WHITE FLAG: AMERICA'S FIRST 9/11

WAYNE ATILIO CAPURRO

Format	ISBN	Price
Paperback (6x9)	9781425995645	$ 14.95
Dust Jacket Hardcover (6x9)	9781425995652	$ 18.95

During the Autumn of 1857, in a remote region of what is now Southern Utah, acts of great treachery were committed against innocent people. The loss of life was staggering and unprecedented in American history. Evidence shows the responsible parties to be from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, including the Prophet Brigham Young. This story strives to honor the historical record.

Motives were understandable but unjustifiable. They feared persecution. They sought vengeance, retribution and opportunity to build up their empire. Their objective was to strike terror into the hearts of all Americans by striking people who had done them no harm. Though few would describe it so today, the LDS Theocracy of 1857 was a very dangerous Church.

Once executed, the crime was so reprehensible even the perpetrators knew they had gone too far. Such an act could only result in an infuriated retaliation... but only if the truth of it came to light. Those complicit must be silenced, even if more crimes would be required.

For 150 years the forces of darkness and light have warred over revealing the secrets of this dreadful transgression. After 43 years of researching the evidence, this author presents a new look at the Mountain Meadows Massacre as the events most likely transpired with the actual people who lived at that place at that time.

Where the record is unsettled, the author's best approximations have been inserted. A few new theories are advanced, but always with historical basis. It is hoped that this book will elicit corroboration, and challenges, to these theories. To become involved, log onto www.whiteflagbook.com

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Wayne A. Capurro is a lifetime resident of Northern Nevada, a family man and a broker/owner of a real estate company. He is also the great-great grandson of Philip Klingensmith, the former Mormon Bishop of Cedar City, Utah who participated in the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

Capurro first became interested in the Mountain Meadows Massacre 43 years ago when his Uncle Harry told him about the dark family secret. His Uncle being a known trickster, the teenager decided to go to his Grandmother Violet Callahan for the truth. Grim faced she walked away, only to return with the 1950 edition of Juanita Brooks: The Mountain Meadows Massacre. "Its better that you get this from me than from someone else." was all she said.

Over the years, the fascination grew as it became clear how few people knew, or admitted to knowing, about this tragic event. As a number of historical non-fiction works were produced this changed, somewhat. However, in Capurro's opinion, the Mountain Meadows Massacre does not occupy its rightful place in the study of American History.

Descendants of victims and perpetrators deserve to have the secrets revealed and the record set straight. The story should not be laid to rest and forgotten. Much good can come from understanding the motivations and causes of what was clearly the crime of the century.

Capurro's idea to produce this version in historical novel form was born about a dozen years ago. The amount of research needed to accomplish this is but one reason its taken him so long to complete this work. As America struggles to resist a religious fanaticism from the Middle East, that would destroy freedom and enslave the human race if it could, we should not ignore what occurred in our own country 150 years ago on September 11.

FROM CHAPTER 1: 'Las Vegas Springs' 9/16,1857

“Is that blood on him?” Cao asked.

Henry strained his eyes to see. Then he looked in all directions as if more stumbling wounded gunmen might be descending upon them. Seeing none, he turned his gaze back to the stranger.

“It does look like he’s wounded pretty good. His right sleeve is blood-soaked sure enough.”

“Arrow or gunshot?” Cao asked.

“Maybe knife,” Henry speculated. “I expect he’ll tell us.”

They watched silently as the man grew near. Cao steadied the horses as he peered out from behind them. Henry hunkered down tending the campfire and starting the coffee for a boil.

The closer he got, the clearer it became. This man was exhausted and worn beyond good reason. His wounds, while not fresh, were far from healing. His clothes were torn rags, and what remained of his boots was nearly worthless. His exposed flesh showed festering cuts and scratches. His right arm was clearly wounded . . . probably gunshot. His eyes flickered between the weight of extreme fatigue and the sharpness of incessant pain.

The stranger shuffled into camp holding his rifle with both hands, but making no threatening moves. He stood like a specter silenced before returning to its grave. The brothers measured his approach and responded with their own stillness.

“You boys Mormons?” The stranger spoke first.

The question stumped the brothers. If the stranger had asked for water, for help, for their names, but . . . Finally, after an awkward moment, Henry started.

"I’m Henry Young . . . and this is my brother Cao. We’re both Catholic, I expect.”

Cao’s first thought was to qualify his brother’s statement. But there was something in the stranger’s register. The way he had asked the question. Maybe it was just the unusual nature of the question itself.

“What’s your name . . . and what difference does it make if we’re Mormons or not?”

The stranger started wavering.

“You’re not . . . you’re not Mormons?”

The butt of his rifle hit the ground. The stranger’s torn hands slid up the barrel as he grasped it for support. His body buckled and swung down as he tried to hold himself, even as his grip slipped off the upright barrel. Just before he lay sprawled and still in the dust, the brothers heard him gasp . . . followed by the choking escape of two words, “Thank God.”