Note from the CTH: This post is independently authored by an anonymous guest of the Treehouse. This is part Five in a series of independently submitted guest posts. We are unable to determine or validate if the content discussed is indeed the substantive final content of an upcoming book, we are the conduit host and present for informational purposes of discussion:

George Zimmerman was not involved in the collaboration of this book and makes no guarantee of its accuracy or content. The comments added here to the known text of the Osterman book were not made by George Zimmerman, and should not be construed as the only comments that George Zimmerman may have regarding the publishing of this book.

As previously presented by the guest author: Upon initial review there appear to be numerous “mistakes” in [an upcoming] book, and even several specific items that we feel are outright fabrications. These aspects may be intended to help the book sell well, but they also present some serious factual concerns.

It is understood that neither Mark or Sondra Osterman would intentionally try to harm George, but it is critical for the public to understand George does not condone this book; nor does he agree with the timing of the publication of the book.

The areas of concern will be highlighted, and honestly rebutted, during the course of a number of guest posts here at the Treehouse over the next several days.

These areas to be addressed could potentially be damaging to George Zimmerman, and I feel it is important to address each of them individually.

In the next several days the excerpts, responses and summaries you will read are my “Guest Posted” words and my opinion. While I will share the content of the upcoming book, as I know it, the rebuttal or challenge to the book will be mine alone.

The intent of rebuttal is meant to bring these fabrications, falsehoods and concerns to light, and such retort is provided for the benefit of those who will ultimately read the published book and have questions about its accuracy.

I am, quite simply, trying to get out ahead of what “could be” a well intended attempt at public support, which simultaneously creates a significant and potentially damaging series of unintended consequences.

Chapter #4 – Our Family’s New Normal

(excerpt) Mark Osterman writes: […] George’s mug shot was everywhere. The shooting was the lead story on every news report during those days of hiding. George would have been easily recognized if we had allowed him to go anywhere in public, so our routine was simple. He could not venture out of the house, make contact with anyone but family and the police. He was still obligated to phone the police station and check in every day.

I know he was stir crazy and at times wanted to hold a press conference of his own and try to set the record straight in so many instances, but, we convinced him to remain hidden and quiet. I knew if he spoke out or made any kind of statement in his own defense, the press would swallow him up and every word would be analyzed ad nauseam for days; even used against him. So, it followed, that his unavailability to the press and his silence, was ridiculed as weakness and cowardice. He just couldn’t get a break.

I was pleased with our attempts to keep George hidden while every news and media outlet in the country was trying to find him. Hollywood celebrities, political figures, and individuals with money are sought out and eventually discovered by the press, but, here we were, “hiding in plain sight.” It became sort of a local joke to refer to someone trying to evade or side step anything as, “pulling a George Zimmerman;” or, if someone was unavailable or hard to locate they were said to be, “hidden like George Zimmerman.”

Once, about two weeks after the shooting, at the peak of the madness, George and I ventured out during daylight hours to retrieve some clothing, documents and personal items from their home at Twin Lakes. It was a near disaster. I thought it would be relatively simple, easy in and easy out, but true to form, I had planned every move like a battlefield tactician. I first proposed making the trip at 2 or 3 A.M.. We could quietly arrive, park in their garage, close the garage door, load the items at our leisure, then head back undetected. George explained one giant problem with this plan; their garage door made more noise than a jingling Santa falling down a flight of stairs. “The neighbors on both sides would hear the door and come out to investigate,” George said.

The press had already identified the address of the now famous, George Zimmerman, so, his fear was that even well-intentioned neighbors might alert the media, even the police. Plan A was scrapped. Plan B, George’s plan, was to make our way over before noon, perhaps 10:30 A.M., when most residents would be at work and the daytime noises would mask the rattling sound of the garage door opening. So, I drove my car over, while George sat in the passenger seat wearing oversized sun glasses and a baseball cap. At stop lights he would cover his face with the cap or scrunch down low in the seat.

As we were entering the gate at The Retreat at Twin Lakes, I was hoping the media interest would be elsewhere and we could get the items George needed quickly and easily. We were just yards away from his townhome when George instinctively pushed the garage door opener as he had done countless times before. I couldn’t get the word, “Don’t,” out of my mouth in time.

The obscenely noisy garage door was nearly half way up when I thought, Darn, we should have done a “drive by” first, just to make sure no one was watching the residence. It was too late. Just as the rattling garage door closed behind us and George disabled the house alarm inside, we heard rapid, forceful knocking at the front door. We knew it wasn’t the Girl Scouts; those shifty media people had been watching. We both dove for cover, like soldiers avoiding artillery fire. As the knocking continued, we froze in our positions. George threw out some hand gestures I surprisingly understood right away. He warned me not to walk in front of the door because if anyone peered through the peep hole they would see our movements due to the sunlight streaming through the sliding glass doors toward the back of the home. I shrugged as if to say, they already know where we are.

The home was eerily quiet. On the February evening they left their place to stay with us, George and Shellie had turned off the heat and air conditioning unit so there was absolutely no sounds coming from inside. We listened to the conversation taking place at the front door. I assumed the speakers were a reporter and cameraman perhaps from a local newspaper:

“Are you sure it was George’s residence you saw the car drive into?”

The other answered, “I think. I just can’t be sure.”

“What kind of car was it? Was it George’s car?”

“I’m not sure. I was reading the paper.”

“Well, this sure would be sweet if it was him,” one offered.

“Yeah, I know,” the other responded.

“Try to get another glance through the rear doors and see if anything’s changed.”

“Got it.”

By the time the presumed cameraman made it to the rear doors of the townhome, George and I were half way up the stair case, trying to tread lightly on the creaky stairs.

The siege had begun. We were trapped inside and I could only imagine the lengths the reporter would go to in order to get a story. I saw that the man at the front door, whom I took as a journalist, was making a phone call. Four minutes later, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. Thank God, I had it set on vibrate mode. It was Sondra and Shellie calling from our home to say a local news station had announced during the noon broadcast they had located George Zimmerman and expected an exclusive interview with him later that day. They were confused by the announcement so I filled them in on what was taking place.

Just then, we had a stroke of luck when George’s neighbor pulled into his driveway. The neighbor usually made it home for lunch and he was arriving just as the second man returned to George’s front door from the back of the house.

“Are you here to report on anything new?” the neighbor asked. He did not seem surprised with the media’s presence, but sensed something was different about these two; they were like jittery hunting dogs who just chased a rabbit into a hole. They responded honestly:

“We were parked just up the street there watching George’s home, hoping to get an exclusive interview. Have you seen George or Shellie? Do you know if they have made any visits to the house?”

“No, they haven’t been back since that night (referring to the night of the shooting). My wife doesn’t work and she’d know for sure if they had come back,” the neighbor answered.

“Is she home right now? Did she hear someone enter through the garage about 15 minutes ago?”

George’s neighbor called to his wife who soon appeared. He asked if she had heard anyone next door at George and Shellie’s place.

“No, I’ve been here all morning and I didn’t hear anything.”

He specifically asked again, “You didn’t hear any noise or anything about 15 minutes ago?”

“No,” she quickly replied.

The neighbor seemed 100% sure his wife, who served as the Community Activity Coordinator, would have heard if anyone had gone in or out of the Zimmerman’s garage. George later admitted being most nervous about the neighbor’s answer as to whether she had heard us entering the home. If she had answered, “Yes;” the gig was up. The reporter would have simply waited us out.

As it was, the guys intent on an interview, were not quite ready to give up. They parked their car on the street directly in front of the Zimmerman’s driveway effectively blocking our way should we try to leave.

We were listening to the exchange between the neighbors and the news men from an upstairs bedroom while peeking out from tiny cracks in the curtains. The reporter, wearing a nice shirt and tie, made another call on his phone while the sloppily dressed cameraman, was affixing his bulky camera onto a tripod which he sat in front of the house. Suddenly, the reporter finished his call and turned to look directly at the second story window where George stood, looking out. Then the cameraman points to the window and aims the camera in our direction. […]

Realizing the two men below were looking upstairs, I couldn’t walk quickly over to George’s window from mine without causing the curtain to move, so I was the one who sent George a hand signal of my own: Be still and don’t move the curtain.

Not only was it quiet inside the home, it was quiet outside, too; not so much of a breeze stirring. We could hear the two men’s footsteps clearly and hear every word of their conversation. Finally, their disappointed sighs let us know they would soon be going. Like fishermen who had a bad fishing day, body language told us they were giving up.

They had the advantage, but didn’t know it. We could keep quiet for hours, but wouldn’t be able to get out of the garage until they left. I suppose we could have crept out the back door and walked back to our home close by, but that would mean leaving my car in the garage, leaving the home alarm off and the sliding glass doors would be unlocked. That was out of the question for George.

So, we discussed having to be trapped there for hours, even days. We snickered at that possibility, then caught the final break. The dejected news team, after two hours of surveillance, decided to “load the car and reset.”

We felt like outlaws planning a jail break. If the newsmen were merely going to back their car up four or five parking spaces and continue to sit along the road, then George and I envisioned pulling the car out, then being involved in a low-speed chase through the neighborhood, both parties obeying speed signs and road signals. We would then have to make sure to ditch the reporters so they couldn’t follow us back to my home.

In the next few seconds I thought of a way to keep the non-dramatic chase from occurring. I called a friend, RJ, who owns a truck. RJ, is a former Desert Storm Marine, and the epitome of the brave men and women who protect and honor our great country with their military service. After I gave him my location, in low tones, I asked, “RJ, could you drive your truck over and park sideways, in order to block a road nearby? If you could prevent a car from following me after I go through an intersection, it would be greatly appreciated.”

His only response was, “Sure, but how do I deal with the people after I block their way?”

I told him they were harmless, but he just needed to keep them from following me. To which, he said, “No problem.” RJ is such a calm, cool guy that he has never asked, to this day, what the circumstances were behind my request for help. ¹To me, that is a mark of true friendship, trust and loyalty.

³Again, the Irony in speaking of loyalty in friendship from Mark Osterman

Turns out, we didn’t need RJ and his truck, after all.  […]

We left the scene in the opposite direction, toward a side exit for the complex. The cat did not see the mouse slip away. […]

George received a lot of criticism for carrying a gun on the night of February 26, 2012 when he encountered young Trayvon Martin. Amid all the debate over “the right to carry” issues that ensued, there was also national debate about Florida’s “stand your ground” law; which basically gives any citizen the right to use deadly force if they or others feel threatened or feel their life is in danger. There are those I realize who believe gun laws need to be rethought and refined. Their mantra is “Why do we love guns so much in this country? Aren’t guns killing machines, designed to hurt or kill?”

George and I enjoyed the male camaraderie that target practice and knowledge of firearms provided, but, I can also verify that George adhered to basic gun safety at all times, he never brandished a weapon, or even spoke of using it to instill fear, or to control another. ¹However, even residents of Twin Lakes who supported George’s effort to patrol the area did not think it was wise for him to take a gun along that evening.

¹This is perhaps, one of the most egregious misrepresentations in the book.   The implication from the sentence is that George Zimmerman was on neighborhood Watch that night.   Completely false.   As noted in Chapter #1, George was NOT on a Neighborhood Watch and was going to Target shopping.   The implication, as innocent as it might have been in the poorly constructed writing, is highly charged, implies a factual falsehood, and hopefully is NOT present in the final draft.

On the other hand, one resident stated that George implored her husband to get a gun for protection as well.

Citizen patrol groups are always cautioned to leave weapons at home; instead focus on observing and reporting potential crime. They specifically warn groups against trying to do the job of the police. I understand the philosophy behind the caution, but here’s the thing. George Zimmerman’s gun was legal, he had a legal license and also a license to conceal it. Many have turned the shooting of Trayvon Martin into a debate on gun laws. Most are convinced the presence of George’s firearm resulted in the death of Trayvon. How can anyone say that? George felt he was going to be suffocated to death as Trayvon’s hands covered his nose and mouth. Death by Trayvon’s hands or George’s gun; tragic anyway you look at it.  […]

As George waited, in hiding, these and other issues were daily fodder that only added to his stress. Three weeks after the shooting, George’s father, Robert, found a local attorney, Craig Sonner, willing to represent him if needed. George had not signed any binding contract as yet, but one day the attorney asked if I could accompany him to George and Shellie’s home at Twin Lakes for the purpose of getting a more recent photo of George. The only one released had been the non-flattering mug shot. We obtained a photo of George that depicted more accurately his present appearance. As soon as the attorney made it available, the press began to post the more recent photo, but George’s mug shot had already made an all important first impression in the minds of most Americans.

Toward the end of that same three-week period, news broke that the Black Panther organization had set a bounty on George’s head; $10,000 dead or alive. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. George was at his lowest point. He was fearful of course, but mostly for the safety of Shellie, and me and Sondra and Breanna. He wanted to leave our home as soon as possible and go out-of-state. I said, “No, George, you can’t do this. I am prepared to handle any threat, even men with guns. I’m ready for them.”

“I just can’t deal with the added worry about the safety of all of you because of me. If something happened to any one of you, I could never forgive myself,” George said.

To which I replied, “If you leave and get injured or harmed, I will never forgive myself.”

George was adamant this time and on March 23rd, after a month in our home, he packed a few things and traveled to an undisclosed location up North somewhere around Virginia, or Maryland. He had relatives including brothers, sisters, and cousins who were willing to take him in for how ever long it would take for this thing to pass. He also believed there would be less press coverage and clamor up north, away from the constant Orlando coverage.

Shellie stayed behind with us for the time being and it was heartbreaking to see them saying their goodbyes, not knowing what would happen in the future or when they would be together again.

Sondra Osterman writes:  George, made even more paranoid because of the death threats, decided to separate himself from us and his wife for our own safety. On the day he was loading up his truck…

This was the day that the new photo (current) of GZ was circulated through the media

…..to relocate somewhere out-of-state, suddenly our driveway was blocked by two vehicles…

There was only one vehicle present and they NEVER blocked the driveway

…. with several black people in both cars.

There was only ONE black person in the car and George didn’t know that until the car got closer due to the fact that the windows were tinted. 

George came running back into the house, shouting for Shellie to have her firearm ready should they break through the front door.

Flat Out False. GZ went back into house and was talking about the decision whether to call the FDLE contact that he was given, or whether to just leave quickly.

George himself climbed the stairs and was watching the group from a second story window. Our daughter, Breanna, home at the time, ran to her room and locked the door, terrified of what may occur. My sister and nephews were also visiting that day; we stood frozen in place until I ventured to look out and see that I recognized the people in the vehicles.

FALSE: The children were playing on the third level and never knew of the incident

They were actually friends of a neighbor. I announced this news to everyone and we breathed a collected sigh of relief. For George it only reiterated his decision to move out-of-state for the safety of all.

An overall observation is that, while most of this incident was fabricated, likely to fit the “excitement” of a book, the way this situation was written makes GZ appear to be afraid because of someone’s race. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. The gentleman that was driving around was reading from a sheet of paper and was likely comparing addresses

George loaded a few belongs and his dog, Oso into the truck and he and Shellie lingered awhile saying goodbye before a final kiss. I’m sure the drive was freeing to George as he sped along the highways north to safety. He would describe his trip as an escape; symbolic of freedom and normalcy once again. For a month he had felt trapped, hunted, and fearful. As he traveled, he felt freer with every mile. That freedom would be short-lived.

{END}

To be continued……