Periodically, I will be adding posts to the site about some of my observations in life, stupid things I’ve done, things I’ve learned that may benefit other Crawfords, and maybe a few nonsensical items.  Currently, I’m updating the Crawford Family Tree, and hope to be able to link to it from the site.  The tree goes back to James Crawford, born in 1789, and died in 1858.  I have been unable to locate his parents to date, but I continue searching.  The Mormans ancestry site is particularly good for searching past family members, and is currently updating the site.


1) Greetings, Good People of Earth- 2) Osama Bin Laden- 3) The Child Molester Trial I was a Jurist on.- 4) Bob Eckert- 5) Obama and china President Hu. 

The first “Writings by Willard is below:

Greetings, Good People of the Earth,
As you all know by now, all of the “good” people of the earth will be whisked away to heaven today at preciously 6:00 P.M., leaving us “bad” people alone to take care of your dogs, cats, hamsters, fish and other assorted pets. So far this morning, I have collected 174 dogs, 236 cats, and 47 gold fish, and it’s really starting to get ugly here in the desert. Many of you have neglected to leave your pet food with me, and the animals are beginning to get very hungry, thirsty, and extremely feisty.
The only thing I have to feed them out here is dead jack rabbits, rattlesnakes, scorpions, and vultures. The only water I have is the water that I can squeeze out of cactus plants, because, as it turns out, the folks that operate the county water pumps were some of the “good” people, and they are all home packing their stuff to take with them to the kingdom of heaven. Consequently, I’ve been squeezing cactus plants to make water, but the animals are drinking it faster than I can squeeze.
Some of the desert animals, particularly the scorpions and rattlesnakes, are not taking kindly to being rounded up for pet food, and have bitten me several times. Some of my extremities are now beginning to swell, and it’s becoming more difficult for me to get around, let alone take care of the animals properly. Many of your pets require their rattlesnake lunches to be deep-fried, which is really a problem since, you guessed it, the folks that supply natural gas were also good people, and they have split to pack their things, leaving me with no way to deep-fry the rattlesnakes other than with a campfire.
I now understand some of the problems that Noah must have had trying to round up hundreds of wild animals from all over the world and march them, two by two, up the gangplank to the arc. Just loading the required amount of animal food for each animal had to be a tremendous undertaking, and what about the stench that poor Noah had to endure while cleaning the manure from the bottom of the arc every day? Kind of makes my paltry little problems caring for your pets seem miniscule, doesn’t it?
Never-the-less, I thought you should know that I am doing the best I can with what I have to work with here, and if the world ever ends again, please leave your pet’s food when you drop off your pet. As I write this, I see hundreds more pet owners dropping off their pets in my front yard for me to take care of, and the putrid smell of the animal dung is becoming overwhelming. As you can see, it’s not pretty, being one of the few “bad” people of the earth left to care for the animals.
As if the food and dung problem isn’t bad enough, ………………Wait!!!……. What was that?…………… Was that an earth tremor I just felt?………………… I would like to run and hide in a cave someplace, but I can’t because my arms and legs are all swollen from the snake and scorpion venom, my hands are bleeding profusely from squeezing the cactus plants, and I’m up to my eyeballs in animal dung. Also, this is the desert, ergo, no caves to hide in.
Oh,oh,……………….. I just felt another tremor, and some of the animals are beginning to look at me with hunger in their eyes, especially the Pit Bulls, so it’s starting to get really, REALLY, ugly now. But don’t worry about me. You just have a nice trip, and I will do my absolute best to take care of your pets. That is, if they don’t eat me first. It’s time to say “Good bye cruel world.” Signing off for the last time, I am your humble servant,
“Bad” Cub Reporter Jim.
Next: two short articles on Osama Bin Laden


Many have asked the question, “why didn’t they just capture him and return him to the states for legal prosecution, since he wasn’t armed and couldn’t defend himself” ?

If Osama had been taken alive, he would have been incarcerated in one of our “Country Club” prisons for years awaiting trial, while federal judicial officials fumbled their way through trying to seat a jury of 12 people in the country who had never heard of Osama bin Laden, and therefore would not pre-judge him. It would be impossible to locate 12 U.S. citizens who had no knowledge of his hideous crimes against humanity.

But let’s just say for the sake of argument that 12 jurors could be found that were clueless, and would not pre-judge the demented terrorist. It would take an army of sleazy, low life, bottom feeding, dirt bag lawyers to defend him, (at tax payer’s expense of course) and the trial would go on for eternity. American taxpayers would have to fork over millions of hard earned dollars to Osama’s sleaze-bag lawyers every year of his incarceration.

When, and if, the trial ever came to a verdict, it would be a hung jury, because out of every 12 potential jurors in the country, there will be at least one bleeding heart liberal that will vote not-guilty because the defendant was mistreated by his father as a child, and therefore, Osama would walk. The Navy Seals didn’t want that to happen, so they “offed” him.

 Cub Reporter Jim.


 Following President Obama’s speech reporting the death of Osama bin Laden, you could almost hear the whining from bleeding-heart liberals in the country complaining that Osama’s civil rights had been violated.

The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) has partnered with the liberal-leaning legal team of “Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe” in a lawsuit claiming that not only did the Navy Seals neglect to read Osama his Miranda Rights, they did not have a search warrant to inspect the house.

Additionally, the Seals did not have authorization from the land owner to land helicopters on the property, and they did not obtain the necessary firearms permits from Pakistani authorities. Additional charges regarding the theft and removal of private property in the form of computers, hard drives, and private files have been filed.

Further, noise from helicopters in the area violated the city of Abbottabad’s noise abatement code, and a fire permit was not obtained to burn the damaged helicopter on private property.

Finally, it has been established that Osama did not have a weapon on his person at the time of his death, and a personal injury lawyer has been obtained to file a “wrongful death” lawsuit against the United States Navy………………..stay tuned for further developments………………film at eleven.

Cub Reporter Jim.

Next: The Child Molester Trial that I was on as Juror #9 in 2011

 The trial is over, and it turns out that the alleged pervert wasn’t a pervert. Rather, he may have been a pervert, but the investigating detective botched the job, so we had no choice but to find him “not guilty” on the oral copulation charge, and we were hung on the “rubbing” charge. And even the rubbing charge decision was 10 “not guilty” to 2 “guilty.” Everyone (me included) thought “something” happened, but, as it turns out, you can’t hang people based on thinking that something may have happened.

To fully understand how a jury of 12 citizens who began the trial with each one of them bringing an imaginary hangman’s rope into the court room with them on day one, could ultimately find the alleged pervert not guilty, you had to be there. But I’ll try to explain the circumstances that led to our final decision, especially since I’ve been taking flak for not hanging him from folks who weren’t there..
Firstly, the judge said we could only find guilt “beyond any shadow of a doubt.”
Secondly, everyone on both sides lied, except the investigating detective. So the good news for the detective is that he didn’t lie. The bad news is that he didn’t do anything to lie about, except sit on his dead ass when he should have been out investigating the case. (His excuse was that it was his first child molesting case.) When someone lies under oath, the judge instructs the jury to throw out their testimony because if they lied once, they can’t be trusted to tell the truth in other statements.
Thirdly, the jury was required to find “touching.” There was no proof of touching. There was an indication that the two may have watched a porno video together, but the judge said that did not qualify, it had to be touching. (So apparently a pervert can show all the porn videos he wants to a child, and it’s okay as long as there’s no touching involved.)
Fourthly, There were no witnesses, and as a result of the lack of investigation fiasco, the only real evidence we had to work with was an audio tape trap that the little girl’s mother had planted in the living room where the little girl (she is eleven) and the alleged pervert had a conversation. There was nothing incriminating on the tape. The little girl cried occasionally, but there were no “bombshell” statements from the little girl such as, “why did you do (whatever) to me?” or “I don’t like it when you do (whatever) to me,” or “why did you make me do (whatever) to you?” The bulk of the audio tape was the little girl complaining about being required to do chores around the house, and the alleged pervert telling the little girl to “tell her mother the truth.” (Whatever that meant.)
Fifthly, (By the way, lest you think that thirdly, fourthly, fifthly, are not words, they are. Look them up in your Funk and Wagnall’s.) The child’s mother slept with the alleged pervert for a week in a Santa Maria hotel one week after the child told her mother that he (the child’s step father) had molested her. We determined that a normal mother would not sleep with a person that molested her child, but of course that still doesn’t mean the child wasn’t molested, just that the mother is “strange.” She had 4 children by four different sperm donors, and she told the alleged pervert that she would “go away” for $130,000.00. (The money in his 401K)
Sixthly, the child’s 19 year old sister testified that the little girl was a habitual liar, and stood by her lies, even when shown proof that she was lying.
Seventhly, a professional witness stated that “perverts typically show favoritism towards the child in the family that they are molesting, such as giving them gifts, special privileges, etc. That didn’t happen. In fact he was very strict with the little girl. (There were four children in the home.)
Eightly, (Now we’re getting into questionable grammar territory with “eighthly,” but we’ll soldier on anyway.) The mother never called the police after the little girl told her mother the story. Instead, she went to a lawyer. A neighbor eventually called the police after she heard the other children in the family talking about the accusation. (A month later.)
Ninethly, (okay, that’s probably not a word) It was proven that the alleged pervert was always shaved clean “down there”, and the little girl said the area in question was “very hairy.” And if you’re wondering how she knew all this stuff about sex, molesting etc, it turns out that the older children in the family along with mom, talked about it openly all the time with the little girl around. (The 19 year old sister said the girls routinely told each other to “suck my ______” as kind of a joke, since they weren’t so equipped.)
Tenthly, (crap, will it never end?) The little girl had the motivation to lie. She wanted her real Dad to get back with Mom and move back to Nevada, and she wanted to punish the alleged pervert for making her do chores such as cleaning up her room, feeding the dogs, etc.
Okay, I’m tired of writing. There was testimony from credible character witnesses that had known the alleged pervert for twenty years that claimed he was not a pervert, police officers, professional witnesses, etc, but the bottom line is: (1) No investigation. (2) No proof. (3) Everybody lied. (4) The motives of the mother were questionable. (5) The child had motives for telling her mother that she had been molested.
The case should never have been brought to trail as it stood. (Lack of investigation etc.) He may be a molester, but that will be for another court in the future to decide. After the trial was over, I did a little investigation myself, which I was not allowed to do during the trial. I checked Megan’s Law web sites and California State child molester sites. His name did not turn up anyplace. A 42 year old man does not wake up one day and say “I think I’ll start molesting children.” Psychologists have determined that once a child molester, always a child molester. They can’t be “fixed”. If he had been a child molester for all of his adult life, (let’s say 24 years) there would be a paper trail of some kind.
Okay, now I’m ready to take questions from the audience. Fire away. Later. Dad/Jim/Junior/Honey/Grandpa
Next: Remembering Bob Eckert.

Remembering Bob Eckert, my best friend in the Navy.

Bob and I first met on the USS Hyman (DD732) late in 1954. He had gone aboard some
months before, and I had just been transferred to the Hyman from the USS Arcadia (AD 23),
just three months out of boot camp. I immediately liked Bob’s cool, (bordering on clever)
“devil may care” attitude and outlook on life. We both worked in the Forward Engine Room
on the Hyman our entire Navy career, and often went on liberty together to see the sites of
Europe. I particularly enjoyed our tours of the ruins in Athens, Greece and Rome, Italy.

Bob was “smarter than the average bear,” and he could have easily been a
commissioned Naval officer if he would have gone to the NROTC, but I think he was happy
just running the equipment necessary for the operation of the destroyer’s main engines. I
often went to him for advice, usually on engine room problems or concerns, and if my
anfcllysis of a problem was not correct, he would answer with a simple “wrong, Junior,” and
then he would explain the correct procedure. On occasion, he would have to say, “wrong
again Junior,” which was very frustrating to me, but I always knew he was right.

Bob enjoyed making fun of the officers and petty officers who were senior to us. One of
the pranks he enjoyed doing was to wear shirts that should have been discarded long ago,
just to get a reaction out of “the boss” in the Forward engine room, a gung-ho First Class
Petty Officer named “Wally” Simpson. One day he came down to the engine room in a shirt
that had the pockets ripped and hanging on for dear life, areas that had been bleached white
from a mishap in the laundry, and other rips and tears. Wally immediately told Bob to go sew
his shirt up before coming back into the engine room. An hour later, Bob came down with a
shirt that would have made Frankenstein proud. He had sewn patches with different colors
of thread, and his arm was in a “sling” created by running thread back forth between his
sleeve and his newly created pocket. We won’t discuss here what Wally said at that point.
Suffice it to say, he was not pleased.

On another occasion, Wally needed us to work on Easter Sunday. Bob believed it wasn’t
right that we should have to work on Easter, so he was late getting to the engine room. As
soon as he came down, he promptly grabbed my arm, led me over to Wally, and said in a
loud voice “Junior, meet God.” Again, we won’t discuss Wally’s reaction here today.

Once we made a still out of a huge globe coffee pot. We were going to try to make Vodka,
by allowing some potatoes to ferment for a month, and then distill them in the pot. First Bob
had to remove the thermostat so heat transfer would not be limited, and then the necessary
copper tubing and cooling condenser had to be fabricated for the still. After we were done,
we got our potato “stash” which had been deftly hidden in the bilges for over a month. When
we opened the stash, the stench was overwhelming, but we concluded that the smell would
go away once we started distilling the putrid mash. It didn’t. It got worse. The entire engine room smelled like a garbage dump when Wally came down to the engine room. He made us dump the mash and still into the ocean and said if we ever tried that again, he would put us on report. The still ultimately got us in trouble with the boss, but it sure was fun making the still and trying to make it work.

Well, this is beginning to get too long, so I better finish my memories of Bob with a final

About six years or seven years ago, I tried to find Bob on the Internet with the search
engines that were available then. Every couple of weeks I would try the search engines with
no luck, until one day I found an “Eckert” in Ohio, and so I sent him an email, asking him if he
was the Bob Eckert that I served four years in the Navy with. The Eckert turned out to be
Bob’s son Steve, who informed Bob that I was looking for him on the Internet. Bob
responded by email, and we corresponded through email ever since. My wife Shirley and I
were fortunate to be able to attend Bob and Jo’s 50th wedding anniversary last

August. I was sure glad we did. I will really miss Bob, and our years of emailing each other.
He made my four years in the Navy interesting and educational, and I feel proud and
honored to have been included as one of his many friends. “Junior” Crawford

Friday, April 01, 2011 AOL: Kart32

Next: Obama and Hu


During Obama’s meeting with Chinese President Hu this week, Obama informed Hu that he needs to get his act together on the human rights issue. How and when did we get the idea in this country that it is our job, nay, our responsibility and God-given right, to tell other countries how to run their business and their country? How would we react if another country’s leader came to the U.S. to tell us that we are way too nice to our citizens, and that we should beat, torture, and humiliate them more often?

Somewhere along that long historical trip from the days of our founding fathers, to the 21st century, we have somehow concluded that we are the collective “Big Brother” for the world, and if “little brother” doesn’t do as he’s told, we’ll kick his snotty little ass.

It seems to me that we have enough to worry about in our own country, what with the unemployment situation, wide open borders for illegals and terrorists to walk through, crazies shooting politicians, and a continually struggling economy, without trying to force other countries into thinking the way we think.

And lest we think that it’s just Obama, it’s not. George W. Bush was also guilty of trying to push our ideas and beliefs (including our religious beliefs) on to other countries, as was Clinton, and the George Bush before him. So where did it all begin? Was it after WW2, when we kicked Germany’s and Japan’s collective asses and became a self-appointed “super power”? Maybe.

Since we overcame those two major powers in the world, surely we would have no trouble straightening out our little brat brother, North Korea. Okay, that didn’t work, but surely we can make little brother Vietnam, abide by our wishes, because after all, we are a super power, aren’t we? Oops, that didn’t work either. Maybe we really shouldn’t be taking on the roll of “Big Brother of the World.” Maybe we should just mind our own damn business and direct our attention to fixing our own country. But then again, maybe it’s just me. Cub Reporter Jim here, wishing you a better and happier 2011.




I am a 77 year old retired Northrop-Grumman Corp. Facilities Engineer. I worked at Northrop's Pico Rivera and Palmdale facilities for a total of 13 years, and retired 1n 1995. I have been married to my high school sweetheart for over 54 fantastic years, and we have 3 excellent children (all boys) 7 wonderful grandchildren, and 1 great grandchild. My hobbies are playing the piano (actually, more like learning HOW to play the piano) and restoring a 1937 Plymouth, although sadly, I have made very little progress on it in recent years. I drove road race go-karts until the age of 71. I never grew up, I just got old.
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