JOHN DOE #2 IDENTIFIED: BUT CAN WE GET THE FBI TO ARREST HIM?
THE STORY OF THE EVENTS THAT WILL EXPOSE THE OKLAHOMA CITY BOMBING TRUTH
THE FIRST ALABAMA CAVALRY REGIMENT CONSTITUTIONAL MILITIA
JOHN DOE #2 IDENTIFIED; BUT CAN WE GET THE FBI TO ARREST HIM?
NOTE: 1ACR has been assisting Glenn & Kathy Wilburn with their private
investigation of the Oklahoma City bombing and the search for ALL of the
killers of their two grandchildren and 166 other Americans. The analysis
below is my own, and it should be made clear that I do not presume to speak
for the Wilburns. The Wilburns are two very courageous Americans who have
suffered much in their search for the truth. Other Oklahoma City victims
have criticized the Wilburns for seeking to get McVeigh off the hook. Nothing
could be further from the truth. None of the information that they or their
many volunteer helpers have discovered (of which I am but one) exculpates
Timothy McVeigh. McVeigh was the truck driver, and a key player in the
plot. What we are after is the rest of the bombers and the murdering bastards
that sent them and sheltered them after the fact.
JOHN DOE #2 IDENTIFIED: BUT CAN WE GET THE FBI TO ARREST HIM?
5 July 1996
MIKEY BRESCIA (JD#2) HANGS WITH THE HOMEBOY BANKROBBERS, AKA THE "ARYAN
Michael Brescia played in a band, Philadelphia sources tell us. Also
in the band was Scott Stedeford. Brescia is not named in the Phildelphia
Inquirer story below, but is referred to as "the mystery man."
Just why Brescia was not named in this story is a little unclear, but sources
at the paper confirm that the "Mystery man" is Michael Brescia.
There are other Phildelphia links to the Oklahoma City conspiracy, but
for now let us ask another question:
"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MONEY FROM THE ROBBERIES?"
Does Robert Millar know? Does Kirk Lyons know? Does Andy Strassmeir
know? Does Louis Beam know? Does Dennis Mahon know? Does Tom Metzger know?
Does Mark Thomas know? Does Richard Butler know?
PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER, 30 JUNE 1996, Page 1
FBI: HEIST TRAIL LED TO WHITE SUPREMACISTS
Robberies hit 7 states, but their aim may have been bigger. A confession
led authorities to Philadelphia.
By Mark Fazlollah, Michael Matza, Maureen Graham and Larry King, Inquirer
The young man in jeans walked onto the used-car lot in Des Moines, pointed
at the white 1979 Buick LeSabre, and bought it for $750 cash. "He
didn't test drive it, didn't even start it up," remembers Jay Helton,
manager of Mr. Lee's Auto-land. "He asked me if the thing ran, and
I said: "It's a good ol' car."
Something about the buyer made Helton queasy. So he photocopied the
man's Alabama driver's license that balmy March afternoon in 1995. Helton
still had the copy a year later, when the FBI agents came.
The Iowa car dealer's instincts were right. The man wasn't from Alabama.
He was from Ardmore, Pennsylvania -- Haverford High, Class of '86. The
FBI said he and his friend, a Bustleton teenager, had fallen in with two
older men from the Midwest and joined in a bank-robbery spree fueled by
the antigovernment gospel of white power. Between Thanksgiving, 1992 and
last Christmas, the ring hit 22 banks in seven states.
Federal court documents portray a strange, latter-day James Gang, that
roamed the Midwest in harrowing style -- and may have been bankrolling
the nation's white supremacist fringe. The robbers took at least a quarter
of a million dollars -- none of which has been recovered. They left unexploded
bombs behind in banks and getaway cars. They spoke to one another in gibberish.
They wore hard hats, Bill Clinton masks, even Santa Claus hats.
They tweaked their pursuers with mocking cartoons and letters to newspapers.
They lived in motels and rode in used cars, such as the LeSabre, sometimes
purchased in the names of retired FBI agents. They packed automatic weapons
-- and Aryan Nations literature.
The trail of the suspects lives stretches from eastern Oklahoma, where
a man called "Grandpa" heads an armed Christian sect, to an Upper
Darby music studio, a Camden rowhouse, and the Wildwood boardwalk, where
teenagers with shaved skulls wear black and camouflage.
Scott Anthony Stedeford, 27, engineer's son, commercial artist, rock
musician, Haverford High grad, is one of four men charged. So is his former
roommate, an orphaned Bustleton teen named Kevin McCarthy. He turned 19
last week. Both said they were not guilty.
At a hearing last month in Des Moines, a federal prosecutor said the
gang called itself the Aryan Republican Army, espoused the overthrow of
the government, and planned to use the bank-booty to finance white-supremacist
groups. One suspect, Richard Lee Guthrie, Jr., 38, has confessed. He said
the gang gave money to unnamed far-right causes.
FBI agents in Cincinnati arrested Guthrie in January after a car chase.
Two days later, Peter K. Langan, 37, was nabbed after a shootout with the
FBI in Columbus, Ohio. In the murky world of white supremacist groups,
the accused men have crossed paths with some notorious people.
McCarthy stayed for a time in the same Oklahoma compound that has been
mentioned in the Oklahoma City bombing investigation. Guthrie told the
FBI that he met Stedeford through a Berks County right-wing leader named
Thomas, 44, who faces no criminal charges, has been to the Idaho right-wing
compound once frequented by Randy Weaver, the key figure in the 1992 Ruby
Ridge standoff. Stedeford and McCarthy had no criminal record. The two
older defendants in the bank robberies had previous felony convictions.
Langan, born in the Mariana Islands, is the son of a CIA employee who
ran away from home at 16. guthrie tried to join the elite Navy Seals underwater
squad -- but left after being courtmartialed in 1983. In court documents,
federal investigators said a search of the robbers' "safe house"
in Columbus yielded pipe bombs, guns, bullets, extremist literature, FBI
hats, fake IDs, and bomb-making tools.
FBI agents found similar items in a storage locker the group had rented
in Shawnee, Kan. Included was a copy of Hitler's Mein Kampf. Guthrie's
confession -- and a trail of documents, including the bogus Alabama driver's
license-- led investigators to Philadelphia. On May 22, FBI agents arrested
Stedeford at Sound Under, the Upper Darby recording studio where he had
worked as a guitarist.
Two days later -- as McCarthy was being arrested in the Bustleton section
of Philadelphia -- federal agents searched a Camden apartment where Stedeford
had lived since December. There, they confiscated more of the same: a Ruger
handgun, a shotgun, automatic-rifle ammunition, a police scanner, false
Social Security cards, blank birth and death certificates, supremacist
literature, a walkie talkie, T-shirts with law enforcement insignia --
and a stack of CDs recorded by Stedeford's band, Cyanide.
Any link between Stedeford and hate-inspired bank robberies baffles
his old friends in Delaware County. "He was just the guy next door,
a nice guy," said Haverford classmate Timothy Walsh, who had known
Stedeford since kindergarten days at St. Denis' Parish. "I've never
heard him get in an argument or a fight. I never heard him use any racial
slurs." But friends also have described Stedeford as easily led and
quick to embrace new friends and ideas.
Guthrie has told authorities that he was introduced to Stedeford by
Thomas, the middle-aged white supremacist who lives in a ramshackle farmhouse
in Berks County and spreads his beliefs on the Internet. Young people "talk
about him (Thomas) as someone they would follow," said Ann Van Dyke,
on official with the State Human Relations Commission who monitors hate
group activity across Pennsylvania. "He has become a father figure
to many of them."
Thomas also has ties to Elohim City, the compound in Oklahoma. In an
interview last week, Elohim City founder Robert G. Millar said Thomas sent
Kevin McCarthy to study there. Elohim City -- described by Millar as a
spiritual place where every family "has a weapon...and most of them
are crack shots" -- has been in the news before. Timothy McVeigh,
the accused Oklahoma City bomber, placed a call to Elohim City before last
year's explosion, federal investigators said.
Then there is the mystery man. Investigators still want to talk to one
more Philadelphia man, a law enforcement official said last week. He declined
to say why. The man, in his 20s, is acquainted with Stedeford and Mccarthy.
In Camden, Stedeford's friend asked her about the same man. And in Oklahoma,
Millar said the same young man had lived at Elohim City for about two years.
Experts say hate groups often reach out to the young. "They have
methodically looked for young people to draw into the movement," said
one expert who has advised government agencies. "They cannot be underestimated."
Floyd Cochran, an upstate Pennsylvania man who left the white power movement
and now lectures on its dangers, describes the phenomenon this way: "You
take a 15-,16-year-old, a young kid, and pump into their head that if you
rob a bank, burn a church, you assault the enemy, that you are a warrior
of God, a hero of your race."
Scott Stedeford's roots lie in a largely Italian-American neighborhood
of modest, gray-stone-and-brick twins in Ardmore. His father, a retired
quality control engineer, and mother, who stayed home to rear four children,
still live there. Acquaintances describe them as kind and generous. As
a teen, Stedeford immersed himself in drawing and music, friends said.
He played drums in a rock band, took commercial art classes, and delighted
in airbrushing images of his favorite band, Van Halen, on friend's jackets.
After graduation he let his hair grow long and worked as a silk-screen
artist for a Bromall firm, where, coworkers said, he played acoustic guitar
for them on his lunch breaks. He also led a band called Cyanide, which
played loud, "speed-metal" music. A friend and former coworker
recalled Stedeford as a soft-spoken, impressionable "follower"
who plunged headlong into new friendships and interests. "I've seen
him meet people, become their friends, and then take on the way they talk
and behave," said the friend Pat Clinton. "It seemed like he
was looking for something to latch on to, something to belong to."
By the early 1990s, Stedeford had latched onto the trappings of the
skinhead world. Clinton described running into his old friend in early
1994 at the Cellblock, a Bensalem club. Stedeford was passing out leaflets
from a white supremacist group, he said. "He cam up and said, 'Yo,'
and I didn't even recognize him," Clinton recalled. "He had his
head shaved, with the combat boots and flight jacket and camouflage pants.
I said, 'What? Are you into this stuff?' He said, 'I think you'd really
like it. You ought to check it out.'" Clinton said Stedeford introduced
him to a friend who was similarly attired. His name: Kevin McCarthy.
He was smart but unruly, disruptive yet likable, resourceful but easily
led. To many who knew him, Kevin Mccarthy was potential unfulfilled. "To
tell you the truth, I enjoyed Kevin. I got along with him very well,"
said Arthur N. Romanelli, the principal at Greenberg Elementary School
in the Northeast, where McCarthy attended eighth grade. On the other hand,
Romanelli said, "he was a disruptive kid. He settled down for a while,
but anytime we had a substitute teacher, it was kind of a free day for
Unlike Stedeford, McCarthy seemed to have discipline problems throughout
his youth. His mother died when he was small. His father, who was seldom
around, died later. For most of his life, McCarthy lived with his grandmother.
"He's a very ambitious boy," said his grandmother, who asked
not to be named. "That's why it's so heartbreaking for something like
this to come up."
When McCarthy was on the cusp of adolescence, his grandmother and her
husband moved to the Jersey shore. It was there, against a Wildwood backdrop
of Ferris wheels and taffy shops, that he began associating with skinheads,
said sean McCoy, who met McCarthy when the boy was 12 or 13. "He started
hanging out with these guys he met up on the boardwalk, and it seemed like
he got into all this radical stuff," McCoy said. "Any time I'd
see him around, he'd be dressed in these weird clothes and Army boots."
At the time, McCarthy's grandmother was married to Edward J. O'Neill.
According to his son, Tim O'Neill of Philadelphia, the stepfather tried
in vain to rein in the boy before the couple divorced a few years ago.
In the early 1990s, the grandmother returned to Philadelphia. Around
that time, McCarthy became acquainted with Mark Thomas and lived for several
months on Thomas' Berks County property.
In an interview Friday, Thomas initially said he could not talk about
Mccarthy because he was the young man's minister, requiring confidentiality.
"I love him," Thomas said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I
mention his name every night in prayers." Thomas said he could not
remember how McCarthy came to live with him.
According to the grandmother, it was Thomas who helped the boy gain
entry to what she described as a Christian academy in Oklahoma. Thomas
denied this. He said he "tried for more than a year" to enroll
McCarthy in a local high school, only to be rebuffed by local officials.
But he insisted he had no role in sending the youth to Elohim City. "I
don't know how he got there," Thomas said. "He went on his own
Whatever the impetus, the move was disastrous for McCarthy, Tim O'Neill
said. "I think that was the downfall of everything," O'Neill
In the rolling, wooded hills near the Oklahoma-Arkansas border, between
hardwood forests and fields speckled with bales of hay, small churches
dot the landscape. But Elohim City, the 1000-acre Christian Identity compound
founded 24 years ago by itinerant pastor Robert Millar, is a place apart
-- eight miles from the nearest paved road. "We came here to be able
to control the environment," explained Millar, 70, who leads a community
of about 100 adherents who live in a cluster of 10 to 20 mobile homes and
The Canadian-born Millar, a small, white-haired man known to his followers
as "Grandpa," sat Friday inside a chapel built of stone, wood
and hardened foam. Three flags -- the American, the Confederate, and the
banner of the Church of Jesus Christ -- sprouted from poles above the entry.
He said that he remembered Kevin McCarthy fondly and that Mark Thomas arranged
McCarthy's stay of several months at Elohim City. But Millar said their
was no link between his community and the bank robberies. "If what
they allege is true, I wonder who on earth could have influenced a nice
boy like that to get involved in such things, he said of McCarthy. He was
a nice, quiet, cooperative, intelligent person. Law enforcement will have
our complete coop