Tony Lester's suicide case settled with the DOC video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRf2AvUu0QA

PTSD - Closing my eyes - my story

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiNxBiHKyEY

Justin Bieber in Red not Orange jumpsuit

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsHOd-dUo9U

Cowboys and Correctional Officers – What they have in Common & Riding for the Brand

Due to the high incarceration rates in the United States correctional workers have gained a sufficient amount of notice to entitle them a considerable share of public attention. Unfortunately the public has little knowledge of what a correctional officer does for a living and finding another occupation that is close to their way of life was difficult to say the least. However when I searched for commonalities I found a list of characteristics that matched up almost perfectly with a few exceptions here and there but well within a blurred line to consider them analogous in some manner with some elements of a paradox to keep things interesting. Although not a perfect match, the contrast is equal to the task at hand.

Both occupations are unique. Their duties are of those that are to always be on top of things and alert. The cowboy rides the herd on horseback and sees to it that no strays wonder off from their assigned areas. At times these cowboys have to wrangle the cattle and prepare to ship them elsewhere either by land or by rail. Cowboys and officers are both called upon to round up the dispersed herd and collect them for the purpose of branding them or assigning an identification number to them to single them out of the herd if need be.

The main ingredient and chief characteristic of the cowboy and the correctional officer is courage, physical alertness, ability to endure exposures and a kind of skillset to use whatever tools are required to keep the herd together. Cowboys and officers are both creatures of circumstances and act mostly in a reactive mode to keep things orderly and quiet. Some cowboys wear clothing that are distinctive to his or her badge of calling and reflects their personal appearance as a proclamation what sort of person they are. Officers wear uniforms to proclaim their role and also declare what kind of person they are and purpose hired on for.

Strangely cowboys often travel beyond the normal boundaries of society and were scattered over vast areas to ride the herd. Their presence in the wilderness was beyond efficient protection from civilized and organized law thus in essence they became the law as a necessity to maintain order. One could surmise that in many ways, officers do the same thing as the culture and society behind the high fences and iron gates is ruthless and lawless thus a stern hand is needed to maintain law and order.

Some cowboys were characterized as ruffians and an undeveloped class of society. However, like officers working inside the prisons, most of them were better disposed and were true and trustworthy in their role as guardians in where their presence within such a hostile and volatile environment often developed generous human traits of kindness and heroic traits of character. Unfortunately society has tagged them both to be inclined to demonstrate acts of violence or other commit other negative passions upon the slightest provocation around them when the opposite is true as they are both effective peacemakers.

Regardless of public opinion and misunderstandings the cowboy and correctional officer shares a peculiar characteristic that qualifies them to be important to the public. By the mere choices of their occupational assignment as cowboys and correctional officers and by virtue of both of their abilities to demonstrate courage and recklessness when faced with danger, they excel in what they were hired to do.

Demonstrating a skill with firearms and a proven demonstration of their efficiency to handle or influence those things they do which they may have to exert upon others, they have been instrumental in preventing harm to others and preventing outbreaks of events that might impact the community or others around them whether that be a disease such as mad cow disease or other communicable diseases that may occur inside prisons.

Both have exhibited great efficiency in protecting the communities against predatory incursions and possess a staunch personal constitution and attitude throughout their performance to do what it the right thing to do to keep things together.

Amos Andy - a short story

 

The main street was a paved road that stretched nearly a three mile distance from end to end with little shops set up on thin sliced sidewalks. Once you hit the outskirts of this two -horse town the hard surfaced paved road would turn to dirt until about a half a mile from the freeway as it turned back into blacktop covering so that cars could see it was a traveled road. From where I was driving I kept my speed down so not to draw attention to the local sheriff or police as I could tell this was a place with few comforts and activities. Actually, it looked like a real dull rural town.

Checking out the antiquated street lights and the light pedestrian traffic I could sense there was very little happening even at this early evening hours as the sun was setting slowly in the western sky. The only thing I could figure was that those people that lived here either got fed up with the big city life or wanted to get away from the noise and hustle of the crowded city. My main concern though was the police as I didn’t want to get a ticket in a place where you can be easily forgotten.

Coming into town you could see abandoned oil wells and drill platforms aged and rusted with weeds growing around them. No doubt this was once an oil booming town but all but those that remained had given up on the oil when it became too expensive to maintain and keep going. Entering the town limits the sign read elevation 1209 feet above sea level and population 2001. It certainly didn’t look like an All-American town but it could have been in its best days gone by.

I can only imagine this town was once a booming business town that delivered and produced oil wells with enough to keep it alive for a while. What I had read about boom town turning into ghost town, it appeared this town was trying to survive as it was set away from the big city but located off the freeway to make it a tourist stop. I supposed that when it was booming it had all the big city problems and sin as those wildcatters were a rough bunch of men that drank their whiskey and loved their women.

Looking closely at some of the abandoned building I could tell there had been a big fire here some time ago and the rubbish and ruins were never demolished or cleaned up leaving partial structures up to reflect those days of the past. The first building I saw driving in was the town hall with a statue of a civil war hero situated right there in the front where the steps led you into the white marble like building. Although aged, it was uncommonly clean and pleasant to the eye as it reflected the architectural beauty of the past.

The rest of the rustic looking town itself resembled what we call a country setting with small buildings and shops to accommodate the customers looking to buy groceries, fish bait and guns and ammo as there were few dress retail shops and maybe one barber on that not so busy boardwalk stretch that nary any shade from the hot blistering sun. No building taller than a two story structure and sky scrapers were only seen on picture in the magazines sold in the only drug store down on Main Street.

The filling station seemed to have been remodeled and the island had four new pumps that took your credit card with pleasure as they were new and modern as can be.  No doubt this was a self-service only as I didn’t see anyone working there at the time. Considering the modern style of the pumps, I was impressed that the pumps were so up-to-date while everything around them looked different.

This was so contrary to the background as the gas station’s surrounding billboards and window panes gave away their century old age as the paint has peeled and the wood had warped from the sun and the rain that beat down on this little dwelling every day of the year without any rain or snow in the forecast now for over five years. The sign read “credit cards only” giving me the impression that cash was not a condition of the sale as I dug deep into my wallet and found my choice of plastic away saving the cash for another day.

Down at the end of the paved road was a brightly lit and painted Motel 6 and it was likely the most modern building in town. It can be seen from far if you are driving the elevated freeway as they always leave the light on so you can stop there during the night and rest up a spell before heading out down the road again. Notoriously Motel 6 has long been the king of the road as they have put their motel chain on every backroad in America. Having not much of a choice it was my preferred place to stay for the night.

Checking in the Motel 6, the clerk was friendly and offered me a cup of coffee. I said “no thank you, I just want to go to bed and sleep.” She asked me to fill out some forms and gave me a key. Not a computerized key but a real key. She smiled and said “we are still too old fashioned here to keep up with the business” and I realized that as long as the bed and linen were clean I would have no gripes tonight except to get a good night’s sleep.

My ebony colored Mustang GT convertible was the only car in the lot. I must have picked a quiet night to travel and the check in for some rest as the crickets were loud and the frogs were bellowing the loudest with a big mean looking owl sitting up there in one of those trees scanning the fields in the moonlight. Looking for food has become hard for these critters as the dry spell has left the fields barren and empty with greenery as the telltale signs of a drought were very evident around this motel lot. After unpacking and putting my stuff away into the bottom rented room, I stepped outside for some fresh air and to relax a bit.

After about ten minutes or so after walking a ways from the room and parking lot I began to hear strange grunts and a foul smell. My imagination also heard footsteps but I knew there were no other people around so I blew that off as my imagination. Maybe it was a deer or another animal I had scared off and spooked it with my presence. No matter much because it stopped almost as soon as it began. I certainly didn’t feel it was a strange experience to hear an animal out there running away.

Walking back slowly I heard that noise of footsteps again. Gently I found a heavy stone and heaved it towards the sound into the barren woods. Although I didn’t see anything I threw the rock into the vicinity because I was somewhat frightened and caught off guard.

The barren fields showed no plants and no trees as this arid condition revealed everything in brown rather than their natural colors. Even though this area was not inhabited with people, the place was located what was once a wild animal sanctuary area where people can no longer live for reasons caused by an oil spill many years ago that killed the land and the animals on it. Naturally I thought this was the reason for the eerie spell or notion this land was poisoned by man.

Even with a full moon shining through the bare trees you could tell they were dying as no leaves were growing on them like the others down the road. Perhaps the frogs were screaming because their tongues were parched and extremely dry because of the dry weather.

It could also be because they are in distress. Some people claim that frogs scream when they are caught by predators, so that they can save their relatives or other individuals of the same species which may flee when they hear them scream. A folk-lore at its best, it would be hard to believe in today’s day and age.

Other than the clerk inside the place seemed deserted. The stillness of the night gave me an eerie feeling and a chill down my spine but I figured it was because of it being so quiet that I had the jitters on this sleepless night as insomnia was kicking in keeping me awake till the early dawn.

Never a man that liked breakfast in bed I walked over to the check in lobby area and poured me a cup of coffee on the house and a hot cinnamon roll freshly baked. The icing was smooth and glazed white like snow and the taste was deliciously home-made I could tell. There were two coffee dispensers – one said decaf and the other said real coffee – I laughed and poured me some caffeine into the Styrofoam cup.

My eyes were a bit swollen from not sleeping so well but I can’t blame the bed for that as it was just right for me to lay me down comfortably with double pillows behind my head. I slept with the TV on and as a habit and turned it off so that rest a spell. Although I had showered and washed my hair, it was kind of wild that morning so I donned my Oakland Raiders cap to keep it down.

I was thinking maybe I was suffering from sleep deprivation because I have been having trouble falling asleep. I knew that there were certain signs that pointed to such a disorder but I doubted it was real because I was sleeping as good as I thought it could be while on the road. Regardless I decided that not getting the solid sleep last night didn’t solve any of my problems at the time. I knew I needed coffee to sober up a bit and become more alert.

After drinking the coffee and snacking on the roll, I decided to take a stroll down the road a bit and check out the scenery as it was covered with fresh misty like dew. Strange how the air was so moist and the plants were so dry but perhaps nature has its own rules down here and the reasons are not important. Wearing my Nikes I started to walk down the paved road until it turned into dirt – must have only been a mile or two before it did so.

I saw critters crawling and jumping from tree to tree as their barren shadows against the rising sun gave away their presence and fearfully trying to hide from me behind empty tree trunks and leafless foliage. The owl had disappeared and the mice were playing in plain view as I walked another distance until I came up to an old white shuttered house with someone sitting on the front porch singing a song and biting down on a homemade pipe. Slowly I noticed the field were beginning to be filled with full bloomed trees and green and purple plants. Funny how it was only a couple of hundred feet apart the soil and scenery was so different.

Still too early in the morning to bother people I nodded my head as I walked by and got a hand in the air waving at me like he wanted me to stop and talk for a while.  Never in a hurry, I strolled down to the front gate of the house and found it open as his hound dog met me with a vigorous tail wagging event that showed me he was friendly and not likely to bite me for intruding on his turf. Funny how that man sitting there on the porch had put a red bandana on his dog as it resembled the same bandana the old man was wearing on his head. “Twins” I said to myself and made eye contact with the old man on the porch.

A straw hat barely covered his greying hair and the bandana did the rest. I could tell he had been up for quite some time and had his cup of coffee right there beside him. His speech was distinguished as a local accent or drawl showed he was from here and must have been all his life. His friendly smile made me feel at ease as he asked me to sit down on the rocker that was at least one hundred years old to the day.

We made some small talk and we laughed at some jokes as the time flew by I told him I had to go but he insisted that I stay and have some rhubarb pie he made the night before. I sensed there was no missus and I didn’t ask any questions but I could tell he was a friendly man – a lonely man indeed.

We talked about the weather and we talked about the president of the United States as he revealed his service record in World War II. A distinguished flyer, gentleman and an officer I was sure enough there was a leader in this man as it his testimony of his war record was impressive to say the least and slowly I learned enough about him to realize his eyes had seen more of the world than many others I have known. An American hero hiding here in the country side where the only noise you hear are the birds flying above and an occasional trucker coming down from the freeway either lost or looking for some diesel.

The sun was about half way up to mid noon up above when I told this man I had to go. I told him of my travel plans and that although I wasn’t in a hurry, I had to check out of the motel and be on my way. Out of the blue he asked me my business and I told him I had none. I told him I was just traveling and decided to stop here and stay at the motel for a good night’s rest but that it didn’t work out that way.

He asked me politely but with caution and asked me if I believed in the supernatural and the existence of ghost. I told him I believed in God’ angels and their presence here on Earth so it is very possible that we are also surrounded by ghost. He laughed and told me “how was your night? Was it peaceful?” he asked. I thought about his questions and answered him with a serious voice “I didn’t sleep well at all last night as I kept waking up thinking I was hearing voices but there was nobody around and the television was on but it was playing some kind of music or something.”

Time was pushing me to move on and as I got up the man looked at me and asked “did you see a cemetery in this town son, did you happen to pass one by when coming into this town?” I said “no sir, I didn’t see a cemetery but I wasn’t really looking for one.” Peeking my curiosity I had to ask him “why?” He said “son, did you notice the dryness of the fields and the dying trees of the barren soil and shrubs near the motel?”  I answered him “yes, I noticed it was more barren and empty than the other spots and places in town or down the road.” I told him I thought it was so because of no rain.

He slowly stood up and said to me “son, the reason you couldn’t sleep was because you were sleeping among the dead, they built that motel there over the old cemetery and they have been raising hell ever since. They never bothered to move the bodies and they have been screaming ever since that day they poured the first stone for the foundation.” They are feeling crowded and want to be set free so they yell and scream every night until someone can hear them and set them free.

Finally after sitting there talking to the old man on the porch for several hours he told me his name as I told him mine. He introduced himself as Amos Andy and he revealed he was older that the dirt around him and smarter than the foxes that once lived here. I laughed and I asked him “why do you have two first names” and he smiled “because my daddy named me after his favorite television show and he liked that name.”

He added his daddy changed his real name from Amos Hardy to Amos Andy after he decided that it was a better name for him. In a deep second breath he wasn’t going to argue with his daddy as his daddy was a big man that carried a big twig to keep him and his siblings in line. Although he smiled and laughed when he said this I could tell he was dead serious. Drawing another breath he said “my daddy is buried there in that cemetery and every now and then he comes visits me and sets me straight.”

Getting back on the haunting he was wide eyed and with a frown on his face as he drew a deep gasp and stated that building that motel was a big mistake. He was blunt and said that when they built that motel, they killed everything in this town and it has been haunted ever since.  Smiling he said “didn’t you notice son, you were the only one staying there and the parking lot was empty except the old pickup truck that woman drives back and forth to work? Everybody here knows the place is haunted and nobody goes there unless they are from out of town and even then the tales have been told that nobody really wants to stay there overnight because they just can’t get away from the eerie noises and the irritating breeze or wind that flows over that building even with the windows shut. At the very least, the foul smell chases them away as they think it’s the algae in the pool that give off that awful stench.”

I had a feeling that was the case but I don’t give much to the supernatural and the old man made it sound like a story tale that was both a legend and designed to get on somebody’ nerve of rub them the wrong way. Little did I know the old man might have been telling the truth and although this story rubbed me the wrong way, it stuck in my crawl and made me think more and more about the possibility I slept among the dead.

The clock was a ticking and the Mustang was fueled and ready to go down the highway. I looked into my rearview mirror at the motel as I left it behind and sensed a relief as I drove onto the freeway taking me down the road for another adventure on life’s own highway.  About five miles down the road I saw a billboard sign advertising the Motel 6 I had just slept in and said to myself “good riddance and turn the light off – that place was scary.”

 

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