Thought Bombs #27 CHICAGO—On a bitter cold Tuesday, December 6, asmall crowd ‘gathers for the National Day of Counter-Recr ion amidst the dawntown holiday lights. Juan T ¥ activist who speaks out inmemory of his son, Jua who was killsgl in Afghanistan. (Photo by Ken Carl) ’ Dedicated to Dylaw Drew Drapeow (December 30, 1988 - July 20, 2006) INTRODUCTION Greetings! 11’ alrcady late September. Since issue #26, put out back in Februsry, I've done several things and published dozens of zines. I1s been stressful. as my workplace is an endless nightmare of construction congestion coupled with hassle from management, 1 qualify for a modest pension in about two weeks, after 32 years of this miserable job. But, I don’t know if 'l retre at the end of the year as T've been planning or not. 1 really don’t have an “exit plen.” 1 don’t know where elee 1 would begin to look for another job. Being a rabble rouser isn't a very marketable skill. Our sons are sill young and at home (18 and 12.) Stanton will probably be going to the Universiy of Ilinois in Champaign next fal and Stephen is eoing to need braces pretty soon. 1 may work a couple more years at the rock pile. Everything came to a screeching halt as Soon as we leaned of Dylan's death. We were up in Northern Wisconsin on vacation and Mike called to let us listen to @ cry of pain phone message from Dylan’s girlfriend, Amber. Dylan was killed in a car wreck! We all strted crying. We got up early the next moning and drove straight through, stopped at home for a few minutes and then went right to the Drapeau house in Crete, Everybody was extremely distraught and we stayed several hours that afternoon and evening. Leslie “was literaly holding up Sharrie and I ried to console Ken, who was wearing Dylan's Shirt. T've never felt such searing pain. Ken, Dylan’s father, took me to the stll fresh crash site. It didn't make any sense — especially that Dylan somehow had so horribly misjudged the situation and basically, caused a dreadful collsion that took i own life. At leas, his is what the Chief of Police of Crete and the Coroner were saying to the family that terible night. ['l always remember these numbing days by the piercing wal of sorrow from fis 13 year-old siser, Darcy. Dylan's 20 year-old brother, Justin, could only pace around the yard —too hurtto talk. | knéw right away, just as Ken had surmised, tht things just didn't add up. It didn’t make any sense. Dylan was brilliant, clean as a whistle and extremely safety conscious. He would never have placed himself in such a vulnerable position — ifhe i any control over the situation. According to the Police Chief, there were no witnesses. | came back the next day and took over 60 pictures of the scene. 1 called he Police Chief and asked to see Dylan's smashed car. At firt, he wouldn't let me