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ALLAN JOHN ALBRECHT, click here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.

From Hoboken To Noboken

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Publisher: ISBN-10:  1466468335 Type: 


Copyright:  03/01/2011 ISBN-13:  9781466468337



                     from   hoboken to  noboken                                     BLOOD   BROTHER – IN - LAWS       FRANK  SINATRA - JOHN PAUL STEVEN                                      "wis"   "con"   "sin" 

       rose   nezda - sisters -  frieda nezda 


 The secret premeditated legal “cancer for murder” STARTED this investigation and research SIXTY YEARS AGO.

My mother’s death was a question of, “WHO”, “WHY”, “HOW”.


 The “WHO” true “MOBS” in America today are government:  I became the number one suspect at age 14 who did a murder accomplished by a person eventually running for president.

  " ROSS THE PARROT "  described in Chapter 2 is: " ROSS PEROT".   More gov cover-up.  

  " who said money talks ? " 


 AMERICAN   MOB:  FRANK SINATRA. The biggest crooks? of the land are Sinatra and the Italian “MOBS” with 1300 pages of demanding testimony before the U.S. Congress. His sins?  are  the best parents, best elders, best statesmen, best character, and best united states citizens prior to leaving this earth.    


AMERICAN  JUSTICE:  JOHN PAUL STEVENS:  The ”MOBS” since the 1900’s  are the government employees which control, courthouses, sheriffs, judges and others. with ultimate greed being the motive. The honest fortune five hundred corporations are the perpetrators of true American justice to prevail.  


 Total justice only starts to prevail when som  somebody talks and it gets published. Then and only then is the total truth revealed. Only INSIDERS know the total story and will live a short life if they talk to the wrong people.


     All Gov. mandated orders must be followed because INSIDERS are well aware of the results if they violate direct orders. A high number of Gov. Employees must follow this procedure with liars or else. 


     When a GOV. F.B.I. BASTARD found out about JOHN PAUL STEVENS, FRANK SINATRA, and my  "DAM BOOK"  in one of our meetings, all actions out of Washington were implemented to stop this author in his tracks within 24 hours and with no reason. True Gov. Bastards must be fired so the Good  GOV. People can and must prevail.  



















CHAPTER 16: KENTUCK CULTURE–FIGHT-KILL                         






















                            (  BY ROSS PEROT )

     The following introduces murder to this author within three weeks of his mother’s death.  It causes, for one hour, facing a gun, being killed, kill or be killed, the gun does not work, saying no to something I have no knowledge about, going to heaven, and explaining to my mother why I am here in heaven.  My mother passed away on June 19, 1953 after I just turned fourteen years old.  Sadness prevailed by this event, always wondering what I could have done to prevent her passing, and what I might have done better.  How I perceived and reacted to living, made me more curious and at the same time more afraid of the answers. 

     We now go to a day in July, about 3 weeks after my dear mother Rose passed away. I spent a lot of time at the farm where my Grandma Catherine and Uncle Walt lived.  The family farm was on Nezda road about 2 miles from Hatley WI.  It was a typical lazy Sunday day in summer, my uncle Walt had just left for church. My dog “dough dough” and I were playing and he loved chasing my bicycle. I was thinking about going for a bike ride to Poker Joe’s creek, Peska creek or Plover River. Both Creeks were about a 40-acre stretch away, (that is how country folk talked then, each 40 is about a quarter of a mile) and the river was about a mile away.  Within about fifteen minutes of my uncle leaving the farm and going to church in Hatley, I heard a gunshot way off in the distance towards the Plover River while sitting on my bike trying to decide what to do.  It is very unusual to hear a gun shot in the middle of haying season. The decision was to go to Peska creek on my bike and look for fish. No hunting seasons are open at this time, and folks are out in the fields working, so it is dangerous to be shooting.

      On the shore of Peska creek, there was a small cabin and garage owned by the Nemkes, who were our closest neighbors. They rented this out and they lived on their farm about three forties further down the road. As I approached the cabin on the main road there was a man standing in front of the garage in the driveway about 150 Feet from the main road.  I stopped on the main road and he was just standing there staring at me.  Something drew me to peddle down the driveway towards him maybe 50 feet and I stopped to get my balance while going slow.  He just kept staring at me and me at him. The way he was staring at me so hard drew me in, and I just rather coasted to a stop. We both seemed frozen in place just staring at each other. I started to get really frightened and asked myself, maybe I should get out of here, and quickly!  He then placed his right hand in his pants pocket and pulled it in and out slowly three or four times with both  the open and closed fists , which caused a thought of what could he be trying to do?  It became even more frightening, when the thought of him maybe mimicking an act of sex.

     Then a deadly thought, it looked like he was acting out pulling a pistol in and out of his pocket while he stared at me.  He said nothing however and briskly went into the cabin.  As he went to the cabin I felt like I was in a dream and everything was happening in slow motion, like an old silent movie. As he jumped up the steps and went in to the cabin it appeared that he was short, but he had a long body and little tiny short legs. He wore suspenders to keep his pants up and they appeared to be twice as long as his legs. I recall thinking I had only seen grandpa with suspenders. He quickly came out with a 22 rifle before I could decide what to do. For the next approximately (at least it felt like) 30 to 45 minutes, he raised the gun to his shoulder and aimed at my head at least 10 to 15 times. He would take the rifle down and put it back up to his shoulder each time because it was not working. His actions were all with him loading, unloading, cocking the hammer, firing, and click. His actions repeated and did include bad shell, reload, cock, fire, and click, eject, reload, aim, fire, etc. All the while talking in a weird monotone voice saying, I shot you in the head, the right eye, the left eye, the nose, ears, mouth changing from past to present tense as he went along. While he concentrated on shooting me in the head, he also repeatedly asked me “What did you see?” “What did you hear?” repeatedly he asked me these questions. “What did you see?” “What noises did you hear?” repeatedly as he was loading, firing, ejecting bad shells that would not fire. I was so petrified I could not speak, could not run, and could barely even think!

    Finally the thought came to my mind clear as a picture that I was going to die and go to heaven and see my mother. In addition, with childlike worry, there I was in heaven and the first thing that my mother was going to ask me was who did this to you. The next question would be why did you come here instead of staying home and taking care of your sister like I asked you to do? You promised me you would take care of your sister after I went to heaven. Now what are we going to do? I always had to have an answer for my mother.  Back to reality, I decided that if I were about to die, I should ask him his name because, after all, my mother in heaven would need to know.  At first, he would not answer me; I asked several times what is your name?  He started to speak a number of times, hesitated, and finally said, “Ross the parrot”. 

I thought what kind of a name is that?  I had never heard of such a name before in my short life. I reasoned that possibly due to his short stature that was his nickname. He was even shorter than me at the ripe old age of 14.  At that point, he said the gun is not working and I should leave. His voice seemed to break the trace like state I had been in, and I jumped on my bike and peddled like the wind.

    I headed for the nearest place I knew and that was our farm. I barely made it the quarter of a mile to our farm. I was so weak when I got there that I was again unmovable on my bicycle from exhaustion due to the ride and fear. All I could think of was he was going to get another gun, come, and get me. Again remembering my promise to my mom that I would take care of my little sister and she would be mad at me if I did not stay alive to keep my promise. I had just arrived in the farm yard of the Nezda farm and became frozen in place unable to move. My Uncle Walt, the child molester, had just returned from church and got out of his vehicle. As he walked up to me, on my bicycle, he took one look at me and he said, “My God Allan- what’s wrong with you? You are white as a sheet!” He started to try to remove my hand from the bicycle grips, “Allan your hands are unnaturally total white, and you always have such a suntan”.  The only thing I recall saying to Uncle Walt was, “I have to kill him”.  I had already decided that it was either him or me and I would not hesitate to shoot him if he leveled a gun at me again.

    I do not recall getting off my bicycle. I believe at this time, I was in total shock and that I passed out. The only thing I recall was my uncle trying to pry my hands off the bicycle. The next thing I remember is waking up in bed, frightened still, jumping up and starting to look for my 22 rifle. I looked all over for my 22 but it was gone for the rest of the summer.  A day or two after this confrontation with “Ross the Parrot”, I was told that the renter at the creek cabin had moved on. I knew now that I could go down there and look around. I went to the front of the garage and started snooping.  There were two sets of tracks about three feet apart going thru an open field with high weeds and continuing into the woods. You could not tell what made the tracks because it was grass and not dirt, but it was distinctive just the same. In addition, you could see the tracks were recent. I was trained in the art of tracking animals for hunting purposes at a very young age, thanks to my uncles Frank and Hank. The track distance, I surmised was consistent with a human walking a dog on a leash. There was another path with the grass bent in the opposite direction, showing only one set of tracks leaving the woods. This caused me to conclude that someone had taken a dog in the woods, killed it, and left it there. Unlike today where you cannot kill, a sick dog or you will be in trouble, back in the fifties that was the only alternative.

     Sometime later, before school started, a skull was found on the road. It was halfway between the Nezda farmhouse and the Peska creek cabin. The skull had a small caliber bullet in the back of it. Clothes were later found in the woods nearby. The assumption at the time suggested the skull was carried out to the road by an animal.  When Uncle Walt heard about this, his mind went back to the day he found me frozen to my bicycle. He started asking me, repeatedly, where did I get a gun, why did I do it, who’s gun did I use, who was it, just tell me, nothing will happen to you, I just need to know. When I was asked why I shot that person, my first thought was now I know that double track going into the woods was not a dog, but two humans! In addition, after thinking about the tracks and how the grass was bent over, both tracks were made by human feet. Dogs leave a different track because of four legs and much lighter weight. I think I made that mistake because it was what I wanted to believe.

      I recall going to see a neighbor, Phillip Fisher, who was our milkman and we started talking. We always talked when he picked up the milk. He was a very kind person. I asked him if he heard a gunshot on a Sunday morning a while back.  He looked hard at me and said, they have been questioning my youngest son about that shooting. It seems that they think he might have been involved and may have fired that shot. I do have a rifle and it is available to all my kids. My first reaction is that somebody was murdered and Uncle Walt was not joking, but telling the truth. Why would anybody do that, where is he, am I next, is he hiding in the woods, or what. Phillip looked at the woods next to his field, which was a forty from the main road, and then stared at me. The skull was found on the main road straight thru the woods and in line with the tracks I saw going in to that forty. I decided that if I kept looking, that somewhere, somehow, I will find this person. I hope he does not point a gun at me again.  This thought stayed with me the rest of my life and is probably one of the reasons why I went in to investigating and engineering research. That person holding me at gunpoint was the obvious person to have fired that gun and done that murder. The woods and tracks were directly in line with the direction of the gunshot. Only the distance from me to the gunshot sounded further away.

     Every Christmas, starting in the 40’S, it was tradition for all of our family to get together on the farm in Hatley to be together with Grandma for a big holiday meal and family enjoyment.  My first recollection is 1946, the year my grandpa died because a lot of things were a little different.   My mom and my aunt Frieda, who always came up from Indiana to join us, were catching up on each other’s events of the year.  After a big Christmas dinner in about 1948 or 1949 and doing the dishes, the subject came up about Mrs.Nemke’s new renters. Mrs. Nemke was a very nice person and always kind of looked after grandma because Uncle Walt was not much good at personal stuff for women. Therefore, they were always included in our family gathering. Mom and Aunt Frieda always went over to see Mrs. Nemke to find out how everything was going with grandma and if they could help with anything.

     The subject of their renters came up along with a detailed account of what happened. Their renter comments were guarded in my listening actions, but still my mother said a couple with some children had rented their cabin on Peska creek. The family had two or three younger kids and one older one. The older kid was maybe 13 or 14 but acted as if he controlled everything. The youngest child was breast-feeding. The oldest boy was not one of their children but a relative staying with them. The renters had run out of money, stopped paying rent and then trouble started. Mr. Nemke went over to the rented cabin to tell them to pay up or get out. The big kid came outside onto the porch and while seeming to be guarding the door said, “Do not throw us out”. I have lots and lots and lots of money that I will pay you when I get it. I cannot have my money until I am older. Then I will come back and pay you.  The Nemkes said it was very clear also they could hear the sucking sound of the baby thru the open window. “She is naked in bed and you cannot go in there. Do you hear that sucking sound; do you hear that sucking sound, hear that sucking sound?” Aunt Frieda said he repeated it many times. “I will come back to pay you after I get the money, you have my word.” There was more arguing and it was repeated, you could not go into the house. The sucking sound was repeatedly used as an excuse not to be evicted or to go into the house.  Mr. Nemke had been listening to the women talking and he said, did you notice that kid was wearing suspenders? They all commented on how strange it was for a teenager to be wearing old grandpa suspenders. My mother said it seems he was acting like the man of the house, and he was trying to protect everyone. Maybe that is why he wore the suspenders; it said authority and “man of the house” to them. They all shared a laugh over that idea. Mrs. Nemke said that he threatened her, the young kid said he would be back to get her if she and her husband threw them out of the house. He seemed very serious for a teenager with suspenders.     

      I am getting back to a continuation of the events that happened on Nezda road that summer and what occurred. First, a comment regarding my Uncle Walt and also one of the reasons I will not speak to a catholic priest.  My Uncle Walt molested me as a child along with a lot of other relation. He also had a close relationship with the priest. I do not know exactly how close, but I have my suspicions and heard comments. My uncle took me to the priest in Hatley that summer with the understanding that I was to get out of the car, go inside, sit, and talk with the priest. I refused to go. I argued and asked why, why, why, many times. Uncle Walt said that nothing bad was going to happen to me when I got out of the car and went inside to see the priest. The priest is waiting for you. No, I do not want to go in there. Finally, Uncle Walt said, he is only going to pull down your pants, handle and bless your testacies so you will have holy balls and be a better person. I did not know what testacies even were. Never the less, I was sure I did not want mine handled and they did not need to be blessed? I jumped out of the car, ran the almost two miles from the Catholic Church thru Hatley, and almost ended my life by jumping off the bridge into the Plover River. I looked at the rocks, and I decided I might not die, I might just break some bones, and then I would be in the catholic hospital and at their mercy. I was not going in to see any priest that was going to pull down my pants and make me have sex with him.

The remainder of this chapter will again continue to connect the Hatley dots, but first the following comments. Sometime in the late 80’s or 90’s while watching television and the presidential contenders slamming each other, there was this person called Ross. I somewhat always watched anybody, anywhere with the name even close to Ross. That also included more so any person higher up in our society and especially with lots of money.  Ross, all of a sudden it, it occurred to me that maybe he sounded like the “Ross the Parrot”. About that time, a woman asked the speaker on the stage to come over. He walked over and the woman asked him about a 22. He turned around immediately, walked back to the podium, and turned around facing the audience. He stood at the podium with a frozen cover-up look on his face without saying a word. Prior to that time, I was studying his body language, speech, and actions.  His bull legged, swivel butt walk, which was very close to the floor, and other actions was immediately recognized by me as all being the same and I yelled out loud  “MY GOD”, that is “ROSS THE PARROT”.

      My wife, who was upstairs hollered, whom you are yelling at. After studying his comments repeatedly many times about that Mexican “sucking sound”, which was a political reference regarding all U.S.  Manufacturing being transferred south to Mexico. He used that “sucking sound” many times during his political speech which took me back to my mother and the family farm. I was absolutely positive that “Ross” was “Ross the Parrot” and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind. Again, returning back 30 or 40 years to this chapter on Nezda road, some things became very apparent. The following segmented comments are all part of good factual logic. The logic and supporting facts do support the rational that someone had come to Nezda road with someone, and then left Nezda road without someone.  I was the only person implicated as causing the death of someone and I did not do what ever happened. Again, referring to my being at gunpoint and my life being sparred mainly because the gun did not work, or so implied, caused me to reflect on a number of issues for my entire life. Why did it develop that way and what caused the sequence and intent of being asked those questions?  It is very apparent, with good logic, that there was for sure a cover-up and the person that did it was concerned if he was seen shooting a person. I happened to be the curious person nearby who heard the gun shot and ended up on the road standing in the cabin yard looking at that person. He must have just come out of the woods before I came along on my bike. His total body language supported those actions.   

    My theory is that he maybe had a pistol in his pocket. Based on the crack, echo, sound, distance, I could also conclude it was maybe not a 22 rifle. Besides, it would be easy to conceal a pistol and not a rifle if there was foul intent.  Another reason I think he had a pistol is my uncle asked me where I got the gun many times. This caused me to rationalize that there was a bullet hole too large to be a 22 caliber, which was the only gun available to me. I later found out that a very popular Saturday night special in those days was a 25 or 32-caliber weapon. I also recall the sound to be a little different at the time but everybody only had 22’s as far as I was aware. In addition, nobody does any hunting in the middle of summer and rarely carries a gun in the woods unless to shoot a dog or some other animal. Another factor is my mother and Aunt Frieda’s comments of he, “Ross the Parrot”, will be back to get the Nemkes if they were kicked out of the house they were renting. They were kicked out and he had reason to be back and complete his promise to somebody, which did happen.

     This next chapter is a follow up with government mob people seeing an opportunity to cause trouble and fabricate concluding facts for the purpose of greed. The continuation of the Hatley murder incident is for another twenty years with many reasons and concluding facts.  Including all actions complete with murder, questions, facts and reasons for and with the Catholic Church as the center of activity.




EXCERPTS  CHAPTERS  5 & 12:   Little did I ever believe that the local Gov. Employees were doing all the greed and family murders because of secret gold on 400 acres of stolen family land.   The most recent family murder was in 2001. He was C.I.A. trained and involved in a family investigation.  My aunts and uncles told me to go ahead and see for myself. Murders carried out by the local Gov. law Enforcement and covered up by current LIAR JUDGES still sitting on the bench.  


EXCERPT CHAPTERS 6, 11, 14:  The "cancer for murder", Gov. Actions are very well planned with years of supporting documentation. This does include perfect cover-up and insider repercussions if shut-up is not followed. The federal task force health finance issues based on cancer costs and analysis does not factor "premeditation" or, "accidental" death. A false common denominator of those Gov. Decisions does compound the actions required to reduce cancer deaths, tests, actions, and costs.


   The critical item in field failure analysis is to determine the exact cause of the load condition that caused the "B10" life death. This may sound simple and it is when properly analyzed. The critical item is the proper common denominator to establish the true facts.


    An attempted auto "premeditated accident" murder was very professional to this author and one of his relations in the county of Gov. Mob crime.   The "cancer for murder" to this author was immediately recognized. A DR.'S diagnosis verified pre-cancer with being one step away from irreversible death. 


EXCERPT CHAPTER 25 The following  goes back to World War 2.  Eisenhower set out to Americanize Japan from all aspects of U.S.  culture, except for one item. After this countries chief union organizer  "BASTARD", Walter Reuther, paid a number of visits to Japan and started to unionize the country he was forbidden to ever set foot on that island again.  The Japan working people went to the Gov. and told them what was happening in the work place.  The Japan people had enough killing and fighting and realized the results of what they were told to do on a first hand basis.  Coverup violence is manditory if all else fails.


Let there be no misunderstanding  that  "CLEAN-UP"  is required on both sides of the fence. We live in an atmosphere that our government is most perfect and as a common denominator nothing could be further from the truth.


AMERICAN  CITIZENS:  Gov. mob agencies are only telling the citizens what is politically correct.  If only the media would look at the true facts.They are the voice of every person of this nation. 


This book is co-mingled with suspence, crime, culture, drama, native history, sociology, technology, and political actions including murder. It is devoted to cancer with methods to support its cures and cause people to enjoy a longer true “B10 LIFE”. A federal task force report, real life examples, NASA math, "B10" life methods, and a life time of efforts are included.The family is co-mingled throughout all the chapters spanning 112 years. All of the above theories, research, answers, and final solutions with true  "FAMILY" facts started with this author’s grandfather found frozen to death in the morning with a bullet hole in his stomach.  Government mandated examples and actions are the center of  supported  destructions.   ONLY IN AMERICA













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Reader Reviews for "From Hoboken To Noboken"

Reviewed by ALLAN ALBRECHT 10/20/2012
What does a middle class American do when he has lost every dime he and his wife ever made over a life time of marriage? Their home is in reverse mortgage (thank God and proper politics). Our accountant advised us to always have a down side risk plan if the worst were to happen to you and your family. My down side risk was to write a book and publicize the crimes that happened to my family when I was growing up. My thought process was to educate the public of what government can and must do for the average American. Why they so choose and get away with murder in the process. Never in my wildest thoughts did it surface that I would see that day. So now the final result is to write three books of which one is complete and released. From Hoboken to Noboken is about what it is like to be raised a half breed in "WIS - CON - SIN" along with all the challenges to continue living a full life. These commentsand the book must be taken in the context of freedom of speech and not be construed as being abusive in nature.

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