Who Am I?

( by Wade Welch)

What is Truth?
Before I decided to write an autobiography, I had previously decided not to...se
veral times. My story seemed unique all along, but it had little meaning to me.
It just appeared to be a pile of confusion. Now, there is a difference. The over
all timing seems right, and I finally discovered a pattern...a theme...guiding m
e through this life. I now know that, in my life, everything happens for a reaso
n.
If you remember the movie "Forrest Gump", he went through a series of unfortunat
e events that always turned out to be very fortunate. In my life, the pattern is
similar. Each time I chose a quest, it backfired. Instead of living the easy li
fe, and never learning the meaning of life, I found various degrees of suffering
. Through this suffering, I eventually learned lessons that I would have otherwi
se never learned.
When I wrote "Deal Or No Deal; The True Meaning Of Life", I wrote about truth an
d facts. I had ten years of research behind my work. That is my writing style. I
have a commitment to truth that goes beyond my words. I display it through my a
ctions. Most people are hung up on taking and receiving. My writing is giving. S
till, I expect that very few people will read what I write. They not only lack a
commitment to truth and understanding, they also fear truth.
This is the story of my life. I will tell it through my memories, which will be
an honest representation of the facts. I will also provide commentary...my opini
ons or theories. These theories will make sense as I see it, as well as offer va
rying possibilities. I will divide them into two categories...(1)editorial...and
(2)theory. They will be paragraphs or chapters which will describe my (1)feelin
gs and perspectives, and insight discovered after I lived this life...plus (2)po
ssible explanations and speculation not yet substantiated by the facts.
My goal here is to provide factual information and possible conclusions, as well
as make it easy for the reader to distinguish between truth and editorial. The
facts will not have an indicator number. You will be able to draw your own concl
usions.
(1)Truth is a simple word. In my life, I found that humanity rarely deals with t
ruth. Truth requires a commitment not ordinarily found in people. Society has an
effect on honesty as well. (2) Ideally, in a perfect society, I would suggest t
hat maybe 25-50% of people can be honest. Today, I estimate that far less than 5
% are honest. If you read my "Deal Or No Deal", and you are capable of being obj
ective, you will understand why.
It can be quite likely that a potential reader may choose to not believe the fac
ts. Truth can be refreshing to an "enlightened" soul, while it may be painful an
d totally rejected by a soul consumed by the ego. I have formed a theory that he
lps to explain this. (2) People who commonly "assume" things...maybe even daily.
..defend themselves from truth. Assumptions take the easy way out...soothing the
ego, and require no commitment.
(1)For example...a reader may assume I am non-committal towards truth...as most
people are. This reader generally goes through life avoiding difficulty as much
as possible, and commonly indulges oneself. A chain smoker is such a person. Thi
s person makes quick assumptions based on ease and quits on a quest rather than
making a commitment. They choose lying, make excuses as to why they should lie,
and blame others.
Or the reader may make a commitment to investigation...which leads to more under
standing. An inquisitive mind...a scientific mind...easily makes commitments bec
ause it requires little investment. Truth is the goal. Taking the easy way out i
s a waste of time. Any person who displays his true self through actions, rathe
r than using deceit to hide intentions, is such a person. Those who understand t
he meaning of life are commonly the ones who examine their individuality and see
who they really are.
A scientist does not generally arrive at a truthful conclusion. Instead, he/she
offers a summation of the facts...while the conclusion may change many times thr
oughout the future. The conclusion is a separate statement. It is very common fo
r the collective scientific mind to change periodically. So, truth...as it relat
es to a story...is the ability to state the facts. My goal here is to state the
facts, and then provide insightful commentary.
Actions, not words, display intent. People typically contradict their words with
their actions. A person who invests years into researching and understanding di
fficult matters, and then writes about them, has made a commitment through actio
ns. There was nothing easy about my investment and eventual writing. It is much
easier to read, although it is certainly not easy reading. Before I wrote I had
to live it and learn it.
(1)Life
A quick perspective of life can be seen in the game of Chess. It describes very
well the dynamics of the ego, and how it relates to life.
The pawn represents a commoner, and is limited and predictable, but can do much.

The rook represents a chariot...a tool. It can do more than a commoner, but is s
traightforward and predictable.
The knight is a soldier...very skilled and dangerous.
The bishop is a powerful controller...doing great damage, but always twisted and
at an angle.
The queen is most powerful and can do anything, but is not skilled like a knight
.
The king does little or nothing.
It is the pawn who survives, is freely charitable, lives with realistic goals, a
nd builds the foundation that supports the kingdom. It is the pawn who goes to H
eaven...not the powerful. Only when a pawn assumes the role of the powerful, can
such a person go to Heaven...and only a pawn who remains a pawn throughout life
, survives the ego. Surviving the ego is the purpose of life.
A pawn who remains a pawn, takes care of family and friends, lives each day as a
pawn, and remembers who they are...is a chosen one. Giving is a product of livi
ng as a chosen one, and those around that person enjoy the benefits...learning t
o share. Learning is handed down from generation to generation, and life stays s
imple. Progress is slow and gradual. This kind of life builds a foundation for t
he future...providing inspiration and guidance.
When a pawn does not have the support of family and friends, it is abandoned. Ou
r lives are dominated by the masses...who are the product of abandonment. The eg
o is a part of life, and once abandonment occurs, it takes hold. Ambition is onl
y one of many corruptions of the soul. Unless a pawn who assumes the role of the
other chess pieces...remains a pawn, that person becomes that piece...and is co
nsumed by the ego. True leaders remain pawns.
Today, life is dominated by the ego. Pawns are rarely, if ever, born into the wo
rld of our ancestors. That world is gone. Our only chance is to discover the tru
th...by way of suffering. We cannot change the world. We can only hope to share
truth with another.
Well I know...I could be just another stranger,
but to you...I guess I'm just another fool.
And you swear...you like to live your life in danger,
then you hide behind a wall of silly rules.
Nobody thinks the way I do,
I guess that nobody cares.
Your head's so full of things,
so set your mind free of them.
I'm breaking the rules.
Did you know...that in the truth there's nothing stranger.
I suppose..you think I think I know it all.
Nobody hears the things I say,
I guess that nobody cares.
My head's so full of things
that I set my mind free,

and then I'm breaking the rules.
Well I know...that you would love to go to Heaven,
but you know that you're just too afraid to die.
And I know...that you would love to know the answers,
but to you...the truth is just another lie.
Nobody hears the things I say,
I guess that nobody cares.

Empty heads...life's full of fools.
>Ozzy Osbourne
Mike
Since 1977, I have enjoyed friendship with a pawn. He has always been a popular
guy...a true people person. Even though we have not been best friends, and I hav
e not gone out of my way to stay close, Mike seemed to always be around. On more
than one occasion, I have done something to ruin the friendship. Mike was the o
ne who made sure we did not part our ways forever.
In the last few years, Mike has saved my life, visited me when no one else has,
supported me when I was truly alone, listened to me when no one would, and singl
e-handedly kept me from the evil of the world. He was the only person who has st
ood by me...and respected me. He also got me out of the psyche ward, when my par
ents thought they had put me away forever.
Starting quests has been something I do naturally. It is the finishing of those
quests that became difficult. I never lacked the inspiration, but what I discove
red was that without family, help from a friend is necessary to triumph over evi
l. Mike provided me with the ability to finish. From what I can tell, Mike did t
hese things only because he felt it was the right thing to do.
(2)It seems unrealistic, but from what I have seen, Mike was able to foil the we
ll-planned intentions of the villains of my life...those who lie without remorse
, and seem to have evil motivations...and he did it with very little effort on h
is part. This may be an exaggeration, but he did it with a few waves of his hand
. I bet he has a few stories he could tell.
Age 4 my earliest memory (Santa Maria, CA)
I was outside in the yard, as always. Throughout my life at home with my parents
, my one rule was to go outside and stay in the yard. My mom wanted to be undist
urbed, as she always stayed in bed until it was time to make dinner before my Da
d got home from work. She usually locked the doors. At first my sister (one year
older than me) went outside too, but after only a few days she stayed inside to
o. (1) It may have been because she was a person who made her own decisions rath
er than follow directions.
There was a boy about my age across the street who usually taunted me because he
knew I had to stay in the yard. This day he threw some rocks at me. I picked up
a rock he threw and pegged him just under the eye. I was surprised I hit him fr
om so far away. He ran inside his house screaming. A few minutes later his mom b
rought him over while holding a washcloth on his face. She knocked on our front
door until my mom finally opened it. We all went inside and I had to apologize.
They left and I knew I was in big trouble. To my surprise, mom told me it was OK
...because "she hated that woman", but not to throw rocks anymore.
Age 5-8 (Saint Louis, MO)
I remember my allergy to cut grass. I remember the hoagie I ate in downtown, as
well as the awful brewery smell. I remember the first time I got in trouble for
leaving the yard. And I remember a very strange experience...when I had to pee r
eally bad but my sister was in the bathroom (we weren't allowed to use the maste
r bath). I stood in the hallway outside the bathroom door, and the next thing I
knew, I was looking down at the puddle on hardwood floor. I don't remember doing
it...somehow my mind left for a few seconds.
Age 8-10 (Clearwater, FL)
Fishing. Water. Palmettos. Spanish moss. Sand. Getting in trouble for staying go
ne all day. No A/C. The first time I ever went inside a neighbor's home...it had
A/C. Wow it was nice. Those old people were so nice...and they liked me. I felt
so awkward. I didn't know I was allowed to feel good.
Age 11 (Warner Robbins, GA)
Red clay. Pine trees. The man across the street had a Corvette...wow! In the win
ter, I walked over a mile to school in 20 degree weather...wearing a sweater. I
discovered I am hot natured.
Age 12- (Arlington, TX)
As we were entering Texas on I-20, moving from Georgia, I was listening to the C
otton Bowl game on the radio. It was New Year's Day, 1970. James Street just com
pleted a long pass on fourth and one...near the end of the game. Texas beat Arka
nsas by one point. I was proud to come back to the state where I was born.
(1)This is where my life evolved from being a naive boy who believed in people,
to a person totally alone in despair, and then to a spiritual person completely
invested into destiny. It is simple to say the words, but seldom do we witness t
he actions. Without the suffering, we have little chance to walk the walk...as w
e would just blend into the background.
Golf
During the summer and after school, I was seldom at home. I rarely made it home
in time for dinner. I found an old set of women's golf clubs in the garage, and
this is when I started playing golf. I would ride my bike, with the golf bag on
my back, five miles each way to the golf course. If the weather was bad, or if I
had little time, I would ride down to the park...which was less than a mile.
By the time I was 14, I gave up baseball and basketball for golf. I was beginnin
g to get really good at the game. I guess my handicap was around 10 in 9th grade
, and 6 in 10th grade. I could beat all but two of the golf team members at my h
igh school (Lamar), but I was not allowed to play, since I was not a member at t
he local country club....Rolling Hills.
In my junior year, the coach let me be on the team, because we had a new freshma
n who would turn out to be the best player in the district, and would later win
the Texas State Open 4 times in a row...Terry Snodgrass. He was also not a memb
er at Rolling Hills. But, the coach made a "B" team, which could not play in tou
rnaments...and I was the top spot on the B team.
Our coach did not like me at all. I kept after him to let me play. I turned in m
y scorecards and he threw them away. He was a low-level football coach and could
n't even play golf. I never had the support of my parents, but it didn't bother
me because I was used to it. But Larry was my best friend, and I had his support
.
I developed a bad attitude because I played with my two best friends...Larry-the
number one player at Sam Houston HS, and Roy-the number two player at Lamar. I
didn't usually beat them...but I always kept it close. And I could easily beat m
ost other players. My handicap in 11th grade was about 4...but I was inconsisten
t with my driver. The rest of my game was as good or better than my friends. The
fact that I did not have the support of my parents became very clear, because a
ll the other players did.
My bad attitude was about to hurt me. In the three district tournaments hosted b
y the Arlington schools (Lamar, Sam Houston, Arlington), the B teams could play.
..but the scores did not count. I had to play in foursomes with guys who could n
ot break 100. We each kept the scores of one opponent, and it was common for me
to have to fight to get my scorekeeper to put down the correct score.
The first tournament I played was the tourny at LB Houston. My score wouldn't co
unt. Coach gave me a ride that day, and of course he was late. When he pulled in
to the parking lot my group had teed off, but was still on the first tee. I had
to run up and hit my tee shot in my street shoes...carrying a ball and my driver
. I hit 6 inches behind the ball and my driver bounced up and nicked the ball...
sending it into the trees on the right...about 50 yards away.
I got my shoes on, grabbed my clubs, and found the ball. I punched it into the f
airway 130 yards from the green. I hit a wedge 15 feet from the hole, and made t
he putt for par. I had the only par...in fact, no one had better than 6. I told
the "player" who had my card that I parred, and he put me down for a 5. I had to
throw down on the second tee...but he pussed out and gave me a 4. I shot 82 tha
t day...knowing that I would have had a 75 or so if I was a team member...with a
good attitude and quality opponents.
The second tourny I played was at Grand Prairie. That was one course I could sho
ot par on. Going into the back nine I think I was one over par, but I gave up tr
ying after I hit a drive OB. I could not maintain a good attitude. I remember th
at one of our B team players saw me on the 16th hole and asked me my score. I co
uld par out for a 77. I went bogey, double, double instead. I four-putted the la
st green. I again shot 82.
Coach ran up to me as I walked off the green and said, "77?". I told him 82, and
he yelled at me. I had no idea that he had the option in that tournament to thr
ow out one score and use a B team score. As it turned out, a 79 would have put u
s in a playoff. Long ride home that day. (1) Of course it was my fault...I shoul
d know everything.
Towards the end of the school year we had the district tourny at our home course
...Lake Arlington. I had shot under par several times there...since that was my
home course too. Coach specifically told me up front that he could use my score
if he needed to. On the 9th hole I picked up my ball and walked in. I was banned
from the team.
That summer I won the Lewisville city junior tournament...a two-day tourny. Larr
y drove us the first day...him, me, and Roy. I shot 3 over, Larry shot 5 over, a
nd Roy was 7 over... The second day I drove my mom's car. I picked up Roy, and d
rove to Larry's house. On the last left-hand turn onto Larry's street (Mitchell)
, I was waiting for a bread truck to turn left...which was also stopped, but was
coming the other way...facing me. I gradually drifted to where I could see past
the truck, on this four lane road (Collins).
It was clear, but as I started to move this clumsy four door car without power s
teering or brakes, and having just got my driver's license, a volkswagon beetle
was flying up to the bread truck and switched lanes at the last minute...plowing
directly into the doors on the passenger side. That beetle was flying. Roy was
freaking out. He shot an 86 that day.
I was leading the tournament, and Larry was in third. We played in the final gro
up together. Larry shot one over, and I had my usual one tee shot OB...again sho
oting 3 over. We tied. Sudden death. The first hole is a par 5, and Larry was la
ying two, fifty yards short of the green. I busted a monster drive right down th
e middle, and had a 9 iron for my second shot. I won the playoff.
I carried home two huge trophies...first place in my age division, and medalist.
I also carried home a smashed car. This was a huge disappointment for me and my
parents, but I remember what Larry said that day...as we drove home. He was ver
y proud of me. He explained why I had a tendency to hit my drives straight right
when I'm under pressure...I cup my left wrist at the top of my swing...instead
of keeping it locked.
(1)It is hard for me to describe how I felt when I won that tournament. I have a
lways had my feelings subdued, because of the abuse I received from my mom. I st
ayed away from her, and my feelings...but I always sought the approval of my Dad
. He never had words for me, but I could tell through his occasional actions tha
t he cared about me. It would take me another thirty years before I had to dig d
own deep and pull out those feelings. The suffering would begin.
Next school year, my senior year, I was still banned...even though I was the onl
y person in our school other than Snodgrass to have ever won a tournament. I had
n't planned it at all, but when we had our Homecoming pep rally, I decided not t
o go. For some odd reason, I had driven my Dad's Plymouth Gold Duster to school
that day. Instead, I grabbed my Putt-Putt buddy, Mick, and we went and bought so
me beer...my first beer.
I drove right over to Rolling Hills, on that Monday (they were closed on Mondays
), and went through the parking lot...waving at the greenskeeper . I then drove
out toward the gate...but I veered off the road...straight to the #10 green. I d
id a wonderful and powerful donut around the hole...grass flying up all around.
The whole time I was on the green, all I saw was Mick's face. He had the same l
ook Roy had that day we crashed. Then I went back to school.
(2)It would be wonderful to be able to explain the jubilance I felt as I expande
d my mind...with grass flying all around me. The truth is, I was not there that
day. My only memory was the look on Mick's face. I was somewhere else. My theory
is that after I die, I will be able to enjoy those moments when I was free. You
might think that the feelings would last me a lifetime...those moments when I w
asn't burdened with the guilt I received from my mom. Maybe it is because I am s
till a victim...she hasn't slowed down...she is just now hitting her stride.
As my short golf career ended, it did not go without meaning. I was charged with
vandalism. I remember my Dad dressing up and taking me to Rolling Hills, in fro
nt of the board of directors. He cried that day...asking them to drop charges. H
e always seems to get his way. That was the first time I wondered if my Dad real
ly did care about me.
School
I lost interest in school when I started the tenth grade. I was more interested
in golf, and school was boring. I had no family life, and staying away from home
was a top priority. I got out of school at 12:30 in the last two years of high
school. I had my first love...Mary. She was an absolute angel. She also had a dy
sfunctional family, but her mother was devoted to her.
After I graduated high school, I applied for a scholarship (my Dad insisted). I
received a letter that rejected my application. One week later I received a lett
er telling me I had a one semester scholarship (UTA). I went to select my course
s and a group of 3 men had them already chosen for me. When I went to Calculus c
lass, I found out all the students were either valedictorians or salutatorians.
I had taken Calculus in high school, but I never gave it any effort. I was in bi
g trouble after my grass donut, and ditched this class before I opened the book.
I didn't need the credit to graduate. Our teacher at UTA was a physics major, a
nd told us on the first day that he knew we already knew Calculus and our next c
lass was Physics, which was a bitch. It was two semesters combined into one. We
did a chapter each day...five days a week. Yes, a five-hour class. Geez.
I quit going to any of my classes before the second week was over. But UTA was a
wesome. I spent every day...all day each day...in the recreation room downstairs
. It would be one of the proudest times in my life. We had world-class pinball p
layers and table tennis players. I was the undisputed Pinball Wizard (The Who) m
achine champion, while the Asians always played the Sky Jump machine. They kept
it occupied around the clock on one quarter. It was many weeks before I even got
a chance to play it.
I think it was during final exams, but one morning Sky Jump was unoccupied. I ha
d watched closely for weeks as they dominated the machine. They always had the "
games left" maxed out at 25. I put my quarter in and after an hour, I was beatin
g it almost every game. Around noon a couple of Asians came in and I had 23 game
s left...soon to stay at max. I held that machine for about 36 hours. (2) I coul
dn't understand what they were saying, but I think that was the first time they
had respect for an American.
Sky Jump required precision shotmaking skills. There was a target array, but the
best shot was to shoot the ball all the way to the top by way of going up throu
gh the slot backwards. It was a difficult and long shot. To beat the machine, a
player had to hit all the lit-up numbers 1-7, and also the target numbers 1-7. I
t was not a speed machine like Pinball Wizard, but a precision shot machine.
When I wasn't playing pinball, I was trying to "hold" a ping pong table. We had
a top 25 player ranking chart on the wall, and you had to "challenge" and have y
our challenge accepted to move up. This was also dominated by Asians, and a few
other nationalities. There was never more than 5 Americans in the top 25.
One day I played against two Korean brothers and they were outmatched. They were
not on the wall, but were good players...and my biggest fans. A couple of days
later they gave me a gift. They were very spiritual and generous. I hold the pad
dle in the Chinese manner...utilizing a high quality American paddle with state
of the art rubber. This style only uses one side of the paddle...although I had
a unique stroke in which I would "flip" my wrist over and use the opposite side.
It was only for show...not competition.
The Korean brothers gave me a high quality Chinese paddle. With it, and some har
d work, I made my way up to number five on the wall. Let me offer some perspecti
ve...the number one player in America, the California State Champion, played he
re one week...against our number one. He is a Chinese player, and was the curren
t Texas State Champion. The number five player on the wall who I beat was in the
top ten in Texas, a Chinese player.
(1)It was a great college career...although it only lasted one semester. The uni
versity offered me a chance to try another semester, but I turned it down. They
wanted me to go to class. I took away a great education that consisted of one le
sson...I had tremendous respect for Asians...people who are not dominated by ego
, and instead, have a family heritage.
Homeless
I was still 19 years old. I lost my job at Jack-In-The-Box and Putt-Putt. I was
still living at home...certainly not because I wanted to...but because I was tot
ally lost. I was no longer engaged, which was a blessing. Of course, at that age
...and at that time, I was supposed to be lost. My life is about searching, and
where better to begin?
I still hung around with my Putt-Putt friends. I was trying a little high pressu
re gambling, which was a thrill. It was really fun to go to a course I had never
been to and accept the ultimate challenge...to learn the shots, practice them,
and then play against the best that course had to offer. Only a fool would take
on such a challenge. As trivial as it may seem, I was a Putt-Putt stud.
Of course, that is exactly what the travelling pros have to do...accept a challe
nge with little or no help. My friends were trying to get me to turn pro. I cert
ainly could have, but that was not in my destiny. So what was my destiny? Well,
the immediate short-term plan included me drinking beer. I got drunk for the fir
st time and was dropped off at my house at 7AM one day. I slept most of the day.
When my Dad came home from work, he threw me out of the house. I was homeless,
but I did have my '68 Camaro.
I didn't know it at the time, but I found out several years later...my mom told
my Dad that she caught me with drugs. Now, at 54, I still have never smoked a ci
garette, and at that time, I had never done any form of drug. That was my first
drunk. None of my friends even smoked. We were either golfers or putters. (1)It
may seem really sad to some of you, but I have to say...the best of the best are
golfers and putters.
As I drove away, my question was...where do I go now? I went to the Emporium. Th
at was the pool hall I went to on the one night of the week my old girl friend,
Mary, went roller skating. That was her version of breaking up with me. She chos
e me in the beginning because I was a cut above...and her future. When I quit co
llege...I quit her. One of the few things I did right in my life at that point.
I would go to the Emporium and play foosball...and watch the pool studs.
I had a car, and that made me a stand-out. A friend of mine, Randy, hung around
me because I had a car. That night, as it turned out, his Mom was out of town fo
r a week. I stayed at their apartment for a few days. I ended up working at the
Emporium for a couple of weeks. I got an apartment with a roommate who was also
an employee, and that lasted two weeks. I had met Randy's brother, Larry, and he
saw potential in me. (1)He was a people user in the extreme.
It had been maybe 4 or 5 weeks since I was thrown out of my parent's house. I ha
d stayed a couple of nights at Larry's apartment that he shared with Steve. They
were wanna-be drug dealers. It was a Friday night at the Emporium. I was talkin
g to a girl and a couple of kids I knew came up to me. Most of the regulars ther
e knew I had worked at Good Times doing van seats.
Two guys walked into the Emporium looking for a crew...one being Bobby Martinez.
Their crew had walked out on them, and the Emporium regulars knew I had experie
nce. The next day Randy and I went to work at Marshall & Sons. There were two il
legals working that day as well, but they only finished out the seats once they
were built...putting on arms and sliders. Randy foamed up frames and I pulled se
at covers...on the soon to be infamous ForeTravel account.
ForeTravel built high quality RVs, and used high quality components. It was a la
rge plant, and they had a monthly order for driver seats. These seats are cheap
seats, but utilize vinyl and cloth supplied by the customer. The vinyl was 3 tim
es thicker than normal and had no stretch, and the velour had almost 1/4" long f
ibers. It was like short carpet. We did 32 seats that day, and that would be the
single day record for a seat puller on that account...and would never be broken
.
Working for Bob Marshall would be the beginning of my life. Marshall & Sons woul
d be quite successful in selling custom vans and seats. He had two new beautiful
buildings built side by side in Arlington. That business stood as a symbol for
all that is right and wrong with mankind. I was a "clean slate"...knowing very l
ittle but willing to learn.
Our crew in the seat shop included Larry, Randy, Mike, Steve, Tony, and me. The
van shop had Ken and Bobby...as well as Bob Marshall and Bobby Martinez...the bi
g wheels. Only the big wheels go to jail. I was in charge of the seat assembly p
ortion of the plant, mostly because of three reasons. I could do a better job th
an Bobby, it would free him up to "play" with Bob, and give them someone to blam
e.
On Thursdays the two fearless leaders would not be at work. They would instead b
e preparing for their one day a week job on Thursday night...Pantego police offi
cers. That preparation was to try and down a bottle of liquor. (1)The stories th
ey told of their exploits would make serial killers blush. Ok, maybe more like..
.want to join. They typically tortured minority families.
I started on a ForeTravel account, so it was fitting that I went out on that sam
e account. I worked all weekend trying to finish the order so it could be delive
red on Monday. These seats were so difficult that by the time they were cut and
sewn, the deadline was upon us. Plus we had to deliver pedestals with the order.
It was difficult to motivate a crew to do the impossible, and then deliver to W
aco in a horse trailer.
On Sunday evening we took a break...the three of us that made it that far. We st
ill had a few hours of work left, and then the loading of the trailer. I was dri
ving the company pickup to the store, with my two compadres, and I drove it into
a telephone pole. Nice job Wade. I spent the night in a hospital. My employment
was over at Marshall & Sons...and just in time. Bobby Martinez would go to jail
for arson, and Bob Marshall for attempted murder for hire.
My next stop was a small van company that had two seamstresses and wanted to bui
ld seats. I had a broken left elbow, and Larry was my baggage...so I took the jo
b. It lasted two weeks. I managed to tinker with seat design, which I played aro
und with at Marshall. This company didn't last more than two months after we lef
t. We saw that it was a joke before we left.
We then went to New Image Vans. They had a larger seat company started, with sev
eral seamstresses and two seat pullers...plus a guy to manage it. The three guys
were disco boys, with no experience in seating. The owner's son (Dan) was the p
roduct designer and actually was a very smart guy. They were from Michigan.
He had a nice design. I learned a lot just by looking at it. It had serious flaw
s, because he knew nothing about seating. But he had vision...enough that his va
n and seat designs had superior potential. This is when I took my job seriously.
I stayed late one night and disassembled his prototype and repatterned it...the
n I cut, sewed, and assembled a new sample seat. It was perfected.
The next day they were impressed and I was their man. Their heads grew three siz
es, and they laid out my goals. I designed two more seats and a shop to produce
several dozen seats/day. They reviewed my plan and OK'd it. I had no idea that t
hey had no money. A few bad paychecks and my time there was over. They said I ab
andoned them, as they went bankrupt and maybe to jail. I didn't hang around to w
atch them burn.
I was done with van seats...for a while.
Corrugation
In 1979, I had an apartment in Arlington...near Grand Prairie. I got a job at Ho
erner-Waldorf...a box factory. I was a helper for a few months until I got a job
as the "feeder" on a two-man machine...the 704 Flexo. It was the most advanced
machine in the large plant. These large Flexo machines took flat corrugated stoc
k and printed, slotted, folded, glued, and bundled boxes. The operator ran the a
uto feeder. I ran the stacker, and kept an eye on the finished boxes.
This 704 machine had a state-of-the-art auto feeder, a computer operated set up,
and a stacker. The 701 was next to us, and had to utilize a manual feeder and m
anual setup, but had a stacker. It ran smaller boxes but was very fast. The 704
made larger boxes that previously were done on a slow manual press machine. The
704 was an important step towards the future. Unfortunately, the plant and depar
tment management were not qualified to go into the future.
The lone person who could have shaped the future of the company was the personne
l manager. Had he cared about anything beyond himself, he could have helped to s
hape the future. Instead, he was dead weight...and would protect his job from th
ose who were smarter than him. A new plant manager was hired. He looked and acte
d like his nickname...little Hitler. His job was such that he never had a chance
. He had no idea where to start. My boss, the Flexo department manager was old a
nd near retirement. He never informed me of information an operator should know.
He would just give me guidelines that made no sense.
Lloyd was my operator/boss, and after a couple of years, he decided to be a truc
k driver. This allowed me to be the operator. I did this for almost a year, but
never had a feeder. I had to use helpers who were not skilled or trained. I was
able to set plant records, doing most of the work myself. Sometimes I just pushe
d the helper out of the way. One day, little Hitler came out and shook my hand w
hile I was operating the stacker. He had been watching me and told me "good job"
.
One day I was doing a Chlorox box in which the salesman had sold them on the ide
a that the print would be saturated in color and very sharp. The plant manager a
nd salesmen had no idea how to operate a Flexo. The department manager didn't kn
ow much, and cared even less. This box was large and my machine was the only one
capable of making the box in large quantity. There were a few problems in manuf
acturing this box. Since it was a new account, it should have been run on the ol
d manual press.
Since the order was huge (another mistake), they chose to let me run it on the 7
04. I knew enough that I saw up front there were problems. There was no one for
me to go to. My only choice was my department manager...who was a fool. I knew w
e could not run a large order and have clear sharp bright saturated print. We wo
uld have to stop the machine every ten minutes, break it down, and manually clea
n the print dies with wet rags.
The viscosity of the ink was critical. Too thin (watered down), and the print wa
s washed-out looking. Too thick, the ink would become tacky and stick to the die
edges. Then the paper dust would stick to the dies and make the print illegible
. Every time we stopped the machine and cleaned the dies, the ink would get thic
ker. The machine had a design flaw...it needed to automatically adjust the visco
sity of the ink. To adjust the viscosity, I had to add water, let the ink cycle
for 5 minutes, and then run some boxes. Then I would have to add more. And after
ten minutes, once I got it right, I had to do it all over again.
We ran these Flexos 24 hours with 3 shifts. In a poorly managed operation, 3 shi
fts makes it impossible. When I came in, the machine was always set up wrong...a
nd the folder would jam up. I had to redo the setup. My idiot boss would fight w
ith me over that...and there was no one for me to go to.
(1)The future of the company would depend on learning from mistakes...because th
e mistakes were inevitable. Even with my good attitude, I lost hope. After I le
ft, the company sold out. How I lasted as long as I did was a testament to my pa
tience...although I'm not sure I was ever that patient again.
I met Pauline while working at the box factory. She moved in with me. She had be
en homeless and had some emotional problems. We became friends, and soon she was
my girlfriend...although I needed her to "grow" to the point of earning my resp
ect. She was never able to speak in a normal fashion. The only reason I stuck wi
th her was she had no place to go.
Pauline and I would be together for several years. I had hope that she would be
able to communicate, but she never did. I don't know what had happened to her to
make her who she is, but I found out 25 years later that she would blame me for
everything. As it turned out, she would play a major role in my suffering. She
was still selfish and obsessed with her ego. Everything happens for a reason.
True Comfort Mfg
In 1982, I was approached by Larry with the idea that his roommate and I should
be partners and start a business. Larry was unemployed and needed a job. He also
wanted to establish value in himself. He arranged a meeting with the three of u
s as well as a few others. I knew enough to ask the right questions. I didn't kn
ow that I had to protect myself again.
When we started True Comfort Mfg, Danny was my partner and the up front money ma
n. He was going to be office manager while I ran the operation outside the offic
e. He only had to invest $6000, but had to quit his job and work full time. I kn
ew I didn't have the time to do the business side of the operation...at least in
the beginning.
We moved into an industrial area next door to the richest family in the van busi
ness...BDR Vehicles. Danny didn't do anything, and never came to work after the
first day. He told me he was the owner and didn't have to work if he didn't want
to. I told him to go look for a job. So I had to do everything.
I hired a seamstress, and Larry and I built the shop. Larry became my shop forem
an, and I spent my time designing products, trying to acquire fabrics, and makin
g sales calls. I was able to pick up some small customers. One was a man named T
om Bessett. He was a former car salesman who paraded as a salesman for a fictici
ous company. He knew some people, which is all you need in America. Know some pe
ople and tell huge lies.
Mister Bessett was able to utilize our seat design to build custom vans on other
people's money. They sold as fast as he could build them. He later became the o
wner of Tra-Tech...the largest van company in the world. Welcome to America.
We had Bill a few weeks later. He came from the box factory. I knew he was not v
ery bright, but would be a dedicated employee. He stayed with us the entire time
. Bill was a very dedicated employee.
I built some prototypes and talked to BDR (Travelmaster). They liked the idea of
having a seat built to their specifications. In just a couple of weeks, we had
everything we needed to make this work. We were a tiny manufacturing facility bu
t would soon expand to having 8 sewing machines. My seat design was comparable i
n appearance to the more expensive seats, but also had some superior designing.
We doubled our square footage by renting the adjacent space.
The day before I was going to sign a contract to sell part of the business to BD
R, which would solidify my future and make me a rich and successful man, my Dad
(who I haven't spoken to for years) walked in my door and asked me how much mone
y it would take to buy out my partner and not sell. He wrote me a check for $660
0 and left. This was the decision that guaranteed my future failure. I have neve
r been able to refuse my Dad...one of the major dominating themes of my life.
Since I was going to be on my own, I had a constant problem with fabrics. I had
to buy it in lots of seconds, because you had to have a line of credit and contr
act to buy from the mills. America requires manufacturers to do business that wa
y because of the corporation. That imaginary entity allowed all sorts of irrespo
nsible and illegal behavior to not only dominate the market, but allow crooks to
corner that market. Goodbye Free Will.
One such corporation was Metal Specialties...our frame supplier. The owner, Jim
Fleming, came to me one day and offered to give me an open line of credit and $3
0,000 of free frames...as long as I didn't sell out to another company. He knew
he could trust my word, so we did it on a handshake. I later found out it was be
cause he was starting his own seat business, and he was afraid of competing agai
nst me...if I sold out. He had learned from people like Tom Bessett and embraced
the disgraces of the corporation.
In 1984, True Comfort was doing quite well. I had a customer (Neil Cypert) writ
e two dozen bad checks to me. My bank did not notify me about my customer's bad
checks or my bad checks, and for 3 weeks all my checks bounced...totalling 42 ch
ecks. I had to go all over the Hispanic side of Fort Worth picking up my checks.

I only found out because my employees told me...the bank never sent me any notic
e of any kind. My bank had sent my customer's checks for collection and never to
ld me. I went to the bank and by that time, $14,000 had been paid and I closed m
y accounts. They gave me $14k in cash. I lost over $30,000 and was forced out of
business.
Like-Nu
I met Carole through her brother, who worked for me at the end of my True Comfor
t era. I fell in love with her right away. Although I could sense she was messed
up, I recognized her potential. She had a powerful aura, and she was beautiful.
It was not her beauty that attracted me...that was what usually scared me away
from women. It was her independence...her ability to be unique...the way she acc
epted challenges. She had the confidence and stride of a champion, but with grac
e and dignity. She pulled all of this off while staying a quiet humble person. S
he and I had much in common.
I was over at her apartment one day, and she left to go to the store. Right afte
r she left, Pauline walked in the door. Apparently she had been stalking me for
weeks. I was shocked, and stood speechless. I told her to go away, but she didn'
t say anything. I got to the point of shouting at her...nothing. Thirty seconds
later Carole walked in. That was the end of our relationship. I think the fact t
hat Carole came back kept me from hitting Pauline. I hate to think how that woul
d have gone.
A year and a half later, I walked into Wilt's pool hall and Carole was there wit
h friends. After about 15 minutes, she walked over to me. She told me her brothe
r had joined the Navy and was killed on a motorcycle. I told her right then I wa
nted her back. We were together again.
I found a job in Haltom City. It was an auto upholstery shop run by a man and he
had a helper. I was hired to operate a sewing machine and fabricate seat covers
. I worked there for two months and then the owner and I had a disagreement on q
uality options as they relate to materials. He said, "if you want to make decisi
ons then buy it from me". I replied with OK. A month later, Carole bought it fr
om him.
I didn't know prior to this that Carole had money. She had inherited when her br
other died. We financed a portion ($15k) of the purchase price, which we paid of
f in two years. The entire ten years that we ran the company, we gave a two-year
warranty and never had a warranty claim. We never used aftermarket materials...
only OEM. I bought close-outs and overstocks on OEM fabrics and vinyls from the
local suppliers. We had an impressive inventory...which is the only way to do qu
ality work at a reasonable price.
Carole and I worked hard to make this a stand-out high quality mom and pop shop.
..the type of shop we respected...a pillar in the community. She had the intelli
gence and initiative to take responsibility for her job. She was able to provide
sales ability which helped expand into a new market. She was also able to begin
her secret life at that time.
Carole had been in charge of running the office while I was busy running the sho
p. She would speak to customers, and was good at selling. She would also call po
tential fleet accounts and she eventually became successful at securing fleet ac
counts. She got the city of North Richland Hills, FedEx, Coca-Cola, Coors, Pepsi
, city of Fort Worth, Budweiser, and the USPS.
We refurbished driver seats for these accounts. Not only did we refurbish them,
but we improved them. We removed design flaws and utilized better fabrics and vi
nyls. My truck seats, forklift seats, and cushions outperformed and outlasted th
e originals. Plus, my competitors who refurbished seats did the exact opposite.
They would use poor quality aftermarket supplies from the suppliers. My supplies
came from manufacturers, and my fabrics were overstock "originals' from the sup
pliers.
The USPS became our best account because of the volume, and also because the sea
ts were of such poor quality. I replaced the springs with a better system, spot-
welded the lumbar supports...which were riveted, added a lumbar support to the b
ack foam, and modified the bottom foam. These refurbished seats lasted 3-5 years
, as well as eliminated driver complaints and back injuries. We also did the sam
e thing for FedEx.
One day an employee came back from lunch and told me I needed to go home right n
ow. We only lived two blocks away at that time. He said he drove by and saw Caro
le in the driveway with another man. I told him that I wasn't worried about it.
He thought I was nuts. I said, "If she wants someone else then she can have him"
. I was able to trust Carole, even though I knew about her infidelities. She was
busy most of the time with Chris, and I was busier than her, so I wasn't worrie
d about her. Carole was more important to me...than me.
Our company defined honor in America. We kept integrity alive a few years longer
, while the rest of the world focused on money. It became obvious after about 8
years that we needed to make a change, but I tried to do it out of our shop. The
problem was that our location did not support a strong retail business, and our
building was inadequate for wholesale. After two more years, we bought 3 acres
and moved to the country.
Innovative Seating Solutions
We bought a two bedroom house with a 20x30 metal shop. It had a concrete foundat
ion, but was not insulated. We took out a $21K home improvement loan and added o
n to make it 20x60, plus insulated and air conditioned it. I brought in 100 load
s of topsoil and bought a tractor. I redesigned the layout of the land, fenced i
t, and built a large flower garden.
I did custom work for local retail customers, plus refurbished for many fleet ac
counts. Carole was free to take Chris to school and live her secret life...altho
ugh she did help with business accounts for the first two years. Coca-Cola, FedE
x, the USPS, the city of NRH, and the city of FW were our best customers. I spec
ialized in big truck driver seats, forklift seats, the unique seats that FedEx a
nd USPS used, as well as pickup seats.
After about five years of refurbishing seats for the USPS LLV (long life vehicle
), we designed our own seat. The USPS required testing of the seat components, a
s well as crash testing of the finished seats. We spent $60k on tooling, testing
, and supplies. The fleet manager of the Fort Worth VMF location was also the pu
rchasing manager of the five state area. He was the first person I talked to abo
ut manufacturing a better seat. We had his full support the entire time.
After about six months of preparation, we began manufacturing. After two weeks o
f delivering our seats, the Fort Worth VMF (vehicle maintenance facility) told u
s they could no longer buy our seats. The Fort Worth fleet manager lost his job.

Austin kept buying our seats, as well as two locations in Michigan and a locatio
n in Georgia. None of the remaining 180 plus locations would talk to us. I had t
ried for a couple of years to talk to the fleet manager of the Houston location.
I wrote to him many times. He just ignored me.

We spent several months writing to USPS management in Washington. We contacted S
enators. We got the run around from all of them for over a year. My efforts ende
d when I received a visit from two men...one was a Postal investigator, and one
was a Secret Service agent. They did the good cop/bad cop routine on me...threat
ening me and my family. It was pointless to continue, but I did make them listen
to my product demonstration and reviews about driver seats for an hour.
My competition was a company who had a long history of supplying the military in
foreign installations. They were no longer needed in Guam, or other locations.
So, they were given the LLV as compensation. What had been a formal bidding proc
ess, where fair practices governed the business dealings, became a monopoly. Whe
eler Brothers would end up manufacturing every part for this vehicle. They syste
matically bought all the competitors or put them out of business, until they had
control of everything...including Senators and federal agencies.
One day the Houston fleet manager called me. He was asking about the possibility
of installing adjustable lumbar supports in his seats...or if we had a seat wit
h one. He told me he had two lawsuits involving back injuries. We had dealt with
that problem on a national level when we got our seat approved. I explained tha
t he didn't need an adjustable lumbar gimmick. I had solved that problem years a
go. He ordered two of our seats.
Two weeks later he called again. His problems had ended. It was bad timing. Had
he dealt with me before, I would have had more ammunition in fighting Washington
. Now, I had to tell him I cannot continue to build the seats. I had already fil
ed for bankruptcy, and my marriage was ending. He tried to persuade me to stick
with it...telling me he had been dealing with this organized crime for decades,
and that they could not touch him. My giving up was the right thing to do.
This was just another chapter of my life. At the time I did not realize that thi
s was supposed to happen this way. Success was not an ally, but was the enemy. S
uffering had always been my destiny.
San Antonio
My brother David called me. He asked me if I would be interested in doing aircra
ft interiors for him. His partner kept over 20 airplanes in stock (Mooneys) and
David bought and sold 3-4 planes at a time. Most of the planes he bought needed
refurbishing. He had enough experience to know the market for planes that would
sell quickly and be profitable.
He wanted me to move to San Antonio permanently. I was about to make a major lif
e change anyway, and this seemed like a nice challenge. I left everything for Ca
role because I knew I could start over and reinvent myself. She had her job that
was progressing well, so having a house that was worth a lot and only a little
left on the note, along with plenty of money in the bank...meant that she would
have a great chance to get her life going.
When I got to San Antonio, I found out that David was not concerned about my wel
fare...only his. He wasn't willing to pay me much at all, and I had to live in t
he actual hangar...which was only 400 yards off the main runway of San Antonio I
nternational Airport. I set up my sewing machine and tool box in the corner of t
he hangar, which had a tiny office above it.
It took two weeks to get the certified materials that we ordered, so I had time
to make the tables I needed and change the flourescent bulbs in their large offi
ce. I had everything running smoothly, but before the first two weeks was over,
he was already complaining. He is a high pressure salesman, and tactics are his
method. He called me a high priced bulb changer. Yes, my $250/week was a boatloa
d.
When the huge jets landed, the building would shake and the noise was incredible
. They quit landing at 3 AM, and started back up at 7 AM. I could only get 4 hou
rs of sleep. David's partner Jimmy was a very nice guy and seemed to always be o
n my side. He was a very reasonable man. It was quite the challenge for me, but
Jimmy gave me hope. The reason I stuck with it was because I had the opportunity
to design the custom interiors.
Jimmy had married into one of the richest families in the country...the McLanes.
They own many things, one of which is the McLane trucking company. That is why
David was there...to use Jimmy as he uses everyone else...including me.

David made my job, and life, as difficult as possible. I had to pull the comple
te interior out of the planes and work on them while the planes were in the pain
t shop. I had to learn about the certifications and material sources, as well as
the supplies and fasteners. When the planes came back, it was up to me to finis
h them as fast as possible. Living in the hangar, and not sleeping, gave me the
ability to do the impossible.
I lived in that hangar for 4 months. The last 2 months, I had an apartment in to
wn. David was a real asshole, but he eased up once I completed my first plane an
d he sold it. He had money trouble in the beginning, and had to rely on his part
ner. But I was able to complete 2 Cessna 340s, and he sold them fast. I did the
interior on 3 Mooneys and Jimmy was happy too.
The trouble started when I wanted my salary doubled...which was still less than
half of what I was worth. David was playing high roller while I was living in th
e hangar. He bought two Saratogas, and right after he got them, a Saratoga crash
ed somewhere. That meant that his planes would be grounded for a few months. It
was going to cost him. He decided to make it even harder for me.
He convinced his partner that I needed to be a separate company from theirs. Jim
my had a hangar that was only used for storing planes because the hangar across
from them had a Lear Jet that started up each morning. It would sit with the eng
ines running and blow fumes directly into the hangar...making it unusable each m
orning until noon. I would have to work at night.
David bought a 421 Cessna and I was more than halfway done with it when Carole c
alled...asking me to come home. He had his future wrapped in that plane because
the Saratogas were still grounded. I drove the ten hour drive back to Springtown
to see Carole and I was only there for 30 minutes. She and I got into an argume
nt and she threatened to call the police...like she had done before. Another ten
hours on the road.
While I was there, I saw that she had done nothing to take care of the property.
Chris would not say anything to me. When I got back to San Antonio, David was p
anicking. His financial future was dying. I knew I would have to make this my la
st plane for David. I had a meeting with him and told him that I wanted $6000 to
finish the plane and I was leaving. He called the police and had me removed.
I spoke to Carole and told her I would give her a lot of money and she could mov
e out. I would clean up the property and take it back. I was allowed back into t
he hangar to get my tools and equipment. David had paid $8000 to get the plane f
inished, and told more lies to Jimmy...who did not like me at all. When Jimmy fo
und out that I had offered to do it for less, he was angry at David for lying.
David had a short meeting with me in which he told me the 421 was one of the bes
t interiors and designs in the business. He also told me that he had made a lot
of money off me...while all along he told me he was losing big bucks. He lies co
nstantly, and has no actual integrity, yet he maintains an image of integrity. M
y exact counterpart. He talks the talk...I walk the walk.
David's career at San Antonio soon came to an end.
(2)Love
The beauty of the spirit is within all of us. It is in our memories...even if th
ose memories are prettier than the truth. It is in our potential...in those mome
nts in our lives when things didn't matter...when money didn't exist...when our
parents didn't abuse us or neglect us...when tomorrow wasn't a burden. It is in
the trust we lost long ago.
True love involves the spirit...which has the potential to be a daily routine in
the reality we are obsessed with. It could be what we are born into, what we aw
ake to each day...the essence of our material existence, and how we share each m
oment. Instead, we have the burden of survival. The spirit is lost.

Our perception is an illusion, based in reality...never giving us a break. It al
ways pulls on us...grabbing at our core. It allows us to find something we want.
..something that takes away the fear we hid and forgot...and embrace an obsessio
n. Reality is failure, because no matter what we do, the only true reality never
presents itself. That is the gift we receive from the world...fear.
The material world is a balance of positive and negative energy. If we take away
some of the positive, the remaining negative instantly finds something positive
to attach to...and neutralize. History has proven that the world changes, and c
urrently we have not attained a position that allows us to avoid this change. In
the past, we had civilizations with balance...and at some point in the future,
we will again.
Reality is a temporary setback which we cannot avoid, but we can endure. If we c
hoose to not identify with reality, and to find the beauty of the spirit, then w
e have faith. Faith was intended to support our beauty. It was supposed to be an
endowment...a gift from those who are responsible for us. Faith is real and is
eternal, and was once a gift from our parents, maintained with help from friends
.
God, the "Artist", created the universe. He established Free Will. This was inte
nded to allow us to reach our goals...our future. The spirit has a sanctuary...w
ithin his Free Will. The spirit is within all of us, and is a piece of God. It i
s the soul, and it is eternal. It is who we are, and it is free to endure.
The corporation is an imaginary entity that removes Free Will...a temporary setb
ack for humanity. It embodies the choice to forget who we are...where we came fr
om...and who we will be. Faith is our birthright, but until we get beyond our cu
rrent condition, we have only the ego. I had to leave the material world to unde
rstand...even though it was my destiny to seek truth my whole life. With an ego
attached, I had no chance...no one does. Our only tool is the faith we have been
denied.
Forgiveness is an act of grace, but it is not given. It is received. The only tr
ue forgiveness is a gift from us to ourself. We never have to forgive another. W
e only have to see the beauty of the spirit. That is our quest...to forgive ours
elves enough that we can see...to see the beauty of the spirit we love...not lov
ed, because the love never ends.
Faith. Forgiveness. Love. Any of these things destroy the barrier...the ego. But
reality...supported by the negativity that remains when the positive was remove
d, overwhelms us. And all we have to do is have faith, forgive ourselves, and lo
ve another...and we leave this world without ego. We have to leave this world wi
thout ego, or we will be back again...to suffer more. Maybe 99% of people who di
e will be back.
More than thirty years ago, I was given the chance to leave the material world..
.to see the truth...all of the truth in the universe. When I came back, I couldn
't remember all the truth I discovered, but I never forgot how I felt. It was pu
re ecstacy. And now, one year ago (2010), I was given that chance again...to see
the truth firsthand. Again, I cannot remember...but I was reminded how I felt l
ong ago. I was among friends, and the truth surrounded me...exactly the same way
. I still had the faith, and for the first time...I had forgiveness.
What I felt most of all, was the love...not one born out of a weak spirit, or a
strong ego...not a falsehood born from compromise. We accomplished our goal thou
sands of years in the past, but the science of the world is unstable and incompl
ete. In the future faith will happen again, after we have again built a world wi
th the ego under control. I remember where my faith is, where my forgiveness is,
and where my love is.
My love is a beautiful woman...one I never deserved. She is a very strong soul,
has faith in herself, and forgives herself. Her light is so intense, that I had
no choice but to see it. She sacrificed herself so that I would learn the truth.
..and remember the faith. She made sure that I could forgive myself...and embrac
e suffering...so I would not have to do it again. She will be back...that was he
r sacrifice...and it will not be up to me to find her..and rescue her. I have to
let go...so she can save another.
My love is true love, just as strong as it began...almost 27 years ago...except
now it has a foundation of strength. I have no worries. I have no fear. I can re
live each moment in my life...knowing my spirit was pure...my sacrifices were re
al...my intent was honest. What once began as a mystery, and never seemed secure
, is now a reality. I just wasn't able to be who I was meant to be. I am forgive
n.
I know the act of saving will not always be one person at a time, but for now I
can live with that. And I know because I have a love...a hero. I was made tough.
..through her strength. I was made to survive suffering...even when I didn't wan
t to. I have strength, although it is weak compared to her's. My life's burden w
as truth...but I am able to get it done...and soon I will be done.
I am still at work. I have no idea what I am doing...but I have faith it will be
done. I have had so many villains...but I have the gift of strength..of forgive
ness...of love.
My hero knows who she is.

Life After Carole
I drove back to Springtown. The ragweed was ten feet tall...over the entire prop
erty. It took me a week to mow it all down. Within a couple of weeks I had it al
l looking normal again. For the next year, I did several nice custom interiors.
One was a '53 Ford PU, a '67 Firebird, a Porsche 912, and an old panel wagon. I
also did a complete interior on a Cessna 340...go figure.
I still serviced Coca-Cola and FedEx. I really had it made. One day I had my cre
dit card processing company investigate me for fraud. I have no idea how that ha
ppened, but with my past, it wouldn't be hard to speculate. Once they finished,
and there was no fraud, they charged me $500 for the investigation. Right then,
I had had enough. I called them and canceled my business with them...and quit ta
king credit cards. I lost all my fleet accounts, but it was worth it.
My next door neighbor in Springtown had moved out and left the house to their da
ughter. She had a live-in boyfriend. One day they had a family party and my old
neighbors were there, along with the boyfriend's large family. They came over an
d invited me to eat and drink with them. I found out that night that that boyfri
end's uncle was the former fleet manager at the local USPS VMF (vehicle maintena
nce facility). The same man who lost his job when I was starting to manufacture
driver seats for them.
I apologized to them for what had happened. They replied by saying that I could
tell him myself...he was on his way over. When he showed up, he was wearing real
ly nice clothes and had lots of gold jewelry. He avoided me for an hour, but jus
t before he was leaving, he came over to me. I apologized. He replied by telling
me that he didn't get fired. They paid him off. He is now a millionaire.
(1)I decided to start dating. A person might think it was the normal thing to do
. Actually, my life was going too well, and I had no chance to screw it up. So,
dating was the best way to blow the whole deal. How else am I going to get to th
e place I was supposed to go? The suffering cannot end. Yes, I started internet
dating.
I dated a blonde "hottie" from Plano for a couple of months. Her name was Schump
ert. She had been adopted from a hospital with that namesake in Shreveport, and
her new mother named her after it. She had a daughter that was six years old, an
d was divorced. She asked me to marry her and I told her no. I gave her plenty o
f good reasons why I would not. So, a few weeks later she planned the wedding in
the Arkansas mountains.
(1)Now it is certainly obvious that something is wrong. A woman I don't know ver
y well, named Schumpert. She makes 150K a year and has a masters degree in psych
ology, but knows nothing about it. She "faked" her way to a Masters degree...was
her explanation. Why not? Her mother was one of those nutcases who got everythi
ng she wanted. She spoiled her daughter to a point where she had no conscience.
It was not like I didn't see it coming.
We drove the whole way there, and the little girl was so excited. It was a beaut
iful place on the lake...and a nice cabin. That night, as we lay in bed, we were
both thinking. I was waiting for something that I knew was going to happen. I j
ust didn't know what it was going to be. She said, "After we get married, are yo
u going to treat me better?"
(1)Well sure, I played the role of a fool, and I am the picture that pops up whe
n you Google "fool", so why shouldn't she start in before we even tie the knot.
I am going to marry a girl named Schumpert, who has a little girl that I know ha
s problems, and even though I am a fool...I ain't stupid.
The next morning was the day before our wedding. I waited for her to wake, and t
hen told her I was not marrying her. I walked out of the cabin and to the lakesi
de. She wrapped herself up in a blanket and ran after me...begging me to marry h
er. Oh, did I mention I am telling the truth? We had a long and quiet drive home
that day.
Two weeks later she shows up at my house one night. She gets down on her knees a
nd begs me to marry her. She tells me she needs me to help her get her life toge
ther, and take care of her daughter. She confided in me that her little girl was
neglected and had a therapist. I agreed to date her some more and spend time wi
th her daughter. Why not...my life is ripe for a spoiler.
A couple of months later, after I had spent quite a bit of time with her daughte
r, I agreed that she needed me. I laid out conditions, and she agreed. I told he
r I would not work a job, but would do home repairs and fix her daughter...but s
he would have to open up and tell me everything. I told her to quit her high pre
ssure job and take a pay cut...from 150K to 110K. You don't have to be worth a d
amn to make 100K.
I sold my house and cleared a boatload of cash. It was getting lonely out in the
country, and I felt as if I had some value. I had a piece-work family that seem
ed to be heading somehwere. We got married in a courtroom. Things were going qui
te well. I had things progressing and got to a point where I thought I was ready
to think about a career. That was...until...Schumpert made plans.
We visited her mother and father in Shreveport. I quickly saw that I had failed
to tie up all the loose ends. Her Mother...Darthette Vader. Her father was on ox
ygen, and her Mother was taking care of him. We stayed in their home a weekend a
nd that was all I needed to understand. She was jealous. We had a nice talk on t
he drive home...about her Mother. I am not the only person with a cartoon villai
n as a mother. It was starting to make sense.
The next time we went out to eat, we went to the Macaroni grill. I had never bee
n there before. It was crowded, and Schump went to the ladies room. I was holdin
g her daughter's left hand in my right, and she looked up at me and smiled...rea
ching around with her right hand and grabbed me. Let me make this clear...she gr
abbed my sack...while looking up at me with a huge smile. I was speechless for t
he entire meal. We had a family discussion that night at home.
A few days later her father died. How convenient. A few days later Schumpert pre
sented me with divorce papers, and the $26K I had invested into paying off her b
ills. Her Mother was moving in. I had completed my task, and her daughter needed
protection from the truth. And, I needed to get out of Dodge before I go to jai
l. It was all good. I made some progress, and I needed to pave a path for more s
uffering. I had enough inspiration to become a writer.
As I write about Schumpert, I am surrounded by imposing destiny. I sense the con
cept of forgiveness. She taught me how to forgive myself...because if I hadn't m
arried her, I would still feel unique...and alone. Forgiving has prepared me to
take the next step.
Writing
I started writing back when I was breeding daylilies. I was attracted to the bre
eding because of the "blank canvas" that the breeding offered, and the results h
ad such staggering potential. I became obsessed with daylilies, but not for thos
e reasons. It was the irresponsible inbreeding perpetrated by man...which create
d a flower that could not stay alive without extreme chemical treatments.
I suffered a staggering loss due to my obsession. Little did I know at the time,
it was intended to inspire me into writing. I was so bad at it, and it was so d
ifficult...I would never have done it without some obsession and a worthwhile ca
use. Leave it to mankind's commitment to the ego to subliminally inspire me. I s
tarted writing because I was attracted to the lost cause...defending righteousne
ss against the ego. How alluring it was for man to profit by exploiting that whi
ch is innnocent combined with unlimited potential.
I tried to write online...defending innocence against corruption. No chance at a
ll to achieve a goal, but also a great chance to make this a long and drawn out
learning process. I was so bad at getting my point across. I tried to start writ
ing...finish...and then post it online..all at one time. For me, it doesn't work
that way. It took me a year to figure that out.
At that point, daylilies are all in the past, and I am no longer writing...but i
t is different. I had inspiration...not from pursuit of a cause, but from an unk
nown source causing to me make a commitment to myself. I was no longer writing t
o someone else. It started with an attempt to write things down so I would remem
ber. I discovered my writing technique. Rather than thinking and planning...I ju
st felt it and wrote it. I now call it the "rough draft".
It was not uncommon to wake up in the middle of the night and write...and go bac
k to bed in tears. I knew that what I wrote made sense at the time, but later I
would have time to put it in perspective. Sometimes I could rewrite it the next
day and be done...sometimes it may be a year or two later. As I became comfortab
le with my "rough draft inspiration" technique, I also developed my writing styl
e. I found that I should be able to read what I have written and revisit the mom
ent I was inspired...even years later.
I moved out of Plano and into a rental house in Saginaw. There was a natural gas
well in the field behind the house...only about 75 feet away. I bought nice fur
niture and other stuff. For the next year and a half, I would write. After a few
months, I was in the kitchen, and my ears popped. From that day forward, my ear
s never stopped ringing. Several years later, I saw the movie "Gas Land". The fi
rst symptom from natural gas poisoning is ringing in the ears...and Fort Worth i
s one of the worst places in the world...to live.
I finished my first version of DOND, and wanted to end my life. I was trying to
plan how I would do it. Then came the flood...how biblical. Yes, the great flood
. My last month in that house I was dealing with drying out the walls because of
the foot deep water. Never mind that it is not in a flood plain. This is Americ
a...we just do unto others and have enough money to defend the lawsuits. If you
are going to be successful at it, you must form a corporation and buy some polit
icians. Ah, how wonderful the ego is when there is no conscience, and money is t
he reward. Oh, to Hell with money, power is the reward.
How perfectly fitting it is when you attempt suicide by carbon monoxide poisonin
g, and there is 0% CO in vehicle exhaust...and how better to start evolving into
a person who has no worldly possessions? Why not move in with Harold?
Suffering
One of the most important chapters of my life taught me about the pitfalls of be
ing human. It wasn't a concept, as I lived it daily. It wasn't a feeling, becaus
e it slapped me in the face. It wasn't a theory, because a theory doesn't come w
ith the taste of despair. It was a learning experience that came as a total surp
rise. I had no idea that the ego was a tangible and formidable part of reality..
.the definition of reality...as it relates to man.
Sure, my life had been about suffering for a very long time. I just never absorb
ed it. I went on with my life. I tended to dwell on these things, but each time
I started a new quest, I filed the crap away and forgot about it. This time I de
alt with it on a level that would stay with me...giving me something to write ab
out.
Harold is a guy I wanted to call a friend, but he was more of an acquaintance. T
he more I tried to be friends, the more reason I had not to be. He was obviously
trying to make a subtle point, but he is the type of guy who seems to enjoy it
when you can't understand him. Each time he displayed just how twisted he was, I
tried to find a way to establish that he wasn't. I apparently didn't want to be
lieve he was. What I know now is that it was never about Harold...it was about m
e understanding the depth of despair the ego can inflict upon a person. What bot
hered me the most, and still does...is that I could do nothing to help.
I guess Harold was prompted to invite me into his home. Or maybe it was an empty
offer that I was supposed to decline. The thing was...I had no choice. Even tho
ugh I gave him most of the nicest things in his house, he seemed to think that I
owed him something. The entire time I was there, I was trying to find a way to
help him. I have never met a person who needed help more.
I don't remember how many months I was there, or the exact circumstances, or if
he spent money on me or not. I think he mostly just had to tolerate me being the
re. I did extensive remodels on his two pathetic bathrooms in his ancient house,
and cleared out his backyard shop that was inaccessible because of the wall-to-
wall junk that was packed inside. Everything I did for him was a worse case scen
ario. The bathrooms would have cost him way more than it did, and the shop had n
ever been used in the many years he was there...simply because of neglect.
Yes, a part of me is still confused. With Harold, there are no answers. He refus
es to participate. He has his own agenda and seems to never vary. Considering my
parents, my wives, and the US government...the Harold chapter was much more of
the perfect situation to teach me what I needed to know. In all other chapters o
f my life, there were variables...and perspectives...and unknowns. With Harold,
it was a very simple stand-off between me and his ego.
He made it clear on a daily basis that he was better than me...cared nothing for
me...and that I was a poor example of humanity. I can do nothing right. What ma
de everything worse was the fact that I would not give up on Harold. I seldom ga
ve up on a challenge. Even when I moved out...I moved in next door. I was not ab
out to quit on a quest...one that was so blatantly laid out for me. The fact tha
t I failed on my quest to help Harold is still an enigma.
Yet, I learned one of the most valuable insights in my life...the truth...etched
in my existence...about the human ego. I know it as well as I can know anything
. I am starting to understand the spiritual value of suffering.
I moved into the house next door to Harold. I am not sure how many months I stay
ed there. I spent some of my time writing. I tried my hand at a few odd jobs. I
did some mowing with Mike. I remodeled the bathroom in this house, and made some
repairs. I think I spent most of my time thinking about dying. I was not accomp
lishing much.
I would soon give away almost everything I own...and take on another quest. I st
ill had much to learn.
Mabank
I am still not clear on the dates of the incidents that transpired in 2010, when
my parents intervened...by taking away everything that I own, and casting me in
to the world with little or nothing...including the brain I once had. I was home
less at the age of 19, when they told me to get out of their house. Being homele
ss again is just another challenge.
I have never been afraid of harm to myself. Somehow I have had faith in my abili
ties, while all along my faith was not the result of anything I did. It seems to
have been inside of me all along...waiting for me to figure it all out. So, bei
ng homeless another time would not stop me. Losing my ability to use my brain wo
uld not stop me. I just point myself in a direction and go.
In June 2010, my Dad called me. He asked me to donate one of my kidneys to my mo
m. He said he had arranged for me to work in the pro shop at the Pinnacle Club..
.the golf course in which they live on the 16th hole. The course is located on C
edar Creek Lake, near Mabank Texas. He said I would live in their house permanen
tly.
I would have to give away all of my stuff, or sell it. All I could take would be
my truck and some tools...and of course my golf clubs. I would not be responsib
le for any bills other than those I create on my own. The small amount of income
I would have would be enough to let me clothe myself and play golf. I could alw
ays get another job nearby if I wanted more money.
So I did not hesitate. Any opportunity to help another person is my destiny...no
matter how it works out for me. I gave all my stuff away...to the people closes
t to me who needed it. Some I gave away to friends...knowing that they would fin
d someone who needed it. My big screen TV, high dollar king size bed with matchi
ng chest and dresser, two leather recliners, expensive oak table with swivel rec
lining chairs, stereo and speakers, large tool boxes with many of my tools, larg
e refrigerator, lawn mowers, bookshelf, DVDs, furniture, washer/dryer, fine artw
ork, computer, and much more.
I kept my sewing machines and other upholstery items in Harold's backyard shop.
I drove to Mabank and then my parent's house. The first thing I noticed was that
my mom did not appear to be sick. No problem. I don't dwell on incidentals. I w
ill make the best of any situation. I was looking forward to getting myself in s
hape...along with my golf game, meeting Mister 58...my boss, and finding out wha
t was in store for me.
I jogged 4 or 5 days a week, depending on my work schedule. Working in the pro s
hop was easy. My golf game was getting better. My handicap was 3. This course is
not my style...it has narrow fairways, lots of rough and trees...and you can't
hit a driver often. I had several new stylish golf shirts and hats. I was getti
ng to know all the people. My parents were easy enough to get along with, and my
mom wasn't sick at all.
Only one player gave me any competition, but he wasn't a member. He would play o
nce or twice a month, and he played very slowly. One day I commented to the pro
that there was no one for me to play. He made a phone call and said they will be
here in 45 minutes. Sure enough, 45 minutes later two guys walked up to the pro
shop. One was a tall body-builder type...a real stud. The other was shorter, bu
t still a tough looking guy. They were the pro's "hired guns" as I call em.
The tall guy drove the green on the first hole, and birdied. He also drove the t
hird green and birdied. Between the two of them, they birdied the first five hol
es. I never had a birdie all day. I beat one by five strokes, and the other by s
ix. They were not happy campers. The only comment they had was that I had a good
short game. But, they were nice enough and fun to play with.
All was good. Then one morning I woke up in my bed. "Wade, you have had a seizur
e", my mom said. There was a whole day missing. I was as healthy as I have ever
been. I was a perfect weight, perfect blood pressure, jogged a lot, no trouble s
leeping, ate better than I ever have, was active every day, and had a great atti
tude.
From this day on, that all changed.
Apparently I had been to the hospital the day before. The next day they took me
to a neurologist. As I sat in his office, he looked at my Catscan. He swiveled a
round in his chair and looked at me...saying nothing. "So, what do you think?",
I said. "Nothing is wrong with you", he said. He then spent 30 minutes talking a
bout his four Mercedes. "What about my seizure?", I said. He said nothing, but w
rote me a prescription.
I tried to continue working in the pro shop, but my brain didn't work very well.
My memory was slow. Soon I was fired. I hung around at my parent's house long e
nough to remodel the pro's office, because it was pitiful and depressing. He had
spilled Coke all over his front seats in his car, so I took them apart and stea
m cleaned them...then put them back together.
I worked in a trim shop in Gun Barrel City for about 4 weeks but the guy was a c
rook and there wasn't enough work once I got it all done. Then in November, my D
ad told me to paint the house and then leave. He gave me $1500 for doing it, the
n I loaded up my truck and left...in the middle of November. As I was leaving, m
y Dad said, "We are just selfish people". My mom said, a few days earlier, "your
Dad kept you alive because he kept petting you".
I drove to Tyler, and had a hotel and a job within 30 minutes. I had a room at V
alue Place, and $600/week at Moose Auto Glass. The upholstery shop was a disgrac
e. It had been in operation for a very long time...so there was no excuse for it
s condition. It was a warehouse for overnight stay customer cars. It had a very
high ceiling, old-time poorly designed work tables, and crappy sewing machines.
It was obvious the owners sucked the life (and cash) out of the business and emp
loyees, with little commitment to the operation.
I had seen this situation all over Texas, so I was not surprised. It was what I
consider a great opportunity. I could set an example, and redesign the operation
...providing increased profits and stability they had never known before. I inst
alled my sewing machine, which was out of tune even though it was almost brand n
ew. It had been my back-up machine for 5 years, and hardly used. It had been tam
pered with at some point in the past, so it needed a tune-up. The owner, Eddy Mo
ose, spent a few hundred dollars getting it perfected. It was a commitment towar
ds my investment into upgrading the operation.
I cleaned up the junk infested workspace, and installed my parts bins. My boss,
the manager, pulled out 4 dumpsters worth of ancient worthless fabrics and threw
it on the floor...leaving it for me to clean up. I was able to get 60% of the r
emodel completed in the first two months. All I had left was to replace the work
tables and redesign the layout of the workspace. All the while, I was able to ge
t my work done as well. I completed a car that had been sitting for months, and
also another car that had been there the same amount of time.
I was able to get the owner of the second car to spend another $2000 to finish t
he second car...so I began that project. This glass shop routinely trashed our s
hop, left customer project cars sitting, and packed in overnight windshield cars
that took priority over our work. I wasn't overly concerned because this is the
type of situation I routinely correct. Everything was about to change.
One day in January, my boss (not the owner) came out to the shop and said, "Wade
, I think you should know...there is someone in the office talking about you". I
went to the office and saw my Dad walking out the door to the car. I followed h
im, and saw my mom sitting in the car. She saw me and her jaw dropped...like she
saw a ghost. I stood in front of her for about 30 seconds, and she never moved.
..never spoke. She was just shocked, with her mouth open. I showed my Dad around
the shop...a work in progress. They soon left.
From that day forward, I no longer had the support of management. Even though I
had learned how to do convertible tops...completing two installations, and had c
leaned up the shop, installed my machine and parts bins, bought new tools, and s
howed my commitment through my actions...not words...I was no longer respected.
Even though they knew I had given them a chance to increase profits. For some re
ason, I was going to be treated like a stepchild.
I gave notice that I was leaving...writing the owner a letter. I made a note tha
t I was leaving everything better than when I came. The owner came out and priva
tely told me he wanted me to stay. I responded by saying that I would like to st
ay, but only if I could finish what I started. That was apparently not an option
. I left at the end of February.
I accomplished all this while I had little brain function. I commonly came to wo
rk not remembering the car I had worked on the day before. My recall was almost
non-existent, although I did remember most things once I saw them. I just couldn
't access my recall without visual or verbal stimulus. The first week I was ther
e I gave a co-worker my will...leaving all my gear to him. I knew I was a "walki
ng dead".
As I left, I knew that co-worker had mixed feelings. He no longer had faith in h
is future there, but his job was much more secure. Business as usual I am sure.
No matter where I go, I encounter workers that don't want me around. One thing t
hey understand...their stock goes down the day I walk in. If they have faith in
who they are, I turn out to be a wonderful thing. If not, I am a huge threat.
JPS
I drove into Fort Worth with my truck loaded up with my tools and belongings. I
had trouble finding Value Place, so I stopped on a service road and called. They
had no reservation for me. I called all 3 locations and no one had a reservatio
n. After some tense "discussions", I got the Forest Hill location to make room f
or me.
Harold made it clear I was not welcome and I was not going to keep my sewing mac
hine and tools in his shop. I "forced" my way in through his front gate so I cou
ld put my sewing machine inside. Only after I had unloaded it all by myself did
he unlock the door, with disgust on his face. I was lucky to get my large items
in his shop...so, my tools were left inside my truck.
After being at the Value Place for two weeks, my truck was broken into and my to
ols were stolen. Plus, my truck would no longer start. I had to consider what my
next move would be...having a beat up truck that needed to be towed and repaire
d, while the A/C and power windows did not work. It was foolish to spend all my
money on the truck when I wasn't going to be able to renew my license anyway.
I was witness to the fact that drug dealers were running this hotel. The manager
was obviously in on it, but he also managed two other Fort Worth locations. The
man who looked like he was the boss was a regal and statuesque, well-dressed Hi
spanic man with longish hair. He always had body guards with him, and casually n
oticed I was present. I usually tried to buddy up with the body guards...talking
about spirituality, history, and conspiracy theories.
Tuck, my neighbor across the hall, told me he had lived there with his wife and
kids for three years. He was a struggling low-level dealer. I told him on many o
ccasions that I was not a cop. He was a likeable guy, although I knew he was a t
hief. Not a whole lot of difference between Tuck and your common politician.
At the end of the first month at the hotel, I knew this next month would be my l
ast at that place. The drug dealers running the place, along with the hotel mana
ger, were always looking at me like I was a cop or a fed. I was getting ready to
leave...knowing my life was about to change. I also knew I would be walking as
I left...since my license would expire in 2 weeks. I was truly alone...with Mike
as my only friend.
Two days before my last day, I gave Tuck a check for $600, since he was panickin
g for money...and I wanted his name and signature on a check. I gave him my truc
k, and my computer. I wasn't able to carry it, and I knew he could use it. I was
also giving him a chance to "man up". I still had $300 in my account, and the h
otel owed me $267. The next day, I went to give notice I was checking out...and
get my money.
As I was giving notice, a policeman came in the front door and asked me to step
outside. The two cops arrested me "for my own protection". Little did I know tha
t anyone can call and have you taken away. As I was being driven away, I saw a m
an taking my golf clubs out to his car. They took me to the John Peter Smith eme
rgency room.
I wasn't making much of a fuss because I was a mess at the time. I had "seizure"
symptoms two days earlier, plus I had been suffering from sleep deprivation for
months. I had gone two or three days with no sleep at all. I had become a very
spiritual person in the last few years. I had trust in my destiny. As I write th
is, I realize going to JPS was one of the most enlightening experiences of my li
fe.
I was fine at the busy tenth floor emergency room. I was talking for a long time
to a girl who "listened to spirits". She seemed to have some kind of connection
that I couldn't explain. She was attracted to me for some reason. I told her I
was worried because I hadn't taken a prilosec, and she said a spirit told her I
would not have a problem for two days...and to get a pill before the third day.
All the staff thought she was nuts, of course, and she may have been...but I wou
ld not be surprised if she really did communicate with spirits. I would love to
meet her again.
I had experience with "supernatural" events when I was married to my first wife,
Carole. She woke up in the middle of the night twice that I remember. One time
was the exact moment her mother died, and the other was when her father died. Ea
ch time she woke me and told me that they had died. Then the next day we found o
ut it was true. We only use a small fraction of our brain, and the remainder, I
am convinced, is intended to be used spiritually...such as to communicate with s
ouls in the spiritual realm.
A new male patient walked in and I was immediately captivated by him. I watched
him and listened to him. I was convinced he was a celebrity. It seemed to me tha
t I saw him on TV, and he was some kind of preacher or something. I spent the ni
ght talking to the girl and the man...Terry Bates. He told me he went by Scooter
, and that he was an illegitimate son of Waylon Jennings. He also told me he was
a Mormon preacher. After that night, I never saw the girl again, but Terry and
I were buds the entire time I was there.
The next day they took me to the SW wing of the psyche ward. I immediately saw I
was in big trouble. As soon as I went in the door, a muscular guy who was stoop
ed over and always had his head bent to the side...smelled my butt. I mean serio
usly...just like a dog. He was very messed up, and couldn't seem to talk...he ju
st mumbled. And he smelled me, stood away, and shook his head. Later Terry told
me it was because I had never been here before, and the cafeteria food had salt
peter in it...and he could smell it. I didn't have the smell. That seems interes
ting to me.
This psyche ward seemed like jail at first. If not for the wonderful techs, who
kept order, it would have been a nightmare. Only a few of the nurses cared, and
none of the doctors. The techs were a gift from God. They were "regular" people
who watched over the patients and had conversations with us. They got to know us
. The social workers were a total joke, as were the attorneys. They were no-show
s for the most part.
I saw a doctor twice in the SW wing. The first day, he came by for about 15 seco
nds with a couple of student doctors and asked me a question. I could not unders
tand anything he said...let alone answer. I was sleep deprived for days, recover
ing from recent "seizure" symptoms, and no telling what meds they gave me in the
ER. The doctors walked off. Later that same day, he came by my room and asked m
e for permission to call my parents. I said OK.
I think it was the second day when the attorney came in my room. It may have bee
n the first day...I don't know. She told me that she needed my signature to allo
w her to represent me. She said "you obviously don't belong here, so if you sign
this I will get you out in two days. If you don't sign, you will have to go to
court and fight the district attorney, and his job is to keep you here. It will
drag on for a week or more". I had no idea that her intention was for me to sign
away all my rights. I signed.
Terry was my buddy. We would spend most of every day together. We talked a lot.
He told me he used to work at Vought in Grand Prairie. I soon found out that he
had taken the job I turned down...one month after my interview. He was a titaniu
m machinist. He also said he worked with the Secret Service at times in the past
, and still had communications with them. After he heard who I was, and my story
, he told me that he called them and asked them to help me.
I noticed that I had seen the male Hispanic nurse at the hotel several times, as
well as the Hispanic who cleaned the rooms. There was also an Asian guy who sai
d he was from Burma. He seemed to always keep an eye on me. I didn't recognize h
im. On the second day, the male social worker...Richard...came in my room and to
ld me he was my social worker, and if I needed help, to let him know. That would
be the last time he ever talked to me.
The whole time I refused the psyche meds. They always diagnose patients as bipol
ar, and had me as schizophrenic as well. Patients have the right to refuse any m
eds they did not want to take. Refusing meds would normally get a visit from you
r doctor. I took Nexium in the morning and two 500mg Keppra...one at 9 AM and on
e at 9 PM. I did not sleep at night for the first two nights in the SW wing, plu
s the night in the emergency room.
The third day a new doctor...Burkett...came in my room to talk to me. He asked m
e about my condition, and I told him everything. I told him to get me some more
sleep and then I will pass any test he has. That day I had a Catscan done as wel
l as an EEG. That night, the Hispanic male nurse came into my room. I was desper
ately trying to sleep but it wasn't working. He asked me what I thought about Va
lue Place, and I said "I like that place, and every person I talked to there". H
e left and came back, with a little white pill. I slept that night.
The next day I felt great. My head was clear and I could think, after around 2PM
. That little pill made me dizzy till then. I began to figure out what was happe
ning to me. It was becoming a strange story, especially after Terry told me his
story. My life started making sense. I started having better conversations with
the techs, and I was interacting with more of the patients. One of the techs had
noticed I was doing better.
That night I stayed up past bedtime. All the patients were in bed except the Bur
mese guy, and all the second shift techs, and a male nurse. As I sat there, star
ing them all down, they looked perplexed. The Burmese patient was really getting
nervous. I said loudly...looking each guy in the eye, "I am not afraid to die.
Bring it on. I can take anything you got". The Burmese guy looked very upset, an
d he went to his room. That was the last time I saw him. I got a shot that night
, and my second straight night of sleep.
The next day Dr. Burkett spoke to me briefly and I told him the pill was a littl
e too strong, but I slept great. Dr. Burkett told me my tests all looked normal.
I told him to get me another night of sleep and reminded him that I will take a
ny test he has for me. The 1/2 pill was just right, and I slept very well from t
hen on. From then on, I took a Nexium at 6 AM, Keppra at 9 AM, 1/2 of a Trazadon
e 50mg at 8 PM, and a Keppra at 9 PM... every day.
This is now the second doctor to tell me nothing is wrong with me. I didn't real
ize until a month after I got out of JPS...I don't know if I have ever had a sei
zure. My first doctor didn't want to prescribe me anti-seizure meds. My mom is t
he one who told me I had a seizure, and they never let me see any medical record
s. She also told me that a side effect of my medication is that if I stop taking
it, I will have a seizure. I remember what they said to me as I was leaving the
ir house.
I explained my "seizure" symptoms that I have when I don't take my Keppra to Dr.
Burkett. He said that they were seizure symptoms. So, when I don't take my full
meds, I have a tiny seizure. The symptoms are that I don't know where I am for
a short time. This happens when I adjust my meds. I never have missed them...I j
ust adjusted the dose by taking a half pill twice a day, or taking a full pill i
n the morning and half at night. Taking two full pills and I am fine. I just can
't sleep.
As I am writing this, I am thinking...I wonder what will happen if I stop them a
ltogether. If I believe what I have been told...they don't know for sure, but I
will likely have small seizures until I have the "big one". There is evidence th
at I was poisoned. If I take a multi-vitamin, even half of a pill, I have seizur
e symptoms. There are so many ingredients listed on the bottle that I have no id
ea what I am having trouble with. I have never experienced a seizure...only sym
ptoms...apparently from a tiny seizure that only happens at night.
This SW wing psyche ward is as far from reality as I can imagine. If I had my da
y in court, I could prove that all politicians should take responsibility for th
eir actions...and should spend time in all institutions. The people who make dec
isions use second-hand information based on theoretical situations. Just another
fine example of hypocrisy in America.
The next morning a tech took me out of the SW wing and to the NW wing. It was so
much better here. All the patients had better attitudes, and we did several gro
up therapy sessions each day. They were wonderful. I could see progress daily am
ong many of the patients. My mind got better each day, and I slept every night.
I aced every group session, as well as all the physical therapy sessions. I seem
ed to be the only person who was coordinated and athletic. It must be the medica
tion they are all on.
I became the group spiritual leader, and inspired others to participate. If not
for the terribly uncomfortable chairs, this wing would have been awesome. We bec
ame a sort of family. Some patients would be released and new ones came in. I ma
de an effort to help those who I felt a connection with. The second day, Terry w
as brought over. We spent each day together. I continued to ask to speak to my d
octor and social worker, but they never spoke to me.
I had plenty of time to think. I found it not only strange, but enlightening tha
t I was "arrested" with my Moose Auto Glass uniform shirt on, and my manuscript
was in my hand, plus Terry came in right after me. I gave my manuscript to him,
and he said it was as if he wrote it himself. One of the techs made a copy and g
ave it to me. I asked him to put it in my file. He did. In the next few days man
y of the staff read portions of my manuscript.
Now think about this. I never wore my Moose uniform shirt at all after I quit Mo
ose. I hadn't printed out my manuscript in years. I knew I needed to edit it and
shorten it...I just wasn't ready to and for some reason I thought it wouldn't b
e long until I would be ready. But the day I gave 24 hour notice to Value Place,
I put on the shirt and printed it out. Not only that, I was carrying it in my h
and when I gave notice...and then was arrested.
That day I had planned on taking a marker and making a T-shirt that said:
I am homeless

I am without worldly possessions
I am more qualified to be President than Donald Trump
...and another T-shirt that said:
Love thy God and thy neighbor as thyself
...and I was going to give my manuscript to one of the body guards. Instead,
I was arrested.

The patients I met at JPS were some of the finest people I have met in my life.
They were "down to earth", as opposed to being consumed by greed and convenience
. They found me and my insights inspiring. I could actually sense that they foun
d peace when I spoke. Once a man interrupted me in a group session. He was quoti
ng the Bible...trying to correct me. As soon as the session was done, I walked o
ver to him and stuck out my hand, saying "excellent". I knew right then I had ea
rned his respect.
There was a beautiful young woman who was having a hard time understanding and c
ommunicating. She always had a Bible and was reading almost constantly. After a
couple of days of watching her, I said "There is only one law of God...love thy
God and thy neighbor as thyself". She said, "Thank you", and shut her Bible. She
smiled for the first time.
A good-looking young blonde haired male patient came in the second or third day
I was in the NW wing. He never spoke to anyone, and was Terry's roommate. I caug
ht him looking at me all the time that he was not in his room. If I looked at hi
m, he went back into his room...the first couple of days. The next time I made i
t a point to speak to him. He paid very close attention but did not speak. I not
iced he scratched his chest and legs all the time.
I asked my favorite tech about him and he said this was his second time there. H
e said he was struck by lightning. I then asked the patient about the lightning.
He said, "No, I was struck by thunder". I asked the patient if he was in the wo
ods. He told me he lives in the woods. I asked Terry about him and he said that
the patient thinks he is a witch. I asked him to show me his chest, and then I t
old the tech that he was covered in scratches and poison oak.
I later spoke to him again, and all the rest of that day he went to his room if
I spoke to him, but soon came back out. Each time he had drawn an elaborate pict
ure of fantastic symbols. Soon he was talking to me. He wanted to know my true n
ame. He asked me if I was an Apostle. I asked Terry about him again, and Terry s
aid the guy has a Koran in his room. From then on, he never spoke to me but spok
e to others. He watched me, but if I asked him a question...he froze.
From then on, he was my friend, although he froze if I spoke to him. His infecti
on was cleared. I tried to be nice, and I could tell he liked me...and I sensed
he trusted me. But most of all, he feared me.
On the fourth day in the NW wing (Friday), I saw Dr. Burkett, and cornered him s
o that he would speak to me. He told me that he had talked to my mom and she tol
d him three things: the kidney donation story was a fabrication, I never worked
for Moose Auto Glass, and I tried to kill myself three times last year. I told t
he doctor that I have never lied to him and I could prove it. I gave him Mike's
phone number.
On Saturday, I started wearing my Moose shirt each day. On Sunday, the doctors c
ame to the NW wing to see new patients who were brought in. The student doctor w
ho was with Burkett on Friday saw me in my Moose shirt and looked very concerned
. He told me Burkett was here today. He told Burkett about my shirt, but I never
spoke to him.
Monday morning Burkett came to see me. He spoke to Mike and now knew that all my
mom said were lies. He said, "you are lucky to have a friend like Mike". He tol
d me to leave immediately. I told him I couldn't leave until Tuesday because Mik
e was working today and he was my only ride back to the hotel. Later that aftern
oon (4 PM), Burkett again came to me and asked me to leave. I again told him no,
and reminded him my diagnosis was incorrect, and I needed him to fix that and I
wanted to talk to my social worker.
Dr. Burkett told me my correct diagnosis was "seizure induced psychosis" and "me
dication induced psychosis". I said yes, that sounds right. He said Richard, my
social worker, would speak with me. That night they pulled a patient from somewh
ere and put him in my room with me. His entire body had a terrible scaly and lum
py "alligator skin" infection. He was in terrible pain, and whimpered and cried
all night. I befriended him.
The next day is my last day in captivity. Around 10 AM Burkett met with me. He t
old me I was checking out. I reminded him that I needed to speak to a social wor
ker and get my diagnosis straightened out. He actually sat down and talked to me
for ten minutes. After two weeks, a person who controls my future talks to me.
I explained that if I leave with a diagnosis attached that is incorrect, such as
the one he attached to me (bipolar and schizophrenic), it would allow my parent
s to do anything they wanted to me.
He commented that I had been consistent with my story from the beginning. He ask
ed me if I was afraid of my parents. I said "Yes!". He again told me my diagnosi
s would be "seizure induced psychosis" and "medication induced psychosis". I the
n told him I wanted to see the paperwork when it is done. He said OK, and that a
social worker would talk to me.
At around 10:30 Richard, my social worker, sat down with me. I asked him how lon
g he had to talk to me and how much of my story he knew. He said "Well, I talked
to Lois...I know the whole story". I replied saying "Then you don't know anythi
ng about me". He got up and left. I saw Burkett and Richard arguing in the offic
e a few minutes later.
The last thing I did before lunch was a group session. The female social worker
said the discussion could be about anything we wanted. I was usually the leader
of groups, although this was the first group I had with this woman. I took the l
ead. I asked her what she was going to do to help John, a homeless man trying to
beat alcholism who receives poor care...and remains homeless. I asked what she
was going to do to help Terry, an American hero who can't get anyone to take him
seriously. But most of all, I asked what she would do to help Tim, my roommate,
who is standing next to her because he cannot even sit down...he is in so much
extreme pain.
She asked me what kind of help I needed. I told her my situation was not nearly
as important. All I need is to be able to talk to a social worker and have basic
human rights. She continued the group with others talking about their problems.
I knew this was either my last day in the psyche ward or next to last. These pa
tients were my "family", and most were concerned that the staff was quite inappr
opriate with their handling of me.
After lunch I saw that the name board on the wall had my name with "D/C BLOCKED"
in large red letters. All the staff I saw before lunch were gone. I spent most
of the day with Tim, trying to get him help. We played three good games of chess
...and we are really equally skilled. At 6:30 PM, 4 doctors came in I had never
seen before. It appeared they had never been here. They went over to my room, wh
ere Tim was laying down. The door was shut.
They looked around at all of us patients and smiled...laughed quietly...and spok
e privately together laughing some more. Once they opened the door to my room, t
he smiles quickly vanished. They were overcome with the severity of the situatio
n. It looks like that social worker had done her job. Just before the 7 PM shift
change, I was discharged...at 6:55. The paperwork said I had been discharged at
10:45 AM.
I had no time to fill my scrips, and I called Mike. Fortunately, he was availabl
e to come and we made it to the hotel in time to check out and see what I had le
ft there. Everything was gone, except a couple of trash bags full of clothes. Mi
ke took me to Harold's house so I could put my trash bags inside his shop. It wa
s halftime in game 1 of the Mavs/Thunder playoff series. I had Mike leave me nea
r there so I could find a place to stay...but I walked the streets of Arlington
that night. I walked to the downtown police station and sat in the lobby of the
jail...watching the replay of the game.
Mike came and got me at 9 AM the next day. We went to CVS and filled my scrip, a
nd got me a hotel. I still had $500 in my bank account. A few days later I visit
ed the NW wing. John was back to being homeless, but he had a check coming each
month...and had a rental room lined up. He seemed commited to stop drinking. He
lived a couple of blocks away.
Tim was looking much better. Terry was still there but they let him go two days
later.

I have some problems with the people who controlled my life. I have them identif
ied in chronological order:
1) my intial arrest by police
2) initial diagnosis of JPS doctors, or lack thereof
3) my lawyer taking away my rights
4) social worker was motivated to keep me there
5) tactics to subdue me mentally
6) my new doctor abandoned me after I asked for help
7) no one would help me
8) the connection to the hotel
9) my discharge
10) my follow-up appointment
I called my Dad and told him he owed me $28K. He offered to pay me $500 a week f
or a few weeks. I told him to send me $10,000 or I would be knocking on his door
. He sent me a check.
I had a scheduled follow-up appointment for a week after I got out of JPS, but i
t was on Camp Bowie...even though they knew I would be in Arlington. They told m
e it was too busy at the Arlington location, and it would be months before I cou
ld get an appointment there. I replied by telling them I had no transportation.
They didn't care.
So I went to the Arlington location instead. There was a full staff there, but t
here were no patients in the waiting room, and the office had four workers in it
. I went up to the window and told them who I was and my situation. The window a
ttendant told me I had no appointment. I replied by saying, "then you can wait u
ntil it is all on TV". She asked me to have a seat.
A nurse came out into the waiting room. I recognized her from JPS. She was one o
f the "bad" nurses. She was familiar with my situation and knew exactly who I wa
s. She walked right up to me, and said so no one else could hear, "I was witness
to the fact your social worker talked to you. She spent 30 minutes with you". I
told her I never talked to a female social worker. She said, "I know, it was Ri
chard". I left.
I stayed in an Arlington hotel for a month. I bought my first laptop. I started
writing again. I walked to Wal Mart everyday for lunch. Then I bought a minivan.
I had a week to plan my trip.
Go East Young Man
I packed up my minivan with my sewing machine, some tools, welder, and clothes.
I was on my way to Florida. I stopped off at Moose Auto Glass in Tyler. I spoke
to Casey and Robert gave me my CD. That was the only copy of my manuscript that
I had left. It was quite comforting to have it again.
I stopped for the night in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. The next day I went to Clearwate
r, Florida. I paid $280 for a week at the Super8 motel. It was a dump, but the b
est place I could find for the money. The bathroom was OK, but the faucet had a
1/8th inch thick growth on it. The carpet looked OK, but just walking across the
floor made the bottom of your feet black. Other than that, it was fine.
I spoke to Ken at Auto-Styles and he was a truly likeable guy. He had a decent b
usiness, but was holding it together with super glue. He had to hustle to keep i
t from breaking. It was easy to see it probably broke every week. It was just my
style. I like it when I am needed. The only problem I saw was that he was not u
sed to paying a decent wage. Bosses love to pay $15/hour.
I was offered a good starting wage at Golden Classics. I had planned on working
there, but changed my mind the night before I started. They were just a used car
dealer...owned by a rich guy. Exactly the opposite of what I wanted. There were
other trim shops in Tampa, but I wanted to try working for Ken. I just wasn't a
ble to find a place to live. Plus, it is a tourist trap...complete with a ton of
low lifes running the area. All they cared about was money.
After one week, I left to go north. I drove through Orlando, but it was a nightm
are. I stayed there for 4 hours, and all I found was poverty. None of the shops
I found were still in business, and poor people were everywhere. I truly felt as
hamed. All of the people suffering because America was taken over by the corpora
tion. The taste of the shame will never leave my mouth. If I was to think about
it, I would have tears in my eyes.
I got out of Orlando and made it to Jacksonville. I like the city. It has a larg
e river running down the middle, with many smaller rivers and creeks running off
it. The streets are haywire because of the river, and there are huge bridges al
l over. It seemed like it was a city from the past...maybe even an imaginary cit
y. I think I should have come here long ago.
There are about 20 trim shops in Jacksonville, and the economy is rather stable.
The first one I went to was quite an opportunity...Davis Seat Covers. It was a
copy of Moose Auto Glass. The shop is large and in total disrepair. It is more t
han 60 years old, and the work tables are all obsolete. It has a somewhat large
inventory of old fabrics and vinyls, and still had seat covers in boxes made dec
ades ago.
The shop is air conditioned, although it is very humid here. It is large, but fa
r less than half is usable. The owner inherited it and apparently knows nothing
about trim work, or doesn't care. Everything is a mess. There hasn't been any co
mmitment into the shop work area for many years. I know enough to run away when
I see sewing machines mounted into the formica of a work table. I also know myse
lf enough to know I never run away.
I felt sorry for the employees, who had been there for more than a decade. It is
obvious they cannot keep any new help. I have seen this same situation in every
big city I have come across. The owner made it a corporation and bleeds it, alo
ng with the employees. Big ego...he likes da money. And each time I see it, I tr
y to walk away...but I can't.
I made a big impression and they wanted me right away. I had a meeting with the
manager...and then the owner. Both very likeable guys, and both made from the sa
me mold I have encountered for 30 years. The owner was going to be a challenge,
but who better to take on such a formidable task? The only thing he wanted me to
do was get a Florida driver's license. The only thing I wanted was to have a fe
w days to set up my work area.
The next day I went to get my license. They told me I needed my birth certificat
e, social security card, and two addressed letters from my permanent Florida res
idence. I told him none of that was going to happen. He said if I stay too long
in that office, they will have to "pat me down". I left.
I have no problem with the forms, although it may take a few weeks to get copies
(they probably want the originals). I will not get a permanent residence. I wil
l not get a Florida license. I called Bob, the owner, and told him. He said he w
ould try to figure a way to keep me, but I knew it was over. I can get a job som
ewhere much better. Of course, I have a hard time giving up.
I got a call at noon that day. The manager, Butch, wanted me to come in and help
him get some work done. I should have said no, for several reasons. I said OK.
I had no machine, no work area, and not all my tools. Guess what job he gave me.
..leather seat inserts on a used Mercedes with shrunken and hardened leather. Ge
ez...like I am a fool. Nothing is more appealing to me than to show I am a fool.
I am not one to walk out on a challenge, even if it is a joke. I gave it a few h
ours...trying to make do with nothing. I almost got it done, but with thread bre
aking every minute, and no idea what was going to happen next...I couldn't stop
myself from thinking. I knew I would not come back here the next day. I had to m
ake a decision...stay here and work for free...accomplishing nothing...fighting
everything I saw. Or shut my eyes. It felt soothing...with my eyes shut.
I have to learn to say "no"...yeah right. It will never happen. I have tremendou
s respect for the three employees, and I felt sorry for Butch. I humbled myself,
and loaded up...and left. I gave them the "I am just not qualified" speech and
they didn't buy it. I had to pull out the psyche ward story. As I was getting in
my car, I stopped. I walked back in...took a long look at the place. Goodbye.
I cannot hold down a job. The upholstery business is suffering due to the econom
y, and custom work is not profitable. Servicing car dealers is the way to go, wh
ich is high production work under stressful conditions. I cannot think very well
under those conditions, and my medication (which I am addicted to) is killing m
e. I barely sleep, and my vision is very poor under stressful conditions. Like I
said, everything happens for a reason.
Top Secret
My life has a series of interesting events. Separately, they may not seem like m
uch. Together, there may be a pattern. This is a list of true situations in my l
ife. How they are related is the question.
1) We moved five times by the time I was 12 years old. That is when we settled i
n Arlington, as my Dad was employed at LTV which later became Vought. This is a
fairly benign statement. It mostly shows how important family was to Dad. Throug
hout my life, I had a dysfunctional family...in the extreme.
2) My Dad, my sister, and I have very high IQs. I have been the smartest or seco
nd smartest in every class throughout school...without any commitment on my part
. I have never had support from my parents for anything I did. Being smart was n
ever something I wanted.
3) I have been a "natural" at baseball, golf, bowling, and most sports...without
having an athletic body. I was very late to have testosterone affect my body. I
haven't become muscular until I was in my forties...no matter what I did. Coord
ination has been something I take for granted.
4) From my first day in school in Arlingon, I was singled out by a teacher for m
y intellect. At 13, I was recruited by the Masons (DeMolay). I asked my parents
about this and they did not care enough to comment.
5) Throughout my life I have been targeted by certain individuals who displayed
"evil" or dishonest intentions. My mom, my friend Harold, my brother David, my b
usiness competitors, my golf coach, my partner, my second wife, and strangers.
I can understand those who are motivated by greed or selfishness...or are part o
f a group, such as organized crime. It requires a bit more commitment to underst
and those who have no motivation.
6) After I graduated high school, I applied for a scholarship (my Dad insisted).
I received a letter that rejected my application. One week later I received a l
etter telling me I had a one semester scholarship (UTA). I went to select my cou
rses and a group of 3 men had them already chosen for me. When I went to Calculu
s class, I found out all the students were either valedictorians or salutatorian
s.
7) While I was still living at home after high school, I was working at Putt-Put
t. I was a "natural" and after just a couple of weeks it was suggested by co-wor
kers that I compete. I had prepared to win the DFW championship at my home cours
e, and I was the favorite to win the amateur division. My boss, the owner of all
the Fort Worth/Arlington courses, changed my work schedule so that I worked all
night before the tournament date. On the morning of the event, I was fired and
banned from the course...so that the manager of the Hurst course had a chance to
win.
8) My Dad called me in 1979 and asked me to interview for a job at Vought. I did
, and was given a tour of the facility. The job was as a titanium machinist. I t
urned down the job...I had a bad feeling about the place.
9) When I started True Comfort in 1982, we were located next door to the richest
family in the custom van industry. They were our first customer. The day before
I was going to sign a contract to sell part of the business to them, which woul
d solidify my future and make me a rich and successful man, my Dad (who I haven'
t spoken to for years) walked in my door and asked me how much money it would ta
ke to buy out my partner and not sell. He wrote me a check for $6600 and left.
10) In 1984, True Comfort was doing quite well. I had a customer (Neil Cypert) w
rite two dozen bad checks to me. My bank did not notify me about my customer's b
ad checks or my bad checks, and for 3 weeks all my checks bounced...totalling 42
checks. I had to go all over the Hispanic side of Fort Worth picking up my chec
ks. I only found out because my employees told me...the bank never sent me any n
otice of any kind. My bank had sent my customer's checks for collection and neve
r told me. I was forced out of business.
11) When I started Innovative Seating Solutions, I designed a seat that solved a
ll of the problems the USPS had with driver seats. It eliminated the driver comp
laints, back injuries, and lawsuits. It reduced driver fatigue and increased eff
iciency. Once I started production, the USPS disallowed the facilities to use my
seat. They got rid of the fleet manager of the Fort Worth location...who was al
so the five state purchasing manager. Two men came to my door and threatened me.
..one was a postal investigator, and the other was a Secret Service agent. I lat
er discovered that the fleet manager didn't get fired, he was paid off. He is no
w a millionaire.
12) My brother invited me to move to San Antonio and do aircraft interiors for h
im. He abused me for six months, and I was able to leave before he could complet
e whatever plans he had for me. I didn't realize that my brother was so dishones
t, as well as have oddly secretive intentions.
13) In 2010, my parents tried to either kill me or ruin me. They asked me to giv
e away all my belongings and move in with them so I could donate a kidney to my
mom. It was all a lie, and they threw me out with only my beat up truck, tools,
and $1500...after I nearly died. My mom told me a day before I left that I was o
nly alive because my Dad "kept me alive by petting me". As I was leaving, my Dad
said, "we are just selfish people".
14) When I was working at Moose Auto Glass...after leaving my parent's house, my
parents showed up at my job and my Dad spoke to the owner. I had not talked to
them since leaving, yet they knew I was there. A bit more than a month after the
y showed up, I had to leave Moose.
15) When I was checking out of a hotel in Fort Worth in 2011, I was arrested and
taken to a psyche ward. My parents told lies to get me permanently committed. O
nly because I had been arrested while wearing my Moose Auto Glass shirt, did I g
et released. I was also holding my printed out manuscript...which was copied and
read by certain staff employees. I noticed many were affected by the reading.
16) The day I went to JPS, a man came in after me. He had been the person who Vo
ught hired to do the job I turned down, back in 1979. He said he had been promot
ed and used to work with the Secret Service...developing spy equipment. He becam
e my best friend in the psyche ward, and then later...when we were both discharg
ed, he never spoke to me again...even though he agreed that we would stay in tou
ch. When I called, he wouldn't answer...or return my calls. A couple of times hi
s Mom answered, but hung up on me.
(1) Truth
When a person sets a high standard, there is always someone who wants what you h
ave, and has no problem destroying all that is good to get it. That is the truth
in America. Each year there are less and less willing to defend their country.
We announce that we defend our country against evil, and each one of us finds ou
t later that it was a lie. We don't destroy the evil, we fight so we can partner
with it. There is little chance integrity can stand up to the evil hypocritic n
orm of America.
Sure, any reader can play their ego game and laugh. I walked the walk. I stood u
p to that evil. I went down with the ship and built a new one. It went down, and
I built another. Each one better than the one before. If a businessman takes th
e high road, it has to be a mobile service with little or no commitment. Don't b
elieve me...ask those who do that exact thing...and are still doing it.
America has become one of two things...what we had before the Constitution...or
worse. Take your pick. If you support America's current state...you quit reading
this long ago. It doesn't benefit you so why read it? And there you have it. I
accept my role as the fool. I am proud to have struggled so much to find out who
I am, and then want to stay that person...only better. Truth...it serves the fo
ol well.
Yes, we have Americans...people who adjust their opinion by how they are profiti
ng at the moment. They have no concern for the truth of the matter...that would
require a commitment. They never had to walk the walk...and defend the instituti
on of America as I did. They didn't have to do the suffering, and earn the right
to be spiritual...and follow truth. To stand up and defend truth...and go down
with the ship. To be a modern American is to play the game...to be a step ahead
in that game.
This brings me to the obvious question...why am I still here? Who is it that kee
ps me plugging along? The answer is a simple one. Find out for yourself. Walk th
e walk. Be the fool. That is the reason you are here. I am sure you are not fond
of that thought. Not only am I not afraid to die...I know I am going to die. I
just have to get the job done...and not by my standards. I don't get to play the
game and lie my way to self-gratification. I have to defend your right to freed
om. I have to defend truth. I have to defend the future of mankind.
Like-Nu is one of my proud moments. I had the love of my life working side by si
de...teaching me how to be a man. I never had a chance to enjoy the situation. I
had the situation in my hand at all times. I was the situation. I made it possi
ble for others to enjoy it. The abilty to make a true commitment means never hav
ing to make excuses. I never have to fear the unknown. Like-Nu was a success...i
t provided the opportunity to set a higher goal.
I was the first one to hold my proudest moment. The first one to accept the sham
e of not having to suffer to bring him into the world. My finger was the first o
ne he held. The ability to plan my future around him and have the strength to ge
t it done. To face demons and not give up. To go into darkness and make the ligh
t. To take on the beast and perish...only to walk again...and to embrace the bea
st...to support the beast with all that I have...so the beast has a chance to he
al. And to lose it all.
I don't have to take responsibility for never being his father. I own the shame
gifted to me. Not being his father is a fact, not a choice. I have never failed
to accept responsibility since I met Carole. She was my inspiration. Carole was
with me for a very long time. That alone speaks the truth. She will never be wit
h a person nearly as long.
What people fail to realize is that Chris and I will be together. All it require
s is faith. In the end, there are no delusions...no lies...no assumptions. There
is only truth...it is written in the fabric of the universe. There was a connec
tion before this life started, and will be when it is over. To be with me now is
to be a target.
Yes, America is a great country. It is a shame that so few even know why.