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Illuminating the humanity of Talana Kreeger, and the impact of the
LGBTQ hate crime that shook a Southern coastal town.
THE STORY
Talana Quay Kreeger - 9.25.1957 - 2.22.1990
Talana Quay Kreeger was a skilled carpenter and a beloved friend, described as “caring and fearless” by those who knew her best.
Talana's Story
Surviving a traumatic childhood and the early death of her mother, Talana worked hard to create a stable life for herself. Her friendships were so important to her, that she was known to give her time freely, as she had been doing in her renovation of the bar at the Park View Grill, on the night she was killed.
Ronald Sheldon Thomas
Long haul trucker Ronald Sheldon Thomas trailed a specter of tragedy, from his fundamentalist roots in rural Alabama to his three failed marriages, as the search for a cold beer brought him to the brooding cypress trees and Spanish moss of Greenfield Lake.
Park View Grill, February 21, 1990
At the Park View Grill, he parked his semi truck in front of the lesbian bar on February 21, 1990, where he drank beer and shot pool with the owner, her partner, and 32-year-old Talana Kreeger.
Park View Grill Closes for the Night
As the Park View was closing, the women decided to go for a late meal, and Talana accepted Thomas’offer of a ride to the restaurant. Court testimony indicates that their conversation turned to an argument “about homosexuality,” as Thomas neared a wooded area at the corner of Carolina Beach Road and Shipyard Boulevard.
Carolina Beach Road and Shipyard Boulevard
Talana fought off his sexual assault, but Thomas beat his victim severely, before manually disemboweling her, dragging her ravaged body to the edge of the woods, where she bled to death in the cold night.
Murderer's Confession and Denial
Twelve hours later, at a truck stop on Interstate 95, Thomas spoke to a local minister by phone, telling him, “I did something terrible” as he confessed a murder.
The proprietor, Wanda Whitley, searched throughout the night for her friend unsuccessfully, but remembered that Thomas was making a delivery to a local high school. When she called the school the next morning, she was put on the phone with Thomas, who denied meeting her or Talana.
The proprietor, Wanda Whitley, searched throughout the night for her friend unsuccessfully, but remembered that Thomas was making a delivery to a local high school. When she called the school the next morning, she was put on the phone with Thomas, who denied meeting her or Talana.
Dehumanizing Media Coverage
The true horror of Talana Kreeger’s death would gradually unfold to her friends, as the quiet coastal community of Wilmington learned the horror of her murder through media coverage that was replete with gruesome details that left Talana Kreeger a “body found in the woods”.
In Memory of Talana Kreeger
In Memory of Talana Kreeger - We Will Never Forget
Tourists from the interior cities of Raleigh, Durham, Greensboro, and Charlotte, would more frequently traverse this isolated backwater, on their way to beach vacations. Attitudes towards race, religion, economics, and social norms that had not been directly confronted by external realities since Reconstruction, would soon be challenged by the sheer volume of vehicles entering the city with their human cargo. Eventually, a film studio emerged from the black earth of the Smith Creek watershed, as if it had been smuggled the full length of I-40 by the Los Angeles transplants that came with it.
THE COMMUNITY
Until 1990, the oak-lined historic district of Wilmington, North Carolina, was ensconced within hundreds of square miles of wetlands that fed the Cape Fear River. Two-lane highways that were prone to flooding barely reached the quaint riverfront that the railroads had abandoned decades before. The completion of Interstate 40, in 1990, beckoned a stream of visitors and developers that brought change to the region that has outpaced the infrastructure, over three decades later.
Tourists from the interior cities of Raleigh, Durham, Greensboro, and Charlotte, would more frequently traverse this isolated backwater, on their way to beach vacations. Attitudes towards race, religion, economics, and social norms that had not been directly confronted by external realities since Reconstruction, would soon be challenged by the sheer volume of vehicles entering the city with their human cargo. Eventually, a film studio emerged from the black earth of the Smith Creek watershed, as if it had been smuggled the full length of I-40 by the Los Angeles transplants that came with it.
Near the sprawling State Ports of the Cape Fear, the Park View Grill overlooked the spillway of Greenfield Lake, as it had for decades, with a fresh look, and a different clientele. The visibility of this small bar made it quite accessible to those who steered through the 90-degree bend, where 3rd Street became Carolina Beach Road, in search of a beer and a game of pool.
THE COMMUNITY
Until 1990, the oak-lined historic district of Wilmington, North Carolina, was ensconced within hundreds of square miles of wetlands that fed the Cape Fear River. Two-lane highways that were prone to flooding barely reached the quaint riverfront that the railroads had abandoned decades before. The completion of Interstate 40, in 1990, beckoned a stream of visitors and developers that brought change to the region that has outpaced the infrastructure, over three decades later.
Tourists from the interior cities of Raleigh, Durham, Greensboro, and Charlotte, would more frequently traverse this isolated backwater, on their way to beach vacations. Attitudes towards race, religion, economics, and social norms that had not been directly confronted by external realities since Reconstruction, would soon be challenged by the sheer volume of vehicles entering the city with their human cargo. Eventually, a film studio emerged from the black earth of the Smith Creek watershed, as if it had been smuggled the full length of I-40 by the Los Angeles transplants that came with it.
Near the sprawling State Ports of the Cape Fear, the Park View Grill overlooked the spillway of Greenfield Lake, as it had for decades, with a fresh look, and a different clientele. The visibility of this small bar made it quite accessible to those who steered through the 90-degree bend, where 3rd Street became Carolina Beach Road, in search of a beer and a game of pool.
In 1990, few resources for queer people existed in Southeastern North Carolina, though a local advocacy organization, GROW, had made early progress in collecting information on hate crimes, in an effort to inform and motivate the criminal justice system. The bars were the only places where LGBTQ individuals, from the largely isolated rural areas surrounding Wilmington, could socialize and share information, in relative safety.
THE COMMUNITY
Until 1990, the oak-lined historic district of Wilmington, North Carolina, was ensconced within hundreds of square miles of wetlands that fed the Cape Fear River. Two-lane highways that were prone to flooding barely reached the quaint riverfront that the railroads had abandoned decades before. The completion of Interstate 40, in 1990, beckoned a stream of visitors and developers that brought change to the region that has outpaced the infrastructure, over three decades later.
Tourists from the interior cities of Raleigh, Durham, Greensboro, and Charlotte, would more frequently traverse this isolated backwater, on their way to beach vacations. Attitudes towards race, religion, economics, and social norms that had not been directly confronted by external realities since Reconstruction, would soon be challenged by the sheer volume of vehicles entering the city with their human cargo. Eventually, a film studio emerged from the black earth of the Smith Creek watershed, as if it had been smuggled the full length of I-40 by the Los Angeles transplants that came with it.
Near the sprawling State Ports of the Cape Fear, the Park View Grill overlooked the spillway of Greenfield Lake, as it had for decades, with a fresh look, and a different clientele. The visibility of this small bar made it quite accessible to those who steered through the 90-degree bend, where 3rd Street became Carolina Beach Road, in search of a beer and a game of pool.
In 1990, few resources for queer people existed in Southeastern North Carolina, though a local advocacy organization, GROW, had made early progress in collecting information on hate crimes, in an effort to inform and motivate the criminal justice system. The bars were the only places where LGBTQ individuals, from the largely isolated rural areas surrounding Wilmington, could socialize and share information, in relative safety.
In the 1980s, particularly, this community had witnessed a seemingly continual string of violent crimes that were motivated by intolerance towards sexual minorities. Not coincidentally, the mood of the nation had become immersed in conservative rhetoric that gave credence to the homophobic rants of public figures like Anita Bryant. The murder of Talana Kreeger shattered the tenuous sense of security that had existed at the Park View Grill, further alienating a group of people who were already isolated in their families and their community.
"Law enforcement officials warned leaders of the LGBTQ community that it would not be in the interest of
their people to be too visible."
Stephen Sprinkle
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