The Letter

When I first uncovered the family secret, I hadn’t had any real contact with my family for 16 years. I couldn’t exactly call them up and be all ” Heeeeey! What’s with the all the rape and murder?” I wasn’t immediately keen to talk to them anyway, save for possibly my sister, but as time went on an idea began to sprout inside my head. An idea that involved contact.

It seemed ridiculous at first because it was so, so simple but before long it became A THING and my brain added it to the its running list of very important tasks.

Tell my parents that I KNOW.

That’s it.

That’s all I needed to do.

This wasn’t a need to confront them and release a bunch of energy on them. It felt vital to tell them their secret was out, definitely not safe with me and then move on. It was bewildering to me how something so small felt so critical but I’ve learned to trust myself over the years. If that wee thing was important, I needed to honour it.

Now, unless I conduct a séance, telling my dad was out of the question. Father Murderer had died in 2014. But my mother, the murderer marrier (it’s totally a word!) was alive and thus she became my focus.

I figured a letter would be best as the thought of speaking to that woman was revolting, my bestie suggested I send it registered mail and that’s exactly what I did.

It took me about two weeks to get it just right. First, I wrote the letter every night in my head as I was falling asleep, ha ha ha! Of course this was involuntary but it was really, really important. I needed to get that vile shit out of my head. It wasn’t mine anyway!

Then, I put pen to paper and ripped through two legal pads in my attempt to get it just right. I didn’t want to be rude or mean because that never feels good no matter how justified but it took me awhile to get there, let me tell ya! In the meantime I’d grown really curious about the whole situation from my mother’s end.

How?

WHY?

WHHHHHYYYY?

My heart wasn’t set on getting an answer though because A. I knew she’d never tell me anything. Her favourite saying being ” Deny, Deny, Deny” I’m fairly certain she’s going to her grave with the story. B. Liars lie. There was no way I’d believe a damn word of what she said, even if she did respond. But I was definitely curious and I wanted to create a more fertile ground in case she decided to unload what must be a very heavy weight.

I also knew that I’d be talking about this and telling MY story. I felt it only fair to give her a chance to say her peace before I did so.

Sooooo, the letter.

I simply addressed her by our former last name – Huculak- told her that I knew everything and if she ever wanted to tell her version of the story she was welcome to contact me. I then gave that woman my freaking home address and my email address. Aaaahhhh! After not allowing her any access to me for 16 years, I freely gave that information out! Yes I did.

That was a little a scary. My inner child was definitely not comfortable doing that but I persevered and the icky feeling was replaced with something else. I felt like I was on a mission from my higher self. When I handed the letter over at the post office, I levelled up. My daughter offered up her address -sweet child that she is- but I knew I’d be able to handle any negative repercussions. Life has taught me that much. Plus, it was an integrity thing for me. I wasn’t hiding anything.

To date and true to form, she’s never responded. To date the only thing she’s done has been to orchestrate a weak attempt to discredit and gaslight me. Totally on brand for her. No surprise there. BUT the most important thing is this:

On April 13, 2021 Mother Murderer Marrier, went down to the post office, showed her ID confirming her identity and picked up the letter I sent her with the accompanying newspaper articles pertaining to my father’s crime.

She knows that I know.

Task complete.

Moving on. ❤

Getting Away, Getting Away…

Getting away with murder.

I’ve come up against another brain block when it comes to this subject again. Maybe I should wait until it passes to write again but I want to keep moving forward damnit! I’ve got a good vibe going on!

I just can’t access sense or emotion here.

Maybe that’s the source of my good vibe. Ha!

At any rate, I’m going to bulldoze through as best I can with what I have so I can carry on with this story.

A note here: My belief, my knowing about my dad’s state of mind at the time of the murders, is not up for debate. None of that nonsense will be entertained. Much love and many thanks for your understanding. ❤

As I read the numerous newspaper articles concerning the murder and my father’s state of mind, it became very clear to me that something was amiss. I was overcome with a sense that I’d seen this act before. Grown up with it in fact!

If I had the brain capacity I’d go into all the details about how every time his trial date would draw near he’d have a “fit” and need to be transferred from Oakalla Prison to Riverview. ( The hospital for mental health patients) Or how his epilepsy was non existent in all the years I knew him, or how he used other people’s prejudices about neurodivergent people to his own advantage and tricked the authorities into thinking he was “crazy” and unable to be in his right mind at the time of the rapes and murders.

Crazy? Yeah…like a fox. My dad was a master manipulator and the tricks that he used on his family were the same tricks he used on the Townsends and the people evaluating him. I knew as much when I learned Linda had been raped and my belief was cemented after reading the last bit of A Bloodstained Hammer. I feel it in my body. I know its true. I feel like any reasonably intelligent person living would come to the same conclusion too. Especially if they knew what I knew.

ANYWAY: My dad raped and murdered Linda and Eyvon (Violet) because he wanted to. Plain and simple. And then he got away with murder.

He was sent to Riverview Hospital where he lived most peacefully. Three hots and a cot. He was given a job on Colony Farm. He probably had access to activities and schooling. No hammers to the head for this guy!

Later on he was allowed to travel unescorted between Colony farm and the hospital. He used the trust he cultivated in hospital staff to make a run for it and was able to make his way back to his hometown of Faust, Alberta where he was caught and returned.

One would think that would be a sign that perhaps he wasn’t “cured” but nooooooo, somehow fours later the man was able to gain enough privilege and freedom to have supervised outings…

and get married.

Married! To my mother. While he still lived at Riverview Hospital under orders from a judge because he’d raped and murdered two people…aaaaah!

Shortly after that, they had me.

Yaaaay?

Coming soon: The child who wished she was adopted.

Murder & Rape. My Father’s Crime.

Today’s the day. 😳

While it’s been four months and twelve days since I learned my father was a vicious murderer and rapist, it’s been sixty two years to the day, since he committed his crime.

At the time of The Knowing, my brain came up with a list of very important tasks to complete. This post is the first of those tasks:

Tell the story. Reveal all. Refuse to be a part of the cover up.

Its not my shame- I know this in my heart! – and yet I feel strongly compelled to do something. Anything, to take a nick out of the wrong. I cannot abide injustice. So. Let me tell you about my father’s crime.

In March of 1959, my father, born Richard Alexander Huculak -You can Google him – was hired on at a farm outside of Trail, BC. He was 25 years old at the time and drifting.

It’s easy for me to see why Mr. Andrew Townsend hired him. Young, strong and experienced he would have made a capable farmhand. He was a quiet person too, the kind of guy who settled into the background. I know from my own experiences that he presented as gentle. Trustworthy. A person who didn’t give much of themselves away yet seemed placid and decent. Not a threat. Mr. Townsend observed him much the same, according to one article.

In addition to running his farm, Mr. Townsend worked nights with a large employer in town. He left for work on the evening of July 29, 1959  leaving his family, wife Violet ( known as Evonne) and three children (two boys and a girl, Linda) at home. In addition to their own kids, the Townsends had a guest that evening. Another child, just a toddler at the time. The house must have felt lively with all those kids.

That same evening my dad, (known then as Dick ), headed into town with a friend and his wife for some drinks.

The party eventually returned to the friend’s house, with a case of beer and another case they purchased from a taxi driver. Later that evening the friend drove Dick- an entirely appropriate name all things considered- back to the Townsend farm.

As July 29 rolled over into July 30, my dad raped Linda Townsend, 8 years old. (Its unknown whether he raped Evonne too, the coroner wasn’t able to find any evidence but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. ) Then, my father picked up a two lb. ball peen hammer and murdered Linda and her mum, Evonne with multiple blows to their heads, while the little neighbor child lay in a crib in the same fucking room.

My dad hid the hammer behind the bed frame of the bed where Linda lay in her mother’s outstretched arm, cleaned the blood off himself, changed clothes, broke into the kid’s piggy banks, went through Evonne’s purse, stealing her money and her car keys too.

He stole the family car, (stopping somewhere along the way to purchase two bottles of Aspirin) and drove across the Nelson toll bridge, before taking the Kootenay Lake ferry to Kootenay Bay. Eventually he abandoned the car in a patch of bushes and started hitchhiking towards Calgary, AB.

As this is all going on, the Townsend kids were waking up to start their day. Hungry and wondering where their mother was they headed for their parent’s bedroom. It was clear right away that something was wrong. The oldest boy-who was only around 5 years old- lifted the littlest child out of the crib and the three of them walked a fair ways to a gas station for help. They brought a neighbor back to the farmhouse and of course that person immediately called the police.

The man hunt for my father was on.

It was one of the biggest man hunts in the area’s history. (Not a point a pride, definitely an event you don’t expect to have attached to your father )

Eventually, Dick was spotted by police officers cruising the highways for him and arrested without incident. Unbeknownst to the officers at the time, immediately prior to his arrest, Dick had swallowed both bottles of the Aspirin he’d picked up earlier and promptly lost consciousness in the back of the patrol car. He was taken to the hospital in neighboring Nelson, where his stomach was pumped. Mr. Townsend, who had been notified by then, was called upon to identify my dad and was able to correctly do so. Once my dad was stable he was released and taken to Castlegar jail where he was held under heavy guard to await trial.

Ooof. 😢

The Townsend family, their friends and neighbors were left to live with the loss and trauma my father inflicted on them while he sat alive in jail, cooking up Act 2.

And what an act it was! I’m the first direct byproduct of that. Conceived and born while my dad was still under the care of the institution he was placed in.

I’m alive today because my father got away with murder. I’m alive today because my mother thought that particular man would be an appropriate and suitable spouse and parent.

Spoiler alert! He wasn’t. Nor was she for that matter, but they were absolutely perfect for each other.

Act Two to follow…