Candle and the Wind - Autobiography - Dieter Fischer, Part 4.
Please note that the sequence of events in this book are not necessarily in date order.
1. My X and I
Sunday July 24th, 2005 was the day my wife Isobel and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. Such a milestone brings with it much reflection on the road travelled so far, and the current state of affairs.
I never imagined that the stale mate between us would continue for so long. She saw a husband behaving irrationally, running here, there and to Los Angeles. I believed in all honesty that what I saw and experienced daily was all true and real. The way I saw the complex world around me all made sense. I didn't have to invent magic, it just happened.
My family's deep seated, negative opinion of me lead to much frustration. We all had to learn lessons in longsuffering. I had thought and written two years ago that by just loving my wife more I would make her see things my way. I had done my best, but nothing changed - I was a mentally ill man and needed help. I was a prisoner whenever I was at home. As soon as I stepped outside, sometimes literally, I would noticed something exciting, which only I could perceive as such.
I was hoping that my creation, the simple retelling of my unusual journey, was having an impact on readers and many would start their own walk with God. This I believed was my calling and I tried to fulfil it to the best of my ability. I had called myself a prophet long ago. It took another 2 years to give up my day job.
In January 05 I had finally quit driving instructing. Despite constant reports of South Australian young drivers being the worst trained in the nation, the system, which was the catalyst for major stress years ago, had not changed. I was preparing to make some money from my driving-school website, which I was hoping would help pay the bills in the future.
As happened after my first surprise excursion to the USA in 03, my family soon accepted that my condition (they’d call it illness) included trips away, be it in the car to Melbourne or in a jet to LA. How they reconciled that I was living an otherwise normal life, I do not know.
My whistle-blowing career reached a higher level in May/June 05 with a public appearance at the Kapunda Road Royal Commission. My dealings in the Liddy case made me think completely different to what was the general view by the newspapers (and therefore by the public) - that a high profile barrister, literally, got away with murder, receiving favourable treatment. (I may go into details of my submission in later chapter).
Crash near our house on the corner McIntyre/Nelson Roads. The damage to the Suzuki looked minimal, considering the car supposedly rolled on turning the sharp corner.
The photo was taken around the time I raised concerns about the crash investigations at the Kapunda Road Royal Commission. From my observations the damage on the hit-run vehicle was too severe to what had allegedly taken place on the road.
As I had done for many years, in mid 2005 I was still writing emails to the media. I commented on issues or items, when they didn’t make sense, especially when I deciphered data in my own special code, I called it Da Ninci. It had become almost like an alternative language, communicating with letters and numbers.
Almost everyday I saw God working behind the scenes, arranging some astonishing circumstances. Some of what was happening was beyond human reasoning or arranging. I would be a genius, if I were the master planner behind all.
On June 28th, 05 on the evening news I saw a live broadcast from a crime scene in the southern suburbs. Watching it I received an immediate and definite inkling that I was listening to a fairy tale. The case was very similar to one I had discovered about 18 months earlier in the suburb of Prospect. A schoolgirl told of an attempted kidnap and assault. It sounded sounded far-fetched. I raised doubts, suspecting the girl was making it all up. (Mind, Chapter 35).
In the same chapter I also highlighted a story of a rape by a man in a white beanie. It took place in the southern suburbs of Adelaide. I had travelled there and noticed it was not far from bus stop 65. (Please note this number, in a moment we will use it).
This June 2005 case in Adelaide's South involved also a kidnapping from a bus stop. Again, there were no witnesses, no evidence, and just one girl telling a sorry-story. It surprised me, how the media grabbed hold of it and presented it so convincingly.
The outside broadcast on TV reported the crime scene as bus stop 66A in Galloway Ave, O’Sullivan’s Beach. With this bit of information (I did not even read the newspaper article first) I took my bicycle on the train the next day, to take a first hand look at the locality. I discovered a few facts, which made me more convinced that something was terribly wrong, or someone was teasing my Da Ninci brain.
I wheeled my bike out on the western side of the Noarlunga Centre Railway Station and immediately saw bus stop No. 66A. For a moment I thought I had, by chance, stumbled at the alleged crime scene. The street, however, was called James Clark Drive. Clark (C lark) made me think, somebody may be playing tricks. The first two letters of James in German mean, yes – say no more.
'Buy four get one free' turned into a different message.
On the way to find bus stop 66A I picked up a piece of cardboard. (The name Erin Street was incorrect. Looking at the map later I think it was in Elgin Street, where I picked it up; two streets further north, off Dyson Road. UBD Map 185).
Since I had no business cards left, the shoebox size cardboard came in very useful. I made little cards to later include the 'never forget one' message in my letters to the media.
The alleged assault supposedly had taken place on a Sunday morning. I looked at the timetable displayed at the bus stop and found out that no buses operated on Sundays. I became more convinced that either the girl was spinning a yarn to get attention, or she did not exist. If this was the case, what would be the reason for such an elaborate hoax? Who was instigating it? And why use my Da Ninci code?
Looking at the area in the street directory the day before, I had discovered a complex link from this story to the McGee hit-run-crash investigation. One particular street name had me fascinated – Tingira St. You see, only a few days prior to this, I had visited a person in a street called Tingara St, a road close to where the victim of the hit-run crash on the Kapunda Road had lived. I interviewed a friend in relation to the case. Did you noticed the change, from I to A?
Now take bus stop 66A and deduct bus stop 65. It doesn't take advanced Algebra to arrive at 1 A, very similar to I A. My exploratory mind still went one step further. The reporter’s name, the one who had reported live from the location, ended in ‘ia’. To mention the full name plus her surname may cause Dan Ninci overload. I shall keep this a trade secret. Just believe me, it fits perfectly.
I made a point of cycling the couple of kilometers to bus stop 65, near Cardijn College, on Goldsmith Drive, the scene of the alleged white beanie rapist. The codes kept coming. I noticed a wrapper blowing in the wind and stopped to pick it up.
Found on bus stop 65. Label off a bottle of juice.
Notice, the name starts with Hi, and ends in I c e? It took all my advanced Da Ninci skills to see 'Arrange Man go'. Can you see it too?
I also collected a souvenir from the same bus stop; a little plastic box of Tic Tacs. Until then I didn’t know they come as 15 G (15 grams).
Was somebody trying to tell me something, in this cryptic, secret fashion? I thought so, because there’s more!
Reading the location of the area in the UBD, the street directory I was using, the location of Galloway Ave. is H1 / J4 (Hi for J). Somebody surely put a lot of thinking behind this.
Just the mention any of this kind of linking/thinking to my family, would earn me a mouthful of scorn. It actually did, the night before, when I read the map and noticed another street name Selway - See L- way.
My son had taken a call for me from a person with the identical name. Just the casual mention that the two names were matching got me into hot water. If they could not see those simple links, I would never be able to fill them in on more complex ones. When you are labeled mentally ill, any such comment is regarded as an outworking of my illness. I wonder, who is ill in this case?
These were the kind of experiences which alienated me and my family, making me feel a stranger in my own home at times. I could have easily became bitter toward them, but chose not to. My way was the L-way.
De-coding all this was interesting. But what was the deeper meaning behind it all? Was there an organisation who was merely playing mind games with a …blogger? Unless, and this would make sense, there are believers, who had read my writing, believed in my philosophies and my codes, and wanted to demonstrate how easily it was to lead the masses astray?
I saw a further reason, why somebody would go to such length in fabricating a false story. Was it a test if my claims of having special insight into things are true, something which I had claimed? If I identified the story as false and commented on it, would this not demonstrate that I could discern truth from lies?
With those thoughts in mind I wrote a letter to the TV Channel concerned, with copies to other media outlets and some politicians. Among the recipients was a senior Government Minister. (He acknowledged receipt a few weeks earlier, nothing else as yet). Here is my letter, written four days before it was actually posted.
Channel XXX News
Abduction O’Sullivans Beach - Sunday 26/6/05
On Tuesday June 28th, 05 your evening News carried the story of a 16-yo. girl being abducted from bus stop 66A in O’Sullivans Beach. You even had a live outside broadcast on location.
The Advertiser the next day reported the same incident on the front page, where it’s printed as having occurred on Sunday 26th, 10.15 am. On page 2 their illustration of the locality shows it happened on Saturday at 10.30 am?
To be frank with you, I don’t know where the story came from. So much of it does not make sense, just like the two stories I picked up a year or so ago. One was an alleged attack at a bus stop in Prospect, which didn’t exist; the other, an alleged rape, near bus stop 65, only one or two kilometers from the O’Sullivan incident. (Strange: 66A minus 65 = 1 A).
I have a number of questions. Why was the incident kept quiet for 21/2 days, while a group of rapists may have been at large? Why is the girl unable to give a clearer description of her attackers, other than they were male? Was the girl questioned thoroughly as to the truthfulness of her story, if indeed she exists?
If she claimed she was waiting to catch a bus, she was either lying (there are no buses on routes 724, 730 and 731 along Galloway Rd. on Sundays) or she didn’t know there are no buses on Sundays, which is unlikely, if she’s a local.
It would be a most interesting exercise to trace the origins and subsequent route of this story or any news item on TV or in the Newspaper. What if a police officer makes up a story and feeds it to the media? To what degree is it checked for accuracy? Is there a market for good stories and what’s the price tag? Is their value measured according to the amount of drama, scandal, blood, sex or murder it contains?
The average citizen, while eating his dinner in front of the TV, swallows anything served fresh from a flat screen. We haven’t progressed much since Gladiators fought hungry lions to entertain bloodthirsty crowds all those centuries ago.
I urge you and all your colleagues in the media to recognize the enormous power you have in shaping the thinking of the general population. Do not misuse the powers given to you to sway voters before an election, to bring down honest people by portraying them in a bad light or to create fear, by reporting crimes that may not have happened. With power comes responsibility.
You are only acting responsibly, if you report truthfully. Sadly, the truth often gets in the way of a good story. I hope they catch the kidnappers of the poor girl abducted from O’Sullivans Beach soon; otherwise they have to invent them.
Dieter Fischer L.O.T.
PS Please ask me, what the letters after my name stand for. They mean a lot to me.
The very next day (6/7/05) after posting my letters, timed perfectly, on page 2 of our daily newspaper, The Advertiser, I read this small article. (There were similar items on the TV News).
This article appeared on page 2 of the Advertiser on the very day my letter would have arrived in their mail box. My suspicious mind wondered, if my mail had been opened en-route somewhere and prompted the timely correction?
Needless to say, if the story had really been a complete fabrication, above article would be a lie to cover up a lie. Would the police be able to give me the name and address of the 16-year-old girl, if I asked who she was?
Journalists have an important role to play in society. They make a living by gathering and passing on information. To what degree are these, often very young people, required to find out, if what is given to them is true? What if an alert reporter were to find out that the story he's been given to present, was not true? Could he/she refuse to be part of false reporting?
For a Christian telling lies is a serious breach of the Ten Commandments. Above scenario would create a real dilemma for a conscientious mind. I am sure there are other occupations, where Christians in the workforce have to decide to either make a stand or become part of the lie.
Anybody caught in such a dilemma has no easy task. Let's remember as Christians we are the salt of the earth. I’d rather change to a lower paid occupation, one I can work in with a clear conscience, than being part of a team making a profit in dishonest ways. In the long term truth and honesty generate their own reward.
I often wondered, why God was working through codes, names and numbers? What practical outcome there was in de-coding messages, linking data and living this mystery? Would not preaching or praying for sick be a more practical way for God to work? Healing the sick, even raising people from the dead, are HIS specialty. I don't have the answer to this question. All I know is - God knows what HE is doing.
When I looked at the bigger picture and searched for a reason, why God would make me doubt media reports, I came up with only one conclusion - It was to highlight the need for an industry to clean up their act - a wake-up call to a profession to return to their core business – reporting fact not writing fiction, unless it is clearly presented as such.
Too much information from spin-doctors is taken at face value and released without anybody double-checking for truth.
Another news item I recognized as mildly improbable came over the radio on Monday June 13th. I woke real early. It was the day I was uploading two chapters in Part 3 (Found). There was a shower of rain around 4.45 am, but not much the rest of the day. In between preparing chapters 38 and 39 for publication I overheard a news item on the radio: A letterbox in a nearby suburb had white powder sprinkled in and around it.
Somebody reported it to police. The fire brigade was called in; the road blocked off etc. I had considered leaving my writing and cycling to the location. It would have taken 5 minutes. I was glad I didn't. It turned out a hoax.
The next morning out of curiosity I made a little detour on the way to the city. I suspected something about the location would hold a clue, just for me to discover. I wasn't disappointed. I turned right off McIntyre Road an saw the letterbox straight away. All looked normal.
I drove past bus stop 44B and took note of a street name. It starts with Tit and ends in us (Titmus Street). Only on the return trip, driving slowly past the road works, I saw on the opposite side the name of a side street, which I suspected was the real real reason for the whole exercise - Dexter Street.
Exchange the X for an I and it almost spells my Christian name, Dieter. The misspelling to Deiter is very common. In a way - they go well together.What can we all learn from this? Use powder responsibly!