11 Dec 2013

Jack Duffy: “The Man from 2063” Blog Tour

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The Man from 2063

by Jack Duffy

“The Man from 2063” by Jack Duffy was given to me as part of a blog tour package to review and at first I was slightly reluctant to read it because it enters the territory of conspiracy theories. Fortunately for me the book is much more than just that and had a big appeal for the historian in me.
The book involves a time travel from 2063 a hundred years back to the time of the assassination of JFK in Dallas. With sound historical research and data as well as lots of plausible ideas and theories the book does a great job at making you wonder what really happened and who was behind the assassination. Was Oswald a patsy? Was there a cover up? Combining fiction and the actual historical facts made this a gripping and fascinating study, well plotted with a complex and well stgructured narrative.
Even me – a European – was started to get interested.
The most enjoyable part of the book for me was the last part when history is changed through the time travel, a playful approach to an ‘alternate history’ that made a great ending to the story. If you hate conspiracy theories with a vengeance than maybe this is not for you but if you can open your mind to the possibility of a cover-up and to a complex hidden truth behind the assassination you will find this a very rewarding read.

Jack Duffy is currently a trial attorney from Ft. Worth, Texas.


About The Author


He has spent the last 40 years researching the important facts surrounding the JFK assassination. This includes interviewing several key witnesses that were part of the assassination investigation. This also includes doctors who treated Kennedy at Parkland Hospital.





Book Description:

Who really killed President John F. Kennedy? Sean Zumwalt is about to find out.

I knew it. I knew it, he repeated to himself. A conspiracy. But who had planned the murder? Was Lee Harvey Oswald even involved? If only one could go back in time and solve the mystery. I have to pursue this, he told himself. Someone has to find out the truth once and for all.

On November 22, 2063 a new film finally proves a conspiracy was involved in the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Sean Zumwalt dares to go back in time to alter the course of world history and save JFK. But he soon finds that the truth is much more complicated than he ever could have imagined.

Based on actual events and forty years of research, The Man From 2063 will take you through the folds of time and historical conspiracies, leaving you wondering ‘What if?’

‘Although I reject the premise of The Man from 2063, that Lee Harvey Oswald did not kill President John F. Kennedy and that there was a conspiracy in the assassination, from a purely fictional standpoint Jack Duffy has succeeded in writing a very clever and engrossing ‘what if’ story surrounding the events of November 22, 1963.’

Vincent Bugliosi, author of Helter Skelter


Jack Duffy has interviewed many eyewitnesses including Marina Oswald and several of the Parkland physicians who treated JFK, in addition to many researchers who have written books on JFK’s assassination. He received his B.A. in Political Science from Texas Tech University, his M.B.A. from Baylor University, and his J.D. from South Texas College of Law. He lives in Fort Worth, Texas, where he works as an attorney and has one of the largest private collections of material on the JFK assassination.


Praise For The Man of 2063


I loved the book and finished it in one sitting, then even read it a second time about a week later.My Cozie Corner


The perfect book for anyone interested in the Kennedy assassination and cover-upPhil Van Auken











The flame stood out like a beacon of light in a sea of darkness. It was probably the most famous


flame in the world, for it honored the grave of President John F. Kennedy.


It was November 22, 2063, exactly one hundred years to the day since President Kennedy had


been assassinated in Dallas, Texas. The grave of JFK was mobbed with tourists on that bright,


sunny fall day, all eager to see the martyred president’s final resting place. One tourist had a


small radio playing softly in the background. Suddenly, a news broadcast came on.


The newsman said, “This is WADC with a special report from Dallas, Texas. The FBI reports


that a young man who claims to be the great grandson of Samuel Brandon, one of the


eyewitnesses to President Kennedy’s assassination a hundred years ago, brought in an eightmillimeter movie that he claims his great grandfather took of the shooting. The film, which has


never been seen before, reportedly shows a second gunman firing from the grassy knoll. If this


film is legitimate, it is the first known movie showing another gunman shooting at the


motorcade. It would provide conclusive proof of a conspiracy to murder JFK. Mr. Brandon died


mysteriously after he told the Dallas police and FBI that he had seen a gunman shoot at the


president from the grassy knoll. More on this breaking story tonight at six. We now return to


our regular programming.”


The young man standing near the grave was stunned as he listened to the news report. At thirtysix, Sean Zumwalt was six feet tall and 180 pounds of lean muscle. A star athlete in college, he


had been on the 2052 US Olympic team in volleyball that had won the gold medal. He had


earned the Eagle Scout award at the age of fifteen and traveled all over the world, courtesy of his


father, a retired colonel in the Air Force. He had graduated from MIT with a 3.95 GPA in


physics and later earned both MBA and JD degrees from Harvard. He lived in Washington, DC


and was lucky to be a partner in one of the most prestigious firms in that city. He had grown up


in Fort Worth, Texas, and still considered it his home town. Both of his sisters lived in the


Dallas-Fort Worth area, and he often flew down to visit them and their families. Every time he


went back to Texas, he usually went to Dealey Plaza, where JFK was shot. The assassination


both fascinated and troubled him with the unanswered questions over the years.


Sean had purchased an exact replica of the infamous 6.5-mm Mannlicher-Carcano rifle allegedly


used by Lee Harvey Oswald and considered it one of his prized possessions. The gun had cost


him $5,000, and he had wanted it so badly that he offered the gun dealer ten times the actual


value just to have it. Like most people who had hobbies, the JFK assassination was his full-time ##Page 3


hobby, and had been for some time; he had been a JFK assassination researcher for the last


twenty years. Even his close friends joked about how he spent all his time reading, collecting,


and searching for items related to the assassination. He had amassed one of the largest private


collections of books, videos, magazines, newspapers, and photos. He remembered his father


laughing at the absurdity of the lone gunman theory. His grandfather had told him years earlier,


“I guarantee you there was a conspiracy that killed JFK. No one could shoot that accurately at a


moving target, unless they were an expert shot and the luckiest guy in the world. I ought to


know. I am an experienced hunter, and neither I nor my Marine friends could ever come close to


shooting like that. Oswald was a loner, a perfect patsy. Why else would Ruby have killed him


two days later? Anyone can see that the Warren Commission was a fraud, a complete snow job.”


Ever since that conversation, Sean had been obsessed with the crime of the century.


He remembered his father telling him about the release of all the classified data on the


assassination in 2039 and how the US government had made a big issue of the fact that none of


the documentation proved a conspiracy had existed. It had all indicated that Lee Harvey Oswald


was the only man involved.


He thought about all the eyewitnesses who had mysteriously died following the assassination.


Why would so many people die suspiciously unless there was a conspiracy?


If a conspiracy had murdered all those people, then the only possible motive was to silence them.


He suddenly remembered the old proverb: three people can keep a secret if two are dead. It


certainly made more sense than everything just being a coincidence. Coincidence could only be


believed up to a certain point. Was it a coincidence that Oswald had been to the Soviet Union


and married a Russian woman? Was it a coincidence that the motorcade route had been arranged


to drive by the Texas School Book Depository? Was it a coincidence that JFK’s brain and other


crucial medical evidence had vanished? Was it a coincidence that the assassination happened in


Texas and a Texan just happened to take over? Was it a coincidence that over fifty eyewitnesses


hear a shot from the grassy knoll?


Everything about the assassination seemed to involve some type of coincidence. It was


unbelievable, especially the magic bullet theory. To Sean, that was the biggest joke of all. How


could the US government expect the American people to believe that a 6.5-mm bullet shattered


bones in Governor Connally and came out almost totally undamaged?


His great-grandfather, Dr. Robert Zumwalt, had been in Parkland Hospital on the day of the


assassination and had spoken with one of the trauma surgeons about the tragedy. The surgeon


told Dr. Zumwalt that the fatal shot had been fired from in front of the limousine.


Sean remembered his grandfather telling him how the trauma surgeon had died shortly afterward


from a supposedly self-inflicted gunshot would, another mysterious death surrounding the


assassination.Page 4


Sean couldn’t stop hearing the words spoken by Oswald shortly after his arrest in Dallas: “I’m


just a patsy!”


He had often wondered how the US and the world would be different had JFK lived.


Sean was convinced there had been a conspiracy to murder the president. The only question


was, Who had planned the murder-the mob, CIA, Castro, anti-Castro Cubans? The list of


suspects seemed endless.


What a travesty of justice, he thought. They killed the president and got away scot-free.


If only he could go back in time and prevent the assassination.


Keep dreaming, pal, he reminded himself.


Or was it a dream?


He had read recently about a new institute outside Washington, D.C. that was experimenting


with the possibility of time travel. It was known only as the ISE (Institute for Space Exploration)


and was connected with NASA.


He had seen the founder of the Institute, Dr. Karl Van Auken, on TV several months earlier,


talking about time travel. Dr. Van Auken was a legend in the scientific community. He had won


the Nobel Prize in 2050 for physics and research on space travel. He had earned his PhD at MIT


and had written several books. A world-renowned physicist and scientist, he had just recently


been given the Presidential Medal of Freedom Award by the president of the United States. The


institute was categorized TS-1, or top secret level one, the highest security clearance any entity


could be given, by the State Department. Its work was so secretive that only a handful of people


knew exactly what type of research was going on. It was the twenty-first century version of the


Manhattan Project.


Sean pondered the possibility of meeting Dr. Van Auken to explore more about traveling back in


time. He had a close friend, Vince Bartlett, an old law school buddy, whose father knew Dr. Van


Auken. Perhaps Vince could find a way to introduce Sean to Dr. Van Auken.


The possibility intrigued Sean. Even if a person did go back in time, no one would believe him


when he started warning of an impending assassination. The FBI or Secret Service would


probably arrest the individual and dismiss them as a nut case. The only possible way to convince


anyone would be to take newspapers, books, videos, even the Zapruder film itself back in time.


Surely no one could doubt that type of evidence. Even better would be to take pictures of JFK’s


grave, the Warren Report, and a Kennedy half dollar back in time.


The question he would have to answer is, Would he want to go back and live in 1963? Sean


thought of the advances in 2063 that were never dreamed of in 1963. Cancer was cured in 2030,


along with AIDS. Doctors could replace parts of the human brain with computer chips. The


average life span was a hundred and thirty years due to all the great medical advances. The Page 5


greatest medical achievement was the cure for paralysis in 2040. Two American physicians and


a British physician developed a vaccine that totally restored spinal cord injuries. People who had


been restricted to a life in a wheelchair could walk again.


Technology had advanced so far that automobiles were driven with computers instead of steering


wheels. Sean still had his grandfather’s 2043 Lexus that was a dinosaur compared to cars of




American society had become transformed totally from a century ago. The drug problem had


been almost eradicated due to the implementation of two different currencies in 2020. One


currency for inside the U.S. and one for outside the U.S. That had been the brainchild of a wellknown attorney, Rich Sherman, who had written a book detailing the ways to halt the drug


problem. He had received death threats from drug lords but was still living in California.


The greatest innovation for Americans had been the elimination of the IRS in 2044. Every


individual who worked was taxed through a complex computer program. The computer system


for each taxpayer had to be monitored by a CPA. That kept accountants in business.


He kept thinking of time travel as he went home. He would do everything possible to meet Dr.


Van Auken. While driving down the freeway, he called his father in Texas.


“Hi, Dad. This is Sean. How are you doing?”


Ken Zumwalt replied, “Doing fine, Sean. How was your day?”


“Great, Dad. I’m calling to get your opinion on something I have been thinking of for a long


time. What do you think about time travel?”


His father hesitated for a few seconds and then replied, “Are you crazy? What are you talking




“I’m talking about traveling back a hundred years to the day before JFK was shot in Dallas.


Would you do it if it could be done?”


“Well, it can’t be done, so what’s the point of debating the issue?”


“The point is, Dad, it might be possible after all.”


“Sean, have you been feeling okay lately? I’m worried about you talking all this nonsense.”


“Dad, just please listen to me. The ISE in Washington, DC has supposedly been experimenting


with time travel for quite a while. There have been rumors that at least one man recently


traveled thirty years back in time and came back successfully.”


“Sean, to answer your question, no, I would not go back and live in the nineteen sixties, whether


it was to save JFK or not. Look, I know he means a lot to you, but he’s gone. He’s history. He #Page 6


would not be worth risking your life over. If there was a conspiracy, what would keep them


from killing you?”


“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve also thought about the fifty-eight thousand men who died


in Vietnam because LBJ escalated the war. If JFK had lived, there might not have been a


Vietnam War or Watergate. Just think how much different our country might be today if history


had been changed.”


“Sean, even if JFK had survived Dallas, he might have been shot somewhere else. He was a


marked man because of the Bay of Pigs, Castro, the CIA, and the mob.”


“I see your point, but it still bothers me that we don’t know the whole truth.”


“Sean, you’re the only guy in the whole country who still cares about what happened to JFK.


He’s dead like Lincoln, so forget about it.”


“Sean, listen to me. For all we know, it was just Lee Harvey Oswald acting alone, no


conspiracy. You could be wasting your time trying to expose a conspiracy that never existed.


Move on to more important matters, like trying to find a girl to marry. Your mom and I would


like some grandchildren before we die.”


“Okay, Dad. I’ll just drop the whole thing.”


“Fine, Sean. Believe whatever you want. We are never going to know the truth a hundred years


after it happened. Anyone who might have been involved in that murder is dead. It’s like going


back and trying to look for Nazi war criminals.”


“Dad, I heard something on the radio today about a new eight-millimeter film that surfaced in


Dallas. It reportedly shows a second gunman shooting at JFK from the grassy knoll. Do you


realize this is the missing evidence that people have been waiting for? It conclusively proves a




“Sean, stop for a second and think about this. How come this film just happened to appear after


a hundred years? This is probably a hoax. The person who has it probably faked it or had it


made just to cash in on this conspiracy stuff. You don’t recall the forged Hitler diaries or the


hoax with the Howard Hughes papers? Stuff like this happens all the time. People come


forward with some new piece of evidence, and half the time, it is a complete fabrication. They


are trying to make money off this tragedy.”


“Perhaps, Dad, but I would like to see the film myself before I jump to conclusions. You know a


lot of people had their film and photos confiscated right after the shooting and never got them


back. Zapruder was lucky he got his film developed before someone could take it away from




“Well, son, it is getting close to dinnertime. I better let you go.”Page 7


“Okay, Dad. I love you. Tell Mom I love her too.”


“I will. We love you, son. Bye.”


Sean kept driving and thinking about the new film. It was almost 6:00 p.m. EST when he pulled


into his new home in the suburbs of Washington, DC.


He ran into the living room and turned on the TV. The 6:00 p.m. news was just starting, and


Sharon Shannon, the local anchor for Channel 7, came on the air.


God, what a babe, Sean thought to himself.


“We begin tonight’s news with a stunning development on the hundredth anniversary of the


assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Today, Alex Brandon, the great-grandson of


Samuel Brandon, provided the Dallas FBI office with an eight-millimeter film showing the


murder of President Kennedy. The film was made by Mr. Brandon’s great-grandfather at the


moment the shots were fired at JFK. According to the FBI, the film clearly shows an assassin


shooting from behind the picket fence on the infamous grassy knoll. Speculation is already


swirling about the authenticity of the film. Mr. Brandon told the FBI that he found the film in a


lockbox with a note written by his great-grandfather. The note said that Mr. Brandon feared for


his life and the safety of his family if he turned the film over to the authorities. He decided to


hide the film and left instructions that his heirs should have copies made and turn the original


over to the FBI. We are going to show this fifteen-second film for the first time ever. Please be


aware that it is a very graphic film showing the assassination of President Kennedy.”


Sean turned on his cyber recorder and began recording the broadcast. The film was extremely


clear. It showed the limousine coming down Elm Street. JFK started to react to a bullet hit. A


second later he raised his hands to his throat. Approximately one second later, Governor


Connally reacted to a bullet hitting him. Then a gunman fired from the grassy knoll and JFK’s


head exploded backward and to the left. The gunman appeared to be dressed as a Secret Service




Sean sat, stunned. There it was the proof of a second gunman for the first time. Not only that,


but this film showed JFK clearly reacting to a bullet hit at least two seconds before Governor


Connally, disproving the single bullet theory. There had to be at least three gunmen shooting.


Sean was angry. If Brandon had shown his film in 1963, the truth might have come out. Now it


was too late.


Sharon Shannon went on. “This new film is sure to reopen the JFK debate again on the


hundredth anniversary. Now for the rest of today’s news.”


I knew it. I knew it, he repeated to himself. A conspiracy. But who had planned the murder?


Was Lee Harvey Oswald even involved? If only one could go back in time and solve the mystery.


I have to pursue this, he told himself. Someone has to find out the truth.

25 Oct 2013

“Journey to Jazzland” by Gia Volterra de Saulnier

1 Comment Book Reviews


“Journey to Jazzland” by Gia Volterra de Saulnier with its beautiful illustrations by Emily Zieroth is a magnificent piece of art.
The story follows Windy Flute on her quest from overly regulated orchestra music to Jazzland, the place where there is freedom to play in a group but according to your heart. On her journey she is joined by other instruments who also don’t want to play to someone else’s tune.
The book is a great tool to teach some basic music theory to children as the characters include several Jazz instruments but of course it also works as a metaphor and tribute to freedom of expression in all walks of life.
With delightful characters and a wonderful message this is a great read for any age group that left me feeling warm, inspired and upbeat.



About The Author:

Born and raised in Fairhaven, Massachusetts and attended University of Lowell (now University of Massachusetts, Lowell). It was there that I learned to love jazz. I have been performing jazz and other kinds of music for over 20 years, throughout the New England area. I live in North Reading, Massachusetts with my husband Richard, and my son Charlie.

Blog | Facebook | Twitter





One day during an orchestra rehearsal, Windy Flute was playing a piece of music and her mind started to wander. Over and over, she had practiced this piece and played this piece. Feeling bored, she felt that she wanted to be a little different.

Then something special happened. She began to hear notes that weren’t on the page of sheet music on her stand! When she started playing what she heard, Windy realized these new notes made her feel better. The harmonies and the melodies were the same, but the music moved differently. Before she could figure things out, she was interrupted by a stern voice.

 “Excuse me, Ms. Flute, do you mind playing with the rest of us? Where do you think you are — Jazzland?” said Mr. Conductor, scowling down at her.

After the rehearsal, Mr. Conductor gave Windy a severe look and stomped off the stage.

Windy turned to her friends in the woodwind section. “What’s Jazzland?” she asked. She was still thinking about the good feelings she got from playing different notes.

“It’s a myth,” said Mr. Bassoon.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Oboe, “It’s a legend. It doesn’t really exist.”

 “I think it exists,” said Spitz Trumpet.




Signed paerback & matching book thong, 3 Journey To Jazzland Book thongs



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21 Oct 2013

“Jack Cannon’s American Destiny” by Greg Sandora

1 Comment Book Reviews


Jack Canon American Destiny 3D

“Jack Canon’s American Destiny” by Greg Sandora was given to me for a review by a blog tour operator. Political thrillers are not my usual genre but this has a very interesting main character: An idealistic Kentucky Senator, a dreamer and Democrat, who is determined to succeed for the greater good.
He tells his own story, which adds subjectivity to the story and leaves some room for making up our own mind about him. Do we agree with everything he says? We follow his campaign and the politics of 2016 America in a fast pace and smooth writing.
I probably don’t know enough about American politics to comment, but the descriptions of the campaigning are as much as I would imagine them to be. The continuous threat to a politicians integrity, the temptation in form of his assistant Sandy, a murder plot and the impact of his political life on his family, all of this is well portrayed and makes for some interesting and thoughtful reading.
This is at times a very powerful read and should please the fans of the genre.


 For an excerpt please scroll below. I can’t get the Rafflecopter to work today so

please leave a comment and I will make sure your details are entered in the Tour Rafflecopter.

Jack Canon’s American Destiny

by Greg Sandora

I’m originally from the Portland, Maine area and lived and worked there for years before moving to Southwest Florida. I am currently working on the sequel to Jack Canon’s American Destiny – which will be titled Jack Canon Clean Sweep. The sequel will be available in about three months.

My Dad and Mom were artists, my father painted and my mother wrote poetry and loved to garden. Most Saturdays we loaded up the 1970 Chevy Impala to trek to a one man show somewhere or other. I took a different track graduating with a business degree; owning and operating an Award Winning Franchise Fitness Center. Currently a professional manager I am living in Florida with my beautiful wife and children, and following my passion.

Some of my other projects include a children’s book called Sammy the Sea Turtle – about an infant sea turtle taken from his nest the night he was to find his way to the sea. Sammy lives with the family until their son – the boy who took him, graduates from high school. On that day Sammy, backpack in tow – begins the long journey home.
My second project in the works involves angels – a man during a visit to Bar Harbor Maine encounters an angel; quite accidentally, he is told – she was not supposed to make him aware of her existence. Only three others have ever seen the real thing. Naturally he falls hopelessly in love with the beautiful creature.


The only thing that gave me a worse vibe than these two was Gene’s taste in decorating. The ceilings were about 30 feet high and three walls held books up to about the first 15 feet, after which was a very large landing around three quarters of the room. The wall opposite the door was made up of five floor-to-ceiling arched windows. The bottom six feet of each had colonial muttons and were partially opened, allowing the outside winter cold to fight with the heat in the room. On the landings above the bookshelves were housed various artifacts of torture.
Gene saw me noticing, “These are from the collection of King Henry,” he boasted.
There were guillotines and stretching racks and other devices all made of aged wood and black iron. Some had big weathered chain links hanging from them and leather straps. There were black iron turning wheels, the sight was gruesome.
Gene motioned to a large axe with a semicircular blade and an unusually long, thick handle.
“This is my prized piece of the entire collection – the axe used to behead Katherine, Henry’s youngest bride.” Mounted next to the axe, on a polished cherry post, was a scrap of parchment.
Next to it, carved in gold lettering over black onyx, was inscribed an onlooker. The parchment had faded to an almost illegible degree and was kept behind glass.
Gene said, “The onlooker’s account is sealed in helium, just like the Declaration of Independence, to preserve it. I’ve had it authenticated by historians, expert in the period.” The words were transferred onto the stone.
The eerie account told of the misty morning when the helpless fair-haired teenager, a mere girl, forced to lay under the weight of the wealth of England, was led to her death.
I read the inscribed: Queen Katherine emerged just before nine in the morning. A rain the night before had turned the courtyard muddy to our ankles. The streets containing the foul smell of chicken scratch and horse urine slurried into the mix. Gawkers’ pushed for position and strained to see the delicate fawn-like Katherine as she walked barefoot, clothed only in a very plain and simple linen dress. The exposed skin of her upper chest was so pale I could see the ghostly blue vein patchwork just beneath. The last time I had seen the young queen she was amazing, the most beautiful woman in all England.
Fancily dressed and bright, riding in an open coach smiling sweetly waving to her subjects, I fancied the thought our eyes might have met for a second.
“Spill her blood!” A spectator called out. I thought, what cowards this mob, content to stand by and watch. Greedily clinging to their own lives–any one of which could be wrenched from him in a second.
This bitter gray morning, the little Queen made her way slowly up to the old worn wooden steps, pausing briefly, turning sad doe eyes back to the crowd. A pitiful thin waif of a child so helpless and demure, Katherine continued up the stairs carefully gripping the railing as if it were her mothers hand, that somehow she might be swept away from all this.
Once upon the platform, facing the crowd full on, her tiny limbs were exposed and pale, a simple dress hanging over her nearly shapeless frame. She wore no jewelry. Her one remaining vanity, long hair, perfectly combed. The henchman placed her firmly against the block and with a blank and helpless stare Katherine moved her beautiful locks to one side exposing her slender neck.
I waited for her to jump to her feet and scream out in defiance, “What have I done that your precious King isn’t guilty of?”
Laying her head sideways on the block, she awaited her fate in silence.
The black-hooded killer appeared to us like a giant standing over her. A moment before, even the handle of the axe and the blade had been taller than the living little queen. He drew back.
I heard the neck cracking then a thud as the girl’s head crashed to the platform floor. Steam rose from the blood pouring in a warm pool from the lifeless body slumped behind the block.
Gene Hobbs had acquired the only known account of the gruesome event; one can imagine that onlookers must have rushed to write on whatever they could find to recount the scene. The metaphor of the rich over the poor and the machinery of torture in the room made me shudder. Reading the narrative, I felt sickened by the horror of the day, for lost innocence and the tyranny of the time. What a waste of a beautiful young life; what a disgrace for England.

Political Thriller Comes to Paperback an Exciting New Release from Itoh Press

Ft Myers, FL — (SBWIRE) — 03/22/2013 — Political thrillers grab readers by the frustrations and give their minds a good shake. In a time when little gets done in real world politics, and the excuses and accusations are lame, the political thriller novel fulfills a need to see change happen fast, concluding with sweeping drama. This week Itoh Press will release the paperback edition of “Jack Canon’s American Destiny”, a political thriller which has gained a word-of-mouth following in its current ebook format

Author Greg Sandora wrote “Jack Canon’s American Destiny” as a first person narrative from the point of view of a liberal politician, Jack Canon, running effectively for President Of The United States, when no one in corporate or political power wants him to succeed. A flawed character himself, Jack Canon must face down character assassination plots and murder attempts, on himself and those close to him, all in an effort to move him off political center stage.

Sandora brings the reader intimately inside the head of Jack Canon, a true-believer, a man in love with two women, charismatic, somewhere between Jack Kennedy and Hemingway, with a passion for his friends and his beliefs. The novel is unlike many political thrillers, though as suspenseful on the intrigue as the best political novels, this isn’t just a political thriller, but a character study, and a study of love and friendship among truly human characters.

The genre of the political thriller serves all shades of the political spectrum. No one character of a particular political color is immune from being cast as the hero or villain in the political thriller. However, it exists as a genre where most practitioners take a conservative leaning, where a clear protagonist is drawn with only minor flaws. The combination of a liberal politician who struggles with his own passions brings a refreshing dimension to the political thriller. That such a person might have political savvy to successfully go up against violent and unchecked powers in the country reflects the best hopes that we as a people have in our political process.

Greg Sandora’s says of his novel, “This is a story I’ve always wanted to see myself. Jack Canon’s destiny is to make things right. The wealthy in this country have picked on the foreclosed carcass of the middle class. Jack Canon is a charismatic leader who goes ‘All In’ to make things right. The climax is so shocking you’ll pull the covers and draw the shades.”



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Publisher: Itoh Press
Release Date: March 18, 2013
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Book Description:

It’s the steamy summer of 2016 in Washington, D.C. just days before the Democratic National Convention. A long and painful recession has left ordinary Americans suffering, spawning the hottest Presidential Contest in history. Jack Canon, a man born into privilege, a witness to great social injustice is going to be President of the United States–no matter what! Desperate and corrupt, the leader of the free world orders a hit to slow him down. The plan backfires–the wrong people are dead–a manhunt points to the unthinkable–The President of the United States.

Rewind one year, Jack’s focus on redistribution of wealth and energy has made him powerful enemies. Once his friends, Rogue Billionaires, Oil Sheiks, the Mob, all want him gone. The current President wants him alive–thinking he can win against an unabridged liberal. A Universal Raw Nerve of wealth vs. poverty is exposed becoming a thrill ride as deep machinations of espionage, geo-politics and deception, even murder play out. Kind and charismatic, Jack’s just naughty enough to have you falling for him like one of his loving circle of loyal friends. Of course he’s flawed, a dedicated family man, faithful to one woman, but in love with two. Is it his fault his best friend is impossibly jaw dropping beautiful? Think the crime and passion of the Godfather meets the romance and innocence of Camelot. A story that could spark a movement, a book that can seed a revolution. A heart thumping climax so shocking you’ll pull the covers and draw the shades! One things for sure, through all the drama and suspense, you’ll be pulling for Jack!


About Greg Sandora

Greg Sandora, author of “Jack Canon’s American Destiny“, grew up with parents who followed their passions and has spent his life doing the same. After owning an award winning fitness center in his hometown of Portland, Maine, Sandora moved to Ft Myers, Florida where he currently writes and works as a professional manager.

Jack Canon’s American Destiny” is available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Greg Sandora
Fort Myers




05 Sep 2013

Mark Louis Rybczyk: The Travis Club

3 Comments Book Reviews, News



Radio listeners in Dallas/Fort Worth may know Mark Louis Rybczyk better as ‘Hawkeye,’ the long time morning host on heritage country station, 96.3 FM KSCS. An award-winning disc jockey, Mark, along with his partner Terry Dorsey, have the longest-running morning show in Dallas. Mark is an avid skier, windsurfer and traveler. He is also the host of ‘Travel With Hawkeye’ a radio and television adventure feature that airs across the country. The Travis Club is the third book from Mark Louis Rybczyk.

The Plot:

In a cathedral in downtown San Antonio, just a few blocks from the Alamo, sits the tomb of Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and the other Alamo Defenders. Or so we have been led to believe. What secrets really lie inside the tomb and what has a group of misguided activists known as The Travis Club stumbled upon? How far will the city’s power brokers go to protect those secrets?

What would happen if a group of slackers discovered San Antonio’s DaVinci Code? Find out in the new book by Mark Louis Rybczyk, The Travis Club.


 Mark card_217902601

















How did you come up with the idea for your book?

In the mid 1980’s when I just out of college, I was living in San Antonio starting my career as a morning radio host. One weekend morning, I was riding my bike through historic Fort Sam Houston, an Army post situated in the middle of the city.

I’m one of those kind of guys that stops and reads every historical marker and that morning I must have run into about 10 of them. Little did I know that Dwight D Eisenhower was once stationed there and met his wife while coaching football a local university. Or the the first military flight occurred on the the parade ground with a plane purchased from the Wright Brothers.

On my ride home, I decided to write a historical guide book to San Antonio. I figured there were enough stories that, by themselves would not merit an entire book, but all together would be an interesting read.

It took me three years to write. In 1990, I published my first book, San Antonio Uncovered. The book was a local best seller and sold 5 printings and 2 editions. It was this book that gave me the idea to write my current novel The Travis Club.

The Travis Club features many of the odd, funny and hard to believe stories that seem to be so prevalent in San Antonio including the fact that there is a tomb in the back of the nation’s oldest cathedral that supposedly holds the remains of Davy Crockett and other Alamo defenders. Even today, the church is not sure about the validity of the remains. I thought it would be fun to create a Da Vinci Code type story about the tomb and weave thru it the history and quirkiness of on of this nations oldest and most unique cities.

Are you like any of the characters?

I have been accused by many of my family and friends of being a bit too similar to the main character Taylor Nichols. I will concede that there are many similarities.

What else would you like our readers to know about yourself?

I would like to point out to other writers how much trouble I had getting this book into print and how important it is to be persistent. I first wrote this book and tried to get it published over ten years ago. I ended up putting it on a shelf and started other projects. I finally pulled it off the shelf and reread the entire work. Because so much time had passed and I wasn’t as emotionally attached to the original, I was able to edit the book down, cutting out not essential parts that didn’t contribute to the plot.

Next, I hired and editor to look over the project. Those were the best two things I ever did.

The self editing made the book so much better. The professional editor made the book so much more polished.

The third thing I did was decide to self publish. I decided to wait a few years for self publishing to get better established. I’m glad I waited and I’m glad I self published. The timing was right. I have been pleasantly surprised by the overwhelming positive reaction from readers. I have received quite a few reviews on Amazon.com and most have been between 4 and 5 stars.

You are never really sure what the public will think about your book until it is published. It has been an exciting time for me.

Are there any changes you would have made to your book?

After it was published, I wish I would have made one extremely minor change. I told my wife about it and she said I was nitpicking, so I stopped worrying about it. Your book will never be perfect, you will always wish you made changes.

One thing I added to the book that no one ever seems to get is the metaphor of the main characters cat. The cat is always trying to get outside to mark his territory, not unlike the main characters of the book, who also mark their territory by appointing themselves the protectors of the San Antonio’s historic treasures. I can honestly say that no one has ever picked up on that metaphor. Next time I won’t try to be so clever.

Will there be more/ a sequel?

I am hoping to write a sequel perhaps a trilogy. Many of the reviewers have mentioned that they would like to see more from the main characters and the other members of the Travis Club. I am excited that people have become so invested in my characters and I want to take it to the next level

I would also like to to write a tour of the places that are mentioned in the book and where to find them in San Antonio. I probably will post them in my blog SanAntonioUncovered.com


Website | Metroplexing | San  Antonio Uncovered | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads





One paperback copy of The Travis Club.










Publisher: Self Published


Genre: Mystery


Release Date: June 17, 2013






Excerpt One Short:




Chapter 1




Noel Black sharpened a pencil and placed it neatly back in the top drawer of his glass-topped


desk, right next to the other sharpened pencils. He glanced at the clock then straightened a few


paper clips and a calculator on the stark, polished surface.


11:08 p.m.


He knew he’d be leaving soon. So important to stay on schedule. Especially on a night like


tonight, when a life would come to an end.


Among the abstract paintings of his office was one unframed black and white print. A picture


of her. Not a picture of sentiment, but simply of record. A photo that would soon belong in a file.


Black fingered the yellowed photograph and could not help but think of childhood visits to


his mother’s father, his abuelo. He remembered spending the hot San Antonio summers at a


rickety west-side duplex much different than his parents’ ranch house in Dallas. Abuelo’s home


was filled with people, music, food and love.


As a child, Black would spend summer afternoons within earshot of the front window,


waiting for the rumble of his grandfather’s old diesel engine. Then the home would fill with


other workers, workers who were grateful to the old lady. All immigrants, they had left Mexico


hoping for a better life. The old lady offered them higher wages than the pecan shellers received.


With the promise of steady income came the chance to move into a house with plumbing, to send


money home, and to send for other relatives. His grandfather loved the old lady and he did too.


More recently, Noel Black’s feelings about her had changed. She was a relic, an icon of a


past era. Now in her final years of the 20th century, the old lady had outlived her usefulness and


had no place in the modern San Antonio that he envisioned. She was in his way. She needed to


be eliminated.


Of course, this kind of work had to be contracted out. He usually relied on a local contact


who understood the procedures. Anytime a life was extinguished, it must be done with precision


in Noel Black’s world.




Excerpt Two Long:




Chapter 1




Noel Black sharpened a pencil and placed it neatly back in the top drawer of his glass-topped


desk, right next to the other sharpened pencils. He glanced at the clock then straightened a few


paper clips and a calculator on the stark, polished surface.


11:08 p.m.


He knew he’d be leaving soon. So important to stay on schedule. Especially on a night like


tonight, when a life would come to an end.


Among the abstract paintings of his office was one unframed black and white print. A picture


of her. Not a picture of sentiment, but simply of record. A photo that would soon belong in a file.


Black fingered the yellowed photograph and could not help but think of childhood visits to


his mother’s father, his abuelo. He remembered spending the hot San Antonio summers at a


rickety west-side duplex much different than his parents’ ranch house in Dallas. Abuelo’s home


was filled with people, music, food and love.


As a child, Black would spend summer afternoons within earshot of the front window,


waiting for the rumble of his grandfather’s old diesel engine. Then the home would fill with


other workers, workers who were grateful to the old lady. All immigrants, they had left Mexico


hoping for a better life. The old lady offered them higher wages than the pecan shellers received.


With the promise of steady income came the chance to move into a house with plumbing, to send


money home, and to send for other relatives. His grandfather loved the old lady and he did too.


More recently, Noel Black’s feelings about her had changed. She was a relic, an icon of a


past era. Now in her final years of the 20th century, the old lady had outlived her usefulness and


had no place in the modern San Antonio that he envisioned. She was in his way. She needed to


be eliminated.


Of course, this kind of work had to be contracted out. He usually relied on a local contact


who understood the procedures. Anytime a life was extinguished, it must be done with precision


in Noel Black’s world.


11:22 p.m.


38 minutes to show time. His instructions were explicit: action not to be taken until midnight.


Not a second sooner. Not a moment later.


He locked the glass door behind him and walked briskly to his polished black BMW. He


knew that he should stay and wait for a call. But tonight, waiting was too difficult.


11:37 p.m.


He eased the perfectly waxed sedan through the streets of downtown and into the fringes of


the west side. “This land is way too valuable,” he mumbled aloud. He slowed down and parked


across the street, hoping to be inconspicuous, even though he knew that a European sedan was


about as common in this South Texas barrio as a snowball.


“Just a quick look,” he told himself.


He caught the eye of a shadowy figure in a black hooded sweatshirt. It was one of the locals


he had hired to complete the job. Black flashed back the mal ojo, the evil eye. He knew he


shouldn’t have come. But deep inside he needed to see her one last time, not to pay his respects,


but to make sure the job was done right.


11:46 p.m.


He started up his engine and allowed his eyes one final glance at her. It was one time too


many. Immediately, he noticed something amiss. A glint behind a window pane that made him


realize someone must have been tipped off.


He felt a rock in his stomach. He knew there would be trouble.




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