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Bluffton, SC
Retired near Hilton Head, SC
Poems
WIKI: The Wonderland Gang was centered on the occupants of a rented townhouse at 8763 Wonderland Avenue, in the Laurel Canyon section of Los Angeles, California: leader Ronald Lee "Ron" Launius; second-in-command William Raymond "Billy" DeVerell; DeVerell's girlfriend Joy Audrey Gold Miller, who was also the lease holder for the townhouse; Tracy Raymond McCourt; and David Clay Lind. All five were involved in drug use and drug dealing.[5]
On June 29, 1981, Launius, DeVerell, Lind, and McCourt committed a brutal home invasion and armed robbery at the home of Eddie Nash, a nightclub owner and organized crime figure. The incident resulted in Nash's bodyguard, Gregory Dewitt Diles, being shot and injured. Nash suspected that **** star John Holmes had been involved, as he had been at Nash's house three times on the morning of the attack (at which times Holmes left the sliding door open). Nash sent Diles to retrieve Holmes for questioning; Diles supposedly spotted Holmes walking around Hollywood wearing one of Nash's rings and brought him back. Scott Thorson, a former boyfriend of Liberace who was in Nash's house to buy drugs, claimed he witnessed Holmes being tied to a chair, and repeatedly punched and his family threatened, until he revealed the assailants' identities.[6][7]
Wonderland Gang murders
Around 3:00 am on July 1, 1981, two days after the robbery, an unknown number of unidentified men entered the Wonderland Avenue townhouse and bludgeoned to death Launius, DeVerell, Miller, and Barbara Richardson (Lind's girlfriend who had been visiting). The weapons used by the killers were believed to be a combination of hammers and metal pipes.
Richardson's bloodied body was found on the living room floor, beside the couch where she had been sleeping that night. Miller was found on her bed, with DeVerell at the foot of the bed in an upright position leaning against the TV stand; a hammer was found on the bed. Launius was found beaten to death on his bed with his gravely injured wife, Susan, beside him on the floor. Both bedrooms had been thoroughly searched and ransacked. Despite suffering severe brain damage in the attack, Susan ultimately survived and recovered, although she was left with permanent amnesia regarding the night of her attack, had to have part of her skull surgically removed, and lost part of one finger.[8]
Neither Lind nor McCourt was present during the attack. Lind was consuming drugs with a ******* in a motel and McCourt was at his own home.[9] Lind died of a ****** overdose in 1995, and McCourt died in 2006.[10]
Although neighbors would later report having heard loud screams around 3:00 am, no phone calls were placed to the police until 4:00 pm on July 1, over twelve hours later, when furniture movers working at the house next door to the crime scene heard Susan moaning and went to investigate. The house was notorious for round-the-clock mayhem and debauchery, and when questioned, neighbors said the Wonderland Gang's drug-fueled parties often included loud, violent screaming and disruptive noise, so when they heard the murders occurring, they simply believed another party was taking place.[citation needed]
On June 29, 1981, Launius, DeVerell, Lind, and McCourt committed a brutal home invasion and armed robbery at the home of Eddie Nash, a nightclub owner and organized crime figure. The incident resulted in Nash's bodyguard, Gregory Dewitt Diles, being shot and injured. Nash suspected that **** star John Holmes had been involved, as he had been at Nash's house three times on the morning of the attack (at which times Holmes left the sliding door open). Nash sent Diles to retrieve Holmes for questioning; Diles supposedly spotted Holmes walking around Hollywood wearing one of Nash's rings and brought him back. Scott Thorson, a former boyfriend of Liberace who was in Nash's house to buy drugs, claimed he witnessed Holmes being tied to a chair, and repeatedly punched and his family threatened, until he revealed the assailants' identities.[6][7]
Wonderland Gang murders
Around 3:00 am on July 1, 1981, two days after the robbery, an unknown number of unidentified men entered the Wonderland Avenue townhouse and bludgeoned to death Launius, DeVerell, Miller, and Barbara Richardson (Lind's girlfriend who had been visiting). The weapons used by the killers were believed to be a combination of hammers and metal pipes.
Richardson's bloodied body was found on the living room floor, beside the couch where she had been sleeping that night. Miller was found on her bed, with DeVerell at the foot of the bed in an upright position leaning against the TV stand; a hammer was found on the bed. Launius was found beaten to death on his bed with his gravely injured wife, Susan, beside him on the floor. Both bedrooms had been thoroughly searched and ransacked. Despite suffering severe brain damage in the attack, Susan ultimately survived and recovered, although she was left with permanent amnesia regarding the night of her attack, had to have part of her skull surgically removed, and lost part of one finger.[8]
Neither Lind nor McCourt was present during the attack. Lind was consuming drugs with a ******* in a motel and McCourt was at his own home.[9] Lind died of a ****** overdose in 1995, and McCourt died in 2006.[10]
Although neighbors would later report having heard loud screams around 3:00 am, no phone calls were placed to the police until 4:00 pm on July 1, over twelve hours later, when furniture movers working at the house next door to the crime scene heard Susan moaning and went to investigate. The house was notorious for round-the-clock mayhem and debauchery, and when questioned, neighbors said the Wonderland Gang's drug-fueled parties often included loud, violent screaming and disruptive noise, so when they heard the murders occurring, they simply believed another party was taking place.[citation needed]
Rollie Rathburn Apr 2019
On Hardcore: An Essay
Rollie Rathburn
Apr 2019
While capable of achieving abstract thought of the highest order, the human brain tends to function best when compartmentalizing data into manageable pieces. For example, the state in which one resides is useful in a macro view of geolocation, but largely useless when it comes to ordering a pizza. As such, our species developed streets, postal codes, cardinal directions, and a whole host of determining factors to describe your home with enough clarity to ensure your disc of cheesy goodness arrives safe and sound.
By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.ย ย But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, thereโs a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably wonโt appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.
It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* โkidsโ (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.
However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From itโs inception in punk scene during the late 1970โs, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but thatโs only because we havenโt figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.
Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at itโs best seeks to improve the space husk weโre all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: โ*******โs not much. But for some of us, itโs all weโve got.โ
Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.
Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because theyโre different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.
So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburnโs arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.
Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people Iโve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose thatโs all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.
By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.ย ย But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, thereโs a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably wonโt appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.
It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* โkidsโ (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.
However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From itโs inception in punk scene during the late 1970โs, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but thatโs only because we havenโt figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.
Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at itโs best seeks to improve the space husk weโre all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: โ*******โs not much. But for some of us, itโs all weโve got.โ
Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.
Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because theyโre different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.
So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburnโs arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.
Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people Iโve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose thatโs all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.