Every Day


Every day you can help just by looking:

We have been working on searching and passing the word on the web to help find missing people. People like Aaliyah, who is still missing, whose concerned parents are desperately looking for her. We are committed to their cause.

Sharing is all it takes to contribute to this effort. It doesn’t cost a thing, and it’s a good deed for everyone.

http://www.videolocators.com/Contact.aspx?id=1599

A Start is Born

Every startup founder knows implicitly that startup success is a long hard road. Yet we always dream that we are the exception to the rule. So once in a while, it’s good to look at some facts to temper our imagination.

I was reading an old article written by marketing guru Seth Godin a while back where he mentions that “it takes about six years of hard work to become an overnight success.” Based on a small sample of household names from Bill Gates to Mark Zuckerberg, he is an optimist. Here is some data from Wikipedia:

•    Microsoft – Bill Gates founded Microsoft in 1974, to develop and sell BASIC interpreters for the Altair 8800. Six years later, he managed to land a contract with IBM to provide their IBM PC base operating system. Even still, it was another six years before Microsoft went public in 1986, making him an overnight success worth $350 million.

•    Apple – It took Steve Jobs two decades to become an overnight dot-com billionaire. Established in Cupertino, California in 1975, Apple really didn’t get on the map until the advent of the Macintosh in 1984, nine years later. Even then, it struggled through the 80’s and 90’s, until the advent of the iMac and consumer products.

•    Yahoo! – This company was founded by Jerry Yang and David Filo in January 1994. In April 1996, Yahoo! had its initial public offering, raising $33.8 million, by selling 2.6 million shares at $13 each. Amazon.com and Yahoo! are the benchmarks in the industry for overnight success, but still required two to three years to really get going.

•    Facebook – Mark Zuckerberg, while attending Harvard as a sophomore, concocted “Facemash” in 2002 to get a lost girlfriend off his mind. He later changed the name to Facebook. In 2005, Facebook still showed a yearly net loss of $3.63 million. But within five years it became an overnight success, and now has about 400 million users worldwide.

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“When a child needs more than a parent”


Can you imagine it? A sweet, little girl who is better off when she is NOT with her biological parents because they are unfit to raise her? Well, in the case of our dear, beloved Kaylyn, that is exactly the situation. She was stolen from us by the very people who lost all legal rights to be with her: her mother and father! What does it say about their character that they would forcibly take her away from us? What does it say about their lack of decency?

And so, we are urgently trying to find our darling Kaylyn, for we know these ‘parents’ of hers are too irresponsible and selfish to care for her well-being. We are terribly worried that Kaylyn will be harmed, or neglected, or exposed to things she shouldn’t be. If you could put yourself in our shoes, you would know our pain.
Won’t you please help? If you have seen the face of our precious angel (whom you can see in the picture, with her strawberry-blonde hair and her bright blue eyes), then please, PLEASE contact us! We are so desperate to get our Kaylyn back home where she will be happy and safe again. The last time she was seen was on August 29th of 2017 in North Adams Maine. We are almost 100% certain that she is traveling with her parents—constantly moving from place to place as they desperately try to avoid detection.

The last car they were known to be driving was a black, 1997 Subaru Legacy, with a Massachusetts license plate number 8BC W90.

This is a child that needs a stable education, home and people who love her and that want the best for her. Thinking of Kaylyn first!
http://www.videolocators.com/Contact.aspx?id=2445

A VETERANS STORY


 
We landed and we got ready to disembark and they opened the airplane’s doors. The heat hits you in the face and it then just hangs on until some form of acclimation to this new environment set in. Initially, you’re standing there saying to yourself, I don’t know if I’ll be able to endure this heat. South Vietnam in the was way past global warming in the 60’s.
 
We’ve got our orders for a new battalion or about 500 guys and as usual, it’s hurry up and wait in the Army and nothing new. This was the 101st Airborne. We got our equipment and waited again. Sitting down on the ground I started talking to a guy named Don, just small talk and the conversation about family and home was typical. He was from Indiana, I believe, and he was an E-5 about three grades ahead of me and in the service for 5 years already. A few guys would walk by and, on occasion, you saw someone you saw the month before last at jump school at Ft. Benning, Georgia. One of the guys sat down for a few minutes and asked if we were brothers and we said “no” and why would you ask that? He said well you guys look alike and could pass for brothers. Then some guys that Don knew almost repeated the same question almost word for word. When news came down that we’re heading out and what bus to get on Don and I looked at each other, shook hands and said jokily “see you later brother.”
 
I looked for Don as we got into formation and noticed there were green buses and blue buses. The blue buses had their windows rolled up and the green was rolled all the way down. I asked one of the guys why that was and he said we should have gone in the Air Force as they have AC buses. You think for a second and realize that hindsight is 20/20. It was still extremely hot and you could feel it every day. It took a couple of weeks just to get acclimated but finally, you get used to it and your body adjusts.
 
About the third week we shipped out to our assigned units and mine was the 1/327th of the 101st. I was in line with a weapon and when I got there they gave me this M-79 Grenade launcher. It looked like a sawed-off shotgun but with a bullet hole about the size a little larger than a silver dollar. The ammo of which about weighed almost a lb each, so now I had my regular gear plus an additional 40 lbs of ammo. The M-16 you received 6 clips and total weight 8 lbs. Never even shot one of these things so had to go to the range for a couple of days. It had a stand-up range gage but after the 2nd day I didn’t need it and got better at eyeballing it. I guess to get us used to the continuous walking they got us in gear and we walked the 10 miles to our unit, as just a walk, in the park.
 
I remember when speaking with Don he said it was a good idea not to make really good friends with anyone as to where they came from, their relatives in total. He said the more you know the harder it was if they got it. Got it I said? When they got hit and killed. So I kept it pretty low profile when talking to guys and never got too informative about my life. It was hard enough to get a dear John letter after only 3 weeks in the country, saying she’d write and wanted to be friends. Her last letter she mentioned that her dog had died and when I read that I smiled and one guy said, what’s so funny and I said the dog died. He got that bewildered look on his face and asked, why would that make you smile? You see, about the last time we had slept together I woke up the following morning, stretched out my leg and my foot found this wet spot, the dog had wet the bed and left with great haste, as soon as he saw my face and heard the four letter word I expressed. The girl got mad at me for yelling at the damn dog who just wet the bed and I stuck my foot in it. So the rest of that day I just would smile and said the damn dog died.
 
It was about the 2nd week in August 1966 and a bright day, no clouds and a slight breeze and somewhat of a normal day. About 10 AM we got the word, saddle up, they need our help. Who, what? Then it came down the line, a platoon got hit in an ambush and we had to go see if we could help. It was about a half hour fast-paced march from our camp. The area was pretty much flat dried rice patties and then mountains. We got to the base of the mountain and had about a mile and a half to go and somewhat of a steep climb. When we got to the site most of the team were sitting on the side and the major came up and tossed body bags at us and said we have 3 KIA’s and need your help getting them back to the camp. I took one and went to the nearest body to me. I looked across the path and there was a helmet and in the helmet, there was brain matter and that alone wakes you up the reality of the time at hand. We slowly rolled the guy on to the body bag and I saw the face and it knocked me back, back on my butt and I just stared. The other guy said what’s wrong, Burns, Burns what’s wrong, do you know him and I said yes, yes its Don. Don? Someone you know and I just shook my head yes. That’s all I could do, is look, I couldn’t talk and if I tried nothing would come out. The Sarg came over and looked, then said Burns, isn’t that your brother and I shook my head No, what and then I yelled, NO! No! it is Don.
 
We loaded his body into the bag and it took four of us to carry him down the mountain. Because of the incline guys would lose their grip and drop the bag, I included. I would say I’m sorry Don and every time he slipped from our grip I would say sorry Don. One of the guys said stop that, but I couldn’t. I believe all of us had tears in our eyes but no tears ran down our faces. It took about an hour longer to get off the mountain because of carrying this dead weight of the body. The chopper was already waiting and when we were about 15 feet away we put him down and one more time I said I’m sorry Don. One of the guys helping came over to me and said, he wasn’t your brother, was he? I said no but he might as well have been. Now Don’s words about not making friends came to me and I understood.
 
If you read this, this is what war can do to anyone even if its 50 years later, hasn’t left my memories. It will never ever fade fro.m those who have memories of war.
 
This is why war should only be the ONE option that is TO WIN and no other objective
Ed Burns Sr mgr@videolocators.com

WHAT WE’RE DOING


 WHAT ARE WE DOING & HAVE ACCOMPLISHED

  • The problem we’re solving
    • We’re helping people find the missing and wanted in their lives by using a proprietary marketing method that promotes the story and circumstances generating stronger and better results.  Our proprietary marketing method and findings are supported proof by Google Analytic’s and Alexa.com.
  • Business model
  • Business Model is simple and straightforward. We help people find the missing or wanted in their lives by allowing them to post images and information on our site.  In our confirmation process we’re in contact with the users and convert them to using our full marketing service at less than $240.00r per year.
  • The proprietary Marketing Method also allows us to lock out competitors and lock in lead generation. It combines PPC (Paid Clicks) with Social Media as well as Community Marketing
  • Product roadmap & timeline

o    We’ve created a beta website that has proven the success of the hypothesis and of our projections. Once funded we’ll start generating revenue after 6-9 months and healthy growth after 12-18 months

  • Size of market we’re addressing

o    Our initial market share will be less than 1% but will generate $1 Million plus per month after the first year to 18 months of operation

  • Competitive landscape

o    Our competitors are 85% charitable, 3% legal industry, and 12% background checking firms that purchase 90% of online ad space

  • Projections / Financials

o    Projections hypothesis have achieved credibility by matching and surpassing reach percentage of viewers giving us the potential assurance that the same will follow on revenue generating as calculated.

  • Team Overview

o    The team has been 100% onboard with stock issued to them which has a par value of $1.00 per share. It has been almost 3 years but 50% of the team is still onboard and ready to go full time.

Summary – V Locators activity is based on a strategy that emphasizes creativity and speed in evaluating and capitalizing on the emotional marketing side of internet search as it relates to people who are lost or missing. The company is using an unconventional and proprietary marketing method that opens opportunities to develop more profitable and productive results.

THEY SAY

They say if you want a healthier life and add a few years to your longevity, you have to do something so simple, so direct and so effortless, what are you waiting for? What is it? Helping others, giving to others and sometimes it can just be a simple act of kindness.

HOW WE GOT STARTED & WHY  – http://www.videolocators.com/TheStory.aspx

 

 

 

 

 

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY OF V LOCATORS


sad-child 10A

The boy never met his father face-to-face. In fact, the first time they ever spoke, the boy was a grown man of twenty, preparing for his departure to Vietnam. The phone call was strained, but meaningful; the father told the boy he was proud of him. He insisted they should reconnect when his service in Vietnam ended. Two years later, the boy returned home, fortunate to have his body and mind intact. Soon after, he and his father spoke over the phone. Again, the conversation was strained and challenging, though what really mattered was they were connecting. After a long, but hopeful conversation, they both said their goodbyes and hung up. The boy didn’t know it then, but it was the last direct contact he would ever have with his dad.

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The boy’s story begins, as all too many stories of separation and loss begin, with divorce. The boy was still a baby when his mother determined she wanted nothing to do with the man she had created three children with. Rolling out of Louisiana on a fast train, they didn’t stop until they’d gone as far west as they could possibly go: California.

The boy’s very first memories are of living in a foster home. He thinks he was about three. The tree, the yard, the house… foggy, distant memories, but nonetheless real. At six, the boy remembers the day when a large, ‘woody’ station wagon pulled up in front of the foster home. In the car was his mother, coming to retrieve him. He can still picture how the station wagon looked, but he can’t summon up the picture his mother. This odd moment of selective memory haunts the boy to this day.

By the time he was eight, he was skipping school on a regular basis. This truancy was being encouraged by this by his mother, who wanted him to help her deliver eggs to various homes around town. It wasn’t a serious or steady gig. It never was; his mother slipped into new roles almost as often as she changed clothes—even if this meant moving the kids from place to place every other month or so. But all that moving took a toll; school records show that during the calendar year that bridged the 4th and 5th grades, the boy attended six different institutions. As a child, of course, he didn’t know how unusual his life of constant motion was. Neither did he know the reason behind all the moves: namely, that his mother was writing bad checks, or running away altogether when the rent and utility bills came due.

In the long run, his mother’s ways of avoiding reality caught up with her. One day, the boy’s older sister flatly told him, “Mom’s got to go away for a while.” And so, it was off to a second foster home, where things briefly took a bright turn. His new foster-mother, Alice, was a warm and kindly, gray-haired woman in her late fifties. Among her many pleasant attributes, Alice was organized and disciplined. “Homework, first! Change of clothes, second. Then, out to play…” was the unofficial motto in Alice’s home. It’s no surprise, then, that under her caring tutelage, the boy’s grades shot up from Ds and Fs to As and Bs. He even got his very first bicycle while living with Alice; an unexpected gift presented on the advent of his eleventh birthday.

That summer, the boy’s older sister arranged for him to go to a church summer camp for six, whole, spectacular weeks. It was the first time in his life he’d ever experienced the sort of all-in, 24-7, 360-degree, total-immersion feeling that a quality summer camp can provide, and the boy loved every minute of it! Sadly, these memories came to be tainted by what was about to happen next. For reasons beyond his control, the boy did not return home to the devoted and loving support of Alice, but to yet another foster family, where eight other biological and foster children battled the boy, daily, for a thin share of parental attention. It was a battle he was unprepared for, however, as he was not a fighter in that sense.

And yet, without Alice’s warm focus; without the individualized love of a mother or father; without the simple thought that anyone even cared, the boy adjusted. Why dwell on what he didn’t have, he thought. Why dwell on this lack of love and guidance that all other children in normal families took for granted? Why dwell on the dark, subliminal thoughts that nightly told him he was unworthy of having a family? Better to adjust. Better to adjust and sit on the sidelines of life. Better to just take it on the chin when the other boys taunted him with ugly questions about why his parents had ‘dumped’ him. (Of course, this teasing only fueled the doubts he had in his own mind: Why did his parents dump him? Why didn’t they want him? Did they ever love him? If not, why not? These were questions he neither could nor wanted to answer.)

By the time the boy entered high school, he had learned to suppress these damaging and hurtful thoughts. After all, he reasoned, he still had himself to rely on and make his life as good as it could be. Virtually all his energy was now thrown into his schoolwork, and he earned excellent grades. And when he wasn’t in school or studying, he was working hard in his part-time job at Holtzman Family Shoes. The owner of the shoe store, Mr. Holtzman, was a good and generous man who appreciated the boy’s strong work ethic. Indeed, the entire Holtzman family looked after him, as if aware that his needs went beyond the boundaries of mere employment.

Meanwhile, there was more to the boy’s high school experience than what he was achieving in the classroom; he developed true and lasting friendships with many of his classmates. In fact, these friendships were so meaningful to him that when—midway through his senior year—he was awarded the opportunity to graduate early (due to his accelerated academics), he chose to stay on and graduate with his friends.

Once in college, the boy’s social life blossomed and thrived when girls and beer were added to the friendship mix. However, too much of a good thing tends to come with a price, and the boy’s indulgences were no exception; his grades took a distinct nose-dive. Under ordinary circumstances, a GPA dipping below 2.1 would hardly be cause for panic, but this was 1965, and the war in Vietnam was in full fury. And, since Uncle Sam’s favorable treatment of collegiate males evaporated when grades entered the sub-2.1 territory, the boy was only too aware that his ‘number’ would soon be up.

It was this moment when he felt the void of his father most of all. Facing a serious, life-altering decision, there was no one to offer thoughtful advice or sage wisdom. His mother was dead. His sisters were preoccupied with their own lives. And his father… his father was nothing more than a shadowy, psychological projection. The boy soon decided he had no choice but to take matters into his own hands: he volunteered to join the Screaming Eagles, a regiment more commonly known as the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army. This tactical decision felt right on a couple of fronts: it eliminated the random uncertainty of the draft and it payed an extra $25 per month, which was most important because it meant the boy could continue to make payments on his beloved, 1958 Ford Thunderbird!

Eight weeks of Basic Training was immediately followed by four weeks of Advanced Individual Training and six weeks of Jump School. When the instruction was completed, he was offered the customary chance to say his good-byes before shipping off. For him, that meant visiting his two sisters in California. It was during this brief stay in his older sister’s apartment that he got the shock of his life: his younger sister casually happened upon some old paperwork that referenced their father’s Social Security number. In no time, she managed not only to locate their father, but arranged a phone call with him as well. The prospect of finally connecting with the dad the boy had never known left him nervous and numb. But he got his chance to speak, he calmly managed to tell his dad everything he could about the 101st Airborne Combat Unit, not to mention all that was on the horizon for him overseas. It wasn’t a particularly long conversation, but what stood out like a bright, shining star was when the boy’s father told him that he was proud of him. This was the first time anyone had uttered such words to him, and the boy would never forget it. Before saying good-bye, his father asked him to call again when he returned safely home.

The boy was one of the lucky few who did return safely home. Further, he managed to compartmentalize and cordon off much of the war’s emotional baggage. As for his emotional baggage, that was forever embedded in him from his youth, so even if the conflict in Vietnam left him relatively unscathed, the conflicts of his upbringing still churned.

After a brief respite, the boy reached out to his father just as they had agreed. His second-ever conversation with his dad left him feeling unguardedly optimistic and happy. The prospect of a new beginning for them seemed more than just possible, it seemed real—just as their father and son connection seemed real. But a few short months later—when the boy called his father’s number only to learn it was no longer in service—he began to realize the new beginning was more likely a blunt endpoint. A ladder to nowhere. A dead end. Apparently, his father was not ready to deal with a genuine relationship with his son. Not then. Not ever.

With no one to share his disappointment with, the boy shouldered on. With help from the G.I. Bill, he was able to return to college. And now, with the clear-eyed discipline of a veteran soldier, he made the most of his academic opportunities. Cruising through his first semester with an impressive grade point average of 3.85, he was back in the mindset of self-reliance. He was the only person responsible for his life; no one else.

Despite such independent thinking, when his older sister phoned to inform him their mother was dying, he dropped everything to go see her for the last time. Upon entering the hospital room, however, the boy was greeted not by his mother, but by her haunted, empty shell. She neither knew who he was nor that he was even there by her side. She died soon after. By this stage of his life, the boy had come to expect nothing but confusion and uncertainty from his mother. But she was his mother, and he would miss her all the same.

After graduation, it was onto the school of hard knocks. At this point, he was a mature, young man—capable of more than he thought he might be. At least, in the realm of his professional life. An ill-considered marriage came and went, though it happily presented him with the precious gift of a sweet, baby girl. But his personal life quickly caught up with his work life; shortly after the demise of his first marriage, he met the woman to whom he would remain married “for as long as they both shall live…” (To date, that has been many, many wonderful years!)

Life with his darling bride was joyful and fruitful. In what felt like no time, they had two, healthy, rambunctious sons to chase after. Despite never having had a father, or even a father-figure in his life, the boy seemed prepared for his role. Somehow, as a dad, he instinctively knew what to do. Though he was never perfect, he was certainly always loving and supportive. As his three children slowly grew into young adults, the boy marveled at how wonderful, engaging, and capable they were. He also marveled at the solid relationship he had with each. Though he knew his wife deserved all the credit for this, the truth remained that despite long odds he’d managed to become more than a competent parent.

On the career front, he appeared more than competent, as well. His inquisitive nature, along with an unusually strong aptitude for computers, spelled a bright future. Various jobs in basic sales and marketing management roles soon translated into a position as the Senior Manager of Internet Marketing at a prestigious company. During this time, he created an entirely new method of Internet marketing that delivered highly-targeted, demographic results. ‘The Method,’ as he came to call it, refashioned the typical approach to internet searches by using analytics to diagnose emotions and behavior. Technicalities aside, The Method worked very well for his clients, who were downright thrilled with the results.

One day, on the heels of his successes, the boy began pondering his past. Sitting alone in his office, he couldn’t help but lament how he and his father had never been involved in each other’s lives. Suddenly, he was hit hard by a wave of “whys?” and “what ifs?” and “why nots?”. After the questions subsided, he was struck by an incredibly powerful idea: What if The Method could be used to search for his father? And perhaps just as significantly, what if The Method could be used to help others find the loved ones missing from their lives?

Almost immediately, he put his idea to the test. He was quickly able to identify a man—listed as the owner of a company more than eight hundred miles away—whose name matched that of his father, precisely. He picked up the phone and called the company. When a receptionist answered, the boy gave her a detailed explanation for his call. She informed him that the man he was describing was, indeed, the father of the current owner, Ernie Jr. However, she went on to share the sad news that Ernie Sr. had passed away just a few years prior. At this very moment, Ernie Jr. entered the office and immediately the receptionist handed him the phone. Ernie leaned in and said, “Hi, this is Ernie. How can I help you?” The boy’s reply was simple and to the point: “Ernie, I think we might be related.” He then gave Ernie Jr. his full name and added that his father was often referred to as either Doc or Mac. Ernie Jr. shot back, “That’s him! That’s my dad as well!”

As it turned out, the boy had four half-brothers, not just one! That summer, he traveled to New Orleans and met them all in person (and then some, too). The time he spent together with the ‘other half’ of his life was amazing; they sat around sharing and inquiring and probing until they were all too tired to do anything but laugh. In the end, there were more questions raised than answers given, but that did nothing to quell the excitement that was stirred up by this wild and unusual family reunion.

But now, the boy was deeply inspired. Knowing it was The Method’s unique approach to analytics that had helped him reunite with his family, he worked tirelessly to enhance and formalize its features. The result was V Locators, a one-of-a-kind enterprise predicated on the altruistic goal of helping other people find their missing and wanted loved-ones.

Early after its official launch, V Locators helped Eleanor Ritter of Chattanooga search for her son, Terrence, who had been missing for almost six years. In less than three months,

V Locators’ cutting-edge diagnostics found Terrence working in a factory in St. Louis. Not long after that, mother and son were reunited. Since that happy day, the two have become a family again—celebrating holidays and special occasions together, just as any other family would.

While finding Terrence may have been V Locators’ first success, it was hardly the last. To date, the company has helped a number of distressed parents, children, grandparents, and spouses locate the individual(s) missing from their lives. Each day results in more inquiries, more web-traffic, and higher success-rates than the day before, and today the company is making its break toward become a national success.

As for the boy, though he might have aged somewhat since our story began, that hasn’t slowed him down a bit. Today, and every day, he can be found in the V Locators offices, working hard to help people solve the most enduring and painful of all mysteries:

Where are the missing?

The Web  www.vlocators.com  The how – https://youtu.be/f7pC35JnkgU

 

 

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY OF V LOCATORS


THE STORY

The boy never met his father face-to-face. In fact, the first time they ever spoke, the boy was a grown man of twenty, preparing for his departure to Vietnam. The phone call was strained, but meaningful; the father told the boy he was proud of him. He insisted the boy contact him when his service in Vietnam ended. Two years later, the boy returned home, fortunate to have his body and mind intact. Soon after, the boy and his father spoke over the phone. Again, the conversation was strained and challenging, though what really mattered was they were connecting. After a long, but pleasant conversation, they both said their goodbyes and hung up. The boy didn’t know it then, but that was to be the last direct contact he would ever have with his dad.



The boy’s story begins, as all too many stories of separation and loss begin, with divorce. The boy was still a baby when his mother determined she wanted nothing to do with the man whom she’d created three children with. Rolling out of Louisiana on a fast train, they didn’t stop until they’d gone as far west as they could possibly go: California.

The boy’s very first memories are of living in a foster home. He thinks he was about three. The tree, the yard, the house… foggy, distant memories, but nonetheless real. At six, the boy remembers the day when a large, ‘woody’ station wagon pulled up in front of the foster home. In the car was his mother, coming to retrieve him. He can still picture how the station wagon looked, but he can’t summon up the picture his mother. This odd moment of selective memory haunts the boy to this day.

By the time he was eight, he was skipping school on a regular basis. He was being encouraged to do this by his mother, who wanted him to help her deliver eggs to various homes around town. It wasn’t a serious or steady gig. It never was; his mother slipped into new roles almost as often as she changed clothes—even if this meant moving the kids from place to place every other month or so. But all that moving took a toll; school records show that during the calendar year that bridged the 4th and 5th grades, the boy attended six different institutions. As a child, of course, he didn’t know how unusual his life of constant motion was. Neither did he know the reason behind all the moves: namely, his mother writing bad checks, or fleeing altogether when her rent and utility bills came due.

Eventually, his mother’s ways of avoiding reality caught up with her. One day, the boy’s older sister abruptly told him, “Mom’s got to go away for a while.” And so, it was off to a second foster home, where things briefly took a bright turn. His new foster-mother, Alice, was a warm and kindly, gray-haired woman in her late fifties. Among her many pleasant attributes, Alice was organized and disciplined. “Homework, first! Change of clothes, second. Then, out to play…” was the unofficial motto in Alice’s home. It’s no surprise, then, that under her caring tutelage, the boy’s grades shot up from Ds and Fs to As and Bs. The boy even got his very first bicycle while living with Alice; an unexpected gift presented on the advent of his eleventh birthday.

That summer, the boy’s older sister arranged for him to go to a church summer camp for six, whole, spectacular weeks! It was the first time in his life he’d ever experienced the sort of all-in, 24-7, 360-degree, total-immersion feeling that a quality summer camp can provide, and the boy loved every minute of it! Sadly, these memories came to be tainted by what was about to happen next. For reasons beyond his control, the boy did not return home to the devoted and loving support of Alice, but to yet another foster family, where eight other biological and foster children battled the boy, daily, for a share of parental attention. It was a battle the boy was unprepared for, however, as he was not a fighter in that sense.

And yet, without Alice’s warm focus; without the individualized love of a mother or father; without the simple thought that anyone even cared, the boy adjusted. Why dwell on what he didn’t have, he thought. Why dwell on this lack of love and guidance that all other children in normal families took for granted? Why dwell on the dark, subliminal thoughts that nightly told him he was unworthy of having a family? Better to adjust. Better to adjust and sit on the sidelines of life and take it on the chin when the other boys taunted him with ugly questions about why his parents had ‘dumped’ him. (Of course, this teasing only fueled the doubts he had in his own mind: Why did his parents dump him? Why didn’t they want him? Did they not love him? If not, why not? These were questions he neither could nor wanted to answer.)

By the time the boy entered high school, he had learned to suppress these damaging and hurtful thoughts. After all, he reasoned, he still had himself to rely on and make his life as good as it could be. Virtually all his energy was now thrown into his schoolwork, and he earned excellent grades. And when he wasn’t in school or studying, he was working hard in his part-time job at Holtzman Family Shoes. The owner of the shoe store, Stanley Holtzman, was a good and generous man who appreciated the boy’s strong work ethic. Indeed, the entire Holtzman family looked after him, as if aware that his needs went beyond the boundaries of mere employment.

Meanwhile, there was more to the boy’s high school experience than what he was achieving in the classroom; he developed many true and lasting friendships with his classmates. In fact, these friendships were so meaningful to him that when—midway through his senior year—he was awarded the opportunity to graduate early (due to his accelerated academics), he chose to stay on and graduate with his friends.

Once in college, the boy’s social life blossomed and thrived when girls and beer were added to the friendship mix. However, too much of a good thing usually comes with a price to pay, and the boy’s indulgences were no exception; his grades took a distinct nose-dive. Under ordinary circumstances, a GPA dipping below 2.1 would hardly be cause for panic, but this was 1965, and the war in Vietnam was in full fury. And, since Uncle Sam’s favorable treatment of collegiate males evaporated when grades entered the sub-2.1 territory, the boy was only too aware that his ‘number’ would soon be up.

It was at this moment he felt the void of his father most of all. Facing a serious, life-altering decision, there was no one in his life to offer thoughtful advice or sage wisdom. His sisters were seemingly preoccupied with their own lives. And his father… his father was nothing more than a shadowy, psychological projection. The boy soon decided he had no choice but to take matters into his own hands: he volunteered to join the Screaming Eagles, a regiment more commonly known as the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army. This purely tactical decision felt right on a couple of fronts: it eliminated the random uncertainty of the draft and it payed an extra $25 per month, which was most important because it meant the boy could continue to make payments on his beloved, 1958 Ford Thunderbird!

Eight weeks of Basic Training was immediately followed by four weeks of Advanced Individual Training and six weeks of Jump School. When the boy’s training was completed, he was offered the customary chance to say his familial good-byes before shipping off. For him, that meant visiting his two sisters in California. It was during this brief stay in his older sister’s apartment that he got the shock of his life: his younger sister casually happened upon some old paperwork that referenced their father’s Social Security number. In no time, she managed not only to locate their father, but arranged a phone call with him as well. The prospect of finally connecting with the dad the boy had never known left him nervous and numb. When he got his chance to speak, however, he was able to calmly tell his dad everything he could about the 101st Airborne Combat Unit, not to mention all that was on the horizon for him overseas. It wasn’t a particularly long conversation, but what stood out like a bright, shining star was when the boy’s father told him that he was proud of him. This was the first time anyone had uttered such words to him, and the boy would never forget it. Before saying good-bye, his father asked him to call again when he returned safely home.

The boy was one of the lucky few who did return safely home. Further, he managed to compartmentalize and cordon off much of the war’s emotional baggage. As for his emotional baggage, that was forever embedded in him from his youth, so even if the conflict in Vietnam left him relatively unscathed, the conflicts of his upbringing still churned.

After a brief respite, the boy reached out to his father just as they had agreed. His second-ever conversation with his dad left him feeling unguardedly optimistic and happy. The prospect of a new beginning for them seemed more than just possible, it seemed real—just as their father and son connection seemed real. But a few, short months later—when the boy called his father’s number—only to learn it was no longer in service—he began to suspect the new beginning was more likely a blunt endpoint. A ladder to nowhere. A dead end. Apparently, his father was not ready to deal with a genuine relationship with his son. Not then. Not ever.

With no one to share his disappointment with, the boy soldiered on. With help from the G.I. Bill, he was able to return to college. And now, with the clear-eyed discipline of a veteran soldier, he made the most of his academic opportunities. Cruising through his first semester with an impressive grade point average of 3.85, he was fully back in the mindset of self-reliance. He was the only person responsible for his life; no one else.

Despite such independent thinking, when his older sister phoned to inform him their mother was dying, he dropped everything to go see her for the last time. Upon entering the hospital room, however, the boy was greeted not by his mother, but by her haunted, empty shell. She neither knew who he was nor that he was there by her side. She died soon after. By this stage of his life, the boy had come to expect nothing but confusion and uncertainty from his mother. But she was his mother, and he would miss her all the same.

After graduation, it was onto the school of hard knocks. At this point, he was a mature, young man—capable of more than he thought he might be. At least, in the realm of his professional life. An ill-considered marriage came and went, though it happily presented him with the precious gift of a sweet, baby girl. And it wasn’t long before his personal life caught up with his work life. Shortly after the demise of his first marriage, he met the woman to whom he would remain married “for as long as they both shall live…” (To date, that has been many, many wonderful years!)

Life with his darling bride was joyful and fruitful. In what felt like no time, they had two, healthy, rambunctious sons to chase after. Despite never having had a father, or even a father-figure in his life, the boy seemed prepared for his role. Somehow, as a dad, he instinctively knew what to do. Though he was never perfect, he was certainly always loving and supportive. As his three children slowly grew into young adults, the boy marveled at how wonderful, engaging, and capable they were. He also marveled at the solid relationship he had with each. Though he knew his wife deserved all the credit for this, the truth remained that—despite long odds—he’d managed to become more than a competent parent.

On the career front, he appeared more than competent, as well. His inquisitive nature, along with an unusually strong aptitude for computers, spelled a bright future. Various jobs in basic sales and marketing management roles soon translated into a position as the Senior Manager of Internet Marketing at a prestigious company. During this time, he created an entirely new method of Internet marketing that delivered highly-targeted, demographic results. ‘The Method,’ as he came to call it, refashioned the typical approach to internet searches by using analytics to diagnose emotions and behavior. Technicalities aside, The Method worked very well for his clients, who were only too thrilled with the results.

One day, on the heels of his success, the boy began pondering his past. Sitting alone in his office, he couldn’t help but lament how he and his father had never been involved in each other’s lives. Suddenly, he was hit hard by a wave of “whys?” and “what ifs?” and “why nots?”. After the questions subsided, he was struck by an incredibly powerful idea: What if The Method could be used to search for his father? And perhaps just as significantly, what if The Method could be used to help others find the loved ones missing from their lives?

Almost immediately, he put his idea to the test. He was quickly able to identify a man—listed as the owner of a company more than eight hundred miles away—whose name matched that of his father, precisely. He picked up the phone and called the company. When a receptionist answered, the boy gave her a detailed explanation for his call. She informed him that the man he was describing was, indeed, the father of the current owner, Ernie Jr. However, she went on to share the sad news that Ernie Sr. had passed away just a few years prior. At this very moment, Ernie Jr. entered the office and, immediately, the receptionist handed him the phone. Ernie leaned in and said, “Hi, this is Ernie. How can I help you?” The boy’s reply was simple and to the point: “Ernie, I think we might be related.” He then gave Ernie Jr. his full name and added that his father was often referred to as either Doc or Mac. Ernie Jr. shot back, “That’s him! That’s my dad as well!”

As it turned out, the boy had four half-brothers, not just one! That summer, he traveled to New Orleans and met them all in person. The time he spent together with the ‘other half’ of his life was amazing; they sat around sharing and inquiring and probing until they were all too tired to do anything but laugh. In the end, there were more questions raised than answers given, but that did nothing to quell the excitement that was stirred up by this wild and unusual family reunion.

But now, the boy was truly inspired. Knowing it was The Method’s unique approach to analytics that had helped him reunite with his family, he worked tirelessly to enhance and formalize its features. The result was V Locators, a one-of-a-kind enterprise predicated on the altruistic goal of helping other people find their missing and wanted loved-ones.

Early after its official launch, V Locators helped Eleanor Ritter of Chattanooga search for her son, Terrence, who had been missing for almost six years. In less than three months,
V Locators’ cutting-edge diagnostics found Terrence working in a factory in St. Louis. Not long after that, mother and son were reunited. Since that happy day, the two have become a family again—celebrating holidays and special occasions together, just as any other family would.

While finding Terrence may have been V Locators’ first success, it was hardly the last. To date, the company has helped a number of distressed parents, children, grandparents, and spouses locate the individual(s) missing from their lives. Each day results in more inquiries, more web-traffic, and higher success-rates than the day before. In fact, evidence provided by impartial, ongoing, daily analytics* shows that V Locators is poised to own 30% of the market share in year one, and an 80% share by year three. Simply put, the company is making its break toward become a national success.

As for the boy, though he might have aged somewhat since our story began, that hasn’t slowed him down a bit. Today, and every day, he can be found in the V Locators offices, working hard to help people solve the most enduring and painful of all mysteries:

Where are the missing loved ones and why?

http://www.vlocators.com
by: David Allison