KIN STILL HAVE DOUBTS

Official Reports Leave Them With Questions On Standoff

Rainbow Farm Revisited

NILES -- Ruby Batey's memories return to the night of Aug. 31, 2001.

That was when police permitted her to visit her son, Grover "Tom" Crosslin,
at Crosslin's Rainbow Farm Campground at 59896 Pemberton Road, Vandalia.

At the time, Crosslin, 46, and his 28-year-old companion, Rolland Rohm,
were nearing the end of the first day of what would turn out to be a
five-day standoff with police and the FBI.

Batey drove to the farm with her minister, the Rev. Clinton Douglas of Eddy
Street Church of Christ in South Bend.

"Tom was afraid for me to be there," Batey recalled. "He told the preacher
to get me out of there. He grabbed me by the shoulder, hugged me and put me
back in the car.

"When I went back there the next morning, they wouldn't let me see him. But
an FBI agent -- I don't remember the name -- said they wouldn't harm Tom,
even if it took four weeks or four months."

Just three days later, Crosslin was dead.

Crosslin was fatally shot the morning of Sept. 3, 2001, by FBI Special
Agent Richard Salomon as he returned from taking a coffee pot from neighbor
Carl McDonald's home, according to FBI reports obtained by The Tribune
using the federal Freedom of Information Act.

Crosslin, accompanied by 18-year-old friend Brandon Peoples, was walking on
a path through a wooded area on the perimeter of his Rainbow Farm
Campground farmhouse when Crosslin spotted the agent and raised his rifle
to take aim at the marksman.

Before he could get a shot off, Crosslin was dead from a shot in his
forehead, his head shattered by a round from Salomon's .308-caliber rifle.
Special Agent Michael Heffron also fired, with a .223-caliber round from
his rifle passing through a small tree, striking Crosslin in the hand and
side, according to FBI reports.

The next day, Rohm, too, was killed, after setting fire to the farmhouse
and leaving it while brandishing a rifle. Rohm was fatally shot through his
chest by Michigan State Police Sgt. Dan Lubelan's .308-caliber sniper
rifle, according to state police reports.

Trooper John Julin shot at Rohm eight times with his semiautomatic rifle,
hitting Rohm once in the leg. Lubelan shot at Rohm once more, but did not
hit Rohm with his second attempt.

Batey is among family members and supporters of Crosslin and Rohm who argue
that the standoff didn't have to end as it did.

"They could have shot him (Crosslin) somewhere else without killing him,"
Batey said.

As to what triggered the standoff, no one knows for certain. Some say
Crosslin simply was pushed too far, when he was notified his property could
be confiscated for his alleged drug activities and facing possible jail
time on drug-related charges.

Others say Crosslin couldn't cope with the loss of Rohm's then-12- year-old
son, Robert, who had been removed from the farmhouse by a court order. He
had been raised by the pair since age 4.

Although Batey said Crosslin loved his farm enough to die for it, she said
it was probably Robert's removal that pushed him over the edge.

"When they took Robert away, that really hurt him. Robert was like his
son," she said. "He (Crosslin) was more like a father to him than Rollie."

The siege began on Aug. 31, when Crosslin and Rohm set fire to buildings on
the farm property. Fire personnel responded but were turned back after a
tip was received that Crosslin and Rohm were dressed in camouflage and had
weapons at their disposal.

The FBI was summoned after Crosslin allegedly fired at a news helicopter
from South Bend's WNDU-TV, Channel 16, flying over the campground. Firing
at a helicopter is a federal offense.

Despite Cass County Prosecutor Scott Teter's official statements about the
standoff, family members and supporters of Crosslin and Rohm continue to
question his findings, which ended up clearing FBI and Michigan State
Police of wrongdoing in the shootings.

Rohm's stepfather, John Livermore of Rogersville, Tenn., has questioned
nearly every aspect of Teter's report, from the initial fires at the farm
to the shot fired at the helicopter and the way Crosslin and Rohm died.

Livermore said that based on reports of private investigators he hired to
look into the case, he believes someone other than Crosslin and Rohm set
the fires at the campground and fired upon the helicopter. And he said he
can prove Rohm was handcuffed before he was shot execution style, although
police claim that happened afterward.

"He was handcuffed and was on his hands and knees when he was shot," he said.

Rohm was handcuffed, but the prosecutor and Michigan State Police continue
to claim the cuffs weren't applied until after Rohm was shot as a
precautionary measure. At that point, Rohm was most likely already dead,
but Teter points out that police didn't know that for certain as they
approached. The state police marksmen had shot Rohm as he raised a rifle to
fire at an approaching armored vehicle.

Livermore claims Crosslin and Rohm were victims of a conspiracy to steal
their farm property. It's a claim Teter has heard before, and one he
considers ridiculous.

He said the bottom line is that Crosslin and Rohm put themselves in
jeopardy when they took up weapons and flaunted the authority of law-
enforcement agents.

"Despite what some people are saying, it was never about money, and it was
never about taking away property," he said.

Still, Elkhart resident Beth Holmes, Rohm's sister, said she believes Rohm
not only was unarmed but was trying to give himself up when he was killed.
Had she been allowed to talk to Rohm at the farmhouse, as Batey had been
allowed to talk with Crosslin, he might be alive today, she said.

"My brother has always listened to me," she said. "Granted, he might be in
jail, but he'd be alive."

Another Elkhart resident, Shirley DeWeese, the sister of Crosslin, believes
Crosslin and Rohm were set up by someone who wanted their property. She
continues to doubt Crosslin was even carrying a gun when he was shot.

"My brother was carrying a walkie-talkie and part of a coffeepot. ... How
could he raise a gun?" she asked.

Family members agree Crosslin and Rohm enjoyed smoking marijuana on
occasion, but Batey argued that's where Crosslin drew the line. She said he
even had a sign on the farm that read, "No hard drugs."

"One group showed up there once with hard drugs and he put them on the
road," she said.

Batey lost her husband, Luther, to cancer three months after Crosslin's
death. It was a bittersweet year for her.

But her memories come racing back about the sweet days.

She recalls how Crosslin bought Christmas presents for underprivileged
children in Vandalia.

Holmes said Rohm, too, had a generous nature, referring to him as "a very
kind person who would do anything for anybody."

They said they're still hoping to hear the truth about what happened a year
ago at Rainbow Farm Campground.

For his part, Teter says the truth has already been printed, in the form of
his report. His report is backed up by investigations done by the FBI,
Michigan State Police and the Cass County Sheriff's Office.

For Livermore, it is all not enough.

He says he is still contemplating a multimillion-dollar wrongful death suit.