Ghostwriter / Author / Content Creator

Author: tomloesch

The Artisan, Museum District, Houston, Texas

Located on the edge of the Museum District near Downtown Houston, Texas, The Artisan is an eclectic mix of post-modern efficiency and old-world style.  Clean, safe sidewalks planted with new oaks and park-style seating are meticulously maintained all year.  Inside our spacious courtyard, protected from the bustle of the city, you can relax in a hot tub that springs from East-Texas limestone formations giving the feeling of natural seclusion. 

Luxurious antiques line the halls and entryway where your personal concierge is waiting to help you explore the nearby amenities and galleries in Houston’s famous Museum District.  Immediate freeway access and a 5 minute Uber ride to downtown make this the ideal location for your next staycation.

(Fictional Advertisement)

Jurgen threatens a bar owner in Frankfurt.

Late in the evening on Thursday, the door to the bar swung open too hard and the bells clattered as the heavy door bounced off the adjacent wall.  Frau Guten tapped her husband on the arm when he failed to look up from serving a customer and when he saw Jürgen followed by two other suited thugs, he cursed under his breath as he affected a broad smile.

Willkommen meine Freunde!”

(“Welcome, my friends!”) he said as he stepped around the side of the bar.  

Arms outstretched, he approached Jürgen who merely sat at an empty table and struck a match to light the cigarette he had been pulling out.  As Jürgen looked up sidelong at the mark, he leered and the bar owner dropped his arms from the aborted greeting.

“What can I bring to you good men?” he asked, hoping to gain a little favor before discussing the money situation.

Jürgen said “A Stout.”  As he looked back down at the table, dismissing the older man, his two apprentices remained standing.  

They were both physically larger than Jürgen, but neither of them had the mental fortitude to gain and keep the loyalty of their marks.  This would be a learning experience for both of them.  He did not acknowledge either of them and expected them to remain standing.  This was an indication to the entire establishment that he was there to conduct business and the few customers who were talking at a table in the far corner of the bar downed their beers and gathered their coats, heading for the door.  As the owner returned with the Stout beer, he saw the backs of the three men as the door swung closed behind them.  This would not be a pleasant visit.

As he set the Stout down in front of Jürgen, the strongarm snatched his wrist and held it flat against the table.  This put the man in a very uncomfortable position, especially due to his age.  Bending over and not being able to stand or move, his back began to ache almost immediately, but he stayed still as Jürgen took up the Stout with the other hand and downed half of it in one gulp.  He set the glass down on the table and the old man thought he would say something to move the situation along, but he just sat there holding his wrist in place against the table as the ache in his back continued to mount.

“Your payment is late.” Jürgen said, not moving or looking up.

“Yes.  I am very sorry about that, but this week has been even worse than last week.  I have last week’s payment for you but not all of this week’s yet.  By Saturday afternoon, I should have the rest.”

Jürgen stayed very still for a long while.  The bar owner, and his wife behind the bar who was listening but trying to look as if she were not, stood  perfectly still…waiting.  Jürgen then turned, throwing one leg over the bench so he could face the old man. Loosening his grip on the man’s wrist, the allowed his hand to slide down so that his palm was cradling the bar owner’s palm.  As he did so, he placed his other hand on top of the other man’s hand so that his hand was between both of Jürgen’s hands.  He then began to contract his grip, very gradually, as he spoke.

“You know how understanding I am with you and your wife and I am only too happy to be so.  I want to take care of you both and make certain you can have a prosperous business here.”  Jürgen’s grip ran out of room at this point and the pressure on the man’s fingers and knuckles began to increase.  “You have my word that I will continue to keep you safe and make sure you always have a place to do business.  

As the man’s restraint began to waiver, a grimace began to appear in fits and starts on his face.  His wife across the room set the glass and cloth she was using down and put her hands flat on the bar, still trying not to look directly at what was transpiring.  Jürgen’s grip continued to build pressure and one of the man’s knuckles popped.  Neither of his henchmen moved at all, but stared straight ahead.

“I want you to know that my boss is very sympathetic and he has asked me to give you some extra time, but we know how expensive it is to provide protection for the community and we don’t want his faith in you to waiver, now do we?”

Through gritted teeth, the old man forced “No, sir.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that.”  The pressure ceased building, but Jürgen did not release it.  “It is out of my way to come back here tomorrow so I will take what you have ready for me today and we can leave the rest for next week, but I don’t want to have to explain to my boss why you were late again, so we’ll just keep this between us and I will let him know that you are a trustworthy businessman.  Would that be a good thing?”

The pain was getting to the old man and he answered too quickly “Yes, yes.”

Jürgen released the pressure, but not all at once.  He very gradually relaxed his grip making the man wait for him to decide when to let go.  Finally, as Jürgen ended the hand holding, he patted the back of the old man’s hand gently and looked into his eyes.  “I’m so glad we agree.”

Warily, the old man retracted his hand and gestured for his wife with a too-fast wave.  She immediately took up a paper bundle from under the bar and quick-stepped around the bar to stand behind her husband, handing him the bundle.  He extended the bundle toward Jürgen, but the strongarm did not take it.  As the man stood with the bundle extended, Jürgen took up his glass, downed the rest of the Stout, set it down enjoying the beverage, and without looking up, tapped with a flat palm against the table before withdrawing his hand.  The old man set the bundle of Marks down where Jürgen had tapped and one of his henchmen reached for it, tucking it into his coat’s front pocket.  He did this all without moving the point of his gaze against the far wall.

“I look forward to seeing you next week,” said Jürgen, rising and straightening his coat.  Touching the brim of his hat, he nodded and the two younger men turned to exist before Jürgen.

The old woman came up behind her husband and cupped his aching hand in her own, resting her forehead against his shoulder while he patted her arm.

(Copyright 2020 by Phillip Johnson. Written and reproduced May 21, 2020 by Tom Loesch. All rights reserved.)

Creating A Certificate of Analysis

August 4, 2017

Creating Certificates of Analysis (C of A)

This procedure requires Adobe Acrobat Pro, Microsoft Word, company letterhead, and Topaz signature encryption software.  High-risk products like ophthalmic products, flammable products, and oxidizing tooth whiteners must be certified by the company to protect it from losses or litigation.  Low-risk products like shampoos and conditioners may not require certification but it is good practice to always certify them to our customers to increase their trust in the company’s products.

If no template exists for a particular formula/product, create one by following these steps.

  1. Open the file SERVER LOCATION REDACTED and click File>Save As and then change the name to remove the word Template and add the formula name.
  2. Fill in as much of the information as you can.  Copy all of the parameters from the batch record into the Analysis and Specification columns but don’t provide any values in the Results column.  Leave out any information that will be different each time the new template is used.
  3. Save the file, Close it, and make the Read Only property of the file true or checked.

To create a C of A from a template, follow these steps.

  1. Open the appropriate template located in SERVER LOCATION REDACTED.
  2. Save the C of A to the appropriate folder in SERVER LOCATION REDACTED changing the word Template to the formula name and lot number.
  3. Copy all of the Quality Control information onto the form from the Batch Record.  Certificates should show all of the information collected by the QCU or QCA when releasing the certified product for sale.
  4. Sign and Print the document to Adobe PDF and save the file in SERVER LOCATION REDACTED.
  5. Send a copy of the correct Certificate of Analysis to the client with each shipment of product and by any other means they request.

When creating a Certificate of Analysis you are required to begin with a template and not the previous C of A for that product.  If a mistake exists on the previous C of A, that mistake may propagate to future documents which could damage the company’s reputation and/or regulatory compliance status if discovered.

(The above procedure was created as part of the SOP Manual System at a previous employer. Sensitive information has been redacted and no proprietary information has been disclosed.)

Dr. Horst Schumann, a Nazi doctor assigned to Auschwitz Block 10, has fled to Ghana after being discovered in Sudan.

Even sitting in his favorite cafe in the shade with a dusty breeze blowing was unbearably hot.  The dust seemed to swirl and float in the air, each grain that touched him sticking to his sweaty skin wherever it was exposed.  Horst Schumann’s favorite cafe was a tiny porch in front of a two-story mud structure with dry wooden posts holding up a type of thatched pagoda that looked as if it would fall on him at any moment.  There was nothing in this city that had improved significantly after the formation of the Second Republic.  The local savages still lived in squalor and foreigners were still treated with hatred and violence, but the Arian races, the British who had colonized, the Germans who were also white and so were treated well, and other groups like the occasional Italian, Swede, or Noorse, were treated like royalty.  Of course they were.  They rightfully held all of the money and were the only source of class in the country.

Edward Akufo-Addo, who was President of Ghana in the previous regime, was deposed by coup d’état as was the Prime Minister, Kofi Busia.  Both men, along with everyone else in the shell government were imprisoned when the British reclaimed control through its proxies in power.  Horst had come to the Kejetia Market, in the Ashanti region of southern Ghana on his first day as head of the Kumasi Central Hospital located just north of the market and had returned every morning for the past few years.  The local Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology was in the process of taking over the hospital and it was unlikely that he would be allowed to remain in his position as Director for much longer.  It would be too risky even to accept the position if it were offered to him after the incident in Khartoum, Sudan that led him to flee here.

After the war, as the Red Army marched through Auschwitz, he and Jürgen Schumer, his medical assistant, were forced to flee.  Jürgen was young and of little note, so it was easy for him to disappear into nearby Hungary under an assumed name until the Allies could be overthrown by the rightful heirs of the Reich, the Arian races.  Unfortunately, that never happened and the German people had been kept under the reign of the Allies who carved Germany into blocks for each country to plunder.  The economy had remained in shambles until recently.  Horst didn’t have the luxury of anonymity since he was one of the most famous and prestigious reproductive research doctors in the Reich.  He had spent the better part of his career looking for the most effective an economical way to sterilize the Jewish race so that it would go extinct, but now it didn’t appear that this would happen in his lifetime.

In Khartoum, an old woman had recognized him and pointed him out to the authorities.  That would have been the end of it, since he had the protection of the ruling family, but the woman had connections in the British Parliament and she insisted on forcing the issue with the locals who warned him they were coming before they took any action.  His new life here in Kumasi was definitely a step down and he longed for the day when the Allied dogs would be run out of the Fatherland and the Arian races would take over the world.

When practicing in Auschwitz, he had the great opportunity to have the blessing and power of the Reich and Adolph Hitler himself to conduct well-documented experiments, but when the Allies moved in, his team was not able to take all the records with them.  Much of their research had been lost or fallen into the hands of the Allies who then proved what hypocrites they were by using the research to continue experimenting, but this time on willing subjects like those with gender disorders.  Instead of calling them what they were, deranged perverts, they made up medical sounding terms like transsexual.  If it were up to him, they would all be put down.  Why would any society accept and even encourage this sort of rotting from within?  It was just beyond his way of thinking.

After some coffee, he picked up the letter he had received the day before.  It had taken longer this time because of all the upheaval going on in the local government.  The network of operatives that kept the Nazi political party alive had to be very careful when transporting letters and goods around the globe.  Though they had the assistance of many powerful groups like the Vatican and many of the ruling parties throughout Africa and South America, some places were still risky like America and Europe.

“Dear Uncle,

I was able to pay an extended visit to my mother, your dear sister, recently.  She is doing well but is unhappy about the family matters we discussed.  We have not come to an agreement yet about what we should do with the family properties, but one fortuitous coincidence will entertain you greatly.  If you recall the family picture you showed me all those years ago, I have located one of the three long-lost sons that used to go camping together.  Albie was very happy to see me, but unfortunately, I was not able to stay very long and we did not get to settle things between us.  Please let me know if I should pursue this further.  He would very much like to hear from you too.

Mama Freda is so happy to know that you are looking out for her, but she would also like to know what to do about the family properties, since she has little experience in such matters.  Hopefully, with your wisdom, she will come to find a new path.

Yours Always,


Even in his fifties, the man was nearly as useless as he was in his twenties.  At least he had discovered something Horst had not anticipated.  One of the three boys they had been experimenting on toward the end of his tenure at Auschwitz was now located and, though Jürgen had attempted to eliminate him, he was unsuccessful and may have been identified.  He had also confirmed that this woman, Dr. Freda Dudek, was indeed using financial records to locate him in Ghana, so that question was now answered.  What he did not know yet was why.  Horst would have to deal with Jürgen eventually, but that could wait until he either made another serious mistake or outlived his usefulness.  The problem now was how to find out more about this Dr. Dudek.  He would write back to Jürgen later, but the letter would have to be carefully formulated to transmit the necessary information recoded into a family letter.  Since Jürgen had been forced to return to Frankfurt after his failed attempt to kill the patient, Albert, who could identify him, they would have a little time to regroup, but he was starting to wonder if funding Jürgen’s activities in Cologne were a mistake.  Perhaps he should have chosen someone else.

He folded the blue postal tissue gently and stuffed it into his breast pocket before leaving money for the cafe owner and his wife.  As he saw Horst leaving, he beckoned to his wife to go collect the money before a street urchin could steal it and as she rushed to the rickety table, she bowed and put her hands together in an overly-grateful, nearly prostrate degree of thanks.  Dogs were the same in any part of the world, he thought.  He always left a little extra money so he would be well treated, but these people weren’t capable of the advanced thinking that were a prerequisite of social graces.  He brushed some of the dust that had accumulated on his pants while he sat and joined the throng of people coming into the market.  As he walked, he was careful to keep a hand in the pocket where his money was.  This had the advantage of making it impossible for a pickpocket to put their hand in unnoticed, but it also indicated to a pickpocket where his money was located, so most of his money was in a money belt worn under his pants at his waist.  One had to think like this in a society of thieving scavengers.

As he walked toward the hospital, he formulated his response.  Certainly, Jürgen would be waiting for specific instructions, not knowing what action would yield the greatest return at the lowest risk.  If he had any intelligence at all, he would have already figured this out for himself, taken action, and reported the results.  It was probably a good thing that he had not.  After all, how can an orderly in a mental asylum fail to kill a helpless patient?  The foolishness was remarkable!  So…the next step would have to either answer the question of who Dr. Dudek was or result in her death, which would be unfortunate if they did not discover who else was involved in tracking him.  In any case, he would have to be more careful when moving money around and Jürgen would not be able to receive any more funds through official channels since that appeared to be the method they used to find him after escaping Khartoum.

(Copyright 2020 by Phillip Johnson. Written and reproduced May 21, 2020 by Tom Loesch with permission. All rights reserved.)

Horace Kraemer is under hypnosis being guided by Dr. Freda Dudek.

Being at the corner of the basement meant that there was no need to darken windows or deal with outside noise interrupting their peace and quiet.  With the door closed and Helga working on patient files in the front room, it was nearly silent except for Horace’s deep, slow breathing.  Dr. Freda was well aware that the energy she transmitted into the room would affect Horace, so she also kept her breathing slow and regular, her voice soft and soothing.

“What do you see as you are climbing the stairs?” she asked Horace, whose eyes were closed in a deep meditative state.

“My father is upset.  He is waving his arms and yelling.”  Horace recounted from his childhood.

“Can you see who he is upset with?” Dr. Freda asked in a low, calm voice.

“No.  I can just see his head and shoulders.” Horace replied.

“Climb a little further.” Dr. Freda instructed.

“I don’t want to.” Horace resisted.

“You are invisible…no one can see you.  This memory is distant and safe, seen through the veil of time.  Take a few more steps and hear nothing but see what is to happen.” Dr. Freda guided in a slow, poetic cadence.

As Horace ascended the basement steps a bit more, he could see the top of his Mutter’s head.  He recognized her golden hair pinned back the way she always wore it.  He could see that his father was very animated, but the movements were slow as if underwater.  He could not hear what was being said, only muffled voices in the distance.  He rose a little more so he could see her face.  She was crying.  She appeared to be pleading with his Pater.  Their motion slowed gradually as his Pater drew a fist back.  When his elbow reached the apex of the blow, far behind his back, the motion slowed to a stop and all was still…almost.  His Mutter’s hair seemed to glow with its own light and though nothing else moved, her hair seemed to ebb and flow gently in the warm, misty light.  She had drawn her hands up to cover her face as if she were afraid to see and as Horace reached the top of the landing, she turned slowly, hair flowing, to look directly at him, abject fear etched into her radiant features.  Very slowly, she began to yell one word at him and though he could not hear, he felt her command take hold of his soul as she tried to protect him…”W-e-g-l-a-u-f-e-n!”  (“R-u-n–A-w-a-y!”).  Horace started awake, tears streaming sidelong down his face.  Freda was standing next to him handing him a handkerchief.  

“You always knew, didn’t you?” Dr. Freda asked.

“I think I did, but I only remembered him hitting me when he was angry, never her.”

As Horace sat up, taking the handkerchief from Freda, he swung his legs off the chaise and sat forward, staring down at his hands.  Freda returned to her chair at the foot of the chaise, taking up her notepad and pen before sitting.

As she began to write, she asked “Do you remember if this was a common occurrence?”

Horace was already weeping, but his tears intensified as he answered “Yes, I think all the time.”  He raised the kerchief to catch the tears as he went on.  “I should have done something to protect her, but I was always hiding until he found me.  I should have been there for her.”

“You each had your own way of handling a man who was too angry to control himself.  Whether or not you think you should have done something differently, you could not have.”  She finished appending her notes and looked up at him.  He was regaining his composure somewhat so she continued “I will not tell you not to blame yourself because it appears you already do, but I will say this.  Your mother loved you or she would not have tried to protect you…and if she loved you, she would want you to forgive yourself and live a happy life.”

He nodded to himself and said “Yes, I believe she would.  Thank you doctor.”

(Copyright 2020 by Phillip Johnson. Written and reproduced May 20, 2020 by Tom Loesch. All rights reserved.)