Guilty but Innocent: From a Teen to a Con

Copyright 2013, 2014 Johnny C. Wiggins.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Based on a True Story, some names have been changed to protect the Innocent!

ISBN: 978-1-4669-7227-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-7284-1 (e)

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Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Him Thru My Eyes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Mother

FOREWORD

This is a true story about a young boy, who never had a chance in the world as we know it, saving the lives of his family, took away any chance he had in the free world. He was sent to one of the worst prison’s at a very young age of 15 and to the con’s he was considered fish bait and that was the end of the world as he knew it. He had to fight to survive and to stay alive, among other things, that you will soon read about.

Life of an inmate is very tough at time’s but the life of a 15 year old inmate around grown harden murderers, rapist and other evil men is almost unimaginable. He was in a manor of speaking a sheep thrown to the wolves.

I want to thank my Granddaughter Bayleigh N. Etheridge who was instrumental in helping me in the typing of this book. Johnny’s great niece that can’t wait until the day she meets the man behind this story.

I Love you Johnny and you can always count on me.

Your Loving Sister,

Betty Jean Taylor

INTRODUCTION

Living behind the walls of a maximum security prison can best be compared to the feeling you get from rubbing the under side of a cold, scaly, slithery rattlesnake. Prison is a world of its own, filled with illusions and delusions. One in which the only thing you can be 100% sure of is that tomorrow will be just as bad, if not worse, as today was.

Unless you have experienced it personally it is absolutely impossible for you to imagine the gut-wrenching, bone-chilling feeling of utter fear, panic and despair that sweeps over a person the first time they hear and see a prison gate slammed shut behind them. Ever so slowly the realization sets in that when you walked through the gate it not only meant you had just lost your freedom, it also means that instead of being a real person with a name and individual identity, you are now simply a piece of human flesh that has a Institutional number assigned to it. Believe me when I say that the feeling you get inside you is indescribable!

Once they are in prison some people are able to just accept their misfortune and adjust to being locked up rather quickly, while still others flatly refuse to give in to the inevitable and fight back against the system tooth and nail. Now that may make it sound like a person has the option of either doing their time the easy way or the hard way, and to some degree that is true, but not totally true, because many times an individual is forced to do things and live a life style which they dislike and consider both demeaning and perverted simply because they are young and reasonably handsome. They must either submit to homosexual advances made towards them, or else get just as crazy and wild as the most violent convicts and go around stabbing up people until finally everyone quits bothering them, or they get killed themselves. Not much of a choice is it.

Johnny Wiggins knows all to well what I am saying because over the years he has had to do it both ways. When I first met Johnny back in 1967 he was a precocious, highly impressionable fifteen year old kid struggling to get by as best he could behind the walls of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Here he was, a young good looking kid, growing up in a closed society surrounded by hard-core murderers, rapists and thieves at a time when he should have still been at home attending school, playing organized sports and dating girls. Some where, someone in a position of authority obviously either made a major mistake or used very poor judgment in disposing Johnny’s first felony case. I say that because even in the 1960’s there were already programs in place to handle and rehabilitate youngsters like him without sending them to a maximum security prison. The bottom line is the system failed Johnny and as a result of his life since then has been nothing but one hellish night mare after another.

Here is a man who has had everything bad imaginable happen to him. He has been raped, beaten, threatened you name it and it happened to Johnny when he was young and vulnerable. I personally know of instances where older, highly respected convicts coerced and/or manipulated Johnny into doing things that they were either afraid to do, or simply didn’t want to do themselves. And this didn’t happen just once or twice, for years the so-called Kingpins used and misused Johnny something awful. And that was only the beginning of his problems.

Before long, almost over night it seemed, Johnny grew and matured to the point where he was no longer a little kid who followed other people’s lead. Suddenly here was a young man who had earned the respect of all of us that knew him, a solid convict who was well liked by most everyone at O.S.P.

And I truly believe that Johnny’s seemingly sudden rise in popularity among the inmate population shocked and worried the guards and prison administration. I say that because of the way he was treated worse and worse as time went by. I would not even attempt to try and guess how many times the guards at O.S.P. Clubbed him, shot him with riot control gas, stripped him naked, threw him in the hole and shot him with some more riot gas.

Let me emphasize that what I am writing is not based on rumors or hear say. I was there when all of this was taking place and the truth is what I have described here, and is only a small part of the whole heart rending story.

Johnny Wiggins is no different than a lot of the rest of us in that he is the first to admit that much of what has been done to him he brought upon himself. How ever, the thing that needs to be remembered is this. Johnny’s age, size and physical appearance being what they were when he was sent to prison the first time meant that he had three strikes against him before he even stepped up to bat. This man has endured more pain and suffering, both physically and emotionally, in the 23 years that he has been locked up, more than any ten men should be subjected to in an entire life time. I have to wonder how he has managed to retain his sanity and keep a fairly positive outlook on life and the future.

Regardless of what Johnny may or may not have done recently, this is a man who deserves to have his criminal record dissected, scrutinized, and re-evaluated from the beginning all the way up to the present. If someone will take the time to do that, I believe they will be amazed from learning that most, if not all, of Johnny’s felony convictions are surrounded by extenuating circumstances and situations that were beyond his control. The criminal justice system failed Johnny over 20 years ago, but it is still not to late to begin correcting the wrong that has been done.

Thank You,

Big Dave

HIM THRU MY EYES

What can I say? This man changed my life forever. I came to Lansing correctional facility alone and lost. Ive been through a lot of bullshit here like getting my ass kicked, getting messed with and picked on and almost getting extorted.

Well that all ended when I met Johnny. He taught me the code of the cons. I followed his advice because I just knew he would help me instead of just standing back and watch like my so called friends were doing. I saw and still do see something in Johnny. I know his story and have heard first hand what has happened to him.

First he was a stranger to me. He warned me about a predator I was hanging around and without that little warning, we wouldn’t be close. Shit I wouldn’t even be alive. After he warned me, I saw him as a wise man, not the mad dog killer everyone else knows him as. I was at the decision that was very important and I needed a strong, trusted opinion, this black guy wanted me to move in with him about a month before I was leaving.

Some people told me I should do it but I was unsure. I saw Johnny with his dog Rock one day and decided I would ask him what he thought. He told me in most cases, that situation was a set up and that it was to big of a risk for me plus I was getting ready to be leaving in a month. So I decided not to and about a month later Johnny found out it was a set up. Man he saved me from a very bad situation since then I saw him in a new light.

I would have expected someone with Johnny’s history and life to advise me to do something to make my situation like this, but Johnny did something I haven’t seen anyone else even do, he broke a chain. Not to still one, but one much stronger. A chain made of abuse and torment. He could have told me to go take care of it the guy trying to extort me, but instead he had someone talk to him.

Honestly, I was scared of the situation. I am not violent, I’m the complete opposite and thats why I was a target. Soon after that, Johnny and I started talking more and more until one day, I looked at Johnny in his eyes and I saw a father. I was shocked and very unsure of this feeling I had of him, but one day I went to him, I felt I couldn’t go to anyone else. He knew something was wrong and he told me to spill my heart I told him my situation and he just listened and let me talk, I looked into his eyes and what I saw shocked me, I saw my pain in his eyes, at that moment I knew we had a connection that I could never have with another person.

As time went on we grew as friends and as father and son, he showed me a path to the creator I very much so respect, I have faith and love. This man is the most incredible person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, let alone call my father. The system has put him through things unexplainable, horrible but even so he got through it all and it made him stronger than ever.

No one would believe that a man that has been a prisoner since the age of 14 years old, has the ability to love like only a father can. God gave me the greatest gift in life that I couldn’t have even imagined and that man is Johnny. Without him I would either be dead as going back to a place that surely would have ended my life.

I am now ready for the outside world and ready to live and reach my dreams. I would have never found myself without Johnny’s help. Thank you dad, you mean the world to me.

Jonathan Fernandez

CHAPTER 1

MCALESTER MAY 1967

T he first time I laid my eyes upon McAlester, a deep centered feeling of fright and dread coursed throughout my body, as it was an evil and forbidding looking place.

Having just turned 15 years of age in February, the feelings and fright that were coursing through me, were compounded by the ribbing and stories being told to me by the Deputy Sheriffs’ who were transporting me, about what was going to happen to me inside that place. This, along with all the tales and stories I’d heard from other prisoners in the County Jail for the previous 9 months, had me almost to a breaking point. The deep feelings of loneliness and fear had me for the first time realizing just how alone I was. It was everything I could do just to breathe or even speak.

All along the thought and memory of what Oliver had told me in the County Jail, that I couldn’t show one bit of fear to anyone, inmates or guards alike, my very life and survival depended upon it, and above all never let anyone see me cry, kept pounding in the back of my head as I fought to control myself and hold my tears behind my eyes. As we pulled up in front of the prison, it was as if time was in slow motion. The very sight of the high white walls and Guard Towers, with the high massive dome over the center was an imposing sight to me. There was a long flight of steps going up to the main entrance to the prison, and that was the longest walk of my life.

I had no way of knowing then, but the walk up that flight of stairs was in reality the same as if it were to the death house, and at that moment in time my life was over. There were seven barred gates to pass through as we progressed down a wide hallway into the bowels of the prison. As the last gate opened, I stepped into a large round Rotunda which was directly under the huge dome I’d seen from the outside. Right in the center of the Rotunda was a round barred cage with gun guards and controls inside, as I looked up I could see gun guards patrolling the gun walks that run around the top of the Rotunda.

Inside my mind I was screaming for Mom and Dad to come get me out of this place, but all I could hear in reality was a droning hum of voices and a steady clang of metal on metal all around me. I was so lost in my daze that it took a minute before I could comprehend that I was being spoken to, What’s the matter boy, you deaf or something? I can remember those words as if it were yesterday, along with the rest of the heckling that had started up.

We had entered the Lieutenant’s office, the guard that was talking to me I learned was Captain Vickery, he along with Lt. Smith were laughing and going on about me. I remember Lt. Smith saying, hell, they done robbed the cradle for us, and Captain Vickery saying something about just some fresh meat for the wolves.

It was lunch time when we’d got to McAlester around noon. Lt. Smith told me to go into the mess hall and get something to eat, then report back to the Lt.’s office. He had the black inmate runner who worked for the Lt.’s office show me the way. The mess hall was directly across from the Lt.’s office through a wide hallway.

Coming out from the rotunda you entered the Lt.’s office, which had a wall about 4' high around it, you left the office into the hall that led into the mess hall. As I entered the mess hall there was a steady stream of convicts going in and out. When they seen me there was an eruption of catcalls and whistling. I was doing my best to maintain my composure and to keep walking without stumbling or anything, while the whole time my insides were going wild and my legs felt like rubber and just wanted to tremble instead of walk. When asked what I was in for, I could only mumble man-slaughter, right then I heard a loud whistle blow. The sound had come from above, so I looked up to see what was going on. There was a gun walk that ran around the sides of the mess hall, where two guards with rifles and pistols patrolled during meals, anyway, there had been such an eruption of sudden noise when I walked in that it had startled the gun guards. They must have thought something was breaking out.

There were about 300 to 400 convicts in the mess hall. McAlester was segregated in those days, so all the Whites, Indians, Latins etc. were on one side of the mess hall and the Blacks were on the other side. Both sides had their own serving lines. You had to walk around the edge of the wall in line until you came to the serving lines. The black runner, that Lt. Smith had sent to show me the way, had stopped at the entrance doorway. Because of the segregation he couldn’t come on the white side.

After getting my tray, which seemed to take forever because all kinds of questions and comments were being flung at me from the cons’ in line and at the serving tables, I proceeded to look for a place to sit. The tables were long steel tables with round steel swing out seats. Most of the tables were full, I started to sit down at an empty table and immediately got yelled at by a patrolling guard, who just yelled Fill it up! An old convict told me to come on, so I followed him to the table he went to. It seemed that you had to fill the tables up in line as they came, then as a table became full, they started filling the next. Once you sat down, you couldn’t tarry, you had to eat and eat fast. There were large steel pitchers of tea and coffee already on the tables, which were kept full by mess hall workers. Once seated, you did not get back up until the guard told you to.

Back then there were different names you used for the guards. The most common ones were, Bulls, Hacks, Screws, and Key man. It really depended on where the guard was working. In the mess hall they were bulls as they were out on the yard areas. The bull would walk down the room, and when he figured a table had enough time, he would hit the end of the table with his billy club. Everyone at the table would all have to get up and go right then. The bulls expected you to eat everything you took on your tray. They had a policy of take all you want but eat all you get. I didn’t have any problem with that, I was half starved after 9 months in the County Jail, plus, I wanted to keep busy eating so I didn’t have to answer most of the questions being flung at me. All this while, attempting to keep an outer air of confidence and appear to look like I knew what was going on. There were a few old cons who spoke up and told some of the hecklers to leave the boy alone.

Upon returning to the Lt.’s office, I was then escorted by the runner to a barber located in a cell house. Here my hair was cut to a burr. I was then escorted to what was know as male-clothing. Up until this point I had still been wearing the clothes I came in with, jeans and a white dress shirt, the same I had worn to court that morning for sentencing. Arriving at male-clothing, I was told to strip and shower. After showering, a guard dusted me with a white powder I later learned was for lice or whatever. I was then given a blue denim jumpsuit to put on and a pair of brown Brogans, issued a blanket, sheets and pillow case, then I was then taken back to the Lt.’s office, back here a white convict runner then escorted me up several flights of stairs in the front part of what I learned was the EAST Cell house. When we got to the top a guard opened a barred doorway that led into the gun walk that ran around the top of the rotunda, while this was going on the gun guard was behind another barred door that divided the gun walk that white convicts were passing through. From that point we walked around to a doorway that led into the Classification Department, this was located directly above the front Administration where I first entered the Prison. Here I was mug shotted, photographed, fingerprinted and assigned a number 75459.

Upon completion, I was taken back to the Lt.’s office and escorted from there to what was known as Receiving Cell. This was located on the top two tiers on the south side of the New Cell house. It was called the New Cell house, I later learned, because it was simply the last cell house built. The cell house was actually 6 tiers high, there was a dividing floor between each two tiers. The tiers were numbered with all the odd numbers on the north side and even numbers on the south side. The tiers 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, and 11 were on the north, with 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12 on the south side. The bottom tiers 1 & 3 on the north side and 2 & 4 on the south side were general population housing with 1, 3 & 4 being 2 man cells and the cells on tier 2 were 6 man cells. The upper tiers 5 & 7 contained 2 man cells but was used as a wood craft area, while tiers 6 & 8 were also 2 man cells but used as a leather craft area. Tiers 9 & 11 were 2 man cells used as an Isolation Unit known as weed row. Tiers 10 & 12 were 2 man cells which consisted as the Receiving Cell unit, but because this was for the new inmates, only 1 inmate per cell was used.

I was placed in cell 4 on tier 12. This would be my home until I was transferred to Granite. Inmates just coming in were known as New Skinners. We were fed in the mess hall three meals a day, and taken to male clothing twice a week for showers. The rest of the time we were confined to our cells. During this time we didn’t have any contact with the General Population inmates. By the time I was put in my cell on that first day I was totally worn out, both physically and mentally. I ’d went from the court room of the Adair County Courthouse to cell #4 on the receiving cell unit of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary at McAlester, all on this one day.

It was around 2:30pm by the time I arrived at the cell and was locked down. All I could do was lay there on my bunk and listen to the hum of voices of inmates talking from cell to cell. There were calls from inmates wanting to know who just came in, but I ignored them. Like I said I was worn out, but couldn’t sleep, all the days events running like a speeding train through my mind along with everything I had seen, and above all else, wondering about what was in store for me in the days and years ahead. How was I going to survive it?

As far as I knew, I didn’t know anyone at the prison. I knew Oliver Katrel and Johnathon Windsong from the County Jail, but they were still at the County Jail. All I had was the advice and words of encouragement they had given me.

About 4pm the doors started slamming open. The Screw at the head of the tier was yelling chow time. As hungry as I was, I just laid there on my bunk. Right then all I wanted was to be alone. I just couldn’t bare the thought of going out among all those dudes right then.

Most of these people were city raised and most had already done some time in either prison or reform school. Me, I was straight from the sticks of Eastern Oklahoma and N.W. Arkansas. I had nothing in common with these people.

I guess I finally dozed off for a little while. I was startled awake by something hitting on my cell floor and a voice asking me what my name was.

When I looked up it was a middle aged con. I later found out his name was Lonnie Henderson, he had tossed a couple of old books into my cell. Said he noticed I didn’t go to chow and wanted to know if I wanted something to eat, I hurried up and said no thanks. Oliver had already drilled me about not taking anything from anyone right off. It turned out that Henderson was from the General Population and worked as a runner and orderly for the Receiving Cell unit. I also found out later that he was a predator that preyed on younger inmates and New Skinners coming in. Right then he attempted to smooth talk me into accepting something. Just kept nagging on. After a bit he finally gave up and wondered on down the tier. I could hear other con’s making lewd comments and laughing with him about me.

There’s just no way to describe on these pages just how I was feeling. I was faced with a situation I had no idea of how to handle. My enter being was screaming for help and forgiveness, at that moment I was praying inside to just die, to be rid of the pain inside of me.

That night I lay there, mostly tossing and turning, a million things and images running through my mind, reflecting on what had led me to this prison cell, and asking why me.

CHAPTER 2

I was born in Van Buren, Arkansas on February 6 th 1952, to Jack and Sylvia Wiggins. The 8 th in line of 13 kids, I had 7 brothers and 5 sisters. Brothers Gary, Jackie, Don, Doug, Randy, Dean and Artis. Sisters Katherine, Lola, Darlene, Mary Lou and Betty Jean. By the time I was old enough to remember anything, Gary, Katherine and Lola were already married and away.

At this time we were living out in the country in Benton County Arkansas, a little place called Spring Town where we went to church and such. This was about 6 or 7 miles east of the Town of Gentry, the best I can remember.

I started to school at Gentry Elementary in 1958. I remember Darlene taking me to school. I was terrified of the other kids, I guess because I had never been around strange kids alone before, anyway, I was screaming and throwing such a tantrum that they had to send for Darlene and she had to sit with me until I quieted down and became used to the idea of being there. That’s about the only descriptive thing I can remember about the very early years. I can remember that there was this one kid named Mike Cantrell and another named Micheal Wheeler that became my main adversary’s in school. We were always fighting about everything. Once on the school bus going home Don, Doug and two of their friends named Darren and Billy Short instigated a fight between me and Mike Cantrell in the back of the bus. We were making such a ruckus that the driver stopped the bus to break us up. As I was getting the better of the fight, as I was on top, the driver grabbed me as the trouble maker. He had this big wooden paddle which he was going to spank me with, but before he could, Don and Doug interceded and wouldn’t let him whip me. They were ready to jump on the driver. The driver ended up kicking Don, Doug and me off the bus and we had to walk home. Whether they got into trouble at school over it I don’t know, or just can’t remember.

My family was very poor, but hard working, loving and very loyal to one another. Chicken Plants were the big employer in Benton County so thats where Mom worked, either at Decatur Arkansas or at Siloam Springs. When school would let out Dad & Mom would pack us kids up and travel to California, where we would visit relatives and work in the fruit fields picking cherries, oranges, apples and cutting grapes etc. They’d just follow the crops from California north to Oregon and Washington, then back to California. Mom had family, a sister, who lived in Bakersfield, so that would be our first stop. I remember my oldest sister Katherine and her husband Sonny and family lived in California and my oldest brother Gary and his wife Margaret and kids were living in Oakland. At that time Gary was a pipeline welder and they just moved all over following the pipe lines. I just remember bits and pieces about different places.

In 1960, my sister Mary Lou, who was born on April 22, 1957 died of Leukemia on April, 24, 1960. This followed on the heels of my brother Dean being born dead on January 24th of that year.

Losing two children in 3 months had to be heart wrenching to Mom & Dad. Being so young at that time, the magnitude of it all just doesn’t register in my mind now about what my feelings were then.

Already being a poor family the loss of the two children with the final expenses was probably a devastating blow to Mom and Dad. That spring in May of 1960 when school let out, they sold everything we had, bought a small trailer house, packed us kids up and headed for California.

By this time Jackie was gone from home, working different places, at what I really didn’t know at that time. It was at that time Darlene, Don, Doug, Randy and myself were at home. I remember that my sister Lola, her husband Clyde and their 3 kids, lived on the outside of Arkansas, packed up and went with us.

The trip out was pretty well nondescript other than our old GMC pickup breaking down trying to pull the trailer up and through the Tehachapia Mountains. After making it on through we stayed a few days in Bakersfield, then moved on to Stockton where we worked picking cherries. During this stay Darlene fell in love with a guy named Charles. When we left Stockton we went on up to the Oregon to pick cherries and pole beans. Charles had come up with us to be near Darlene. One day they came up missing from the cherry fields. Charles car was gone, so Mom and Dad figured they’d run off. Sure enough, they had. They had taken off back to Stockton. Mom and Dad packed us kids up and returned to Stockton. There they picked Darlene up and soon there after we started the trip back to Arkansas. We arrived back in Arkansas earlier in the summer than we should have. We didn’t have a home or land so we ended up living in the trailer, at a little place called Sleepy Hollow about 1 ½ miles south of Gentry. Through August of that summer the whole family worked around area farms picking green beans, tomato’s and strawberries. Just about anything Mom and Dad could find to do.

Mom finally went to work back at the chicken plant in Decatur which was a little ways north of Gentry. Lola also worked at the chicken plant with Mom.

Darlene was still going crazy with the love bug she had for Charles. Finally Mom and Dad gave in and helped her get tickets to return to California, where her and Charles were married. Whether she took a train, bus or plane back, I don’t know. Anyway, summer ran into fall and it back to school at Gentry, and back to the same old school yard squabbles. That winter I started going with Dad and Don setting trap lines along the area creeks and rivers. Dad was also a great trapper. He trapped for mink mainly but also took anything else, coons and muskrat that ran into his traps. I was hit by the bug myself and had my own half dozen traps that I kept set out. The only thing I was ever able to catch were opossum, muskrat and a coon now and then. During this time in 1960, Dad was also having stomach problems with ulcers which steady got worse to sometimes he’d be bed ridden.

Right after the trapping season opened around late November or early December, Dad, Don and myself were going up to Spavinaw River (which was more of a creek rather than a river) to check Dads’ traps. This was up north of Decatur where the Spavinaw runs out of Arkansas and into Oklahoma. Right after Dad turned off on the dirt road that ran to the river, a black cat came out of nowhere and darted across the road in front of the truck. Don immediately started pleading for Dad to stop. Don wanted to go back to the main turn off and take another round about way down to the river. It seemed that Don had some kind of kiddish superstitions. Dad just kept on going telling Don, it didn’t mean anything, but you could tell it didn’t sit well with Don. Even as young as I was I could see he was bothered. That week the weather turned pretty bad. Then, I think it was on a Wednesday, that one of the bad spasms hit Dad with his stomach ulcer problem, and it put him down in bed. That Friday us kids came home from school (we were still living in the trailer at Sleepy Hollow), anyway when Don got home he told Mom and Dad that he wanted to go bird hunting that Saturday with his friend Lenard Sullivan and his folks. They were going hunting over by Pryor, Oklahoma. At first Dad and Mom said no. I can still see and hear it as if it were yesterday, them going at it arguing, with Don and him stead fast that he wanted to go. They finally gave in and agreed. I remember when Lenard Sullivan came to pick Don up. Don went over to Dad, who was laid up in bed, and ask Dad if he could have 5 dollars. Dad told him no that he didn’t have the money. You could see Dad was really upset that he wasn’t able to give Don what he wanted. Don stood there a moment as if in a moments hesitation in the trailer doorway like he didn’t want to go. You could hear Lenard out in the car honking the horn and calling for Don to hurry. Finally he said bye and went out. That was the last time we seen Don alive.

He was killed in a car crash early Saturday morning, about 2 miles outside of Pryor, Oklahoma. We were told later that they had stopped at a diner about an hour before, but Don wouldn’t get out and go in, nor would he let them get him anything. Larry said that Don was real quiet and said he wanted to go home, that he didn’t feel good. It was drizzling rain that Saturday morning, and when they came to a bridge about 2 miles from Pryor, the bridge was only one way, as construction crews had been working there Friday and quit for the weekend. Anyway Don was riding with Lenard in his car, they were following Lenard’s uncle in the car ahead of them. As they approached the bridge they came to a stop, there was a big semi trailer rig coming across the bridge from Pryor, there was a pile of dirt and debris on the highway left by the work crews. They said the semi driver swerved to miss the debris then seen Lenard’s Uncles’ car and swerved to miss that and started skidding. The semi slammed into Lenard’s car right where Don was sitting. Lenard said when they seen the semi coming he jumped in the back seat and Don was trying to get his door open to jump out when they were hit. They say Don was killed instantly.

CHAPTER 3

1 960 had been a devastating year for my family. With the deaths of Dean, Mary Lou and Don, our already poor state descended to the lowest possible level.

We were never in one place more than a few months. Our trips to California to work the fruit circuits continued. Doug who was 4 years older than me and Randy who was 2 years the younger of me and myself were the only kids left at home. Then in March of 1961 my youngest sister Betty Jean was born. In 1961 we returned to the fruit fields of California, Oregon and Washington. We’d work our way up and down the west coast, by late summer we’d be back in Modesto California where I remember we’d cut grapes. As fall drew near we’d start our trip home.

That fall of 1961 my brother Jackie returned with us. I remember riding with him across route 66 through the deserts. That year we didn’t return all the way to Arkansas, we stopped in Cordell Oklahoma and another little place called Cloud Chief. There we worked the cotton fields pulling bolls.

Us kids enrolled in school in Cloud Chief, which wasn’t much of a school, just a one room clapboard shack used as a school house, where one teacher tried to teach the kids of the farm workers.

By the time Cotton picking season was over it would be late November, when we’d head back to Arkansas and return to school at Gentry.

I never did have any friends at school in Gentry. I was always at odds with my two arch enemies there, Mike Cantrell and Micheal Wheeler. A recess didn’t come that I didn’t have to fight one or both of them. Neither one could whip me so more than often I’d be fighting both at the same time.

I just can’t remember ever having one single friend at Gentry. The one single thing that caused the riff between me and the other kids was how poor I was. I suppose Doug and Randy must have had a lot of the same problems.

In 1962 while in California, we were in Stockton. Darlene and her husband Charles and kids were there, plus we had some other relatives who lived there in Stockton from Mom’s side of the family, which are the Shirley’s.

That year, while running around with the Shirley boys, was the first time I remember getting into trouble for stealing. Ironic as it may seem, the first thing I ever stole was a tin sheriff’s badge, so I could be a sheriff playing cops and robbers. The Shirley boys, Doug and myself, ripped and romped all over the neighborhood where they lived in Stockton. We’d steal toys and candy from the local stores.

One day we all went into a big super market to steal some candy. We all took bags of candy, putting them under our shirts, and started walking out. As we neared the door a woman, one of the sales clerks hollered at us. When she hollered the Shirley boys and Doug took of running out the door. I couldn’t move, it seemed, I just stood there. The next thing I knew, she had hold of me by the shoulder, pulling my shirt up and getting the bag of candy. They took me to an office and made me tell them who my parents were. After Dad and Mom came and got me, there was quite a stink about that incident, and some other incidents Doug and the Shirley boys had been into.

When it was over Doug never got into any trouble. As soon as Dad and Mom were packed up we headed back to Western Oklahoma for the cotton season. Thats the only time and last time Doug was in trouble.

I sure wish I would have had his wisdom. Maybe my life would have turned out different. That fall of 1962 us kids again attended school at Cloud Chief and when not in school, helped pick cotton. After that we returned to Gentry where we again attended school there. I always hated the return to Gentry. I loved the traveling and had a lot of fun during those travels. School at Gentry hadn’t changed, my same old enemies were still there.

A lot of time us kids didn’t have the 20 cents it took to pay for our lunch at school. Mom would most times make us little sack lunches of either a Bologna sandwich and homemade peanut butter cookies or sandwiches of potted meat scrambled in with eggs. Anyway the kids that didn’t have the 20 cents for lunch or had brought their own had to go to the mess hall with the regular kids. There were tables right in front of the mess hall where we were forced to sit right in front of the serving line. If you had your sack lunch you ate. If you didn’t have one, then you’d wait until all the students had passed to get their lunch, then you were made up a little lunch from leftovers. The main thing about this was that you became the focal point of ridicule. The other kids passing by would constantly make fun of you. You not only felt shame but a deep hatred for those kids.

I remember sitting at that table with my little brother Randy and this other little girl. She was crying so bad that her nose was running. The other kids were really making fun of us. At one point Randy started crying. I got him by the hand and we took off out of there. We walked downtown Gentry, where we went in the back of an old General Store and I remember stealing some bottles of pop that were stored in back of the store. We didn’t return to school that day. I remember we hid out in some bushes across the street from the school playground and watched the kids play in the afternoon recesses. As we missed the bus home, we ended up walking the 2 miles down to the place we lived that year.

Mom and Dad had sold the trailer and rented a run down clapboard house about a mile west of where we’d stayed in the trailer at Sleepy Hollow. We now lived right by a place known as The Ozark Academy. This was like a church school run by the Seventh Day Adventist, a type of college.

The house we had rented was right by Flint Creek. There wasn’t any electric or modern conveniences. We had to pump water from a well, had an outdoor toilet. Heating was from wood Daddy chopped and sawed.