Month: May 2017

I think the above is the article?

The Riot
Roswell, New Mexico
1981

Job Corps is a government controlled residential trade school for people between the ages of 17-21. It was begun by President John Kennedy and put into law in 1964. Designed for disadvantaged youth, it provides a stable place to learn a trade while going to school and getting a diploma. Roswell Job Corps held 500 people when I was there and the campuses, or “centers” can get even bigger.
The reasons a youth might end up at Job Corps are numerous, some involving drug addiction, or mental illness, while many were placed by a court Judge in lieu of jail time. These latter corps member were under a level of stress the others of us never knew, because if they messed up at the Center, they knew they would have to complete their prison sentence. As for the rest of us, we would simply be expelled and left to our own devices.
My friend, Dana, was one of those who had been ordered by the courts to complete his courses in Job Corps or he would be forced to complete his sentence in prison. He had been addicted to heroin, but had kicked it. He was kind and thoughtful and one of my best friends. We had both been accepted to some college classes, which meant that we were allowed to live in the college dorms. This was a huge; instead of four beds per room there were only two, and there was no “lights out” rule. We could leave the lights on all night if we wanted to. Sure, we still had curfew, and couldn’t leave the Center without permission, but that didn’t damper our enthusiasm. And enthusiasm is what Dana and I had. We both enjoyed learning and getting our GEDs and looked forward to the future. I even spent a holiday with his family. Then a young woman showed up, a new member of the Center. I cannot remember her name at all…weird. I think it started with an M so I will call her M.
College dorms were segregated; men and women could not go to each other’s dorms, so I was surprised to hear that Dana was seeing this young women in his room. She lived the Center’s dorms and both could be expelled for this violation. They had known each other back in Las Cruces, before coming to Job Corps, and were restarting their past relationship. I didn’t like Dana breaking the rules like that, but I chalked it up to love and gave him some space.
It didn’t take long to realize that Dana was doing drugs again. A person can hide alcohol use, cocaine even, but no one can hide heroine use. The change in personality, look and even the walk changes almost right away. His girlfriend was always nearby, so when I learned that he had dropped a college course, and was in danger of losing his dorm status, I confronted her outside, between two buildings. A few people witness this. We immediately began by throwing insults but then she took off her belt, a chain-drive belt made from the chain of a motorcycle, which was popular then. I was a very physical person back in those days and I wanted to pounce on her like a mama bear protecting a cub, and I stepped forward, ready to tackle her. Yes, I knew I would be hit by that belt, but then I would grab it and I would have a chain to hit her with. This was not my first rodeo, as they say. But to my surprise, someone from behind but a belt in my hand. It was the leather variety, but it was enough to stop her from charging at me. But just then (thank you, God) we heard that adults were on the way, and we scattered. Job Corps had a no tolerance policy on violence…it didn’t matter who started it, anyone involved in throwing blows would be immediately expelled. I didn’t know what to do so I walked away. Later, I got notes to Dana, and he wrote notes back, insisting that all was good and not to worry, so I backed off. Then I heard that Dana was being expelled. When people are expelled from Job Corps they usually leave that day. I never saw Dana again.
When I heard the news I cried with anger; I actually think my tears were hot. Dana was so sweet, so intelligent…so not meant for prison! He had been my best friend, and I couldn’t help, wrongly or rightly, to put all of my anger and frustration on that woman who had brought heroine back into his life.
I had gotten the news on my way to breakfast; it had so upset me that I had stood outside of the cafeteria building, crowded with corps members on their way to eat and I literally screamed that I was going to beat up that woman for doing this to Dana. Too upset to eat, I went back to my dorm room and fumed some more. By the time lunch came I was hungry enough to be forced from my room, but I was still furious, and hoping to see her.
I sat with a few friends and then M came in and to the surprise of everyone in the room, she was flanked by two adults, Residential Advisors. They got their trays and sat across the room, facing me. My friends urged me to remain calm, but then that woman, Dana’s downfall, smirked at me, narrowing her eyes and smiling wickedly. I snapped. I stood up so quickly that I flipped by tray, full of food, onto my friends lap. I might have tried to reach her then, jumping over the tables and all, but the adults gave me a stare that was as good as a brick wall. I stormed out.
There was one path to and from the cafeteria building, and a parking lot behind the building for staff. I sat next to the walking path and insisted that I was going to wait for that girl and then I was going to kick her ass. I just kept muttering loudly, “She’s mine. Don’t touch her. She’s mine. Back off.” over and over again. Dana was expelled, probably headed back to prison and again addicted to heroin, I had lost a good friend, and this bitch was being treated like royalty. I just could not let her get away with this injustice. All of my attention was on the door of that building; I didn’t notice what was going on behind me.
My friends came out and sat with me, try to calm me down, but it was no use. I couldn’t calm down. I alternated between crying for Dana and yelling for the monster who had destroyed him. I wasn’t sure how much time passed…
Suddenly, from behind, a student yelled, “They’re taking her out the back!” I looked at the parking lot and sure enough, surrounded by adults, the woman I wanted was being led into a car. I jumped up to run in that direction, but my attention was diverted by movement from my left. To my amazement I was being tackled by a police officer. As I hit the ground and rolled I could see a mob of people and police running around, hundreds of them! Students were screaming, trying to get away, fleeing into all directions, while cops only had to reach out to grab someone, and throw them to the ground. As I was put in the back of a squad car I got a better look at the scene behind me. This area had trees and the police had snuck up on us, like Ninja, and were in place when the adults took the target of my wrath to the parking lot. There were not only City police, but County and State officers as well.
They cops knew that I was at the center of this disturbance, so they whisked me away and my two friends to the County Jail right away. I insisted, without stop, that my friends were innocent, what a travesty of justice this was…on and on. We were booked, and fingerprinted, and was told by the female guard to stop talking. So I started muttering, but careful to mutter loud enough to be heard. We were taken through one locked door into a hallway which ended in another locked door, and there were the stripe on the floor where you stay on one side, and the guards stay on the other side. Once in this hallway the guard locked the door behind us and then unlocked the one in front of us. My two friends went through, and I was about to when the guard suddenly crossed the line and stood in my way. She moved so quickly that I actually bumped into her, and being taller than me I had to look up to see her at this close angle. She was looking at me with eyes so dark that I stumbled back. She growled one sentence, “Get off your high-horse, now!”
I was in jail longer than I needed to be because Job Corps, our legal representative, does not tolerate cursing, and it took me two days to calm down enough not to curse. Then I found out that I was charged with Inciting a Riot and Public Array. I explained to the judge that I had no intention of inciting a riot, but he didn’t care. At one point he told me that I was “kicked out of Roswell for the rest of your life” and I laughed, which made him mad. He asked why I laughed and I told him that in our country to can’t kick someone out of a town for life and he said, “But I can keep you.” That shut me up.
Of course I was being expelled, and that saddened me, but I learned something that I was not expecting, that made me smile. The Center was in an uproar over my arrest and the way the police were called on us. The students showed their displeasure in the best way they knew…graffitti and most of it was against M. She was in the same jail house, but for her protection. She would be transferred immediately.

This incident made the local papers, but I bet they never new that it wasn’t a riot, or public array, but one angry young woman who was mourning the loss of a good friend to drugs.

The Roof
Honolulu, Hawaii 1984

At this time was there only one place on the island of Oahu that was expressly for the care of homeless people, the Institute for Human Services. While IHS was written on their door, we homeless knew them as the Peanut Butter Ministry, because often that was all that they had to offer. But I can tell you from experience, they were the best peanut butter sandwiches on this entire Earth.
They had a two-story building in Chinatown, on the edge of Honolulu, where they fed people twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening. After the last meal they would put the tables and chairs on one side of the main room and allow people to sleep on the floor for the night. While they only had room for elderly and families inside of the building, anyone who wished it could sleep on the top of this building.
About fifty people could fit on this flat roof, and it was first come, first serve, though there were a couple of cardboard structures that clearly showed that some people claimed real estate up here. It was almost dark and my friend and I found a clear space and actually feel asleep pretty fast.
This was Mike, a platonic friend who I traveled with, starting back in Texas. We both had experienced sexual abuse and felt scarred by it and we found comfort, as well as safety, in pretending to married. We had walked miles and slept in mosquito filled jungles for days and so we were grateful for this space. We fell asleep well fed and hopeful for a fresh day in paradise.
Then, it must have been after midnight, we woke to the sounds of arguing. The people who grow up in Hawaii have a very colorful way of talking, and being new to the State, we did not understand right away just how serious the conversation was. We tried to go back to sleep.
Then we woke to yelling; clearly the argument was escalating. Now we could tell that the man who was yelling the loudest was called Kila. We had seen him before, true blood Hawaii and immensely large; he could have been a sumo wrestler. I never did know who he was yelling at, but it was clear that Kila blamed him for something. They were both obviously drunk, repeating words and cussing more than talking. Otherwise, no one else was stirring.
We considered leaving, maybe finding somewhere more quiet, but we were in what was probably the roughest part of Honolulu, in the middle of the night. Worse, we were that terrible combination of United States Caucasian and freshly arrived. We turned over and tried to go back to sleep. To our surprise, the argument seemed to slow down, and then, gratefully, end altogether. We fell asleep.
We were not the only people on the roof that night who jumped up, straight onto their feet, at the same moment. It was about ten seconds after we heard the man beg for his life and then hit the cement sidewalk below as Kila threw him off the ledge.
I never knew what happened to the man; the building was only two stories, but he had hit so hard, and he did not make another sound. I never saw him again, though Kila was around as usual. Moving in the dark, at least a dozen of us said nothing but quietly grabbed our belongings and left the building, some of us banding together on the nearest pier to wait for daylight, none of us able to sleep now. It was during this time that I learned a little more about Kila, and how he was alternately drug addled or in prison. And also that Kila was the Hawaiian pronunciation of the word, Killer.
Never again did I attempt to sleep at this shelter, but instead went back to the jungles and those mosquitoes.

Ocala Forest, Florida
February 2002
The key thing to remember here is that I had burned a hole in the tarp floor of my one-person tent. That had been back in New Mexico at my campsite outside of Santa Fe. I had tipped a candle, and while I had quickly put out the flame, the wax that had poured onto the floor had melted a hole through the plastic, about three inches across.
It was wonderful to go from the snow and ice of the Rocky Mountains to the swamps and trees of the Ocala woods. I was at a Rainbow Gathering, so there were lots of people around, including a drum circle that I enjoyed until late into the night. I was ready to go right to sleep when I returned to my sweet little tent/home. Travelers, the world over, will know the phenomenon about unpacking, whether it is a suit case or a backpack, and the mess that results with clothing strewn everywhere, bags spilling out of bags, etc. My tent was no different, and being designed for one person, it was probably a bit messier than most.
With flash light in hand, I had to step over a small pile of clothes to get to my sleeping bag, and once in I reached over to zip up the tent’s door. That was when I saw it.
Nothing in the world glistens in a light the way a reptile does, especially in a dark tent. It was under a pile of socks, which I realized with additional horror, was directly over that melted hole in the floor. I had only seen about an inch of the creature but I had no doubt that it was a snake, and even worse, it was a snake that was between me and the door of my tent. Bracing myself, I dived over the pile of clothes and through the open door of the tent. Looking back I could see more of the form and while the snake looked small, it was long and grey and had what seemed to me to be diamonds. Growing up in New Mexico I knew about diamond back rattlesnakes, but I couldn’t believe I was seeing one in Florida. Unsure what to do next, I returned to the drum circle.
Most of the people had already turned in for the night, but there were still a few left, and I asked around for someone local. A young man in his twenties raised his hand and I told him about the snake. The way he smiled and rolled his eyes told me everything…he thought I was some kind of city-slicker who was new to camping. He assured me that he was sure it was nothing dangerous, and told me to just pick the snake up behind its head and toss it away.
I wanted to believe him, really I did, but I just could not get over how much like a rattlesnake that little creature resembled. I asked him if he would only look at it, and I promised that if he told me it was safe I would do just as he had told me and toss it away. Sighing, he agreed and followed me to my camp. He had a stronger flashlight than me, so he did not need to get very close before he too saw the snake, now actually entwined in my socks.
The young man did not say a word to me but immediately ran back to the campfire exclaiming. pygmy rattler! pygmy rattler!
He had gone back to his camp to rouse his friends and soon there were half a dozen, then a dozen, then I stopped counting, people gathered around my tent. It was then that I learned that, while not usually deadly, the bite of a pygmy rattler will send a person to the hospital for a few days.
If you are not familiar with Rainbow Gatherings, they are worth checking out, if only on the internet. One of the things I like best about them is the “no-killing anything” rule. So never once did anyone consider dispatching the snake. Instead, they needed to find a way to relocated it out of harms way…harm to us and harm to the snake.
I was an honor to watch these guys, for I was no longer a factor in the endeavor, and was politely asked to step back and leave it to the local. I was more than happy to comply, and enjoyed observing the care and love they showed to this creature. Eventually they got the snake out of the gathering and to another, less accessible part of the Ocala Forest.