starts at 9am Orlando EST

Saturday, December 29, 2012

CREEPY ZIMMERMAN plus 1st bond hearing








Tzar says: April 8, 2013 at 9:43 am http://frederickleatherman.com/2013/04/07/did-mark-omara-advise-the-hoa-to-settle-the-fulton-martin-lawsuit/#comment-99217

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Would USA Today Ask This Question If Trayvon Martin Was White?


In yet another case where the dead Black person has to explain himself, USA Today ran a front cover this week asking an interesting question: Trayvon: Typical Teen or Troublemaker. Here, we wrestle with the so-called, “dueling images of Trayvon.” Trayvon Martin, 17, was shot to death walking home on February 26 with an ice tea and a pack of Skittles. Yet USA Today wants his corpse to explain itself. You have to wonder: If the dead teen was white would such a question be asked. Particularly when you consider the details of Martin’s killer George Zimmerman. George Zimmerman — not Trayvon Martin — has a criminal record that includes violence, including an assault on a police officer. Perhaps USA Today can put some front cover energy into that information. The Orlando Sentinal reported that in 2005, Zimmerman’s ex-fiance, Veronica Zuazo, filed a civil motion for a restraining order, alleging domestic violence. In that same year Zimmerman was arrested after a tussle with a law enforcement officer. So why is it Martin, who is dead and has no criminal record being analyzed? READ MORE

Evidence of Direction


Thursday, December 13, 2012

New Zimmerman evidence: Serino changed final report four times in five hours

 Former Sanford police Chief Bill Lee Jr., left, and
Detective Chris Serino. (Red Huber,
Orlando Sentinel / March 16, 2012)



SANFORD – After Chris Serino, the Sanford police detective who led the investigation into the Trayvon Martin shooting death, wrote the most important police report in the case, he revised it at least four times.
And he made at least one huge change: He initially said George Zimmerman should be charged with second-degree murder then changed course and recommended a charge of manslaughter, according to a prosecutor and new list of evidence.

Serino made all those revisions to the report summarizing his findings during one five-hour stretch on March 13, according to a newly-released evidence list.

In the first two drafts, according to Assistant State Attorney Bernie de la Rionda, Serino wrote that he had probable cause to recommend a second-degree murder charge. Then, over the next hour, he changed the report twice more and in his final version wrote that the evidence supported the lesser charge.
<a href=" http://www.orlandosentinel.com/news/local/trayvon-martin/os-george-zimmerman-serino-changes-affidavit-20121212,0,43028.story ">  READ MORE </a>

Monday, December 10, 2012

New Evidence – George Zimmerman Used “N Word” In Text Message And E-Mail

Sources have confirmed that the prosecution team investigating the shooting death of Trayvon Martin by George Zimmerman have in their possession new evidence in the form of text messages and e-mails in which George Zimmerman uses the “N Word” when referring who to look out for when on patrol in his Sanford, Florida neighborhood.

This could be the most volatile evidence yet and could be a major blow to the self-defense case Zimmerman’s legal team is trying to build. It is no secret that Zimmerman’s attorney Mark O’Mera is motioning to seal some pieces of evidence until the trial, this could be to halt any change in public opinion that his client did not racially profile Trayvon Martin as he followed him through his neighborhood.  VISIT THE SITE

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Very important State of the Internet videos

Trent Sawyer is State of the Internet,  who has created these important videos:

George Zimmerman - Witness 11 seen GZ detain Trayvon Martin!?!? 

 




 Zimmerman Evidence Dump 2 recap - New Evidence Reviewed

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Racking and Thumps in NEN call

George Zimmerman Police Call w. Time Stamps and Notes.

 

#Zimmerman Edits out "F'cking Coon" from 911 Tape He Filed with Court in lawsuit against NBC

George Zimmerman filed a lawsuit against NBC claiming that NBC made him (George) look racist in a edited 911 tape they aired.

     The thing is, when George Zimmerman filed his Complaint with the Court, he, Zimmerman, edited out the portion of the 911 tape that George makes himself look racist when he said, "F'cking Coons." (listen to Time Stamp 2:22)

Also, at Time Stamp 3:20, on the tape you can hear George knocking or taping on a door and if you listen closely you can hear George say: "Keep an eye on my truck."  Who did George say that to, and why did he edit those words out of the Transcript he filed with the Court?

Try to wrap your head around that one.

READ MORE

Zimmerman files a lawsuit with the Court claiming he has suffered damages of "emotional distress" from an edited 911 tape that he claims made him him look racist -- but at the same time -- Zimmerman gives the Court his own edited version of same 911 tape by cutting out his own comment: "F'cking Coons"
 ... wow! ... Just wow!

This is a video of the 911 tape with both audio and written transcript.  At Time Stamp 2:22 George Zimmerman says, "F'cking Coons"

Friday, December 7, 2012

Zimmerman Sues Again

Here's the pdf

It's so full of lies and half truths it cannot possibly hope to succeed.  Yet,  it is probably heartening to his supporters,  to see him step forward once again,  to attack his detractors. 

Unfortunately the evidence and testimony filed in the case,  goes all to heavily against him.  For example,  he cannot possibly convince anyone,  that he was out that night,  trying to keep the neighborhood safe.  Because,  if that is all he was really trying to do,  he would have abated the hostile atmosphere he realized he had created,  once he discovered that Trayvon was aware that he was being followed. 

Since one does not expect a criminally intended person,  to attempt any crime while being observed,  Zimmerman should have taken that opportunity to identify himself.  Because he was not a uniformed person,  no one could know,  by mere inspection,  that Zimmerman had any duties at all,  that could explain why he would be observing and/or following anyone.  Persons followed by strangers,  are usually inspired to become greatly concerned for their own safety.

Keeping the neighborhood safe,  in no way  empowers GZ to cause anyone to fear for their own safety.  Yet,  he does so with abandon and maintains a hostile posture and escalates that with an appearance of sinister intent,  by refusing to identify himself at each opportunity.  Obviously Trayvon Martin was no criminal,  so there is no reason at all to believe,  that he would have met a cordial approach with violence.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

THE ALTERED PHOTO

Here I've altered the color and contrast to make the circled feature more visible.  Pay attention to the swath of red across the bridge of the nose.  On the left it is of one size,  on the right,  the altered photo,  it's clearly been stretched downwards and the bridge of the nose narrows.  This is the result of a warping tool that stretches the image.  Obviously a face cannot be changed in this way without major surgery.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Featuring Lonnie Starr and his Theory of the Trayvon Martin Case

Lonnie Starr has been working this case displaying high intelligence with the focus and determination of a dog working a bone. Pity the hapless and extremely over-matched defendant and his defense team. Just don’t get carried away feeling sorry for them.

He also has written the two White House petitions seeking a federal investigation of the defendant for violating Trayvon Martin’s civil rights and an end to the SYG laws.

Here is his theory of the case as he presented it in two comments this morning on the Tempest in a Teapot thread. Please read it and join the discussion below.

If you like this article, please consider sharing and liking it by clicking on the buttons immediately below and making a financial contribution by clicking on the yellow donation button in the upper right part of this page just below the blue banner containing my name and the name of the blog.

Thank you.
Fred
*************************
Unlike most investigators, I gather facts and work forward from there, creating an imaginary narrative that puts all the facts in place. Then I examine the details that don’t fit, and I then work backwards to see where they can be fitted. After I have a good narrative that accounts for as much as I can, then I sort of try to view it “from the side lines”, looking for the nexus of critical details, in other words, if this had happened, then this is what had to have been taking place as well. Then you take a closer look at what had to have happened along side what did happen, and if the narrative is false, insurmountable obstacles/anomalies appear.

Evidence can only lie by being contrived to give a false impression. People, however, have more options to falsify. So, believe the evidence more than the people who observe it, but only believe the evidence itself, if you cannot imagine that it has been contrived. If it is possible to contrive evidence, then it is possible to fool witnesses, and this is exactly the objective of the criminal mind.

So, you work backward, then forward and backwards again and take looks from the sides, it’s like panning for nuggets of gold. The chaff and waste eventually washes away, leaving the hard stuff behind.
It puzzled me for a long time, why a law student, would go out on a hunt that both the law and the rules of NW definitively prohibited. What would be the percentage in that? He’d have broken every rule and the law besides! How could he think that would make him a hero? When, any fool could see, all he’d wind up with is a harmless kid being held, who had a right to be in the neighborhood. What could he possibly do in that event? The answer is, kill the kid! That’s the only thing that prevents the comparisons from being made. But that is only a stall, since the truth would probably come out anyway.

So then, what does GZ need to make the planned hunt okay, despite the laws and the rules? The answer is: evidence that a crime had been committed. So then the question is “what kind of crime can be carried and displayed under a wide variety of circumstances”? The answer is: Bloody wounds! They can be claimed to have happened outside of the sight of any witnesses who later appear. They are hard to refute because, it’s hard to believe that a “pillar of the community” would actually harm himself, for the purpose of misleading the public, about a crime, it doesn’t appear he would or could plan.

But think about it, if George leaves his house bleeding from carefully designed wounds, he has a “crime” that can be used in a variety of ways, to excuse all breaking of rules and justify breaking the law as well. Those wounds were designed to shield him from the prohibitions of rules and laws. But, because they were created before any other actions were taken, they must not be professionally examined, if the time of their creation could be determined at all. This means that the creation of these wounds could not be left to chance. They are an integral part of the nights activities, however or whatever else happens. Only the how of obtaining them need be changed to fit what actually takes place.

This leaving home on the hunt for this project, is a “high octane” emotional performance, that required dedicated intent. It is likely that medication and alcohol, which lowers inhibitions and increases calm, would be taken to steady the nerves. If so, it adds yet another reason why the ER must be avoided at all costs, and of course, to accomplish that, the wounds must be and remain superficial, and not require professional treatment.

Next up is GZ undoing himself. He rehearsed a plausible story, probably several. As a NW, who knows that he cannot be either on patrol or following, he leaves home with a story about going shopping. To cover up notification, he “spots” his target over by FT’s cut through, a good story for night time affairs, since it comes through a “strange” area. (Of course, we are later to learn it wasn’t so strange to find people walking that way at all).

But George has his bloody head wounds to shield himself, which ever way the story plays out. The first problem arises, he can’t find the target, where he has been told to look. So he retraces his path, looking to pick up the trail. (tchoupi’s work), His fellow Watchers see his predicament and call him to correct his error, by pointing out that the target is still there at the mailboxes. George goes back and spots him, and there the play begins.

According to the script, GZ needs to frighten his target into engaging actions that can be portrayed as strange. He accomplishes this by shining his lights on the target as he shelters in the mail shed. Unbeknownst to GZ, however, his target is on the phone and gives notice of GZ’s hostile presence. So, an explanation of TM’s actions from that point onward are explained. Bad news for GZ!

When TM leaves the shelter of the mail boxes, it is actually raining harder than it was when he first got there. Meaning he was already spooked. But he contains himself enough to walk, probably out of GZ’s sight before he actually runs. However, GZ has his little defense shield in place, and since this gives him the lattitude he needs to break the rules and the law, he sets up the scene with “he’s running” to the NEN operator, then he exits his car. This one cannot get away, because George has intentions that will not allow it to happen that way. Meanwhile TM is unaware of how dangerous the situation really is, so he quickly assesses that not seeing GZ, means that he’s no longer being followed, and continues his walk home. Only to find GZ behind him again.

GZ intends to grab and hold TM for the police, using his wounds as a reason and lawful cause for doing so. That would make him a hero, if it would play out that way. Only trouble was, TM was still extremely childish far beyond his years. If only TM was more mature, the story would have worked. But, since TM was so extremely childlike, the planned story would quickly reveal as absurd. A whining, crying child asking for his momma, isn’t going to sell as a thug of any kind. GZ blames TM’s lack of maturity for inexplicably thwarting his heroic plans and decides that TM’s demeanor and character must not be allowed to display. By killing TM he accomplishes, preventing immediate challenge to his claims of attack, while making himself the only credible witness of all the events of that night.

GZ had a well rehearsed story, for how things transpired. In his drug and alcohol induced state, he can do no more than recite it verbatim. It all occurred at the “T”, where he did not follow TM, but was instead attacked while attempting to retreat. The trouble is, he was unable to modify the story as needed, thus he cannot account for the fact that the body is 40.5 feet away from where it needs to be, for the purpose of his well rehearsed story.

This story could have easily been modified to account for this distance south of the ‘T’, but Georges becalmed state, as evidenced by his bio stats, precluded critical thinking.  READ MORE IN THE COMMENTS AT THIS SITE CLICK HERE

Friday, November 30, 2012

FLORIDA'S STAND YOUR GROUND LAW

THE TAMPA BAY TIMES

Those who stood, those who fell: fatal cases

Critics say "stand your ground" turned Florida into the Wild West. Supporters say it has helped keep innocents out of jail. The truth of how the law has been used over the past six years was unknown until now.

What follows is the most comprehensive list of "stand your ground" cases ever created. Browse by victim or defendant, by fatal or nonfatal cases. Hover over a photo to explore the basics of each case or click it for a more detailed case file. Use the buttons at right to filter by race, sex and location.


Florida stand your ground law cases


About the cases

The Tampa Bay Times used media reports, court records and interviews with prosecutors and attorneys to identify more than 200 “stand your ground” cases across Florida. The list, though incomplete, is the most comprehensive in the state and likely includes most fatal cases.
The Times asked questions about each conflict: Who was armed? Who started the fight? It also recorded the race, age and sex of those involved and the case outcome. Hispanics often are listed as white or black because many police agencies record only race, not ethnicity.
Click here for more information about our data. Know of something we missed or have a photo to share? Submit a case here.

PLEASE VISIT THE SITE --CLICK HERE

A RULING PORTENDS HOPE!!! (a pdf file)

Ron Davis, the father of Jordan Davis, is embraced
as he arrives at the funeral home for the visitation and
a memorial service for his son Jordan on Wednesday
in Jacksonville, Fla.

Bob Self/The Florida Times-Union/AP

Three shooting deaths in the past week raise questions about whether prank-prone and reckless teens are particularly vulnerable under states' 'castle doctrine' and 'stand your ground' laws.

By Staff writer / November 29, 2012 

Atlanta

Recent events are raising questions about whether "stand your ground" and "castle doctrine" laws – which offer legal protection to people who hurt or kill someone in self-defense – could disproportionately harm teenagers.

During the past week, three teenagers in states with such laws were shot to death for doing things that, critics of the laws say, teenagers regularly get caught doing.

In Florida, unarmed 17-year-old Jordan Davis was allegedly shot and killed by 40-something Michael Dunn after an argument about a loud car stereo outside a convenience store.

And in Minnesota, retired State Department employee Byron David Smith allegedly wounded and then killed two teenagers, Haile Kifer and Nicholas Brady, who broke into his house on Thanksgiving, apparently on a hunt for prescription drugs.

This week also saw three teen boys charged with murder in Alabama after their friend, Summer Moody, was shot in April. When a man caught the four breaking into fishing cottages in the Mobile-Tensaw Delta, he allegedly fired a warning shot that killed Summer in what a district attorney called a "tragic accident." On Wednesday, a grand jury indicted the three boys, not the man who shot Summer.
READ MORE
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These SYG laws will eventually make us each others jailers,  by making us afraid to walk the streets,  without fear that we will be shot for some reason or other.   Local law enforcement authorities,  often do not have the resources needed to investigate these incident thoroughly enough to make a case,  in instance where the shootings were not justified.  Investigations made all the more difficult,  for lack of testimony of the counter party,  who is dead.  

Can it get to the point where we will beg our authorities to take absolute power,  to remove guns from society totally,  so that we can go about our business again?  How ironic would it be that the 2nd Amendment leads us back into dictatorship.

Sign the White house petition to overturn SYG laws here; and let others know to do so as well.  We need to show a groundswell of opinion to get things moving in the right direction,  this petition,  while not really practicable at law,  is made to serve as a flash point of objection.  READ MORE

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This ruling just in,  "Right to bear arms stops  at your front door" Federal Court
http://www.ca2.uscourts.gov/decisions/isysquery/ce755d25-3ed1-49ed-9a59-6e924ebc2345/1/doc/11-3642_opn.pdf 

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Trayvon

Lost in all the horrible politics surrounding his death is the story of a boy. Before he became yet another flash point in America's painful and never-ending racial drama, Trayvon Martin was just a normal teenager. Here, at last, is the story of what was lost on that February night.

By John H. Richardson

Published in the December 2012 issue

He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.

Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.

He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.

Don't you ever talk? Say something.

Trayvon would just grin.

He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.

The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.

Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.

When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.  <a href=" http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212">  READ MORE </a>
Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI
Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Published in the December 2012 issue
He wanted something sweet, he wanted to get out of the apartment for a while. He slid open the glass door of the patio and slipped out into the steamy Florida twilight, an ordinary thing on an ordinary night.
Trayvon Martin was three weeks past seventeen that day, which was the day a stranger named George Zimmerman shot him through the heart. He was growing so fast, he'd stretched out like a rubber band, 158 pounds on a five-eleven frame, so long and thin everyone teased him: Boy, you too skinny to take a breath.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, lost in his music like he always was. People teased him about that, too. Next door to his uncle Stephen's house, a modest ranch house where he often spent the night, lived an old lady who called him Mouse.
Don't you ever talk? Say something.
Trayvon would just grin.
He strolled down the narrow cement path between two buildings. Trayvon didn't live there, he was just visiting, so it was all fairly new to him. Double glass doors faced the area from apartments on both sides, little white fences separated each little yard, central-air units hummed, televisions lit the curtains with their blue glow. Sometimes a Big Wheel tricycle sat forgotten in the path.
The complex looked nice. The buildings were two or three stories, with neat little lawns with neat little borders. No visible garbage bins, a clubhouse, a little lake. Not as nice as the luxury complex just across the no-man's-land where no one had bothered to build a sidewalk, but pretty nice for a kid from the modest side of Miami Gardens. Last night he had a long talk with DeWayne, his buddy from pee-wee football. DeWayne asked what he was doing.
Just chillin' with my ol' boy, Trayvon said. Trayvon's dad was dating a woman who lived there, a woman named Brandy, and it was looking serious. If he had to change high schools again to move up there, he said, it would be a'ight.
When he got to the gate of the complex, he could have slipped through the pedestrian gate. It wasn't locked. Even after the shooting, they never locked it. Florida is geared to cars, and Trayvon was still a BMX kind of guy. He tooled all around Miami Gardens on that little bike, standing on the pegs or doing the cat-walk wheelie on one wheel. And there was no sidewalk most of the way, just a lumpy depression in the grass, so why walk along the road? A man on foot could walk through trees and sand halfway to the 7-Eleven.


Read more: Trayvon Martin Family Interview - Trayvon Martin Aftermath - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/americans-2012/trayvon-martin-1212#ixzz2DXLaLFzI

Sunday, November 25, 2012

LLMPapa says:

we petition the obama administration to: Investigate George Zimmerman for Civil Rights violation in his killing of Trayvon Martin


A Neighborhood Watch Captain went on an illegal patrol and profiled an innocent child as a rogue, thug criminal, who he decided, without reason, deserved to be followed in the darkness and when he caught him he questioned and killed him. His only reason given for his erroneous beliefs was that the child was black and did not belong in the neighborhood. To defend himself with claims of "stand your ground" and "self defense" he concocted a series of demonstrable lies, claiming the child tried to take away the weapon he himself carried everywhere he went and that he was beaten to within an inch of his life, by Trayvon Martin, who had no dna or other trace evidence on his hands. Even while Zimmerman was covered with his own blood. Evidence that Martin never touched Zimmerman at all.
Created: Nov 25, 2012

Signatures needed by December 25, 2012 to reach goal of 25,000

24,999

TO SIGN THIS PETITION CLICK HERE

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Detective in George Zimmerman case hires Casey Anthony lawyer

Chris Serino (right)
Published: November 19, 2012 

— The lead detective in the George Zimmerman murder trial hired famed lawyer Jose Baez to represent him as he maneuvers the next steps of the contentious high-profile case, The Miami Herald has learned.

Chris Serino, a former Sanford Police major-crimes investigator, became a controversial figure when evidence revealed that the detective had quietly filed an arrest affidavit a few weeks after the shooting death of teenager Trayvon Martin, even as his chief publicly said there wasn't enough evidence to make a case.

A letter was sent last week by Baez to Dean Ringer Morton & Lawton, the law firm that sometimes represents the city of Sanford, advising that he will represent Serino in the upcoming proceedings. It is highly unusual for investigators to approach a murder trial with their own counsel.
Baez, who gained fame with the 2008 Casey Anthony case, declined to comment. A spokesman for Baez confirmed the letter and said Serino felt he needed an attorney to look out for his interests in the next stage of the case, but that he does not plan to file a lawsuit.    READ MORE

Read more here: http://www.macon.com/2012/11/19/2256510/detective-in-george-zimmerman.html#storylink=cpy

Friday, November 16, 2012

Dr Phil - Defending George Zimmerman The Most Hated Man in America


George Zimmerman's DNA problem is a problem.


ZIMMERMAN GETS A LITTLE HELP FROM A CRACKER, OR TWO

By Eric Gallagher

Noah Caraker, an administrative employee of the Seminole County Public Schools, acting in the capacity as the then Board President of the Retreat at Twin Lakes Homeowners Association (HOA), forged an agreement between the HOA and the Sanford Police Department where the HOA hired and paid Sanford Police in exchange for their patrolling the Retreat at Twin Lakes community and enforcing HOA Board polices upon community residents.

This disclosure, so far ignored by the left wing MSM, and the right wing alternative media, is contained within the recently released highly redacted incomplete disclosure furnished by the office of Special Prosecutor Angela Corey, and lays bare the conflict of interest which made the Trayvon Martin murder a reality, and its cover up a necessity.
Contained  in the 183page discovery document is copy of the June 2011 Newsletter of the Retreat at Twin Lakes (RTL) HOA. Directly beneath the photo of Caraker (Page 162) with his property manager and fellow Board Members appears the announcement to the community which declares, “The Board will begin hiring Sanford Police Officers again in July to Patrol the community several times a month and enforce the RTL speed limit and other HOA policies.”
<a href=" http://redyankeepress.blogspot.com/">  READ MORE </a>

George Zimmerman and Accomplice -Part 3 - On Patrol


Here's a link to a post you'll find very interesting

Monday, October 29, 2012

PROOF George Zimmerman Stalked, Chased, and Murdered Trayvon Martin!!!


Had To Hit The Code


Looks like we've finally discovered which way Trayvon entered RATL on his return from the store. If true, he had a key code to come in, meaning he returned after 7pm when the gate closed, and he had a right to be on the grounds. GZ's story about TM using the cut through by Taaffe's is false.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

PoliticsNation, Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Guests: Sybrina Fulton; Tracy Martin; Benjamin Crump, Jonathan Capehart;
Corrine Brown; Zachary Carter; Jeff Weiner; Joe Madison

REVEREND AL SHARPTON, MSNBC HOST: Welcome to "Politics Nation. I`m
Al Sharpton.

Tonight`s lead, the growing national outrage over the killing of 17-
year-old Trayvon Martin. The teenager shot by a self appointed
neighborhood watch volunteer on February 26th. Across the country, people
wonder how this tragedy could have happened, and they`re crying out for
justice, and demanding that our justice system look out for the cheerful mpeters
young man that was not looking for trouble, but just simply walking home
after buying an iced tea and skittles. It`s a case full of questions that
demand answers.

What took so long for the police to notify Trayvon`s parents about the
death of their son? Why wasn`t the suspect, George Zimmerman arrested?
Why has he been able to claim self defense when the facts contradict that
claim that in fact he chased Trayvon? And why weeks later, Zimmerman is
still free and still able to carry a weapon?

For the next hour, we will try to answer these questions and in the
name of justice for Trayvon Martin.

 Joining me now are Trayvon Martin`s parents, Tracy Martin, Sybrina
Fulton, and their family lawyer, Benjamin Crump. Thank you for being here
tonight.  READ MORE

Note: Lawyer Crump says that Trayvon entered through the front gate,  according
to Dee Dee,  entered the code and went straight to the mail shed.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

George Zimmerman's lawyers: Cops will testify for us in murder case

They usually testify on behalf of the state.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Explore all the primary documents

Explore all the primary documents, reports, and press releases from the Sanford Police Department related to the Trayvon Martin case, including the initial police report on Trayvon's killing. Or jump to the collection of videos below.  The Document Dump Site


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

NYC gym teacher claims 6-year-old student beat him up

"tiny terror" Rodrigo Carpio (New York Post)
At 5-foot-10 and 220 pounds, gym teacher John Webster is not a slight figure. But the former college football player claims a 50-pound, 6-year-old student physically assaulted him and sent him into therapy.

The New York Post reports that Webster fractured his ankle and injured his knee, all at the hands of 4-foot-2 Rodrigo Carpio. Walker says he now has to wear a brace on his right leg.

"It's sort of like an angel-devil sort of thing," Webster, 27, said of Rodrigo. The boy "looks like an angel, but then, all of a sudden, that halo turns into horns. It's been a nightmare. It's embarrassing. It's humiliating." <a href=" http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/nyc-gym-teacher-claims-6-old-student-beat-195314203.html">  READ MORE </a>
220-pound gym teacher John Webster says he
was injured by a 1st grade student (New York Post)