Interview with author P.C. Zick

I found this post for Trails in the Sand on another blog this morning and thought it was still relevant! Trails in the Sand chronicles our modern history as the fall out from BP’s Deepwater Horizon still plagues us.

Men of the Ice

This week, I am pleased to feature an interview with indie author P.C. Zick, who stops by to chat about her latest release, Trails in the Sand.

SandTrails in the Sand follows environmental writer Caroline Carlisle as she reports on endangered sea turtles during the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. As she delves into the story, she uncovers secrets about the past that threaten to destroy her family unless she can heal the hurts from a lifetime of lies.

Her journey reveals the truth behind mysteries that have plagued her family for three generations.

Lost journals, a fake tablecloth, and nesting sea turtles lead her to discover why her uncle committed suicide, why her sister developed anorexia, and why her mother only wanted acceptance from those she loved.

Caroline and her husband Simon discover love lasts despite decades of separation when he was married to Caroline’s sister. Caroline’s niece Jodi…

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January in the Smoky Mountains.

DSC03464After five days of staying in our cabin as the wind, snow, and ice played outside, we ventured out this afternoon when the sun came out and blessed us with fifty-degree temperatures. We headed over to Fires Creek Recreation Area where Fires Creek meets up with Leatherwood Branch and Falls. It’s a lovely spot very close to our house with falls that are easily seen from the parking area. Paths lead up to the top of the falls.

 

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LoveTwice

SAYING GOOD-BYE TO #PITTSBURGH

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PNC Park

Nearly seven years ago, Pittsburgh took me by surprise when it grabbed my heart and squeezed.

All I knew of the city came from my college geography and history classes. At the time, I was struck by the role of rivers in the formation of cities. Pittsburgh doesn’t just have one river, but three, and during the Industrial Revolution in the United States became known for its ‘dirty’ industry. The rivers made it an attraction and strategic location and the seam of coal sitting underneath created an important industrial capital. Despite my interest in the location, I never thought about visiting, and I certainly never considered living in the Steel City.

Yet, life had other plans for me when I reconnected with a love from my teenage years. That’s the other thing I knew about the city. I knew more than forty years before that he’d left me to make a go of his life in Pittsburgh. After I graduated from college, I headed south to Florida. And that was my connection to Pittsburgh until 2009.

Fort Pitt TunnelWhen we reconnected, I visited Pittsburgh for the first time. Once my husband drove me through the Fort Pitt Tunnel, and I came out on the other side into the magical land of the three rivers, I was a goner. I became more familiar with the downtown of the city than my husband, who’d lived in the north hills and only came downtown occasionally.the view

I shopped in the Strip district every month, stocking up on seafood, freshly roasted coffee beans, cheese, stuffed grape leaves,  and craft beers brewed nearby. Walking down Penn Avenue that cuts right through the heart of the Strip, dodging vendors’ tables piled high with Steelers, Pirates, and Penguins gear and indulging in impulse purchases of scarves and hats, put me in mind of a Moroccan or Chilean market.

For years, I’d denied my sports-dominated childhood. I grew up with four older brothers–athletes all–where I existed as the physically ungifted girl. But that all changed when I moved to the ‘Burgh. I went back to my roots, except this time instead of cheering for the Lions, Tigers, and Red Wings, I’d become a fan of all things gold and black.

Go Steelers!

Go Steelers!

There is nothing quite as exciting as attending a Steelers game at Heinz Field and watching the ketchup bottle spill the red stuff whenever the home team made it to the end zone. The coolness of entering Consul Energy Center gripped me and kept me cool while the Penguins melted the ice, playing stellar hockey and entertaining the fans with the likes of Crosby and Malkin. I never really liked hockey until these boys made it impossible to sit back and ignore.

But nothing made me more of a fan of Pittsburgh than going to PNC Park and watching those Pirates grow into a team that could be a contender. My husband took me to my first game in the spring of 2010 on a Friday night. Along with maybe one hundred other fans, we had our choice of seats to watch a lackluster team. Except for two new players: Andrew McCutchen and Neil Walker. I felt a rush of adrenaline when either one of them came to the plate. Within two years, the Pirates rose from laughing stock to winning team. It’s been a pleasure to watch them play and revel in their victories. This past year, thirty thousand fans often packed the house of Friday nights.

PNC Park

PNC Park

Last month, we left Pittsburgh physically. We’ve been in the process of leaving for six months, but in December it became official. Each thing I did in those final weeks became poignant with the thought I may never pass this way again.

Seven years ago, I’d never imagine the sadness I felt about leaving.

The move is positive, but as with most things in life, change is still a form of loss. I will mourn the loss of Pittsburgh in my life, but will be forever grateful for the home it provided me in the past six years as my husband and I began our life together. I will always view the Steel City with the soft chewy center as the place of my honeymoon that never ended. Steelers Fans

Thank you, Yinzers. I will always be a fan, and you will always be a part of my heart.

Heinz Field

Heinz Field from the Allegheny River

Raccoon Lake in western Pennsylvania

Raccoon Lake in western Pennsylvania

The abundant garden

Our abundant garden

 

And always the bridges of steel

And always the bridges of steel

Upper Big Branch

TRAILS IN THE SAND CONTINUES

 

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Click on cover to download for FREE on Kindle December 8, 9, 10

I wrote Trails in the Sand in 2013, two years after BP’s Deepwater Horizon oil spill and the Upper Big Branch Massey coal mine explosion in West Virginia. The two events occurred within two weeks of one another and killed a total of forty men. Both tragedies could have been prevented if safety standards had been in place and enforced. The book uses both events as the backdrop to the disasters occurring in the lives of the main characters as families mourn and oil gushes from the rig in the Gulf of Mexico. Lives were lost unnecessarily and wildlife and their habitats were threatened. And are still threatened to this day.

Last week, the CEO of Massey Energy, Don Blankenship, was found guilty of “conspiring to violate federal safety standards,” which led to the death of twenty-nine men. This is a misdemeanor and carries a maximum of one-year in prison. He was exonerated on three felony charges. It seems to be a ‘slap on the wrist,’ but it is the first time that a major coal executive has ever been held accountable for decisions made at the top of the chain that impacted the workers far below the earth, who put their lives in jeopardy every single day. To read more about Blankenship and his date with the jury, go to the New York Times article.

Someone needs to be held accountable. Someone needs to know that when regulations are in place, they must be followed or there are consequences. Someone must enforce the regulations.

I maintained in Trails in the Sand  that we will not be able to live without the energy and fuel from coal and petroleum, but we don’t have to retrieve them in a way that endangers human and animal life and their habitats. Yet it happens and those responsible are rarely asked to pay for their crimes.

There are forty families in the United States who will celebrate the holidays this year for the sixth time without a member of their family because of greed and the quest to bring us gas for our cars and electricity for our homes.

Here’s an excerpt from Trails in the Sand  from two different chapters – one a factual recounting of mining disasters in the U.S., and the other from the main character, as she and her husband travel to West Virginia to visit family members directly impacted by the mine disaster.

 

CHAPTER 7

History of coal mining disasters in the United States

Wildlife exhibits the first signs, acting as the harbinger of coming environment disasters. Coal miners knew it to be true. That’s why in the earliest days of coal mining, the miners would take a caged canary down into the mines with them. This small songbird could detect the smallest quantities of methane and carbon monoxide. If the canary kept singing, the mine was deemed safe. If the singing stopped, the canary keeled over, and the miners escaped.

The early miners in West Virginia in the 1880s were mostly European immigrants and African-Americans, and they served a sort of peonage in those early mines. They rented or bought their own equipment and lived in company houses, and their pay went to the company store for food. It was a hard life, during the day and during the night. The fear of death never left their doorstep because the owners of those mines did nothing to ensure the safety of those workers. West Virginia’s safety record was one of the worst in the nation, and that distinction was sealed in 1907 when the worst mine disaster in history occurred on December 6 at the Monongah Mine in West Virginia. Methane most likely ignited coal dust in two mines, killing at least 400 men, if not 500. Now it’s an accepted fact that to keep coal dust from becoming combustible, it needs to be coated with lime. Rumblings among the families of the victims at Upper Big Branch hinted that more than one hundred years later coal dust sometimes accumulated because Massey was cutting corners, and not enough workers were available to make sure the lime was applied to keep the dust levels low. When the workers went down into the mine on April 5, 2010, more than one hundred years after the disaster in Monongah, a caged canary might have warned the miners to the danger lurking in the air.

CHAPTER 9

Caroline

We left for West Virginia early on Friday morning with coffee mugs filled and snacks packed in the cooler. We planned to be at Simon’s parents in Morgantown sometime before 9 p.m. As we drove we listened to NPR when we could, but at times, especially driving through South Carolina, it was difficult to find any station not broadcasting country songs.

As we sped up I-95 through a small bit of Georgia, we heard a commentator remark on how large corporations such as BP and Massey Energy ignored safety regulations and even citations.

“We can point the finger at the companies all we want, but why wasn’t the government enforcing the regulations?” I asked at one point. “It took twenty-nine miners to die for the mine safety folks to suggest that perhaps they should be using the powers granted to them decades ago.”

“Our greed for energy, as cheap and as quickly as we can pull it out of the ground, fuels the energy companies to bring it to us fast and cheap,” Simon said.

“It sure looks as if both disasters could have been prevented with a little more precaution,” I said.

Simon and his family moved to Calico in 1974, so Bob McDermott, Simon’s father, could take a job teaching at nearby University of Florida. When my father-in-law retired a couple of years ago, Simon’s parents did a reversal of what most folks did; they moved back to Morgantown, almost two hours south of Pittsburgh.

“I’ve never understood why your folks moved back to West Virginia,” I said as the wildflowers of spring streaked by us in the median of the highway.

“They never stopped missing that part of the country,” Simon said. “I’d move back, too, if it wasn’t for the winters.”

“You’d move back alone,” I said. “I’m a Florida girl, born and bred. You’re lucky you got me to come back to north Florida after living in the Everglades for so long.”

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world. Don’t worry. I’ve no desire to move back to coal country,” Simon said.

My family had its own history with the coal mines. My grandfather, Arthur Stokley, came from England in the 1920s to work in the mines of West Virginia, right near where the explosion occurred. He escaped a life underground in the mines by the grace of God and the owner of the mine where he worked. My family never said much about his life prior to becoming a worshipped doctor in Calico, but the story always intrigued me. It was probably one reason I wanted to write about this latest disaster. I read enough to know that not many young people ever found the means to leave the mines all those years ago when the miners lived in company towns. The conditions left them beholden to the mining companies raking in the dough while the workers lived in cobbled together houses huddled close to the mines.

“I’ve often wondered about my grandfather and how he managed to escape the life of a miner to become a respected doctor,” I said. “He came to this country penniless.”

“Wasn’t there some story about a canary in the mine he brought back to life?”

“I never believed that one. And why would that make him such a hero? Didn’t they take those canaries down in the mine knowing full well they’d die if the gas fumes were too strong?”

“Maybe he slept with someone important,” Simon said.

“Right. The Queen of England, perhaps. Except when he left his mother country, there was a King in charge over there.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

In honor of the men who died in both disasters in 2010, Trails in the Sand is available for free downloads on Kindle this week, December 8, 9, and 10. In addition, if you still enjoy reading real books you can hold in your hands, please leave a comment here, and I’ll send the first two requesters an autographed copy of Trails.

 

 

 

 

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#Mindful Monday – “With a Little Help from My Friends”

I have to share this post. My beautiful friend Colleen shares her usual dose of insight with a purpose that struck my heart this week.

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Welcome to Mindful Monday! Each week I try to examine new or sometimes old things about myself. I have found that being mindful encompasses the act of being watchful, aware, wary, heedful, alert, careful, or attentive, in whatever area in my life I feel it applies to, as I attempt to live in the present. Come and join me on my journey. You never know what you will learn about yourself.

The best things in life aren’t things – they’re friends. Friends are the people who come into your life and touch your soul with their laughter and kindness. Real friends are the people who help you attain greatness as a person. I am honored and blessed to have two such friends, writer and author, Melissa Barker-Simpson and writer and author, Ronovan, from Ronovan Writes.

While I was absent from my blog the last month or so, occupied with my…

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#AUDIO RELEASE OF CIVIL WAR JOURNAL OF A UNION SOLDIER

AudiACXTo celebrate the release of the audio version of A Civil War Journal of a Union Soldier, the memoir of my great grandfather, I’m offering a chance to win a copy. Please enter the rafflecopter for your chance to win.

Jeffrey A. Hering narrated the book, and I’m extremely pleased with the outcome. Check out a sample, by clicking here.

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Harmon and Eliza CamburnOther versions:

Amazon Kindle

Paperback

B&N Nook

iTunes

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bullying

STOP THE BULLYING

pittvsnotredameI wrote the essay that follows two years ago after attending a football game between Notre Dame and the University of Pittsburgh. This past weekend the two teams once again took the field in Pittsburgh, and I asked my husband if it had been Notre Dame fans who almost ruined one of our few visits to Heinz Field for a game.

“That would be the same team.” And he remembered the game as vividly as I did. Notre Dame fans sitting behind us nearly ruined the whole night for us because of their rudeness bordering on bullying us simply because we wore the colors of Pitt and rooted for our home team. Recently, while going through my files, I found the essay I’d started after that game. It’s still relevant today, so I’ve pulled it out of the archives to share. I hope it gives us all a moment to consider our behaviors, whether it be during a sporting event, a political debate, or a religious discussion. We are a part of the human team, party, and church. Let’s act like it.

From November 2013:

bullyingI like rooting for the home team. I want them to win, but I don’t hate the opposing team and their fans.

We decided to buy last minute tickets to the University of Pittsburgh versus Notre Dame game. Our tickets plucked us right down in the South Bend, Indiana, home base at Heinz Field in Pittsburgh. We didn’t care. It would be fun with good-natured ribbing, we thought. We only hoped it was a game, and that Pitt didn’t lose horribly as they did to Florida State at the last game we attended.

In the first quarter, a Notre Dame player ran into the lowered head of a Pitt player, and the Irish guy was thrown out of the game. While the Pitt player lay on the field, a group of five Fighting Irish fans behind us starting yelling, “Get up off the ground; you deserved that hit.” My husband tried to reason by saying any hit on the head was a bad hit. They yelled back that our player put his head down so he should expect to get hit. They continued their tirade every time a Pitt player was tackled or hit.

The ugly remarks continued behind us as Pitt kept one touchdown behind or tied. My husband tried another time to reason with them, and I told him to stop because they weren’t the reasoning kind.

They made fun of our dancers, cheerleaders, and band. They called anyone who lived in Pittsburgh “stupid.” There was more, but all stayed in the same vein until in the last few minutes of the fourth quarter when Pitt scored the winning touchdown. They became quiet, but we moved into empty seats away from them, just in case. They seemed to be the types who might do something more than hurl insensitive and cruel words. I saw bullying firsthand in those fans.

If we can’t be friendly with our rivals over a stupid and meaningless game, how can we ever expect to live in a peaceful world? Take the behavior of these fans as one snippet from the world in which we live. Take the stone walls in our lawmaking bodies for another. When did we stop listening to one another and leap into a world where only one view—our own—is accepted?

It depressed me on so many levels; I’m still attempting to absorb it all. The worst part was the struggle both my husband and I experienced as we fought not to respond. It felt far too easy to shout back about the “stupid Irish” or some other ridiculous epitaph. Sitting and tuning it out required a great deal of deep breathes and closing of our ears.

Right now, I have no desire to return to a game because of five young folks, both male and female, sitting behind us on a cold night in Pittsburgh. I have to remind myself not to let them represent all people from South Bend or Notre Dame. Next to me sat two lovely young women dressed in the green of the fighting Irish. They said little but clapped when their team did well as we did when Pitt did the same. We were polite to one another, and they did not enter into the nastiness of the folks behind us.

I implore all of us to overlook our differences and concentrate on our similarities. Act with kindness toward others. Don’t lower yourself to the baseness in others. And most of all, save your battles for the big ones in life, which will come at some point when least expected. Make sure you have the energy to fight the important stuff rather than on a football game that really doesn’t matter in the first place.

But maybe most of all, enjoy what you’re doing without venom, without spite, without violence. It can’t be enjoyable to yell angry f-bombs at the field and at the people sitting in front of you just because they’re wearing blue and beige with a Pitt Panther logo on the front. If we don’t start with us, there’s little hope that religions, political divides, and countries can ever pull together for the betterment of humanity.

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#NEW RELEASE – BEHIND THE CURTAIN IS HERE

Share the love – the third book in my Behind the Love trilogy released today!

P.C. Zick

fe4da-behind2bthe2bcurtain2bby2bpc2bzickThe third and final book in my Behind the Love series released this morning. It’s almost bittersweet. I’m pleased to have written this series of stories about the women and men of Victory, Florida. They find love at first sight (Behind the Altar), through second chances (Behind the Bar), and in unexpected ways (Behind the Curtain).

GeneralBTLAbout Behind the Curtain (contemporary new adult romance) – When Lisa Williams returns to her hometown of Victory, Florida, with a producer of reality TV shows, not everyone is happy to see her, particularly her sister, Susie. Lisa finds herself at odds with everyone in town, even her close friend Tommy who tries to understand and support her dreams of becoming a star.

When Tommy is assigned to cover the show’s filming as a reporter for the Tampa Tribune, he finds himself at odds with Lisa who…

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A brush with Buddy Guy at his club in Chicago

BRUSHING UP AGAINST FAME

A brush with Buddy Guy at his club in Chicago

A brush with Buddy Guy at his club in Chicago

Fame is fairly easy to achieve these days with the advent of social media. Criminals post their whereabouts on Facebook and even post video of the criminal act on YouTube The fame that might ensue entices and lures them to stupidity.

I’ll admit I’ve yearned for fame as a writer, but these days I’ll settle for adding “bestseller” to my author moniker. I’ve also brushed up against the famous, sometimes without even knowing it. In 2007, as my friend and our daughters began our Route 66 adventure in Chicago, we met the famous blues musician Buddy Guy. Yes, we took the obligatory photo, but he was gracious and precious to two giggling middle-aged women on an adventure.

As I wrote this post, I sat in the library. Two women were at computers next to me reading about the stars. “She’s beautiful, but wears too much makeup.” “He’s going to have his ninth child. I love him, but he’s going to be working the rest of his life.” “I can’t believe someone said that about her. She’s such a nice person.” They mentioned the names of the stars, but if they hadn’t, I would have thought they were taking about family. No, they were brushing up against fame as if the famous were a part of their lives.

In 2004, I visited a friend in Casablanca where she worked at the U.S. Consulate. Among her duties was the handling of Visas for U.S. citizens working and living in Morocco. One day, I visited her office to check my emails. She had gone to another office to work on some papers for an actor filming a movie in the desert. Before I went into her office, I chatted with a beautiful young woman in the lobby who was waiting for her boyfriend to get his Visa extended. She was enjoying Morocco, but she missed some things from home, such as her dog. We chatted for a few minutes before I headed to my friend’s computer. As I read missives from home, a young man with scraggly dark hair and a blue bandanna on his head came into the office and asked for my friend. He smiled sweetly when I pointed to another office nearby. Then I went back to work. A few minutes later, several young women ran into the office.

“Did you see him? Did he come in here?” They were giggling and bombarding me with questions.

“A young guy was here, and I sent him over there.” I pointed. “Why?”

OrlandoBloom“That was Orlando Bloom,” one of them said. “And his girlfriend, Kate Bosworth, is sitting in the lobby.”kate-bosworth-80284

Seems Mr. Bloom was in Morocco filming Kingdom of Heaven and his Visa has almost expired. He was an average looking dude with a nice smile. I felt nothing more for having encountered him and his then girlfriend. Nice folks, but I’d met many of them on this trip. They just joined the long list.

Why do we get so excited and flustered in the face of someone famous? They bleed and use the bathroom the same as the rest of us. I’ve never quite understood it, but I’ve felt the flush of nervousness when encountering it.

Several years ago when Charlie Crist was governor of Florida, I needed to get a quote from him on an article I was writing for the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission. I’d been assigned to write a piece on the agency’s Commission Chairman, who was friends with and appointed by Gov. Crist. The protocol for getting such a quote involves calling the press office, which I did, and then waiting for the press secretary to respond with a statement, supposedly from the governor. I waited patiently for the statement when late one afternoon my blackberry rang.Gov_charlie_crist

“Hello, Pat, this is Charlie Crist, and I understand you’re writing an article about my friend.”

I was certain one of my friends was pranking me because I had just started the job, and this was my first assignment. But then I recognized the voice I’d often heard on the news. Of course, I couldn’t find my notes for the piece, along with my questions.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admitted.

“Don’t be nervous, Pat. Let’s just chat.”

And so I chatted with the governor. Then when I’d finished asking him everything I could think of without my notes in front of me, I attempted to thank him.

“I’m sure you have plenty of other things to deal with besides helping me with this article,” I began. “Like, like. . .” My mind went blank. “Like water,” I finally blurted.

Really? Water? That’s all I had. Florida is a peninsula surrounded by sea water and dotted with rivers and lakes everywhere. He deals with water.

president_jimmy_carter_nobelPrior to my Charlie and Orlando encounters, I almost met another famous person. A friend and I were in Georgia and decided to visit Plains, the home of President Jimmy Carter. We went into the general store and the clerk told us if we stuck around, we might get a chance to meet the President and Mrs. Carter who were in the back room attending a luncheon. My friend and I wandered around the store set up as both a tourist attraction and museum to anything Carter. We stood in the aisle on the far side of the store, laughing at an unopened six-pack of Billy Beer on the shelf, named after the President’s brother. A couple of people brushed by us. We moved a little closer to the shelves to let them pass, then we went to the counter to pay for our purchases because we’d decided we had waited long enough.

“Did you get to say hello?” the clerk asked.

We stared at her blankly. “Hello?”

“Yes, the President and Mrs. Carter just left the store. They must have walked right by you on the way out.”

We’d been too busy laughing about Billy Beer to notice that fame had literally brushed right by us.

The air hadn’t rarefied, and we were unchanged, except now I had another story to tell.

A brush with fame brings me great stories to tell on dark nights around a campfire, which makes me famous to my friends. I make a great guest around that old campfire because even as slight a thing as President Carter passing behind my back, with secret service agents in tow, becomes the fodder for flames and fiction.

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And in my ever-present quest for my own piece of fame, I’m happy to announce the completion of my first series, the Behind the Love Trilogy. Download the first two books in the series November 6 and 7 for FREE! The third book releases on November 10, but is available for pre-order now. Enjoy!

Behind the Altar, Book 1 – Click here to download FREE Nov. 6 and 7

Behind the Bar, Book 2 – Click here to download FREE Nov. 6 and 7

Behind the Curtain, Book 3 – Click here for New Release

My friend Rando Wagner helping Syrian refugees in Berkasovo, Serbia

From my colleague Christoph Fischer’s blog – this real-life post of what is happening in Syria/Europe is important. We see the reality on the nightly news, three-minute sound bite. Please take a moment to read.

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‘Recognise the human race as one’

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I am really proud of my mate Rando Wagner for helping the Syrian refugees in Berkasovo, Serbia hands on. He collected money from his friends and then bought a ticket and flew to Serbia to show that his time and money are where his mouth is.
Admirable ‘ZivilCourage’ / commitment that dwarfs the empty speeches by European politicians. He used the collected money to buy food and water and hired a car to help transport the refugees from where buses drop them off to the camp.

More help is needed, not just from volunteers and private donations but from political agreements and all governments.

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This is copied from his FB timeline, his own words:

“Border crossing between Serbia and Croatia! It was like a movie! The volunteers organise the refugees in groups of 50 and the Croatian police let them in group by group! This prevents…

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