Thursday, May 26, 2016

Radio Free Northwest Call-In Show - May 12th 2016 

Radio Free Northwest call-in show recorded May 12th, 2016.

Sorry about the tech problems, but it's at least listenable.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

From Slow Coming Dark

[Since the Sea Hag is now re-emerging from her cave, I figured I'd run a teaser for my 2000 novel Slow Coming Dark. This is from the middle of the book, after the major characters have all been introduced, but it will kind of set the stage and maybe pique your interest a wee bit. Remember, this is 16 years old, so it's a bit dated. No Benghazi or e-mails or Huma and Hill being an item. By the way, this is what gets certain of our more prudish comrades all hot and bothered about my writing "dirty books." so I have redacted roughly the last half of what I originally intended to publish here lest anyone get the vapors. -HAC]

 * * *

The next morning Matt Redmond came into his office and found a note on his desk. Contact the Director, private cellular number. Matt dialed the number. “Yes, Phil?” he asked.

“Matt, I’m at Senator Helms’ house.” said Hightower. He sounded haggard. “His private home, not his office. Please come over here right away and tell no one where you're going.”

Twenty minutes later Matt pulled into a graveled driveway on a shady, tree-lined street in one of Raleigh’s inner city neighborhoods, up to an unpretentious but spacious and well-kept two-story home of nineteenth century vintage. He knocked on the door and was astounded when the door was opened by United States Senator Jesse Helms himself, a slightly built, dignified old man leaning on a cane, a humorous glint in his eye behind thick spectacles. “You must be Matt Redmond,” he said, extending his hand that gripped Matt’s firmly despite his years. “I remember those fedoras, used to wear one myself when I was your age. Glad to meet you, son! I’ve heard a hell of a lot about all them darin’ exploits of yours!”

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” said Matt, flustered. “Ah, I got a message from SBI Director Hightower...?”

“He’s in the parlor,” said Helms, beckoning Matt inside. “Come on in. Matt, we got a  hellacious problem we’re gonna need your help with.” He opened the door to the living room. Matt saw Hightower sitting in an armchair. Then he heard a baby give a short cry. He turned and a stunningly beautiful young woman in a pale beige pants suit rose from the sofa, holding a bundled infant in her arms. Her hair was long and blond, her eyes crystalline blue, and her face was a frozen mask of haunted pain and fear. She looked like she was about to turn and flee out the French doors. The first thing that hit Matt was that this woman was terrified out of her wits. Then he recognized her. “You’re Alice Silverman,” he said.

“You’re Matt Redmond?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, taking off his hat. “How may I be of service to you?”

“You can save my life,” she said dismally. “They killed Carla and Serafina. I heard their terrible screams as they died, while I was running away with my child in my arms. Now they’re trying to kill me, and kill my baby.”

“Who?” asked Matt urgently. It was as if Hightower and Helms weren’t even in the room. “Who is trying to kill you?”

“Bill Clinton,” she whispered. “He wants me dead. He wants my baby dead!”

“Why?” asked Matt gently. She looked up at him in anguish. “I know Clinton and his works, ma’am. You needn’t fear you won’t be believed. Why is he trying you kill you, and why does he want to kill the baby?”

Her eyes and her voice were dead with utter misery. “Eleven months ago, Bill Clinton raped me. After he was through, Hillary Clinton raped me.” She held up the wiggling bundle. “This is Bill Clinton’s son. Now he wants us both dead. I have come to you because you are the only lawman in the country who will believe me, and who has shown that he has the courage to stand up to them. If you don’t help, then my child and I will die. Will you help us?”

“Yes,” said Matt.

“Matt, before this goes any further, can we have a word in private?” spoke up Senator Helms. “You’ll excuse us, please, Miss Silverman?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you get back,” said Alice with a wry smile. “I have no place else to go.”

Matt followed the Senator and Hightower into Helms’ carpeted, book-lined study. As soon as the door closed behind them he said, “With all due respect, gentlemen, what the hell is going on here? How did she get here, and why is she here at all? Has she told you anything about who killed DeMarco or what happened on the yacht?”

“She was never on the yacht,” said Hightower. He seemed to have aged ten years. “She’ll tell you in a bit what happened, and it will blow your mind. Matt, this is big. It's beyond anything I've ever come across.”

“As to how she got here, at four o’clock this morning I was awakened by someone pounding on my door,” said Helms. “By the way, Matt, I believe I heard you're a cigar smoker? Try one of these.”

“Uh...rolled Havanas, sir?” asked Matt, his eyebrows arching.

“There's a few things about Cuba I like,” chuckled Helms, his eyes twinkling as he and Matt both lit up. “Anyhoo, like I was saying, I get woke up at four this morning and I find this lovely Hollywood movie star and her baby standing on my porch, with an incredible story to tell. An incredible credible story, if you follow. A story that I believe, Matt.”

“And what will you do with that story, Senator?” asked Matt bleakly. “Impeachment failed. Sir, let me be blunt. I know that you personally did everything you could and I don’t fault you at all, but your colleagues in the Senate had the chance to rid our country of this sick, drug-addicted tyrant and they dropped the ball. We’re stuck with him now.”

“And the United States Senate shall carry that disgrace throughout its future history,” agreed Helms. “As to what I intend to do with her story, that’s easily told. I intend to make one of the final acts of my lengthy life on this earth the thwarting of William Jefferson Clinton, at least in this one small matter. Maybe that’s a petty reaction, but there it is. There is nothing at all that we can do with Alice Silverman politically. The people of this country have rendered their verdict and that verdict is that Bill Clinton gets a pass, whatever he does. With rage and bitterness in my heart, I have come to accept that. God will judge America for this. I will no longer try. But I still believe that truth and right and justice have enough power and strength to do one thing, and that is keep that girl and that baby alive. I can’t undo the past eight years, Matt. I can do nothing to bring back those nuclear secrets from China or restore the presidency of the United States to some kind of dignity, nor can I bring Vince Foster or Admiral Boorda or Jim McDougal or any one of a dozen others back to life. But I can damned well make sure that two more deaths aren’t added to Clinton’s total body count. Those two lives in there are lives that Bill Clinton will not take. I have sworn that to her.”

“How?” demanded Matt. “How will you keep that promise, Senator, when every other attempt over the past eight years to restrain Clinton from any act, no matter how murderous or treasonous, has failed? I think you both know I'll do whatever I must, but how can you keep her and that baby alive if the most powerful man in the world wants them dead?”

“I haven’t lived on Capitol Hill for almost thirty years without learning a trick or two,” said Helms grimly. “Matt, let me tell you exactly what I am asking of you. I want you to keep Alice Silverman and her baby safe while I negotiate with that yellow dog piece of hillbilly white trash in the White House for her life. I’m flying back to Washington tonight, and tomorrow I am going to ask for a private appointment with the president, ask in such terms that he will be sure to see me. I am going to say some things to him that I believe will convince him that it is best for him and for those whom he serves to accommodate me in this little matter of Alice Silverman’s life. I want you to keep them alive while I do this.”

“I will, or die myself in the attempt,” replied Matt quietly.

“From what I hear, you will.” replied Helms. “Son, I wish to God we had ten thousand more like you in this country. Then maybe we’d have a chance.”

“Matt, you of all people know what you are committing yourself to,” said Hightower. “I don’t mean just Clinton’s gunmen. You heard what that woman from the FBI said about the Mob sending that character Visconti in on this, the one you said you wouldn’t want to go up against unless you had to? Sounds like you may have to if you get in this deep. You sure about this, Matt? What about Heather and Tori?”

“They will understand and expect nothing less of me,” replied Matt. “I want to ask one thing of you both. I want to call my partner Cowboy Garza and have him in on this, and I want to call my wife and have her here when we hear Alice Silverman’s story. I can't do this without both of them.”

“Do you think you have the right to involve your family?” asked Helms.

“Yes, and neither of them would ever forgive me if I didn't involve them. Gawd, let Tori miss a chance of meeting Alice Silverman? She’d rend me in twain! OK on clearing Cowboy’s case load for this, Phil?” Hightower nodded.

“Son, you do what you have to do,” said Helms. “Just make sure that just this once, the good guys win one. This old bull still has enough horn left on him to be of some use. I’ll back your play all the way.”

Matt took out his cell phone and dialed his wife’s work number. She answered. “It’s me. Heather, it’s happening again. You walked through the fire with me once, Watson. Will you do it again? Are you with me?”

“All the way, Holmes,” she said with out hesitation.

“Then beg off work somehow and come to Raleigh, right now,” he said. “I’ll give you the address and tell you how to get here. I want you in on this from the ground up. We beat them once before, Watson. Now we’re going to beat them again.”

* * * 

You can order Slow Coming Dark from at:

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Radio Free Northwest May 26th, 2016

A recent female migrant tells her story, Bill from Texas says he’s on the way, Gretchen reviews a book of essays, and HAC and Mike Harris talk about mass migration and Donald Trump.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Harold Heinlein

[This isn't the first time I've been compared to Robert A. Heinlein, which I find flattering. - HAC]

Hi, Mr. Covington, 

The young man you put me in touch with in Portland passed on a couple of your books. I just finished A Distant Thunder. I'm no literary critic but your style reminds me of Robert Heinlein. I don't read much fiction these days unless it's considered part of the "canon."

Just writing to say bravo! I enjoyed the book much more than I expected to, and I think it's very clever to cast a terrorism how-to manual in the form of a novel. I've got another volume of yours to get through now. 

I'm interested in merchandise. Please don't be shy about announcing when and if that will be available.


Saturday, May 21, 2016

Letter From Bill White (Date Excised)

[Postmarked May 13th, but top of letter cut off with scissors and so actual date missing.]

Hello, Harold:

I haven't heard from you in some months now besides the internet stuff and copies of my typed articles you send me, and the books, for which I thank you yet again. No personal letters at all for a long time. I think I got a note from you in January, hand-written. Just so you know.

Yesterday, for the first time ever, I received WDVa 13-cr-013 Government exhibit 4-8. I have never seen this evidence or any of the other evidence used to obtain my conviction. I am still awaiting a chance to review 16,000 more pages of my discovery which I am still not allowed to see, presumably because I might pass it on to my non-existent "followers."

Government Exhbit 4-8 is a two-part document. One covers May 20 to May 31. One covers June 1 to June 8. [No year given. Bill makes the common mistake of assuming that because these incidents real and fabricated have overwhelmed and controlled his life for almost a decade now, everyone knows what he's talking about. - HAC]  

The May 20 to May 31 records show numerous "suspicious log-ins." (Their words.) There are hacks into the Bill White 7370 account. Someone then deleted the "suspicious log-in" field from the June 1 to June 8 records.

As of yesterday, absolutely no person associated with my defense, much less myself, ever read this document. Neither of my lawyers read it. I was never permitted to see it, because you see, I apparently have "followers" that no one seems to be able to find or identify, but nonetheless are as real as the United States Attorney can convince a jury they are. Kind of a 21st century version of spectral evidence.

The evidence that I was framed for these crimes, and that both the FBI and multiple United States Attorneys' offices are aware of the fact that I did not commit the crimes of which I was accused and were aware of the fact before they brought the prosecution, is now overwhelming, if I can ever get anyone officially to simply read the goddamned evidence. The FBI and the U.S. Attorney are obviously aware of this evidence, because they altered it. They did this on the calculation, so far correct, that no one would ever read it and notice.

The dictatorship knew that I would not be allowed to review my own discovery pre-trial--this being one of the main reasons that my "following" has been fabricated by the regime, in order to use my ghost "followers" as excuses to deny me information about my own case and continue the massive surveillance of my mail and phone calls, including legal mail and legal calls, which has taken place over the past eight years. It's becoming clear to me that the surveillance and censorship and the whole fairy tale about my "followers" is intended to prevent either me or any attorney I have who might be inclined actually to defend me with zeal as the legal canons of ethics demand, will not be able to access proof of gross and malicious politically-motivated governmental and prosecutorial misconduct.

I have reason to believe that I am about to get some more diesel therapy in spite of an order by a federal judge that I be kept here in Chicago so I can be available for hearings and court appearances. They will either get the judge to rescind the no-move order or they will simply ignore it. After all, come right down to it, a federal judge is no more able to compel these people to obey their own laws than ordinary citizens are. They are threatening to send me back to Marion, so if I disappear again, that's probably where I will end up.

[Or else gunned down or fallen out a 14th-story window while "trying to escape." They used to use that one in Raleigh long ago when that nigger John Baker was sheriff---"What did the prisoner do, deputy?" "Why, he ran wildly to the window boss! Me and Deppity Washington sho'ly tried our bes' to stop his cracker ass, but he fall down and go boom" - HAC]

Be well, Harold. Thank you again for all you do.


[I will let you guys know if Bill is moved as soon as I know, although I can't say how long it will take. It's hard to tell when he goes dark on me whether he's been dragged away in chains again to Istanbul, Arkansas or whether the FBI agent in charge of censoring and copying Bill's outgoing mail is on vacation and just decided to let it all pile up for a few weeks. - HAC]

Friday, May 20, 2016

Pre-Human Features Advantageous To Basketball

by Bill White
For decades, pundits have pondered why negroes perform so well at basketball. They aren't smarter, or even smart at all, and the strategy of the game largely escapes them. They also aren't social animals and don't work well in teams.

According to a recent study by the National Basketball Association, America's Jewish-owned professional basketball league, the answer is that negroes have an extraordinary "wingspan," long, loping arms left over from when negroes were merely monkeys.
The average human being can hold out his arms and reach from one finger tip to another about the same distance as they are tall. But the average NBA player has a "wingspan" 6 percent longer than an average human's. And NBA all-stars are even more freakishly ape-like with "wingspans" 10 to 15 percent greater than a normal humans.
Thus, there's a Golden State Warrior named Draymond Green, whose first name not only reflects the primitive, illiterate, ignorance of the negro, but at 6' 5 3/4"tall, has a great ape-like "wingspan" of 7' 1½". Or there is San Antonio Spur Kawhi Leonard, whose drunken mother slurred out his first name after downing too much Schlitz malt liquor, and who at 6'6" tall has the physique of a chimpanzee with a 7'3" wingspan.
Similarly built human-monkey hybrids include LeBron James, another man whose mother was an illiterate moron, and Kevin Durant, whose mother could at least spell.
The result of putting freakish, ape-like degenerates on the basketball court has been a complete breakdown of the idea of "position", with long-armed, loping, negro primitives just running around, playing every position. These negroes' owners are okay with this, as the black-moron audience for niggerball don't understand the concept of position either.
Seventy years ago, White people played sports as a form of recreation. But during segregation, the sport was bought by Jews who placed unqualified blacks into prominent roles. Basketball's White audience largely abandoned the sport, and the Jews continued to hire a more and more bizarre group of monkey-men, driving standards for the sport lower and lower.
With the discovery of the wing-span rule, the Jewish owners of the NBA may next move to have actual trained monkeys, chimpanzees, gorillas, and apes play the sport. As it now stands, there is nothing that the NBA's trained negroes do that cannot be done by pure-blooded monkeys. Some Jewish owners are even thinking of abolishing teams, sides, and lines on the court, replacing them with a bunch of monkeys and negroes, just running around at random, bumping into each other, grunting, and throwing a ball.
Sports, like all Jewish media, have become a kind of fraud perpetrated against White society. Sports teams, like America's political parties, have no real meaning. They feature hyped-up puppets selected for talent, but to manipulate and reshape American culture. Seventy years ago, mildly talented negroes were hyped as sports stars to persuade whites that negroes weren't worthless apes. Now, worthless apes are hyped in order to persuade stupid Whites to emulate them.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Enthralled In Albuquerque

I am working my way through the Radio Free Northwest podcast archives, and I am about halfway through The Brigade. They are just about to assault Hollywood. I can't put it down. 

I don't know if you have watched the series "Breaking Bad" (it was filmed in Albuquerque so it's very popular here) but I feel like your book has a few moments which are very similar, great little cliffhangers. I'm also shocked at how prophetic some parts of the book is. The extreme PC culture that has come out of colleges lately was absolutely nailed by you in 2008. You saw it coming you saw the mess we are in and going into.