The Strategy of Death


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You’ve heard the stories. Murmurs of the numerous deaths associated with Bill and  Hillary in their quest for power. (Below, I’ll post a True/False link to the most well known of their dead associations.)

One incident, not commonly associated with them, but one I’ve questioned since 1999, is the plane crash which caused the deaths of John F. Kennedy, Jr., his wife and sister-in-law. Like others, I grieved these deaths. In particular, I mourned the loss of JFK,Jr., much like I would grieve the loss of a friend. We were born the same year. I had grown up knowing his name nearly as well as I knew my own. As a child, his pet name, John-John, was spoken with adoration by the adults around me; as if they knew him personally.

The loss of this vibrant man struck a chord of sadness worldwide. I was at the Atlanta airport when I heard the news of his death. Most everyone I encountered that day, black/white/brown/male/female, voiced similar sentiments, “I can’t believe it”. “He was our prince”. “The good Kennedy”. “I’ve always felt like I knew him personally.”

Later that evening, still reeling from the reports, I called my mom, “Did you hear about John Kennedy, Jr? I’m stunned, in shock. And I just read last week he was considering politics. A run for a New York Senate seat”.  As soon as the words left my tongue, another thought formed and spilled forth, “Oh my God. I wonder if Bill and Hillary Clinton are behind this? I think Hillary is aiming for the NY Senate too. She knows she wouldn’t stand a a snowball’s chance if she ran against John Kennedy.”


And that’s the thought that has tugged on the perimeter of my consciousness since that dark summer day in 1999. Am I playing into the conspiracy theories? I don’t think so. I put nothing past the two from Arkansas. I will spare you the length of posting their copious corrupt deeds and activities, yet, I urge you to investigate and read about their conduct.  Read everything, not just the articles on the deaths…educate yourself on all of the corruption they have walked away from… without a slap on the wrist.

John Kennedy, Jr died on July 16, 1999.

Bill and Hillary Clinton moved to New York to establish state residency less than two months later, September 1999.

Hillary was elected to the New York Sate Senate in November 2000.

Coupled with all the other “mysterious deaths”, the accidental death of a beloved American, a life long New Yorker who would most likely have experienced a landslide victory had he chosen to campaign, is very suspicious.

What do you think?

Clinton Body Count

Clinton Body Count-Clinton friends who’ve ended up dead-Truth! and Fiction!

If I Could Speak With Janay


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She went back for more, didn’t she? Must not have been all that bad.

You can bet your bottom dollar I wouldn’t have stayed.

Ain’t no way on God’s green Earth I would have gone back to that monster. Anybody can see he’s a no good, sorry butt, two-bit, good for nothin’ snake.

He may hit me once, but it will be the one and only time he hits me!

If he ever hits me, 911 will be picking him up in a body bag.

What’s wrong with her?! If a man ever lays a hand on me, there ain’t no way I’ll go back and give him a chance to do it a second time.

She’s not as strong as me, because if it was me, that S.O.B. wouldn’t see daylight to do it again.

She must have liked the way he treated her, that’s why she went back for more.

I’ve heard all of those comments. In another lifetime, I may have made a couple of them. But not anymore. The truth is, you don’t know what you would do until you find yourself in the situation. Even then, you’re in disbelief….and you may be confused about what to do. It’s easy to sit with friends and discuss what we would or would not do if we found ourselves in an abusive situation. Most of us believe we know how we would react….leave and never look back. And for some, that is precisely what they do. They file reports with the officials, they pack their belongings and they change direction. But for many, dare I say most,  it isn’t that simple or easy.

The dynamics of emotional and physical abuse are too varied to put into one neat, square box. The reasons a victim stays with an abuser can’t be easily explained. So, I won’t attempt to apply logic here, because to everyone except the one being abused, it is acutely illogical. Those who have experienced it, understand. Those who haven’t, can’t.

If you know someone whom you suspect is in an abusive relationship, offer your help in getting them to a safe place. Keep in mind though, it takes a while for many victims to reveal their secrets. You might believe a friend would eagerly leave her situation…. you may offer your home to her while her husband’s fist imprint is fresh and purple on her eye…and she may deny a fight ever took place. She will make excuses for him. She will probably blame herself and try to convince you to accept her as the faulty partner. Don’t allow her to do that to herself. Love your friend through her pain. But don’t judge her. Don’t ever make her feel judged. Because if you do, she will never open up to you. And she will try harder to make things right in the abusive relationship, because that, to her… in her confused state of mind… seems less painful than the condemnation of family and friends.

Incredibly, I’ve recently read a couple of Facebook comments, posted by women, who implied Janay Palmer Rice was deserving of what happened to her. When asked what she thought of the Ray Rice news, one woman said: “It’s bull because most money hungry women like a man to hit them so they can cause stuff like this”. She went on to say: “don’t get me wrong I’m not saying it’s ok to hit women because it’s not!!!!!I’m just saying some women like that so they can mess up they career”.  

What? A female said that? Yes. It’s an absurd, twisted thought process, but more common than you might think. When I was married, my abusive spouse couldn’t maintain employment. His mother accused me of continually getting him fired. Why would I do that? His lack of employment was always a source of embarrassment and humiliation. And it led to heated arguments. Feeding the family and paying utilities was a constant fight. Why would I interrupt his employment? I wouldn’t. My children were victims. I was a victim. But for some individuals, redirecting blame is second nature. It is easier for them to believe a person was provoked  by an innocent party than it is to believe the abuser is, at his core, an offensive person.

At the time of the elevator incident, we’ve all heard, Janay Palmer was engaged to Rice, later she married him. I believe they have a child together. Why then, would she want his career “messed up”? And when, I wonder, did she plan on messing it up? Was it while his fist was making contact with her cheekbone? Or while she was unconscious on the floor, being dragged by her feet out of the elevator? Or was it when Rice kicked her legs out of the way to allow the elevator doors to close? I can assure you it was never Ms Palmer’s intention to hurt her husband’s career, because to do so, she would be hurting her child and herself. I’m not even sure she was the one who reported the abuse. In all probability, and I say this with certainty, she was hoping this disaster would blow over without too many people hearing about it. Because, in her heart, she hoped it would be the last time it would ever happen.

It won’t be the last incident.

Rice may seem contrite in public today, but behind closed doors, he is blaming Janay for ruining his life. He will hold her accountable.

Rice will hurt his wife again. Of that, I’m certain. I hope she leaves him. If I could speak to her, I would tell Janay Rice that men like her husband never change. I would tell her his promises of change will sound more and more sincere, but they will get harder to believe; he (and she) will get better at hiding the abuse….. She won’t speak up for fear of what will happen, and her silence will enable him. I would tell her that he may go long periods of time without hurting her. During that time, her hope will grow and she’ll come to believe the pain and abuse inflicted by her husband was an unintentional foul in their relationship. Until one day, player misconduct rises again….but she’ll be the one penalized. In the meantime, she will lose more and more of herself. And the life lessons she teaches her daughter will be devastating to the little girl.

Ray Rice, Oscar Pistorious….these are the names we hear about. But there are so many others whose names are never mentioned on the nightly news or the morning headlines. Pray for those women, children and men. Learn the signs of domestic violence and emotional battering, and reach out when you can.  Mull this over….according to domestic violence experts, more than three women per day lose their lives at the hands of their partners. That means that since the night of the elevator knock-out punch, (February 15th), more than 600 women have died at the abusive hands of their partners.

One final thought….where are Sharpton and Jackson? Why aren’t they leading crusades and riots over the battering of women such as Janay? Are there any men who will crusade for battered women? Were Janay’s rights as a human being not defiled by a man in an elevator? I think she was unarmed.

Take Care,



Save the Other Coopers

Cooper Harris

When I first heard the news of little Cooper Harris being left in his dad’s car on a hot Atlanta day, I thought of how horrible a death it must have been for the little boy. My second thoughts were of his dad and how difficult life would be for him from now on…to live with that guilt..of realizing, although an accident, he was responsible for his own son’s death. It wouldn’t matter that the accident happened because he was too preoccupied with work, traffic, bills, life…none of that would matter. He would blame himself for the rest of his days…I can think of little worse than knowing I had caused my child’s death.

That evening, I was still watching the news when my own son, Garrett, walked in. “This is such a tragedy”, I said. Garrett watched for a while before casually saying, “It was no accident. He left him in the car on purpose. Look at him. Look at his blank expression”.

I looked. I saw it too. He had that dumbstruck, everyone should feel sorry for me look that Crisco always had. But, I still chose to give this dad the benefit of the doubt. Just because he looked like a sloppy, greasy, pervert didn’t mean he was one. Did it?

But you see, I had forgotten who I was talking to. The comments were coming from a young man who had been left alone on a lake’s shore while his dad had a rendezvous with a woman he had picked up at a gas station. The words were from a young man who had begged his dad not to have girlfriends, only to have his dad say, “don’t tell mom”. The words came from the heart of a young man who discovered “sexting” on his dad’s phone one evening when using it to contact a friend. Garrett saw Justin Ross Harris through the eyes of a son neglected. An abused son. A child who had his heart broken numerous times by a conscienceless man. When voicing this opinion, Garrett possessed none of the information that came out today regarding the case. His assessment of Harris was based on gut instinct and life experience.

And now we know. While that beautiful little man fried in the back seat of his dad’s vehicle, facing the window, his dad was sending nude photos of himself to several different women. One of them was a sixteen year old girl. He was also receiving sexually explicit photos from at least six women. And when asked if all evidence had been gathered from Harris’ computers and cell phone, one of the investigators said in today’s hearing, “We’ve barely scratched the surface and expect to find much more”. Another Crisco.

Hearing reports that Justin Ross Harris lived a double life, a fantasy life which included several personas, my thoughts traveled quickly to my former husband. I remembered my daughter, three at the time, insisting she had awakened alone at home. For months she told this story… she told her grandfather, she told me, she told anyone who would listen…but I knew I had never left her alone. She described waking from a nap and walking through every downstairs room of the house to find her dad or me. She said she walked outside and discovered the cars were gone and realized she was home alone, in the woods. She always had a frightened look in her eyes when she told of this event; and her dad always assured her it had been a nightmare. And that’s what I believed. I no longer believe it was a nightmare, I haven’t believed that for a long time now. I know it was no dream. I thought of my little girl today, left alone. Frightened.

Today, I thought of the lake incident with Garrett. My little boy, left alone. Scared.

I remembered a recording today too… One of Crisco, telling a woman, “if I didn’t have to babysit these god#a#n kids while the bi#$h is at work I could come visit”…and her response…”Come on anyway, you can be home before they wake up”. I thought of the What If’s and I felt physically ill, because I understand: There but for the Grace of God.…it could have been my little ones.

There’s a lot of criticism of Cooper’s mom tonight. I’m trying to reserve judgement, for now. But I will say this…when you are married to a manipulative, abusive sociopath/narcissist, you lose yourself. Reality becomes skewed and you damn near have a nervous breakdown on a daily basis. Sometimes you do break, completely. You crumble, but everyone else sees you as whole. When I heard the words Mrs. Harris spoke at her baby’s funeral, assuring the congregation and the world of her husband’s goodness; promising us he is a good father…I realized I know her. She sounded the way I used to sound, when I defended the monster I shared life with. I know who she is, she is a woman lost, controlled and broken. And I pray she had nothing to do with this heinous act. But I fear otherwise.

Please, if you are in a relationship with a man you know in your soul is no good, leave. Leave him to his insanity. You cannot fix him. He will not change. If you stay, as I did, you hurt your children. You cannot love enough to erase the pain and you cannot protect your children from a monster. The most precious things in your life will have their spirits crushed if you choose to stay.

Or even worse, you may kiss them on the head and strap them in a car seat and wave goodbye one hot summer day, and they may be leaving you forever.

No man (or woman) is worth it. Don’t tell yourself lies about not being able to make it without them. You will make it. Your children will make it. You will have a happier life when you aren’t slogging through a slimy pit of hell everyday. Go. Get out. Before it’s too late. Don’t tell yourself the kids need their dad…they don’t. Not a dad like that. Get them a dog. It will be loyal, protect them and love them.

In Memory of Cooper Harris, may his sweet soul rest in God’s Arms.

Danita Clark Able
Author: Letters From A Whoremonger’s Wife

Mr. President, What Are You Reading?


Little by little, Letters From A Whoremonger’s Wife is making its way into the hands of the public. I have family, friends and readers to thank for it! Some months I sell a couple of books. A few times I’ve sold a couple dozen. But even one book sold feels like success to me. I have no advertising budget, so outside of social media, the voices of my readers is the outlet I rely on. The old saying, “word of mouth is the best advertising” is pretty much true. Especially for empty pockets like mine. For the most part, reviews have been very favorable. Only a couple of folks have told me they wished some of the language had been removed. That was the same sentiment a couple of publishers expressed when I was querying the manuscript. But the bad language is an integral part of my story. Those words littered my life for a long time, so they had to stay. Sometimes truth is ugly. However, I apologize to those who are offended by the language. It would have been nice to have never been called those names. I wish we had never heard the vulgarity directed at us, my children and me. But that’s how it was.

Back to your voice…When you tell another person about a book you’ve read or a song you’ve heard…you are promoting them…helping them. We indie authors and artists greatly appreciate your help! You many not understand the power of your influence on others; so I would like to share a piece of an article I recently read. The material was written by Andy Andrews:

“It was just a simple answer to a question from the press. If not for a few words, spoken with genuine enthusiasm, we might never have heard of the insurance salesman who had written a book in his spare time. The Naval Institute Press published a few thousand copies of that book in 1984 and, as expected, it went nowhere. Then, one day, a reporter asked, “Mr. President, what are you reading?”

Answering with excitement, Ronald Reagan said, “I’m reading a book given to me by a friend and I can’t put it down. It’s called The Hunt for Red October!”

Today, few people remember that Tom Clancy sold insurance, but his book sales have soared well past the 100 million mark.

Billy Graham is one of the most influential men in our nation’s history. Yet, were it not for a two-word telegram sent in 1949, we might never have heard of him.

William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper magnate, sent a telegram to the editor of every newspaper he owned. The message was: Puff Graham. The very next day, papers across America released enthusiastic, admiring articles about this young Christian minister. Curiously, Hearst never directed his newspapers to stop “puffing Graham,” and obediently, they never did.

In his book, Just As I Am, Graham wrote that he never knew when, how, or why such a powerful figure had taken an interest in him. For the record, he stated, “Hearst and I never met, talked by phone, or corresponded in any way as long as he lived.”

Yes, Billy Graham was and is an incredible communicator, but you could probably name other incredible communicators who are less well known. Why? One reason could be that no one became a “promoter” of their work.”

You see that power? We all possess it. You don’t have to be a Ronald Reagan or a William Randolph Hearst to influence others. Each and every one of us can help another with our words. And from my soul, I thank you for purchasing, reading, and using your voice to tell others about my book.


Why Did You Stay?


Gary Danita Able2 1986

It was twenty-eight years ago today that my life changed for better or for worse. And except for producing my two children, it was mostly for the worse. The bride in the photo is me, on the day my life changed. When the photo was snapped, I was naively unaware that within a few hours, I would become an abused woman. I stayed in the marriage almost twenty-four years.

Why did you stay so long?

Without fail, that question is asked. Every reader of Letters From A Whoremonger’s Wife, at least those who decide to contact me, eventually ask the question. Friends, family who know…most of them have asked. The truth is, I have many explanations. It’s just not that simple to pin it on one, single reason. There are many reasons I stayed and none of them are logical or good. Not now, now that my rear-view vision is 20/20. But at the time, in the midst of turmoil and uncertainty, unrealistic thoughts seemed logical.

So I say this today: If you are in an abusive relationship, be it emotional, physical, verbal or financial abuse. Leave. Go. Get Out. He is not going to change. Barring a major miracle (don’t count on it), she is not going to change. It is not better for the children if you stay. And regardless of what your abuser says to you, your family and friends, your doctor and co-workers will believe you and they will help you. Tell someone and you will find support. Your silence enables your abuser to continue his or her assault. Your silence helps no one but the tormentor.

In the past couple of months I’ve become involved with the Peach Project (founded by Amanda Beckmann). Since then I’ve come to know strong women who have been shot and survived; strangled and survived. But now, I also know heartbroken parents who have lost children and children who lost a parent, to domestic violence. Things need to change. They have to change. The Peach Project hopes to make it easier for victims to confide in their physicians and nurses. If you are a doctor or a nurse, a dentist or an orthodontist…please contact me via this email: I will get information to you on the simple, no cost way you can assist your patients who may be victims.

Domestic Violence is not prejudiced or selective. It crosses all racial and socioeconomic lines.

Much Love and Many Thanks,

Radio Interview…You Are Stronger Than You Know

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A discussion about the journey of abuse, which led to the writing of Letters From A Whoremonger’s Wife.

Thank you for listening.

Much Love & Appreciation,

A Ho-monger’s Wife (a review of sorts)


“This book is a good one for anyone who might be at the Crossroads in an abusive relationship . Thank you for your honesty and candor.”
J. Cauley, Review of Letters From a Whoremonger’s Wife

When I was writing my memoir, my hope was that it would help others who have or will experience similar life situations: Physical Abuse. Mental Abuse. Domestic Violence. Lies. Deception. When I grew tired from climbing into the emotional well of my marital relationship, something I had to do every time I sat down to write, I would think to myself, “If I can just help one other woman or man, this will be worth it.”

I’ve been reassured of my decision to expose the secrets and stop living the masquerade by your support, your words of encouragement and your testimonies…recieved via letters, Facebook messages, phone calls and emails. Recently I received a call from an old friend, and her words made me smile. Below is a quote from Yevette:

“Guuurrrrl! I didn’t know how strong you was till I read The Ho-monger’s Wife! You are a better woman than me cause I would a killed his sorry a$$! I got a friend that is about to marry a ho-monger and I told her you had wrote a book about being a ho-monger’s wife! She read it and now she is puttin’ that fool out! Thank you! I’m so sorry you had to put up with that junk, but I just wanted you to know you done helped at least one other woman!”

And that is why I told my story. “If I can help at least one other woman…”

Honoring Lindsey


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This weekend, we’re honoring my Sweet Lindsey; celebrating her accomplishments. In case you haven’t had the privilege to know her yet, please let me tell you a bit about her:

She came to the world a healthy, nine pound bundle of sweetness with eyes that sparkled like sapphires and diamonds. A few months after she was born, she laughed out loud for the first time…and it was contagious. To this day, when friends ask about Lindsey, they mention her laugh:

<strong>”I love her laugh.”
“I’ll never forget her laugh.”
“I would know her laugh anywhere.”
“I smile when I hear that laugh.”
I love her laugh too. It can lift my spirits on the gloomiest of days.

Catharine Lindsey is the essence of determination and perseverance. For example…I took her roller-skating for the first time when she was two and a half-years old. A few times around the rink holding my hand was enough for her to determine she could skate without my assistance. So I obliged and skated a couple of feet behind her. I was in awe of that little girl in the pink overalls and bob-cut skating in front of me. Cautiously, slowly she moved around the rink; every now and then she bravely lifted a little hand in greeting to a fellow skater. Later that afternoon, the rink DJ announced a race around the rink and Lindsey wanted to participate. How could I say, “Not yet, I don’t think you’re ready” without disappointing or crushing her spirit? I couldn’t tell her no, so I said OK and stepped in line with her. She was having none of it. “<em>No Mommy. I skate by myself</em>.” I was petrified, but so very proud of her confidence, so I told her to stay close to the side of the rink and I backed away. The race began and off she went….slowly shuffling along. I watched her back as she moved forward, terrified that someone would knock her down or that she would fall and a skater would roll over her. But I also stood in amazement at her independence. Before she made it to the top of the rink, the other skaters had made several turns and the race had ended. By the time she made the top turn, names of the race winners had been called and the music indicating Free Style skating had resumed. Experienced skaters whizzed by her, but she wasn’t phased. <em>She kept moving forward.</em> She made her final stretch with the biggest grin you have ever seen on the face of a little girl. <strong>”I did it Mommy! I did it!”</strong> <em>Yes you did Little Lindsey…you never gave up.
And that’s how it’s been with her. She has pushed through and persevered, never giving up. Even when it seemed the tunnel had no light at the end; a never ending void, she sojourned on. Lindsey completed her degree from Kennesaw State University while experiencing some of the greatest hardships anyone could ever imagine. And she did it while working, sometimes two jobs, sometimes full time…but always working. I’m so proud of her. Even more proud than that day at the roller-rink.

So here’s to my Sweet Girl… a huge round of applause and a standing ovation for a job well done!


In My Life…a Discussion with Cindy Harter Sims

Yesterday, Cindy Harter Sims and I met in her Cartersville, Georgia studio, Cindy Harter Photography, to discuss my book, Letters From A Whoremonger’s Wife. True to Cindy’s kind and hospitable nature, she agreed to video our conversation so that I might share it with others.

Thanks for watching,

The Last, First Day

Several times over the last two weeks, family and friends have documented their children’s first day of school and posted their photos on Facebook. I’ve enjoyed viewing the First Day photos of their children and grandchildren: candid and posed shots of excited expressions, book bags full of new things, stories of tears shed (parent and child). All of it took me back to my own children’s First Days …Looking at the pictures, I could just about smell new Crayola’s and crisp, clean sheets of paper. Those days ended much too soon for my liking. Yet, other than a little reminiscing, I didn’t think too much about the start of the new school year. Not until yesterday, when my niece Rebecca shared a photo of my great-nephew Carter walking away from her and into his school for his first day of four-year-old Pre-K. It’s a sweet, wonderful photo of our little man proudly and independently taking long, confident strides down a long walkway; a strong, right-handed grip on his lunchbox.

But I saw more.

The photograph provoked an emotion I had not expected. It stopped me in my tracks. Did Rebecca see what I saw? Perhaps, but probably not fully, not yet. How could I tell her what she had actually captured? Should I try to explain what I saw? Sweet, brilliant, handsome little Carter-Man was in the photo, for sure. But there was an older boy there as well. And a young man.

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The older boy held a set of car keys firmly in his hand. The young man walked with casual determination on foreign soil. Both had their backs to the camera. All three were Carter. But they could have been anyone’s son. Or daughter.

In reality, the older two Carters’ were only visible to my mind’s eye, but I saw them clearly. Sixteen year-old Carter. Twenty-two year-old Carter. Time happens that quickly, it really does. Not so much when you’re in the middle of it; during the living of it. In its present form, time seems to dawdle; move sluggishly. It’s after the moment, not immediately after, but later, that you realize how quickly it slipped away from you.

All day I thought of Carter’s photo. I thought of his mommy watching him walk away and I remembered what that felt like. Without being told, I knew she had watched him until he was out of her sight; watching his back… should he need her. I thought of how there will be other days like this, when she and Justin, Carter’s dad, will watch his back as he walks with great anticipation towards future things: cars, airplanes, girls. A bride. Perhaps they’ll watch with Bulldog pride as he walks toward the same revered arches they once walked through; wave goodbye to his back as he moves to another state. And always, they’ll be watching until he’s out of sight, watching his back…just in case he needs them. That’s what parents do…

I shared Rebecca’s photo with a friend and told him how it made me feel. He said he understood: “I felt the same way when I saw this photo of Jon”, he said.

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We have no experience at parenting until we are parents. That’s how it is….we’re clueless in the beginning and for many years thereafter. We’re amateurs….the most intense on the job training you can imagine…for the most important work you will ever do. We make mistakes, because we know no better. In the beginning, we don’t understand how fleeting a span of eighteen years actually is. We don’t realize how abruptly those little arms will outgrow our own; until they do.

I know Rebecca and Justin give lots of hugs and kisses to Carter and his baby sister, Cooper. Most young parents do. Still, to them and all parents, I would give this advice: Give more hugs…lots more. Read more books together. Give longer back scratches. Snuggle longer. Because those little ones aren’t little for long. And one day, a day that will sneak up on you, you’ll be experiencing your last, first school day.