Fact checking the morning host.

Got to be kidding

Bill Schmalfeldt is making claims that seem to contradict his past life.

With credit to my favorite Zombie:

Schmalfeldt's lies

I’m having trouble believing this story since Bill can’t stop lying.  While Paul Krendler has covered his history of destroying tires, I want to highlight his medical condition.

Schmalfeldt has threatened to sue me, and has sued others, because we’ve challenged the veracity of his Parkinson’s Disease diagnosis, among other grievances.  No one has claimed he wasn’t diagnosed with Parkinson’s; rather he’s freely shared his experiences that contradict his assertions.

Parkinson’s Disease is a progressive neurological disorder where the patient’s quality of life deteriorates over time.  Those unfortunate souls watch helplessly as their quality of life slowly disappears with no hope of recovery.  Some manage to forestall its symptoms for years, but once a person begins experiencing its debilitating effects, life only gets worse.

Back in 2010, Schmalfeldt applied for retirement from his job as a writer (he affectionately calls it a GS-13 writer) for the National Institutes of Health despite being granted permission to work from home.  The reason? His “advanced stage of idiopathic Parkinson’s Disease” had progressed to the point that he could no longer do his job.

In a 2012 article he shares  how quickly his life was deteriorating.

As of January 25, 2012, “normal” is not being able to get off the treadmill because my legs refuse to move. Well, that’s not quite accurate. They move. But they’re shaking. My body is bouncing up and down.

My walker is right there by the treadmill. But I can’t make my hands reach out to take it. I can’t let go of the handrails on the treadmill. Gail says something to me. I look at her, but say nothing. That’s because, as of this morning, it’s “normal” for me not to be able to speak when frozen.

Gail is nothing if not a good reader of faces. She came around to the treadmill, took my hand, and that unfroze me enough to grasp the walker. But it wasn’t enough to get me walking. I stood there, bouncing. Gail put her hands over my hands and together we took step after halting step to my desk chair.

I could speak now. But typing was out of the question. So I dictated an e-mail to my neurologist to update him on the latest meaning of the word “normal.” He called me as soon as he was finished with the patient he was seeing.

By then, I was in my recliner. We discussed the situation. Rather, he listened as I stuttered and stammered and started crying. See, that’s “normal” for me now. Big, rough, tough, he-man, former Sailor, former football player, former lots of stuff. When I get emotional or frustrated, I cry. It’s “normal”. And the frustrating thing at the moment is the fact that I cannot string two understandable words together. Me, one of the original broadcasters at XM Satellite Radio with golden pipes and a gift of gab that put food on my family’s table all those years… stammering, babbling, crying.

Essentially, a normal day for him is taking a lot of pills, struggling to get on a treadmill, walk for a short while, struggle to dismount, and lamenting his past physical abilities, some of which are suspicious and without supporting evidence.

Earlier in the article, he writes:

Parkinson’s is a progressive disease. That means it gets worse. Oh, the rate of progression is different for every individual with the disease; and there are 1.5 million of us in America who have it. It never gets better. It only stays the same… or gets worse. 

From his bio:

I’m a 57-year old retired government writer/editor who has had Parkinson’s disease for 12 years. I retired in 2011 when PD rendered me practically home bound. I can’t go outside, other than just the front porch, without my roller walker and my wife to help me when my gait freezes, which it will. I still have a working brain and wish to apply it in a way that will make life better — if not for me, then at least for the future “Parkies” who will be diagnosed this year. I’ve written a book about my experience with an experimental brain surgery that you can find at my Parky Face website. I also rage against the right wing on my political satire blog, The Liberal Grouch. Come on by, have a look, and get good and angry at me!

Remember, this was in 2012.  He had already given up driving because he was not able to trust himself, and why wouldn’t he?  He had trouble walking and controlling his leg muscles. His mental faculties, necessary for reacting in traffic, were deteriorating rapidly.  This was a man who gives the impression his best days were light years behind him.

Fast forward to February 2018:


He was traveling by bus across the country. Here, he’s standing, unaided with no walker within reach.

May 2018 –

Schmalfeldt driving selfie

He’s taking a selfie WHILE driving a car.

In 2019, he is currently working at a radio station in Havre, Montana, DRIVING a company SUV until he can buy one on his own.  He has a driver’s license – or to put another way, he passed a driving test despite his deteriorating medical condition.  How is it that a man with a progressive neurological disorder since 2012 managed to get a license since he can barely function?

His own words and posts over the years are so full of lies – and not just about his medical condition – that for him to share any self-positive story should be met with great skepticism.  Don’t expect there to be truth, much less evidence of truth, to back up his tales.

Back to the claim about meeting his “fans”.  I believe he was in the shop for tires, but his past documented driving experience reveals he loves to rub the curbs. Slow leak? More like damaged sidewalls.  Even so, did locals come up to him and say kind words?  Hard to believe knowing how much he lies.

I give it 5,000 Pinocchio’s.

7 thoughts on “Fact checking the morning host.

  1. “Big, rough, tough, he-man, former Sailor, former football player, former lots of stuff” — well, I’ll give him big. And even if the Navy would prefer to forget it former Sailor (should that be capitalized?). Maybe he rode the bench on the football team, but more likely he was the team ‘manager’ or water boy. The rest of it is either lying or hallucinating. Well, embrace the power . . .
    My guess is he got “pantsed” pretty regularly from around grades 5-12, assuming he ever made it to grade 12.

    Liked by 2 people

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