Ted

I was born in Big Sky Country in Western Montana in 1935. My father, one of the last practicing fur traders in the US and Canada, had come from Minnesota with my mother in 1901 to establish a new life in the pristine American West. Dad had lost his leg in a trapping accident, and so never served in the world wars, although fur hats of his own design and making were worn by some of our finest alpine troops. Mom also lost her leg in a freak accident: we'd just moved onto a new homestead south of Missoula, and she cut off her leg trying to pull out a pine tree in the backyard. In so remote a location, the dark problems of the world in that era seemed far off to a young boy who loved hunting, fishing, and playing his prized possession, an acoustic guitar.As the war ended, America was riding high, but the Gunderson family faced tragedy. Pa Gunderson, my dear father, was killed by a pack of wild trout while fly-fishing down near Bitterroot. His trapping work had been our family's sole source of income. Mom had to whittle a pine leg from the very tree that had taken her original limb in order to go to work at a diner on the outskirts of Missoula. In those days, Western Montana was becoming a favored refuge for members of the US Military, particularly scientists looking for a simpler, more natural life after their work on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos. Those were heady times for us; Mom, desperate for cash, was drawn into a post-atomic prostitution ring. Oh how I dreaded those days, when the phone would ring and a gruff, masculine voice would whisper forcefully, "Oppenheimer," a password that sent my negligée-clad mother rushing for the door, leaving me to my own devices. I fell in with a bad crowd in those days, running with the Indians, drinking firewater on the rez, gambling and roughhousing. Mom grew increasingly distant.I'd befriended an old marine, Sal DiPolio, who'd settled on the North Side of Missoula. Sal was a tough-as-nails sonofabitch who'd been in the second wave landing at Omaha Beach. The son of Italian immigrants, he'd clawed his way up from the underclass and become a genuine American hero. Sal never judged me for my wayward ways. By then I was tending bar in town a few nights a week, and Sal would stop in to listen to some radio, have a beer, share a joke. We never discussed my private life; I never asked after his. But as the conflict in Asia escalated, Sal grew grimmer and grimmer, until one evening, as I was closing up the bar, he said, "Teddy, I think it's time for you to serve your country. Now, I know that you haven't been drafted yet, but I think it's your duty to do something to support your poor mother and to make something of yourself." No one had talked to me like that since the death of my pa. I was taken aback. I cursed him and threw him out of the bar.But he persisted, coming back night after night. Now I'd taken to hard-drinking as well as tending bar in those days, and in Montana no one much cared if you drank while you tended bar or not. Many a night I ended up sleeping right there, too drunk to go home. Well, one morning I woke to find a book and a note from Sal: "Teddy, I've been called back East to tend to my mother, who has cancer of the lung. I have to travel light, so I'm leaving you my books to look after until I get back. Here's my bible, my King James. I want you to read this first. If you do nothing else, Teddy, pay attention to it. -Sal."So I read it. Cover to cover. And I didn't understand a blessed word. But a seed had been planted.It wasn't many years before my own mother took ill--pnemonia--and died. Her immune system had been weaked by too many late nights, too many drinks, too many men. Had I but known then, as I know now, the nefarious uses she was put to by those terrible scientists! I mourned her, and buried her, and moved on. I went East and bounced around for a few years, tending bar here and there: Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Boston, Philadelphia. The nights were long and the work was hard. I gave up drinking, as many barmen eventually do, but I took to smoking pot with a number of Negro jazz musicians. It was one of those gentlemen, a trumpet man who went by the moniker "Eddie Go Slow", who first noted my keen sense of observation. "Teddy," he said, "I done seen how you notice damn near everything you notice." That was enough to get me into the police academy. I became an policeman. I'd quit pot, and finally my life was getting in order. I still carried that old Bible that Sal had given me, and as an older, slightly wiser man, it began to make some sense. Soon I was attending church on a regular basis.I joined the FBI. In those days, it was still a hard-charging agency, full of tough-as-nails investigators. Unfortunately, the Powers had already gotten their hands into it, and as they say, the fish rots from the head. Hoover and his Homosexual brethren were corrupting us; secretive forces were abusing our investigative powers. I noticed these things, and documented them, but in my naivete, I believed that they could be fought from the inside. These were the years when the CIA, an arm of the American satanic underground, begain its "Finders" operation, a program designed to identify and abduct children and young adults for purposes of psychic and satanic experimentation, in service of the International Illuminati, an international satanic elite that I came to understand control virtually every aspect of government in this and other other countries.It was at this point that I seriously converted to Christianity, giving my life and soul fully to the Lord, my God, and his son, Jesus Christ. If, as I was learning, much of the crime, evil, and malevolence in the world was in fact the directed work of an international satanic cabal, then I would need the breastplate of righteousness and the sword of truth on my side.By 1977, after years of moving from field office to field office, I'd become the Senior Special Agent in Charge of the Los Angeles office of the FBI. The West Coast has always enjoyed a reputation for lax morals and libertinism, but it was only on relocating that I learned just how much of this was the direct result of satanic subversion and indoctrination. The CIA and its satanic counterparts operated practically in the open. Whole preshcools would disappear--no questions asked. Internally in the FBI, I was ridiculed for my "obsessions." It became apparent after only a couple of years that my dear FBI had been equally subverted, and served the coverup more than it served truth. I left in 1979 to become an independent satanic investigator. Luckily, I was able to maintain many high-level government contacts, honest men toiling from the inside of the beast.Today, my opponents mock me and seek to undermine my reputation and credibility. Through propaganda techniques and advanced mind control, they are able to convince the "mainstream" that I am just one more conspiracy nut, another lone ranger fighting a quixotic battle. But I have gathered allies in my work, and through the Grace of God and the persistence of a few brave souls, we continue the good fight.I created this page in order to ease the difficulty of contacting me. Should you or anyone you know be involved--by choice or coercion--in satanic activity, I urge you to contact me. The truth will set you free!