The Canadian Forces Provost Marshal and the fine art of Bending the Truth.

Unless you’ve had first hand experience with the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal, or even the Canadian Armed Forces Military Police Group for that matter, you will never truly understand the ability of agencies such as the Canadian Armed Forces to define what the truth actually is.

Under the rules governing complaints about the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service a person wishing to make a complaint against the CFNIS must first submit the complaint to the provost marshal.

This would be the same provost marshal that oversaw the CFNIS investigation in the first place. Remember, no matter how the Canadian Forces, the provost marshal, or the CFNIS like to spin things, everyone within the Canadian Forces Military Police Group are subject to the Code of Service Discipline. Each and every member of the Canadian Forces Military Police Group must obey the “lawful” command of their superiors.

As a retired JAG practicing in Victoria BC told me to remember, members of the CFNIS are Soldiers First and police officers second.

So far as the provost marshal goes, the provost marshal has the sole discretion to control which documents the Military Police Complaints Commission receives and which documents are withheld from the Military Police Complaints Commission.

And during a review the MPCC cannot subpoena documents from the CFPM, the CFMPG, or the CFNIS. The MPCC literally has to reach their conclusions based upon the documents that were skillfully selected and submitted to the MPCC.

As there are absolutely no oaths administered during an MPCC review, the provost marshal has absolute free reign to lie to and feed bullshit to the MPCC and there are no penalties or sanctions that can be applied for this deceptive behaviour.

What information did the provost marshal intentionally withhold from the MPCC?

Canadian Forces Special Investigations Unit investigation investigation paperwork DS 120-10-80 which indicated that it was the babysitter’s sexual abuse of children on the base that initiated the investigation of captain McRae
The court martial transcripts from McRae’s court martial that described in detail one the penetrative assaults the babysitter committed on a trio of ten-year-old boys behind the rec centre.
I’d also bet the the CFPM also wouldn’t explain to the MPCC that their investigation was stymied by the fact that while they could lay charges against the babysitter, they wouldn’t be able to lay charges against Angus McRae due to the summary-investigation-flaw and the three-year-time-bar flaw.
The existence of the out-of-court settlement reached between the babysitter, the DOJ, the CAF, and the DND in November of 2008 which appears to have implications for any subsequent investigation of the babysitter.
The fact that a senior officer within the CFNIS Western Region told a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that the investigation of my complaint “was likely to go nowhere due to a complete lack of evidence”. This was weeks before the CFNIS contacted my father, my brother, the babysitter, and the babysitter’s family. One of the babysitter’s replies to the CFNIS in 2011 was that “anything he had been involved in as a youth has already been handled by the military” and that if charges were brought against him “a lawyer would handle that”.
My social service records that indicated that I started having problems in school on CFB Namao. Behavioural problems are nothing unheard of with sexually abused children and dysfunctional households.
My social service records which also indicated that my grandmother was living with us on base and raising my brother and I. This was important as my father’s statement to the CFNIS in 2011 made it sound as if grandma popped in for a visit one weekend.
My social service records also indicated that my father was having anger issues and often had anger outbursts. My social service records also indicated that my father blamed my issues on my grandmother whom he viewed as “being cruel to his children, especially when she was intoxicated, which was quite frequently”, he would also tell social services that “his mother refused to seek treatment for her alcoholism”

And it wasn’t just the MPCC that the CFPM and the CFNIS lied to. The CFPM and the CFNIS had also lied to the Alberta Attorney General and the Alberta Crown Prosecutor. When the CFNIS submitted their summary to the Crown, they left out all of the above bullet points. However, in their summary to the Crown the CFNIS also “forgot” to mention to the Crown that I had tried twice before to report the sexual abuse to the military police.

All of this resulted in Mr. Weribiki observing that it was very significant that I had never told anyone about the abuse and that I had never tried to report the abuse in the previous 30 years. Who was I going to tell? My father who was frequently absent either on training exercises or living off base with his girlfriends? My “frequently cruel and intoxicated” grandmother who had an insane attachment to the catholic church? And I did try to report the abuse in 1984 and 1991.

My father’s statement was so detached from reality that when the CFNIS received a copy of my social service paperwork you would think that they would have gone back to my father and asked him to explain the horrific and glaring differences between his statement and the contents of my paperwork.

Nope, the CFNIS never approached him to explain the differences. Which leads me to believe that my father had been told what to say. Why would my father go along with what the CFNIS wanted? More than likely he had received some favour back in 1980 for agreeing to not make a fuss about his two sons being sexually abused. After all, if Mr. Gill had been at home on base with his kids instead of bringing his alcoholic mother on base to raise his kids in his absence, then his sons never would have been abused. So, I can see my father parroting whatever the CFNIS wanted him to say. Just like colonel Munro, captain McRae, and the various other men of ill intent, I don’t see why my father wouldn’t be willing to lie to save his own ass.

I know that at least one investigator with the CFNIS lied through his teeth when interviewed by the MPCC in 2012. This one investigator claimed that he had flown out to Victoria, BC to meet with me in person. The MPCC cited this as showing how the MPCC went above and beyond standard practice. The only problem is that I never net this investigator, nor have I ever met anyone from the CFNIS in person other than when I was interviewed in late March of 2011 by two investigators who had come to see me at the Vancouver Police Department Headquarters.

The sad thing is the members of the Canadian Forces Military Police group couldn’t tell the truth if they wanted to. They can only tell what the chain of command allows them to say. And the chain of command is full of sad sacks who believe that their primary function is to protect and shield the Canadian Armed Forces from outside scrutiny and criticism.

In 2006 the Canadian Forces Chaplaincy Branch issued a directive related to the release of baptismal records for military dependents that had been baptized by Canadian Forces chaplains on defence establishments. This memo indicated that the reason the rules for access to the baptism records was being restricted was due to the increasing number of child sexual abuse cases being brought against chaplains of the catholic church.

Art Wudrich

Came across the obituary for my mother’s second husband, Art Wudrich.

Arthur Leo Wudrich

November 18, 1938 ~ May 18, 2024 (age 85)

Arthur Leo Wudrich Obituary

Art passed away in Calgary at home at the age of 85 years in his sleep peacefully.

He is survived by his wife of 39 years, Marie Wudrich; sons, Terry Wudrich (Deanie) and Dwayne Wudrich; grandchildren, Tyler Wudrich, and Joanne Wudrich; great-grandchildren, Kayden Wudrich and Carson Wudrich; sister Amelia Buhler; brothers Kenny Wudrich, Donald Wudrich (Juverna) and Richard Wudrich (Marilyn).

Art was predeceased by his sister, Ruth Olson; and brothers, Louie Wudrich, Leonard Wudrich, Albert Wudrich, Harold Wudrich and Emil Wudrich.

Arthur Wudrich started his career as a Ferry operator in Saskatchewan, until he went back to school and became a refrigeration mechanic. His son Terry and grandson Tyler have followed in his footsteps and continued with refrigeration as a career choice.

Arthur did move a lot during his career and had many hobbies that kept him busy. He loved to fish, do woodwork and take photos of wildlife. He always loved nature and animals, as do his son Dwayne and granddaughter Joanne.

Art’s wish was for no services to be held, but for the people that know him please take a moment and enjoy family, nature and what life offers you.

I only knew Art briefly. He was a decent guy.

I first met Art in the summer of 1990 when my father invited me to move back to Edmonton with him for his final posting.

Marie and Art were living out on an acreage by Wabumun just west of Edmonton.

I don’t know how or when my mother and Art first met. Marie and Art were married in 1985. This was just after my father signed their divorce papers.

Art and my mother were together for 39 years.

I stayed with Art and Marie for the month of September in 1990.

When my father, my stepmother, my stepbrother, and I arrived at Canadian Forces Base Griesbach in July of 1990 we lived in military housing on base for 2 months. My father bought a house up in Morinville, AB. My stepmother made it very clear that I was not welcome in her house. When my brother arrived in Alberta after his delay in Ontario, she didn’t want him in her house either.

When I was staying with Marie and Art out on their acreage, the engine on my car blew a lower radiator hose and I ended up destroying the engine while driving to work in Edmonton.

No big deal, Art made his garage available to me to use to swap the engine out in my car. He even came with me to West Edmonton Pick-A-Part where I grabbed a used engine out of a scrapped car in the scrap yard. And being an industrial refrigeration mechanic Art had all of the good tools at his disposal.

I found a car that had significant rear end damage but with low milage. Pulled the valve cover off the engine to check for wear on the cam shaft and tappets, and to see if there were any signs that the head had ever overheated, checked for oil leaks around the head. Pulled the plugs and they looked clean.

I took the opportunity to upgrade my car from a 1.4l to a 1.6l engine with the more advanced carburettor.

Took me the one weekend to have the dead engine pulled out of the car and the new engine put in. Art even helped me haul the old engine to the wreckers for scrap.

Art was impressed that I had done the engine swap by myself and that I was meticulous and tidy and cleaned everything up. This I owed to Bill Parker, Bob Wrightson, and the other guys at the base auto hobby club on CFB Downsview.

Art wanted me to get into the refrigeration trade. He said that he was certain that he could get me taken on as an apprentice, and that with my mechanical skills and my electrical aptitude that I would do well.

Sadly though, the events of CFB Namao had occurred just over ten years prior and I was still bearing the fresh trauma of my father’s anger and Captain Totzke’s derision. I was more than certain that I was too much of a failure to be anything like Art.

I moved to Vancouver in the early winter of 1992. Being on welfare since the summer of ’91, Edmonton wasn’t a pleasant city to be in. Unless you have a red seal trade, there’s really not much work in Edmonton except in the low paying service industry.

I had tried to get in contact with my mother a few times between 1992 and 2013, but the company that Art worked for had service contracts for large industrial gas compressors and Art and Marie would often move to the area where the job was as the job would often take a few months from start to finish.

I didn’t see Art between 1992 and December 2013 when I had to track Marie down to ask her questions about answers my father had given to me when I examined him for federal court.

Art would have been about 75 at this time. My mother was 67.

I saw Art and Marie two more times, but the last time I spoke to either of them was back in 2017.

Marie and Art had moved on with their lives, and Marie had petty well written off anything to do with her involvement with my father.

Art didn’t seem to appreciate my desire to know more about the relationship between my mother and my father and my extended family.

But still, Art was a good guy.

It was last week that I had found out that Art had passed away in May of 2024.

I often wonder what would have happened in my life had my father been 1/8th or even just 1/16th the man that Art was.

So now, it looks like it’s just Marie and myself that remain.

And after we’re gone that will be the end of the dysfunction that was my family.

50 forever.

Well, Tuesday would have been Scott’s 51st birthday.

But looks like he’ll be 50 forever.

Is he in a better place?

Nope.

Is he in a worse place?

Nope.

We didn’t believe in heaven or hell or the imaginary friend in the sky.

This existence is all we get.

In many ways I’m jealous of Scott.

For Scott, there’s no more pain and there’s no more suffering.

He’s no longer plagued by daemons of what could have been or what should have been.

No more memories of growing up, of the babysitter, of our grandmother, or of our father.

All that shit is gone.

What killed Scott?

Was it the ketamine, his epilepsy, or his heart condition?

Officially the Alberta Coroner will only say that his death was due to a ruptured spleen after a fall.

What caused the fall the medical examiner can’t say because his body was fairly decomposed when he was found.

2 weeks in an apartment in the Edmonton summer will cause a body to break down fairly quickly.

But if I had to speculate as to what the root cause of my brother’s death was, I’d have to say that the Indian Residential School System would probably factor in as a significant contributor. I’d also say that the desire of the Canadian Armed Forces to hide the true extent of Captain McRae’s child sexual abuse exploits on Canadian Forces Base Namao were also a significant contributor.

In life, every action has consequences.

Some consequences are felt immediately.

Some consequences appear as ripples at a later date.

Grandma was a very angry and disturbed woman from her time in Indian Residential school.

She was not a loving or caring woman, except for her alcohol. She loved and cared for her alcohol.

My father was not much better. He was already a heavy drinker at 16 when he joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963.

Grandma should never have had children.

But she did.

My father should never have had children.

But he did.

Luckily neither Scott nor I reproduced, so the dysfunction ends with us.

From the time I left the house in 1987 when I was 16 until 2013 I never really had much dealings with Scott.

When I went up to Edmonton for a couple of weeks in the summer of 2013 I mentioned to him that I never thought that I would have ever spoken to him again.

Scott knew from reading my blog back then that I was having some dealings with a constable from the Morinville RCMP detachment and Scott asked me if I could arrange a meeting with this constable as he wanted to know if this constable could read his CPIC file to see if there was some explanation as to why he was frequently being pulled over for traffic stops.

I did arrange for a meeting between the three of us at a Tim Hortons in St. Albert on the St. Albert Trail. Just after my brother started asking about what his CPIC file contained the constable kinda feigned a radio call and said that he had to go.

When I talked to the constable by phone the next day he said that there were issues on Scott’s CPIC file that would have warranted his arrest, and that he didn’t want to do that as this constable was familiar with what we went through on CFB Namao.

When I collected my brother’s belongings and his remains last August, the one thing that I did notice in his passport was that he had tried to enter the United States of America but that he had voluntarily returned to Canada.

Scott had quite the criminal history.

Some people may say that Scott’s criminal history was his own doing.

But it wasn’t.

Scott’s criminal history was 100% Richard’s fault.

When we lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in North York, Ontario my brother started running with a bad crowd.

I think that was the difference between Scott and I.

Scott wanted to be popular and to have friends.

I was majorly depressed and just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

Scott wanted to hang out and belong.

I was the type of kid that the popular kids picked on for entertainment.

Richard had absolutely no interest in the either of us.

I had my after school and weekend jobs.

Scott had nothing to do but hang out with the thugs he called friends.

And these guys were literal thugs.

Auto thefts, B&E’s, robberies w/o weapons, credit card fraud, etc…..

And this was all before he was 16.

Richard, our illustrious father, was too busy kissing ass and polishing knobs in the Canadian Forces to climb the ranks to give a shit.

Scott’s troubles and his frequent stays in group homes and detention were solely due to Richard’s inability to give a fuck about anyone other than himself.

But to hear Richard tell it, Scott’s issues were solely due to:

Grandma’s drinking
Grandma’s cruelty
Our mother’s absence
Insanity that ran in out mother’s family tree
Me not raising my brother properly
Me letting the babysitter on CFB Namao molest Scott
The parents of the other boys not raising their kids right.
Schools not teaching Scott properly.
The civilian public schools not using corporal punishment like the schools the Canadian Forces ran for the kids of military families.

Richard was a complete skinflint.

As he told his airforce buddy Jacques Choquette once after Jacques asked my father why he doesn’t just drop Scott and I off with our mother, “As long as I keep these kids under my roof, I control the costs. If I send these kids to their mother, then I’ll have to sign my fucking pay cheque over to that bitch, and that’s sure as fuck not happening”.

So no, there were no hobbies, no activities, no trips, no going to the movies, no going to sports games, no fucking nothing.

Scott’s legal troubles would plague him well into adult life.

It’s too bad that Richard died back in 2017.

It would have been nice to have seen Richard tortured and tormented by Scott’s death.

Okay…….

Daily writing prompt

Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.

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As a kid I never liked the name “Robert”.

I despised my full name, but that’s for a different post.

While my family lived on Canadian Forces Base Shearwater in Nova Scotia people like Bill Parker or my uncle Al always referred to me as Bob, Bobby, or Robbie.

No matter how much I preferred Bob or Bobby my father and my grandmother were always of the opinion that my birth name was Robert and that’s what I would be called.

It wasn’t until my infamous August 2006 telephone call with my father that I became determined to change my name.

The telephone call was the first time that I had an inkling that my father knew more about the events on Canadian Forces Base Namao than what he had ever admitted to.

In the aftermath of the telephone calls I had decided that I was going to seriously look at changing my name and possibly going through hormone therapy.

So, I decided that I wanted to work on my name first.

I tried different first names, but I always came back to Bobby, or more specifically Bobbie. What I really liked about Bobbie is that it is a unisex name. Bobby is generally a male name. Bobbi is generally a female name. And Bobbie is gender neutral. Tracing the history of Bobbie through the years it has gone back and forth between being a male name and a female name.

Nothing fancy about the name Bobby / Bobbie / Bobbi. They’re all the diminutive spelling of Robert / Roberta.

And the plan was that once I underwent hormone therapy that I would simply drop the “e” and go with Bobbi.

But then I had to do a stupid thing and I went on to pick a fight with the Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence.

The fight was going to be inevitable. There’s no way that the shit from 1978 through 1980 was going to stay hidden and buried in the past.

So, 17 years after my name I’m still Bobbie.

At least I’m on Estradiol and I’m sprouting beewbs……….