11/11 Veteran's Day Message to Governor Brown about a reward for information about the Murder of my Mom, Catherine Lique in California.

My Mom was so proud of me. More than even my Dad was. She made my little choices out like they were spectacular. Many of you, knowing our life, have always asked how I made it out alive. My Mom and Dad are how. They were the creators of our effed up world, but also the lifters if we wanted it. I wanted it, and they elevated me. When it was something that could better my chances at a good life, they never said no. I was always such a sunny and happy person before all of this even under such extreme circumstances. I think only 3 people saw me cry about our life in all of my High School years. I cried over stupid boys more than the quality of my life. There wasn't anything that could knock me down. If you have known me my whole life, you would agree. The Stephanie that arose after losing my parents is a girl that I barely know or understand. But I am getting back to myself. I just want all of this to be over. Citizens against Homicide is amazing, but I have put all of my eggs in one basket before and regretted it. I am still writing Governor Brown because we need his support and a California needs to stop letting Murderers get away while crying about things like burglaries and stupid petty things that suck, yes, but suck a lot less than kids losing their Mom to a murderer who literally GETS AWAY WITH MURDER.  
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This is my letter that I wrote today on 11/11 to Governor Brown. Feel free to copy and paste and email to him, print out and send or create your own.

Dear Governor Brown and the team that supports him,

Today is Veteran's day. On this day, every year my mom would make us all get up and clean the house and cook a yummy breakfast for my dad. To thank him for his service and for honor all who have served with him. When I was little I just wanted to be so much like him. My mom nourished my dreams. She might have been told by someone else, it was impossible, but she never let on to us that we couldn't be what/who we wanted to. Even if society told us different. She always supported us having a better life and more control over personal choices than she herself had the strength for. But, with her encouragement and steadfast resolve for my future, I joined the US Coast Guard after College and I served. In less than two years I was awarded the Coast Guard Achievement medal for my role in a massive plane crash that garnered no survivors and a lot of sadness. I cried for four days straight. I was pregnant with my son. My Mom's only grand-baby. I barely slept, everyone barely slept. It was a nightmare on the grandest scale for our station at that time. People left the Coast Guard over the things they saw during that time. Because they had to deploy any and all crew members, I was the obvious choice to stay back and handle the Comms. I did so without a break for almost 24 hours straight. Then for 3 more days after that. I talked to my mom, every single day during that time. She kept me on the upper part of how I was feeling. She helped me hold on, so that I could continue to be the person that my crews could count on for information and extra help. I was the only person handling other sea emergencies that were still coming in during that time and having to be selective about who gets help is a very heavy decision for anyone (as I am sure you understand. I earned that medal. Faster than most people who are in the Coast Guard for a long time and go on many rescues. I am proud of my achievement and I am proud of the many men in my family who have done the same and much much more for our country.

I know that my achievement is small compared to many others, but it is still proof of my service to you. To your families and to your colleagues. I have never asked for anything in return for it. I even used private insurance instead of my VA Benefit because I felt I didn't need to ask for assistance as a Veteran. I am not asking you to give me money. No one in our family is. But, I got a medal for my achievement, you probably get them too. And you probably have bazillions, I am sure considering your good works and your long career. The person with knowledge about my Mom's passing should also be awarded for helping the government put a murderer behind bars. This person has to go against years and years of desert dirtbag brainwashing and fear. They will have to really put themselves out there for justice. Without having the military as backup. This person who comes forth (and needs to)should be awarded and allowed to move away from such a scary place. I fully believe that the person or persons will come forward with the promise of a reward and the chance to escape the desert. I think that is fair. I think it is a long shot, but it is better than no shot. Which is what we have been staring at for almost ten years now.

Please, as a supporter of your Veterans and Justice, activate a reward for my Mom. Catherine Lique.

Thank you,
Stephanie DeWolfe

October 11th 2013 letter to Governor Brown about Catherine Lique

Good Morning Governor Brown and/or Office,

I am just writing because it has been 11 days since my last letter and I haven't received a reply.  I know you guys are busy, but this is an important issue for me and a lot of other people and we have been writing since April.

Like I wrote before, it has been almost ten years since she went missing and was a victim of homicide.  That is just too long to go without having some things done on her case at a local level.  Local meaning California. I can imagine how helpless you would feel if the tables were turned.

My mom made her choices and some murderer made theirs.  Now we need you to make yours, so that the murderer gets his choices revoked just as she did. 

I really appreciate all that your office does and I know there are a lot of positive pressing issues right now.  But this would be massively positive to us and inspiring to other families feeling uncared about by the very people they elected. 

She was a beautiful human being.  Under all of her bad choices, she was such a sweet person whose intentions were almost never selfish.  She always had an end game of helping someone no matter what her current road was.  My parents weren't the best, but they stayed together through all of our growing up.  They were consistent in their love for each other and for us.  When we all left the nest, my mom was lost.  Some people take that experience and run with it.   That experience crushed my mom.  I look at my own son and I still have 5 years but I die inside a little each time I think of being here in this house without him.  Can you imagine that times 3? 

She shouldn't be ignored because of her choices that showed only her bad.  She should be remembered for the good she did do and the love she did spread around.  The children in Yermo she helped raise, to the tortoise she would stop a speeding car to make sure he crossed the road safely.  Her life shouldn't be only left to a dusty shelf and no one caring. 

Have you ever stared up at the stars out in the Mojave?  It is like nothing else in the world.  My mom taught me that.  She taught me that the things people hate about California are the very things that she loved.  The way the wind carried the smell of the creosote bushes after a quick sprinkling of rain, or the way the sky felt like velvet when you get up in the mountains because of the swirl of hot and cool in the wind.  She taught me that to cure a broken heart, you drive up into the hills and go rock hunting.  She also never made us feel bad for her choices.  She owned what she did, but she kept us together.  She cooked better pork chops than anyone on the planet and that is no lie. 

I am rambling, I know, but I want you to feel her as a person and not a case file or mug shot.  She is important to us.  She is important to our detective.  She is deserving of justice. 

Thanks so much!

4-19-2013 Letter to Governor Brown

4/19/2013 Dear Governor Brown, My name is Stephanie Thompson (maiden Lique), and I grew up in a tiny town 20 miles East of Barstow, called Newberry Springs. I graduated high school, went to college, joined the Coast Guard and then eventually settled down in Oregon. Newberry Springs is a charming town, it's old and desolate and the people are few and far between. It is actually a great place for people who like solitude but still require some sort of civilization. It is my hometown and it always will be. But like all towns, big and small, it holds many peoples deepest darkest secrets. There is a lot of crime and poverty. A lot of unreported crimes happen out there. Because it usually takes the police so long to get there, sometimes it is not worth even calling. So the bad people are getting away with the bad stuff. Newberry Springs is close to Yermo/Daggett/Ludlow and Barstow. If you live there, all but Barstow is treated as pretty much the same place. The landforms merge into each other, the vast expanses have no clear boundaries and people move about through all of the towns and families are spread throughout that entire portion of that part of the High Desert. Barstow is our version of "going to town." But that is not my issue. My mom is Catherine Lique, who went missing from Barstow in late November in 2003. She was just 43 years old. Married and a mother of three. Because of the draw at the chance of being alone in the desert can make some regular people walk away from their lives for a break, the consensus was that she walked away or was just somewhere visiting with no phone (not uncommon out there). The PD didn't put a whole lot of importance on her case because it seemed like she intentionally walked away. I am mature enough to understand their reasoning for being so relaxed about it. But it wasn't the same scenario on mine and my two brother's side of things. We were frantic and upset. We had already let a month go by to give her time to come home if she did just need some time away. But after she didn't contact anyone for Thanksgiving or Christmas we finally asked for a well check at the last place she was known to be living as of the beginning of October that year. While the well check was happening I called hospitals, mental health facilities, jails, gas stations... you name it, I called. My parents had split up after 29 years of being together in 2002. My Dad moved up here to Oregon so that I could care for him as he had COPD and a few heart attacks. My mom stayed in Yermo (they were living there when they split up) and couch hopped. She dated a couple of guys and stayed with friends. She began using prostitution as a means of making her own money and not having to rely so much on others. It was a high risk lifestyle but she stayed close to home and always kept in touch with friends and family. Not very many people even knew she was doing it, most of us found out after the private investigator uncovered it from the guy she was staying with in Barstow. No one ever corroborated it until years later. The only thing we knew is that she supposedly left for work one day right before Thanksgiving. She usually would go out to the Vegas Truck Stop which is on one of the four corners in Yermo near the High School (my Dad's old employer) . Her brother in law works at Peggy Sue's the fifties diner diagonal to the truck stop. I put my life on hold to look for my mom. For 6 years I scoured the coroners website, I traveled to California to chase leads, I stumbled around in the remote desert just hoping and looking for a sign. I met many other people with missing loved ones and was introduced to the world of Missing Persons. That is a really awful club to join. I barely slept, my son was put on back burner status, I rarely dated, and I didn't have a single person near me who understood what I was going through. It was a really sad and dark time of my life and my families'. I went places in my soul that no one should ever have to go to, especially when it concerns their Mommy. She was found in 2008 by some hikers in Death Valley National Park. Pieces of her bones were found and her skull. Inyo County Sheriff's Department has the case now, since she was just inside the Inyo County Line. They conducted very thorough searches in the area and were able to give most of her back to us. Her remains were scattered all around by years of being out there, high on a hill with not even so much as a grave. There is no indication that she was clothed, but it was a relief to find out that she hadn't been cut up and thrown into multiple mine shafts. The detective on my Mom's case has been back out there many times. Sometimes just to see what, if anything he can find that might help him. Inyo County is a neighbor of San Bernardino (as I am sure you know) but it is still pretty far away. So the investigation into her death has hit a slow point. There is a lot of possible scenarios and many different theories that could have led to her demise. But I live way up in Oregon, my brother's aren't really capable of running a murder investigation and the detective is very far away from the people who would know things. We have requested a reward for information regarding her murder and disappearance. From your office. I don't think we were denied but I know we haven't been approved yet and it has been years. After my mom was found, I stepped back to try to regain some sort of semblance of a normal life. I try to be patient with law enforcement this time, because it was too stressful to always be making sure the pd is doing their job, but mostly because I believe in our Detective. I feel that he really cares what happened to her. He really cares that we still cry about our mom and wants to give us the justice we deserve for losing our Mom so young. He never treats us like what we tell him is crazy or makes us feel like we are alone now. We have a good support system with Inyo County. I couldn't feel more relieved that she was found in their jurisdiction after my bad experiences with Barstow. I am writing you now to beg you to please authorize a reward for information. Money is the only thing that speaks to dirtbags. If you will authorize the reward, a billboard will be put up near Barstow. Hopefully in a place that people will see going from Yermo to Barstow. Ideally close to the truck stop in Yermo. The group offering to help with this, won't do it until we have a reward offered. I know California is having financial issues, I can appreciate that, but I also know that it is rare for someone to actually collect on a reward, so I am hoping that you will approve reward, so that we can move forward to getting the billboard up and get some leads going. This year will be ten years since she was murdered and left all alone out in the middle of nowhere to be picked apart like garbage. I know that a drug addicted bludgeoned prostitute must seem like less of an issue than what you probably deal with on a regular basis and in the grand scheme I think some people would rather the reward money be used for someone's prim and proper parent. She wasn't prim and proper, she wasn't mousy and she wasn't sugary sweet.... but she was My Mom, Greg's Mom, Doug's Mom. Steve's wife. Wanda & Herbert's daughter. Glenna and Raymond's daughter in law. Fontana High graduate. Jerry, Colleen, Al, Patty, Bobby, Phyllis and two brothers' Sister. Many sibling in laws' who loved her like she was their own sister. She was my son's Grandma and she loved him so much. She was loud. She was funny and nice and one of the best friends a person could hope for. She loved the sun and loved California like it was her Mother. She loved the 4th of July. She loved writing. She loved puppies and kitten and hated snakes. She was so much more than her case file and a description. She was so much more than a google search and a mugshot. So much more than a pile of dusty bones out in the middle of the desert. I will be getting married this summer and I don't get to have my Mom with me. Because someone took her. Not because she chose to be gone. I know I am asking for a lot. I know it. But it would make a tiny dent (if we are lucky) in the finances of California but a huge, gigantic, gift for her family and a great big help for our Detective. Thank you for taking the time to read through this, and please remember us when you are approving or denying rewards. It would really make a huge difference for us. Thank you Stephanie Thompson on behalf of the entire Schwab and Lique families and friends.

Lazy Summer Days??

I think not! These days are the days packed with activity from one moment to the next. One of my projects this spring has been ti create a relatively easy garden that would add color and we could harvest to save money on produce. Man, did I have my work cut out for me!

First I planted a bulb garden. I prepared a 6x4 area under he kitchen window in front of the house. The part that gets the afternoon sun and then ges blocked by a hill about an hour and a half before sundown. I really though this would be the best spot... Well it is. It has gone wild! I can't keep up!!! Going back a little let me tell you wha I did to increase the "wow" and ease. I had some gladiolas from last year still out there. So I just dug em up and mixed em in with a smorgasborg of other bulbs. Honestly, I can't even tell you what all is out there. The glads have bloomed and the freesia's (all differnt colors) and thats it for the bulbs.

Joy

It hit me today, August 30th 2009. Like a frieght train and so explosive you would have thought I had a heart attack. Luckily for me, I was at my son's school and it was almost sun-down. Me, Trace, Jessie and Ed the dog were the only people there. As I sat and watch the boys it made me smile. I thought to myself "what I wouldn't give to feel that kind of joy again". That's when the train crashed. I realized right then and there that I have never had that kind of joy. Ever. Sure, I have been excited and I have been pleased. But I can't honestly ever in my life remember feeling true and honest joy. Ever since I was a small child my heart has always been very heavy. I don't like to getting into pissing contests about whose life has been worse. So a lot of people don't know all of the things I have gone through. The pain that has been brought into my life by the very people sent to this world to protect me, is so immense that it is almost like a made up story. Most people in their life face one debilitating tragedy. I have lost count.

My very first memories from my childhood don't go any further back then 5 years old. I remember school and I remember the tree house in San Bernardino. I remember not being able to walk to school without my mom because some little boy had been cut up and thrown in the canal taht we had to walk over to get to our elementary school. I remember My dad getting beat up at a party. He apparently mentioned that someone's kid was a nice looking kid. He got the hell beat out of him and our car door got ripped off. I only remember this because he came into the room that my older brother Doug and I shared to hold us and tell us he loved us. I remember my Uncle Walter. He would visit from time to time and he always had this nasty stench to him. He had been in the army and always smelled like an old army cot. He collected Star Wars memorobillia. He babysat my brother and I from time to time. I always got to sleep in the same bed with my uncle. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that his dirty hands had been touching me from before I could even remember.

I fast forward to the ranch in Newberry Springs where we moved to in the middle of my kindergarten career. My grandpa Herb had been diagnosed with some sort of lung cancer and the doctor prescribed him fresher air than what he was getting at their home in Fontana. I only have two recollections of my grandpa. He picked me up from the bus one time. And my other memory is of him lying in bed in the house at Rancho Shalom in Newberry Springs. He was connected to oxygen and looked like a skeleton. I know that I loved him. I know I did. But I watched him put his hand up my mom's shirt. She swatted his hand and laughed it off. I always thought it was normal. Because after all, its what uncle Walter would do to me.

When my Grandpa passed away I was 6. The family divided then and everyone was upset that Grandpa had died in a convelescent home rather than dying in peace at home. Everyone was angry at my grandma. From what I remember. We moved out off Harvard Rd close to where my uncle Walter lived. The house was huge and the rooms were wonderful. My mom was young and beautiful and had just given birth to my little brother Greg. She was sweet to us. She used to play the radio all day long and even watched CMT before it went to cable. I remember Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Ronnie Milsap and George Jones. They all make me think of my mom and our life at that time. We had barbecues and puppies and kites. Clean clothes, food on the table and a set of parents that were truly in love with each other.

We moved out to a place in Newberry Springs to be a Care Taker for an old man named Dale Tingle. This was when I remember my dad always being at the bar in Newberry. A place where as a child my brothers and I played under the table while my dad got wasted. I remember my dad being so drunk that he beat us with rubber hoses for smiling wrong. He was a very angry man when he was drunk. The best guy in the world when he was sober. One night while I was showering in the bathroom of the travel trailer that we lived in, I lathered myself up with ivory sopa while my mom was putting stuff away in the cabinet beside me. When my dad came stumbling through the door I said "look dad, I made it look like your shaving cream". He promptly ripped me out of the shower and beat the hell out of me. He then got in the car and drove away. He left us and we were so worried about him. He went to his Brother Matt's house in Fontana. He sobered up and never touched alcohol again. He came back to us and we lived happily again for a little while.

My Grandma had somehow met his amazing old lady that lived all alone out in the middle of nowhere in an oasis that she and her husband had created out past what was Whiting Brother's at the time. The woman was loaded but you could tell that her wealth came from the sweat of her and her husbands brow. She had a house that they made out of adobe bricks. A split level home with a music room. In the music room was a giant gold harp, a piano and a violin. It was such a warm and beautiful place to be. Outside she had paved trails that led like a maze through the mesquite bushes. I could go on and on about how amazing this place was. It was just what we needed. She paid very well and gave us a 2 bedroom 1 bath trailer to live in. All my parents had to do was make sure she was ok and do landscaping. It wasn't very long after that our world fell apart. The money was so nice to have that the drugs came easy. Of course first it was pot. Then they started doing lines of cocaine on the table in the kitchen. Parties would rage all night. My uncle walter came and stayed in a travel trailer. He gave the best gifts so it seemed a fair trade for me in my childish mind. I kept his secret he bought me a cabbage patch doll. Give me a break I was 7. What the hell did I know. No one else seemed to notice and I didn't even know it was wrong. Child molesting was rarely ever talked about way back then. When Mrs. Orcutt passed away her son Wren let us stay at the property as caretaker's. What a big mistake. My parents by then were into speed. The fastest way to hell. They sold everything we had, and everything she had. Her harp. I remember. That was big deal. How awful. It probably went for 20 bucks back then. Into the hands of some crackhead desert rat. I remember my parents got taxes back that year. They bought my brothers and I bicycles. What a huge treat. 2 days later they took them and sold them. No apologies. No holding their crying children. No feelings whatsoever. But hey, we had Walter. My little brother was so small. I can't remember but I believe he was still in diapers. I know he wasn't in school yet. My parents would stay up all night and sleep all day and we would miss the bus all the time because they would be too screwed up to get up and take us. One day the principal and the secretary made a visit. My brothers and I were way out playing in the dried up lake bed too far for my parent's to have known if we were faced with any danger. The principal found us and asked us where our parents were. Of course we showed them. When the secretary stepped into our living room I thought she was going to start crying. Our house was filthy. There were dishes on the tables, dirty clothes everywhere, papers and garbage throughout the house. I tried to wake up my mom and she yelled at me. Then the principal woke her up and she didn't even indicate any type of embarassment. She promised them that she would clean up and get us kids to school on time. It was short lived. My parents began fighting. Incessantly every single day. They would hide out in the bathroom. When friends would come over they would hide in the bedroom. When Walter would invite me to his trailer they were oblivious. So was I. When my parents finally got busted for stealing and selling all of Mrs. Orcutts belongings, we were taken in to state custody and sent to foster home. By the grace of God himself my Uncle Al and Aunt Lori stepped in. and we went to go stay with them. I was in 3rd grade at the time and it was the best year of my life. We had clean clothes and stories before bed. We had consequences to our actions. We had the authority in our lives that had been stolen from us by speed. We had love. Unconditionally and truly. They never made us feel bad that they had to take care of us. They accepted us and loved us. My parents were released from jail and moved back out to Dale Tingles property where they lived in an unfinished house that was constantly under construction. This is the first time that Walter didn't live with us or come to our house. Life was good again. For a while. My dad had began building me this beautiful doll house. He framed it out with mini 2x4's and was so careful about the whole project. He made my mom multiple jewelry boxes. An item that I would die to have right now. One day his drunk friend came stumbling through the porch area where my dollhouse was. He stepped right on it and kept walking. This man has no idea how that moment has effected me my whole life. It was like he stepped on my happy home and killed it. We moved out to the other side of Newberry to stay with my Grandma in the house down the hill from Lake Delores. My parents were doing better. Not 100% but definitely better. I spent 4th and 5th grade at Yermo elementary and we moved back to the other side of town right at the end of 5th grade.

We moved into the pink house on Mountain View road. About a quarter mile from where my Grandma lived and my aunt and uncle lived in the house in front of us. I was happy to live close to my grandma still but Walter had somehow made it back to her. I was 10 going on 11 and had seen movies about "touching" and telling our parents. I didn't have the courage to tell my parents what I felt I was letting him do. I was and have always been so ashamed that I let him do those things. I remember that he lived in a house off of National Trails Highway where there were tons of chicken coops. I remember him making my brothers sleep in the living room and him taking me into his bedroom. Making me lie down with him. It was the first time he had done more than fingers. I remember crying and him not stopping. I was probably 9 years old. What a mean and terrible monster. I remember the next night mouthing "help" to my brothers. They didn't do anything of course, they were children. It went on until I was twelve and started being "too busy" to be home enough for him to get near me. I was always at Somer's house and far away from my own. My parent's drug use got worse and worse. They couldn't stay out of jail. My dad couldn't keep a job and my mom was a welfare success story. She managed to work the system amost my entire childhood. Our house quickly turned into the same type of house that we had when we lived at the Orcutt Ranch. We were lucky to ever have clean clothes let alone clothes that were in style or without holes. We were never forced to bathe and half of the time we didn't have electricity or propane to bother with grooming needs. Shampoo was a joke. I was lucky enough to get to wash my hair with dish soap that my might have recieved in a government food box given out at the community center. I still didn't tell my parents about what Walter had done. I feared that my mom would deny it and my dad would believe it. Thus either tearing my parents apart or my dad going to jail for killing him.

My Story

I want to write down the story of my life. My perception of certain events that have shaped my world and the person I have become. Mostly, I want to put my life into words for my son. Growing up our ancestors stories were told and retold and passed down through generations. Because of the way my family has turned out, I can't really offer the same to him. He won't have anyone to tell him about his ancestors because he doesn't have anyone besides me in his family who is with him often enough to tell him things. He doesn't have aunts & uncles and brothers and sisters and cousins to pass stories around with. He has them, he just doesn't have the luxury of a close family and not for lack of my trying.

I cannot stress perception enough... My facts may be misconstrued because I am telling the story from my memory and the way I think things have happened.

I was born in San Bernardino California in July of 1978. My parents were a happy young couple who had already had my brother. My dad worked for my Grandpa at the Top Hat Cage Company in Fontana California.First we lived on Cherry Street and then we lived on Eucalyptus.  The house on Eucalyptus was pretty cool.  It was right on the road but there were two houses and a back apartment.  We also had a massive tree house my dad built even though we were so little we could barely get into it.  The house in the front was a friend of theirs and he had all of the luxury items of a bachelor pad.  The tapestries on the wall, the dark velvet furniture.  The leather and wood bar.  It was a fun place for a little kid because everything was so soft. 

Our house had a big living room a small kitchen and 2 bedrooms.  Our bedroom was huge and we had our own bathroom and our own beds. We were taught to tie our shoes in that house and brush our teeth.  The house was always clean and my mom and dad were passionately happy together. 

The apartment behind us is where some young guys lived.  I remember only going there once and they were all crazy drunk.  It was funny to me because they were being loud and crazy.

Our tree house was in a big tree that partially hung over the sidewalk outside our fence.  I remember sitting up there with my dad and watching people walk by.

We also walked to school back then. Our house was about 4 blocks from the school and my brother who was in 1st grade was my guardian when we walked to Kindergarten.  Could you imagine letting your 5 and 6 year old walk to school in Fontana these days?? No way!  About halfway through the school year a little boy was abducted near the school and his body was cut up and thrown into the canal that we had to walk over.  After that happened the older boy next door walked us to school. 

The Pain blog

I have many blogs, for many reasons.  Chasing the Shae is my pain blog.  When I am looking at my dashboard I barely will move my eyes down to look at the title because I know that is the pain blog.  I write things down.  Post em and then don't have the heart to reread them.  Even if I know there are errors. 

So if you are reading this and wonder why y blog is so out of order and sporadic.  This is why.  Pain is hard to confront.  Pain is difficult to see without re-feeling those feelings.  I know stuffing it down is bad.  But you do what you gotta do when you have a million other things to do.