Until Educators Begin To Teach Self-esteem, We Will Have Drunk Drivers 
There's Been A Lot Of Controversy Regarding Caroline Petrini And The Accident 
Which Took The Lives Of Two Men.

13c 12-17-94 Cougars Trying Despite Lack Of Numbers

Sunday, December 18, 1994 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Page: 3A 





A cowardly kind of hate &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 On the floor of the nest where the hatemongers live, a black baby doll lay
on its back. Its face is the color of toffee in the early morning sun that
shines through the dirty front window at a squalid North River Street
apartmentWhen the baby doll was new, it would have made a child very happy. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now, most children would fear the doll. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 I fear the doll. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Something is very wrong with that baby. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Someone has torn the right arm from its rubbery socket. A single-edged
razor blade sticks out from the doll's chest where somebody plunged it through
the thin cottony fabric that is supposed to resemble a child's nightclothes. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 One eye is gouged out. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 In the space where the left eye should be, someone has stuck what appears
to be a small-caliber bullet. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Another bullet is shoved into the black baby doll's mouth. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 The baby doll is supposed to be dead. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Just a few nights ago, say neighbors, somebody hung it in the apartment
window. Thankfully, the three young black children who live in the building a
few doors away didn't see it. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 But their daddy did. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "I was raised in South Carolina," said the man. "I never saw nothing like
that even there." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 But now he's here, a nice black man living in Wilkes-Barre with his black
family, which has white hatemongers for neighbors. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 That mean clan had a meeting at the apartment the other night, say people
who live in the 12 apartments joined by common walls in the long house on
North River Street. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "There were cars parked all up and down the street, including some from
Ohio," said a woman who watched as people came and went from the apartment
where Jack Grimes stays when he's in town. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Grimes is the little wretched man who calls himself the "national dictator"
of the Aryan Loyalist Party. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 A woman named Molly Crowley, who Grimes said is a local nurse, rents the
apartment and is the female leader of Grimes' putrid pack that originated in
Ohio. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Three weeks ago I wrote a column about Grimes and his gang in which he said
he was giving up on Wilkes-Barre because he felt he could mine the mother lode
of hatred in bigger cities like New York, where he said he lives on the Lower
East Side. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "What about your local chapter?" I asked. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "They're not as serious as I'd like but I guess they'll keep on," Grimes
said. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 I guess he was right. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 After the meeting the other night, dozens of fliers attacking gays, blacks
and interracial relationships went up on telephone poles throughout the
neighborhood. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 All were evil, but the one that got my attention showed a black man and a
white woman beneath the words, "RACE MIXING!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Below the photo it said, "YOU WANNA PUKE? OR MAYBE CRY? HOW ABOUT KILL?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 The word "KILL" added to the already volatile uncertainty of the black man
and woman who live with their children a few doors down from the nest. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Standing in his living room the other day, the man wore a baseball cap with
a big "X" on it. He said he wasn't afraid. His wife looked at him with a
worried look on her face. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 A handsome child with dark skin, the oldest of their children came into the
room carrying a bowl of cereal. His brother sat on the couch, watching me
watch his family. The youngest of the boys shyly clutched his diary where he
said he keeps the phone number of his girlfriend. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Together in their little apartment, they were a decent family. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Nobody was home, however, when I knocked at the door to call on the
hatemongers. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Other than a cheap painting of an Italian fascist killer named Mussolini,
and a small, empty, leather holster on the floor, the only evidence of their
hateful existence was the black baby doll I saw through the window. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 It was enough. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Steve Corbett's column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

A Cowardly Kind Of Hate 
On The Floor Of The Nest Where The Hatemongers Live, A Black Baby Doll Lay On 
Its Back. Its Face Is The Color Of Toffee In The Early Morning Sun That Shines 
Through The Dirty Front Window At A Squalid North River Street Apartment.

A Cowardly Kind Of Hate On The Floor Of The Nest Where The Hatemongers Live, A Black Baby Doll Lay On Its Back. Its Face Is The Color Of Toffee In The Early Morning Sun That Shines Through The Dirty Front Window At A Squalid North River Street Apartment.