I was raised on a farm. From the time I was nine years of age we milked cows by hand, night and morning before school, seven days a week . We sold milk to the cheese factory in Greenwood Arkansas. Bedtime was 8:00 pm year around. The only time I was allowed to stay up past 8:00 pm was like the nights our FFA chapter would catch a broiler house full of chickens for forty dollars for the FFA treasury.
I was unable to play sports in school as most of the games were in the evenings or overlapped the evening hours. During the daytime physical exercise class, the coach would show the soles of my feet to others, commenting how tough the soles were. I took typing class the last two years of high school to avoid the sports classes since I could not play the games anyhow.
In my early years, during the summers I rode in the back of a truck with others to the bean fields on the Arkansas River to pick green beans. In the fall I dragged a cotton sack right along side the black folks. We cut spinach on weekends in the colder weather and in the winter I ran a trap line and ate some of the catch. Possums were good but greasy. Racoon meat was bland. We did not have any bar-b-que sauce back then. My mother cooked part of a six foot gar one time that we could not eat. It tasted like creosote smells. That was about the only thing that we ran down but could not eat.
As I grew older I worked with a crew hauling hay, stacking square bales in those hot, dusty barns. My last two summers during high school I rode the sled behind the hay baler, stacking square bales on the sled in stacks of about twenty or twenty-four bales and shoving the stack off the sled by pulling a crowbar from the baler and ramming the crow bar into the soil between the middle boards and walking to the back of the sled.
In the flooded bottoms along the James Fork River, the dust was so thick at times from the dried mud from the overflowing river that I could not see the edge of the sled. Those old seresa bales were so heavy the strings would break as the bale dropped out the end of the baler. On the praries, it was so hot and when the baler would break down, the only shade was up under the baler. It was hard to breathe under there with all the heat and pollen while the boss went to town for a part.
After graduation from high school, the baler guy who had employed me, called me, saying he could not get anyone to ride the sled and that I had to come back down there and ride the sled for him. I said no. Now that I had an education I was going to get a good job. I had already said I would never chase another cow or swing another bale of hay.
The James Fork River, we called it the Jim Fork, ran through our farm and would overflow the banks and flood the bottoms with the slightest rain on the head waters over in Arkansas. Invariably the cows would be on the other side and in danger of drowning if the water got too high and pushed them up against the fence. Cows aint good at treading water. They had to be brought back. I had a spot on the bank where I would jump in and swim to the other side, through the logs and trash and whatever coming down the flooded river, doing a lot of thrashing to spook the snakes. I would come out on the other side a hundred feet or so down the river and run the cows back over. Then I had to swim back through that muddy mess.
Later on my father bought this unbroke stud who sailed me through the air across the backs of cows several times and tried to scrape me off his back by running under low hanging limbs but it was a lot easier riding the stud and letting him swim the raging river. That stud could run faster sideways than he could forward which was proven whenever a covey of quail flushed and he left me sitting in mid air. It was dang near impossible to stay on that English saddle which was like a flat pancake. It wasn't all fun though.
Once a brother and I were helping a neighbor catch a wild cow which inhabited the land between us and the neighbor. The people who owned the land had sold all the cows and moved to town, leaving this one cow they had been unable to catch. This old cow had had a calf every year which the neighbor had sold and for some reason the neighbor wanted to catch the cow and sell her too.
I was laid back on a mare, watching the neighbor push the wild cow out of some thick brush when a hoof came flying past my head. The brother who was on the stud, just slid off the rear end of the stud and left me between two horses making love. I had a race with the stud down to the river which cooled the stud's amorous advances. We did get the FFA teacher to fix the stud after that experience.
After high school, I rode a bus to town where they put me to work in a bakery making doughnuts and pastries all night, and delivering them to the outlet stores starting about three o'clock in the morning. I had never been allowed to drive anyone's vehicle and so I had never learned to drive. At the bakery I was asked if I could drive and I said sure. The guy who rode with me showing me the route had several near heart attacks while I was jumping curbs, driving on the wrong side of the street and such. He told the boss that I was busting tires on the curbs. The boss called the service station who said there was a nail in that tire, so I was saved. There was no traffic on the streets at that hour of the night so I lucked out there too.
Back when I was attending the tenth grade in high school, a female teacher setup the boys in our class to have an outdoor evening party about dark with girls from the seventh or eighth grade. We were paired up with girls and did the walk in the dark thing. We did not know what to do as it made us feel like pedophiles They were just too young.
About that same time, during the fall of the year, nice weather, a friend came to me and told me that some boys in the senior class were going to have a party with some girls down on the Jim Fork. We lived on a hill above the Jim Fork. Just before dark I met the friend at the crossing and followed him another quarter mile up the creek to an area across the creek from a road and a clearing on the other side. We sat down to wait. It was like sitting on bleachers as the rock was stair stepped up from the creek. I was ready for the show.
It was not long until we saw about four sets of headlights coming down the road on the other side of the creek and about four couples, maybe five, got out of the cars, lit the fire and started roasting marshmallows. Shoot, I was enjoying the party until I saw who the girls were. With the fire I could see that the girls were from my class and the boys were older seniors. To me this was not right. This was wrong. I now figger this had been setup by the same female teacher.
The marshmallow roast did not last long at all. Under the blankets they went and the show stopped. What!? I was getting more depressed by the minute. My friend was excited. He crossed the creek and crawled up the other side close to the fire and threw in a fire cracker. Bang! Another firecracker. Bang! One of the older boys said, "You all quit that." Another firecracker. Bang! You all quit that. We are not doing that. Bang! WHO IS DOING THAT! Out from under the blankets they came, all standing, staring into the dark directly in my direction. They never saw my friend who was laying at their feet. Into the cars they went and down the road they went.
Walking back out my friend was so excited he built a fire and went crazy. I was so depressed about what I had seen I could not say anything. The next day I was sworn to silence by the friend who told me those old boys knew someone had interrupted their sex party and they were out for blood. I never told anyone.
This changed my relationship with the girls in my class. To me they were like old women after that. It really threw me for a loop.
Being the next to last in a family of nine children I witnessed first hand the fighting, divorcing, and "I'll get the shotgun and shoot the SOB" of my older siblings, so I did not entertain a view of marriage as a stable environment. It was probably those Baptist preachers who convinced me that divorced people go to hell when they die and I sure did not want to go there. Years later I told my wife I did not want to have children because I was afraid they might turn out to be like my brothers and sisters. Well too, the babies that a sister left with us after marrying an old bigamist who got to her. The babies got trench mouth from crawling on the floor where we had tracked cow manure into the house on our shoes. That was another mess.
After high school I wandered through life for a few years, trying to avoid marriage and divorce and all that goes with that. Having to pay rent and buy my own groceries, I could not afford college and nobody would co-sign for me. I worked uptown, got drafted into the army, drove a truck cross-country and so forth until I applied and was accepted by a police department.
About the second week into the police academy, I was approached by a fellow cadet who got right to inquiring about my sex life. I told him I was seeing a girl I had met at the laundromat. After that he continually sought me out and greeted me as the laundromat casanova. This guy really took an interest in me. Really pushy.
After some time out of the academy in the field, the dispatcher, ole nervous bug eyes, gave me a telephone number to call one night on the midnight shift. I assumed it was business but it turned out to be the sister of the fellow cadet from the police academy. She got the promise out of me to come by her house the next evening. I drove out to a park and we sat on the swings as I was very sleepy. She was divorced with two small children and an ex-husband. Just the type of situation I had always tried to avoid.
After that I could not get away from her. I made up all kind of excuses. If I said my car was broke she would come by and pick me up. She was on me like stink on you know what.
I was still in my probationary year with the police department and could be fired without cause. I walked a fine line because her father had retired from the police department and she now had three brothers as police officers and I could not afford any trouble with them. At times I would act like an idiot and I even tried to gross her out. No luck.
To show how gross I can be, I recall an incident where a neighbor's bull had an abscess on his neck the size of a soccer ball from being hooked by the horn of a cow we speculated. The neighbor called the veterinarian. The neighbors had to go to work so I waited for Doctor John and took him to the bull. Doctor John was a huge black man and the strongest man I had ever seen. I had previously witnessed Doctor John manhandle livestock.
Doctor John roped the big bull, walked around a tree and pulled the bull up to the tree. He then took a knife, cut the abscess and there must have been a gallon of the pus and corruption poured out on the ground. Doctor John said he needed to talk to my mother in case I sneaked out of the house with a pan of hot biscuits next morning to sop up this gravy. There were red spots in the pus and corruption on the ground and I said that looked like red peppers in the gravy and that would be really good on hot biscuits. I thanked him for putting me on to this and continued describing the gravy. I asked doctor John not to step in the gravy as I needed to run back to the house and get a pan to save a bunch in. Doctor John had stopped talking and when I looked at Doctor John, he looked sick. He looked like he was about to throw up. I stopped.
Whenever someone tried to gross me out I grossed that person out. I always won out until this divorcee. I could not gross her out. She had a one-track mind.
One night she picked me up and took me to her residence where she told me that we were going to get married. She said she could not have any more children but that I would be happy raising her children.
Where is the door? I had already told her that she needed to go back to her husband. I dont know where he lived but he worked not far away.
Her house was on the north side of town and my apartment was on the south side of town. I walked while she followed me in her car all the way across town. After that she stalked me. I would turn around and see her. The phone in the apartment would ring, ring, ring. Silence or some girl I had never heard of. I was living with two other guys who were perturbed by the ringing and would shout at me to answer the phone. I would tell them you answer it. You know who it is.
On the police department there were other matchups of other single guys with divorcees with children and ex-husbands. The place was like a re-marriage bureau for informants. While on a fishing trip, one police supervisor extolled the virtues of a thrice married divorcee with a house full of children and at least a couple of live ex-husbands. Later, this angry divorcee told me that she was supposed to have gotten this one guy instead of this other divorcee with children and an ex-husband whom that divorcee was peeved at for his buying of a new pickup. Can you say "accidental" pregnancy? But women are never the aggressors. So who sold this poor guy out? But how did he did wind up with two black eyes from walking into a door? Could it have been a double door? This old gal did have prior marital combat experience.
A few months later I married a girl who had never been married and had no children.
Marriage was great. I still did not want children. On weekends we would drive to Six Flags, Wildlife Refuge at Lawton, Fountainhead, Arrowhead, or some place and stay in motels. One time we stayed in a motel in the woods on the Arkansas side of Table Rock Lake. That evening we were hungry and found a cafe back in the woods. The cafe was closed and as we sat there pondering what to do, the owners of the cafe drove up with some of their friends. They said they were going to cook some steaks and asked if we wanted a steak. The steak was large and great and free. They would not take our money. We had such a good time that peaceful weekend that we went back later but we were unable to find that cafe or the motel. It was just some road off the main highway.
Then it started.
The fellow police officer / fellow cadet from the academy / brother of the divorcee with the two children and an ex-husband, would catch me among a group of police officers and would loudly say to me, "Come on." "Suck my dick." "I know you are queer."
It took a while to catch on as to why I was being propositioned by other police officers. I started thinking the whole bunch was queer. I was even propositioned by a fellow police officer in a tent up on the Kansas line where we were supposed to be on a deer hunting trip. What the hell???
I may have figured out after all these years why the patrol commander came to me one night and said "We got him", saying they had caught a police officer having homosexual sex in a police car. It was just one of those things that I did not think about until I started this webpage. I think now that the patrol commander must have said that in order to observe my reaction. Looking back, all the lies spread by these brothers undoubtedly had gotten to the patrol commander and was the reason I received bad ratings from this patrol commander.
This guy and his older brother did a real slander campaign on me. They interfered with my job assignments, my ratings, my associations, my family, my children's school, a few neighbors, and even drummed up complaints against me. They were very angry with me but for a long time I know they thought they could still make me come around to being a slave if they could get me a divorce. I ran into them everywhere I went. Even gassing up down at the Utotem on the corner. The older brother got word to me that it did not pay to mess with his little sister. Who was messing with who? Whom?
If I believed in reincarnation, I would think he and his older brother would be reincarnated slavers from the eighteen hundreds. How can someone completely take over your life? Is that not what they did to the blacks in the eighteen hundreds? I think the definition of slavery back then was only taking twenty-five percent of a person's income. Not his whole paycheck.
But then the divorcee did not find me. The fellow cadet/brother of the divorcee found me. All the time down there, years and years, he would proposition me every time I saw him and all he talked about was oral sex. Somebody probably should have registered him. Maybe he was in love with me. I really started to think some of them were in love with me.
How can anyone be angry with, and harass a person over his lifetime for simply refusing to become a slave to a woman who said we are going to get married and I cannot have any more children but you can be happy raising my children? Especially since you had tried to avoid a situation like that for all of your life?
Some people in their clique told my wife to divorce me. Some told me to divorce my wife and set me up with other women. An evening shift detective supervisor asked me who I thought was a beautiful woman. Candice Bergen from the movie "The Adventurers". This fellow detective took me to an apartment complex, knocked on the door and a Candice Bergen look-a-like opened the door. I ran.
This fellow detective stayed on my case about this Candice Bergen look-a-like. Finally I told him I would trade her for (blank). Then he started telling everybody that I was after his wife.
One successful divorcee informant out of the re-marriage bureau of the department told me, in my mother's house, at Christmas while I was changing the diaper on my oldest son in a bedroom, that I had to resign from the police department and leave town. "You cannot stay here." When I told her to mind her own business, she ran out of the bedroom and screamed in front of the whole family reunion that she could not stay in a place that allowed their son to treat her that way and then she stormed out the door. Is this not insane?
This old gal had run an unemployed brother out of my house by shaming him and upsetting my wife and had repeatedly told my wife to divorce me. I think she is the one who started the rumor on the department that I was likely to commit suicide. Can you believe it? I stopped going around the whole bunch and gave my wife the ultimatum that she could see either them or me, but not both.
Some of the guys in their clique would ask me some off-the-wall question, or more like a suggestion, and, while I was trying to figure out what it was, they would leave and take my silence as an admission, I guess. They were frantic. Then word would get back to me that I had said something. These people were vicious.
As an example, one officer asked me or made the suggestion, that if you acted queer, women would try to straighten you out. I think his little mind must have been contorted. How about acting queer to get them to leave you alone? I think he was the same sycophant who had volunteered to me that to make rank on the department, you first had to get a divorce.
I had tried to humor them all this time to avoid trouble but it got to the point that I decided that whatever they said, I would let them believe it to be true, however, by the time they realized I might be that way, I had heard something else and so I was acting in a different manner. It was goofy. This threw all the sycophants for a loop. What else can you do?
We had our share of sycophants and power hungry Machiavelli followers. I read their books when they were not there. I played their games with them but I did not join them. The problem was that some in their clique, or gang, were supervisors, like their water skiing partners, and that was when I was assigned to every doa on the evening shift and was assigned to inventory greasy engines in an auto salvage in 105 degree weather while wearing a suit. This came across the chain of command from the older brother. All this was in addition to my fourteen burglary cases (two a day) each week while the sycophants were sitting around in bars and restaurants.
The price of silver metal was high at the time so there were a lot of silver burglaries. In the old rich section just short of downtown the burglar would climb a tree or a ladder and go in thru a second story window to take old pure silverware for melting down. Whenever I could I would sneak around in the dark trying to catch the burglars but I never did. Later, word was sent to me that there was a letter in the chief's office from the burglar saying I had almost caught him a couple of times, therefore he had quit the business and retired to Florida. It was probably those times I had been pulled off to work a doa or some such deal. I have no idea who the burglar was but he sure knew me. He must have been watching me more than I was watching him.
Another time I was assigned the theft of a small airplane from one of the small airports. I found the people seated around a long table in a large room kinda like an auditorium. They told me to leave. I said this airplane can be out of the country in a little while so I will just sit over here until you tell me about it. Finally a lady came over to me and said they thought the airplane had been repossessed. I thanked her and left.
When I got back to the station, the shift supervisor told me about their calling in complaining and trying to get me removed from their airport. The shift supervisor told me not to make any reports on the incident and that he would handle the report himself. He must have wrote up a doozy of a report because after that I got assigned to these large bogus insurance losses. I was supposed to talk these people down on the dollar size of their losses. They must have thought that I could brow beat these people into submission.
Another time some burglars were breaking into businesses and stealing business checks because somebody had a stolen check protector machine and they were papering the town with bogus payroll checks. A detective working forgery had come up with the weirdest names of a man and a woman who possessed the stolen check protector. Everybody jumped on that but after failing to locate the man and woman, they got disillusioned and said there was no man and woman with that kind of name so the duty got shuffled off to me to help the forgery detective. After a couple nights crawling around house trailers in another county, we located the man and woman in an apartment in a low-rent housing project not far from downtown.
The man and woman let us in and consented to a consent search. We had no warrant or anything. While the forgery detective was in a bedroom searching for the check protector I stayed with the pair in the living room. They pulled out a big bottle of whiskey and asked if they could have a drink. I did not want to anger them so I said, it is your house. They swapped that big bottle back and forth until they killed it. I have never seen anyone drink like that. The man said something and the woman said awww he is looking for that check protector but he will never find it back there because it is right up there and she pointed at the ceiling.
I called the forgery detective into the living room and told him that she said it was up there and pointed at the ceiling. The forgery detective pushed up on the ceiling panels and pulled out the check protector. On the way downtown, the pair passed out and we had to carry them into the station. Again, everybody jumped on the case. Unbeknownst to me I was hidden from the case. Apparently the defense attorney had looked high and low for me. I did not hear about this for months until someone was laughing about it.
One time a supervisor who was hiding in the office asked me how I got into all this ****. I said it is not in here. It is out there. You go out there and it will run over you. But then again the old saying that if you dont do anything, you wont get in trouble.
The sycophants, including some supervisors were more concentrated on the evening shift detective division by choice. I was on the evening shift due to my day classes at the university and persisted to the end even though I was repeatedly told that it would do me no good and that I should quit. And they were right. It was one of those degrees that you could take with fifty cents and buy a cup of coffee. It was no electrical engineering degree.
At one time I was setup to commit a burglary of vehicle with witnesses. That was quite an elaborate scheme. There was a loaded .45 semi automatic pistol with both safeties off pointed between my eyes. There were shots in the dark. I was assigned the burglary of an apartment which, unbeknownst to me, turned out to be directly across from the apartment of an officer who had just gotten fired on a dope warrant. The apartment of the bogus burglary was vacant and when I turned around the fired officer had been staring at my back. I guess they thought the fired officer would be mad enough to shoot me. The tension on my steering box was loosened to the point I could not steer my vehicle. That was a rank amateur. Some of the stunts they pulled were so petty they were almost laughable. It would take several pages to list all the crap I went through.
I got so many obscene phone calls at home on an unlisted telephone number that I thought the city had a real problem with obscene phone callers. "This is your doctor. How is your wife doing on those birth control pills?" Of course everybody down at the station, including the brothers of the divorcee with two children and an ex-husband, had a copy of the roster of everybody's telephone numbers. It was like the queer deal. It took me a long time to figure that one out too.
One time one of the brothers' water skiing buddies, a supervisor, cornered me and asked me what I was going to do when one of the chiefs took our guns away from us. I replied well I guess I will work without a gun or look for another job. This supervisor started screaming that I had just committed political suicide. I think he had been looking for any excuse to tell me that probably because he felt his harassment of me was not working.
I keep remembering weird things to add to this. One time I was by my driveway looking over an engine someone had dropped off when I heard yelling on my front porch. I look up to see the woman from the rent house, three houses east of mine, screaming "Where is your daughter?" In the house. No she is not. You dont know where your daughter is. I have been in there three times and she is not in there. The woman stomped off toward her house. Breaking and Entering three times with the intent to beat on my daughter. That is first degree burglary.
I went thru the house three times before I found my daughter and the six or seven year old girl from down the street the other direction. Their little butts were sticking out from under the other side of a bed in a back bedroom.
I went back outside and continued looking at the engine. Down the street they came and parked the wrong way against the curb on my side of the street. The man was driving and ordered me to come to him. They said my daughter was harassing them over the telephone. My daughter was three or four years old and did not know how to dial a telephone. Turns out they were fighting with the other girl's family down the street in the other direction and the other little girl must have called them from my house.
This man was really cussing me and said he was going to kick my you know what. The only thing I said was, well come on. Away he went. The rest of the day and the all the next day if I or my son walked outside they would stand down there and scream at us.
Then I got a call from the station that I was harassing my neighbors and to get down to the station. So I went. These two sycophants who outranked me, one was my dayshift supervisor, raked me over the coals, trying to get me to take a reduction in rank.
This dayshift supervisor had found fault with everything I had done to that point. Like the time he and the district supervisor of the district next to mine, were doing their community policing bit in a church, all for show. All the years before, we had done programs in schools and other places, off duty, with no recognition. Anyway, while they were doing their thing for recognition, some yahoos hit about ten vehicles with their vehicle over a half mile in the other supervisors district. I drove over and took over. As officers would come by, I would ask them to work one of the dozen or so wrecks.
After several officers had checked out on the radio to work a wreck, this dayshift supervisor came by and when he saw what had been going on, he went ballistic. I dont know what his problem was as the situation was well under control. I guess he did not have time to call out the tv cameras and give a big speech. He had been trying hard to get another promotion at that time but I dont think he ever made another promotion.
So while they were raking me over the coals for "harassing the neighbors", the shift supervisor made some remarks about my being on his shift, so I said if you dont want me on your shift then I dont want to be on your shift. He said something about working the office on the midnight shift. I said anything would be fine with me. Then he kept saying, "You dont mind doing that", like asking my permission to be put on the desk.
But that did not stop his harassment of me. He had a couple of sycophants on the midnight shift. One night while I was sitting on the desk, one of the ID guys popped his head in the door, said something, and when I looked up, he snapped my picture. A couple days later this same ID guy came in, threw my picture on the desk, and left without saying a word. It dawned on me that my picture had been used in a photo lineup. I never found out the crime of which sycophant had tried to railroad me.
I had stopped taking the promotional tests ten years before. They had mis-graded my last test which was the only one I checked back on, so I quit taking the tests. The sycophants really went crazy about these promotional tests. I had been labeled a test-taker and other descriptions including having a photographic memory in order to knock down my ratings with the supervisors and up their's. This was well known as some of the guys came to me to help them on the promotional tests and some went way up in rank. One of the shift supervisors, for no reason, said in my presence, that the best worker does not make the best supervisor. Then he looked at me. When I applied to go to the FBI Academy, one of the chiefs on the screening board asked me the question, "Aren't you afraid you will work us out of a job?" Huh? I must have given the wrong answer as I was not allowed to go to the FBI Academy. Later, the guy from civil service called me and asked why I was not taking the promotional tests. "Because they are crooked." The civil service guy said that is not us. That was the other people over here before us. I said you are not about to get me back into that hornet's nest.
I kept hearing about these cliques on the department. These guys talked about who had gotten them hired. One said his priest had gotten him hired I told them I had just walked in off the street. Much later I realized It must have been a department head at the oil company I had worked for that had gotten me on. I remember he had been in politics, getting people elected to public office. These other guys in my clique (?) must have been a little jealous of me because this oil company department head had taken me fishing and bought me dinner and so forth. I did not figure this out until the poor guy had died. These clique guys tried to lord it over me. While I was looking thru a computer printout for alarm calls ole nervous bugeyes, who tried to run the clique made the remark that I was trying to find out who was calling in on my house. My kids got called in on for being out in the yard.
After I had left town, I had to go back and keep the yard mowed at the old house. The guy behind cut all the brush off his fence and threw it all in my yard. I hollered at him and asked if he had done that. He said yes. I asked what he was going to do with it. He said he was not going to do anything. That it was my problem. So I was dragging the brush out to my truck when here came two police officers and said someone had called in saying I was having words with this guy. I told them exactly what I had said and then said look at the sweat pouring off me. I am (blank) years old. What if I have a heart attack because this guy trashed my yard? Oh you had better take it easy and away they went.
Later I mentioned something about this to the old crazy lady next door. One time she had run to me in my yard and said everybody is crazy. One of her sons had been a police officer and had spent most of his time praying. He was accused of trying to commit suicide after he had taken a gun off someone. I dont know.
So later I asked this old gal next door if she knew this guy (ole nervous bugeyes) who was trying to control me and the clique to which I should have belonged. This old lady said oh yes, he is such a fine religious person. Yeah he sure is. Now I realized who had been calling in on my kids and why that goofy sycophant had hit me with the question while I was looking thru the alarm calls.
Well one of the guys called him goofy blank, goofy blank. Goofy rhymed with his last name. This guy probably told him that I was the one calling him goofy blank because he himself was such a screwup and he kept pointing the finger at me to keep the heat off himself. Lots of times. Sometimes I think he did it just for attention from the brass. There were a few more guys that I suspected of that too. He was on me like a leach. When this guy put one fist on top of his other fist and made a circular motion, you knew he was stirring you know what.
Oh yeah. About the police officer who had been accused of trying to commit suicide by taking a gun off someone. I took several guns off people in all those years. I do not know if I got accused of trying to commit suicide on any of these deals. If they are not passed out after shooting up the place, you just walk up and ask them if they have a gun on them. One guy said yes. where? Right front pocket. You pull it out. One guy the victims complained about having a gun was strip searched at the station and still they could not find the gun. I just walked up and asked him if he had a gun on him. Yes. Where? He lifted up a slab of fat below his left armpit and there lay the revolver on another slab of fat just like it would be laying on a shelf. He weighed maybe four hundred pounds and was not that tall.
So I was listening to a call on the car radio about a man having a gun in a bar. The police supervisor on the scene told the dispatcher to tell the bartender to send the man outside. The dispatcher came back and said no, the bartender wants you to come inside. The supervisor again said tell him to send the man outside. The dispatcher again came back and said the bartender said for you to come inside. This really got funny. I dont know how it ended. But I think this is the direction stuff started going. Down hill. The times they were a-changing.
Some of their outside sycophants endangered one of my sons and then screamed at me on my front porch. A little later this guy called me on the telephone and said I must send him five hundred dollars or else. Else what? We will go down to the police station and file a complaint against you. (felony extortion) Well, I am not about to send you any money. They sent a crazy woman to file a complaint against me. The head guy in Internal Affairs Division told me they could not understand what her complaint was. I never told him about the extortion attempt.
The extortionist was a regular associate of another division commander of the police department. This division commander later sent one of his sycophants to feel me out on the issue, I guess because I had just let it drop. This was the second screw-around this division commander had pulled on me and the second time he had sent this same syscophant to me.
Another time this same division commander joined some outlaws against me. I dont remember how or who but his disparaging remarks about my character were relayed to me by some sycophant, probably at a time when I was busy and had my mind on something else. That was normally how they did it.
I had been launching a boat into a creek on a lake when I was approached by two money-hungry natives who told me I was stuck and had to be towed. These two were staying in a trailer owned by a wrecker guy from which they would get a commission. Strange, but the same thing happened years earlier on a different lake and I got a shotgun barrel at my nose.
I and another guy were on a deer hunting trip and trying to get out of the camper before daylight when there was a loud knock on the door. I opened the door and the guy said, "You are stuck and we are going to pull you out." The truck was setting on dry ground. This guy was drunk and I finally made a deal with him to come back after we got thru hunting. Then his truck would not start so I grabbed a set of jumper cables from the trunk of my car which we had also drove up there. The end of one cable was missing so the guy with me held that end on the guy's battery but still the his truck would not start. These two drunks started bouncing the guy with me back and forth between them. I shoved in, said that is enough, grabbed the jumper cables and threw the cables into the trunk of my car. When I turned, the drunk had a 12 guage short barrel shotgun at my nose. He was weaving and cussing me.
I kept looking sideways at the guy with me who was standing with the butt of his muzzle loader on the ground. Finally, I saw that he had the hammer back on his cap and ball rifle and had the rifle pointed at the drunk's head. At that point I turned my head toward him and the drunk followed my gaze. The drunk immediately dropped the shotgun from my nose. It might have been interesting to watch a round ball go thru the drunk's head but then the shotgun might have gone off. Those two were later jailed and fined for pointing a deadly weapon. In both of these instances, my truck was setting on dry ground. These are the dangers you face when going out on the lakes.
Back to this time..... After I refused to let these natives make their commission on a tow, one of the natives started screaming that my truck was on fire. I got into the driver's seat to see what he was screaming about but could see nothing. When I started to get back out of the truck, this guy was all over me, jumping up and down, flailing his arms and screaming. What he was doing was blocking me from going around and seeing the other native who had just been released from a psychiatric ward two weeks earlier, setting fire to a milk jug of gasoline which he had thrown under my truck. If I had known what was going on, I could have just backed the truck up and got off the milk jug and it's contents, but my concern was with the two small children who were with me somewhere around the truck. The truck went up like a fireball. No time to do anything but get the kids away from the truck.
The vehicle these natives had arrived in was a homemade dune buggy with no gas tank. It was just a stripped down frame with seats and a motor. They had some sort of gravity feed contraption mounted above the carburetor and at least four one-gallon milk jugs of gasoline sitting on the dune buggy for replenishing this contraption.
I wrote up a bill for something like sixteen hundred dollars and hand carried it to the wrecker guy but after the disparaging remarks by this division commander, I let that drop also. I knew if word got out about the bill, it would only get worse for me. You just have to take it. Nothing was done to the guys who set fire to my truck. As far as I know they are still out there trying to extort money out of anyone they can find. They may have killed somebody by now.
I have fond memories of that old truck. It was a 1965 GMC half ton with a 327 cubic inch chevy motor with oversized pistons and a positrac rear end. I had had the block bored out sixty thousandths over and the rods and caps reamed out circular again. They become egg-shaped from the constant pounding. Then I ordered new matching pistons, rings, and rod bearings before we put it back together. That truck climbed the Kiamichi Mountains several times, carrying an overhead camper and pulling a boat with no sweat at all. After these thieves burned it, everybody claimed it was such a loss. Prior to it burning, everybody told me to sell that old thing and get something newer. After it burned, they talked about how big a loss it was. Huh?
Down in the lowland forests of the Mississippi River outside of the town of Crosset in southeastern Arkansas, this deer hunting camp was a quarter mile off the highway. The road in looked like a creek. Just water. These four-wheeler guys would hook onto my truck with their four-wheel drive vehicles with winches and lead me in in case I got stuck. These guys were crazy. They would be spinning out of a big mudhole over in the muddy bottoms and run into another big mudhole while they were looking back and laughing about the mudhole they had just spun out of.
One time a guy leading me in to the deer camp got stuck and had to winch off of a tree to get going again. All that time my truck set in the water until he got going and then I just went on. They stopped hooking on to me after that. That truck never got stuck anywhere.
Once upon a time thieves were stealing boat batteries, tools, and anything left in the yard or cars. I went to a hardware store and purchased the infra-red sensor with the light bulbs that lit up when the sensor was tripped, but instead of hooking the wires to the light bulbs, I tied the wires to a long extension cord, ran the cord thru the attic and dropped the cord down through a hole I cut in the ceiling in my closet. Thereto I hooked a radio already turned on so that when the sensor tripped instead of the light bulbs coming on, the radio would start playing and wake me up.
There were several instances of my putting potential thieves to flight but the funniest one was when the Step kid down the street was pulling on my wife's locked car door at 3:00 AM. I walked up behind the thief and said, Hey buddy. If you need something out of that car I will unlock it for you. He started shouting, "I never touched that car", over and over and then he took off up the hill. He looked like something out of a cartoon running up the hill.
Another time when the radio started playing after midnight, I saw a guy sitting cross-legged in the driveway. I walked up behind the guy and watched him move little piles of bones, fur, and feathers back and forth and all around while chanting. Finally I ran my hand right down beside his face and asked, "What is this little pile for?" He grabbed up all the little piles and took off down the street.
Was that voodoo? Was he putting a curse on me? This guy was serious. He never dropped any of his bones and feathers while making his hurried exit. I wonder who had put him up to that?
And on and on it went.
When I retired I moved to the country and settled on my grandmother's indian land. In the middle of the night a guy drove up honking his horn. I raised a window to hear the guy say, "That is not me saying all those bad things about you. That is Billy _________." It was ten years later before I connected the name with a person that I had called Lurch like in the Adam's Family series because after shooting up my place he would drop his head and stare at me from the top of his eyes. I ran into him in an Autozone where he had his name on his shirt. I did enjoy staring at this dirtbag and laughing. So you see, the slander followed me to the country and is probably still going on today. These slavers do not appreciate their slave escaping.
When my second son was arrested and jailed on a felony in Catoosa Oklahoma for no reason whatsoever (false arrest #2), I assumed this to be more of the harassment and insanity being pushed by the fellow police officer / fellow cadet / brother of the divorcee, and his brother, because he always said he lived in Catoosa. When I would remind him that he lived within another city's limits, he would say, "I live in Catoosa." He must have spent a lot of time out there. I am sure he fraternized with the police officers out there and bad-mouthed me to them also. I think the older brother did live out there at the time. They both have been listed recently as living in Catoosa now, although I am sure that the one still lives within another city's limits.
The crazy Catoosa police officer did everything he could to frame my second son for a manufactured felony crime that did not happen. He grilled and mistreated my son. He definitely knew that my son was in fact my son because my son informed him so under the grilling. Professional courtesy? What a turd.
Seven years after the attempted enslavement of me, an adult child of the older brother setup a nonsensical deal and then lied about me, making this a second generation attack. And as my son is a second generation with me, is this a continuing long-running one-sided feud? Are they ever going to quit? We never did anything to these crazy people and never wanted to have anything to do with any of them. They are mean, mean people.
Come to think of it, a couple of years after I was sent word to resign from the police department and get out of town, I caught a guy trying to come through my front door at 4:00 AM on a Sunday morning. Assassin's time. Guess where he was from? Catoosa Oklahoma. Naturally.
Even the totally ridiculous faulting of my first son (false arrest #1) for the wreck had me wondering if this highway patrolman had recognized me and was in on the crap. That wreck was not an accident. It was a drunk driver on the wrong side of the road who rammed and demolished my son's car. It only took the trooper an hour and a half to get there with the drunk running at us and screaming because my son had called the sheriff's office.
What a waste of good times it all was. When people find out what I wasted my life on, they ask, "Do you miss it?"
mmmmm, I dont think so.
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