Thursday, January 31, 2019

Tommy Bowman Won't Let Himself Be Forgotten

One of my hobbies in recent years has been the annotating and expanding of David Paulides' Missing 411 books.  Accompanying the cases of missing people in rural areas (and now cities), Paulides notes, are strange coincidences, such as people missing in different areas having nearly identical names and/or appearances, people somehow managing to avoid numerous closed-circuit cameras on their way to their destinies, and people vanishing in areas with "Devil" or other alarming words in their names.

I don't have any personal experience with a missing person case, but I suffered through a bizarre coincidence (if it was a coincidence) many years ago.

It happened in 1979 or '80, probably during the summer vacation from school.  I was riding my ten-speed bike through the semi-rural countryside near Bixby, Oklahoma, a small town about ten miles south of Tulsa. The land (back then, at least) consisted mainly of pastures, fields of grain, and patches of forest.  Paved roads divided the area into squares one mile on each side.

I pedaled and coasted along one mile-long strip of road and halted at an intersection.  As I balanced atop my bike, panting heavily (I don't think I've ever actually been in shape), I noticed the telephone pole next to the STOP sign.

A haze of staples, thumbtacks, and nails covered the lower six feet of the tar-coated pole, all that remained of posters and notices of the past.  Several notices still defied the elements and clung to the wood, and one in particular caught my eye.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THIS BOY? read two-inch-high letters.  Intrigued, I edged my bike onto the shoulder of the road.

A faded photo had been reproduced beneath the heading.  The Xerox machines available at Quik-Trip and other convenience stores of that time were less than perfect, but I could make out the features of a young, excited-looking, freckle-faced boy.

"Tommy Bowman," began the next line.

A simple, common-sounding name.  It seemed familiar.  I sidled my bike off the shoulder onto the grass.

"Tommy Bowman, aged 8."

Then it hit me:  Tommy Bowman?  The Devil's Gate Reservoir Tommy Bowman?

"Tommy Bowman, aged 8, disappeared March 23, 1957, from near Altadena, California."

I would have let loose a foul oath, but I was gobsmacked.  Thomas Eldon Bowman, one of the children who disappeared in the area around Devil's Gate Reservoir in southern California in the late '50s/early '60s -- an area dubbed "The Forest of Disappearing Children" by Brad Steiger and other authors.  I was really into historical mysteries, and my favorite subject was mysterious disappearances -- and one of my favorite missing person tales was Devil's Gate Reservoir.

. . . What was a missing person poster for Tommy Bowman, who disappeared in 1957, 1500 miles from Bixby, doing thumbtacked to a telephone pole in Bixby in the summer of 1980?  What were the chances that I would have braked beside it and noticed it out of all other phone poles with fliers and posters stuck to them?  If the entire population of Bixby, OK, had come marching by that pole, would any of them recognized the name?

I gave what I call a "thousand yard plus three feet" stare.  I scanned my surroundings.  There was nothing around for a mile but empty roads and fields, but I focused my eyes only a few feet away, as if someone was going to be standing there saying "Ha-ha!  Made ya look!"  I've done that a few times in my life, when I've run into coincidences so amazing, I was sure someone set it up (even if it had to do with private thoughts I'd never told anyone).

"$1000 will be paid by Mary and Eldon Bowman to the first person with information reuniting Tommy with us."  I removed the thumbtacks from the phone pole and snatched the poster.  I didn't expect to collect the reward, but this weird little artifact was going into my permanent record.  To this day it resides in my file cabinet, in the manila folder marked "Mysterious Disappearances."

Tommy and several other missing people from the Altadena area now form a "cluster" in the book Missing 411:  Western United States by David Paulides.  In recent years it has been suggested that California serial killer Mack Ray Edwards may have killed Tommy -- or was Edwards an example of The Convenient Madman?




Saturday, January 12, 2019

I Heard of That Somewhere is Out!


A hundred years ago, a young boy went out to the well to fetch a bucket of water and never came back. His family went to look for him; they found his tracks in the snow, but these ended in mid-stride as if he'd stepped off a cliff. The boy called for help as if from a distance, but he was never seen again.

You know, I heard of that somewhere. It happened in Indiana - or Alabama - or Wales.
In bustling, modern New York City a man dressed in Victorian clothing materialized in the middle of Times Square during the rush hour. He was immediately hit by a cab and killed. All the papers found on him were dated from the 1870s. An inquisitive police chief dug back through old records and found that a man by the same name had left home for a walk one night in 1876 and had never returned. At least, I heard of that somewhere.

Before Son of Sam, Ted Bundy, or Zodiac, Jack the Ripper stalked London, killing women by ones and twos. For over a century detectives and researchers tried to learn his identity, and he was finally revealed to be the same man who built the horrible "Murder Castle" at the Chicago World's Fair. Or he was a high-ranking member of the Freemasons who rode around the dingy alleys of East London in a royal coach. Or he was Queen Victoria's grandson. Well, I heard of that somewhere.

We've all heard of mysteries historical and paranormal; we've all discussed "true" tales at parties, around campfires, and at other informal gatherings. We are all fascinated by strange, scary, and inexplicable events, yet when we collect them and pass them on, we forget basic facts concerning them.

Even serious researchers into the paranormal suffer from this dichotomy. If the stories are true, they imply that the laws of nature don't always agree with scientists' theories, that we share this world with unknown creatures, spirits, and intelligences, and that powerful forces are at play in the universe - powers that might someday be harnessed by humanity. They might spark several paradign shifts in science and philosophy, if the phenomena behind them could be studied. Yet many writers and self-proclaimed experts can't seem to locate basic texts and first-person accounts on anomalies, relying instead on second- or third-hand versions from tabloids, YA and juvenile books, or mass-market publications meant only to entertain the general public.


In I Heard of That Somewhere author Michael D. Winkle traces famous and not-so-famous rumors, tall tales and urban legends to their origins, or as close as is feasible. Some old stories fade into fiction or hoax (though not as many as you might think). Others spread out in unexpected directions, bringing us to new, equally intriguing stories. Some actually become stranger the farther we search. And a few actually happened the way you heard of - somewhere.

Available at Troy Taylor's American Hauntings Ink: I Heard of That Somewhere