I know that, at least in the media, this will be the chapter that people will refer to
most. I think it's totally appropriate for me to be required to explain my ideas, my
life and my actions since I am the one who is declaring my candidacy and fitness for the
offiice of President of the United States.
It is difficult to resist the temptation to attempt to defend myself for the
appearances of what I am about to tell you. It is just as difficult to ignore or
deny the anger and pain I have experienced because of the events and circumstances I am
going to describe.
If, after reading this, you believe that what I'm going to tell you is a way to cause
you to feel sorry for me, you would be wrong. If you believe it is an attempt to
"lay the blame for my life" on others, you would be wrong. I take
responsibility for my life, and my own actions. Someone recently said "It's not
what happens to you in life, it's what you do with it."
In actuality, I am proud of who I have been as a person in this world. I believe
that I have acted as a person, and as a citizen, as one who has respected the rights of
other people, worked as a partner and team player, and who has refused to "cooperate
with evil" (as Gandhi said).
I believed in the American Dream. The idea that if you work hard and do the right
thing, that there was a place for you in this society, that you had a reason to expect
some level of reciprocity. And, when offenses were committed against you, that you
have a right to believe that some form of justice will occur to protect you, if not
empower you.
I will not say that I have given up that dream. But, I have to admit, after 8
years of what I can only describe as bizarre occurrences, one after another, I came to the
point where I realized I either had to walk away from "civilized society"... all
the compromises and convolutions and the expectations that require us to "go
along" with things we know are just plain wrong, just to fit in or even just to
survive - or, I had to do something about the things I have complaints about. Not just for
myself, because I realize that what has happened in my life is a symptom of patterns of
occurrences, and they are not at all unique to me.
I do not expect the world to be perfect. I hope for a world that is vigilantly
seeking justice, and willing to acknowledge where it has made the wrong turn and is
willing to correct the errors, or at least, not perpetuate the offenses we commit toward
each other and humanity on a daily basis.
Recently, I had a little "discussion" of sorts with some people.
They said "Who says the world was fair?"
My response: "God did."
It was people exercising free will who chose to deceive and cheat and harm
others."
What I will say about it all is this: despite how anything may look, there is very
little that I am about to tell you that I am ashamed or embarrassed about... a couple of
things... but I would like to suggest that you read this, and understand that my journey
in this life is not all that unlike a great number of people in this country, and in the
world.
I believe it is a story about a person, about all of us, who begin in the world as
people attempting to live life with as much integrity and optimism as exists, and how we
are all, to one extent or another, prodded and pushed and intimidated to conform to a
system that isn't really what it appears to be.
And I'm not claiming it's some kind of evil plot. I''m saying it's the result of people
naturally wanting to push the envelope, be the best, win - and that it get a little out of
hand sometimes. Until the envelope has been pushed to the extreme, and then the
whole system because a little less relevant and effective. The system I'm referring to is
our society, and the agreements we have with each other based upon our moral disciplines
and religious values that would have us act toward each in ways that honor our principals.
At the very least, I would like you to consider that although my circumstances may be
extreme, that the facades of those people who claim to have flawless or acceptable records
in public life are the ones who set the tone and example for how citizens should conduct
themselves. Just an observation, really.
The example that has been set is one of "everything is okay so long as you get
away with it".
While those who lead in a suspect manner may "get away with it" because they
control the process of justice and have the money to resist legal prosecution or civil
proceedings, it does not make it right, and it produces the kind of unjust results in the
lives of innocent people as exemplified in the following.
Someone may suggest that you believe that I am a loser with a mixed record of personal
conduct. My response will be that I am a victim of multiple crimes, and his
characterization of me in that manner makes him an accomplice after the fact.
I am not a candidate for President in order to execute a vendetta. I am a person
who loves America, and the promise it offers for people. And, what I choose to do with the
hand dealt me is use it to make a difference in the world... for people. For the
citizens like me who believe that enough is enough.
I believe I've experienced a great deal, and understand what it takes to flourish as an
individual, as a small business person and much, much more... And I understand a great
many of the pitfalls.
Last summer I began a website to accomplish a few things. First, to encourage people to
vote. Second, to begin a process of addressing fellow citizens regarding what they
believe is right or wrong, and third, to encourage them and to remind them that as
American Citizens, we do, indeed, have a right to speak out, disagree with our government,
and expect that we should be respected as equal partners in the American institution.
Part of what I was doing was pointing out that the American press is restricted in what
it reports because of corporate interests and governmental intimidations. Because of
that, and as time goes on, it will likely be apparent which companies I angered. That will
be an interesting process. When that occurs, I will be certain to point it out.
Like many people who dared to act like Americans, my phones were tapped, I was
frequently followed to and from various places, I had people outside my windows late at
night (and I live in the country, where there is no reason for anyone to be within a 1/4
mile of where I live). My internet connection was always monitored, my email
services were obstructed. I have every reason to believe that my civil rights were
violated. Something, of course, that I cannot prove, because the Patriot Act gives our
government an absolute right to secrecy, which, by itself, is un-American.
But even before those things occurred, I made a commitment to myself to be a force in
the future of this country. And I refuse to be prevented from doing so, even if
someone should decide to try to manipulate this information as a means to discredit me or
infer any criminality on my part.
If you think that sounds paranoid, then be sure to read what I have to say, and then
about abuse of power and Political Prisoners as that part of this publication becomes
available. Remember the citizens of Boulder Colorado who were illegally spied upon, only
to have their records purposefully released to the public. Listen to Paul Krugman,
noted columnist of the New York Times and his descriptions of similar activities against
him. Read the story of Susan McDougal. Remember that the government has the right to
monitor what books you read. Then you will know that my concerns are justified.
Please keep in mind, I have never taken on a campaign of activism like this before in my
life.
What follows is a piece I wrote over the course of about a week. It was written after I
had used my experience in the media and in government to cause the government and the
media to take notice of me and my little web site. I'm sure it would be difficult to
find anyone who would acknowledge that they became aware of my existence, because it would
be politically disadvantageous to acknowledge my influence.:} It's the same old song
and dance of politics, and this way, it remains as hypothetical upon hypothetical.
There may be a few things that I will alter for the sake of clarity, but I will not
change the context or content to defend or protect myself.
I have to admit, though, there is an element of "playing" with the intended
audience at that time. Like the protestors in the streets these days, the government
doesn't tend to listen to citizens unless you make some noise. At the same time, what you
will read is the truth.
I will, however, remove references that would tend to identify particular individuals
involved in what I describe, because I have no interest in harming anyone, or causing
criminal prosecution. That is not the result I want (and, by the way, the government
was not interested in prosecuting any of the people, because it was too insignificant to
them, despite the effects on my life).
What I want to do is give context to why I am compelled to do this, to clean up the
government and return it as the true representative of the people. I hope you will
come to understand the necessity of that undertaking. I hope you will understand,
from what I tell you, that it can happen to you under our current system, and it happens
to many people now, every day. Just because it's "the way things are
done", it doesn't make it right.
Corruption and Me
About Me
I was going to call it Travels With Charlie, but
it's been taken, and I really don't like being called Charlie.
PREFACE
I've had a very unusual life. I've experienced a lot. And
from a very early age, I just accepted it, because after all, it was just an opportunity
to learn. I'll explain all of that very soon.
What I'm going to describe to you most certainly will have many think
I'm totally nuts. In fact, I'm so objective, I could actually argue the case for
you. On the other hand, I can also prove to you that, despite my cynicism, I am
incredibly lucid, extremely moral, incredibly human, described as a genius by many (who
then use their description to embarrass me when it serves them) and, self-admittedly, not
particularly street-wise.:}
That's the part that's made me nice, and originally allowed me to get
into trouble. A good deal of why I did this web site is because I knew that if I
didn't, in my mind, I would be giving in and acquiescing to the very forces I swore I
would never be like. I refuse to become personally corrupted. And, I'm a lot tougher now -
something's that's both good and bad.
I'm a combination of Phil Donahue, Bill Clinton, Richard Brautigan,
Neil Diamond and Wayne Dyer... and Jerry Lewis AND The Nutty Professor, or was that
the Absent Minded Professor? I call myself a boy scout, but I was so straight as a
kid, I couldn't even get into the boy scouts. I kid you not.
And I laugh at myself alot. Always remember that.
I was raised to believe you could trust most people, not all.
But, I lived way back in the hills of Santa Cruz, Scotts Valley to be exact. I was the
youngest of 6 children. This was in the late 1950's and 1960's.
We raised horses and fed 20-50 rabbits for food, chickens, ducks, a
huge garden, we even had an out house. Now, you might think that sounds bleak.
I thought it was wonderful.
John
Denver - Thank God I'm A Country Boy
Now, with all this diatribe about me, you might think this is all
about me. This story is all about the distortion of social values, the trends that lead us
to adopt values and shape our opinions, the political and corporate struggles that
teach us to divide and disrespect each other's rights and value systems, the way family
values are destroyed, role models in a society where families are most often divided by
divorce than remain united through the understanding of the word commitment.
Finally, it's about words themselves, how they become so twisted
that, in fact, it's often impossible to really be sure what people are saying, because of
the ambiguities backed with research that tells people with evil intent how to manipulate
you, and cause you to do things you wouldn't ever imagine doing.
Even the financial pressures cause people to do things they wouldn't
do... which is all part of the reason so many people end up in prison... all the pressures
and manipulations, and frustrations that manifest themselves in criminal or violent ways,
or, in a very few cases, motivates people to take on seemingly insurmountable challenges
to right the wrong that's been done.
And you might think that this is to get you to like me or approve...
it's not. I require a little, but very little external validation. I judge my
own actions based upon my own belief system and my personal relationship to
God. A very profound relationship indeed. And even if I was burned at the
stake tomorrow for some convoluted crime, I'd have to say I am proud of myself as a
person, as a citizen, and as a person who has given all I can to my fellow humans and
beings and forests of this planet.
Finally, there are some people who may believe that some of the
things I'm going to say are critical, are opinionated, wrong, right, whatever.
That's not what's important. What I really want to do is present my view, and
encourage other people to speak out and share their views so we have a basis for the
conversation of "what do we have to understand to make it all work for
everybody". I have every faith in the ideal that it's actually possible.
Even the terrorists have something to say, and if anyone had bothered
to listen to them and tend to their complaints in the first place, they likely would not
have become terrorists. And I don't condone their actions.
So, I am everyone's ally, and no one's. I want to re-affirm
what Jesse Ventura did when he exposed himself to admit his victories and his
improprieties. He wanted people to understand the layers and textures of what
caused him to come to the conclusions he did. He wanted to expose that part in each
of us that thinks about things we would never admit in public... even if we don't do those
things. It's just all a part of being human, and embracing it makes us all a little
more open to the spirituality we all share, and the dignity we all deserve.
In political parties, because the political positioning has gone on
for so long, we have all been trained to be like lawyers arguing a side of an issue that
we don't even agree with, using speaking points carefully positioned to train us from our
leaders and broadcasters.
So, we become aligned with groups of people we don't know at all,
arguing points we don't understand, and we divide ourselves from our communities, and
break all the rules of conduct we say we dearly love. And most people don't even
know it. They're just "going along".
So that's what this is really all about. I'm going to mention
things pointing to criminality of other people, and I'm not particularly interested in the
prosecution of the crimes. These are all just observations, examples of everything
that brings me to saying everything I say.
Not because I think I am right. But because trusting the people means
putting your ideas forward, and allowing the people to choose what ideas they will adopt
and support. And those that resonate will be supported. And other people will
most assuredly have brilliant ideas much better than mine. And I will immediately
adopt those as my own, and give them the credit they deserve. Because it makes
sense. What makes sense. That's what this is about.
If the only thing I accomplish in this is to cause people to question
the difference between what we're told, what we do and the manipulations and divisory
tactics used to do it, and to cause a public conversation about our values and what the
people want, what the people want... not what the leaders decide for us and convince us to
accept. Not the lesser of two evils.
This is truly not a criticism. This is an intellectually honest
examination of what it means to be human, what it means to be an American, what Democracy
is, and what freedom means to me. So, here we go. Every little story I tell you is
true. They are relevant to the final parts of the story. And afterward, I'll tell you what
I think about key issues... especially the part about abortion, which will shock all
sides, given that I say I am a fundamentalist Christian. And if you disagree with
me about any of the things I say, I'll be glad. That will mean you're
thinking, and we'll have some interesting discussions. See, I'm one of those guys
who doesn't really care about winning. I care about having things work.
Like von Hayek's wife said of him, "He'll never be rich, but
it'll never be boring".
Grateful
Dead - Truckin'
With all the strange things that have happened to me, I don't feel
sorry for myself at all, and I don't want anyone else to either. Think of me as a
composite, though what I'm going to tell you is true, and that will help de-personalize it
for you.
[Note: what I meant by composite was like a
rounded discussion of my experiences and observations, not something intended to provided
an accurate psychological composite... which I still think they haven't quite nailed
down.. no one has..:} ]
Chapter I
One night around 1 am I was driving on Highway 17 from San Jose to
Santa Cruz, and when I got to the summit of the pass, it was snowing. I hadn't
really experienced snow much, and normally avoided driving in it because I know I don't
know how to drive in it well.
But on this one night, there it was. And it was very light, and the
flakes were very big. I was driving slowly, and it was very dark outside, and to me,
it seemed like I was being shown a movie. As if life was like a movie playing
in front of me, going on all around me.
I love to watch people at airports.
As involved as I was in this grand show, what I was most was an
observer, and every once in a while, when I thought it would do some good or saw some
advantage that wouldn't hurt other people, I could re-write the tiniest part of the script
and cause the outcome of that act of the movie to come out totally differently than it
otherwise would.
I took it seriously, and I thought it was interesting and fun.
Covertly empowering other people, rarely getting credit for things, but causing little
outcomes everywhere I go. And rarely did I do it on purpose. It's just what I
do.
We moved to the hills of Santa Cruz when I was five
6. It was at the end of a fire road, that bordered on open land for hundreds, if not
thousands of acres. To get to my nearest friend's house meant riding down some very
steep hills for about 5 miles on my bicycle. That was not an impairment to me. It
was just what I needed to do.
In the house down the hill below us lived an abstract artist named
Robert Vestal, a fairly well-known artist in the San Francisco Bay Area. His house was
originally my grandparents house. A few hundred feet away, was my great
grand-parents' old house. Long ago, they owned the whole mountain.
Bob always had an easel and a set of paints for me, taught me to use
various brushes, and how to use textures. He had one brilliant painting of John
Kennedy that we would sit and look at for an hour at a time. Until one day, he said,
watch this.... and he began to paint over it, using the textures of the face of Kennedy to
bring the new painting to life with rich textures and colors... he told me to always look
at things to see what they will cause, or what they will allow, instead of worrying about
what you know it can do and limiting your possibilities.
Bob was, in many ways, my second father. The artistic one.
My own father was a big believer in the arts, and liked it very much that Bob was
teaching me these things. I don't think they ever talked.
At one point, Bob, who liked to bodysurf, got run over by a surf
board at Twin Lakes Beach, just next to the Yacht Harbor in Santa Cruz. So, for
about 3 months, on my way home from school each day, I would stop by his house, fix him a
simple dinner followed by his daily Manhattan, and then read books to him. I can't
remember what they were. Stuff about JFK, Catholicism, Hawaii.. all kinds of cool
stuff I had never imagined.
In the second grade, I was tested and declared a genius. I
didn't know what that meant, and didn't really care. My teacher told me that one day I
would be a scientist, and invent something that would be of significance to the world.
[Actually she said that one day I would be
famous for my work in salt, as opposed to Psaltery?... I didn't know she was a
Psychometrist. And then I wonder why there's iodized salt, radium in San Francisco Bay,
salt coming out of San Francisco Bay... are we being given iodine to hide the fact that
we're exposed to radiation?]
This explained why the bathroom smelled every time after I used it,
having mixed various combinations of whatever was in the medicine cabinet to see what
could possibly happen. My biggest challenge was to figure out how to disolve this
brown stuff that was sometimes in the wash basin. It was impossible. Years
later, I found out it was denture adhesive.
They wanted to put me in the 5th grade, but my parents believed
it would be bad for my sister psychologically if I was advanced beyond her. It
didn't matter to me... I didn't even know at the time.
Alma, Grayson, Donna
Susan, Linda, me...
By the third grade I was teaching other kids math and reading,
leading hour long Beatles song fests on the playground, and I generally had a good time.
Paul
Mauriat - Love Is Blue
I was writing poetry, in the 4th grade I began playing violin, and
wrote my first song. And I wrote more and more and more. An older sister,
Alma, later became Miss Soquel-O-Rama and an entrant in the Miss Santa Cruz contest.
They said she was supposed to be a virtuoso violinist, and, up to that point at
least, considered the most intelligent and favorite of my father. That seems to have
been very important to my siblings.
I would stand outside her bedroom while she practiced, and when she
stopped, I would play back whatever she had played. Drove her nuts. I was just
playing music.
My first copyrighted lyrics were for the song "Love is
Blue" although they were not used. I copyrighted numerous songs through a
company in Philadelphia called Betty's Music Makers which supposedly was destroyed in a
flood.(Years later, one of the choruses of a song I wrote ended up in an Elvis Presly
song. I was shocked, flattered, and merely took it as an indication that there was more to
know before I got into the music business.)
I was in a band. I couldn't play the guitar, though they taught
me a few chords so I could hold it while I performed lead vocals. My real function
was in rehearsals, where they'd start playing a melody and turn a tape recorder on, and I
would make up the lyrics as we went along.
We played Cream, the Beatles, the Doors, all that stuff. It was the
time of Fillmore West, and a building just a couple hundred feet away from our church was
called The Barn, and was a mini-Fillmore, mostly where artists came and hung out and did
drugs and jammed. Alot of artists actually came from the Santa Cruz mountains...
the Doobies, CSN&Y... alot. Anyway, one night at one of the dances, Cream and
the Doors showed up. I didn't know who they were at the time, but the extra
guitarist with them was supposedly Hendrix. What a dance.
There was this other guy who wanted in the band... and thought for
some reason that meant getting someone out of it, and that someone was me. Noone in
the school knew the songs were mine. This guy spread it around that I didn't really know
how to play the guitar. And I was kicked out of the group. But my songs were
popular, and they kept playing them. I was furious.
Still, when they realized their lead singer, songwriter and
tambourine player was part of what made the sound of the band, they let me back in, and
the guy who got me kicked out... Well, come the the next school election, I didn't have to
do a thing. He actually got every single person in the class, including my opponent,
to sign the petition to put me in the election. I didn't dare ask how.
I have a history of that. The supposed "hard cases"
liking me. I think it's because I treat them with respect, and listen when they
talk. I think the lack of that is what caused them to be the tough guys. Any
time anyone ever picked on me, one of these hard guys would notice, and beat them
up. I swear I never asked anyone to defend me.
Gordon
Lightfoot - Sundown
I continued on the violin, until my parents decided that to allow me
to play better, they would take me to a doctor to have my crooked little fingers
straightened. I declined, and requested a guitar. Shortly after that, they made a
deal with some guy from Poland to smuggle an authentic Stradavarius into the US (for
what reason I don't know), and, to get it through customs, they replaced it with my
violin. Just an interesting side note.
It's fun to note that I also had a very bad lateral lisp. I was
not allowed to tell my dog to sit in front of other people, because instead of sit, it
sounded like I said s_it. :} I had speech therapy for years. As long as I was at
that school, I had a lisp. Later, when we moved away, and I went to a new school and
had new friends who didn't know I had a lisp, the lisp went away. Truth is, I just
didn't want people to notice the change and make a fuss over it.
In that same time period, my family began to go to church a lot.
My mother was originally Catholic, who, later in life converted to a very
fundamentalist charismatic faith. My father claimed to be an athiest. Our Southern
Baptist minister told us dad wasn't an athiest, he actually believed a great deal, but was
too much of a scientist for his own good.
I didn't like being forced to go to church, but I loved to go to
church. I loved Sunday School, the parables, the good Samaritan. We had to memorize
1 Bible verse per week. I usually did 10 or 20 if only because of its beautiful poetry and
powerful messages. I loved hearing the Reverend Glennon Culwell speak. His oratory
would stand up with the best of them. I was, like the girls in the family, a soloist at
this age, [a couple times] (I think they just thought I
was a cute little kid) and our church had an incredible choir, and a man who was a
professional opera singer who would sing for us once a month.
About this same time, I began being involved in student councils. In
short, I was president of my class every year until my junior and senior years, which I
will explain later.
It was during that summer that I went to church camp, and had a great
time. One day, I went back to my bunk to get my baseball glove (I was also an
athlete, played all sports pretty well) and the pastor was there. He said he saw I had a
serious look on my face, and asked if I was considering surrendering my life to Jesus.
Now, the truth was, I had already made that decision long before, and
I had witnessed to other people, and watched others praying with people who had just
accepted the Lord, so we said all the words, every one of them said sincerely. And
finally, I got to go play baseball.
See, my mom said my face gives away everything I feel. So
I figured he saw my intensity about finding my baseball glove. And. like I said, I
was already a Christian. I knew he was a good man, and I didn't want him to be
disappointed, and I wanted him to be encouraged to keep doing good work, so as much as I
wanted to play baseball, I stayed with him and prayed with him, and we created a new
relationship, better than we had before (and it was good) based on sharing ideals and
values that we agreed on and could count on. That was worth something to me.
Because I truly love people. That's kind of been my whole life.
James
Taylor - Carry Me On My Way
A few weeks later, it was time for vacation Bible School, and I
decided I wanted to win the prize of the 3 foot Look candy bar (I always wanted to see a 3
foot candy bar), and so, being a popular kid, I brought in nearly 150 kids over the next 2
weeks. I was disappointed that the candy bar was actually a bunch of them taped
together. But, we slammed them hard against the cement, broke them into little
pieces, and sort of had a party in the church that afternoon. A lot of those kids
grew up to be leaders in that church.
Now, this is one of the things I've only admitted to one other person
before. It'll test YOUR faith. So, on that last day, we were sitting there in
church, the Reverend speaking some words about making this a point of demarcation in our
lives, to take a stand for Jesus and to be strong people in the face of temptation, and I
kind of went off into a bit of a daze, and for the briefest moment, I saw a picture of
myself, from the back, in a black leather coat, in front of 50,000 people, or some sort of
large stadium. I have no idea what I was supposedly doing there. And in a
moment, it was gone.
I thought, that's weird. Guess I'm going to replace Billy
Graham. Maybe I'll be president. Or maybe I'll be a rock 'n roll star.
And then I thought, this is too weird. Maybe I'll just try to stay focused on the
reverend... who had already stopped speaking.
But I always wondered about it. For a long time I searched for
an answer. One day, I just said, alright God, I don't know what you have in mind,
but I'm willing. Teach me whatever I need to know, and take me where I need to go.
And, from that day on, I just kept my eyes and ears open, questioning and learning
everything I could experience. Not recklessly, just, like an observer.
From that day on, every time I thought something like, I don't
understand why.... whatever I was thinking about happened to me. It was like having
a genie in a bottle, you had to be careful what you asked for, and every time, whatever
happened, it was incredibly insightful. It was only just the other day that I
wondered what would happen if I wondered what it would be like to be wealthy. Ya
never know.
Now, remember, I was just a kid. Being a ham, I started doing a
ventriloquist act. I performed at parties, school assemblies or just in class when
the teacher was bored... if I didn't have my stuffed monkey Joey with the slit in the back
with me, I would play like I was My Favorite Martian, with antennas on my head like a
radio, and he would talk to the class through me. (remember, I was very young)
5th grade, my father died. They had asked me to speak to a school
assembly for 10 minutes about how Americans celebrated Christmas, and the religious ideas
behind it. I had to cancel.
2 weeks later, good old Walter [a classmate]
decided to do his after-Christmas vacation show and tell how his father, the mortician,
had prepared my father's body for burial. He had a paper that his father had used
to provide an explanation on the procedures and chemicals they used, and how
cremation was done. He even had pictures. Walter's father didn't know I was in
the class. And the teacher just let him proceed. I was stunned.
I was in the x class in school - which meant, they told us at the
beginning of the quarters what the work was, and we could do it at our own speed. It
would take me about 2 weeks per quarter to complete the curriculum.. The rest of the time
I was in the art room... painting a 4' x 8' abstract mural, creating tin foil and
paper mache dolphins (our school mascot), all kinds of interesting little projects.
Other people, I found out later, were there because it was the source
of free glue to sniff. We were the class of 69, and we lived up to the number (so to
speak). Years later, I found out that some of the girls I had a crush on, who acted
like they liked me but wouldn't "be a girlfriend" were turning tricks in the
bushes at recess. We had the highest pregnancy and drug use rate in the state, and I
was oblivious to it. Maybe they knew I was an innocent, maybe it was because I was the
school politician/leader. I just never knew.
About 6 months later, my mother sold the "ranch", and we
moved into the city of Scotts Valley.
I had to give up my horse, which I had raised since he was 3 months
old. He was orignally named Stupid by the breeder. He said all appaloosas were
slow at first. I renamed him Stormy. He was an appaloosa Welsh Mix which was just a
hand too small to be called a horse. He wasn't neutered, so it was illegal for me to ride
him around mares because I was too young.
He kept jumping over the fence and running around the neighborhood.
The worst part was, he wouldn't come to anyone but me. We sold him, and he
became a championship harness racer. He really could fly.
The next year, they took me out of the x class, because they were
concerned I couldn't handle it emotionally after my father's death. I never did
understand that. I didn't think I had done anything wrong. And it was
difficult to be in class with people who didn't want to learn. Of course, there was no
more time for art, because I had to be in class everyday.
Michael
Martin Murphey - Wildfire
I didn't really mind. But I was bored. And I wasn't into
throwing spitballs and paper airplanes.
So I got myself a little radio with an earphone, and listened to
basketball and baseball and football all day long. It was only a problem during the
world series, when I would tap out a code to the rest of the class when one team would
score, or make my desk squeak for the other. The teacher said I was driving him
nuts. But he always asked me the scores.
A few months later, my mother went out to a bar one night, and
brought back a man. He seemed like a nice guy. George was not like my father at all.
He was from Texarkana. He was relatively uneducated, but clever and good at
his work. When he wasn't drinking, he was highly sought after at dairies, logging camps
and lumber yards. He would somehow increase productivity everywhere he worked.
The problem was, since he caught his previous wife in bed with his
father, who then carried his father's child, he drank 90% of the time. George had
had a tough life. He had a heart as big as the Grand Canyon, and a thirst that could
consume an ocean.
Within a week, we had an incident where he took my father's Savage
300 magnum rifle, a very powerful weapon, and was going to shoot us all and himself.
I don't even know why.
We called my brother in law, who was still recovering from several
massive gunshot wounds he got in his 3rd tour of duty in the Vietnam War. Sgt. Rock
they called him. His father was a career General.
He was wounded just after Westmoreland had more fully taken over
control of the war. He said he had never lost a man under his command, until that
one day when a lieutenant, just having come "in country" was put in charge of a
number of squads (despite his protests) and lead them into a Viet Cong ambush. Sarge
said he got hit the first time, and took out the lieutenant in anger, and as he did, took
three more bullets in his legs and arms.
Sarge wrestled the weapon away from George. I grabbed all the
ammunition I could find, and buried it in a deep hole I dug with my hands, concerned that
someone else might come along and be injured by it.
When I got back, Sarge was gone, and George was asleep. It was
an ominous beginning. I never really questioned it much. I just knew something
was off.
A few weeks later, we moved to Jacksonville, Oregon.
Now before I move onto that, there are a few side notes.
Our school was like many schools, implementing JFK's fitness program.
Being from the hills, with all the chores - wood chopping, caring for animals,
training my horse, digging ditches, having to walk miles a day to get to and from the bus
to school. I was short and husky, but my friends bodies were developing differently than
mine. They knew it too, and my friends even sort of sheltered me from
embarrassment. They were truly good friends.
I was also aware of a family trait in men in my mother's side of the
family to have something called Kallman's syndrome. My older brother had it, and had
received treatment for it. It's a petuitary defect that causes the body to produce
too few male and female hormones, causes me to not be able to smell, causes you not to go
through puberty, and ultimately, as I was experiencing, made me unable to build muscle
mass. I'm not talking about being muscular. Just the ability to gain weight
and add mass. This is important, because it caused me to experience my teen and
early adult years much differently than most people.
In baseball, I was a pitcher, and could throw every junk pitch in the
book. I had a killer curve ball and a fast ball that would do all the dips and jumps
just like Drysdale and Marichal. In Junior High, I was a football quarterback, and a
basketball player who could hit any 3 pointer 90% of the time. I was never serious
about track, but because of my work in the hills, I would run 4-1/2 minute miles backwards
while cheering my friends to coach them to win the races they were entered in. Just
more stuff I had fun with, and didn't take too seriously.
This was all by the beginning of the 8th grade. Anyway, that's when
we moved to Jacksonville, Oregon.
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