For two days now I have been thinking about gurrilla warfare and urban mafias. Moreso, I have been thinking of my biological family and purging. I have cut my phone off, bolted the door, poured myself a stiff drink, that may or may not get drunk, and here I sit. The so-called professionals have tried to get me to open up for many years, to no avail. But then, their will be no wine before its time...or some such dribble. Before I jump back into a profile sketch of my biological Mother, Ill waltz about a bit. I just got up from a nap, thinking about the reformatory they put me in at about age 10 or thereabouts. Ive written about some of this before, buried somewhere in my timeline. I escaped there 3 times. Once, I went the wrong way, and ended in West Point, sitting in a laundry mat, getting warm. Thats where the cop caught me. If there was a window or another door, Id not have been so easily caught. Another time I was caught in a field. Some farmer collected the 50$ bounty which was given out in those days. I ran as fast as I could, but my legs were too short and I was tackled by their runners. One tackled me, and another used my head as a football. I awoke in the tiny cell with the hole in the floor for waste, naked. Id been there before. My third time, after swimming the river they said was too swift to navigate, I walked the 70-80 miles (mostly at night to avoid detection), from Hanover Reform School for Boys, to Stafford, Va. I do not recall how long it took me, or how many rivers along the way I dove into to avoid capture. Once, I came upon a farm, and as it was cold, I burrowed down into a grain bin, to be awakened by an elderly man tapping me on my forehead. I was quiet (I was always quiet), and he led me into a farm house with his hand on my shoulder, where I met his wife. They were both very puzzled, and both very kind. I opened up to them, explaining how I happened to be in their barn, burrowed down under the grain. The wife made me a wonderful breakfast and they wanted me to stay longer. But, I had to get home. I was given a sack of food for my journey, and off I went. I will never forget their act of kindness. In fact, several times I have thought to find and visit them over the years, but it was just a farm in the middle of what seemed to be vast countryside. I made it home on a sunny day. Shortly thereafter, County Deputy, Red Sullivan pulled up and handcuffed me not much longer after arriving. It was back to the reformatory and that tiny cell. My biological Mother had called them to come get me. There just wasnt any room for me...in heart or home. Such taught me about home, and what it isnt. Hanover...there were 3 there that I vowed to hunt down, when I grew up. Well, one died. That was Pop Randoff. He had a little thing hed do. Hed cup your left ear between his ring and middle finger, put his other hand in a bowl of water, then slap across the face. I saw stars more than once. Another was Carter, a real twisted piece of work that liked to use a studded belt. Him I never found. The one I did find. Mr Fields, a giant of a man that used a cut-out section of tire with holes in it. You should see the welts it made, I did. I had the unfortunate occasion to be on the other side of his strap several times, plus the 3 times I escaped. I found him in Richmond, Va. Hardly a man at all, just a pathetic junkie. I put a 38 to his ear (not my first) and was about to squeeze the trigger when in a moaning, crying manner, he begged me to pull the trigger. I saw that he was suffering and decided to allow him that, as such was better than a quick release. Besides, he was not long from death anyway. So I did not kill him. Rather, I left him in a puddle of piss, crying and pleading for death. When you go fishing, you cant expect to catch them all...and some you need to throw back. Nite nite.
Posted on: Sat, 18 Jan 2014 00:50:13 +0000
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