The Selected Fiction of Tom Blaise / Tom Blaise de Shepherd
Fathers and Sons: by Tom Blaise
The Adventures of Tom Miguel ~ Cody Rides Again ~ The Boy That Raised Himself
A Journey into Buddhism As a Way of Life
short stories and movies produced by Tom Shepherd
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Jean-Paul new short stories by Tom Blaise de Shepherd Faces of Evil
The Saintly Faces of Evil
A play by Lord Tom Blaise (Copyright 2002 A.D.)
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I have returned to judge the living and the dead, for I was denied my Manhood by the Saintly Faces of Evil, who righteously call themselves The Chosen. My, how they distort reality! For it is I who am the Christ and they who are the Devils --The Saintly Faces of Evil.
The Saintly Faces of Evil have chosen convenient labels to dehumanize Mankind, to justify their exploitation of Mankind--labels like "criminal" or "schizophrenic" to stigmatize those who do not readily accept a role of either slave, servant or automaton, the roles that they alone as Monarchs have chosen for the rest of Mankind to play out so that only they themselves may live as kings and queens. While they talk of freedom it is only they who have freedom, and when they talk of justice they talk of Mankind conforming to the Moses-given law, justified through the "Voice of God" that Moses absurdly claimed to hear, reassuring the world that the Israelites are Chosen to rule the Earth-- to exploit Mankind for their own glorification.
They sentenced Mankind to Hell on Earth, falsely promising us that we would get our rewards in a hereafter.
What a sham! When Mankind mocks The Chosen-- The Saintly-- and justifies Its right to be, by claiming It too has heard the "Voice of God," It is locked up and stigmatized by The Saintly witch-doctors with their esoteric condescending labels -- like "criminal" and "schizophrenic"-- and Mankind is tortured further with Saintly shock therapy and with Frankensteinian laboratory-developed brain-disabling chemicals which The Saintly Faces of Evil call "psychotropic medicines," while indoctrinating It with Chosen therapy.
But I have arisen from the Deathrole I was assigned by The Saintly Faces of Evil. I have returned to say: Enough is enough! I am a Savior. A Savior of the Integrity of Mankind. A Savior of My Own Manhood.
Click to view Clara Olive, Tom, Gram or John and Tom, 1944 (Joplin, Missouri) Clara Olive Snyder, 1926
Click to view Tom and friends 1943.Top row:Marty Doane, Nancy Ettinger, Kathryn Meredith, George Walbert, Dudley Jr. (John) and Michael Goldberg. Forefront: Tom Blaise, Mike Kelly. (Joplin, Missouri, in Meredith family back yard)
Click to view Tom's 12th birthday 1950. Top row: Jim Dailey, Bob Thornhill, Breck Caldwell, Virgil Jeans Jr., Bill Thurston, Ross Roberts, Bill Wieda, Bill Christman. Front row: Paul Kingsborough, Clark Wallace, Tom Blaise-Shepherd, Terry Mills. (Joplin, Missouri) Tom & Lynn Newcomb, 1953.
Click to view Shepherd family 1952. Tom's stepfather, C.M. Shepherd, his brother Dudley Blaise Jr. (John) and his mother, Clara Olive. (Spring River, Kansas)
Click to view Thomas Mitchell Blaise Shepherd, 1964.
Click to view Tom and Wife, 1969 sC C Goldwater
Click to view Tom Blaise de Shepherd 1971
Tom Blaise Shepherd's stepdad
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Tommy Blaise
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copyright 2004
by Lord Tom Blaise
A Long Day's Journey into a Buddhist's Way of Life
Tom Blaise-Shepherd's autobiography
Buddhism Schizophrenia Tom Quotes Existentialism
The venerable Judge Bob Malcolmson poured himself a scotch and water. His fiftieth high school class reunion was only months away. Voted "most likely to succeed" by the editors of the Riverside High School yearbook, he was indeed a sure bet. Both of his grandfathers, who seemingly had the Midas touch, had amassed a comfortable fortune in motorized transportation, groceries, real estate development and banking, to mention just a few of their endeavors.
Malcolmson himself had left football in a heroic manner his freshman year, due to a back ailment that resulted from scrimmaging. However, he'd performed to cheers and more cheers as a varsity basketball champ. His dad had landed him a summer job flexing his muscles while pouring concrete for the cement company he'd invested in. And he was a Rotary Club legacy delegate to Boys State. He'd also performed well on the high school debate team before entering State University. He was a legacy to the college fraternity his dad had pledged, participated in the usual required sorority house panty raids, then went on to law school. He passed the state bar and joined the same law firm that had represented his own family for three generations. Now he was a full partner, a remarkable defense attorney, defending insurance companies against lawsuits filed by his colleagues on behalf of victims of gross negligence by incomptent surgeons. He'd become ruthlessly skillful in discrediting his opponents' disabled clients as "pathological liars." He was in every conceivable manner a success.
The fact that Malcolmson appeared on page two of the local newspaper on Secretaries Day dressed in drag with three other of his colleagues from the bar was a hoot and a hollar. After all, the four of them were the cream of the crop, as they had been told time and again. No stigma whatsoever. They had nothing to lose.
Periodically Judge Malcomson's phone had rung off the wall evenings and late nights. The voice on the other end of the line would remind Malcolmson of unmentionable things Malcomson and his colleagues had done to him back in high school to humiliate him, like ripping his swim trunks off him in the country club swimming pool, so that he was forced to climb out of the pool naked, exposing the embarrassing scar of surgery gone awry.
He's just jealous of me, Malcolmson said to himself. The guy couldn't even take a joke.
The phone rang again and again. When Malcolmson answered, a voice said, " What's the matter? Can't you take a joke?" It was if Blades was in the same room with him. Malcolmson turned the ringer off and poured himself another Scotch and water. Yet the phone rang again. As if in a trance, Malcomson saw the young 14-year-old Ted Blades climbing out of the country club swimming pool naked. Then he remembered he had defended the insurance company that succeeded in preventing Blades' mother from collecting damages in a malpractice lawsuit agasint an incompetent surgeon who left her crippled for life. She resultantly lost her home. Malcolmson picked up his revolver and inserted the barrel in his mouth. Then he heard a voice say. "You don't have the guts to pull the trigger, do you?"
Join the Army. It'll make a man out of ya! That's what they all said. The Marines need a few good men! That's what the posters said. Ted Blades had been fitted in an Army Air Corps uniform by the time he was five years old. A hand-me-down from Uncle Keith, whose dad was a Army Air Corps colonel.
Rotcy PFC Don Schmidt was a high school senior. Had been busted down from sergeant at the end of his junior year. He had an attitude. Some admired his attitude. Some obviously didn't. He was a varsity football fullback. Varsity basketball hot shot. Varsiety baseball short stop! All star!. All around athlete. Five o'clock shadow by the time he was 14. Now 18. Short, but mean! His girlfriend, Honorary Cadet Col. Ann Martin secretly admired his meanness!
Private Blades was a sophomore. Tall, peach fuzz on the chin. Awkward. Slow and dumb, some said. Slow but not dumb, other said. Cute, some said. Not so cute, others said. A gentleman, some said. Too quiet, some said. Watch out for the quiet ones, others said. Too shy, some said. Not shy at all, certain girls said. An altar boy at the local Episcopal Church. President of the youth group. Sat on the bench most of the football season, until the last game when they were so far ahead the coach let him go in for about five seconds.
Schmidt grabbed Blades' hat prior to inspection. Inspecting Officer John Blair asked Blades where his cap was. "Schmidt has it." Blair approached Schmidt, gave Schmidt a demirit, returned Blades' cap to him.
At a Veterans Day parade two weeks later,Schmidt danced around in front of Blades with his fists clenched: "Your mother is a bitch! Hear me, Blades?! I said, your mother is a bitch! Swing at me! What's the matter? Yellow? I said, your mother is a bitch. What kind of a man are you. You won't even stand up for your own mother. Your are a sorry son-of-a-bitch. I am calling your mother a bitch! Do you hear me?! And you just stand there with that yellow stripe running down your back!"
Ten years had passed when Dr. Ted Blades read in the newspaper that Shore Patrol Officer Don Schmidt's head had been found floating in the Potomac. The remainder of his body had been found in a Washington, D.C. dumpster, his hand clasping a copy of The Joy of Gay Sex. A yellow stripe had been painted down his back and his vocal chords had been inserted in his rectum.
His wife, Brig. Gen. Ann Martin Schmidt, was acquitted of the murder charge on grounds of temporary insanity, characterized by amnesia. She convincingly persuaded her attorney, John Blair, and the jury that she had no memory of having murdered her husband. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Ted Blades, claimed she was suffering from dissociation, that she believed herself to be a man trapped inside a woman's body, that the Army had indeed made a man out of her.
The Evening Sun headlines read that Dr. Myron Rothschild Lipschitz had been bludgeoned to death on his own yacht. He was characterized by his widow as a kindly family man. Rumors circulated that it was justified homicide. Other rumors suggested that it was a hate crime.
Lipschitz' dad had founded the Lipschitz Whisky & Wine Company, a billion dollar operation. Lipschitz himself had graduated from Brandeis with honors and from Harvard Medical School with honors. He had a lucrative psychiatric practice and his investments in the pharmaceutical companies that manufactured the psychotropic drugs he prescribed had made him a millionaire several times over. He had married the daughter of an Auchwitz survivor. Had two sons enrolled at the Haddassah School, a third son in college, also at Brandeis.
Tall lanky 13-year-old Christian Conrad was sitting on a bench at a Miami Beach bus stop, wishing he had a dad that didn't get drunk and call him names. Tired, hungry, and blue, he had hitchhiked from Minnesota for three days after his mother and father, whose own dad had been killed while fighting against the Nazis during World War II, had kicked him out of the house because he had complained one too many times about the fact that they drank too much whisky and wine and resultantly became quarrelsome and belligerant, often calling him names.
All of the sudden Dr. Lipschitz pulled up to the curb alongside the bus bench and asked Christian if he needed a ride.
Christian later reassured the police that he did not murder Dr. Lipschitz. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the deck of Dr. Lipschitz' yacht and taking a sip of the Pepsi that Dr. Lipschitz had offered him, not realizing that Lipschitz had spiked it with a concoction of LSD and Haldol.
The Gay & Lesbian Rights Alliance staged a parade in honor of Dr. Lipschitz. They claimed he had been avictim of a hate crime. They erected a monument in his honor.
Christian Conrad was confined to the St. Jude Psychiatric Hospital. They said he suffered permanent brain damage from the LSD and Haldol that Dr. Lipschitz had slipped in his Pepsi. They said he acted like he was suffering from a combination of schizophrenia and Parkinson's disease or something. Real bizarre like!
Dr. Lipschitz' widow took a cruise to the Mediterranean to try to get her mind off things.
Alumni Reunion - Tom Blaise, Host
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by Tom Blaise Shepherd
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The Tom Blaise Shepherd Existential Society of America salutes Hungarian & American statesman Ignace Hainer (1818- 1900), lawyer, journalist, professor, adjutant-general and secretary to Hungarian Premier Lajos Batthyany and Gov. Lajos Kossuth.
Statesman Ignace Hainer was instrumental in working with Batthyany and Kossuth to bring about the Republic of Hungary's independence from the Austrian Hapsburg Empire in 1848. He was also instrumental in writing and seeing passed into law the March Laws, which guaranteed freedom of the press for Hungarians, the emancipation of Hungarian Jews and the emancipation of all Hungarian serfs, although he was later imprisoned during an invasion by Austrians, aided by Russian military forces. After five months he was released from the Austrian prison, through the efforts of U.S. President Zachary Taylor and others, who highly praised Ignace Hainer for his integrity and persistence in fighting for the liberalization of Hungary. He was then invited to America.
In America, Ignace Hainer was one of the original settlers of New Buda, Decatur County, Iowa, known informally as the "Hungarian government in exile." He became a delegate to the National Convention, and was appointed a Professor of Modern Languages at the University of Missouri in Columbia. Professor Hainer was recognized as not only an authority on the Magyar language, but on French and German, and he was recognized as one of the foremost Latin scholars in America. However, because of his heroic and unwavering stand against slavery during the Civil War, he lost his post at the University of Missouri. He was thus presented with a gold cane by his colleagues for five years of outstanding service as a professor, prior to returning to New Buda, Iowa, where he taught school, farmed, served as a member of the Grand Jury, as Postmaster under President Hayes, and as county treasurer.
Ignace Hainer and his wife Etelka (Adelaide) Barthos Hainer reared a large family that included four sons and five daughters. His son, Julius Hainer, was a professor of physics and mathematics at Iowa State University and later a St.Louis attorney. His son, Eugene Hainer, was elected to the United States Congress from Nebraska. And his son, Bayard Taylor Hainer, who was born in Columbia, Missouri, was appointed Associate Supreme Court Justice of Oklahoma Territory by President McKinley and wrote and published several highly regarded treatises on law.
Ignace Hainer, champion of liberty and true democracy, was the grandfather of E. F. Blaise, and a great great grandfather of author Tom Blaise-Shepherd, founder of the Tom Blaise Shepherd Existential Society of America. Americans for true democracy cherish his memory.
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