Chapter Sweet Sixteen

Well, that there endin' was not a glory in a hail of bullets endin', was it? Yea, turned into some kind'a no-contest plea . . . but, it's not the ending--only the beginning! Yea, but I'm not gonna go through all of that . . . yet. Yea. Later. I promise not to leave you on empty. Oh No!--I got some more to tell you.
* * *

(. . . 'I live yet to tell you my His-Story. Yes, to breath an' wait for my return to the Real-World. But I shant come out a looking for that Widow's world those others think exists! Yes, you might think I'm fooling you, but, I will take this time to give reason and cause and let you make the Choice decision' . . .)

After my conviction on a guilty plea for manslaughter, I was sentenced to 20 years hard time. But, I was assured of only 6-7 years and then I'd be set free. Yea, at first, I bucked the system an' complained at what ever I could complain at. Yea. I began my journey into the depths of the penal system feeling loneliness an' sorrow . . . yea, that's right--for myself. My writing indicated just how I felt: every other page was blame: My folks for moving; Gramps for liquoring me; buddies for showing me the world; woman for leaving me; drugs for addicting me; preachers for teaching me; coaches for trying to teach me that other's feelings were important enough not to bury them with an' ace pitcher; teachers who graded me because I deserved the grade; friends for turning on me; police for catching me; judges for sentencing me--society was wrong and I right! Yea, that is the fact of my beginnings. Yes, I could demonstrate all of those facts with eloquent words and actions . . . now, today, you see, because a funny thing happened on the way to the forum of penal servitude. . .

I "came in" and became as model as a new car on a spotless show room floor. Yes, I enrolled in college . . . attempting to make my way with as small a wake as possible; demonstrate that I had changed. Don't let me tell you wrong, other's pain still had no house in me: I just did what ever I could to accumulate the points necessary to eventually convince the parole board that I was ready and had changed for the better of society. I even picked up that old bible an' began my talkin' an' walkin'.

As time slowed by, after the rigors of withdrawal and adjustment to the frequent disabilities caused by my years of abuse--the physical damage, drug addiction, and psychological deficiencies accumulated over the years--the time began to shorten; that six years eight months. The years began to accumulate and I petitioned to have the jail time I served waiting for trial deleted from my actual sentence. This was approved and I recieved a letter stating that my walking papers would be such and such time. Yes, I knew when I would be joining that world I left waiting . . . but, the truth was, someone figured there was not to be change in me until I had more punishment and time to fully change . . . for my release date would come--with a new Governor and a new parole board and a change in the whole perspective on repeat and violent offenders--and go in a blur of incredible change . . . my time to parole came and went and I was still here! Instead of release, I recieved 120 more months! 10 more years. Nearly my maximum sentence! Imagine, you got papers stating:

 

State Board of Pardons and Parole, October 8, 1991:
Dear Mr. Rogers:
Recently the Board was notified by the Department of Corrections that you are being awarded additional credit for time spent incarcerated prior to sentencing.
Accordingly, your tentative parole month has been changed to April 1994, which is exactly 80 months from the date your sentence officially began: August 20, 1987.
Between now and your tentative parole month, you are encouraged to maintain a clear conduct record. As you were advised before, exemplary conduct may result in a parole release prior to your scheduled release month. Institutional misconduct will result in delay of your parole release, or a decision not to parole.
Respectfully,
Ron Sandow, Director
Parole Decision Guidelines"

. . . and I'm still here!

That is what occurred, some counselor called me in and said, "you have to do 120 more months and then you will be reviewed, and, if they feel you are not ready, you will max your sentence." Calm like.

Yes, without a flicker of emotion! Just like that, 120 more months after eight years already is not max enough. Had they said I would have to do 20 years straight time eight years ago, I would have elected to fight the charge and demonstrate that it was an accident. I would have had a better chance then the one I have now!

(. . .'Yea my first thoughts after hearing direct that I'm just being housed for another decade was "Well, all of that there talkin' an' walkin' done got me zip!" and I become an attorney like and appealed my situation all the way up as high as I could' . . .)

The news would continue to get worse:

I recieved a letter today, it's from mom. Yea, she's always writing, visiting an' keeping me in money. If it wasn't for--do I have to say anymore more? So, like I was saying, I recieved a letter and was opening it when a scrap of paper dropped out. Yea, an' as I reached for it, a wave of sorrow and emotion overcame my body--for my mind captured the name and event before I even make the attempt to pick it up--an' like speed reading, my eyes were to my mind to my emotions an' choked up an' destroying any reservation I had of my life thus far . . .

. . . Yea, I almost faint 'cause the news, it done hit me with a ton of instant memory . . . like if I died! Yea, my memories of choices became but wisps of chance an' folly! For the Widow's winds had blown my dreams to shreds--foggy, they drifted into a mist of forgetfulness . . .
* * *

(. . . 'Oh! Sweet Dory, MY Love! I am forced to remove even the temptation to recall thy soft caress . . . your sweet lips . . . across my sweating brow . . . even in dire pain of withdrawal, you, my love, were selfless in your endeavors . . . to me! . . . Yes, even when wracked thy self with torment and desire for the Widow's call!! Dory, Oh Dory, wasted were our lives . . . not just 'cause nothing good came from them, for much did--you taught me love!--but wasted intentionally was that love; but for our lust and trust in the Devil's Widow Maker we'd be joined as one. Yes, that Widow's urge to get higher an' higher off the mortal blood of our very brethren. Yes, my love, my grief has replaced any happiness to have lived or to live . . . though the cage bar's lost freedoms hopes, thy forfeit progress' with mortal torment of wondering why and where are you now--if you happy an' free . . . or in the Widow's domain an' her custody of eternal grief! I drop upon my bended knees and cry tears of equity to join you in thy misery or glory . . . OH! OH! OH, MY LORD . . . HOW MUCH I LOVED . . . ONLY ONCE ETERNALLY! OH! LORD! HAVE MERCY ON YOUR CHILD, FOR SHE WAS AT HEART PURE AND NOBLE AS ANY OF YOUR LITTLE ONES! YES, IN HER DEATH COMES YOUR PLACE IN ME OH LORD--THROUGH HER GIFT OF LOVE I HAVE TASTED WHAT LOVE AN' FORGIVENESS CAN MEAN!! TAKE ME OH LORD, TO YOUR BOSOM AND HEAL ME-FORGIVE-ME-LOVE-ME'. . .
* * *

. . . "Woodstock, Georgia:
Acting on a tip from a confidential informant, the GBI, working in conjunction with the DEA, surrounded a mobile home here today. The occupant, Ms. Doreen Rouse, held Law Enforcement Officers at bay for forty five minutes and then turned the gun on herself. She was dead by the time officers reached her.
Doreen Rouse, 29 years of age, was involved in an altercation with police officers last year. Ordered to stop for speeding on Peachtree Industrial Boulevard by Officer Hunt of The Gwinnett County Police Department, Ms. Rouse attempted to elude said officer by turning off Peachtree Industrial Boulevard and onto a dirt road near Swuanee, Ga.
Officer Hunt pursued and Ms. Rouse began throwing drugs, cash, and weapons out of her window. Officer Hunt was finally able to halt Ms. Rouse and order her to approach his vehicle. When Ms. Rose was close enough to Officer Hunt, she stabbed Officer Hunt with a syringe and ran off.
Officer Hunt was treated for stab wounds and warrants were issued for Ms. Rouse's arrest. " . . .
Yea, you knew what's up, didn't you! I also knew what was up . . . you were gonna ask what happened to Dory? Weren't you? What happened to her? Yep, she was the only one of all of us that remained true to something! Yea, as terrible an' insignificant as that truth may sound to an outsider in the Real-World. 'Cause, when she went through with her pledge to "go down to Dixie-Town an' shoot it up . . . going out with a bang", she did so with out a second thought . . . or did she?

What a battle she must have had. All of that there love she truly possessed and gave in her demented and twisted reality must have begged second chance! Yea, 'cause that often quoted scripture which normally has no truth in the world of the addict--"To give is better than to receive"--played heavy in Dory's world. Yea, though Dory gave to receive, her giving was always pure an' absolute; never balanced on that scale of craving and succor!

As in her death, Dory's life rang true to form: no selfish reasons startled those whom heard the news. She committed suicide rather than face the prospect of a lonely world absent of love. Yea, 'cause love is what drove her into the belly of the dragon; into that cauldron of the Pitch Widow's eternal blackness: the arms of the Landlord who never sleeps!
Yea, I learned to love Dory! She taught me love, she did! She was another of them there addicts whose hearts were as Angels. I even forgave her forced treachery--'cause they got her before me! But, like that time with the G.B.I., Dory remained true until told them there "EYES" were gonna shoot me the moment I surfaced. Yea, the law really considered me a Code 5--and convinced Dory time was up for her love.

Hard for you to understand that, ain't it? Yea, it's easier to condemn than to forgive. But, as you stare at this here floor an' cast your eyes off into that world of memory, just imagine for one moment that Dory was your sister, your mother, your wife--your daughter, even! Can you? It's so easy to fall prey to that there Widow. Yea, the demon comes in many forms; snatching our children in a breath's moment--devouring love, care, and all your life's nourishment from their very existence; pulling them down and into a cavern of denial, blame, wrong choice, pain, and hurt without the slightest care nor feeling--'cause only in we does the demon truly manifest its self!

You see, Dory shot herself in the head. Yea, she went out in a hail of bullets. And why? Well, it wasn't 'cause she was Rambo. She did not have a choice. Yea. She knew she was strung out for life an' would live forever with that there "1950's Monkey On My Back": The Widow Resurrected in '98. Yea, 'cause it's always something: Heroin; Acid; Pot; Downs; Uppers; Cocaine: Morphine; Speed . . .

Yea, like I said, the vast majority of individuals locked up in these tombs are here 'cause of drugs in one way or another. Yea, check it out, and many of them had love and care proscribed to their hearts . . . once upon a time . . .
* * *

Come to find out Dory shot her self in Remmy's house. Yea, Remmy, like myself, became supplier to Dory. She spent her entire life looking for love; giving love; and love/chasing the Dragon! An' the Dragon finally caused her downfall in the form of the demon Remmy. Yea, an' knowing Dory, she probably delivered for him, made love to him, took care of him.
You know what I'm talkin' here, 'cause you've been through the system by now! Yea, learned the ropes an' got the dope on us, we . . . me! I know you can read between the lines and understand the confusion?

Remmy desired to save his butt--to keep pulling down others with his drugs--and turned in a hapless woman who lived in the same world as he . . . yet was smaller then he! Remmy was the confidential informant. Yea, an' like 90% of all confidential informants, Remmy was in the thickest part of the very forest of people he set up. Yea, in fact, fertilizing the very ground they grew on. Yea, 'cause the C.I. is either, or, and, a drug dealer, thief; killer, user, abuser, and every other specimen of the culture they inform on. Yea, so this guy's using Dory for good times and supplying her addiction an' stuff. Got what I'm saying?

Yea, but don't look at me that way. What I am stating has nothing to do with snitch or River-Rats. Yea, 'cause without the C.I. the law would be stripped of its most offensive weapons. Yea, it has nothing to do with right nor wrong--it has all to do with understanding. Yea, that's right. Whether informing is right or wrong to society, what Remmy did to Dory was wrong!

Yea, 'cause the wire ain't wrong on this one. Yea, fact was he was the informant who agreed to turn her in. Yea, an' skated on a series of charges! You see, the DEA caught Remmy red-handed with speed an' $5500.00 in cash. Yea, they let him leave the house an' then went in for Dory.

Yea, can't blame the Feds, though. They were doing their jobs.They knew Dory skated on the thing with me an' had it in for her. Yea, life eventually turned for the worse for Dory. The Widow hounded that poor drug addicted child until she went down in a one-way-hale-of-bursting-bullets--she shot at what ever before she blew her head off!
Yea, Dory knew how to shoot. I taught her! Yea, if she wanted to kill or harm anyone, she would have. Instead, she went into the bathroom, locked the door, and blew her brains out . . .
Oh, and no charges were brought against Remmy . . .

(. . . 'The sad, sad, sad part of it all was that she went out entirely alone! Yes, no one to say to her: " I love you my child "' . . .)

. . . But, you know what Dory left to me? She left me with the ability to have insight into my life. Yes, imagine, I can now tell you of this--the situations and people--and know that I'm describing myself . . . what I was, that is.

After Dory left this world, I began to look at life with a new perspective. Yea, her love and death had opened the door to my heart. My entire attitude changed and I began to catch myself when I was doing things that did not honor her love to me. Yea, she killed her self and I was not there to protect and save her and this was momentous to my self esteem.

Yea, I was proud that I had taken the entire weight of everything and everybody upon my shoulders--all that you have read and what I and others around me did that you have not read of--yes upon my self and truly gave myself to my God, Jesus Christ. And, for once, it was He and not the Widow I was talking to.

Yea, I know that my faith has assured Dory, and Nolin, and Troy, and many others eternal bliss. For both my prayers and deeds remain but proof of my selfless endeavors demonstrating that I have made the proper Choice this time. Yea, for what I do for myself and others I do not expect anything back; I do it because of love! Yea, the truth has set me free and love opened the window for vision unto that truth.

Yea, I remained to do battle an' Dory went as emissary to my Lord and Savior to protect me!

Yea, to guide me! Yea, to understand me and therefore for me to understand what my God really came to this earth for!

No more would it be talkin' an' walkin'. No! It would be hard work and hard work and choices and changes and looking inwards in great and memorable understanding in this new and profound quest of change.

Oh, and yea, more let downs and drop downs would befall my roads on that journey. Trial an' tribulation does not exist if one does not recognize them. You see, if one is used to a lack of nourishment every day, then starvation has a unique meaning compared to one whom is used to eating three squares a day and finds themselves with out food for a day. Therefore, though I did not thoroughly recognize the unique position Dory's death had placed me in at the time of her self inflicted demise, the full impact would be felt in the coming years. . . .

(. . . 'For when Dory comes into my mind and I realize that I breath yet, I'm resigned to pullin' that there time an' using it to do the maximum that I can for personal change' . . .)

. . . Yea, and by the time I'm done, I will have three college degrees; completed several special development and self help programs; studied history, communications, psychology, language, and more; made the Deans list and recieved Honors; learned three languages and sign; taught classes, programs, and worked with inmates; and recieved a Doctorate in Theology!. . .

. . . Yea, an' as I traveled through the system changing, I recieved much news:
. . . My old friend L.D., the one whom rescued me after the police chase? Well, he wound up killing Billy S. from Buford in a drug deal. Yea, then he moved in with Ronald Buck's wife--the Dixie-Mafia Hitter and Contractor for the bombing of the She Club in Atlanta who was now imprisoned--and tells her of the murder. Ronald was paroled and moved back in with his wife (restless an' stuff all over again!). An' L.D., fearing his secret would get back to Ronald and the Dixie Crew, went out to Lake Lucerne and shot Ronald's wife and her niece through their heads with a deer rifle. A year later he was p/u in North Carolina by the GBI--along with the deer rifle used in the killings!--and recieved three Life sentences.
Arrested after a shoot out with the law in Rome, Georgia, over Cocaine charges, Ronald would state: "Tell L.D. I'm coming!". . .

. . . Robby, part owner of the Half-Breed, that yellow and black Chevy I told you about in the beginning of the book? Well, he wound up breaking into drug stores to feed his habit, got arrested and re-arrested and wound up on a long sentence in Jackson State Penitentiary. Yea, after he blew his heart shooting prelude and had an artificial valve replacement. His brother, T.D., petitioned the parole board to set him free because of his heart condition. The parole board let him go and his first act upon release was to shoot a large dose of Meth. He died soon after--right after his other brother, P.W., died of liver failure while also serving a long sentence in Jackson State Penitentiary. . .

. . . Philip, whose father was pastor of Rehobeth Church, my friend and that baseball coach thing? Well, his wife was brutally murdered.
. . . Dean Raymond, remember him? He died . . .

. . . The list goes on!

. . . My life no longer evolves and revolves around friends, associates and lovers like those above who were either in the Widow's grasp, deceased, or locked up for eternity--deceased from society forever. I have learned and experienced enough! And so, my friend, I leave you now in memories well; refreshed and cleansed to remove the last semblance of Wizard. For he would die along with Dory. Yes, passing into another realm where memory is reminder of joy for what was is no longer more! Yes, so that a new and caring individual can cry and laugh and tell others of his terrible journey; so that they may make and take the correct choices! Yes, my decision has come; my think before you do is here; my look at others and feel their pain is a part; and the counter balance to judge 'all and every" against that memory which remains yet ceases to dwell . . . only selective do I call upon that 14 year old who is no longer trapped within his shell. Yes, the butterfly has spread its wings and I soar above these prison walls! Yes, I tip the sky's peaks and see within the very souls and hearts of these men carpeting my forest of choice and endeavor . . .
AND I HELP THEM FLY! . . .
 

EPILOGUE

During the past years I have spent in these tombs, I have seen and recognized with my own eyes--RIGHT ON!--the pain of others. . .
. . . I've seen riots, where groups numbering 200 or more rampaged like animals, tearing down and losing any sliver of privilege they or others may have had. I've seen real anger and punishment delivered on many whom could not defend themselves. I've seen the power of force and opportunity played against those of the weaker class. I've seen and felt actual pain and embarrassment and torture coming through to hit me, like a baseball's strike-out, square across the home plate of my drug free mind. Yes, for the first time of my life, the world did not turn on a dime for my personal desire nor wish! Yes, because the loss of freedom and being treated like an animal by society became but a small frame of the total picture of punishment metered out to those whom are incarcerated. For I have also seen many grown men cry; men who walked the "Real-World" as reputations and came into this world only to acquire reputations I would be embarrassed to tell you of! Yes, men whom became but slaves to those they never contemplated on meeting or even existing!
      But I also met the few men whom cared and contributed their all in dire effort of change! Men like Joey Cason and Ron Chase. Yes, coaches, preachers, ministers, reverends, teachers, guards, wardens--yes, even prisoners whom society never thought would, nor intended to, make personal sacrifice so that a few--I included--could then go forth within the tombs and duplicate themselves with goodness! Yes, many of the same individuals whom had experienced the let outs and come backs. Yes, men whom were but youth once . . . most of whom had caring folks!
     Yes, it would seem that love has no bounds, especially towards our children. And double that for those of our children in the painful and terrible grasp of addiction to drugs or street life. For each one of those at the cross-roads of destruction, there are others whom love that child--and still others whom are victimized through the violence and pain wrought by those very youth. . .
      A quote of the late eighties . . .
". . . a rapid increase in violent youth crime will soon become fact due to the availability of drugs and guns in our society. And, in twenty or so years, when these youth have matured on the streets and in the prisons (which will surely be society's answer to this phenomena), society will then have realized this fact of truth--but then it will be to late for substantial programs to alter a trend which will, by then, have become life . . ."
. . . Yes, a poignant tale that has become anything but a tale to those whom have had their lives infected without rationalization! For we hear how much we need to alleviate the syndrome, yet wait for the magic cure--as cryptic as it is!
You see, it seems only when a gruesome event occurs that the full effects of youth, drugs, and crime hits home--or when it involves a family whom cares and gives and participates in the social ladder . . . being one not of the welfare rolls! Yes, sorry to say, when no one can shout: "I Told You So! It's Them Folks Who Don't Care None!"
      A family is hit hard each and every moment of reality--no matter the circumstances. And, yes, hearts do ache for those fathers and mothers and siblings whom are caring . . . and those whom are not! For we care just as much--if not more--for all those youth whom have been smitten when we hear tell of the facts! That is when the "problem" (should be called epidemic!) seems greater then the cure.
     For the youth whom is effected, it makes no how how much or where their family sit at the table of humanity! Poverty lacks nil to non-exclusivity when drugs are concerned. You can recognize the desperation in the families of those infected by the hope, fear and joy they exhibit--all at the same time--Yes, when one becomes subjugated to having a loved one ensnared in the Widow's Grasp . . .

(. . . 'The hope of cure; the fear of knowing it will not work; the joy of thinking what if . . . effecting and affecting any and all . . . the entire family falling to pieces in their desperation for answers and assistance . . . even their friends and neighbors become affected . . . and worse are those embarrassed and ashamed to tell or ask for help--because of the worry of blame!'. . .)

    . . .Yes, it is terrible when your love is cast adrift . . . leaving your child to discover for themselves and fall victim to the Widow!

So, my friend, do you see now? Is your vision quenched? Have I have given you a tremendous gift of experience to give to your youth; a gift, may I say, acquired through tremendous and painful circumstances? Yes, I have given you the gift of my memory--each secret and hidden thought whose entire beginnings were but choice of many.

Please understand, I am not seeking forgiveness, only greater opportunity to help you fight a battle you are losing! Yes, my His-Story can make more than an impact; it can make change and choice the order of your day! Remember, youth are more important than money, wealth, big cars, big homes, vacations, et al.

I offer myself as proof. My end result was to have traveled a road which had many choice-detours. A road I have drawn up and thoroughly mapped out for you. One that has great signs alerting you to the changes and choices of your loved ones. For my quest has changed due to choice--no more shall I journey in reverse in quest of that youth of fourteen . .

I found him buried in the rubble! Remember? Yes, found him, picked him up, cleaned, dusted and mended his heart an' soul, and told him of the truth. I told him he had lived a hard and hurting life; that he had caused much pain and sorrow and death; told him he had no excuses anymore; said to him that he had gotten more than his fill of excitement and that he had discovered that the excitement he chose had no meaning nor joy! Then I let down the hammer: let him know he had matured into an imprisoned man of 51 years of age convicted of manslaughter. But then, I said to him, he was not to fret none, that he was always loved and cared for and about by someone. I told him his quest had ended with purpose. That forgiveness does exist--even if only in ones own mind. Said to him that God is alive and real and very important to that forgiveness! Then I said that since he had confessed to his God he did not have to cry anymore; that he did not have to be frightened anymore; that he could shout to the world his feelings no matter what worry he had or felt or thought he had! And then, I really laid it out! I informed him he was gonna tell his story, yes, in a way that squarely let the chips fall as they may. Said to him that though he was no more, there were others whom were taking his journey to oblivion--but that he could once more have joy and love and hope by revealing to them his choices; talking up to youth; offering them substantial alternatives to the violence and poverty (physical and mental) of their lives!

Yes, my friend, I told him he had matured and in the process had worked for years to bring about the personal change necessary for this endeavor. That he had discovered his purpose, and how great that would be for those whom are lost at their first Drag-Strip of life--quenching their thirst for freedom and choice in quest for their own personal identities!

Yes, an' you want to know what he said?. . .
. . . "I except who I was, what I did, and whom I am now. That I do . . . but, I will always be here . . . within your self, I will always exist! Always at your beckon call--so you may recall me as who I was and who you are today! I shall always long for the day's end, beginning, or middle, when you will call upon me to meet with you and hear your thoughts. Though I am of 51 years, I am no longer counting, for I remain a part of you. Yes, assisting you at your slightest worry. We shall meet, always, on the front-lines for those youth whom require a voice! Until then, I will remember you have proven to me that there is always hope and cure . . .
. . . as long as the voices sing!
 

As Long As The Voices Sing? or If I Had Wings I'd Help Them Fly!
 
    Send us an e mail at BobbyRogers@youthofamerica.com

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