Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Tagged (part I).

I've maintained a certain amount of anonymity in the blogosphere. I live in a small town, go to a small church. I thought if I did a blog, I might just let it all hang out. But I haven't. Maybe being "myself" is not quite as wild as it once was.

But Dave Bones tagged me, which I bet means that he wants me to further explain the "patriot movement" of the 1990's. I'm not sure I can. I take it I'm supposed to answer some questions, not sure where the questions are, so I'll infer from the Bones' link above what they are.

Now that I think about it, I'm going to take some liberties with the format.

20 Years Ago

I was working for a local university as the systems and programming manager. Living in a small house on the lake with my then new wife of only two years. Living it up, I should say. From 1983, to 1987, I sailed in five oceans. I love sail boats.

We sailed on the lake, water skiied on the lake, and fished on the lake. In those days, we had seasons for everything.

January - March was snow skiing season. April - May was crappie & bass fishing season. June - August was water skiing season. September - December was hunting season. Party season was year round. What a happy life.

My wife and I were DINKs ... Double Income No Kids. We were both making good money and did what we wanted when we wanted to do it. It was a dream.

I listened to mostly rhythm & blues in those days. The music I wrote was mostly blues or country. Happy for the most part, although I wrote one about Christmas that was pretty forlorn (Those Low Down Mean and Dirty Christmas Blues).

The decade of the 80's ... now there was a decade.

15 Years Ago

Fifteen years ago is 1990. That year was my Waterloo. It was the worst year of my life by far. Maybe the worst thing about it was that I had to grow up. I was 35.

I lived on a lake. I had no flood insurance. I was stupid. In the Spring it started raining. Now, it doesn't rain very often in West Texas, but when it does ... look out! The water went four and five feet in my house. I was basically, ruined.

Like a typical lake loon, I simply started cleaning the house. The water receded after a few days. But my wife wanted to move. This was not acceptable. To placate her, I signed a contract on a log house in the hills. I knew it was impossible to get because someone else was ahead of me. The $500 in escrow was my attempt to show my wife I was willing to move, but I really wasn't. After signing the papers, driving the university van, we drove back out to the house to feed my dogs. We arrived just in time to see a tornado swoop out of the sky and take the roof off the house. There were several tornados that night, and they devastated the lake. I and my phone calls got the area declared a disaster area so that federal funds were available to help. I lost about 30,000 dollars in all. The feds provided about 350 bucks.

The next day, the financing for the guy ahead of me on the log house fell through. Suddenly I was first in line. 10 days later I owned a beautiful log home 45 miles from the lake. I was thankful to God and all, but I had lost the thing, that at the time, was the most important to me: my lifestyle. I would no longer be strapping on a waterski at dawn and dusk to "ski the crack (of dawn/dusk)". I was now living in the hills, far from my friends and extended family.

While my house was still flooded, I attended a Stevie Ray Vaughan concert. In my opinion, Stevie Ray is the best guitarist that ever lived. That concert did something to me. During the pain of losing most of everything I owned, I listened to Stevie Ray CD's constantly. It helped me get through.

By August I was slipping into a very deep depression. I was in San Francisco for a conference, when I heard of a helicopter crash at a concert. I knew it was Stevie Ray. I knew. Damn it! I knew. I didn't hear until the next day. Stevie Ray was dead. He was exactly my age. When I heard on a news channel, I pulled my rental over into an alley and wept.

I slipped into a form of depression that I can only describe as demonic. I was not a nice person. I was calling out to evil, and evil was listening.

On September 29, 1990, my wife was kidnapped at gun-point and raped. The pain of the previous 4 months was but a blip on a radar, nothing more. My world collapsed. A couple of months later, my dog got run over. 1990 sucked.

What you have to understand, if your're going to understand how I dealt with the 90's, is most of it was a response to what happened to my wife, and by extension, to me.

I love my wife. I loved her then, and I love her now. There is nothing, NOTHING, that will split us up. So when this happened, you might as well have hit me in the head with a baseball bat.

The guy went from here a couple of hundred miles West and raped a seventeen year old girl working as a waitress. Then he went to a road-side park and took a nap. When a State Trooper decided to question him, he ran. A chase ensued, and the guy ended up in the desert with helicopters and dogs after him. The original cop ended up catching him. He was in jail two days after raping my wife. God was looking out for us, after all.

My wife was a very, VERY, good witness. She identified him from a photo lineup. He didn't really have a chance. He plead out at 16 years for the seventeen year old girl. We weren't having any of it. We wanted a trial. A trial we got, and the piece of S**t got 65 years from the jury. The judge, once my Sunday school teacher, stacked the sentence. This asswipe will never again walk the streets.

The guy was from Kansas. A Kansas judge, a Democrat, let him loose prior to him stealing a rental car and coming to Texas. He had raped 26 women (known) before coming here. I wanted to know why someone like that was let loose.

Thus began the journey.

2 Rant In Reply:

Blogger dave bones said...

Thanks for sharing. I can't imagine what this must have felt like.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005  
Blogger R&B said...

Well, it was bad. But I guess I needed to grow up. I don't know.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005  

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