The Cedar Rapids Defender

Ralph Plagman, Joe Paterno & You

The Defender August 5, 2016 Featured 0 Comments

Let’s begin with some irrefutable logic we must agree on as adults. It’s not OK to have sex with children. It’s especially not OK to have sex with children when you’re a teacher….and it’s definitely not OK to shield a sex offender from law enforcement.

Enter former Washington High School principal Dr. Ralph Flagman.

Cedar Rapids’ own Joe Paterno. Gauging by the feeble minds out and about on CR’s southeast side, we’ve learned nothing from the sad case of Jerry Sandusky and Joe Paterno’s subsequent cover-up.

You remember Sandusky. The creepy football coach having anal sex with little boys in the Penn State football complex. You remember Paterno. The creepy football coach that knew one of his employees was having sex with children and didn’t say anything about it to police.

The situation at Washington is identical. Mary Beth Haglin is a sex offender. Plagman covered her tracks as she continued to work at the school. Haglin is not the first sex offender Plagman has employed, but luckily she’s the last.

Parents sending their children to public school in Cedar Rapids should trust they’re not in danger of encountering sex predators. It’s a basic assumption, something we shouldn’t even have to think about.

We place our trust in men like Ralph Plagman. If there are sex crimes being committed at Washington and he knows about it, surely it would be reported. Plagman would never attempt to cover up a sex scandal.

Right?

Wrong.

Ralph Plagman is a MANDATORY REPORTER in charge of your child’s safety. His job is to report even the slightest rumor of a sex offense immediately, under any circumstance, whether he thinks it’s unfounded or not.

The hundreds of people showing up at Plagman rallies across town are apologizing for sex offenders and those that support them. If you’re spending time defending the Bad Doctor on Facebook, you’re apologizing for someone that thinks having sex with children isn’t something to take seriously.

That’s Paterno. That’s Plagman.

For five month’s Washington bumbled their “investigation” on Plagman’s watch. Haglin continued to teach in the school district while Plagman suspected she was fucking a student. The initial look into the case lasted one day, with professional investigators being left in the dark. It’s clear that the administration chose to hide facts from law enforcement in favor of harmony within the school building.

Completely, 100% inexcusable.

Even when they knew there was a sex offender in their midst, the administration at Washington worked with the predator to save their own hide. “Just say you’re leaving for personal reasons,” Plagman directed her to say.

“While I would like to comment,” Plagman wrote to the Gazette, “it would be both unethical and illegal for me to discuss a personnel matter publicly.”

You know what else is unethical Doc? To suspect a child predator is working at your school, give it a once over and declare everything fine and dandy. A sick, twisted old man was given charge of our children and failed the entire community. There’s more going on behind the scenes here than we know. Why else would Plagman lawyer up and suddenly retire? He pulled the move straight from Joe Pa’s sex scandal playbook.

After his own forced retirement, Paterno died of a broken heart, sad and lonely, stripped of his dignity. For Plagman, it must be like looking into a crystal ball.

Man Escapes Police Capture in Cedar Rapids

The Defender July 14, 2016 Crime 0 Comments

Cedar Rapids and Hiawatha police were flummoxed Wednesday afternoon by a wanted felon who jumped from a moving vehicle near Nixon Elementary. The man, known only as a local carpet installer, is wanted for felony assault with a deadly weapon.

Upon being confronted at his place of employment he fled and evaded capture thanks to the efforts of a few good samaritans. Police say they lost sight of the felon in the neighborhoods between Council St. and Robbins Rd NE. Several neighbors stated they saw the man jumping fences before disappearing into a home.

“That bpy came ’round the corner lookin’ real scared,” said Asbury St. resident Paul Nickolowski. “He was breaking apart his phone and stashing the parts in his pocket as he ran. I pointed him towards safety before the police could gun him down in the street.”

The carpet installer remains at large and should be considered armed and dangerous. A warrant was issued for his arrest following a fifth attempt to stab his wife with a gator-back knife. The previous four stabbings were summarily dismissed by Cedar Rapids district courts.

The mystery at the time of this writing is how the felon escaped and who helped him do so.

“We know exactyl who helped him and how, but we can’t prove anything,” said a Cedar RApids police spokesman.

Police suspect the carpet installer was aided and abetted by a Des Moines man who caught sight of the chase from the back deck of a friend’s house.

A call was later traced to the address and evidence of the felon’s presence was found. Still, without a proper search warrant, police were handcuffed (pun intended) by uncooperative citizens, fully knowledgeable of seach and seizure laws in the United States.

“The hard part is all these jailhouse lawyers sitting on their little computers, reading up on the constitution and their rights. It really makes our job as peace officers very difficult,” said Hiawatha Police Chief Blaine Reynolds.

“If I had it my way, the incicidents in Louisiana and Minnesota would be precedent for how we react to violent poor people here in Iowa. These people need to be shot and they need to be shot for no reason.”

Authorities were denied across to a full tear down search of the residence in question and left the scene baffled and frusturated.

Late reports at our news desk indicate witnesses saw the carpet installer signing karaoke and drinking beer at a Cedar Rapids night spot around 11 pm. Police, again, were too slow to respond as the man escaped in the back of an unmarked van.

Anyone with knowledge of the suspects whereabouts are currently under survielence.

Daly Fan Hit by Golf Ball at Zach Johnson Classic

The Defender July 5, 2016 Sports 0 Comments

You could hear him from several holes away. His loud, booming voice carrying over the elitist grounds of Elmhurst Country Club. Standing underneath the TV tower at 18, entertaining a crew of associates and co-workers, was Mr. Larson of Happy Gilmore fame, decked out head to toe in Jordan Brand.

There he was. The funniest character, from the funniest golf movie ever made (you can shove Caddyshack up your ass). Rubbing shoulders with well-dressed Cedar Rapidians. Laughing, cursing, his voice turning heads and attracting dirty looks.
Mr. Larson was seen by fans at the 18th green Monday.
As Mr. Larson roared behind the 18th green, pounding vodka lemonades in the blazing sunshine, the ghosts of Ben Hogan and Sam Snead plotted their revenge.

The Golf God’s disapproved. This wasn’t how their game was meant to be enjoyed. Mr. Larson had turned the 18th green into a tailgate, fit with excess booze, dirty jokes and shameless flirtation. The only things missing were beach balls and vuvuzelas.

The Zach Johnson Classic attracts celebrity gawkers and the upper middle class to Cedar Rapids’ northeast side each summer. The hometown hero invites everyone he knows to town for a tournament benefiting local school children. The event thrives from the presence of people like John Daly, who you can watch chug a beer, then nail an approach shot within 3 feet with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
The people ate it up.

Back at the turn, Mr. Larson had whipped off his sandals and handed them to John Daly to sign. Mr. Daly obliged between puffs of his Marlboro.

“Jordan’s huh?” Daly joked.

The two-time major champion even took time to pose for a selfie. Mr. Larson hadn’t felt so good about meeting a player since Happy Gilmore first hit the tour.

“WHERE we drinking tonight John?!?!” he asked with typical boldness.

“WHAT are we drinking?” Daly responded.

“Whatever you want JD!”

Fuck Happy. Mr. Larson had a new favorite and his name was John Daly. This is the same I-don’t-give-a-shit golfer that’s written books with titles like “My Own Damn Way” and “The Truth Behind the Bullshit” John Daly was an athlete he related too. He left Daly for the 18th green confident he’d found a new drinking buddy.

There’s a certain etiquette observed by the gallery at the Zach Johnson Classic. Exercising control of your personal noise. Not taunting the players. Limiting alcohol consumption. It’s not that this etiquette is lost on Mr. Larson, he just prefers a more rowdy environment. He can’t help the fact his voice carries like a wind gust. He was in his element, hob-nobbing with the type of crowd he hadn’t seen since Gilmore and McGavin battled for the gold jacket.

The God’s first struck with unbearable humidity. Anyone who took a shower prior to attending the Zach Johnson Classic wasted their time. Sitting in the shade was the only way to avoid light headedness. The sweat beaded from every pore even if you held perfectly still.

Yet, still, there he was. Dressed in a black polo, sunglasses and aqua blue Jordan Brand hat. Soaking in the sun and fighting off organ failure. Sipping from a straw getting ripped up in the unrelenting heat.

The poor cameraman, filming the final pairing walking up 18, looked down in exasperation and shook his head. The noise was incessant. The line of appropriate behavior on a golf course long ago crossed.

The camera guy seemed to ask, “Doesn’t this guy understand we’re on live television?”

There was some unexplainable force to Mr. Larson. You couldn’t look away. I thought to myself, “Let me watch this for just a couple more seconds.” Then, suddenly, the Golf God’s struck him down.

“ARRRRRRGHHHHHH! MY KIDNEY!”

Out of no where he collapsed to his knees clutching the small of his back.At first it appeared his body had finally given way to heat stroke, the vicious level of clear liquor pumping through his blood expediting the collapse.

But as I ran for a closer look, a different truth came to light. Mr. Larson had been struck directly in the back by a live golf shot. He’d tempted the Golf God’s with outrageous behavior and they fell him with great vengeance and furious anger.

The cameraman swung in his direction. He lifted his shirt to reveal a red welt where the shot impacted. He kept repeating that he hoped it was John Daly who’d hit him. Anything for more time with JD. But say it was someone else, say a competitor of Mr. Daly. That would not be OK.

The poor sap had actually played a decent round to that point. Even though Daly would win at -41 under, he was in the final group. The player is nearly unidentifiable. Some local celebrity. He felt good about himself. Head held high, wearing a bright yellow golf shirt, he notices an imposing figure standing over his ball on the fringe at 18.

“My that man is big,” he thought.

Now his heart was beating a little faster. The nerves beginning to fray. He needed to close strong, not just for himself, but for the 5 figure sum he’d wagered on the round. He would have to confront the golf goon he’d just plucked with his approach.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Larson said before the player could even apologize.

Now visibly agitated and skittish he waggles over his ball as Mr. Larson adds.

“I needed a good punch in the kidney. Helps push the liquor through.”

Clearly distracted he backs off his ball.

“Trying to hole out from here?”

The golfer grins nervously and stares at his shoes.

“Because John Daly accomplished that feat not more than one hour ago.”

Then, with the goon standing uncomfortably close, looming over his shoulder, he chipped within 25 feet, three-putted and picked up his ball.

Shook to his core he quit on the hole. Couldn’t even finish it he was so mentally rattled.

Satisfied he had supported Mr. John Daly to the fullest, Mr. Larson headed to the members only Olympic-sized swimming pool. There, he stripped down to his Calvin Klien’s and jumped in. Swimming laps in his underwear as strangers captured the moment with their phones. It was a good day on tour for Mr. Larson. A good day indeed.