I always find stories like this interesting: Fugitive lived in isolated bunker for 3 years to evade arrest in Wisconsin:
His hideout was near the Ice Age Trail, a 1,000-mile footpath that winds through Wisconsin woodlands. It’s a rustic trail, still partially in development, and in remote places like Ringle sees very little foot traffic.
Button began digging out the bunker, lining the walls with cardboard and tarps. He made a roof out of tarps and logs. When it was finished, he started moving in supplies one backpack load at a time. He bought half a pallet of canned food and brought in a TV.
When it was time for Button to finally disappear, he said he left his car, wallet and ID at his mother’s house in Richfield, along with a note that he was moving to Florida. He hopped a train in Stevens Point and covered himself with coal in one of the coal cars to avoid detection. He got off the train in Wausau, and it took him two days to walk to his bunker.
Over the years, he was able to ride a bike to the landfill to collect food, clothes, tools, electronics and other supplies.
Tennessee escapee: Affidavit says fugitive Curtis Ray Watson strangled, sexually assaulted Tennessee corrections employee
Button attached a TV antenna to a tree outside the bunker and used a system of eight solar panels and numerous car batteries to power the TV, other electronics, lights and fans. When he needed more electricity, Button pedaled a bike attached to a homemade generator.
He did better than that kid in Alaska.
I dunno why the stories of fugitives hiding out in the woods fascinates me more than kids wandering into the woods and dying. The relative success (that is, the fugitive lived)?




In keeping with my recent spurt of Ozarkiana (
This book is a bit of local color. It was written in the early 1990s by a woman who grew up on a farm outside of (but which is probably now in) Nixa, a little town south of Springfield. It recounts very short, three to eight paragraph slice-of-life memories about farm work, socializing, family relationships, and whatnot interspersed with numerous poems composed by the author, her family, or those in her social circle.
This book is the novelization of Oliver Stone’s Academy Award-winning screenplay. I’ve never actually seen the film, and I really haven’t watched a lot of Vietnam movies 

It’s very rare for me to read a book written in the last couple of years, so it says something when I read a book in its week of release. Robert Crais is the only author that can claim that honor, slight that it be. Well, if you search for 


I was disappointed with