Bob's Letter

E. J. (Ted) Legg wrote:


Bob's hand writing and Dad's hand writing was NOT (repeat NOT) the same.  Also, I am upset that you would link Dad with Bob.  I suggest that you stop this.

This living disclosure was never going to be easy. Hand writing? Or, was it left-handed upside down printing; - later carbon copied? That would make it a good forgery in the same vein as some think that "The Protocols Of The Elders Of Zion" was also a forgery. I think that a motive for the confession was revenge against Masonic corruption: (the Purple Gang). For that the disguise might have worked. Did subsequent events mean that the Masons charged at Dad's family  like a bull and hatch their own form of multi-generational retribution for betrayal? Irrespective of whether Dad had any previous links to Napanee or the creation of Bob's Letter does not discount the fact that when we sent it to the papers Dad's name was publicly associated with it. Consider now the slowly grinding collective mind of a ritual murder cult taking a generation or so just to find out. Records indicated a rapid decline in the area's Masonic membership. - (were Elk members some of those bumped off due to Bob's Letter? The page linked here was at first linked to the site of, which is how I found it, but shortly after I linked to their page someone thought they better remove the history of lodge 327. So it is the copy I kept , but you can see it was theirs in reality.)

It bears putting in here that in May 1985, standing in the Auckland airport arrival line, my family's passports were stolen. I can't begin to tell you how crushed I felt when subsequent investigations turned up the fact that my passport probably was used in Canada as the starting point to establish a string of identities enabling massive credit card fraud using the initials only of the name "M.J.Legg". In my opinion, my nephew Michael John Legg developed stress induced cancer in his mid twenties and died as a direct result of this.

Way back in 1968 I thought nothing of the fact that I met my future first wife at a garage party for a local police chief's daughter. Nor did I care then that this wife's uncle was a master Mason. In June 1985 my second marriage was to have been to a lass that did all the typing for court barristers. One of these introduced me to my accountant, who later introduced me to his brother to be my lawyer. I knew nothing then of Masons, except that these were both preceptors - (whatever that means - commander?)

You think, "Maybe, but what's that got to do with the price of fish?".

Well, in 1990 before I found out that my one remaining client of ten years had old Chicago Mafia connections, I was negotiating their million dollar purchase of my "Wavelink" invention. During this implementation I moved my office overseas into the heart of Melbourne and rode straight into the meat in Big Macs from horse and kangaroo corruption scandal. This invention exposed the mob and I was lucky not to have woken next to my own horse's head.

For now, understand that when I returned pyrrhically victorious in 1995, from this five year battle, and went to re-open my bank account at the BNZ downtown branch, they declined me because of a bogus judgment entered at the credit reporting company, by none other than the legal firm of the same name as he who did the aforementioned introduction. It appears they were acting for the ANZ bank who were forced to refund funds that I had caught them trying to embezzle. This happened after $1700 of my funds which were coming from my automatic payment into a high credit Bankcard were actually routed to another person using my name. Twenty minutes of thumping the table saw the bogus judgment removed and my account re-opened. Two years later when starting a new business and I needed $360 for a digital camera I rang the BNZ to ask what my overdraft limit was.

The girl said, "Mr. Legg you have no credit limit."

"That's nice", I thought - having been used to such limits on my Diner's and American Express cards.

Then because the ATM would only spit out a maximum of $200 I went across to another and did the same in order to buy the camera. Two days later I deposited funds to cover my $80 overdraft. What the BNZ meant was that my credit limit was zero so when I next used my ATM card their machine swallowed it. Inside the bank officer said I committed fraud using the two ATM machines to get the money for the camera. In a huff I took a photo of this bank officer and for that the BNZ pounced and sent me a two year trespass notice and canceled my account.

Above all I hope that you Ted will never know the form of banker induced starvation that would force anyone into a situation like the writer of Bob's Letter. The rest won't be so lucky though as we maybe soon into the double digits of months of pumpable oil left on the planet. With all our human spirit and ingenuity, the irony is that irrespective of what oil replacement technologies are created, there simply won't be enough fuel left to deliver it to the masses.

We can't compete with the positive feedback loop of a corrupt reward system that pays people more to lie about how much oil is in the ground than not.

More coming - so stay tuned, because THIS IS THE REAL MATRIX... and for all that I stick my middle finger up in respect of the true story of Masonic symbols with "A Timeline Including Atlantis". After plotting a series of bizarre stories, I theorized that our roots transcend the cradle of civilization via Mesopotamia through India (as womb) while discarding China (as placenta) enfolding from Indonesia (as fallopian tube) ex NZ (as ovary) with the frozen egg being a group of survivors stranded on Antarctica.

"Fear them not, therefore; for there is nothing covered that shall not be
revealed; and hidden, that shall not be known. What I tell you in
darkness, that speak in light; and what ye hear in the ear, that proclaim
upon the housetops." -- Matthew 10:26


Hi Ted,

I know you don't want to disturb them (the photocopies of Bob's letter) but could you tell me if you can transcribe (re-type or edit) anything visible into an email and send it to me. With many sources of information, I am writing a story that includes its December 1938 King George Canadian stamp, the Pope - (when did he worked for I.G. Farben), the eugenics criminals at Shell and the worldwide Easter Island scenario known as Peak Oil. The genre is an Ingrid-based endless computer game/blog that unfolds into an autobiographically mixed fiction.

it begins :

Until you see both sides of Dad's story, the life of a repentant saint, maddened by an inability to write of it (his life), is all we have to go on. This is my story too; both of us being named Max. To avoid both of us answering at once, I was called by my middle name of Jim. In his case though, he got no middle name and was named after a car, the 1908 Maxwell, that his father was thinking about buying. In a failing memory Dad left a note that helped me connect these dots. It's been eleven years since he died and this is my first writing, though told recently to my immediate family.

It's the repentant part that is a fictional reconstruction of the reason Masons might give as to why he escaped them to become a baptized Catholic at forty seven. Sure my mum was an overbearing religious zealot who's own family were converts. Was this his cover story?

There was another side of Max that was unknown to her. So she said. Dots told me otherwise which is why I think she was so fixated about burning all records of their lives before dying. There were his engineering diaries that adopted a peculiar block printing style, which as a boy I loved to look at, and from where I got my maths foundation. The same block printing was used by the hand which wrote a confession that was found in the basement of our house by my elder brother and sister forty seven years ago. I'm not ashamed now to be the first in our family to write that Masons thought that this was Dad's doing. Mum must have guessed it though. Before he became a Catholic, I vaguely remember him taking me once or twice to the Anglican Church of St Mary Magdalene and maybe also there was talk of being a Mason.

This combination of clues was given to me orally and completed by a scribbled note that she didn't burn. I found this "back of the envelope" note in a pair of Dad's socks. This is all I got as my inheritance. The rest was unaccounted for by David Maxwell Legg, the trusted middle sibling with power of attorney over Dad's estate. Along with it came this insight now of how starvation was both a cause and an effect.

Bob's letter was what we called the confession and at the time everyone seemed to put it down to a sick hobo who must have crashed in the basement and hid the letter on top a rafter, dying unable to mail it. Bob's letter was stamped with a distinctive Canadian stamp commemorating King George's visit to Canada in December of 1938. The note in the sock said "May 1938 return to BG to marry" which means that an unfranked stamp turning up out of the blue could have given an incentive for Dad to start to think about the getting away with forging a confession using the synchronistic linguistics of a poorly educated French Canadian bum. Indeed Dad may have only known this story second hand. Nonetheless for Masons to think that Dad executed such a plan, even on behalf of someone else actually called Bob, they must have credited him with a strong motivation; i.e., to hide it from his six kids for what could have been decades waiting to be found.

When Bob's Letter was found in the late summer of 1957, Dad was working in the Arctic for the US Air Force as a civilian engineer on the last and hardest stage of the DEW line, so he was away for months and months. Finding Bob's Letter caused a sensation back then as the headlines got bigger when they spread across North America in the late fifties and ripped up the small town where we lived. I don't think it was the unsolved axe murders or the bodies in quicklime or the grave robbing and bootlegging or the "poison put in the vein of a Kingston inmate", but for the way it described how the "Gang Of Six" with colorful names were franchised out of Masonic Lodges with one of each six being the accountant. The news then was how the gang brainwashing / training "held up" Bruno Hauptman as an ideal to take the rap for killing the Lindbergh baby." The Global Brain now thinks that Lindbergh, himself a high Mason, suffered their retribution because he hired one of these gangs to cover his own practical joke that went wrong, killing his own child.

If it was Dad's printing, then he probably escaped the mob and only anecdotally he and a partner fled with a large "shiner" to the jungles of South America hoping to "find" it again and arrange it to be made "legit" by a jeweler in Georgetown. I heard his partner took off with the diamond and left Dad for dead in a clapped out digging operation. Dad's malaria and three week bout of hiccups probably left him high and dry on the mud banks of the Essequibo where he met mum teaching in a little settlement. This place called Ithaca was named by her Scottish kin who was one of Napoleon's jailers. The disbanded garrison at St Helena saw many people go to BG to become woodcutters in return for the deeds to hundreds of miles of riverbank.

Penniless, Dad probably went down the hard way through Panama because he spoke of the coca stomping grounds in Columbia and before he died he told me that he was fired by Shell Oil for absent-mindedly smoking dope in his pipe when he was called back to investigate a problem up a cracking tower. He was trying to warn me of the evil people behind the smoking of weed and he said that he never smoked it again. C'est la vie. The note in the sock said "Returned to Canada March 1953 on welfare". This oil field where I was born was in Trinidad, notoriously known as the starting drug route from South America. Trinidad, only a short thirty minute boat ride from Venezuela, hangs drug mules twenty or thirty at a time.

The town of Napanee in Ontario was where Dad bought the house at 33 Roblin Hill from crooked lawyers and agents only to discover after selling it that the Canada 401 wasn't going right through our front yard after all. It was where Bob's Letter was found and for a bootlegger Napanee could be conjectured to be just another boarder town not far from friends inside the Kingston or Millhaven Penitentiary. After a small trip by boats "pushing off" at night laden with booze for the trip through the Thousand Islands the stuff would probably get unloaded at Syracuse in New York. Such border connections are common with a life in the underworld.


That Dad nearly died then was recounted to me by his sister Marge who later helps him land a job on a Betchell project, which like Shell is also known for hiring criminals. That Dad was denied his father's estate by his step mother along with being out of work and having to leave university in his last year means he likely starved in the Great Depression. He went bald in his twenty second year and in a recurring fire theme he burnt all his university books and went on the road into any and every mining town he could; getting there playing poker mostly.

E. J. (Ted) Legg wrote:

Yes and No.  No, I don't have the newspaper clippings themselves.  Mum had said that she wanted to keep them.  Did she burn lots of stuff?  But Yes, I have a photocopy of them.  In addition, I have been waiting for the both the Toronto Star and the Kingston Whig to get their archives digitized.  Once that happens, I'll be able to get a more permanent copy.  The photocopies is VERY old; VERY faded; and I do not want to open them up (disturb them) too much unless absolutely necessary.

PS:  There is a company here in Canada that has taken on the task of digitizing all of Canada's old newspapers.  It's a big, long job.
PPS:  The photocopies that I have are not like the modern day photocopy.  This is old, glossy, sticky type paper that has turned to an aged, sepia type color.


At 12:34 2004-04-04 +1200, you wrote:

I can't remember the words but some detail like a picture in the paper of you smiling and Mary holding the letter and pointing up to the beam where it was found.

Did you keep any newspaper clippings of the mystery? After Dad died I found some of his scribblings that Mum hadn't burnt and for me they shed quite a different light on the subject. Where to begin? I don't know.

E. J. (Ted) Legg wrote:

Interesting.  Imagine you remembering about Bob's letter after all these years!! Ted

At 18:33 2004-04-03 +1200, you wrote:

Corbans warehouse hit by fire <,1227,265217-1-7,00.html>
BNZ vows to fight $300m tax bill <,2106,2863117a13,00.html>


Check out both of these stories from Friday's local news. The connection is that my landlord, John, is a Corban.

This affirms for me a series of co-incidences that I could have deduced are part of a psyops that I would recognize. In that regard it failed and I brushed it off but it did remind me of the Deseronto fire that resulted after you found Bob's Letter.