Stolen Car: Has Been Found & Brought Back Home! THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP!

Formerly the lens titled: Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

Ranked #3,397 in Cars, #229,210 overall

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

On May 5th, 2010 between 1PM and 4PM Maine's famous "Haunted Car" The Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330 was stolen from Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. We know who stole it, but they are refusing to give any information about what they did with it. Please if you have any information about the whereabouts of this car, please contact:

May 8th -- Contact info removed--- Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

Unfortunately as it was moved from person to person, it got cut in half and partly dissembled. ICKY, ICKY mess, but at least we have found it and the guy who has it now is helping us get it back where it belongs. I'll worry about what to do with the remains of the remains of my car once it's back home safe and sound again.

Contents at a Glance

  1. UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!
  2. Riding Back Home
  3. Home At Last!


Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!

The Goldeneagle is back home safe and sound. Thanks to all the people who helped me locate it, helped me buy it back from the scrap yard that it had been sent too, helped me move it and helped me pay the movers for it's long long 4 hour trip back home. Well, here it is as it looks today. As you can see from the pictures of it before it was stolen, verses the pictures of it after it was stolen 10 days ago, it suffered badly at the hands of the thieves. Oh well. I guess we will just have to rebuild.

Riding Back Home

Home At Last!

UPDATE: May 11, 2010: The Goldeneagle Has Been Found!Yes, we have now verified that the car sighted on May 8th, was in fact my car!

I have just returned, from the long long trip to verify that the car reported found and suspected of being my car, was in fact The Goldeneagle. It has sustained much damage in it's move, as you can see from the photos below. We are now working with a mover to get it brought back home and it shall soon be back where it belongs.

This is the first time I've seen it since it was stolen 6 days ago. The last 6 days are the ONLY 6 days of my entire life, that I have not been in this car. And actually, the damage is not as bad as was described to me over the phone - thank goodness! I talked with 7 different people on the phone, all of whom had seen my car, all of whom told me the car was now cut in half, but from there the reports varied, so until today I had no idea how badly it had or had not been damaged. While every one was telling me something slightly different, they all agreed on the fact that the car they had seen was now in 2 pieces, which confirmed the fact that each person had seen the same car while it was on the move across Maine. The last sighting of my car, it was reported heading towards a scrap yard, a place that makes a business of crushing cars. I knew the place people were talking about, that they thought my car was heading to, and so called them, and they did have my car, or at least a car that fit the description of my car had just come in shortly before my call to them, so they set it aside out back to wait for me to come take a look at it myself and see if the car they had was my Goldeneagle, and it was, as you can see from the pictures below.

I've just come from there and yes, as mentioned by every single person who called to report having seen my car, the Goldeneagle has been cut in half! Also some parts of it were already removed and sold before it reached the guy who has it right now. The floor boards are gone entirely, a result of the original mover dragging it on the ground behind his truck. But, floorboards are easily built by hand out of sheet metal, so that can be fixed.

All 4 wheels, and tires, and the rear axle were not with it, by the time it reached the guy who has it now, and no one seems to know what happened to them or where they went. Again, however, these are all parts that are replaceable, so, these too can be fixed.

Thankfully, the guy who cut it in half, cut it at the body to nose seam joint and it's a simple welding job to fix. Unfortunately the frame underneath the body (which was already cracked as a result of a tree falling on the car some 20 years earlier) has twisted out of shape and I suspect is beyond repair, but building a new frame from scratch will not be hard to do, and getting a Polaris frame (which will fit a 330 with slight adjustments) is not hard to do either, so the frame is fixable.

And oddly enough, most of the reports were telling me of body damage, which as it now turns out that most of the damage described as having been received in transit, was ACTUALLY the damage that was done to it by vandals last March, BEFORE the car was stolen on May 5th, and NOT damage it received while on it's move across the state. The damage you see done to the doors, was a result of the vandals prying open the LOCKED doors and as I said that had happened on March 18th, as did the holes in the fenders, and the other various twists and bends in the metal.

And considering the condition of it (it's last day of use consisted of a nose dive into the Atlantic Ocean, thus why the extensive rust) all in all, it survived it's trip rather well. And other than being cut in two and losing the floor boards and an axle, all in all it really did not sustain all that much damage in it's move across the state. It can be fixed.

I took these pictures of it's current state to a mover, and he thinks he can move it with a fork lift without any farther damage.

Arrangements are now being made to bring it home - in a few days the Goldeneagle will be back where it belongs.

Thank you once again, to all the people who helped me locate my stolen car {{{hugs and kisses}}}} to all of you!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

On May 5th, 2010 between 1PM and 4PM Maine's famous "Haunted Car" The Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330 was stolen from Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. We know who stole it, but they are refusing to give any information about what they did with it. Please if you have any information about the whereabouts of this car, please contact:

May 8th -- Contact info removed--- Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

More information about this car can be found at the following sites:

She claims that my car has a demon living in it. She also claims that that so-called demon is killing members at our church, via me casting spells and sending him out after people. She claims that the only way to put an end to the very long list of things she claims this "demon" is doing (deaths, illnesses, weather patterns, etc) is by taking my car and having it crushed in order to kill the so-called demon that she believes lives in my car. I may have Autism and not understand a lot of things, but even I know that these things she's claiming are nothing but the ravings of a madman.

I seem to recall, "Thou shalt not steal" being one of the 10 commandments. What, are they TOO Christian to bother with that one or something?

She stole my car. She is not denying she stole my car. She's quite proud of the fact that she stole my car. She sold it to have it crushed as scrap. A 1964 Dodge 330 Limited Edition, of which there are less than 1,000 known to exist in the entire world, one of the rarest cars there is, and SHE SOLD IT FOR SCRAP! For $80 dollars. She sold it for $80. OMG! Where is her brain? Can any one say Judas Iscariot and 30 pieces of silver? Not only is it a rare and irreplaceable car, but it's famous - I have tourists flocking to see it every year. People think the car is haunted.

My mom is not the only one who calls it demon possessed. Others say it has a ghost living in it. UFOlogists think it's some sort of energy magnet for UFOs or some weird theory. It's been in books and on TV, this car, is the car known as "The Goldeneagle". It has web sites and fan followings and T-shirts and mugs with it's picture on it. It's only been stolen a couple of hours and already fans of the Goldeneagle are going into an uproar online. I mean we're not talking about some little family car here. We're talking about a paranormal icon. This car is a legend. To people around the world this car is some sort of, I don't know, paranormal hotspot or something.

I just want my car back. I don't care if she did have it crushed, like she claims she did. I still want it back. Even if there's nothing left to finish restoring, I still want it back. I'll turn it's remains into a monument so that NO ONE will ever forget the lengths she went to to hurt me.

The only thing I had left was my car. She has already, burned, smashed, cut up, broken, trashed, set fire to, and destroyed everything else. Her going to my friends, family, and church telling people to stay away from me because her false claims I am demon possessed or a witch, cost me all of my friends years ago. Her running to my bosses have cost me my jobs. Year after year I try to ignore her steady constant defamation of my character. Year after year I try to ignore her calling me demon possessed or accusing me of being a witch. For years now, I kept telling the police and trying to ignore her and go on with my life, but she keeps on doing it and the police keep on ignoring me. Why? I have my own life. Why is she so obsessed with me? Why is she stalking me like this? Why won't she leave me alone? and why is no one doing anything to stop her?

All I had left was my car, and now it's gone. I have nothing left to lose now. No further reason to live. Nothing to look forward to. No dreams. No hopes. My dream to restore that car was the last dream I had left. All the other hopes and dreams I had, where already taken away by her. The police knew what she was going to do. The police knew she had threatened to take my car. The police knew that she had trashed my car March 2010, The police knew that she had already may an attempt to steal it a few days after the vandalism. The police knew. And The police did nothing. She does everything in her power to make life hell and not worth living, and for 20 years now I've been coming to The police, asking for their help. Twenty years, begging The police to do something, anything to stop her madness, stop her hate, stop her violence. Twenty years The police have stood back and done nothing. October 2006, my house was burnt down, after she threatened to burn it down, and I became homeless, and still The police did nothing. Why? Why aren't The police doing their job? Why? Why won't The police stop these ludicrous hate crimes? Why won't The police stop her acts of violence and terror? Why did The police let her steal my car? I don't understand. It's their job to stop criminals. Why won't The police stop her?

That car was all I had left. The police knew she getting ready to take it. The police knew. The police could have stopped her. The police knew and The police did nothing. Why?

Why didn't The police believe me? Why didn't The police help me? Why didn't The police listen? Why don't The police care? Why do The police allow this to go on? Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Why? I can't take this any more.

But I am asking anyone now: PLEASE HELP ME FIND MY CAR. Please bring it back. And don't underestimate the length I will go to to get this car back - in ANY condition. There is NOTHING else in the world, more important to me, than this car and there is nothing I won't do to get it back. It was all I had left. Without it, I have nothing left to live for. I can't go on like this. Every day she comes up with some new way to make my life hell, and she's already trashed and destroyed every thing else I owned. All I had left was my car. Why didn't The police stop her?

She is the same person who did this on March 18, 2010:

I am getting sick an tired of dealing with increasingly psychotic and childish people. The vandals have struck once again - but this time, they got caught in the act and I know WHO they are. There are two vandals, a man and a woman - husband and wife, from the Saco ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Maine.

I arrived home tonight to find them IN my car. In my locked car, which they had removed the door of to get into. They broke the lock off the back passenger side door. They removed both the front and back seats from my car. They slashed the seats of my car and ripped out the stuffing. They slashed the headliner of my car and pulled it off. They took the arm rests off the insides of the doors.

This car - being a 1964 Dodge 330 worth approx $50,000 has just received nearly it's value in damage at the hands of 2 "good Christians".

I will be posting pictures of the damage tomorrow - both here and in a new chapter of For Fear of Little Men, which I shall write tonight.

The worst part of it is - it's one of my relatives.

I fail to see the logic behind these increasingly idiotic and senceless acts of vandalism. This is the same relative who broke into my house a few years back and burned all of my manuscripts and artwork too.

I'm seriously questioning her sanity and wondering how to go about having her institutionalized as criminally insane, if any one has any advice on how to go about institutionalizing this woman before her acts of violence get any worse - please let me know.

She is doing this, because she claims that I have a demon. She says it is alright to do these things to me, my pets, and my belongings, because she says God tells her it is alright. She says that God wants her to drive out my demons. Her constant talk about her belief that I have a demon is baffling.

While I am not the only person she accuses of being demon possessed, I seem to be the only person she consistently vandalizes in this manner.

This is the same woman who goes to my church and tells my Bishop I am a witch, the same woman who has tried for several years to have me excommunicated from the church, her reason being that a am "a demon possessed witch who puts curses on her". That accusation alone should have told the Bishop and other church leaders that she is a raving lunatic.

This is the same woman who on multiple occasions attacked my dad with an ax - twice sending him to the hospital.

She is the woman suspected of having burned my house down 4 years ago.

FAQ: Why Do People Believe This Car Is Haunted, Cursed, or Possessed?A Brief History of The Goldeneagle

For 30 years, the Goldeneagle has sat in my garden, silent and motionless, sitting on top an ancient Native American grave yard. Originally it was one of many cars that lined this hill. Mechanics have long baffled over our difficulty at keeping a car running. We buy on average a new car every 6 months, a necessity caused by the inexplicable fact that once a car is parked too close the The Goldeneagle, it never runs again. The only answer mechanics have ever been able to come up with was that our driveway must be on top of some sort of "natural electrical fault line" which drains the power out of the cars, thus causing irreprible damage to the battery, alternator, and electrics. Local people with more superstitious beliefs, point to The Goldeneagle, saying that it has an energy sucking demon in it that drains the electricity out of everything that passes it. They point out that it is not just cars, but also watches, radios, cameras, clocks, and other electrical items which also die once in contact with the car. Indeed they have a point. It is a puzzlement, that could possibly explained by the last day of this car's life.

The "electrical sucking" problems are a more recent development however. The car, when brand new, was a problem from the day it left the showroom. Driving it was near impossible, as was controlling it. Every one who ever attempted to drive it, compared it to "Herbie The Love Bug" saying it had a mind of it's own and would not go where they wanted to go. You could sit for hours trying to get it to start, than give up, only to have the engine come on on it's own. There was no way to adjust the speed of it. If it was moving, it was going 80MPH or 35MPH. There was no in between, and it went fast or slow without warning. Mechanics who examined the car, said they could find nothing wrong, but assumed it was a problem with it's control system. You see, this car was an unusual model. A limited edition. A prototype, less than 5,000 of them were built, today this car is one of less than a thousand presumed to exist, though some estimate there may be fewer than a hundred of them left.

This model, a 1964 Limited Edition Version of a 330 Coronet, was made from September 1963 - January 1964. Technically it is a 1963 Dodge, that was built using parts from both the left over parts of a 1963 Coronet and the later 1964 330, thus the difference from a Limited Edition 330 and a regular edition 330. There in lays the problem. The 1964 330 is a push button car, while the 1963 Coronet is just a regular key operated car. In other words, they combined push button technology on a none push button car. The regular edition 330's did not have this problem, because they were push button cars, made to be push button cars. Because of this unique combo feature of the Limited Edition versions of the 330's, mechanics assumed that The Goldeneagle's problems stemmed from that. Somewhere in the system, when connecting the push button wiring in, something must be faulty they said. However, while mechanics had a logical and rational answer for our car's inexplicable activity, several locals, preferred the superstitious answer, of saying the car was possessed and had a demon controlling it.

Than there was, however, the doors. While driving down the road, switching from 35 to 80 to 35 again, the doors would suddenly fly open, the seat belt unbuckle, and it was, hang on for your life or going flying out on the pavement head first. Because the car is so huge and can move 8 people, we often carpooled locals to church on Sunday. However, this event was short lived, as after a few times of this door flinging habit, they began to swear the car had "pushed them out". While church members kept their distance saying a demon in the car had tried to kill them, mechanics said the problem was three fold - caused by faulty locks, damaged seat belts, and cracked rocker panels.

The car was originally intended to be one of the town police cars. Old Orchard Beach had bought a whole fleet of Dodge's that year. The Goldeneagle, however, did not see duty with the rest of the fleet, because it's problems were there from the very beginning, straight from the factory. An elderly man bought the silver still unmarked police car, and with a paint brush, painted the entire car in gold leaf, named it The Goldeneagle, and it became his rarely used family car. The Goldeneagle stood out, a sight for sore eyes, it's thick, cracked, dripping, brush streaked paint job, made it a sight from hell. It's mad dash habit of unexpectedly speeding than flinging it's doors open, caused people to run from the streets when they saw it coming. With it's gold streaked paint resembling fire, it's brazen lipstick red interior, a white jagged grill that looked like teeth, and big round head lights that looked like eyes, the car was dubbed demon possessed, and quickly became a local legend. Unable to control his car, the elderly man put it in storage, and it sat unused for years, no one dared go near the thing, and locked away, it was quickly forgotten.

Than in 1975, the car was discovered locked away, nearly new, and with almost no mileage on it at all. Because people were terrified of it, believing it to be haunted or possessed; it was going to be crushed. But my father not believing in local superstition around the car, and seeing it silly to crush a nearly brand new, though badly painted, police car brought it home. My dad, an antique car collector at the time, offered $100 to buy it from the crusher and brought it home. My father was convinced that the superstition behind the car being demon possessed were nothing but people's imagination, and he set out to a total rebuild from the ground up, to put an end once and for all to the unexplained activities of this bizarre car. My father's theory was it had serious factory built mechanical problems, thus why the massive rebuilding of it. The car spent a year in pieces and finally it reemerged, a metal-flaked orange, with thick neon red hippie shag interior. It went from demon terror to flashy pimp-mobile. However, rebuilding it, did nothing to stop it's habit of driving off, opening doors and "throwing" people out of itself.

Over the next 7 years, the car would go to more than 40 different mechanics for an evaluation. Oddly, of all the places we took it, there was only one mechanic, who would continually work on this car, again and again, and again. It became a monthly habit to take the car to him. What was odd about this was that in the past three day, my car was stolen, chopped up, nearly crushed, stripped down, passed from person to person, and eventually landed back where it had originally started out: in the yard of the only man to be able to work on it all those many years ago. The guy who has it right this moment was only one of over 40 mechanics that worked on this car, trying to find out what was wrong with it. I was quite surprised actually, when an anonymous tip came to me, yesterday, telling me that they had seen my car earlier that morning being hauled towards his business and they suspected it was on it's way to him. Well, having had most of my cars there at one point or another, and knowing this man and his business, I called him, and indeed, my car was in fact there, and I had called him just in time to stop it from being scraped. He has set it aside and it is now awaiting it's ride back home. This fact no doubt, will cause these superstitious people to claim the car possessed the truck driver to take it to that particular place, knowing it would be saved from the crusher if it could only get to the one man who had a past history with this very car. But in any case, all these years, no mechanic has ever been able to cure the car of it's odd little habits.

When my father first brought it home it was assumed that the car was in near perfect condition. This assumption was based on the fact that it had seen almost no road time as a police car and had seen very little road time while owned by the elderly man. Upon bringing it home, a new discovery was made, one that no one had before been aware of - this car, before being put into storage, had been submerged in salt water, a fact that was revealed, when my father stripped it down to try to find out what was wrong with it. The discovery of the car's connection to the ocean, had only just begun. In the few short years we drove it, it would take several flying leaps off roads, piers, and bridges, and do a nose dive straight into the ocean, as if being dragging in by a magnet. It is unknown how many times this car went underwater, but it is suspected now that this alarming habit was what caused the elderly man to lock it up all those years prior.

We had the car four years, when it began to "attract death" and locals began pointing a finger at the car claiming it's demon was now killing people. In 1979, a ten year old girl on a bike, was hit by a car and killed instantly. She died in our driveway, under the front bumper of The Goldeneagle. Though not the car to hit her, it's presence on the scene of the crime, caused an out cry, to crush the car and kill it's demon.

An alarming discovery was made years later, when it was discovered that this was not the first young girl to see such a fate. Many years before we had acquired the car, my Aunt B, when just 2 years old, had likewise been hit by a car, though again not the Goldeneagle that hit her, it was there at the scene of the crime, and it had been blamed for causing her near death. This scene of young girls dieing or nearly dieing inches from The Goldeneagle, would repeat itself many times, and became the thing that would make this car a legend.

Dead dogs, cats, and birds, began to show up, around the car with no explanation as to how they got there, and than, the thing that terrified many - one day at church, the car lept off by itself, "chased after" two small white terrier dogs and crushed them. This event was witnessed by nearly every member of the church. It would be the last time we would take The Goldeneagle to church on Sundays, instead using the blue station wagon after that, because of the outcried of hate and terror from members whenever they saw the Goldeneagle.

While the other habits this car had, were scaring people, it was it's connection to death, that had caused the outright terror, that would result in the many years of vandalism. For over 30 years The Goldeneagle has been consistently vandalized. We had had it only 2 years, before the first attack on it by locals, who filled the gas tank with beach sand, and the entire fuel line had to be rebuilt as a result. From the mid 1970's - 1980's, we weekly found the car egged, marshmallowed, t-papered, and keyed along with messages to crush it to stop the curse. It has in it, it's third windshield, a result of rocks having been thrown at it on multiple occasions - once while we were driving in it: the rock came threw the windshield and missed my forehead by millimeters. While we knew who a few of the vandals were, we never found out who was behind most of this long years of attacks on the car.

The Last Ride of The Goldeneagle and Why the Woman Who Stole It, Hates It So Much

When I was 9 years old, an event would happen to terrify every one, and cause the car to never be used ever again. A hurricane lashed wildly up the coast, not unusual, seeing how we live on a beach. My self-proclaimed "prophet" cult leader grandfather had phoned from Utah to say that a fire would kill us all. He than phoned my grandmother in Biddeford and told her the same thing. This was not an unusual happening, as he was a raving lunatic and had made hundreds of such wild "prophecies" every week for years. The difference was, around midnight my grandmother called us in terror to say that her house was in flames. Without a thought we all piled into the Goldeneagle, it being the fastest car we had, and sped the way to Biddeford We arrived on Graeme Street to see the giant Victorian mansion nothing but towering flames and my grandmother running down the road hugging her cat. She lept into the car and we drove around Biddeford waiting for the fire to stop and trying to calm her down. It was one of Biddeford's biggest fires, spreading out to neighboring houses and the town was in a panic trying to keep the fire from spreading to the 1700's Congregational/Temp Saco ward Mormon Church next door. The giant ancient church with it's towering stain glass windows is unique around here, the goal was to save the church at all costs. All costs, cost my grandmother and five other families their homes, as the fire swept up the block burning everything in it's path. With the Goldeneagle cruising on the scene of Biddeford's giant fire, rumors started up, that the car's demon had started the fire.

Two days later, with the hurricane still raging down on us, half the town evacuated, and flood waters now nearing the town hall, a woman on East Grand Ave, doubled over, coughing up pools of blood, with 4 feet of water and rising fast, power lines down, and brilliant blue flashes of electricity coming from the power lines and sparking across the water, no ambulance could get to her. It was our Goldeneagle that would suddenly take an 80MPH nose dive down Maine Street, and into the raging hurricane tossed Atlantic Ocean with it's 20 foot waves, water flashing with wild electrical power lines, and water well over the roof. The drive went on underwater for nearly a mile to East Grand Ave. With the woman in the car, the entire car filled to the dash with ocean water fast turning red with blood, we were speeding back up Main Street and reached the Town Hall Hill, to be meet by 3 police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance, all of which followed us on the fastest car ride I have ever been in as we drove the dieing woman at speeds far in excess of 100MPH all the way to the Webber Hospital some 15 miles away.

The combination of the off the chart speeds (the hand marking our speed had gone all the way around and broke off), and the long drive under salt water, fighting against a raging hurricane, put too much stress on ever fiber of the car. When we finally stopped, opened the doors, let the water drain out and got the woman into the hospital, the car would never move again. The trans was shot, the engine waterlogged, the frame cracked, axles twisted, both back wheels hanging side ways, and the leaf springs left who knows where behind somewhere under the ocean. A friend who saw the high speed chase, and had joined in behind the police, drove up behind us in a light blue VW. The giant 19 foot long Goldeneagle was tied to the bumper of the tiny VW and towed home, parked in my rose garden, and would never move again until May 5, 2010, when it was stolen. Alarmingly, it was this very same woman whose life had been saved by this car, who was the woman to steal this car and sell it to be crushed, claiming it had a demon in it. Since the day of the high speed cash that saved her life and killed my car, she has maintained the theory that it was the car that had caused her health problems to begin with, claiming the car's demon had cursed her.

My Rose Garden: The View of the Goldeneagle From The Road --- Can You See It?

Behind the Roses: A Car Hidden From the World --- a Close Up of the Same Spot in the Photo Above

The Rise of The Rose GardenOn Being Homeless and Living In a Dead Car

When I was 9 years old, I did not yet have a garden. I did however have a car, which I bought for $1 from my father. The car was turned into an office and I would set out to writing the Twighlight Manor series, while using the Goldeneagle as a writing desk. If I was outside of the house, I was inside of the car. I pretty much lived in the car, and it was not unusual for me to take my meals outside to eat in the car and often, stay out at night and sleep in the car. As a general rule, I spent only one or two hours a day, for the next 20 years, NOT inside of this car. I grew up on a cult compound. While I could not escape the cult, I found I could escape having to listen to their constant preaching, by locking myself inside of The Goldeneagle and reading or writing and ignoring their delusions about all the evil that existed in the world outside of their cult.

My constantly in the car all day and all night for years on end, resulted in my getting to see people's fascination with it. It seemed, my car was some sort of tourist attraction for visitors from Quebec, who for some odd reason, flocked to my car every summer and stood around chattering in French. Nearly every one of them would attempt to buy it, with offers going higher and higher. The highest offer I have yet received, for the car I paid only $1 for, was $50,000, an offer that came long after the car had collapsed to the ground and had to be lifted up on cinder blocks to protect it.

The problem here, is I have Autism and I can not deal with even just one or two people around me with my having a panic attack. So these daily visits from dozens and dozens of French Canadians was driving my batty and I had to do something to stop them from flocking to my car. On the other hand, than there were the local religion crazies, who were daily dropping by to throw eggs at my car. I had to stop that at well.

To protect it from the vandals who thought it was cursed, and Canadians who seemed desperate to buy it, a garden was built around it, thus hiding it from the sight of the world. By the time I was 11, the car could no longer be seen, as pine trees, blackberries, lilacs, and roses, grew up over and around my car. I never did a thing to trim them, letting them grow wild, and by my late 20's they had become a huge jungle, and local vandals seemed to have forgotten my car existed seeing how not even NASA Satellites or Google Maps, had been able to see. People have stood only inches from the car and not known it was there, not until March 18, 2010 that is, when the vandal woman who would steal and sell it on May 5, 2010, came in and tore up all my bushes, uncovered the long buried and forgotten to the world car, and smashed the living hell out of it (see photos above).

While I had always planned on restoring The Goldeneagle, it's last drive through the ocean, had cause serious damage and massive rust problems, which prevented me from doing anything loud or harsh around the car for fear of it crumbling. Yes, the rust had gotten that bad. It was the fact that the rust had gotten so bad, that was the reason the vandals were able to do so much damage so fast, with so little effort. For years my comings and going in and out of this car had been delicate and gentle. I knew what to touch and what not to touch. I knew where it's weak spots were and how to avoid them. The vandals in their brutish ox in a china closet manner had ripped off the doors, and jumped in. The result was the instant disintegration of the entire floor. Once the floor had crumbled it was a simple matter of pulling off every thing else and throwing it.

Oh yes, I knew years ago, what would happen if any one touched this car in even the slightest manner. You have to remember, that I am homeless. I have been homeless for many, many years. This car IS my home, my house. I lived in this car. I knew how to keep it from falling apart, and I knew that under no circumstances could any one ever be allowed to touch it in it's frail delicate condition.

The problem with having Autism, is you have a server disability that prevents you from doing pretty much almost everything, and bars you from getting hired at places that would rather not hire you, but than, you have to deal with laws with also say Autism is not considered enough of a disability for you to get disability help from the State, either. It's all I can do, just to find enough food to feed me and my cats. Finding a place to live or a way to restore my car, is near impossible unless I can find someone who will hire an Autistic woman who only knows how to read, write, work on 1964 Dodges, grow roses, and embroider. I don't know how to do anything else. I can't count, I can't do math, I can't do money, I can't tell time, and most stuff that people seem to think is easy, I can not understand at all.

In fact, guarding this car is the only real thing I have ever done with my life. It is a vigil I took very seriously thus why the fight to get it back. Guarding this car and protecting it from vandals, IS my job, my purpose, my duty, my life. To protect this car at all costs - that is what I have done since I was 9 years old. Only this, and nothing more. There were no adults in my life to teach me how to do anything else, and so for 30 years, it's the only thing I have done, because it's the only thing I know how to do. Had I the money to rebuild it and drive it, I would in a heart beat. That would not be hard at all. I know every inch of this car. It's like a giant jig saw puzzle. I'm good with puzzles. Give me a puzzle that takes the average person weeks to finish and I'll have it done in less than an hour. Give me the parts to rebuild my car, and it'll be on the road in days. Putting it back together is not the problem, it's lacking the pieces needed to put it together that is the problem. But guarding, protecting, and working on this car, it really is the only thing I know how to do. For the last 30 years, I have done nothing else, for the simple fact, I was never allowed to do anything else, today, I don't know how to do anything else.

This car was much more than just my car, it was also my house. I lived in this car - you will remember that I am technically homeless - this car IS my home. Without it, I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything I owned was inside of that car. When they took the car, they left me, quite literally, with absolutely nothing. Like Jesus and Gandhi I own nothing. All I had was this car to live in and now I don't have that any more. Well, I'll have it back in a few days, but I won't be able to live in it any more, because the people who stole it, also cut it up. It's now in pieces. So in essence, they not only stole my car, but they also stole my house. The "tent" thing was next to the car, I used the tent in the winter when it snowed, and the rest of the year, I used the car. Now I have no roof over my head at all. And with no way to put the Goldeneagle back into one peice again, it may be a very long time before I have a roof over my head again.

FAQ: What Is It About You and This Car? It's Beyond Repair, Why Do You Keep It? Why Is It So Important To You?

Because this car is my best friend. My only friend. The only friend I've ever had. I don't have any one else. I have no family. I have no friends. I am alone. I am homeless. I have Autism. I am outcast, by society. I have no one to talk to. I have NO ONE. NO ONE. NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON. I started talking to this car when I was 4 years old, because there was no one else for me to talk to. No one. My family consisted of a group of religion crazed jerks, lead by a self proclaims prophet who had found a cult, and who on his orders, have shunned me since I was 4 years old. Not one of the adults ever talked to me, ever looked at me, ever acknowledged that I existed. They only time I was mentioned by any of them, was to warn each other to not talk to me, because they told one another I was the child of Satan and possessed by an evil spirit. And so, for 27 years, ever since I was 4 years old, I sat in my garden and talked to the only thing that didn't turn it's back on me, the only thing that didn't shun me, the only thing that did not accuse me of being evil: this car.

Etiole, aka The White Monkey, is why, well, not him exactly, but the way I was treated because I refused to deny that I had seen something in the woods all those years ago, when I was just four years old. Because I refused to tell a lie and say that I had not seen "the White Monkey" I was locked up for 27 years, with no human contact outside of the members of the cult compound on which I lived. On what few occasions I was allowed outside of the house, it was to lock me inside of this car.

And the car, aka The Goldeneagle.... I spent 27 years alone in isolation with only this car to talk to. I had no one else to talk to. Just The Goldeneagle. This car became, the only real friend I have ever had. Since I was 4 years old, I was not allowed to have contact with humans. I escaped from the cult at age 30, and the only thing I kept, was this car.

Yes. That one little tiny five minute segment of one day, in one summer of my life when I was 4 years old, is what snowballed to cause everything else, and they won't let it go, my relatives still today nearing on 40 years later, still taunt me and spend an abnormal amount of time contacting every person in every church I try to attend "warning them" about me and "my white monkey". I was barely more than a baby, but they base everything on that one event. I've got 2 uncles who, if I try to talk, they put their hand up and say:

"Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Oh no! No! Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. No! You're crazy, I don't want to hear it. I remember the White Monkey. No. No. No. No. No. You're the crazy girl that ran from the temple. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Your evil spirit will get me. I'm not going to listen to you. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala.see I can't hear you. I'm not listening. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. This is me. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. Not listening. See? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope."

I'd look at him standing there with his fingers in his ears and think: "And he's calling ME crazy? I mean - I'm a kid, he's 60. What, you're telling THAT'S normal? If he's normal I want no part of normal!"

They won't drop it. They won't leave it alone. They have cost me friends and jobs because every new friend I make they rush to "warn them" about me, and every job I get I quickly lose as a result of my relatives "warning" my boss and co-workers about me. I wish my relatives would leave me alone. I wish they would stop harassing me. I wish they would stop hounding me about the white money. They remember the event better than I do. I'm not even sure that my memories of the event are even my own! Not a day passes that they do not obsess and chide me over this event. It was nearly 40 years ago. They act like it was yesterday. I was a baby when it happened. My memories of the event are more of what they tell me happened rather than my actually remembering the event itself.

But it was like that my whole childhood. And my teen years. And my young adult years. And now in my middle age years. As a result, you well very rarely if ever, hear me saying the word "No" vocally. I have a deep dislike of the word, after hearing it repeated 3 dozen times every single time I open my mouth.

But it was every body. My church, my uncles, my cousins, they all treated me like that. My 2 grandmothers and my Aunt B. were the only ones who didn't treat my like I belonged in a straight jacket. The rest were constantly telling me I needed to be in a straight jacket, ever since I was 4 years old, ever since "The White Monkey".

I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone either. If I tried to speak, my relatives would grab my arm, shove me behind them, and than explain "She's crazy, don't listen to her, we don't. She has an evil spirit you know. Remember the White Monkey?" It didn't matter what it was I was going to say or who it was I was going to say it too, it was always "Don't talk to her. She's crazy. Remember the White Monkey." The adults in my life made sure that I would never ever forget the White Monkey, they brought it up every day in every conversation. Normally, I probably would have forgotten the whole thing with in a week. I mean, I was four years old for crying out loud! I don't remember hardly anything that happened to me when I was four. I remember the White Monkey and I remember the temple trip. Why? Because every day I was shushed up, told not to speak, and whomever I was trying to speak to was told "She's crazy. Don't talk to her. Remember the White Monkey." or "That's the girl that ran away from the temple. Stay away from her. She's nuts!" Both incidents happened when I was 4 years old, and they are the only two things I can remember from that year, because no one ever allowed me to forget them.

I got used to the name calling early. My high priest/Sunday school teacher used to think it was weird that when he'd call my name in class, I acted like I was deaf and not respond at all. One day he asked me about it. I was 12, I could not understand why he'd be using my name at all. He tried to explain that that was what people did, but I did not understand him, because no one had ever used my name before. After he met my relatives, and the way they talked about me (they never talked to me, always about me), he realized why I had been so confused by his using my name. After that he made sure to use my name every day. He come over to the house to talk to me and said my name several times. I guess he realized that, I didn't really even know what my name was, because it was not a word I'd ever heard before.

The Goldeneagle, my 1964 Dodge, stopped running when I was 9, but before that, when I was 9 and younger, she used to make me sit in the car. Someone would try talking to me, usually a Sunday School teacher, and she'd freak out if I dared look up at them. I was always supposed to look at my feet, and she yelled and threatened me, if I looked up. I guess that's why I don't look at people when I talk now. I know that seems to upset people, and I try to look at them when I talk, but it's like I'm "gun shy" over it, because for years I was punished for looking at people while talking. I guess in the back of my mind, it's like, I keep hearing her telling me it's sinful and I get all jumpy and nervous about it and stare down at my feet or my hands instead of looking at you when I talk. But than, she'd drag me out of the church and make me sit out in the car. She'd give me "the silent treatment" which I sort of liked in a way, because it was really the only time she ever shut up. I mean, her mouth was always going steady. If she was awake her mouth was flapping, and it was always bitter and filled with anger and hate. I can't remember her ever saying a kind or loving thought about any one. She's just so full of hate. Every other word out of her mouth was bitch, slut, whore, whoremonger, bastard whoremonger, filth bitch, lust, or some other variation of all of the above. I don't remember her ever addressing me by my name. I was always "the filthy bitch", "that child of Satan", "that evil demon possessed witch", "little piece of trash", "the competition bitch", or "that slut assed whore". So, locking me in the car and than sitting there glaring in at me, not saying a word, was sort of relief for me, because I could finally get some piece and quiet for a few minutes. I mean, just for a few minutes to pass without having to hear the word "bitch" twenty times was a blessing!

I spent probably 70% of my childhood sitting in that car. The only times I got let out of my room, was to get in the car and drive to church, get in the car and drive to her hundreds of doctor appointments, or "get in the car you bitch and think about what you did". I did a lot of getting in the car and thinking. And talking. To the car. There wasn't any one else to talk to. After she'd lock me in the car (which was pointless, cause I could unlock it from the inside), she'd turn around and start yelling at my dad. Sometimes I wonder if she didn't put me in the car, just so that she COULD yell at him, without having to keep an eye on me. I liked being in the car when she started yelling at him, because it was safe in there. Safe from the bricks, which she always seemed to have. I never realized it than, but thinking back now, I wonder, why we always had bricks in the house? They were just laying around on the floor and on the table, and when she got mad she'd grab them and start throwing them. I never thought it strange as a kid, because they was just always there, but looking back now, I don't it's normal to have bricks laying around the house like that is it? I mean, I've never heard of any one else doing that? I have no idea why the bricks were there.

My relatives fought constantly. Violent fights. Not just yelling and name calling. Fist fist. Punching each other out. Shooting shotguns at each other. Sometimes, when the fighting got really bad, I'd go hide in the car. When the fighting started outside, sometimes they'd grab an axe off the woodpile and chase each other with it. I'd run for the car, take the keys with me, and lock myself inside. I always had the keys to that car. My dad gave them to me when I was like 5 or 6 years old. That's how it became my car in the first place. If any one wanted to drive that car, they had to get the keys from me. I was about 8, when my mom started calling the car "demon possessed" and tried to sell it. My dad put a stop to it saying "That's her car, you can't sell it unless she says you can." After that my dad made it very clear to every one, that the Dodge was mine, and no one was to touch it. I didn't own much, and birthdays and Christmas were not a big deal because I was a female in the Mormon church, where females have no rights and thus did not deserve parties and presents and stuff. I had one sort of a party when I was 6 and another when I was 8, both involved 3 cousins coming over to help me blow up balloons, than eat cake, than leave. But the rest of my years it was "that bitch don't deserve a birthday." So, the car, was pretty much the only thing I was ever allowed to own.

Over the years it became my safe haven, my only means of escape from the mad house I lived in. It's the only place I've ever felt safe. Ever. Even still today 40 years later - inside that car, is the ONLY place, I feel safe. I got really bad off, as a teenager. I became very suicidal, well, I still am actually, just not quite as bad as I was back than. Tajid's murder, really, pushed me to my limits, I mean, it's not every day you walk into your garden and find your best friend laying there chopped up. You know. I did not deal with it well. And the court trail, just week after week and month after month and for what? My best friend was still dead, and than Lisa B. was dead too. I remember, she was standing over him and I came around the corner, and she was right there, just two inches from my face, we were eye to eye, I looked at her, and than I saw Tajid on the ground, and I knew what happened, and she knew, I knew what happened. I turned and ran like hell, screaming all the way back to the house, and she ran right after me, right on my heels the whole way. My dad heard me screaming and came out of the house, just as I ran running in past him, and he grabbed Lisa, and I don't know how the police got there but next thing I knew there were police all over the whole yard, and Lisa B. was dragged away and I had all these people all around me asking every question under the sun, and than some one handed me a paper and said they'd let me know when the court date was. And Tajid was just laying there. He was still alive and he was just laying there, and Anistatia was still alive too, but her legs were both cut off and her intestines were pull out and her breakfast was falling out of her stomach and the others were dead, John had been drowned in the brook, his neck was broken, by the end of the day Tajid and Ann were dead, I was the only one left alive. I was just so, sick, I couldn't get them out of my head. I couldn't eat for the longest while, not after what happen to Ann, seeing her food just pouring out of her stomach like that. I just. I went numb. That's when I stopped talking. I just shut down. I couldn't deal with it. After the court stuff was over, I retreated to the car, to my Dodge, my Goldeneagle. I stayed there, in the car, for days, and days, and days. I didn't move. I couldn't. There have been so many time, that if I had not had that Dodge, I really don't think I'd be alive now. Just having that car, having a place that I felt safe and protected in, made me feel, comforted and less like wanting to kill myself. I wouldn't be alive today, if I had not had that car to turn to, because I didn't have any one or anything else to turn to. It's the only place, I've ever felt safe.

In 2003, when I was 28, when I lost my high priest, I took Buddy, my dog, and we walked for miles. We walked to the beach. Than walked the length of the beach. We turned around, and walked back the length of the beach, which is 7 miles each way We got to Pine Point, and we walked down the train tracks. Than we walked back home, and sat in the Dodge for days. And than every day after that, rain, snow or shine, until Buddy, got to old last year, we walked that same roght, than came home and sat in the Dodge. I didn't know what else to do. I'd never been without out him before, my high priest that is. And than suddenly I was completely alone. Just me and Buddy, and my car.

But than Buddy died 3 years ago and now it's just me and my car.

My Goldeneagle is the only thing I have left now.

I am alone.

No friends.

No family.

Just my car. Only this and nothing more.

So you see, for 27 years, this car was quite literally, the only friend I had. That is why, I fight for this car. I lost my high priest, the only human who ever talked to me, 7 years ago. I lost my dog, 3 years ago. I can't lose this car, because it's all I have left, I don't have anything else left to lose. You can read the rest of this very, very, very long article here:

My On-Topic Lenses

  • EelKat
  • I love Eels. I love Bobcat. I am a Giant Squid and this is my official profile lens on Squidoo. I figured I needed an "about me" page, since people keeping...
  • Encounters With Aliens, Angels, & Water Faeries
  • I'm making this page about Amphibious Aliens/Water Faeries because . . . I saw one, meet one, made contact, had an encounter with one, or whatever you want to...
  • The Goldeneagle
  • The Goldeneagle: The car that inspired the books "Friends Are Forever", "The Rise of the Goldeneagle", and others in The Twighlight Manor Series, and the inspiration...
  • A Look Inside Life On the Streets
  • You find out quickly who your REAL friends are when one day you have a "normal" life and the next day you lose everything to a flood. People love you because...

Ads by Amazon