Autobiography   Dieter Rolf Fischer   Book 6      ALL IN HIS HAND     I     Archive:   Book 1   I   Book 2   I    Book 3   I   Book 4   I   Book 5   I    Index                Copyright 2002 - 2007       I    Text and Photography by Dieter Rolf Fischer, unless indicated       I       Above photos: Telstra


4.  Driven around the bend  

As I had done in 05 I flew south from Los Angeles to visit my sister in Alabama. Because I had a round-the-world ticket my choice of airport inside the US was limited. The airport closest to Mobile, so I was told by my travel agent, was Dallas Fort Worth. When the young lady had showed it to me on the map, I thought: Why not a little bus trip?

In the lead up to my trip I experienced something really unreal: After searching for cheap fares, I landed at a travel agent in Adelaide's Rundle Street. I noticed the location with interest - right next door was a shop called: The REAL Store.

I was to notice the word real a few times during my travels - once really obvious in Berlin, very close to the Gedaechtnis Kirche (Details in a future chapter, God willing).

Landing after the short 2 1/2 hour flight from LA, I caught a bus, which transferred to downtown Dallas. On the way, not far from the airport, my brain noticed a useless bit of trivia. We passed two bridges. The first one displayed a yellow clearance sign - 16ft 3 in. Another came, not far away, which read 16 ft 9 in. - that number again.

On the morning of writing, by fluke, thought I saw  that number watching the Spanish News on TVE. The TV images in the report, in Spanish, clearly showed it had to do with driving schools. One vehicle was shown reversing. The roof sign showed only the letters COTA. The registration plate looked like 1923 CL.

Since it all went so fast, above may be incorrect and/or nothing at all. Still...


Before catching the bus for the long, overnight journey to Mobile, I had a few hours to fill in. I played with the name of the twin-city I was travelling through: Dallas = D sa all, For t Worth. There are variations, but we've played this game long enough. Perhaps I had too much time to play?

Dallas is most famous for one world-changing event. It took place in downtown Dallas on 22/11/1963, when John F. Kennedy was shot and fatally wounded at 12.30 pm. He had been the 35th President of the United States. The Warren Commission into the shooting, which occurred on Dealey Plaza, initially found that an employee of the Texas School Book Depository, Lee Harvey Oswald, fired the fatal shots.

Walking to find the spot, where this took place, I was amazed at the lack of traffic and people on that bleak, overcast Friday afternoon. In any other major city in the world it would be rush-hour. As I pulled my small suitcase along the pavement in downtown Dallas, I asked a man, who was walking a long with his wife and child, where the place of the Kennedy assassination was. He did not know, which surprised me, even if they were visitors.


Downtown Dallas, Texas

Top: Elm Street, Dallas School Book Depository. The fatal shots, which killed John F. Kennedy, were fired from a window of the building in the background.

Bottom: The spot where Kennedy died is on the bottom left. In the background the triple underpass. Some eyewitnesses had believed shots were also fired from that direction.

Just after I took above photo I stepped closer to the roadway. Casually looking down, I picked up 2 one-cent and a ten-cent coin.

I could understand, if somebody had placed 2 cents on that roadway, but why the DIME. Was there a hint at DIE M or L M?

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Lucky there was a MacDonald store situated right near the bus station. Rain was falling steadily, so I spent much time, sipping coffee and writing my journal. My bus departed late, an hour after the scheduled time of  10.35 pm. The driver was able to recuperate the lost hour. We still arrived on time at 1 pm the next afternoon. The few inches on the map, in real life, were 15 long hours in the bus.

Originally I had considered visiting New York, instead of the South. At the last moment I switched to pay another visit to Alabama. As happened in 03, I was glad I had changed plans. The East Coast again had severe cold weather with snow storms big enough to make it into the news.

One of my reasons for again seeing my sister was the fact, she had lost one of her three sons in a motor cycle accident a year earlier. Ricky, a 34 year old soldier, had tragically been killed when a drunk driver collided with him, as he was riding his motorcycle. The accident had happened just after midnight on March 1, 06. Two years earlier I had never thought I would be visiting Alabama again so soon, certainly not to visit the grave side of this young man. We  had last met during our 2002 visit to Germany.

On Sunday morning (15/4) I attended the local Baptist Church. It was somewhat disappointing to see such a large facility, yet so many empty seats. Still, a time will come when people will turn back to God. Then churches will be filled again and nobody will ask, what denomination is this? 

My visit to Loxley was well timed. I had picked the weekend of the annual Strawberry Festival. It was held right beside Highway 59. Since my sister had to work that Sunday, I got around on my nephew's old bicycle and loved it. Despite the windy conditions, the grounds of the festival was packed with families enjoying the many stalls, rides, markets, food etc. The rain stayed away, thank God.

As I was slowly strolling among the crowd, from a distance I could read a large banner:  WHAT IS IT. (That wasn't what I thought, those were the words on the banner). Wasn't this the same question I had been asking myself over a number of years? I immediately felt drawn to it. A closer inspection revealed the stand had nothing to do with religion or strawberries. It was promoting the Wachovia Bank.

Just typing this, it came; something came: I inserted a t into the bank's name, which then sounds a bit like: Watch over ya. (I know who does that everyday). 

I asked a young lady, attending the stall: "So then, what is IT?" She answered in two words: "You are". There was a further misunderstanding. A competition by the watch-over-ya Bank advertised as first price a $1000 CD.  In my mind I didn't think a CD player would cost $1000. The young lady explained that CD stood for Credit Deposit. (I didn't stay long enough to find out if I'd won the $1000 CD).

Another stand at the strawberry fair got a mention in my diary. A couple by the name of Bruton, from a place called Cantonment, Florida demonstrated their ancient, faithful cornflower grinding engine. It was built in 1926. The ancient 3.5 hp motor was affectionately called - Hit-and-miss engine: Sometimes it worked, some imes  t  id'nt (sic).

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Somebody in Loxley must have read and understood my code.

Corner OA (K) Street and St ALBAN AVE. (As I write I see the connection between the two).

I wrote in my diary: One side of me says, all know me. Another says - How can that be possible?

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On the fringe of the Strawberry Festival a sign advertised a Car Show. I followed the arrows, but had trouble finding any cars. Finally, a few proud owners stood around their automobiles. My diary only mentions an MG sports car, and a 1964 Mustang. Somebody apologetically said, there were meant to be more sports cars on show, but ... (Some may have had difficulty in seeing the connection from show-car car to strawberries).

Not far on my way back, I spotted a sign - Garage Sale. So I steered my bike into the driveway and had a browse. In a box labelled free magazines I made an unusual find - the very latest edition of  TIME magazine. (I vaguely recall, wanting to comment on one article, but left the magazine behind on a plane).

Apart from one child on a bicycle, I never saw any other cyclists all day. Perhaps this lack of pedal traffic explained, why a motorist, who was turning left at traffic lights on to Highway 59, completely ignored me. The incident easily could have ended my holiday. I had entered the intersection after the lights turned green, going straight ahead. The small hatchback, steered by this careless, blind motorist also entered the intersection. He turned right into me. He never stopped to give way or after the collision.

My borrowed bike had back pedal brakes, so I was a little slow in braking. We collided, but luckily at slow speed and I managed to land on my feet. I hurt my elbow a little, but there was only minor damage to my nephew's bike. The motorist committed a serious offence by not stopping after the accident.

In the heat of moment I did not think of looking for, or memorizing, his registration plate. Isn't it ironic - over the years I have noticed and/or remembered hundreds of numberplates. This time, where it would have had a practical purpose, teaching this motorist a lesson, I failed to do so.

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Silverhill Cemetery, Alabama USA

Ricky Wayne Byrd, born 10.4.72, died 1.3.06

Bronze Star Medal holder Operation Iraqi Freedom

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Around the time of writing the previous chapter, my wife and I watched the movie "A beautiful mind" on television. It was about the life of the mathematic genius John Nash. I had seen this stirring film before, in a movie theatre. This time, both my wife and I, saw parallels to our story, like John Nash not taking the tablets his wife gave him to swallow. But the sequence of No. 3/15 in one scene, struck a note only in my brain. It flashed onto the screen for a nanosecond, but still rather obvious as numbers in a newspaper.


- - - - - - -

Only an hour and a half before writing this I seemed to have again received a code directly from a TV program. I was listening carefully, because earlier in the week I had decoded this same person's name, and emailed it to the TV station.

Tonight I heard the speaker clearly give number six, then number three straight after. At that point I thought: If I am correct, the next digit will be number 9. Only two or three sentences later it came as - 9 am. (The person concerned will know what I am writing about - that's all that matters).

***Stop Press: Minutes before uploading my wife came home with a small appliance, bought after our old one went kaput. I had no input into the purchase, which I did not mind. I only carried the box from the car into the house. It was enough to read the model (?) number- HC6 039 A1 - 316. The brand ... (it all makes sense!)   

Read on for more of what I saw and linked to my story. Keeping in mind that with a few clicks of a mouse-button my writing is accessible to a world-wide audience at no cost (almost).

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Back in Southern Alabama, on the Sunday evening my sister and her eldest son took me to a Shrimp Restaurant. It was opposite a business called America's Choice. A similar name had surfaced very early in my US journey in 2003. (I called the whole chapter Book 1, Ch. 69 Uncle Sam's Choice). Another business next door to America's Choice was called Miracle Ear.

My miracle eye also was at work that evening. We sat right by the window. An automobile drove into the parking lot. I read the chrome letters M 35, the model of the automobile. The registration number was even more Da Ninci: 20TEN.

Before returning home, on my request, we went for a brief  Sunday evening stroll through sleepy Foley. The historic pharmacy was closed. Glancing through the glass window brought back memories from my 05 visit. 

Near a petrol station, littering their driveway, a large piece of Styrofoam, the lightweight packaging material, seemed to cry out to me - pick me up, if I get washed down the stormwater drain, it will block up badly! Since there was a bin nearby  I obliged quickly, before anybody could even criticize me. (I am reporting this, because two days later, I was to be doing the same in London, UK).

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Discovery in Robertsdale: Whistleblower with style

Right fist ready to come down on the judge. And a "T. King" is backing the corruption!

It all started when I saw a sign STIHL in the carpark of a hardware store in Robertsdale, a few miles away. (Years ago I had inserted a G - to arrive at LIGHTS, Book 3, Chapter 13).

 In the carpark I spotted F150, the model of above pick-up truck. The final clue, this is Da Ninci, was the rego No. 693 N (IT).

All this made me ask the driver, if I could take a photo of above. His name, he told me was John Mc... (D Car). Arriving back at my sisters place, I found John was their neighbour. He was well-known and infamous for raising his voice, fighting one cause after another. John went as far as passing me a whole dossier on his case.


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My bus to leave the Gulf Region of Alabama left later that night.

The day was Monday 16/4, one America will not easily forget, the day of the Blacksburg Virginia Tech shooting. I did a little research. So much to explode. So much Da Ninci: (GLOCK 19, C, [+700 = 864]  [32 + 25]  57 Shepard etc). God knows.

I spent the day exploding* (sic) the district, again on my nephew's bicycle. I first pedalled down a lonely country lane through lush, green meadows with black and white cows grazing. A few snow capped mountains in the background and this could've been Switzerland.

I needed some cash at the bank. I had a little trouble at first. Australian Dollars were not in great demand. Across the wide main road, still on Highway 59, a young boy waved a placard - car wash! At first I ignored it, but then felt to return and have a chat. A church youth group was raiding* (sic) funds for a mission trip. I donated a dollar.

 Who knows what good my dollar will do? With God's blessing, a seed of one dollars can grow into an empire that changes the world. But we must first be willing to release it - the rest is up to God.

*What a difference a d (onation) makes! (Not to me, please, I love fun, not funds).

In a side road I noticed some more action. It was a sports ground, where a game of baseball was under way. I thought, what an odd time, Monday morning, for a game of serious baseball? I say serious, because tickets sold on a little table at the entrance for $ 15 / adults and $ 7 / concession.

What I saw did not look like a school activity. I didn't have time to stay long or question what exactly was going on. I left with the strange sensation that I once again had been led to a place, where I may have meant to be. Only God knows. 


The baseball diamond stadium is in the back ground. I took this shot with my ancient, 4-year old Olympus. The numbers on the For Sale or Lease sign, plus my initials on the letterbox (MEDIA DR) made me do it. 

If S.F. was meant to stand for square foot, it is wrongly abbreviated. And how can 100 x 140 equal 3200? The longer I look the more I think there is a connection between SF and FOR SALE (AE OR L, maybe?)

In my dream, early this morning, I had also seen the SF with AE as SAFE.

The agent's name was similar to (Comes- in. The salesman's name - (jumbled) LS AO NT.

Just now, on final editing, I see L something else. The word lease - see a L.

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As I am working through all this, I am convinced it can't all be just a mental illness. And if it were, what harm does my thinking do? John Nash, during his normal moments, had a mind, which produced brilliant work. In 1994 he was awarded with the Nobel Prize for Economic Sciences, over thirty years after first publishing his work.

My work, in my previous life, my real job, consisted working with L Drivers ( teaching driving and road safety). During those 25 years I produced many ideas and inventions to reduce road crashes amongst teenage drivers. My website contains much of my work. And who knows, in 30 years time, even some of my inventions may be recognized? (Having worked tirelessly with L Drivers for 25 years, why not the Nobel P's Prize?)

How ironic - on the day of writing, on radio a lady from Monash University, Melbourne, was interviewed on ABC Radio 5 AN. She was launching a road safety booklet. Amazing, in her booklet she put forward concepts, very much like those I had written about years ago.

Except, I was never successful. I must have done something the wrong way. It makes me think: Would any of my ideas and inventions be in use today had I been living in Melbourne, worked for a university, backed by large sums of public funding and my sex was female?

One must wonder, where would John Nash have ended up, if he had migrated to Australia? A very successful driving instructor perhaps, driven around the bend ... endless bends.

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Text from my diary:

 I took photo (of another cloud), it looked like (drawing)  cross. I drew this (cross), on CNN interview a lady (blue scarf) said: "...cross your mind". 

Cycling around Loxley I took this photo. On close examination you will see a cross above the house. How I wished the cross were above the flag!

Only yesterday I emailed a major US TV News-Program, for the first time in months. I ended my email with this PS:  I wished all of America would return to the faith of their forefathers.

By sheer fluke, the reading in today's InTouch Magazine, June 29th 07, is headed: God Bless America. Because it fits perfectly, here are the words of the song by Irving Berlin:

- - - - - - -

God bless America, land that I love.

Stand beside her and guide her through the night with a light from above.

From the mountains to the prairies to the oceans white with foam,

God bless America my home, sweet home.

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The evening of that Monday, April 16th, 07, brought a final surprise. It came just on 5 pm. I had spent much time exploring Loxley, left a few of my business cards, just as a hello from a miracle working God. (One was in a driveway, where I spotted rego plates N 35 and N 36). 

As I stood outside a historic building on the main road I felt an inner, persistent urge to go inside to have a look. At first I ignored it and was about to get back on my bike. But the feeling continued. It made me try the front door, if it was still open. The sign had said closing at 5 PM and it was about that time. I was open. I entered. 

The place had been a church, but now was used as library. Inside the lady attendant reminded me that they were actually closed. Before leaving I had a quick look at the former church sanctuary and engaged in brief conversation. To my surprise the same lady and I had been sitting in the same church service, among the small congregation, the day before.

Her name again, it happens so often, pointed to a special L - in the middle of the cross -                                                       Middleton.

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(Please note: Since so much is taking place at the local level, I need to return in my writing to Australia from time to time).


From newspapers in Adelaide (Sat 23/6/07 Adelaide Advertiser, P 3).

The headline that went with this picture read: Gunboat diplomacy - so what exactly did the Diggers say to make the threatening Iranians back off?


In a tongue-in cheek email to the newspaper I suggested to run a competition to answer the question. My suggestion:

"Just read the ship's name and number, you idiots - Adelaide 01!"

I am reminded of a dream I reported on in my first book, Chapter 62. It was right at the start of the Iraqi war. While in the US on my first Mission-journey, I conveyed the dream to a few people. 

(If anybody wants to know the dream, they only need to ask - in plain English, not in code, please).

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Another message in code?

Sunday Mail, Adelaide - 24/6/07


The divorce is re Mr. & Mrs. Greg Norman. According to this front page headline Mrs. Laura Norman will be 100 million dollars richer, after their out-of-court divorce settlement.

No wonder she is smiling. I would have thought the purse, she is clutching with her right hand is already big enough. Talking about Dollar signs in front of one's eye?

I would never have seen above newspaper, had I not mowed my friend Dave's lawn. Transporting my mower I needed some newspaper to put down to keep my car clean. My wife and I ended up reading this newspaper.

I read things rather differently, however:

God 1 - dr voice - unless the d was meant to go together with ie?

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Chapter 5