Fear of Strangers

Exactly what happened that Wednesday afternoon in late May of 1968 was known only to God and one human. Neither was talking. Sheriff Lammar's report said, "Assailant unknown." The identity of the killer was an unsolved regional mystery, a mystery for which everyone in Clermont County had a theory. On that fateful day mountain laurel was in its peak blossom stage. These native shrubs formed walls of white, subtle pink and green on both sides of the two lane blacktop road between Clermont and the small unincorporated community known locally as "Fruit Jar Junction." It was spring, the season when living in the mountains was especially good. The victim was riding home on his bicycle. For him the ten mile one-way commute was a way of relieving stress from a profession often demanding difficult decisions. He was a physical fitness enthusiast with a strong athletic body to prove that his choice of exercise was worth the hour each day he devoted to it. The victim's death came instantly. He never saw his assailant, never felt any pain, never knew why he was being killed. But, if he'd had just a few seconds of mental clarity before his brilliant mind faded into the blackness of oblivion, he'd have known the why. The entire community knew the why.