough me up pretty badly, and for no particular reason.

The last time I got arrested was after . . . .

They got the sonofabitch . . .

1. The FBI arrested the Uni-Bomber on April 3, 1996. His brother was credited with turning him in, and probably collected the reward. Whether my efforts to disclose his whereabouts was ever made note of, I may often wonder and never know. Many of us breathed a big sigh of relief, and I decided to de-stress and enjoy my life. Let me here announce that I am grateful and indebted to the FBI agents who brought that rotten sonofabitch to justice. Thank you.

(a.) The cow-killer terrorists got off Scott free. I was angry about that, but the cow killers were no threat to me, so I decided to run for Governor in the next election year, which was still two years away. Since the Uni-Bomber was finally behind bars, I felt that I could keep a permanent address without getting blown to smithereens, and wanted to pull a stunt that would draw some attention to the communications and entertainment ventures I had embarked upon.

(b.) So, in 1998 I did a simple media stunt as a means to help sell out another short run of 15,000 books and draw more attention to the internal threat to America — environmental socialism. It worked. Some of you will remember me riding around holding press conferences while on board a mule. It was fun and funny, and is now a part of Idaho history.

(c.) Just about everybody who knows me knows that I like to go to Jackpot and play poker with the boys (and girls) in order to chill out, de-stress, get my mind right, and come up with new ideas. This is an appropriate place for me to say:

Thank you! to all of the people at Cactus Pete's and Four Jacks who have put up with me all these years, and I hope you all turn out and vote for me in this year's primary.

(c.) Early one morning about four years ago, after a long and not so prosperous night of poker, I was driving from Cactus Pete's to Four Jacks where Darrell Jack had given me a complimentary room. I had a tail light out. Yes, I'd had few glasses of wine, but not too many, according to me. Well, I was the only car on the road, it was nearly four in the morning, it was only a block to Four Jacks, and yes, I should have just walked, but it was a little chilly, and I never thought a thing about it. I wasn't speeding, or doing out anything out of the norm, but yes, I got a ticket for driving under the influence.

Do you remember what that white stuff on chickenschidt is? That's what my ticket was made of.


It was all about the revenue, baby. In many regions, today's cops and courts are completely out of control, and our justice system is a worldwide joke. We all know it. If you don't believe me, just look at the incredible number of people we have imprisoned in America, and look at how screwed up Idaho's prison system is. I would venture to say that most of the people in prison don't belong there.

I would also venture to say that there are a lot of people working for the government who need to be rehabilitated, retrained, and given real jobs producing real goods and services instead of living on the dole. This includes about 80% of the people who are employed by the BLM & Forest Service under the umbrella of the USDA. These people are not serving America, they are systematically working to destroy America. The Uni-Bomber and the eco-terrorists are the bastard children of environmental socialism, and there are plenty more of them living in fancy houses, collecting government paychecks, pretending to be ‘Ranger Rick'.

Okay, I promise to do my part. Now it's time for you to do yours.

Sincerely yours,
Jack Wayne Chappell

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