I woke up on December 23rd, and it felt like any cold winter day here in Iowa. Little did I know that my life was about to change drastically and I would forever be forced to remember this day in my life.

My mother came in my room very early that day. She was doing the usual "get up, your not sleeping all day" routine. I obliged, got dressed and stumbled my way downstairs. To my surprise, I saw my grandmother sitting on the couch. I greeted her and asked her what she was doing here at such an early hour. She told me that I should ask my mother. I asked her what was going on.

My mother told me that we had to drive down to Springfield, Missouri to pick up an old friend that was going to stay with us for the holidays. It sounded a little weird, but hey, what else was I going to do? I headed upstairs and packed my backpack full of crap to keep me entertained on the long drive.

Almost as soon as we headed out of town, I got a funny feeling in my stomach. I asked both my parents "where are we REALLY going??” Silence. I asked again, silence. Ok, I thought to myself, no big deal. I put my headphones on and fell back asleep. By the time I woke back up, I was starting to figure things out for myself. We had already driven past Springfield. I knew something was up. We stopped at a series of gas stations along the way. I thought about running away, but where would I go? I had just finished 3 weeks in rehab about a month ago. That was fun! What could possibly be worse than rehab? I figured screw it, I get another vacation!

After what seemed like an eternity driving on old dirt roads, we came upon a clearing in the woods and there sat a series of buildings that looked like some weird club-med "Spend some time with nature" type resort. It was then that my stomach began to turn, as I did not know what to expect.

I looked to my left and saw a bunch of guys playing football in the field. Only, things seemed a little odd. Two of them stopped playing and we're walking very fast towards the car. They looked like nerds. Their hair was all styled up, parted to one side, and they looked like they just stepped off the pages of The Hardy Boys series. Bo introduced himself, as did Micah, who would later be my orientation guide. They said very sternly "Come with us, we'll show you around for a little bit" By then I had already let my guard down and decided that I really didn't care.

They walked me down to a big wood cabin looking building. We went inside the large brown steel door. I immediately saw a wooden bunk bed to my left and they told me to have a seat. Bo dropped the news and told me what was going on. I started to have cold sweats and could just feel needles all up and down my back. I knew something wasn't right here.

Bo told me that I was going to stay here for at least a year. He told me that I would not eat bacon, fish, chocolate, or caffeine for the next year. All I could think to myself was "You little punk. I'm bigger than you and your telling me what I cant eat? Bullshit!"

Bo grabbed my backpack without telling me and started to empty it onto the bed. I stood up in defense because I didn't give a complete stranger my permission to take my backpack. He pulled out my magazines and rifled through them. He stopped at my latest copy of "Lowrider" magazine and gave a look of disgust at the scantily clad female on the cover. Micah on the other hand, STARED at the magazine like it was a huge pot of gold. (Not surprising for someone who had no female contact for over a year!) He pulled out my tape player and told me that my tape player was going to be burned along with everything else in my bag. I gave out a big sigh and figured that there was virtually nothing I could do about it. He spoke the truth as I later found out. All my possessions that I had brought were thrown into a wood-burning furnace.

He told me "Let's get you a haircut and get that faggot looking hair off of you." Now, my hair was parted down the middle. It was no longer than my ears. The only major issue that I saw was that it was green on one side on red on the other. You know, for Christmas! They cut all my hair off, handed me an electric razor and told me to shave. Again, I was only 13. I didn't even have peach fuzz yet. I still have not figured out what shaving that day did for me.

I then took a shower and Bo told me to "Scrub good and get that nasty, dirty body of yours, clean" I flipped him off as I walked to the showers. I don't know if he saw me or not. I didn't care. These people meant nothing to me.

I put on some loaner clothes and went upstairs. As I reached the top of the stairs, I could feel all those eyes's staring at me. Rows and rows of cedar bunks lined each of the walls. Heads popped up to see who the new meat was. It made me nervous. I was given a Bible and told to hang out for a while and watch the movie. (It was Friday, movie night.) I ate my gummy bears and wondered what was going to happen next.

Bo came over to my bunk and told me to get going. We walked outside to the main office area. My parents we're inside the little foyer area crying. This is the first time I met Bro. Sam. He said, (I am loosely quoting here) " Boy, your gonna be here for a year. Say goodbye to your parents cause your not gonna see them for a while" I wanted to smash his face in. I was so mad at that point I was ready to explode. He told me again "Boy, hug your momma and your daddy. Say thanks"

This is one of those memories that still hurts me today as I think about it:

My mom came closer to hug me. I just stood there. Tears rolling quietly down my face. My lip was quivering and I was shaking. She stepped back and was trying to hold back the fountain of tears rolling down her chin. I knew my mother loved me, but I could not understand why she would abandon me. In defiance, I was not going to show affection to my parents who had just scammed me into this whole ordeal.

I stood there lifeless as they each hugged me. They we're crying like someone had just died. I could feel the pain inside my parents as they hugged me tightly. My dad was crying more than I had ever seen him cry. He looked hurt and confused. I am sure that it was not an easy decision to leave their son with total strangers. I'm sure they could feel my uncertainty and anger. From that point on I entered a new chapter in my life. This period of my life will forever stick out as the period where I lost myself in my quest to become what Mt. Park saw as the ideal person. I would throw out all that I knew about myself and replace it with an empty space ready for Mt. Park’s beckoning. This action to conform would have a lasting impact on all aspects of my life.

New students were immediately placed with another student who was known as an orientation guide. These guides were often only a year or so older than the new student. These guides were given the responsibility to oversee all aspects of the students’ lives. Guides possessed the power to command their student to do whatever their bidding was. Guides could punish their students as they saw fit. If the new student was not learning the rules and "bucking the system", punishment would sometimes include but not limited to: beating, forced physical exercise, loss of certain privileges, public ridicule or ultimately swats from Sam.

Myself being a guide for a time, I will admit to hurting some of my students. I had a student named Bryan who was from Washington. He was very quiet and soft-spoken. There was a time where I was new to the orientation process and I physically beat my student. I punched him in the sternum repeatedly and slapped him. I placed him about 15 feet in front of me against a wall. I ran as fast as I could and would punch him as hard as I could in the same spot. I can’t remember why I punished him but it was probably for something minor. I saw other guides doing this to their students and figured that this was the right thing to do. All of the guides did this from time to time. I felt no shame at the time; we were made to feel it was right, that the new students needed to be broken. I feel the shame now and I'm embarrassed to admit it. What I did was wrong and I will pay for it later in life I'm sure.

Now, this type of physical abuse was very common. I saw students forced to take ice cold showers and beaten and kicked while they lay on the floor of the shower stalls. I've seen students pushed into the locker room where the entire dorm was waiting with the lights off and then beaten severely while they were on the floor. I've seen students punched in the face and other areas of their bodies. I've seen students held down on their bunk and given blanket parties. (The boy was held down under a blanket while the entire dorm punched him in the chest one by one). I've seen students who have been forced to run so hard that they were throwing up and then pushed onward and laughed at. I've seen students hung on the bedpost by their underwear causing their buttocks and rectum to bleed.

I've seen a student dragged around the track by other students because they were beaten so severely in the legs that they could not physically run. This boy was told that his injuries were fake and that he was acting up. I know that his injuries were real because I caused them myself. I had hit this boy in the legs repeatedly until he had deep bruising and his legs hurt him badly enough that he could not walk without a limp. He simply could not run because the pain in his legs was so severe. Sam had us pair up around the track one night and told us that if [*name omitted] stopped running that we were to grab him by the arms and drag him to the next pair of students until his laps were done. He made it about halfway through one lap and was then dragged on the ground for about 5 or 6 laps. It was a horrific site. He was screaming and crying the entire time, begging us to stop. I knew it had to hurt very badly. The ground was very rocky and bumpy. When we were done dragging him, his jeans and shirt were covered with dirt and his skin was bruised and cut all over. It took him several weeks to recover fully from that incident.

There was another student who came from Arkansas. His name was [*Name omitted] His father was a doctor so he was sedated and brought to Mt. Park. When he arrived he was still halfway awake and drugged up. He must have decided beforehand that he was going to act like he was retarded so that they would just send him back home or something. [*The young man in this statement had a history of emotional problems unknown to the author.] He was very convincing too. He would act like he couldn't stand and he would drool incessantly. His speech was almost indecipherable. He really received the worst beatings of anyone that I had ever seen. In an attempt to make him snap out of it, they would give him ice cold showers while he lay on the floor of the shower stall drooling. I saw this happen and it was unbearable to watch. They would beat him in the shower and scream in his face. I couldn't watch it anymore and decided to listen in on what was happening while I pretended to clean my locker. The sounds he made as they beat him were frightening and surreal.

There was another time I remember that was also pretty scary. We were eating breakfast and [same student as above, *name omitted] just sat there drooling at the table. Mrs. Wills walked by and saw [*name omitted] doing this. Being the old hag that she is, she couldn't resist putting on a show for us boys. She made him get up and limp over to a big compost bucket we used to put table scraps into. He was leaning almost entirely backwards with his bowl in his hand. I'm not sure how he accomplished it but he did. He struggled for what seemed forever to just dump his cereal into the bucket. He was moaning and drooling and the entire time Mrs. wills was talking very loudly about what a faker he was. When he finally made his move and dumped his cereal she made us give him a round of applause and congratulate him. During this time, [*name omitted] never showed any emotion other than moaning when he would get punched or slapped. It was crazy. I have never seen anyone do that before. His beatings and ridicule lasted for a few weeks before he finally gave it up and acted normal. We just woke up one day and he was fine. No explanation was ever given on his part and he refused to talk about it. He later became very trusted and was Sam's protégé.

These were all the specific times that I could think of offhand. There were many other times that this happened to students.

Back to my story.

As the next year and a half unfolded, my parents would find out that their former son was (metaphorically) dead. In his place was a cheery, bright-eyed kid that knew absolutely nothing about who he was in this world. But, he could tell you a lot of Bible verses and preach to you about going to hell. And he had good manners, i.e.: ‘Yes Sir, Yes Ma’am!’ He was good at that at least! I mean, what can you expect for $1200 a month?

As time lingered on and on for about 18 more months, I grew more accustomed to daily life at Mt. Park.

Daily life was easy as long as you shut your mouth and nodded your head each time an adult talked to you. But, there were other times when I feared for my life.

We were awakened in the mornings as the lights were turned on and the familiar hum of fluorescent lighting motioned us to get up. Bo, (Sam Gerhardt’s 17 y/o son) would yell at the top of his lungs, "GET UP". We would then get ready to eat breakfast and go to school. Brushing your teeth, combing your hair and popping zits were the usual routine. We would all line up single file in front of the repair shed, get a head count to make sure everyone was there, and quote a Bible verse out loud before the gate was unlocked and we were let into the pool area to go inside and eat our breakfast. Breakfast usually consisted of a bowl of cereal and little else. Sometimes we would eat grits for weeks at a time. Needless to say, I hate grits even today.

We would then go back to the dorm and fiddle for a while until it was time to go to morning service before school. I would usually take this time to memorize my daily three Bible verses for school. It was required that we memorize certain passages, three at a time daily until you could quite the passage in full, and be able to quote them without mistake. The punishment for not doing your daily three verses perfectly was either swats or no movies and candy on Fridays.

We would stand there and listen to Sam ramble on for a few minutes at the start of the school day and then go to our section of the school.

Schoolwork consisted of "PACE" work booklets. BORING!!! You can’t teach someone science by just reading about it and looking at the little cartoons. The schoolwork was too easy. I felt like I was back in 6th grade or something.

We each had our own little cubicle that was separated with wooden dividers on either side. If we needed help, we had little Christian flags that we would place on top of our desk. You would then just have to wait until someone got around to helping you. The thing I disliked the most about school was: If you needed help understanding something in your school work, 9 times out of 10 you would have to sit there and be made fun of because you couldn't do the work. If that's not a good motivational tool, I don't know what is. Also, most of the people who would help you with your schooling when you had questions were nothing more than high school graduates; many who graduated with lower than 12^th grade work themselves. No training, nothing. What the hell?

When you finished your pace studies, you would take a small test in the dining room to get a grade for that pace. If I remember, you could only miss a couple of questions or else you failed. If you kept failing the test repeatedly you would probably get swats by Sam and a good chewing out. So, all in all, school was a joke. When I came home, the local public school system would not accept my credits from Mt. Park. They told me I would have to go back to the 8th grade and start all over. HA! I was 15, there was no way I was going back to Jr. high again. The only school that would take me was the local catholic school system. But, I wasn't catholic and this caused many troubles for me in high school that eventually lead to me dropping out of school at 17. I simply didn't fit in and this made school very hard for me. Thanks, Mt. Park.

We ate lunch at around noon everyday. Lunch was usually a very big meal. I guess it's some kind of "southern" thing. But the food was usually very good and you would get enough to make yourself very full. That is, unless you were considered fat and then you would get lesser servings. Mt. Park was sternly against obesity. The girls had it much rougher than the guys. The girls who were put on "diets" would get very little to eat during the day. There were girls who were on diets that had perfect figures. I think that the diets were, for some, a punishment for other things than being fat. After lunch we had some time to go back to the dorm and rest or play. Some played basketball, other's preferred to sit in their bunk and be alone.

School would drag on until about 2:30 or so and then it was time to go to work. We would all go back to the dorm and get our work clothes on and get ready for some seriously crappy work. Work usually consisted of hard manual labor. Dragging brush, picking up little rocks, mowing, hauling firewood by hand, or collecting the leaves was usual. Sometimes they would make us help with the construction of the new buildings. One time we had to haul gravel by hand in 5 gallon buckets to fill in a support wall for the new classrooms. After 5 hours of that crap, who wouldn't be pissed off and ready to run away? There were other times where we would unload truckloads of drywall or lumber. We were pushed to our limits daily. No appreciation was ever shown towards the hard work that we did all day long. They thought that this was helpful and needed. I know that Sam will smile when I say this, but I have never worked harder in my life than during the unpaid slave labor days of Mt. Park. It was not a pleasant thing.

After work was finished we would go back to the dorms and get cleaned up and ready for the most pathetic of supper's. Supper was usually nothing more than a nasty meat and cheese sandwich on wheat bread with no condiments to make it taste edible. Some would not even eat the sandwich at all. They would rather go starving than eat that crap.

After supper we would have some down time to relax and socialize. Some of us would gather in groups and talk about general teenage things. Some preferred to be alone and read their Bible or listen to some music. A few of the guys would lift weights or play a board game. Sam would come to the dorm to do his nightly "fire and brimstone" preaching for all of us. Sometimes it would be a bitch session where he would single us out and humiliate us. Other times he would go on and on until 11:30 at night. There were several sessions that lasted until 1 am.

Then it was off to bed. I would usually lay in my bunk thinking about my family and friends and how much I missed them. I would think about my room and all the fun things I used to do knowing that according to Mt. Park, my thoughts about these things were not Godly. I actually felt ashamed for thinking about these things. Sad, huh? I even got swats because I talked about being a musician before I went to Mountain Park.

Getting swats was a very scary ordeal. Sam had a nice thick paddle the he loved to use. When he would come to the dorm, he would put the paddle in his back pants pocket so that we would have to endure his preaching knowing well in advance that someone was going to get it as soon as he was done. After he was done preaching, he would go downstairs to the sink area and wait a few minutes. He usually had a list of people that would come downstairs to get their punishment. One by one, our names would be called and we would walk down the stairs and place both hands on the sink and bend over. He usually never told us how many we were getting. We would have to silently count them in our head while we were hoping that we would be done as soon as possible. Often times we wouldn't even know why we were getting swats. I remember that I had made the mistake of asking why I was getting punished. Sam added another swat to my number.

Swats were handed out on the basis of the severity of the crime. If you were to get swats, you usually got between 1 and 10. We were told that 10 was the limit but I can recall several times where students received more than 10, specifically, around 30 or so. The most I ever got was 8. And believe me, that was a major ordeal. Sam never swatted us bare-skinned, but pants and boxer shorts only provide the minimum protection. Your pants basically prevented him from breaking your skin, as Sam would make large powerful "Baseball" type swings. These were not love taps. He would put his whole body into his swing. Often he would drop the paddle because he was swinging so fast and hard. He would serve out our swats with precision, hitting the same mark every time.

The first few swats would sting severely. (The loud "pop' noise that the paddle made as it connected with your hind quarters is a sound that I will never forget.) The next few added to the fact that your rear-end was already on fire. After that, the next few usually made my legs shake from the pain. All your muscles would tense up and it made it hard to stand in a bent over position. My body would straighten and my rear would arc towards the sink as if to ease the pain. I cannot accurately describe the pain with words. It was too severe. It was an all over assault on your senses. Your whole body as well as your mind could feel it. I, for one, feel that this type of punishment should not be allowed. I think it teaches the principle that pain equals power. We all should have the basic knowledge that this is wrong.

Swats were sometimes given for petty reasons. It all depended on the mood of Sam on that particular day. You could tell if he was having a bad day. He would swing so hard that the paddle would fly from his hand. This would usually frustrate him and further anger him. Jokes were often made amongst the staff about swats. They were often referred to as "board meetings". Several times I overheard the male staff making fun of someone who had gotten a large amount of swats the day before. They would make shrewd comments about it in front of the rest of the dorm. I for one never saw this as a laughing matter.

Talking about your life before Mt. Park was not tolerated. It was considered to be unhealthy and ungodly. Yes, I did accept Jesus as my savior at MP, but I never felt right about what they were teaching us. I never felt assured that what they were saying about how I should live my life was true. I didn't want to become a conformist and live my life like a robot. I had feelings that I didn't understand. I had no one to talk about them with. I couldn't open my mouth and speak my mind without fear of reprimand. We were not allowed to question the teachings or our feelings about them. We were simply told we were going to hell if we did not accept their way.

My head was a mess! I had accepted "their way of life" because I had no other choice. No one did. You had to obey everything they said or it was "board meeting time".

We were told that everything we knew about life before we came to Mountain Park was of the devil and that it no longer mattered. All of our friends were sinners and even most of our parents and siblings were going to hell. We were not allowed to talk about our life before we came there. We were discouraged from talking about worldly things like music and culture. In my head, I knew that this wasn't REAL life.

. Everything had a racist overtone to it. The words "Nigger, blue gum, and jigaboo" were used freely as an insult. Racial jokes were abundant even among the staff. Sam would often use the word nigger in his nightly preaching. We were told by Mr. Wills himself, at a church service, that black people were different that the rest of us. They ‘thought differently, spoke differently, and even smelled differently’. That policy may not be around today, but in my days at Mountain Park, nigger was a normal everyday word to use. It was the "cool" thing to do and I felt that if I talked like that, it might help me fit in better.

All religions, specifically Catholics were talked down upon. The only practice that was tried and true was the "independent fundamentalist Baptist" way of life. "All others were not worshipping Jesus and were going to hell". I was not raised this way. My parents always taught me to respect other people and their cultures. It was wrong for me to talk and think like that. I've made my amends with God on that one.

Insults and negative peer pressure were also common practice among the staff. Students would be publicly humiliated for very petty things. Swats would sometimes be handed out in the middle of school so that everyone could hear them. Some girls were made to carry around baby chairs and pacifiers for being too childish. I mean come on!! How do you expect a 13 year old to act? They expected all of us to act like adults. The simple fact is: WE WERE NOT ADULTS! We were children who had no idea where we fit into the world. We were still trying to figure out what puberty was all about for crying out loud! We were at a point in our life where we needed adults to be our friends. We needed someone with whom to trust our life to. But all of those things at Mountain Park ceased to exist.

Newspapers, radio, television and almost all kinds of music were prohibited. Anything with a drumbeat was considered Satanic and prohibited. Basically it was just old-fashioned choir music. We did not know what was happening outside our little sheltered “reality”. When we went out in public the guys were not allowed to even look at girls. If we did, it was considered lusting. How are you going to make a 13 yr old not look at girls? You can’t. Especially when you’re surrounded by 300 of them when you are eating your lunch.

The staff told us that all of the girls were no good. Someone made a comparison when they said, "Would you put brand new tires on your sports car or would you want old used-up tires?" You can figure out the connotation of that one for yourself.

Most of the boys that were sent to the school were normal everyday kids. Most had been in some kind of trouble. Some had done drugs, others stole things. Yes, those are things that will lead to a bad life. And yes we needed help. But this was a job that our parents could fulfill if only they had the right guidance. Mt. Park claims to be a place where students will get this kind of guidance. I never really learned how to conduct myself in the outside world. But, I did know how to conduct myself inside the walls of Mt. Park.

I no longer blame my parents for sending me to Mt. Park. I used to be very bitter to them about it. But over time, I've learned to forgive. They had no idea about what kind of place Mt. Park really was. I couldn't speak freely about it. Because if my parents talked to the staff about anything I had told them, I was sure to pay later for it.

Example: On my first visit with my parents, I wore shorts. Oh no! I must be going to hell. My mother took pictures of me with my worldly shorts on and sent them to me shortly after my visit was over. Since all mail is screened, someone saw my picture and forwarded it to Sam. Once he found out about it, I was called to the office and chewed out pretty good. I was an orientation guide at the time, but after this "incident", my student was taken from me. FOR WEARING SHORTS!! It was hot on my visit. I sure as heck wasn't going to wear dark pants in the hot sun.

I still to this day do not see what the big deal about shorts is. God never told me that I should dress like a priest and that the sun should never touch my skin. He told that to the Jews and I'm not Jewish. Mt. Park staff were the only people to tell me that. Sure, they had a verse in the Bible that backed up these types of rules [they also taught us about dispensations and how rules changed according to them, but they didn’t seem to follow their own teaching] but I think that some people read between the lines a little too much. They had a rule that we were to wear pocketed shirts to work in. That's fine. We wouldn't want any of the staff girls to get tempted, would we? By the way, the staff girls were constantly staring at all the guys. It was welcomed attention on our part although it was never spoken about. They were worst than the regular female students. But they could get away with it most of the time.

Lot's of things were never talked about among the guys. It was just kind of a silent agreement if you will. I knew that most of my fellow students were extremely unhappy. You could tell just by looking at someone when they thought no one was around. Deep down inside, no one wanted to be there. We had just learned to suppress these thoughts so that no one could tell. But it would peek out once in awhile. We all wanted to be back in our homes with our parents and siblings. We wanted to be able to see our relatives and talk about our ‘pasts’ freely with our friends. But at Mt. Park, these types of thoughts were considered wrong. We did, from time to time, talk about these things in private. But it was rare.

I've always had a strong sense of family. But while I was there, I had to learn to forget all about it.

I did see allot of things happen while I was there. (Read above.) Some were questionable, some were outright wrong. I've seen students beaten and mistreated many, many, many times. I was only given swats a couple of times. But that was enough for me to learn that I should blend in with the woodwork and do nothing that would cause me unwanted attention. I won’t go into further detail about all the specific horrors I encountered. They are already in print on the Mt. Park Survivors web page. I have a list of questions about these abuses that I proposed to Sam. To date, none of them have been answered. If I'm lying, don't you think he would have defended himself by now? I will however discuss the murder of William Futrelle, how I saw it.

The day of the murder was a typical day for us. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No one had any idea about what the day was to bring. I had no forewarning that one of my friends was about to be brutally murdered by some of my bunkmates. Everything was fine that day until late afternoon.

We were all ushered into the dorms and told not to look out of the windows. But, being curious, I peeked out and saw several cop cars parked near the front entrance. We knew who was missing from the dorm; we all just figured that they had run away. Not a big deal. People that ran away always got caught and were brought back. But the fact that we were not allowed to look outside was odd. We all sat around and speculated about what might be going on. Tons of ideas where tossed around, but no one even thought about a murder taking place at Mt. Park. I think it was later that night that we were told what really happened. We were completely shocked! We were told that three of our brothers had let Satan into their life and that Will had paid with his life. We were not given specifics about the murder, but it was clear that Will was no longer part of this earth. Some cried; some were silent. I had never dealt with this kind of situation, so I was silent. None of us could ever fathom the idea that some of our closest friends and bunkmates would turn out to be killers. There were no hints or clues, no odd behavior from any of them. But at the end of the day, more than one life was lost.

All of our pocketknives were confiscated and sent back to our parents. We weren't told why, but it was obvious. And despite some rumors, a staff member did NOT supply the murder weapon. Our parents had sent us our knives. Staff members were not allowed to give gifts to the students.

They told us that we were going to stay inside the dorm for a few days. The staff would bring our meals to us. We were not to go outside for any reason. I later found out that some camera crews had been sneaking around in the woods to get shots of the facilities and the students. Odd.

We had a church service in which the girls were told what had happened. A few of the girls were crying and such. Mr. wills talked about why this could have happened. His reasoning was obviously far from the truth, but when you’re a deluded old man, you make due.

Several days later, child services came to interview all of the students. Sam forewarned us that if anyone told "lies" we would be in some serious trouble. When he said lies, he really meant truth. He told us to give ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers. He told us that when they asked about the paddle to be ‘truthful’. He told us to tell them that we were happy being here and that we didn't want to see the school shut down. He knew his ass was on the line. If I had only had enough courage to speak the truth, MP might not exist. But I knew that if I said anything of the sorts, my life would be unbearable from that point on. So in short, we were coerced into not talking about things that might get Sam into trouble. Several girls were taken by cps but all of the guys remained. We heard a staff member talk about how horrible these girls were for lying about the school. Most of them were returned, but I know that their life at Mountain Park sucked after that.

Several days passed and things began to get semi-normal again. They had parked a bus across the front entrance and made a wall with hay bails to keep people out of the campus. It remained there for several weeks.

The trial was approaching and we were given the right (it wasn't really our decision), to go to the trial to protest against the closing of the school. They made us a bunch of signs that read, "Leave our school alone" and such. They took only a few busloads of students. It consisted of students who could be trusted and had been there for a while. No new students were allowed to go. I wonder why?

The day of the protest came and we all loaded into busses.

There were news crews everywhere. They were running around trying to get students to answer silly questions for their reports. I did do a small interview, but I don't know if it ever made airtime or not. I wish I could get a hold of that footage. It would be really interesting.

Mt. Park had rented a flat bed trailer and parked directly in front of the courthouse. They set up a small pulpit with a p.a. on top of the trailer. Mr. Wills would come out of the court house from time to time to give us updates on what was happening. It all seemed silly and hyped up to me. The staff encouraged us all to sing songs and say stupid protest statements. After a while, the judge had asked that we keep it down because we were disrupting the proceedings.

I contemplated running away that day. We were pretty much unguarded for the day while Sam and Mr. Wills were in court. I, to this day, cannot figure out why I didn't run away. It could have been oh so easy.

All in all, my life at MP was decent while I was there, but not because that was the reality of it all. I learned to tell my mind that everything was aright. After months of doing this, I actually believed that I liked being there. I made open professions of faith including reasons about why I was grateful about being there. Everyone else did too for the most part. I no longer feel this way as I have had some time to think about it. I changed my mind about Mountain Park, but I'll never change my mind about my Savior, Jesus. He's always been there when I needed Him and is always available to listen to my thoughts. I've spoken to God many times about Mt. Park. I think that God feels the same way I do.

Mt. Park will always remain a dark memory for me. But, I did come to know the Lord and let him save me. But I don't give credit to Mt. Park for that one. I was the one who decided to give my soul to Jesus. Mt. Park really had nothing to do with it.

I can only give Mt. park credit on one term: They did change my life forever. I'll never forget my time there as will countless other men and women. I now look at Mt. Park as just a rift in time. I used to try and forget all about it, but now I try to remember it like it happened yesterday. Sometimes my memory seems to be blank about Mt. Park. I can’t remember certain things. It's like a dark spot amongst my memories. Sometimes there is nothing and other times I am flooded with emotions and memories that haunt me.

I still do not have an ideal relationship with my parents. I think we just don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. But they are good people and they have always wanted the best for me.

I am now the proud father of two boys and am engaged to be married as I write this. I spend most of my time writing, recording, and performing music locally. I've been doing that for a number of years and I really enjoy performing for crowds. Music has always been an emotional outlet for me, and will be until I can’t do it anymore. Give me a guitar and an audience and I'll be happy for the rest of my days!

I am very outspoken when it comes to the issue of boarding schools. I don't think they should exist, period. I think they do much more damage than good. I've been very active about going public with what I've been through. Other people need to know that these kinds of places exist and that they benefit no one other than the people who run them. People are getting filthy rich off of desperate parents seeking a solution. I feel this is not acceptable and I have vowed to do my part to make sure that one day, no teen will have to endure the tortures of places like Mt. Park.

I might add also, "tough love" is a principle that has NEVER fully worked. Kids need compassion and loving parents. Teens wouldn't feel free to walk all over their parents if they respected them from the get-go. You can’t teach respect with a paddle and daily Scripture memorization. It's not possible. You can teach obedience though. Mt. Park’s methods are comparable to housebreaking a dog. You just grind into their head that they shouldn't poop on the carpet everyday, and sooner or later they will obey. It's the same theory that cults use whether or not it is intentionally planned that way. I do however know and understand that part of life is accepting the fact that you will have to learn some things the hard way. If you never make mistakes, then you can never learn from them. But Mt. Park gets no special concessions from me.

I know that someday, our little group of so-called sinners, will help shut Mt. Park down. We have a large group of former students who are very creative and organized. We are determined and we're not going to stop until our mission is accomplished. Mt. Park has attempted to sue people who have created anti Mt. Park sites. Let me tell Sam personally, YOU WILL NEVER STOP US. OUR VOICE IS GREATER THAN YOURS. YOU KNOW IT. THAT'S WHY BOB FILED FOR BANKRUPTCY WHEN FACED WITH A MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR LAWSUIT. THE GREAT INVENTION OF THE INTERNET HAS ENABLED US TO FORM LARGE NETWORKS OF FORMER STUDENTS WHO SEARCH FOR ALL THE DIRT ON MT. PARK. NOW, I KNOW THAT I'M PROBABLY ON SOMEONE'S LIST OF PEOPLE TO WATCH WHEN IT COMES TO ALL OF THIS. FINE. MAKE SURE YOU UNDERLINE MY NAME A COUPLE OF TIMES BECAUSE I'LL BE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE YOU SEE WHEN IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN AND YOUR STANDING THERE CURSING THE DEVIL CAUSE HE'S DONE YOU WRONG. I'LL BE THERE WITH SMILE ON MY FACE ALONG WITH THE OTHER THOUSANDS OF CHILDREN YOU'VE HURT. YOUR DAY IS SOON APPROACHING; WE ALL KNOW IT.

Let me assure you that these are not empty threats made by a bunch of disgruntled 20 something's. We don't do this just because we want to piss you off and get retribution. And we don't do this because we are a bunch of immature former students. We do this because we NEVER want to see or hear about you again. No more houses in Florida, no more vacations, no more giant tuition payment checks. It's time you pay us back. Call it greedy if you want, but we seek justice for the abuses we endured while we were there. We deserve reparation for the harm you done to our lives.

I'm sure I will think of more to write about as time goes on. I'll just have to keep making revisions so check back again some other time.

God bless and stay safe,

Collin Poetting

To contact Collin, email collinfm@interl.net