The Man in Hell

Now that my objective was known I became the sounding board. Jesuit Brother Bill made it his mission to tell me religious story after religious story. He did this in one of his afternoon classes. He would tell the whole class, but I believe most of it was directed at me, me the wayward catholic, for I hadn't been to confession in years, and that, believe me is something different in a catholic boys school.

This is a religious story as told by Jesuit Brother Bill. I call it "The Man in Hell" aka "Not One Drop of Water".

As Jesuit Brother Bill would tell the story he would take on the personifications of the main characters, using facial expressions and arm and hand gestures, using them as the story required.

"The Man in Hell"

The man lived an openly sinful life. He had all the pleasures of life and cared not for others. The man died well into his old age, not giving up his evil ways.

While the man was living, Jesus was all forgiving; but, now.....now the man was dead he would be judged. It was now that Jesus would be all judgemental. There would be no forgiveness.

Because the man had lived a flagrantly sinful life he was sent down to hell where it was unbearably hot. The heat was relentless. It would be forever. The man's lips were parched and cracked from dryness. His mouth and throat was like sand.

From the depths of hell the man looked upward. High above he could see those who had been saved. Those people who had lived good lives. They who had gone to church and received the sacraments. They were now in heaven.

The man cried for mercy. He pleaded for water. 'Water! Water!' he cried, and he opened his mouth hoping for one drop of water. But his cries fell upon deaf ears. 'There would be no mercy.'

From his desk Jesuit Brother Bill takes on the outward appearance of the condemned man. His face pleads. He partially opens his mouth and demonstrates how the condemned man, deep in the bowels of hell wishes only for a drop of water to quench his unbearable thirst. With mouth partly open, Jesuit Brother Bill slowly pushes out his fat tongue, it coming to rest upon his lower lip. His eyelids are half closed. It looks as if Jesuit Brother Bill is about to receive communion. Not a communion of bread, but of water. Water from Jesus.

"The man pleads, 'Please! Water! Mercy!' but there would be no forgiveness. Not now."

Jesuit Brother Bill holds out his hand toward me, as if I am to remain where I am seated. It is the same posturing hand are movement used when the mad bastard priest had cursed me!.....Stop! remain where you are!.....Then Jesuit Brother Bill slowly moves his hand and points to his forehead. Again! It is the same as when I had been cursed.....the vile bastard curse of the kiss upon the forehead......Jesuit Brother Bill knows I had been cursed by the mad bastard priest, and covertly he is telling me, "there will be no forgiveness! Not now! Now you will be like the man in hell, begging for Jesus to forgive, pleading for His mercy. Now that you have refused confession. Now that you have refused the sacrament. Now that you are remaining a sinner. It is now that the curse of the priest will come full force. Now!" That is what he is telling me. That is what the fat bastard is saying; yet, no one in the class is aware of the hidden meaning between the speaker and I....those vile pervert subtle bastards.

Not one drop of water was to touch this man. Jesus was no longer all merciful. Now He would be all judgmental.

The man cries, 'Water.....please.....water!' but Jesus wouldn't allow it.

The man recognizes his fate and makes a different plea. He asks Jesus to allow him to return to earth, only for a moment. He must warn his relatives.....his family and friends. He must warn them. Beware! Do not lead a sinful life. You will go to hell where it will be unbearably hot. And it will be forever. For all eternity. With hot unbearable heat. A dry desert heat with no water. Go to church. Lead a saintly life. You will be richly rewarded. Beware of the sinful pleasures of life.

Yes, that is what he must do. He must go back and warn those who do not know of the terrible fate that awaits them.

But Jesus wouldn't let the man return to earth. 'Those on earth must learn for themselves.'

This religious story will become useful and will become part of an exercise I will give to people in the future. If people are to do the exercise and strike the pose of the 'Man in Hell', mouth open, pleading, tongue hanging out. That is the pose. It is the pose of a man in hell, and not one drop of water is to touch that person.

Do that pose in an exercise and you will obtain 'center stage'. But that is for the future and will take a little more explaining.

Let Them Eat Cake

At this juncture in time I was at the beginning of my junior year. From my brief conversations I had with the Jesuit faculty it became apparent I had one goal. To get out of the school. I had already done almost four years, from the seventh grade through the sophomore year. I had two years to do. I believe the information was relayed to the mad bastard priest who cursed me. I guess he flipped out.

For shortly afterwards, a story circulated and came back at me a couple of times. It seems a priest had consecrated a truckload of bread. The church was notified and bought the whole truckload and disposed of the consecrated bread as best they could. But the story points to a mad priest, a priest mad enough to consecrate a truckload of bread. It indicates mental instability, but no, I was told the story by Jesuit Brother Philip and he forlornly implied that I was the one to blame for having this poor poor distraught priest consecrate a truckload of bread.

I have to clarify the situation. The mad bastard priest who cursed me had plans for me. He wanted me to enter the religious life. He wanted me to take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. He wanted me to sacrifice my life and offer it to the church, Jesus and God almighty. That's what he wanted. Me! I wanted to live my life as anybody else would. For me to pervert my life and take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience was absurd. So I'm thinking that the mad bastard priest now knowing my plans of my coming graduation and eventual freedom set him off. He explodes and in anger goes and consecrates a truckload of bread.

My father had a bar on the main street in town. The trouble making bastards of the church would go there and bend my fathers ear.

This one day two grim bastards of the church were in my fathers bar and obviously had been talking about the incident of the mad priest consecrating the truckload of bread. My father tried to make light of the situation. About this time I had walked into the bar to say hi, hello, goodbye. But dad called me to where he was conversing with the two grim church people. He had a story to tell me. The story was about the queen who had asked what was the matter, the people were gathering outside the castle. "Why are they upset?" asks the queen. "The people, they have no bread to eat." The queen says, "Let them eat cake."

And my father laughs at the end of the so called joke. I manage a short laugh just to side with him. The two grim church men are not amused.

But the point was made. A mad bastard priest had consecrated a truckload of bread causing a scandal. The church steps in and buys the truckload of bread. Thus, "The people, they have no bread to eat." and the mad bastard priest could easily have said "Let them eat cake."

chapel

Some of my memories of the school are reference points.

During my junior year, it was at the end of the school year, the month of May. May is the month of the Mary, the Virgin Mary, the Blessed Mother. Every day during the month of May, just before dinner at 6:00 pm, all students are marched to the chapel to say the Rosary.

There I would be, along with all the boarding students of the school, kneeling in chapel from 5:30 to 6:00 pm saying Hail Mary's, prayer after prayer for a full thirty minutes. The sun would be shining through partially opened stain glassed chapel windows. The fresh spring/summer air would come into the area while we students prayed ... "Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee ... " and I would think. My predominate thought would be: "I will soon be leaving this place! It has been almost four and three quarter/five years. Five years in this school! And I would look at the partially opened chapel windows and see some of the blue sky with the sun shining and my spirit would lift. One more year to go. One more year!"

And true to form, one year later I was in that same chapel. The same prayers of all 200 students murmeriing, "Hail Mary full of  grace, the Lord is with Thee ... " It was mind bending. I will be  free in a few weeks, I will graduate. I had done it! I had finished, six years here at this place! Six years! There will be no holding me back. I will be set free! It seemed unreal, like time had stopped, and there I was thinking about it. All these years I had endured the school and the assemblies, the walking in file, the study hall, classrooms, the organized sports, the rec hall, all of it. And now I would be set free. And all the time the prayers kept on ... "...pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death ... "

We would file out of chapel and go along the darkened corridor, the dark wood stained and polished doors to the private offices of the Brothers S.J., down a staircase to the basement and into the dinning hall. It was all so routine. But this was different. My time was coming. I would be free.

Stalked and Drugged

I believe the mad bastard priest flipped out when he heard that I was going to be set free in a couple of years.

The catholic clergy, the Brothers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, demanded back money from my father for those years paid by the parish via the parish priest. My father got a lawyer to protect himself. Past tuition couldn't be called upon, but from now on it was pay as you go. There would be no financial help from the mad bastard priest if there was help in the past.

Dad could not afford the school so me and my brother were asked if we would like to change schools. No, my brother would not like to change schools. But I was interested. What dad offered was one bastard Jesuit school for another bastard Jesuit school. He offered La Salle in Newport Rhode Island. I could be enrolled there as a day student and be home in Island Park after school let out for the day. That was not what I wanted. My wish was to attend a public school, co-ed. There was a modern public school near Island Park. I could just about walk there. That was the school I was interested in. But it was not offered. So I didn't take the deal, no La Salle, no day student, no commute. Both Gilbert and I would go back to Mount Saint Charles.

Now with the added expense of a private school Dad could not afford the rent where we were living. We had to move to a rundown apartment dad owned back in Fall River.

We moved.

My stalkers kept up their contacts on me when I was at home. When I was at school; well, I was locked up there with nowhere to go.

Drugs:

When I was home something different started to happen to me. My urine would turn a reddish brown. I became concerned, but now and then it would clear up and at other times it would turn to reddish brown. I didn't know what was the cause.---I was being drugged! It was the start of a systematic series of druggings directed at me that would continue for some 40 years.

If a chance happened and the situation would present itself, the bastard perverts who were stalking me would Mickey Finn whatever I would be drinking or eating. As a result, I would become fatigued for no reason at all. I was being drugged! Drugged by the bastards who were stalking me. My urine would darken to reddish brown then in a couple of days it would clear up. I didn't fully understand the situation.

So the curse involved me being stalked, slandered and now I was being drugged.

Their drugging me served them well. When I was drugged a stalker could walk right up to me, start a conversation and then leave. The next day I wouldn't be able to recognize who it was I had been talking to. Perhaps the person would be vaguely familiar but I wouldn't know who, when, where or what was said.

And there was another effect besides the fatigue. When I was drugged I couldn't have sex. That must have pleased those celibate pervert faggot bastards. Why it was almost a forced period of celibacy. There was no need for me to take vows. I was being isolated and drugged. When I became drugged I would be fatigued. Years later I would suspect some of the drugs being used against me were muscle relaxants, Haloperidol or Thorazine
(Chlorpromazine) therefore, no sex.

Course of Study

A rich girl from Newport had taken a liking to me. She would on occasion come into the area and we'd cross paths. I didn't know her very well, but I had seen her around now and then. I believe she lived in an exclusive area in Newport and her family had money.

We had first come across one another where the Taunton River meets Narraganset Bay. A friend of mine, Alan Bradford and I were on a flat bottomed fishing skiff motoring about and along comes this sailing yacht under power making its way toward the bay.

I had Alan bring the skiff into the large wake of the yacht and the skiff would send up a shower of spray, pounding on the cresting wake waves. One after the other and I stood in the bow and shifted my weight to add to the pounding and spray. One after the other, wave after wave, we were, following the sailing yacht motoring out toward the bay.

The girl appeared on deck and that's how for the first time we spied each other, me standing in the fore peak of the small skiff, she up high on her father's yacht. Rich girl.

It was a Sunday and I had to get to school so I motioned for Alan to break off the game and head to shore. I got off and hitch hiked to school in Woonsocket.

One time Rich Girl drove to Woonsocket. It was on the month end and at noon time, the time I'd be let out of school and start walking and hitchhiking home. She was up the road a ways, a couple of miles and unknown to me at that time.

This particular day, just as I had left the school yard and started walking the back road to a good hitchhiking spot, a car came by and stopped for me. It had just came out of the school area as I had. I'm thinking my luck is good, the first car to come by and it stops to pick me up.

But unknown to me at that time, it was a setup. The driver of the car had Jesuit cleric written all over him. I would later think he came from Providence and Brown University which has Jesuit teachers. The man  drew me out with small talk, asking me how I liked the school. I told him I didn't like it and he seemed to be a little put back. But no matter and on we rode, came to an intersection, took a left turn and onto the a main road leading out of Woonsocket.

Zoom, we passed by the rich girl from Newport. I did a double take. Yes it was her. What's she doing over here I'm thinking? And hey! She'd give me a ride all the way to my home town, and I'd get to talk to a real live girl. Whoa!

The Jesuit noticed the girl too. It was somehow that he knew the girl was there for me. And I was ready willing and able to get out of his car and into the rich girl's car. The Jesuit sped up, putting distance between us and the rich girl. He sped to the highway and dropped me off saying a few words like there was a 'change of plans' and a see ya later guy. He did a quick U-turn and headed back the way we had come. I'm thinking he's going back to give the rich girl grief. I believe he was going to do.

But his mission was accomplished, he got some information from me that he would relay to other religious people, some of the religious people that were causing me trouble. It would be the reaction of the mad bastard priest that would bring me to that conclusion.

The mad bastard priest from Saint Joseph's parish in Fall River was Fr. Shaleau. He was a mentally sick pervert kind of priest.. One of the many sick pervert priests the Church has in their darkened hallways and corridors within the institution. Fr. Shaleau wanted me in the clergy. It was him that I suspected was giving my father financial aid to send Gilbert and I to Mount Saint Charles. Fr. Shaleau wanted me to stay at Mount Saint Charles, he wished for me to become a Jesuit Brother, to take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Fr. Shaleau wished those penitent rites upon me to pervert my life. That's what I believe he wanted. My father couldn't care one way or the other, he had Gilbert as his first born. But Gilbert was no genius.

Why I had been picked up by the Jesuit and quizzed was: previously there had been a state wide test. The Brothers didn't say what the test was for or what kind of test it was but I suspect it was a SAT statewide. And the Brothers were kind of antsy about the test. There was a lot of talk about it.

Well the test came and went, and I believe I aced the test. That's what I believe happened.

In my freshman year,  I was placed in the 'stupid course of study', after all I had been labled a 'stupid student' and against my wishes, placed in the commercial course for study. I had wanted the scientific course. But it was deemed that I was too dumb for that course of study. After all the Jesuits knew best and for two years I slogged through the commercial course. Comes the SAT test, I ace it and shortly after I am called to Brother Prefect's office, the prefect of studies, the same Brother who deemed me unfit for the science course of study.

So there I was standing in front of Brother Prefect, aka Brother Oscar. He asks me, "How would you like to change your course of study?"

I'm thinking, I'd like it. Sure give me some science. But then there was a hitch. I've done four years at this school. Four Years! That's a long time, especially for a teenager. Four years. I have two years to go. Only Two Years. My goal is in sight. To get out of this place. It is so close. Two more years. I know it's a given if I stay in the Commercial Course, I'll breeze through and graduate. And after further discussion with Brother Prefect I make the decision not to alter my studies. I will continue on in the Commercial Course of study. What swayed me was thinking about how Darrel Luzier was forced out of Mount Saint Charles. Now being forced out of Mount had its good points and bad. But that wasn't my situation. My situation was they wanted to keep me at Mount, and by not graduating they could keep me at Mount Saint Charles. That I didn't want. Brother Prefect had explained to me that the scientific course of study was not an easy course, the subjects could be difficult. Those were similar words used upon Darrel when they downgraded his test scores, and Darrel was flunked out of Mount. (But that wasn't the reason the Brothers wanted to flunk Darrel out) I was cautious in the dealing with Brother Prefect for I did want to graduate and get out of Mount, not forced to remain and continue to study and study and grovel and grovel and pray and pray and go to chapel and pray some more. Yes Brother, no Brother, yes Brother. Then I'd have to pray some more.

As I was walking out of Brother Oscar's office I was dejected, I wanted that science course of study, but graduating trumped that. I'll do the two more years and get out of here. I walked to the door and put my hand of the knob and turning around looked at Brother Oscar, he was viewing some paper work on his desk. I said some parting words, I don't remember what, but I had turned to see if he was giving me some heebe-jeebie, witchcraft, voodoo, Name of Jesus, Jesuit curse, kind of thing or Sign of the Cross, behind my back. He wasn't.

Daddy Cool gets Married

A trouble maker approached me in the school yard and said to me, "Why don't you go over there and introduce yourself to the new boy. He's from you home town."

"No he's not. He's from New Bedford."

"Well why don't you go over there and say hello just to make him feel welcome."

I looked to where the new boy stood. He had been talking to some boys but was now by himself. I walked over to introduce myself, "Hello. I hear you are from New Bedford.

"So." he says curtly.

"I'm from Fall River." I tell him.

He turns his back to me and doesn't say another word. It's a total snub. Well screw him. I try to be nice. I say hello. I try to make him feel welcome and he snubs me. Not even a hello, how are you. Nothing!

But that's the kind of person he was. He was about my age, and quite handsome, and he was a sharp dresser. He wore good clothes. and his family had some money, from what I learned his family operated DeMello's Furniture Store in New Bedford Massachusetts. They had a nice car, a Caddy Coupe DeVille. But this new boy was an oddball. He was cold and standoffish. Some boys would give him the nickname "Daddy Cool", but his given name was John DeMello.

At that time I couldn't understand his cool to my receptive greeting. Many years later I would try to peg it as he being a queer. An unhappy queer at that. It was like he was pissed at the whole world for he being a queer. Perhaps his queer boyfriend was now alone as was he and locked up on one acre of land at some private catholic school in Rhode Island miles and miles away. Maybe that was why he was so pissed off.

But fast forward one year:

One year later in Fall River, It's early autumn, in the afternoon, it's the month end and I'm out of school for the weekend. I'm cruising North Main Street in my father's car, a 55' Olds. I have the windows rolled down and the radio playing. It's a beautiful day. I see a girl I hadn't seen in years. It's Estelle. I had know her through Alan and Alan's girlfriend. Four or so years ago this girl had taken a liking to me so I'm thinking my luck is good. She is walking alone.

I quickly drive down the street a way, make a U-turn and head back the other way and slowly motor up next to Estelle who is walking along on the sidewalk.

Motoring along at almost a crawl I say to her, "Hi Estell. What's doing?"

"I'm getting married!" she yells back at me. It's almost angrily she yelled, loud, angry like with nothing more to say.

Hey cool it. I just said hi. No need to get upset. So my luck wasn't as good as I had thought and I left Stell where I had seen her.

But the conversation was picked up by one of my stalkers who was standing right nearby and those words would be replayed to me verbatim. It went like this ...

It was a month or so later, just like it was yesterday. I'm out in the schoolyard. Word has it that Daddy Cool, aka John DeMello is leaving school. I'm curious to where he's going , so I approach him the the yard. I hadn't spoken to him in over a year, from that time he snubbed me. I'm a little cautious I approach him and say, "I hear you're leaving school."

"I'm getting married!" DeMello yells at me.

It's a replay. Estelle yells at me, DeMello yells at me, both saying the same words, both saying it with the same inflection, both the same. It's a double.

I'm the mark. The message is from the church. The message is from the priest. It's from the catholic network. The message is: We are fucking with you. You are being stalked. We are following you. We will fuck up your social contacts one way or another. We will sensitize you. We are sensitizing you. We are fixating the Curse in your mind. We are the bastards of Jesus. We are doing this in the Name of Jesus. We are omnipotent, as the Pope is infallible. You will pay for your transgression against the priest. Our priest, our saintly one, the one who comes in the Name of Jesus. Damn You. You are to be damned by us, the Church.

I want the reader to understand the catholic connection and how it works in society. The trouble they created for me.

That day when I saw Estelle I was being stalked by a catholic bastard. He was a middle aged man. From him to the catholic boy in the schoolyard, my overheard conversation with the girl was relayed.

What John DeMello didn't tell me was he was entering the religious life. John DeMello was going into a seminary and study to become a priest. He was not getting married. He was going to become a priest, so he was just doing the work of the Church. But the Church was using Gangstalking methods used by the Stasi in Eastern Europe, methods that are now becoming more widespread. In Gangstalking 'sensitizing' the target is practiced, as is 'street theater' both incorporated by the stalkers and used against me, as organized by the Church and with the help of John DeMello and people like him.

The closest thing to John DeMello getting married would be a mind fuck of the Blessed Virgin. But no, the queer was going to enter a seminary and become a priest. And years later he would still be fucking with me. For in the years to come, he would become one of my stalkers out in the public, not a participant here in the schoolyard of Mount Saint Charles..

I want people to know how this little pervert would be in the mainstream, in the public perverting my life. So there is the bastard catholic connection. Bastard priest who cursed me, bastard stalker for the priest and now a new enlistee bastard, Daddy Cool, aka John DeMello, queer, soon to be fag priest.

That is how the catholic connection works and it is supported by the many religious organizations within the church. Religious clerical organizations and lay organizations; I would hazard a guess from the Knights of Columbus, to the Jesuits, Knights Templar, Benedictines, Franciscans and there are many many organizations within the church and they support each other.

John DeMello was to become a priest would continue to fuck into my life for many years to come and would get into my family relationships to get at me. He would get bad information on my sister and use that information to spoil the relationship between her and me, sister and brother. A priest spoiling a relationship between blood brother and blood sister. Spoiling a relationship within a family. That's how those bastards work.

Stalked

It's a year or so later. I have a summer job at Made Rite Potato Chip in my town. After work, instead of going home I loiter around the city's downtown area. It's just getting dark and I meet two girls. We start talking and as I'm talking with one of the girls a young man approaches and start talking with the other girl. I suspect he is a person who has been stalking me.

I ask the girl I've just met, "Is he with you?"

"No, I thought he was with you." She tells me.

"No, he's not with me." I say to her, and she notifies her girlfriend who snubs the interloper. He withdraws.

The girls and I agree to meet the next day.

My catholic stalkers are temporarily stymied. They will contact my father, and dad, under pressure from the priest will bust up my newly found social contact and I won't see the girls again.

And that is just one of the ways that my catholic stalkers attempt to block my social life, and is one of the reasons why they stalk me. They will disturb and cause trouble to my social life. They will pervert it.

Joined the Military

Joined the Military

I took the oath of allegiance to my country in Providence Rhode Island with a group of other enlistees. In a couple of days I headed to Texas with two other enlistees. I had my first legal beer at the airport in New York City. Got a commercial flight to Texas on a turbo-prop. Stopped in Atlanta Georgia for additional enlistees. Arrived in Texas in the early morning hours. It was still dark as the busload of us enlistees arrived at the military base. I could feel the Texas heat as I got off the bus. It was still dark and I could feel the heat. Yes I was miles from Massachusetts.

I had arrived in heaven! Hell was far behind me. I marched, jogged, got my uniform. I was a slick sleeve, Airman Basic, and I was a Road Guard. It seemed like one day our flight was a 'rainbow flight' (in civilian clothes) then we passed though supply getting, military shirts, pants, underwear, dress blues and brogans. After being outfitted the flight was regular Air Force. Just like all the other flights marching, drilling and doing calisthenics.

"Road Guards out!" Came the call and I would hustle to the road intersection with wooden stop sign in hand, holding it forward for any vehicle to view. "Road Guards In!" and I would hustle back to the marching formation. Yes I was in heaven.

And the food I had left behind from six years of Mount Saint Charles, if one can call that food, to the food that I now had access to; real butter, toast, coffee, ice cream, real food and good servings. The only thing I found fault with was the metal tray that the military put the good food on.  But I would later think, rather good food on a metal tray than poor food on fine china. I danced a short dance in Heaven. Danced to the sound of "Road Guards Out!", Danced to any command or cadence called while marching in formation. In that first week or two I was not singled out. It was heaven.

 My escape from the bastard Devil Jesuits and the bastard school (Mount Saint Charles Academy) and the catholic bastards who had stalked me in Fall River were gone! Not allowed on the military base. I was free. I was free in Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio Texas.Wednesday, May 04, 2005

An Offer

Lackland Air Force Base San Antonio Texas, June/July 1959

My flight queued up for medical shots. I took my turn and got a series of shots via a medical implement something like an air gun. After I had gotten the shots my training instructor told me to wait outside.

 Another enlistee and I were shunted off to an area near an office full of military people at desks doing paper work. They were paper pushers. One military person was right in front of the main window. Easy to spot. There he was in his dress blues and sporting a rank of E3, one stripe on his sleeve. I was not impressed. Yes he had rank on me. He could chew me out. But overall he was a paper pusher and he was tied to a desk. I could plainly see that.

An NCO (non-commissioned officer) with the rank of Tech Sergeant, five stripes on his sleeve, approached us two enlistees. He had an offer to make.

How would we like to shuck off this basic training? Leave it all behind? The Tech Sergeant could do that for us. All we had to do was say yes and join his group  of paper pushers. Right here. Right now. How would you like that?

I flat out didn't like it. It was out of order.

It was an attempt to sidetrack me. So I determinedly explained to the Tech NCO that my enlistment officer had promised me electro-mechanical tech school. And in his hand he held my personal papers on a clipboard. On it was stated as such. One could plainly see the electro-mechanical printed in black and white.

It was my only hope not to be sidetracked, not to be shunted to a desk job.

The NCO pointed out that I had done so well in the Administrative part of my enlistment test and that was good reason why he was giving me the offer.

No. I want no part of it or any administrative desk job and I stuck to my position. It is electro-mechanical that I had been slated for and that's what I should be receiving. I didn't want his offer and I was allowed to return to my flight.

The other enlistee that had been with me took the offer.

It was out of order. I knew that. I sensed that. Enlistees such as myself and the other Airman I had been with had only completed one week and a half  of basic training. It is an eight week basic training course. Enlistees complete basic training in eight straight weeks, or they complete four weeks of basic training at Lackland  AFB then they are transferred to another AFB, a training base, and they complete the rest of their basic plus any technical training they have been assigned to.

The offer was a short circuit. A shunt. Tuesday, May 03, 2005

The Drunken NCO

The TI, training instructor would be gone for the evening. He had given clear instructions for anyone wanting to gain access to the barracks.

The instructions were: the person who was trying to gain access to the barracks was to slip his identification card between the screen door and the door frame. The barracks guard was to take the card and hold it up to the screen door and compare the photo on the card to the person trying to gain access. If the photo matched the person, then everything was in order and the barracks guard would open the screen door to let the person into the barracks.

Under no circumstances was anyone inside the barracks to step outside. It was the barracks guards job to follow those instructions and carry them out. And we were to give due respect to any NCO approaching the barracks to gain access.

It was a mild Texas summer evening that evening and you could hear the crickets chirping, you could see the moths flying about the light outside the door to the barracks. It was a nice evening and as it happened there were some goings on at the rear door to the barracks.

I was on the first floor of the barracks doing routine stuff; shining brogans, packing my locker, tidying up uniforms on the rack. The barracks talk was back and forth. Was the smoking sign on? I don't recall. But someone came by and made mention that someone at the back door trying to gain access to the barracks. I paid little attention and the person who reported that went to the back of the barracks from where he came.

It was ten to fifteen minutes later and again someone came by and said there was someone trying to gain access to the barracks and he encouraged me to go to the back door of the barracks to see what the commotion was all about.

I went there but all was quiet. At that moment he barracks guard came out of the latrine area and I asked him if everything was in order. He told me there had been an unruly NCO who was trying to come into the barracks and he wouldn't follow instructions.

I looked out into the darkness and saw no one. Still, it was all quiet. I started to question the validity of the barracks guards opinion, but as I did the barracks guard said, "Here he comes again!" And he said it with a tone of exasperation in his voice.

Sure enough, I looked to the barracks screen door and there appeared an NCO with five stripes on his sleeve. Our training instructor has four stripes, so this guy had some rank.

The NCO comes right up to the screen door and shouts, "Let me in!" and he sways from side to side in a drunken manner, then steadies himself.

"Sir, I can't let you in until I see your identification," our barracks guard says to him.

The NCO fumbles in his pocket, pulls out his billfold and some of his change falls to the ground.

"Sir, you dropped some money," says the barracks guard.

The NCO pays no attention. He opens his wallet and cards and whatnot fall to the ground.

"Sir, you dropped something," the barracks guard repeats, and I chime in, also saying similar words.

The NCO sways drunkenly once again, still paying no attention to what has fallen to the ground. He pulls his ID from his wallet, holding it in his hand and says, "See! Here it is!"

"Sir, you have to slide it through the screen door and give it to me," says the barracks guard.

"Oh no! You'll steal it. You'll take it and won't give it back," the drunken NCO says.

The barracks guard tries to assure him that he will return his ID card and tells him once again of the money and cards he had dropped on the ground. The NCO picks up the stuff he dropped then turns his attention once more to gain access to the barracks.

"Let me in! Let me in!" he shouts, and he takes the outside doorknob and pulls on it back and forth shaking the screen door on its hinges. We on the inside try to steady the door.

"Sir! Sir! Don't break the door," says the barracks guard.

"You're not getting in if you don't hand your ID card over," I tell him.

"Who are you?" the NCO shouts at me, shucking off his drunken image. Now he is all NCO. A kick ass. A bad ass. An, I'll chew your ass out you little Airman Basic nothing.

"Sir, I'm Airman Faira."

"No! I want your full name and rank!" he shouts at me.

"Sir, I am Airman Basic Faria, David.l"

"Well, mister Faria, open this damn door!"

"Sir, I can't do that." I tell him.

"Open this damn door, or I'll rip it out!" and he grabs hold of the door once again and starts shaking it. The screen door rattles and shakes. I hold the door on the inside trying to steady it.

The NCO changes his demeanor once again. This time he takes on an air of surprise or it could be amazement. He opens his eyes wide. His facial expression changes. It is almost a face of fear and surprise. He holds both his hands out! Palms forward! And then he starts walking backwards into the darkness of the evening.

It is a total surprise to me! It is the same manner and movement of the bastard priest when he cursed me! But his face was one of anger and hatred while holding both hands out! Palms forward! And then he starts walking backwards into the darkness of the room. But how could it be?

I become angered and some words slip out, but I quickly catch myself and no harm is done. I had almost failed the drunken NCO's test. Monday, May 02, 2005

The Offer and the Drunken NCO; an explanation

 

 

The drunken NCO coming to the barracks in the evening and trying to get in, acting drunk, acting as if afraid, hands outstretched and then taking steps backwards; it was all a sham. And it shouldn't have been done.

Lackland Air Force Base is a military training base and everything is supposed to be done by the book. It is training, discipline, taking commands, marching, doing drill, learning military code, military standards, and it is no place; I repeat no place for any acting drunk and game playing.

First, singling me out of the whole squadron, (one hundred enlistees, about), and sending me to the barracks door. Then the set up by the NCO. The NCO demanding my name and rank. He then knows I am the correct target. And then he brings something from out of my past that was catholic bullshit. The whole scenario had absolutely no place on that military base.

The NCO acting drunk, then acting as if in fear and afraid, hands outstretched, taking steps backward into the darkness of the evening. It was all a little charade. And I was the target.

Furthermore, that offer of the desk job; well, that too was out of place. The offer shouldn't have been made. I nor the other enlistee had completed our basic training, so we were not supposed to be placed anywhere. It's first things first, and basic training is to be completed first. No offers, no side deals, no nothing like that. It was all bogus bullshit and shouldn't have been even attempted. But at that time, those NCO's could pull any crap they wanted, all within their supposed guidelines.

But I would like to point this out; the catholic bastards who had been stalking me in Fall River had a very long reach. They set up where I went, from Massachusetts to Texas. The church is the universal church, and they have parishes in just about every town, city and county in the country. They were slowed, yes. It took them about a week and a half to set up and get contacts on the military base. More importantly, the church bastards now had to deal with the military to get at me, and that posed them some difficulties. Difficult but not impossible. There are plenty of catholic bastards in the military. I would soon learn that. Sunday, May 01, 2005

Sheppard Air Force Base Texas

Sheppard Air Force Base, Texas: August 1959

After four weeks of basic training all the enlistees in my barracks had completed the first phase of military training. About half of us were to be shipped out to various training bases for technical training. The others would continue on at Lackland for four more weeks.

I was to be transferred to Sheppard Air Force Base just outside of Wichita Falls Texas. The day of the move I and about one hundred other airmen stood around in the morning sun with our duffel bags packed and waited for the buses that would take us to our new base.

We boarded the buses and had a day long trip through the hot summer of Texas, stopping at a small town for lunch. We arrived at Sheppard in the early evening and settled into a transit barracks.

It was like we were set free. After four weeks of drills, marching, barked orders at us enlistees, we were set free. No shackles at all. The base was ours. Freedom!

It was the first time in my life I felt some breathing room. No Jesuits. No church. No religious services. No bleeding Jesus. No Virgin Mary. I could go anywhere on the base. Anywhere.

Another Airman, Price, he and I decided on the Airman's Club, although I had opted for the base service club to go and get a hamburger. Price wanted to drink beer. Yes, even though we were eighteen years of age we could still get beer served to us.

For me it would be forty weeks of technical training in teletype maintenance and then on to another base to do my part as a bona fide airman of the United States of America.


Sheppard Air Force Base, Texas; Spring 1960


I was well into the technical training, marching to school for a half day of class. The rest of the day was routine clean up and miscellaneous. In the evenings there was lounge time in the barracks. On the weekends most people split to various places, towns, cities and on extended weekends, sometimes out-of-state.

It was a weekend evening. There were a few of us airmen in the barracks in a discussion about this and that and it had turned to religion. Who was of this religion. Who was of that religion. I was looking for a Southern Baptist. I had never met a Southern Baptist and wanted to know one. And nobody was fessing up. Surely there was a Southern Baptist somewhere in the group. This was the South, or near the South. Texas is not really the South, it's Texas. And them Southern Baptists they're supposed to shout and sing in church. I wanted to ask a few questions, if that was really true.

I had ticked off some of the protestants by stating that the Catholic Church was the "One True Church". Wow, that upset some people and I was needling them, rubbing it in.

Someone asked me, "What religion are you?"
"Me?.....I don't have a religion." I answered.

You see, I was all through with religion. I had enough religion at my school. It was shoved down my throat. Up my ass. I was whipped while I had to kneel before a bastard pervert Jesuit, the head Jesuit of my bastard school. I was all through with that shit. That bloody bastard shit. I was through with religion.

"Aren't you Catholic?" The questioner persisted.
"No. I'm not Catholic." I answered.
"What's on your dog tags?" The questioner asks.
"It doesn't matter what's on my dog tags. I'm not Catholic."

And how did this guy know what's on my dog tags. Catholic is stamped on my dogs tags-it was over my objection, when I was processing through Lackland but I had little or no say-so of what went on my dog tags.. What mattered was how did this person know that it's labeled Catholic on my dog tags? And who is he? Us airmen in the barracks are all of the ages eighteen and nineteen. This guy, this questioner is in his late twenties or early thirties. He's an older guy. He's got to be a staff-sergeant or something. Us airmen of the barracks are all or mostly airmen third class, E-2. This guy is an E-5 or something. Then I accused him and that really pissed him off. I said ...

"Who are you? You don't belong in this barracks. You come in here and start trouble."

Yes that pissed him off and he left in a huff. And that quieted down the discussion. But the trouble would come back to me big time. That bastard talked to the "barracks chief" who was a new barracks chief at the time. A cross trainee named Barth. Barth chewed my ass up one end and down the other. And that wasn't the end of it. I was placed on KP which was almost unheard of. KP on the weekends. Two weekends. I was on the shit list. Just because I said I wasn't Catholic. Fuck the Catholic religion. Fuck that Catholic shit.

You see people, that was a catholic bastard. A catholic bastard who came into the barracks I was in and tried to put me on the spot. Tried to identify me as being Catholic and the next question would have been why hadn't I been to base chapel for Catholic services. But I was trying not to be Catholic, but the Catholics wouldn't let me be not Catholic. That's the way it works. That's the way a catholic curse works. And the resulting trouble that was caused to me. It was Catholic shit.