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Witches Gate

“Two armed intruders, at least one in blackface makeup, Saturday night killed Jim Keith, 61, in his sumptious Clay County ranch home and trussed his brother, Kenneth, 70, before ransacking the house of a valuable collection of guns and antique jewelry.”
That was the lead on a front-page story titled “Clay County Rancher Murdered” which was printed in the July 14, 1975 issue of the Wichita Falls Record News, the newspaper at that time.
According to the article, about 9:30 p.m. on July 12, Kenneth Keith was getting ready for bed when he heard voices coming from his brother’s room.  As he stepped into the hall, he heard a gunshot.  When Kenneth reached his brother’s room, he found him, shot in the back, in a pool of blood. 
An armed man with a painted face pushed Kenneth back into his room at gunpoint and bound him.  Some time later, two armed men returned to release his bonds, in order to force him to open the house safe. They then retied him.
The thieves made off with several vintage and collectible firearms and antique jewelry, leaving the house at about 3 a.m. after disabling the telephone.  Kenneth Keith worked himself free of his bonds and drove to the Jolly Truck Stop, from where he reported the murder-burglary.
Twelve years after the incident, in the October 31, 1987 issue of the Times Record News, Judith McGinnis did a follow-up piece concerning the Keith murder. According to her article, the four men involved in the murder-burglary were Clyde Theron Burns, Lonnie Dale Lloyd, Alton Woodruff Fanchier, and William Leon Pinson Burns. 
Pinson Burns was the man who pulled the trigger. Special prosecutor for the case, Howard Martin, said the robbers had gone to the ranch that night in search of a valuable coin collection reportedly worth $200,000. Another criminal who had seen the collection advertised in a magazine tipped them off. However, Kenneth Keith had donated said coins to a museum in Denver, CO more than a year prior to the robbery.
Jim and Kenneth lived in the Keith home together and continued the work of their father, raising Herefords. Jim never married; Kenneth married and divorced. Neither man had any children. After the murder, Kenneth moved into a neighbor’s home.
In February, 1976, just eight months after Jim’s gruesome murder, arsonists destroyed all but the stone shell of the home. Because the blaze occurred just days after Clyde Burns was arrested, many people believed there was a connection. Though it was determined to be purposefully set, there was no formal investigation into the fire.
Burns, Lloyd, and Fanchier pled guilty to murder and each was sentenced to 20 years in prison. Evidence produced during the trial proved that Pinson Burns pushed the barrel of a shotgun through a screen at Jim’s bedroom window and shot him in the back as he tried to escape.
On Jan. 30, 1970, the jury deliberated for a mere six minutes before returning with a guilty verdict. They sentenced Pinson Burns to life in prison, to be served in Kansas’s Leavenworth Penitentiary.
In April, 1980, Pinson Burns was released from Leavenworth due to health reasons and fled to New Mexico. Officers there arrested him on unrelated charges and he was sent back to prison in Huntsville, where he died three years later.
On June 19, 1977, Kenneth Keith died, just five months after the last of his brother’s killers were convicted.
The gutted house stands off of US Hwy 287, between Wichita Falls and Henrietta. There are many local tales of Satanists performing rituals and sacrifices there. Residents exploring the site claim to have found human bones. And sometimes, as it nears dark, the home appears to be on fire.

Screaming Sheila Bridge
There is a faded and abandoned bridge, eight to ten miles north of Electra, which is no longer used because a girl named Sheila died there. There are varying stories as to what actually happened to her.
An Electra resident known just as “Hollywood” said that, when he attended Electra High School in the 1980s, the legend was that Sheila had been hung off the side of the bridge, swinging over the river as she gasped for her last breath.
Another version of the tale is that Sheila was burned alive on the bridge, evidenced by a large hole burnt completely through it.  “Hollywood” disproved this story when he confessed that he and some buddies had, during high school, had a party on the bridge and accidentally set it on fire.
This means, however, that the bridge was shut down prior to the fire, when its framework and steadiness were still sound.
So what happened to a girl on that bridge so many years ago to cause the area’s citizens to close down a perfectly good, and often used, road?
Were a person unfamiliar with the bridge to set out in search of it, they would have great difficulty locating it.  Past the town of “Punkin Center,” there is a road, Wolf Road, which runs east toward Iowa Park.  Were some adventurer to follow the road past where its pavement ends, he or she would find themselves at the unusual intersection of Wolf and Moeller roads. 
In one direction, Moeller road extends farther than the eye can see, a packed dirt road that leads back toward Electra and civilization.  In the opposite direction, after just a few hundred yards, Moeller road becomes overgrown with grass and weeds.  The line of an electric fence stretches across the road, barring entry or exit. The line belongs to a local rancher who put it in place to hold his cattle. The road is still a public road, though, and as long as explorers re-connect the fence, there is no problem with going through to investigate.
Past that electrical line, down a long, rarely-used path, and on the other side of some old construction barriers, sits Screaming Sheila bridge and the ghost of Screaming Sheila, long-lost, but not forgotten.

White Sanitarium
The F.S. White Sanitarium, located at the corner of California and Olen roads, opened in 1926 under the direction of Frank S. White, a man who had been superintendent at the state asylum in Austin before the turn of the century. He first advocated providing a non-institutionalized lifestyle for his patients to diminish the effects of the asylum itself on their sanity.  He ran the facility for just five years before retiring for health reasons.
In 1939, the building was abandoned after it was damaged due to severe flooding.  The building remained a local haunt for daring teens until 2002, when Gilbert Rios, who was 70 years old at the time and retired, purchased the building for $15,000, a measly price for such a vast estate. 
There were so many tales of horror and hell associated with the asylum that most investors wouldn’t touch it.
A group of Houston ghost hunters contacted Rios in August, 2002, requesting a visit to the asylum. They set up shop in the White building, monitoring it for any signs of supernatural activity. The results were inconclusive at that time.
Rios is not a superstitious man nor does he believe in ghosts. His purpose for the asylum is to repair and refurbish it into an apartment complex. The building now possesses a fresh coat of pink paint, a well-manicured lawn, and attractive landscaping. 
Though Rios does not believe in ghosts himself, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.  One MSU student told a tale of high school friends discovering abandoned manacles in the asylum’s basement.  Local residents tell stories of ghosts seen playing cards, as well as unexplained screams heard, coming from the direction of the asylum, in the dark hours of the night.

Ghost Town of Clara
In 1870, a man named Herman Specht migrated to Texas from Germany. Fourteen years later, he married a wealthy widow by the name of Clara M. Vogel Lange and began purchasing Wichita County land, amassing a total of 21,000 acres. Just two years after that, in 1886, he platted the town of Clara, named for his wife, about ten miles north of Iowa Park.
Specht asked German colonists from other states to make Clara their home. The Spechts ran a wheat ranch at Clara. There was also a large experimental nursery for unusual plants located north of Clara’s Trinity Lutheran Church.
Then came the drought of 1891.
It wiped out the nursery and all of Specht's crops. A storm in 1900 Galveston storm destroyed the remainder of the Specht’s vast holdings.
Hampered by an inadequate water supply, which eventually dried up, the town of Clara continued to decline when its school was consolidated with the Burkburnett school district.
During the oil boom of the 1920s, many of the town’s residents moved to Wichita Falls. Good roads and cars made it possible to shop elsewhere.
The town finally vanished except for the church, the rectory, and the cemetery.
Visitors who photograph cemetery tombstones often get smoky, ethereal elements appearing in their developed photos. The oldest grave in the cemetery belongs to Pleasant Queen, buried in the early 1800s.  Her ghost is said to haunt the graveyard to this day.
If you stand quietly in the midst of the tombs, some say you can hear their ghosts crying.

It’s a heart-breaking thing to see.  Dogs and puppies, awaiting adoption in their cages, whimper and bark for attention.  You can’t help but wonder what they did to deserve to be there.  Why on earth did their owner let them go?
Man’s best friend is now man-less. 
Inside, a group of cats are individually caged.  Two let out crying meows while others stare adorably at visitors.  A volunteer leans over to pet Tubby.  Jerry, a little kitten left behind by his owners, sticks his paw out as if to say “Pick me!  Pick me!”   It’s hard to walk away.
More than six million cats and dogs are euthanized each year in shelters across the nation.  Approximately 800 to1,000 of those animals are brought to the Humane Society of Wichita County every month.  Of those, about 700 to 800 are put to sleep.
The shelter is located on a small patch of land at 4361 Iowa Park Rd.  A graveled road leads to a series of portable buildings.  The reclaim center and the adoption center are on the left, while another building used for neutering, spaying and vaccinations sits on the right.
The humane society shelters animals and attempts to place them into caring environments.  They believe in controlling animal overpopulation and promoting humane standards.  Adoption fees are $70 for dogs and $60 for cats.  Each animal is spayed or neutered, given its shots, dewormed, and checked for ear mites and fleas before it goes to its new home.  Cats are tested for Feline Leukemia.  Workers said the costs for these procedures would be at least double at a veterinarian.
The shelter also offers a low cost spay/neuter clinic.  Surgery is $35 for cats and $40-45 for dogs.
Most workers at the humane society are volunteers.  Debbie Mills, a five-year employee, said the shelter is always in need of more workers.  Volunteers must be 16 years old. There is a mandatory orientation meeting the first Saturday of every month from 1 p.m.-3 p.m.
Although the humane society promotes adoption, it’s strict on who can have animals.  An apartment-dweller must have proof of a paid pet deposit.  Homeowners must have a fenced yard and dog house if they intend on adopting a dog.  Cats are adopted only as indoor pets.
Unplanned litters, lost pets and unwanted animals are brought in daily.  If no one comes to claim them in three days, they are either put to sleep or put up for adoption.  Employees, however, first determine whether or not the shelter already has a surplus of a particular breed. 
“Four lab puppies were put to sleep just minutes ago because there were too many at the shelter already,” Mills said. 
If by some chance there’s not a surplus, then the animal must also have an eye-catching personality and good mental and physical health. In that case it might have the chance to be adopted.
 “It seems cruel, but there are just too many animals,”   Mills said.
Sometimes, people just can’t take care of their pet.  Many older cats and dogs are brought to the shelter because they have to move, Mills said.  Some animals are brought in by military families because of recent deployments. 
The problem is that everyone wants to adopt kittens and puppies, Mills said. Adult pets get left at the shelter for months at a time.  Bitty, a one-eyed calico was abandoned at a vet clinic and has been at the shelter for months waiting for a family to adopt her. 
When lost pets are turned in, owners have three days to reclaim them.  They must pay a $65 fee when picking up their animal. The pet’s rabies records are also checked before it’s released.
However, 90 percent of animals are not reunited with their owners.  Mills said many people tell her their pets aren’t worth the money.  In other cases, people are overjoyed to reunite with their animals.  At the center, a woman arrived in search for “Berkley”, her black lab.  She was almost in tears when she discovered her dog was alive and well.   
Mills said she would take them all home if she could, but she already has too many. 
“I have so many cats, I have to have a city permit to legally keep them there,” she said.
For more information concerning adoptions call the humane society at 940-855-4941. 


If there is ever a perfect person he/she should run the place
Camron Rushin | Editor-in-Chief

I think George W. Bush said it best in the first presidential debate when he said something like “I don’t know why my opponent would even want this job.”
I don’t know what kind of masochistic weirdoes would want to ever run for public office. We’re not in a swing state, so we’re probably not getting the brunt of Bush/Kerry ads.
But for some reason, we get more Oklahoma campaign ads than I imagine Oklahoma gets. Hello, I’m not from Oklahoma. I don’t care, you crapheads.
Can you believe these Brad Carson and Tom Coburn ads? They make each other both sound like advocates of Satan. Are these the best two guys Oklahoma can rummage up? Well, what am I talking about, it’s Oklahoma.
My campaign for public office ended when I was in third grade. That was the year I beat up Trevor Powe. I couldn’t imagine the backlash I would get from all the people who had been beaten up in elementary school when this bit of information leaked out. My opponent would use it to his full advantage.
How could I defend myself? Powe and I were about the same size. I only beat him up because we were playing yard football and he kept crying about being tackled by the neck. I couldn’t take his whining anymore so we got into a little shoving match. I told him “If you want some, bring it on.” Apparently he wanted some so I brought it.
I put him in a headlock and gave him a swift punch and he started crying. I let go and he dropped to the ground sobbing. I felt kind of bad afterwards, but recess was over and there was nothing I could do.
In about sixth grade, we were playing baseball. I was pitching and again Powe was throwing these little berries at me from nearby trees that surrounded our baseball field. I had had enough, so when he had his back turned picking more berries, I threw the baseball in his direction in an attempt to only scare him.
Well, the ball hit right in the back of the head. He fell down crying again. I felt kind of bad, but then again he was asking for it. When people find out that I beat up and hit kids with baseballs, I’ll never have a chance at being elected.
I also know of some video footage where I accidentally, how’s the best way I can put this, revealed myself. My friends and I were goofing off and I started dancing around to this song. Just for the humor, I began to take off my clothes. I was only going to go down to my boxers. But, you see, boxers have these slits in the front. I had no control whatsoever.
How am I going to explain that to voters? They’ll think I’m some kind of exhibitionist. 
I also showed up to work late one day. It was back when I worked for the beer company. Management told me to show up at 7 a.m., but all they do that early is stand around the warehouse drinking coffee and scratching themselves. They do this for about an hour before real work even begins. I showed up at 8 a.m. and it hit the fan.
If the public finds out that I was an hour late for work, they’ll think I have a bad work ethic. The fact that I worked a full weekend with the flu will mean nothing.
I also tell too many bodily function jokes and I make fun of people every opportunity I get. All the tender-hearted crybabies will think I’m mean.
Dan Rather would probably find out about my Boy Scout record and report how I was a Boy Scout for about five years and only earned three badges and how I never actually helped old ladies cross the street.
Geez, I can’t take this anymore, it’s like you people expect us politicans to be like Ghandi or Jesus.
Why would I want to run for public office anyways? I’ve waited tables before. I know how crummy the public really is. In fact, I can only stand about a quarter of you, if that many.
So everybody just get off my back. I’ve made some mistakes and some of them I sort of regret. It’s just not fair for you to get a hold of them and take them out of context to make me look like an….Oklahoma City craphead.


If you Don't stop making Fat jokes I'm going to Sit on you
Jason Kimbro | Staff Reporter

Oh the plight of the fat. How weary our souls have been trampled upon. We fat people always get the lumpy, brown end of the stick and we always get treated like monsters in a world where monsters are the majority.
Oh why must we get treated so badly? Why must everybody think we are lazy and useless and so unattractive? Why? Please, somebody, tell me why? Boo friggin’ hoo!
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I need to just shut up. This is true. Why whine about it when all the people who aren’t fat bitch and complain enough about it for everybody?
Last spring I wrote a column talking about how one, who is fat, can have an attitude befitting of an attractive person. Call this a continuation of some deranged series of corpulent proportions if you must, but this time I am taking a different approach.
Not that anyone should attempt to have such an attitude, but people who may be overweight, or just plain fugly, should actually believe this. This is hard in the modern world of a million dieting fads and national news coverage of the dangers of obesity.
I am fat. It is hard for me to tell where I lay on the continuum of portliness, be it that I am just plain obese or that I am so huge I could scare campers in the middle of the night, but all in all, I am one fat bastard.
I really do not have too much of a problem with this, but society seems to have one. Even my friends point out that one of my most noticeable “attributes” is my size. My friends give me such friendly pet names like “fat f**ker” and “tubby,” but it is all in good fun, or is it?
Sure it is, because they know I can handle these picks on not who I am, but what I am.
Where am I going with this, you may ask? Well, it all has to do with how my peers, no matter how kind or sympathetic they may be, are still using a bias on how to handle my wants as a friend based upon my size.
For instance: If I were to ask someone in my usually pitiful manner to find me a woman to hook me up with, the girls they are likely to pair me with are quite portly as well. Not that I mind too much for I like a little meat on the bones of my women, but this has been the case for years, not only for me, but for other overweight friends of mine.
To get overly dramatic, it is as if the community has unconsciously created a Nazi-like society, herding the round folk into groups in order to keep them out of their own niche in sociality.
This can be seen in our shops as well. They can’t simply put everything together; the “Big Sizes” are sold in a separate part of the store. 
Some places seem to have the idea that fat people are short as well. I can think of at least three different apartment stores like this. A one-legged cat would have an easier time burying a turd in a frozen lake than a man with a size 44 or larger waist can find an inseam longer than 30.
Anyway, enough with the rampant ramblings of such things. There seems to be a little bit of a social shift, at least. Now the huge focus of diets is beginning to have a trend aimed toward health instead of thinness. Some would argue that thinness is a sign of health, but tell that to the guy with AIDS or the average twelve year old kid in Niger.
Fat people themselves fall prey to their own societal ignorance, or stupidity, or outright blatancy to one of the only accepted forms of open prejudice. Hell, I find myself asking how certain people let themselves get the way they are.  This is not a question to be asking about someone or even about yourself.
Many of the skinny out there feel that fat people are fat because they are lazy or that they just don’t care about the way they look, which is further from the truth. A 200 pound cellulite cross is not exactly something a person is willing to bear neither for the sake of laziness nor for the lack of motivation.
That motivation is there for those who really feel that their size makes them unattractive. I know; I once went through all that fallacious ideology concerning the negative correlation between size and beauty.
So here’s the thing. I don’t expect this to cause a social revolution upon our overly conservative campus. I just want the people who feel the need to ostracize someone that is fat to realize that chances are someday they too will be fat and then they will realize that it isn’t laziness or the lack of care that has brought you to this “horrid” state of physical affairs.
As for the fat ones like me, understand that the media and society cannot tell you if you’re beautiful. Only you can.  I could go into the whole spill about how beauty is in the eye of the beholder and how it only counts on the inside, blah blah blah, but that is the same old crap we’ve heard a million times by our mommies and daddies.
Just be happy. If you’ve failed at losing weight over and over again, learn to be happy with what you’ve got. Look inside and find out what makes you happier: eating that salad because someone told you to in order to lose weight or eating that big pile of cheese fries because it tastes like glandular decadence, yummy!
As for me, I am going to tell my friends that if they want to hook me up with anybody, make sure that next time she weighs less than I do. Boy, I sure do love to contradict myself. Maybe I should become a motivational speaker for fat people. Or maybe someone should just shove a wedge of cheese in my mouth so that I’ll shut up.