Angels of Bamberg

An early December wind sweeps up the narrow cobblestone street like a spirited entity. In search of celestial heights, it spirals upward enveloping the facade of the old church. St. Michael’s Cathedral—perched on the town’s highest hill—is a work of architectural brilliance. Built in the twelfth-century, the Romanesque-style structure makes a magnificent sentry tower.

Saints carved from stone gaze solemnly from their niches in quiet contemplation of the ever-changing world around them. The soft morning light adds a deceptive warmth to the beautiful vista that lies below—the medieval town of Bamberg, Germany.

Standing in front of St. Michael’s, my sixteen-year-old son, Kyle Brennan, is mesmerized by the massive house of worship. Perched on the cathedral’s center peak is Kyle’s hero—Archangel Michael, the Prince of Light—locked in eternal conflict. As the statue’s centerpiece, St. Michael, wings fanned-out in triumphant strength and glory, is spearing the serpent Satan. In defeat the Prince of Darkness vainly reaches out into the void of space and time.

Inside St. Michael’s, we are welcomed by the nave’s brilliantly white walls trimmed in lustrous gold and copper-green. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling is beautifully adorned with local and exotic flora illustrated in the seventeenth century. Looking up, we notice pineapple, cotton, and tobacco plants. Bishop Otto of Bamberg’s tomb, which dates from the mid-1400s, rests heavily behind the altar.

To Kyle the church’s atmosphere is one of tranquility and timelessness.

Opening St. Michael’s heavy wooden door, and stepping out of the church’s candle-lit nave, we are met with the contrasting glare of morning sunlight. As our vision adjusts, Kyle carefully studies the cathedral’s exterior. His mood is quiet and introspective. "Mom, I really like this place," Kyle says after a moment, "it’s special. . . . It makes me feel good just being here.

"But standing amidst a large, open cathedral square—atop Bamberg’s tallest prominence—is not the best way to stay warm. The cold northern wind has not subsided and it strikes it’s victims a merciless blow, benumbing the extremities of those foolish enough to venture in it’s path. As we descend along a cobblestone street, Kyle walks backwards taking brisk steps, his back to the upward-rushing current. In his hurriedness, he seems not to care if he falls or twists an ankle.

Picking my way carefully down the ancient pavement, I ask Kyle if he feels a spiritual connection to St. Michael’s. "I think I would call it an inspiration," he responds.

"Think about it . . . when they built the cathedral people still believed the world was flat, the printing press had not been invented. Generations of people have come and gone from this earth, wars have been fought.
It would take days for us to name everything.""While looking at the church," he says, "I realized that there’s one thing that has stayed constant throughout time." I listen intently to hear my youngest son’s revelation. "It’s an instinctual part of man to conquer evil," says Kyle.
"The battle of good over evil in this world has not changed. It has remained constant throughout the millennia."

Continuing along the cobblestone thoroughfare, we rehash this theme from the prospective of literature and the movies. I bring up King Arthur—Kyle mentions Star Wars.

But the howling wind is unyielding. Somehow our jackets, sweaters, and scarves are just not enough. It is mid-morning as we enter Bamberg’s old lower town. Small shops line the narrow strip of road. Kyle suggests that we go into one of them to get some relief from the December chill.
With the Christmas season approaching, the storefront windows are alive with nutcrackers, crèches, and loaves of stollen in neatly stacked piles. Kyle stops abruptly in front of a small shop, a venue that some would consider drab next to its gaily festooned neighbors.

"Wow!" he exclaims. "Mom, look at this!"Bent over at the large window, Kyle is closely examining lead soldiers once belonging to a boy now long gone. Lined up in perfect formation, they stand at attention in the storefront display. Crouched together, we admire the pristine condition of the leaden platoon. It’s obvious to us that these are "green" soldiers who have never experienced the hardcore combat of a backyard battlefield.

Stacked behind the infantrymen is a whole host of once-cherished possessions, items the now long deceased once marked as worthy of saving. With the passing of time their meaning now lost. Iron crosses from the First World War compete for space amongst a large assortment of button-eared, and love-worn, stuffed animals. Movie memorabilia and old postcards scrawled with elegant script rise haphazardly between the linear rows of more saleable items.

"Let’s go inside," says Kyle.
A bell rings above us as we enter the shop, alerting the proprietor. From behind a low counter, an elderly be-spectacled gentleman looks up from his paper to observe his new patrons.
"Gutten Morgan," we pronounce as we walk between low shelves holding journals and sheet music. When he asks us a question in his native tongue, I apologize in broken German for my inability to speak his language.
Kyle is relieved that I could at least speak German well enough to apologize for not being able to."Are you Americans?" the gentleman asks in perfect English.

Kyle and I pause at this question, wondering if our response will alter how he receives us."Yes," answers Kyle. "We live in the State of Virginia."

"How do you like my town?" he asks, looking over his reading glasses. "Are you enjoying your visit?"

"Bamberg is beautiful," says Kyle, "and the churches are magnificent!""This is true," states our new acquaintance, "but Bamberg also has a dark history that is not so beautiful."

"What kind of dark history?" asks Kyle.

"Well," says the proprietor, putting down his paper, "Bamberg burned a lot of women at the stake during the witch hunts in the 1600s."

Kyle, with heightened interest, steps closer to were the German gentleman is seated. "What a horrible way to die," he says.

"Is that the reason I’ve seen witch trinkets in all of the tourist shops?"

"Yes," says the shop owner. "People want to make money and the tourists buy those things."

"Hmmm," responds Kyle, nervously tapping the top of the camera slung around his neck. "I wonder how those women who were burned alive would feel about that?"

With this comment the gray-haired gentleman looks up at Kyle over the spectacles that have now slipped down his nose. It’s as if he notices the young man standing in front of him for the first time.

"People forget the pain of others," says the German plaintively.

In the awkward silence that follows, Kyle reaches for an old book whose dusty cover has not been cracked open for decades. He turns the brittle-yellow pages, looking with feigned interest at the German text.

I know what is coming—he is preparing a litany of questions, an impromptu interview."I don’t see anything from World War Two in your store," says Kyle, returning the book to its slot.

My son gives the old man no time to respond to this statement."Did you live in Bamberg during the Second World War? Were you in the German Army?"

"The gentleman holds his gaze steady. He looks directly into Kyle’s face. "I was a child . . . a boy, when World War Two happened."

Without pausing he answers Kyle’s first question: "It’s against the law to sell World War Two items in Germany." "I have lived here my whole life," he proceeds.
"I saw many things during the war. Yes, some of them were very bad. . . . I was young, only six or seven years old. I still remember things I saw then, but at the time I was not old enough to understand the world that adults occupy."

The proprietor’s directness does not deter the interviewer.
Kyle explains that he is not passing judgment, he simply enjoys listening to the life stories of others.

With this statement, the shop owner’s countenance softens. He removes his glasses and carefully sets them on his newspaper.

"Did Bamberg have many Jewish families living here during the war?" my son asks. "Did they survive the war?"

As the gentleman prepares his answer I can hear Kyle’s foot tapping the grey wooden floor. A newly acquired nervous tick, an SOS that I immediately decipher.

"I have been told," says the German, "that many of Bamberg’s Jewish families, sensing the impending danger, fled Bamberg years before the war broke out. The war against them, of course, had begun when Hitler came into power. . . . But sadly some stayed.
Perhaps they had no place to go—maybe they were hoping that things would change. It was after November of 1938 that everything was turned upside down."

"What happened to the people who stayed?" asks Kyle.

"Early one morning the SS came into the town," answered the shop owner. "All of the remaining Jewish men and some of the women were sent to Dachau. The women with small children were taken to Auschwitz.
Thank goodness there where not many. . . . I don’t think any of those people survived."

"I think one is too many if it happens to be your life," responds Kyle. "No one said anything? No one spoke up for them?

That’s awful. . . . What kind of people would send children and babies to their death?"

"My people," answers the German sternly.

"If one individual had spoken up," he continues, "it could have given the weaker the courage to do so. It was easier to stay silent."

"Does it upset you to talk about it?" asks Kyle.

"We don’t like to talk about the things we saw during the war," responds the old man. "And young people like yourself seldom ask questions."

"One memory is particularly painful. . . . One morning, while walking on the outskirts of town with my grandfather, we noticed a train stopped on the tracks.
It was pointed toward the east. . . . One of the cars was open and I saw inside the faces of children huddled together. Young mothers, too, holding their infants.

Soldiers with weapons slung over their shoulders were walking alongside the train. . . . When the car doors were closed we heard people crying out, begging for food and water.

The soldiers told my grandfather to leave, to take me home. And my grandfather, seeing the children, told me not to look, but of course I did."

"The faces of those children, the sound of them crying, has stayed with me my whole life," he says touching his chest just above his heart.

Kyle’s face reddens with emotion. He stares at the floor, avoiding eye contact."Do you think some of those children could have survived?" my son asks in a broken voice.

"One can hope," answers the shopkeeper. "And if some did . . . perhaps they are fortunate enough to have a grandson who would be just about your age."

"That’s not the story I expected to hear," says Kyle, deeply moved. "I guess you have to be careful when you start asking questions."

Then, turning away from the German gentleman, he says to me in a low voice: "I think I should leave now."

Back outside—and despite the cold wind—we decide to walk back up the steep hill to St. Michael’s.

Kyle comments on the irony of the saintly, hilltop cathedral overlooking an ancient town that has witnessed so much evil. Inside the church, we light a candle for all of the innocent lives lost.

"But Mom," he says, as the small taper flickers and brightens, "they have no names."

"They did have names," I answer, "but today we’ll call them the Angels of Bamberg."


••••••••••It’s the end of our week-long visit to the medieval Bavarian town—the very morning we’re leaving—and Kyle wants to say goodbye to the kindly shopkeeper. He rushes to the store only to find it closed. He never gets a chance to say farewell, or to thank the German gentlemen for sharing his story.


 http://www.kylebrennan.com/

Copyright 2008 by Victoria L. Britton

A depraved indifference to the loss of a young life. The truth and Carrie Brennan Farrell.

UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT

FOR THE MIDDLE DISTRICT OF FLORIDA

TAMPA DIVISION

ESTATE OF KYLE THOMAS BRENNAN,

by and through its Administrator,

Victoria L. Britton,

Plaintiff,

vs. Case No. 8:09-cv-00264-T-23-EAS

CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY

FLAG SERVICE ORGANIZATION, INC.,

DENISE MISCAVIGE GENTILE,

GERALD GENTILE, and

THOMAS BRENNAN,

Defendants.

__________________________________/

DECLARATION OF VICTORIA L BRITTON ON FARRELL CONTACTS

The undersigned, Victoria L. Britton, declares the following:

1. I am over the age of 18, the mother of Kyle Brennan, and the court appointed

Administrator of his Virginia estate. The following is based upon my personal knowledge,

conversations I had with Tom Brennan and his sister, Carrie Farrell, and the receipts I have

from my son’s travels.

2. My son, Kyle Brennan, spent three days (January 5 through January 8, 2007), in

Des Moines, Iowa, looking at colleges. Wanting to visit California, and remembering that

he had two paternal aunts there, Kyle called Tom Brennan and asked him to call his

sisters, Cathleen and Caryl, in San Diego. Tom called back to say that it was OK for Kyle

to visit. Cathleen “Cathy” Brennan and Caryl “Carrie” Brennan Farrell both live in the San

Diego area. Cathy is unmarried with a history of psychiatric treatment.. Carrie is married

to Jeff Farrell.

3. Kyle had not seen or spoken to these aunts since 2000, the year Tom Brennan and

I were divorced. This would be the first time he had seen Cathy and Carrie in seven years.

During those years, Kyle had grown up from a 13-year-old adolescent into a 20-year-old

college student. Kyle had no special relationship with these two aunts.

4. On January 9, 2007, Kyle took Delta Airlines flight DL 3861 from Des Moines to San

Diego. He arrived at 12:36 p.m. and decided to spend his first night in San Diego in a hotel.

5. For the morning of January 10, it had been arranged that Cathy Brennan would pick

Kyle up in front of a Denny’s that was close to his hotel, and drive him to Carrie and Jeff

Farrell’s home. Far from caring about Kyle, Cathy Brennan forgot about the agreement and

left Kyle waiting at the Denny’s–in a place where he was a stranger--for seven hours (as

relayed to me by Carrie Farrell). That is why Kyle had few words for her. Given Cathy’s

unfamiliarity with Kyle, and her obvious lack of empathy, it’s very strange that she now

claims to know him well enough to state that, during his subsequent visit, he seemed to be

saying goodbye to family members. She eventually arrived and drove him to the Farrell’s

home.

6. Kyle stayed in the Farrell guest house until January 15. During this time I had

several telephone conversations with Tom Brennan. He told me that Kyle was doing well,

and was discussing with the Farrells his future plans. These included plans about getting

back into school and perhaps going into the Coast Guard. Tom said that the Farrells

encouraged Kyle to visit the local Coast Guard recruiter, and in fact Kyle’s personal items

returned to his home in Charlottesville include a note with the phone number of the San

Diego area Coast Guard headquarters. The note is in Carrie Farrell’s handwriting. For

these reasons, it’s odd that Carrie Farrell now claims that Kyle would not talk with her or

her husband about his future plans.

7. Kyle left the Farrell guest house on January 15, 2007–mainly because Carrie Farrell

told him that she was having it redecorated--and moved into a San Diego Motel 6. He

stayed there until January 24. Not knowing where Kyle was at this time, my husband and

I called the homeless shelters in the San Diego area. We gave them a detailed description

of Kyle, and they searched for us.

8. On January 22 I talked with Jeff Farrell. Kyle had his cell phone bills sent to the

home in Charlottesville. I was calling the numbers on the bill at random, hoping to locate

someone who had some information, when Jeff Farrell answered. Jeff expressed his

concern for his nephew, he said Kyle seemed troubled. I asked him if he knew Kyle was

on medication, and he responded that he did. In fact, Jeff said that Kyle had showed Carrie

the Lexapro bottle, and had told her that he needed it, it helped him. When I told Jeff that

that was different information from what Tom had given me, he replied that it was probably

due to Tom’s involvement with Scientology.

9. The next day, January 23, I filed a missing person’s report with the Albemarle

County Police. I also called the Farrell home and left a voice message regarding the

missing person’s report and asked them to please contact me directly if Kyle should call

them. Carrie Brennan Farrell returned my call late that afternoon. This was the only phone

conversation that I had with my former sister-in-law. It’s interesting that Carrie now claims

that she called me twice: once while Kyle was staying in her guest house, and again

immediately after he left. Neither of these claims is true. I spoke with her but once, in the

late afternoon of January 23, 8 days after Kyle moved out of her guest house. And this call

was one she was returning, not initiating.

10. In the conversation with Carrie she apologized profusely for not contacting me

sooner. Carrie stated that while Kyle was at her place, she and Tom Brennan had the

biggest argument that they had ever had. Carrie said that she had recommended that Kyle

speak with a friend of hers who’s a counselor. She said Tom got livid over the suggestion

and a huge confrontation ensued. I asked Carrie if Kyle had discussed his medication with

her. She said that yes, he had, and had showed her the Lexapro bottle saying that it

helped him. Carrie then ranted about Tom’s involvement with Scientology, she said she

was fed up with it. The Church of Scientology, she said, had been inundating her family

with anti-psychiatry literature. She said this started soon after she had to have her older

sister Cathy committed to a mental institution in 2006.

I declare under penalties of perjury, that the forgoing is true.

 

Kyle Brennan - Anybody's Child

Most people who read this are already going to know something about Kyle Brennan and his horrible death some five years ago at scientology’s “mecca” in Clearwater, Florida.

Kyle, a lovely, innocent and kindly boy, a gentle nerd who would not hurt a fly, died from a gunshot wound to the head on February 16, 2007.

The circumstances surrounding Kyle’s death are highly suspicious.

Kyle Brennan died at least in part due to the beliefs of scientology and scientologists as his medically prescribed medication was hidden from him with demands that he instead do highly dangerous and unscientific scientology “therapy” such as that done in its front group “Narconon”.

Scientologists are hardly the only ones in danger of being victims of such quackery. The last year has brought the world tragic news of multiple deaths of innocent people who are not even scientologists who were subjected to highly dangerous practices such as those the scientologists were trying to push onto Kyle as delivered in their front group “Narconon”.

And worse yet, Kyle’s tragic death shows us that the deadly reach of such practices by organized scientology goes even to our children who 1) are not scientologists AND 2) are not even involved with their front groups.
As what happened with Kyle has shown, all someone has to be is in contact with scientologists that believe in and push such practices to lose their very lives. Thus, Kyle Brennan is indeed “anybody’s child”.

For five years now organized scientology has done everything it can to ensure that the entire truth surrounding Kyle’s untimely death has been suppressed through use of the police, through use of the courts and otherwise.
They have ensured that they have to date thwarted every attempt by his grieving mother Victoria Britton to find out what happened to her son that she loved so dearly.

Let us end this now!

Victoria Britton's testimony regarding Detective Stephen Bohling

UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT

FOR THE MIDDLE DISTRICT OF FLORIDA

TAMPA DIVISION

ESTATE OF KYLE THOMAS BRENNAN,

by and through its Administrator,

Victoria L. Britton,

Plaintiff,

vs. Case No. 8:09-cv-00264-T-23-EAS

CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY

FLAG SERVICE ORGANIZATION, INC.,

DENISE MISCAVIGE GENTILE,

GERALD GENTILE, and

THOMAS BRENNAN,

Defendants.

__________________________________/

DECLARATION OF VICTORIA L BRITTON ON DETECTIVE STEPHEN BOHLING

The undersigned, Victoria L. Britton, declares the following:

1. I am over the age of 18, the mother of Kyle Brennan, and the court appointed Administrator of his Virginia estate. The following is based upon my personal knowledge and interactions with Detective Stephen Bohling of the Clearwater Police Department and his investigation into the death of my son, Kyle.

2. I left 3 voice-mail messages for Bohling in the first week of April 2007,and he called me back the afternoon of April 5. In the 56-minute conversation that followed I asked Detective Bohling if he had questioned Tom Brennan about when Brennan had purchased the ammunition for the weapon that killed my son. Bohling responded that it is not against

the law in the State of Florida to buy ammunition for a gun. Bohling added that, as far as he was concerned, if Brennan went out on the day Kyle died, bought the ammunition and threw it on the bed along with the gun, and then told Kyle he could go play with it, that would be fine with him. I later found out this to be against Florida law when it concerns a disabled adult.

3. On April 5 I told Bohling that on February 15–one day before his death–Kyle had walked into a Wachovia Bank in Clearwater and made a counter deposit so that his savings account would remain open. (We know this because his account statement was mailed home to the Charlottesville address.) I asked him if this sounded like someone

planning on taking his life.

4. On April 5 I also told Bohling that Tom Brennan had informed me that he had wanted Kyle out of the apartment the day before he died–February 15. Brennan said that his church was placing a lot of pressure on him. I said to Bohling that I wanted to know what had happened. What could have transpired, or gone so wrong on the last day of my son’s life?

5. Over 4 months passed with no calls or correspondence from Detective Bohling. I initiated a 37-minute phone call to him on August 22, 2007. During this conversation I asked Bohling to investigate the following: A voice message was found on Kyle’s cell phone after it was returned home to his family. It was from Tom Brennan. In it Brennan is telling Kyle in a sarcastic manner that Kyle needs to take the vitamins that he has bought

him. Brennan says they are the only thing that can help Kyle. I explain to the detective that this would have been very upsetting to Kyle and could he please question Tom Brennan about this. Bohling’s response was that it is not illegal in the State of Florida for Tom Brennan to purchase vitamins for his son. (But Brennan’s insistence on Kyle taking his

vitamins is consistent with the Church of Scientology’s rejection of psychiatry and psychiatric medication–they have people instead ingesting large amounts of vitamins and supplements.)

6. In this conversation I also told Detective Bohling that I had directly asked Tom Brennan to not interfere with Kyle’s taking of his medication. Tom Brennan had lied to me when he said he had not seen Kyle’s bottle of Lexapro. I asked the detective to question Kyle’s father as to why he had lied to me about this. Bohling’s response was that there is no law in the State of Florida against a father wanting his son to improve his life with a healthy diet and vitamins.

7. I next told Detective Bohling that on Kyle’s cell phone bill we discovered that he had called several legal offices while staying with his father. Later, after the cell phone had been returned to Charlottesville, a family member redailed one of the numbers and the secretary who answered remembered receiving a voice-mail message from a young man saying that he needed help. She also said that the youngman sounded very distraught and had forgotten to leave a call back number.

8. The last part of the August 22 conversation was very unsettling. I told Bohling that I was having a difficult time understanding how a father could leave his child on the floor for over forty- minutes before calling for help–treating him as if he was no more than a pile of dirty laundry. At this, Detective Stephen Bohling laughed out loud in a sardonic manner.

He apologized, but he was still laughing. It was during a December 19, 2007, conversation with Medical Investigator Marti Scholl that I learned the source of Detective Bohling’s humor. Scholl, on December 19, abruptly informed me that my son’s shattered head had been found resting inside of a laundry basket.

9. On page 42 of Detective Stephen Bohlings deposition, Bohling claims that I accused him of ‘being a member of The Church of Scientology,” of being paid by the Church of Scientology, and that the police department was being paid off by the church. These allegations, beyond being untrue, are ludicrous. In the few conversations that I would have

with detective Stephen Bohling, I only wanted to find out the truth and to make sense of the inconsistencies surrounding the death of my son. Detective Bohling was not interested.

I declare under penalties of perjury, that the forgoing is true.