I just don't...well i do

The role model is officially dead.

For me, it started with Earl Campbell.

Not many of you, sans Kelso, will even remember or know who Earl Campbell is/was.

"Skoal Baby"

We wonder.

We wonder what happened to sports in America.

What happened to the role model?

The Answer:

I am going into a different font because I WANT TO SAVE a thousand word preface to my point...instead I will expertly manipulate the malleable gratify me now sensibility of the American Appetite.

Nothing.

Back to reality.

I was an asshole in school- I questioned everything.

I am the proud owner of a sub 3.0 grade point average.

I am proud because I never heard the term -" Dude quit Jewin me"- until I went to St. Mary's

I am proud because my credit sucks ( at least on the grid).

I am proud because I never expected much more from people who are good at what they do.

What the fuck do they owe us?

We have not even delved into the steroids and the experimental stages of it's effectiveness.

I wonder how many world records ?

Should I mention Clemens?

Oh yeah fairlane touched on that one.

Spin is magic.

Like Imus.

Who cares?

Really?

Busy Busy Life

So I am getting ready for Christmas. My editor/colleague tells me I have to have all copy in by Monday 24th.

I have not written a thing. The good part is I can't get fired.

The Bad part? Actually I am not sure there is a bad part.

This presents an opportunity for me to grow as a freelance journalist and writer. I am going to submit pure 100% unadulterated fluff.

I am going to write opinionated, unsubstantiated advertorials for issues that no one in this area of the country supports.

An example?

Why gay marriage is good.

That should go over well.

I live in fanatical netherworld of Patriotic fervor barely contained by high taxes and a bad economy. I guess the subpar living conditions provide just enough of a distraction for people to go home after work instead of joining a militia.

That is what irks me.

Underlying all the Patriotism is a naivete a complete gullability.

People trust the Government.

The modern American man has forgotten why we had all these checks and balances built in to our government in the first place. Our founding fathers simply created a structure that would require magical conspiratorial powers to pull off any bullshit on the American People.

Just like the evolution of the urban rat sometimes you have to build a better trap . Which leads us to our current State Of The Union.

The Government we trust so much would love to wish you a Merry Christmas.

May you create a debt so large you work every day of your life to recreate this experience once a YEAR.

May your property value tumble and your mortgage foreclose. We will be there to help you pick up the pieces. Especially at this time of year.

My you prepare for neverending war; our economy is a violent hedgefund.

Most of all, tell your kids to tune in........

Tesla Was a Bad Dude

About five months ago my old editor asked me to write an article on Nikola Tesla.

Nikola who?

I wrote the article and it will go down in history as a miniscule part of popular culture. The issue my article was featured in was recently on The hit television show 'The Office'. The paper was part of the set for the famous episode about the Utica Branch of Dundler Mifflin.


Prior to the request to write it I had heard of the fellatio metal band Tesla but I did not know they were named after a Scientist/Inventor.

I saw The Prestige, that is where my knowledge of the man began and ended.

I began to gather as much information as I could on the man.

I am still gathering.

What amazed me the most was his humility. During his time he enjoyed a little popularity but never got the proper recognition for his accomplishments and didn't want it.

A thin, bespectacled man, six foot four inches tall, stood on a platform over a huge water tank. In his hand he held a little box. There were levers on the box , knobs, a dial or two.

The year was 1898.

The place was Madison Square Garden in New York City.

The man was Nikola Tesla.

As Tesla toyed with the levers and knobs a boat in the tank began to move. It must be witchcraft there were no wires, no strings. People could not believe their eyes; amid the open mouthed gasps there were many sceptics; most thought it was a hoax or some other form of trickery. He simply baffled the audience.

On that night Nikola Tesla succesfully demonstrated the first remote control device. The demonstration was a groundbreaking achievement.

The events that prevented this technological present from being unwrapped have retarded the development of human kind for the last one hundred years. But maybe the early introduction of the couch potato would have retarded our development more. Who knows?

What is known points to a mentality of greed, an emerging corporate 'credo' that put the bottom line- profits, market share- in front of progress or wellbeing.

We have leveraged our lives and the health of the planet for a faulty concept.

For inefficient energy.

All the issues we are up in arms about mean nothing if we cannot breath well enough to fight each other.

Back to Tesla.

He was born in Croatia in 1856. By the time he died, in 1943, he held over two hundred patents. If I wasn't such a nosy guy I wouldn't know anything about this man. When it came to great inventors/scientists my history book at school was all about Edison hmmmmmmmmm.

Tesla was a romantic , a visionary. An imaginative genius who spent his entire life defending his creative brilliance with one invention after the other.

The remote control device attracted little corporate interest. At the time people could not dream up a practical application for such a device. People could not even wrap their minds around the idea of remote control. He was simply ahead of his time.

Tesla's miraculous accomplishments and the astonishing results of his experiments challenged society to change, evolve before it was ready. Many of his earliest discoveries, which included the dynamo electric machine and the fuel-less engine were resisted by the status quo.

In many cases there were public campaigns financed by powerful, and in most cases competetive business interests. Their main goal was to minimize or, in some cases, demonize Tesla's work, which would, if applied, impact their bottom line.

Industrial powerhouses such as General Electric, Westinghouse and J.P. Morgan Chase needed to maintain a share of the markets they each virtually controlled. The industrial revolution and the phenomenal financial growth it fostered was dependant on innovation; the rush to improve methods was a part of doing business.

How methods improved was largely a political decision. Clout and influence made the difference between a good discovery being used or shelved for the sake of immediate profits.

Who needs to build a better mousetrap when the one we have is selling like hotcakes?

Tesla would be used by the industrial powerhouses throughout his career to perfect or create alternatives to the current state of the art, always giving his client an edge where they needed it. The niche he filled would serve him well financially but he would sacrifice the credit for his discoveries. He would ultimately live a life of obscurity.

Obviously he shared a bit of the spotlight with his contemporaries but he was regarded as the Mad Scientist- the fanatic. His radical ideas on world peace and free energy immediately cast him in a negative light.

Ironic?

Tesla was an excellent student who breezed through school daydreaming. Those close to him would later attest to Tesla's profound sensitivity to any stimuli and his ability to visualize objects in three dimensions. He could literally walk around his daydreams.

Many instructors confused his theoretical daydreaming with the typical- they were wrong. Many of his inventions that resulted in patents were based on his 'motion picture daydreams'. He admitted that he could observe moving parts, potential problems and all variables without actually doing the experiment.

Often times when Tesla built something it worked the first time.

Tesla was always looking for patterns and order in a chaotic world. He counted things for no apparent reason. He could tell the number of ceiling tiles, chairs , tablecloths and napkins in his favorite restaurant. Those distractions were a by product of his genius.

Tall, nattily dressed under a flowing lab coat, his hair slicked back and speaking with a signature slavic accent, he was the archetypical mad scientist.

Early in life Tesla earned a stellar reputation among the scientific community in Europe. His methods were well known. As soon as he left school he found work on a number of projects.

Armed with his vivid imagination and keen understanding of physical principles he made the first alternating current generator.

The discovery didn't mean much at the time. Thomas Edison's D.C. generators were already being put to use. For a short period in the 1880's Tesla worked with his future nemesis Thomas Edison.Edison realized the talented tesla could help him perfect some of his more frustrating projects.

The tumultous relationship was doomed from the start. They may have had a common goal in the lab but their styles conflicted.

Tesla chose to sit and visualize the experiment while Edison toiled away, recording results that Tesla would predict. Simply put Tesla's aptitude was the result of sheer genius, while Edison's success depended upon his determination and reliance on trial and error.

Tesla redesigned a generator for Edison. It was a problem that Edison himself could not solve. Tesla was never paid properly. Was it jealousy? Maybe a language or cultural misunderstanding? Tesla was tossed out of Edison's lab like used equipment.

Next Post: Bad Dude: The War of the Currents

Excerpt Part 2

I first entered Judge Dune’s courtroom via invitation from The States Attorney. The warrant was a sealed indictment.

Blissfully naïve, I honestly did not know what it was about. In the world of drug conspiracies I was a smalltime player.

At twenty-three my career included a bust for marijuana cultivation in my teens, and a Learyesque understanding of hallucinogens. I always fell back on selling weed as a means of smoking for free but that was about it. I knew about crack money but I also knew about crack drama. I stayed away from corner hustling.

It took me a while to establish some good connections, Illinois was still relatively new to my California blood but I made the adjustment and found myself with a prosperous clique.

The indictment surprised me; it was the result of a regional investigation involving the Cook County Sheriffs Department. I knew it was them because they had been pulling me over for the last few weeks.


They connected the dots from a petty bust in Chicago. I was initially charged with a gun and drugs separately; the Night Court Judge thankfully threw both cases out and I forgot about it. But I never forgot the night I caught that case.


* * *

It was business as usual I was behind the wheel of my pride and joy, a black 91’ Volkswagon Jetta GLI My low profile tires and aluminum rims not only got me pussy but pissed off all the player hating gangbangers that thought it was a Mercedes. I was delivering a quarter ounce of ready rocks back to the suburbs. I would routinely profit $75.00 TO $100.00 per day to make this simple drive into the city. I also got high for free, incentive for a secret smoker.

It was midsummer on the West Side of Chicago, life was simple I did not have a care in the world. My crack laced blunt was sizzling in the sun, I had my sunroof open, Brand Nubian blasting- are those fuckin cops? Mid shift between second and third gear, crack soaked blunt cocked out the corner of my mouth, I made eye contact with one of two undercovers sitting in a maroon Caprice Classic. The glare of the sun made me squint, it easily could have been mistaken as a screwface.

If they made a right turn they would be headed down Kedzie in the opposite direction out of my life; they didn’t and, as miraculous as the Red Sea parting, there was no traffic behind me… shit.

Time stood still as he gunned his engine and headed north on Kedzie right on my ass. I maintained a steady thirty mile an hour clip wary of the ‘law’. I heard his engine gun behind me like a wannabe warming up for a NASCAR race. He attempted to pass me on the right but his anemic engine would not respond and the slowly approaching parked cars forced him back into traffic behind me I was a little freaked out(high) and in retrospect I probably should have slowed down even more and let him pass me on the right but I maintained my speed and he did not make it.

Pulling me over would have to do.

“Stay in the vehicle and put your fucking hands up”. His pronunciation was immaculate. When it came to cops pulling me over, I always cooperated. Flashbacks of impromptu ass whuppins from the tactical squad in Cali played through my mind. I also knew civil rights marches for slain victims always happened after the injustice, I always made a point of limiting the possibility of mistakes on behalf of the cops. After all, they were at war with us.

They approached from both sides of the car, holsters unclipped, hands on their weapons. “You know your taillight is out” he said, telling more than asking. They did not have to tell me to keep my hands visible, my fingers tightly gripped the steering wheel. I responded with an even voice that hid my unraveling nerves.

“No”

“No what”? he said condescendingly “You didn’t know or no”?

I responded with a safe “I don’t ……No”

Flashlights danced in and out of my view as they looked over the interior of my car. “I see baggies”!!! the young, armed, wannabe NASCAR driver I made eye contact with yelled. I tried not to glare at him.

They lost interest in my taillight real fast, they made me exit the car, searched me and began to search my car. He reached under my seat and pulled out my cassette tape case. His face frowned up while he toyed with the zipper. The pistol he was holding made opening it difficult, it gave me hope; for one fleeting moment that he may accidentally shoot himself or, I hoped, he might give up.

“a pistol, fully loaded….cocked. I found a pistol”!!! He was yelling.

The excited wannabe NASCAR driver probably salivated before pulling me over; by his behavior this was probably his first fruitful search. He yelled even louder “its automatic, man look at this shit…. cocked, loaded” as he aimed it at a fictional target.

A quarter ounce (7.0 grams) of ready rock and a 380 automatic were recovered along with a thousand glacine bags I used to bag up every once in a while.

Two grams of crack and a pistol were entered into evidence.

The young guy insisted on driving my car back to the station. I objected, he reasoned, “buddy we can tow it if you want”. That really meant “ Buddy we can leave it here and let the hood fuck it up”

I agreed on letting him drive and he managed to grind and lurch his way to the Harrison street station to book me.



* * *

The whole ride to the station I endured the sound of my gears grinding from NASCAR’S ambitiously ironic effort to keep up with his partner. I realized right there that his inability to pass me had more to do with his driving and less to do with the anemic engine of the cop car that was now zipping in and out of traffic .

All the while, the painful pleas from my gearbox where accompanied by a whiny, albeit perfectly inunciated, lecture from the NASCAR drivers partner.

Surreal.

“I have a daughter on this shit” He held up my crack I did not respond, there was no reason to. The irony of his white man’s rage about crack temporarily floored me.

He kept going.

“People that sell this shit should be hung up by their balls.” He reminded me of my dad when he was drinking . My father would start with a simple statement, an intro into the subject that caused him grief. He would build momentum detailing his disgust; he would increase the volume, pound his fist on a table. By the time it was over there was usually a healthy display of rage and something was broken or bruised.

The memory of my father, the grinding gears and the pussy-mouthed lecture together almost brought me to the brink, telling him to “shut the fuck up” would have provided the type of relief that can only be compared to a good shit. I thought about telling him but I ended up asking him politely, diplomatically. I almost sounded British “sir, would you please shut the fuck up”.

He was to shocked to answer. Perhaps it was my excellent oratory skill that threw him off.


I melted down into my seat aware of my mistake, ignoring him, the brand new pain from my cuffs and listening to my gears.
.
We arrived at the station without incident, I was immediately led into lock-up.

It was in lock –up I was reminded of the rhythm in life, the importance of remembering a face.

The ability to recall plays a crucial role in everyone’s life ; I am gifted in that area. License plate numbers, phone numbers, combinations that sequentially match , I am always looking for symmetry. One of my girlfriends phone number was 792-4623 I used to call her Illuminati, she never knew why.

The other officer in lock-up was plainclothes. The tall brother looked at me thinking, he didn’t utter a word but his face said:“they got another one too”.

“What you get him for “? The tall detective brother asked.
He had a wide, cherubic face and sandy brown hair sort of like Malcolm X. Completing his look, he sported an absurd high-top fade his friends would laugh at and would surely lead to a lot embarrassment ten years later.
“Guns n’ drugs” pussy mouth bragged suddenly shifting his perfect speech to accommodate his black colleague.. Broadening his chest, pussy mouth asked,
“How bout you””
The other officer replied “Gun, you know it’s still a misdemeanor till the end of the year, he’ll be out in two hours”
“This guy “ pussy mouth was visibly proud of his accomplishment, he paused yanking me over to give his colleague better view. “This guy speeding up Kedzie like a bat outta hell…had a fully loaded auto….. cocked and ready when we pulled him” He put the emphasis in the cocked so it came out sounding rather funny. His exaggeration almost made me laugh out loud.

I started to smile.

An Excerpt

How to Stay Out of Jail After 25
Chapter 1

The heavy clank of the cell door awoke me. I almost jumped up, aware that today was the day. After five months I was going free.

I survived.

One of my cellmates, a three inch mouse, sitting up on his haunches, looked at me with indifference while dutifully eating a chocolate chip. It was the third day in a row the mouse had the nerve to stare me down. He had obviously seen worse characters.

Shorty Mouthshot, my human cellmate, reminded me, practically yelling “today is the day, Dread”. He paused, smiling, watching me, then repeated louder ‘TODAY IS THE DAY’
The drab cell came to life with his booming voice. The sound of his proclamation ricocheted off the pockmarked walls. The mouse? He had heard enough and decided to dart, leaving a small remnant of his sweet snack.

The whole jail experience was new to me, when I first got there I was scared. I heard so many horror stories, watched so many prison flicks, my imagination ran wild. I envisioned the unsavory wrath of ‘booty bandits’ looking at life terms forcing their way into my life, stealing my highly coveted virginity. Images of the classic macho- rural rape flick, Deliverance, played through my mind like a grainy VHS tape. Except these guys were not apt to say squeal.

There was also very real possibility of someone testing their latest shank on me. A deranged sociopath; one of those guys they build jails for, attacking me in a bloodthirsty frenzy for some petty indiscretion.

I also feared the ever present gangs extorting what meager possessions I could call my own while the guards, barely earning their pay, stood idly by.All these fears lived and breathed inside my head. They had conversations, my fears told me I was going to die. As it turned out, Cook County Jail was a mans world and so far, I proved I was a man.


The First Day

I was scared, tired, angry and embarrassed. No one got caught jumping a turnstile, at least no one with a felony warrant and two hundred dollars in their pocket.

‘You coulda’ paid…… all that money you got’ the Chicago transit cop reminded me. I spied a healthy green booger starting to ,make its way down his left nostril. With each breath he took it retreated back in. The stubble on his chin was slightly speckled with the dry, greenish remnants of a previous ‘snotfall’. I always found it difficult to respect people like this.

He was not aware -nor did he care- that I was late to work and the best sections in the club I worked at where awarded to those who showed up on time. I was used to taking shortcuts and this was no different. Besides who wanted to get ready for work in a ‘smiling’ business with a boss bitching about late comers.

“Can’t you guys just let me pay”? I asked while tracking the progress of his booger.
The clear slime was blended with a sickening emerald goo that surely carried some deadly affliction, at least that’s what it looked like.
‘Nope, but we’ll get you out as soon as possible’ he cheerfully replied. He sounded like he looked; a polite customer service rep with questionable hygiene and a nose full of snot..

“But I’ll be late for work man…just cut me a break” I pleaded.

His tone changed back to the role he played best, arresting officer “Buddy…… it’ll only be a couple of hours” he looked back at me from the front seat of the squad car. I had been tracking his booger’s progress through the rearview mirror. I could see it clearly dangling, it was not going to make it back this time. “Besides, you can call your boss when we get to the station”

The laborious thought that I may possibly go free was stillborn, dead on arrival. I had a bench warrant and I knew beyond any doubt that I was going to sit for a minute……..months.

I was fucked.

I listened to the guttural slurp of breath that was impeded by his upper respiratory infection and liberal amount of snot as he stifled a cough.

As I descended into a state of depressed shock, I watched one last time as the transit cop thankfully wiped his sleeve across his nose.

Chapter 2

I was already on home confinement, a sweet deal awarded to a few, mostly connected, people. I had a class X felony, armed violence, which was basically possession of a firearm and narcotics.

According to the law, there was no probation. You either won the case or you owed the state a six year minimum. It was definitely designed to squeeze a plea bargain from the legions of drug dealers and criminals that kick back in court everyday. Home confinement, in special cases, counted as incarceration.
The overcrowded jails made home confinement a fitting alternative for a working man who may have stumbled onto the wrong side of the law. In Cook County 1992 there were a lot of working men stumbling around.

The judge assigned to my case was an observant man he took note of how defendants dressed. He watched how one behaved in his courtroom well before they ever got in front of him.

Lucky for me I paid attention. I watched him grimace and shift in his seat as he detected a lie. I watched him look at the bailiff in silent communication as he lifted his glass of clear liquid. He would take a healthy sip, smack his lips and exhale with gusto. His mood would worsen with each case. As the tension mounted so did the harshness of his final judgment.

I recalled his disgust in anyone approaching his bench from lock-up. He literally and figuratively, looked down on everyone that came before him.

Was it pity? Disgust?


There was something about the Department of Corrections uniforms that he loathed. His visible sneer and generally cold disposition would typically lead to numerous continuations and judgments against the already incarcerated defendant. He mixed in an occasional “I told you so” or “I would cut you a break but…” In his numerous speeches and lamentations. Sometimes, not very often, he would manage to laugh.

He kicked you while you were down, he piled it on and rarely issued a continuance less than a month. If you were trying to prove your innocence from behind bars and could not make bail, you were shit out of luck, it might take a while.

Amongst inmates he was legendary. “You got judge Dune”? The look they gave said it all, even the ‘jailhouse lawyers’, guys who thought they understood the legal process would shrug. “I can’t help you with him”.

His continuances were referred to as “A Buck Rogers”- the fictional hero who woke up five hundred years in the future- the phrase was almost always accompanied with “ther’ll be hovercrafts when you finally get back to court” the complimentary laughter from the captive peanut gallery would follow soon after.

Many guys, mostly in for petty theft or possession cases, simply fought their smalltime cases from behind bars. When the outcome was finally resolved they ended up getting time served and released immediately. That had to be the worst; a county year or more for stealing deodorant or possession of a ten dollar rock.

Many of the newly released would brag, ‘jailhouse lawyer style’, about how they played the judge. The blissfully ignorant world they lived in suited them just fine. Upon release they would be issued a jail card. The card carrying members of the stumbling bumbling crowd. They would be back soon enough.

There were many who approached the bench with two, three, even four open cases pending. When it came to crime these types were ‘all in’, go for broke enemies of decency and order. Every waking hour was spent committing or covering up a crime.

Most of the time it was drugs. Even when it was robbery or some other violent offense , drugs where behind it.

The defendant or, in some instances, defendants would come in off the street posse in tow. Sometimes they would laugh it up, savoring their temporary freedom while guys, already in jail, got incredibly long continuances or pleaded out on shaky cases. They knew how it worked . I overheard the perceived victories all the time.

“They didn’t find my shit” one guy bragged.
“All they got was a gun" said another.
“He stupid to take that deal” another future convict added.

The case would be called and Judge Dune, impatient with the whole process, would roll his eyes waiting for the continuance request. He wore his disgust like a badge. His surly disposition could easily be confused with indigestion or some other type of physical discomfort. He basically looked pissed off.

The Judge knew it would be a moral ‘stare down’; if the defendants were able to remain free while fighting their case and avoid racking up any additional charges, Dune would do all he could to get them out of his courtroom. He would entice them with a great deal and plead them out.

Dune did not waste his time trying to pressure these guys, some of them liked jail, or pretended to, these institutionalized victims of Stockholm Syndrome found a fitting survival tactic to make life bearable.

The lobby outside the court bustled with defendants, their friends, family and a dazzling assortment of Public Defenders.

Fat, short, tall, male, female, they came in all shapes and sizes. A bizarre reflection of the assorted people they represented. Some were experienced others were rookies. Some were stylishly dressed; obviously trust fund kids slumming in the public sector, waiting for something better to come along. Some really wanted to help, putting their time in for legal aid. Idealistic recent grads from law school. They were uncorrupted, not yet jaded by the bitter reality of a biased justice system- a biased system. Most , it seemed, could care less. It was anything but a law career it was thankless job for any guy or gal who simply passed the bar.

After being broken in most public defenders were simply trying to clear cases. The romantic ideals they came into the job with were replaced by cynicism and frustration. With straining arms and aching backs they were less interested in guilt or innocence than the judge or prosecutor. They were like mailmen- their work was never done- there would always be a backlog.

On the moral and ethical scale many could easily be compared to a car salesman trying to close a deal. When actually they were just trying to lighten their already heavy load.

I would listen intently- earhustle- as they dispensed advice. “Delshaun they’ll drop the gun charge in exchange for a guilty plea on the drugs” The brave façade of the defendant was temporarily replaced with wide eyed anticipation as they ignorantly weighed their limited options.
”Should I take it”

“Of course” was the usual response.

Sometimes they would lay out a doom and gloom scenario “You know if you don’t take it and the charges stick it is going to be additional time during sentencing” The P.D.’s could sense the naiveté of their client and would manipulate a plea to get the case off their roles. I could almost hear them thinking : take the fucking deal you stupid bastard.

Laying it on thick, they would sometimes add “ I’ll get a continuance and go into a 4-12 conference with the judge and district attorney. When you come back we’ll plead out to whatever deal they give us…….O.K.?”

I had overheard that canned suggestion dozens of times. I had also observed their relief when their client accepted.

“Deal”

The on going theme of customer service was apparent in their tone. Cook County Jail “Over a Million served”.

Many people on bail would, at some point, get in trouble doing something else; once again it was a case of making bail. If you came in front of the Judge from lock-up he lost all respect and you were done. Buck Rogers in the twenty fifth century. Most of the braggarts who talked a good game early on, eventually pleaded out after catching additional; charges. They would be led into court defeated, shuffling their feet, head down in front of Judge Dune in ‘county browns’.

The Judge locked up people based on their lifestyle if you were unlucky enough to get in front of him you were doing something wrong. Everyone got a chance; if you continued your ways and caught on another charge you would end up in front of him again.

He remembered names, faces. The A.D.A. always dutifully reminded him of the charges.

“Your honor Nyrelle Carter”

There was one particular assistant district attorney, portly with a white boy afro and Lennon glasses- spectacles. The specs gave him the misleading appearance of a liberal humanitarian. Someone who would be in Greenpeace, Sierra Club or Earthfirst. Someone who would understand, cut you a break.

He would always hold the paper up at arms length looking over the rims of his glasses, pause and clear his throat. He reminded me of The Sherriff of Nottingham orating the King’s proclamation in a Robin Hood movie. All that was missing was the herald horns.
He always had a never ending gargantuan caseload. The list of current charges, including criminal history, was stapled together in chronological order for each defendant he was prosecuting.

The Judge could make a quick assessment of what he was dealing with by the size of the file. Many guys that came in front of him were career criminals. They had charges going back decades, some had open cases in different courtrooms.

Sorting out the mess was sometimes difficult and if the defendant was out on bail any type of incarceration could be postponed by the confusion that can result from separate cases.

“Mr. Carter is currently in front of Judge Parnell on an unrelated gun charge”

Judge Dune would request a conference to discuss consolidating the cases. “ Mr, Carter do you have any charges we don’t know about”?

“No your Honor” Without investing one iota of belief in them he still extended the benefit of the doubt. If they were lying the paper would catch up to them soon enough and the judge would surely give them a special treat. He would look down over the rim of his reading glasses, his smirk firmly in place, to make eye contact; one last chance to tell the truth.

“Do you object to us requesting a transfer and taking care of this in this courtroom.”

“No, but I got to go before Judge Parnell next week”

There is no way to know what he will tell Judge Parnell. No matter what, he just bought three more months. The guilty as sin, defendant would then saunter out of court shedding the humble disposition he temporarily wore so well in front of The Judge


In The Cook County Courthouse and Jail at 26th and California you could get to know people. Despite the large size of the complex, people became familiar. I fought my case for two years and I have a photographic memory. I knew everyone there.

No Slappz = Feeble

This is part two of the epic battle with teenage wunderkind-No Slappz


No Slappz says-Yep. But, more accurately, an assault on its misleading nature and the unfortunate goal it aims for.

Sorry No Slappz the goal was to garner a response and give an uncensored account of the atrocities committed by everyday people, like you. But I am also glad you admit you are on the attack which debunks my sociopath hypotheses.

No Slappz says-Why the lengthy explanation? It’s okay to say “I’m busy. I’ll respond in a day or two.” As to my post versus your post, well, your post was an indictment of the white community of today based on crimes that occurred in the distant past that were committed by people long dead. Thus, your intention is to encourage blacks to increase their animosity towards whites today based on events that have no connection or relevance to life in the present.

The explanation I offered was approximately twenty words. The question should be :Why the lengthy replies on my posts? Why harass complete strangers? I am sure your therapist has already touched on those subjects. In fact I am positive this serves as some sort of preventive therapy for you.

You also consider my post to be an indictment on the white community. You fail to make the mental leap required to keep this all in perspective. I admit , it is an indictment. An indictment on the people that did it and anyone who may condone it. As far as encouraging blacks; you give me way to much credit (THANKS, BY THE WAY).

The people that converged on Jena Louisiana were encouraged. Not all of them were black.

Your naivete is shocking. I cannot believe you think one post on lynching is going to sway the black populace into hurting you or anyone else. I guess in your paranoid world it could be considered the straw that broke the camels back.

No Slappz says-A couple of points. Blogs are for publicly expressing thoughts any way the blogger desires. As for my background, it goes like this. I have an undergraduate degree in engineering and I worked my way through college as an engineer. After college I studied finance and went to Wall Street.

Who cares. You are in cyber space (dial-up no less). Besides, it goes like this, anyone can sweep floors.

TMI.

I am a thirteen yr old girl and you are a congressman.

No Slappz says-You show that even your ad hominem attacks are lacking. So far you have shown that you cannot respond to the real issues I’ve raised, but to mask your inability, you take the standard route of attacking the person. That says a lot about your journalistic skills.

Your response is the stuff editors eat up. That shows how much you know about Journalism; but I am sure while you were working your way through junior college you took a class.
You demonstrate exactly what you criticize- consistently.

You are the one that admittedly attacked me , thus, I am defending. Not attacking.

No Slappz says- You wrote:Pastime? You mean like fans in the stands, box scores in the newspapers, celebrations when the home-team won? There was no Roman Coliseum in which blacks were lynched. The practice was illegal. Lynching was a crime. If it weren’t, there would have been a public forum for spontaneous hangings and other abuses. But obviously few lynchers were prosecuted.

Absolutely, you should check out a great book called No Sanctuary. It is a historical account of Lynching through photographs, press clippings, post cards and first hand accounts. There is a picture of a little girl with a pixie cut, in her Sunday best, standing, posing in front of a charred corpse, face twisted into a final grimace with a huge crowd of smiling folks, all in their Sunday best. I wonder where she is now. The photo, I think, was from 1929.

There are also hundreds of newspaper articles many giving colorful, enthusiastic, descriptions of the festive environment and horrific activities.

Despite lynching being a horrific act there was never legislation passed specifically to stop it. You can also read old clippings from Newspapers announcing an upcoming Negro Bar-B-Que. These events were well promoted and well attended. All this information is available online. Yale and Harvard have excellent sites. BTW there is no such word as lynchers. By coining the term you almost give away the frequency of lynchings- "there are actually lynchers hard at work as we speak".

No Slappz says-Lynching happened. No one denies it. It is part of the past and there is no desire among whites to repeat it.

The smartest most insightful thing you have written during our entire discourse. I am glad you speak for all white people.

No Slappz-No defense was presented. But by offering this statement you hope you can fool readers by giving the appearance of responding to statements purportedly made in defense of lynching. Nice try.

I tried to fool people when I was selling business opportunities. Once again, you give me way to much credit. But lets really break this down. Do you think people are that easily fooled? That they are swayed by emotion and shocking descriptions. We Americans are desensitized. You should try limiting your responses to only include how you felt and no one else. You cannot speak for anyone else. That strange feeling in your gut is a conscience not me trying to fool you.

No Slappz says“It always fascinates me when people are driven to dredge up the past for the purpose of maintaining divisions in the present.”The meaning of my statement is miles away from the false impression you created with your deceptive omission.

You never expounded on that meaning but like I said the whole study of history requires, what you call, dredging up the past. I guess if the subject of study makes your stomach turn you call it dredging. I am starting to realize you simply do not like to feel things. My post made you feel something. And now – you are driven 'to correct' the feeling.

It has been proven that conversations around the difficult subject of race and racism are beneficial for all involved. That conversation has to be honest and will sometimes be difficult. Why are you so afraid?

No one is going to attack you.

No Slappz says"Furthermore, it's utterly irresponsible to include unverifiable claims published in newspapers a century ago. Perhaps the excerpt from the Vicksburg newspaper article is true. Perhaps it is an extraordinary exaggeration. Fabrications do happen. Bizarre and unreal beliefs overcome reality every day. OJ Simpson was acquitted of a double homicide, even though he slashed the throats of his ex-wife and Ron Goldman. That was only 13 years ago. Not a century ago." To clarify. Newspaper accounts of spontaneous events are frequently erroneous. Moreover, even when the truth is on display, people will believe, or at least pretend to believe, pure nonsense. As I mentioned, OJ Simpson murdered his ex-wife and Ron Goldman, but many blacks refuse to acknowledge this obvious fact, even though the events occurred only 13 years ago and his guilt was confirmed by the facts at the time.

In that case Washington crossing the Potomac is an unverifiable claim .It is utterly laughable that you introduce O.J. Simpson as an example for your stance. You probably believe everything you see on T.V. No one, including you, knows what happened but Ron Goldman, Nicole, and O.J.

The T.V. trial of the century.

From what you write it seems you should have worked your way through law school. You are a bonafide expert on trial law and murder.

No Slappz says- “But what value or advantage is there in attempts to produce contemporary guilt over actions no living person committed?”At least in this attempt at deception you punctuated my sentence in a manner that informs readers you left off the second half. When you want to use someone’s statements against him, use the entire sentence if you can. But you should at least use the entire thought. Clearly it is easy to falsify or mislead with some quick and deceptive editing.You responded to the modified question I did not ask with:"There is no value; if you are guilty, do some soul searching."Notwithstanding the fact that you answered your own question rather than mine, you answered your own question with a non-sequitur. However, as for white guilt about lynchings, there is no documentation of it anywhere. But, if you believe successive generations of people should bear guilt for crimes they did not commit, what is your view of guilt among contemporaries and crime committed in the present? Is there any sense of guilt among blacks for OJ Simpson’s double homicide?

I agree there hasn’t even been an acknowledgement on the issue of slavery . Black folks are still waiting for the same treatment the Japanese got after internment.

An acknowledgement.

I do not care about white guilt about lynching. Most white people are good. Most people are good. You are the best example of the worst elements in the(human) white community. Smarmy, arrogant, cowardly, standoffish, misleading and deceptive.

No Slappz says First, I am well aware of the difficulties of convicting some racist murderers in the South as late as the mid-1960s. However, the Constitution guarantees many rights to defendants.
Despite the safeguards, federal prosecutors found ways to subject de la Beckwith to double and triple jeopardy, in violation of his rights. The federal prosecutors nailed him, finally. This episode was used to make a point. That point is this: the government was not willing to let him get away. Even though decades had passed, the government was not going to let him escape punishment. As I noted, “In other words, the pendulum has swung the other way.” That’s how the government went overboard.

You sound a bit disappointed they got de la Beckwith. I do not care about Constitutional guarantees, historically, they do not always apply to me.
BTW citizens putting pressure on the Government was the driving force behind de la Beckwiths conviction, besides the corruption was so profound during the first trials they had to step in.

No Slappz saysYou went well beyond documentation and the establishment of a “proper perspective”. You created an emotional climate that is aimed at stimulating anger today over crimes from the past. Meanwhile, a “notion” is an “idea or belief.” Thus, I think you agree with the idea or belief that all of today’s black issues are linked to slavery and lynchings.

I put the info out there. You were stimulated, you got angry, above all you have gotten emotional. Outraged that some uppity black man could dare bring this up- on his own blog! Which you stated earlier is a forum to post anything you choose.

As far as the long term affect of lynching; could be compared to the practice of decapitation and posting which was a practice used to keep slaves from running away or revolting. They would cut their heads off and put them on a post; for miles lifeless heads would line the road. If you were thinking of running away the posting was a good deterrent.

I honestly believe there is no such thing as Black issues- white guys made that up.

No Slappz saysAgain, your insight is nonexistent. What threat exists from crimes committed a century ago? They are no more threatening than nazi atrocities or the atrocities committed during the Spanish Inquisition. As for hate-crime statistics, well, I’ve seen them as long as they’ve been available. I gather it will surprise you to learn that blacks commit hate crimes at a higher rate than other racial groups. Moreover, white hate crimes are less violent and rarely involve murder.

Insight exist no matter what . Some people are simply limited. On the one hand you say bringing this up is dangerous on the other hand you say these events in the past are no more threatening than some of the worst atrocities in human history. Wow.

As for hate crime stats you need to look at the FBI statistics the overwhelming majority of hate crimes for 2007 involved white on black. You probably already knew that- so you were careful with your language: Blacks commit hate crimes at a higher rate. O.K. we are roughly twelve percent of the population and we have 20% of hate crimes. Whites over 50%. Like I said stats can be manipulated. I am a little disappointed you would put yourself out there like that. A waste of words.

For the whole world to see.

No Slappz saysBy your response you have demonstrated a poor grasp of grammar, usage and composition. There are lots of other examples, but you raised this one.The subject of my sentence is “contemporary problems.” It is followed by the restrictive phrase, “in the black community.” My sentence states that the contemporary problems are self-inflicted problems. Adding the restrictive phrase identifying the black community merely clarifies where the wounded reside. The sentence passes the grammar test.

Feeble defense. That still does not clarify your inappropriate choice of words. Perhaps you should consult The Elements of Style. You are certainly right; it does pass the grammar test- elementary grammar.

The whole thought is ridiculous.

You try to assign individual behaviors with a group of people. Drugs, murder are problems all communities face. There are plenty of white people here, in upstate New York killing people. In fact, the upstate cult hero Bucky Phillips, just killed two troopers last year. Do you think his race is important? Slappy I honestly wonder how you can make those mental leaps. You should know that regardless of race, people are the same; these divisions that you are so worried about are a fantasy. A fantasy the white and black people in the south used to believe in. Lynching was a real manifestation of that fantasy- one you clearly embrace.

No Slappz says-Once again, you hope to mislead. I mentioned the Holocaust and the subsequent rebound of Jews to provide an example of a much more recent human tragedy that its survivors have already overcome.

I wrote the post ; you introduced the Holocaust in response to what I wrote; it was the only historical event that could be compared. Unfortunately there are totally different variables involved in The Holocaust and the whole institution of slavery. The Holocaust was a six year killing spree. The victims of the Holocaust were mostly educated and in many cases rich, they were also able to pass as white if they needed to. Assimilation in a color conscious society is easier if you resemble the majority group.

No Slappz says-Hence, you have stated my point in clear terms. You believe the past controls the present, which means it also controls the future. Since we cannot change the past, we are, according to you, traveling into the future on a fixed path, to a destination we cannot change. You are predicting and expecting more disaster. Meanwhile, you are claiming that contemporary blacks suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder without having first suffered the Trauma. In other words, you believe in the mythology of victimization. As though trauma is passed along in one’s DNA.

What is your point? I wondered that the moment you first responded. Hence,(chuckle) you must explain.

No Slappz saysI I have a passing familiarity with his work and I do own a copy of The Souls of Black Folk which I read years and years ago. However, it is his theories on black criminality that are most interesting these days.

You own a copy but you only have a passing familiarity? Hmmmm.

No Slappz says Since you like the idea of using the past as the basis for contemporary action, you will find Du Bois’ summary statement on black crime of interest
.
You have created a fantasy world where I am using the past for contemporary action but while you are on the subject that is exactly why we each have a prefrontal cortex. You learned to walk by using the past. I am simply responding to you.

He says that black crime surged as blacks adjusted to freedom after the end of slavery. He concluded that blacks engaged in crime because they did not know how to act in a free society. He offered this conclusion decades after slavery had ended. If a prominent white sociologist issued a similar opinion about the causes of black social problems today, what would be the response?

The prominent white sociologist would be dragged out of his house in the middle of the night, his wide eyed children watching, his wife screaming as strangers on horses lasso him, set him on fire and threw him on the trash heap.

Isn't that right Slappy?

A Letter to No Slappz

I have finished my freelance assignments early. Now I have a little time to address my new friend

No Slappz.

No Slappz with his crack research crew took it upon themselves to launch an internet salvo.
It was an attack on my post- As American As Apple Pie.

I was under deadline early because of Thanksgiving; I also had to keep Barry Max. I simply could not dedicate the proper time to respond accordingly. They took liberty with very assumptive language, belittling my post and turning it into an indictment on the black community.

Statistics are great. I use them when I see fit. The whole world of statistics is a science within itself. I do not want to get into the minutae of their attack.

Read As American As Apple Pie after you are done read the comments and see why the NAZI's did so well with propaganda.

It is o.k I have time today and I love a good fight. That trait is indicative of my violent black pathology.

I have absolutely no contempt for these aggressive wordsmiths. In fact, I am a little impressed at the level of dedication and preperation that goes into each post.

I meant, comment to my post.

I read their blog. One of them writes a paragraph and posts articles written by someone else. He claims he is an engineer but his profile says finance. He writes posts debunking the concept of 'Peak Oil'.

They are bored or obviously insane.

They are beyond reproach.

They are anonymous blowhards or soft.

They blow.

My post As American As Apple Pie really got under their skin.
I will stand by what I wrote sans the geopolitical references that they attempted to introduce into the conversation; they tried the same with dire statistics on (human)Black pathologies.
I will stick to the point that unnerved him/her.
Lynching was a White American pastime.

There is no defense.

In the interest of a good argument I will address some of his absurd statements.

No Slappz said: "It always fascinates me when people are driven to dredge up the past".

I do not see what is so fascinating? History is taught in school and Universities all over America. Is that called dredging up the past? Maybe that is why you use the plural -people- instead of referring to me specifically you are referring to the practice of studying history why does that fascinate you? I guess writing about one the overlooked subjects of American history could be considered dredging- I honestly limited the act of dredging to canals.

No Slappz says "Fabrications do happen. Bizarre and unreal beliefs overcome reality each day"?

I do not know what that means. I guess I could consult a witch doctor on the bizarre beliefs overcoming reality or take another toke. Or maybe just ask no slappz what the hell he meant.

No Slappz says -"But there is no doubt Blacks were lynched"

" I guess he read the post"

No Slappz says- " What value is there in in attempts to produce contemporary guilt...."

There is no value; if you are guilty, do some soul searching.

Attempt - successful

No Slappz says- "Meanwhile Federal prosecutors went overboard a few years ago to convict Martin de la Beckwith for some racist murders in like 1960"

de la Beckwith killed children- you may not know but it was little difficult to convict a white man for killing a black person in the 1960's unless it was Martin Luther King that is why he was tried several times. But while you are on the subject of overboard I think you should know Federal prosecutors do not work on boats.


No Slappz says: I think the subtext of your post is to give agreement to the notion that whatever problems beset the black community today, these problems can all be traced back to slavery or lynchings. Thus you support of Victimization Mythology.

I cannot' give agreement to a notion' whatever that is. But I can document a barbaric practice and put it in the proper perspective. I am convinced your childlike sensibilities were threatened by the sheer brutality of the acts I am also sure you have done a little research since I wrote the post. You also seem to be unaware of hate crime statistics .

Good for you.
Attempt-successful

No slappz says: But contemporary problems in the black community are self-generated, self inflicted.

Community-group of people
Self- individual
Do you see where I am going? Communities cannot act as individuals. I am sure there are people within, what you call the black community, who can perform a self-generated or self-inflicted act.
That was such a lame sentence - for the whole world to see.

I have time today; I just hope you respond.....beeeeoooch!!!

No Slappz says- "It might be worth noting that six million jews were exterminated"

I agree, it might be. If the post was on genocide or The Holocaust I would revisit the tragic events But I am more interested in your language.

Exterminated?

Roaches are exterminated, termites are exterminated . The NAZI's used that term. Your emotional detachment is apparent in your choice of words.

I suggest you read a little WEB Du Bois