Dear Mr. Davis, …. in which reading The Aging Rebel saves my life.

June 30, 2013:  As you know – I have wanted to speak with you for quite some time.  My topic is somewhat sensitive.  I am a complete walking personal disaster, and you are very busy, and smart and careful.  I have a preference for the written forms of communication, because I do not interface well with society in the usual fashion.  I have verbal skills but my motives are frequently misunderstood, and I am still somewhat naïve and tend to get sidetracked in a conversation.  You say you protect your sources.  I believe you would do your best– but you are just one speck in the wide universe.

In late 2009, I thought speaking with you might help us both solve what we were each working on.  In the beginning when you blew me off as an ATF scammer – you were very astute.  My initial fact finding missions were to confirm something that I ultimately learned, had originated within the ATF.

Initially when the slip was made and I finally had one solid piece of real information to work with… I was excited to learn what my friend had gotten himself involved with.  I was happy and delighted and proud to hear about his first “real” job- after a lifetime of “being self-employed” like – insurance, benefits, 401K.  I didn’t ask a lot of questions.   But I listened, and, as you no doubt are aware, women never forget.  I won’t tell you about George Rowe. He tells his own story in his book.   At the end – his “Thank You’s” will tell YOU a lot more between the lines than what is actually written on them.  What I can tell you about –is me.

In May, I picked up a box of mostly old sheet music at a yard sale.  This book, “What makes Sammy Run?” was in the box.  I flipped through it, saw that it started in a newspaper room.  I read a little bit and thought of you.   I decided to send it to you.  ( I have in fact already sent it to you.)  Then I decided I’d better read the whole thing myself.  As the story unfolded – I was surprised at how well written it was and how timeless it seemed.  The characters reminded me of people I knew.  I recognized circumstances and feelings of my own. This was written in 1941!  About halfway through I realized that Sammy – the way he operates and how he manages, by hook or by crook to survive, and even to thrive – IS George. By the end I recognized that I am much like the narrator – I have spent most of my life both fascinated and repelled, trying to understand, reason with, guide and educate this man.  I’ve been crazy in love, seething with indignation, grateful, hateful, supportive, enabling and rescued by him.   Yeah – the part where Kit talks about wanting him sexually – I’m not a whore, but I’m no Madonna either.   He can eat crackers in my bed anytime.  George copied off my work in 8th grade. He was my supervisor at my first hospital job.  Our first sexual experience was in 1978.  He frustrates me and I can’t wait to see him again.   Our relationship has that special quality of timelessness.  I can see him in an hour or in a week or in a year, and it is immediate and easy between us, as if there was never a moment apart.  His amazing memory has certainly helped him in his career.  He remembers details about me that my own mother never knew.   Mind – Body – Soul  I am completely apparent to him, and enraptured by him.  I am not particularly proud of this, considering how our lives have unfolded.  I have always been faithful to my spouses, although now I sometimes think, if  only I had taken that one opportunity to climb up into George’s big black pickup back in ‘97 and tossed my wedding ring onto the driveway as we pulled out.  That opportunity, if taken, might have altered this entire sequence of events.

For a few years at the end of the 70’s there was an annual biker run/party at the Hemet Fairgrounds.  Dudes would ride in from all around and it was a 3-day closed private party, “members only” – 21 & over.   However, if you were an audacious young Miss and went to the gate and wiggled your Ditto’s – you could get in.  So I did.  I met a fair number of bikers in those years, and was never mistreated or taken advantage of.  I danced and played cards and met a lot of fun guys who were in their 30’s or 40’s.  Some of the locals I would see when I walked into – the locksmith, a security guard at the hospital, Zale’s jewelry store.   I always got a wink and a nod.  It was like being in a secret society.  That paid off big-time when during my brief first marriage, my husband and I were at a party.  My socialite health-club Aunt in Florida smoked Sherman’s Natural cigarettes, the brown ones, because they were organic and “Chemical Free”.  So here I am at a house party in Valle Vista, and I spy across the room in a guy’s plaid pocket – that familiar brown package.  So – I go naively over and ask him for a Sherman.  Maybe you can guess the rest.  Angel Dust!  Tranquilized and drooling, I could hear my first husband negotiating a bidding war with a couple of partygoers over exactly how much I would be worth in a back room, for 1sts, 2nds or 3ds.  Ultimately, one of MY friends picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and left the building. I didn’t stay married long after that.  I never thought George was a biker.   After my first divorce, I went back to my old job, and before too long I was back in George’s bed.   We have been on & off & on again ever since.  During a visit to see his Mother in Bullhead City, I changed my name and we made some promises to each other.  From then on, I called him my 2nd husband. This was shortly before the time in the book where he describes how he met an Angel & started cooking meth.  I didn’t catch on at first.

I was busy with my darling son who was almost 2, and my job as an LVN. I worked 3p – 11p.  George’s 1st wife had a daughter,  Stephanie who was nearly the same age as Mike and we would take the two of them swimming and to the park, and to get ice cream.  George taught me to ride on a little Kawasaki and we used to just hit it up to the hills.  We had a lot of really good times together.  When I was stupid about how & when I chose to drop acid, George kept me safe for the entire 30 hours it took me to come down.  Later, after the insurance fraud/motorcycle crash, after Paul & Diane Trudell sued me, after I caught George with his new young lover in his truck, after I got my car running again, (18 months on a bicycle with a 3 year old) after the dust settled, I filed for bankruptcy, and changed my name back.  I stalked him for months, not like Jodi Arias – I am a silent watcher.  Well, I did write a lot of filthy and obscene things all over his truck with Sharpie, and once or twice I may have taken all of his valve stems out when he was parked somewhere I felt he shouldn’t be.   It took me three years to get straight financially.  My head took longer, and my heart has never fully recovered.  A shrink might call it an Emotional Affair. I find that the term Limerence is much more applicable. “Limerence develops and is sustained when there is a certain balance of hope and uncertainty.”  That sentence defines the  Story of my whole life.  I don’t know if it is by choice or by design, but I do know that I have different criteria and expectations than a lot of the people I meet.  I don’t think I am a wolf – but I am for sure, no sheep.

The next 7 or 8 years passed.  George wrote me letters from the Road Camp, and from County.  He would call collect.  He got straight, started gambling, and got religion.  Darlene broke him in and worked him over. He told me recently “she did to me, what I did to you.”  He & I settled into a routine.  When he called – if I told him to “Fuck off & Die,” he would come over and call repeatedly.  If I said – “Hey! Nice to hear your voice – how are you doing?” Then we’d talk for ten minutes and I wouldn’t hear from him for months.  But always, always, always on/near his birthday & on/near my birthday we would talk.  During those 7 or 8 years I dated a guy named Don.  Don was a Merchant Marine and wasn’t going to settle down. He kept telling me to find another guy.  In October 1988 we had a big fight.  When Valentine’s Day 1989 came along, and I had seen him only once, for two hours – no phone calls, no letters, in all that time … I wrote him a Dear Don letter and went out on a date.  Then, a few weeks later Don kicked in my door and ran the other guy off.   Told me I was right – we belonged together.  We ultimately rented a house and I moved in with him.   Before I had even started to unpack – the new unlisted phone rang.  George was laughing at me.  “You don’t love him! We belong together. Why are you doing this?”  I replied “Dammit! I paid extra to be unlisted!”  People have described our relationship as mutual stalking.

More years passed.  Two beautiful daughters arrived, the first – a love child from my date.  No secrets – no subterfuge – I told Don while we were crossing the Gulf of Alaska in heavy seas.  He guessed I was pregnant – because it was the only time he ever saw me seasick, and in the ensuing raging argument I was seriously concerned he might toss me overboard and say I slipped.  We agreed to stay together, and we did our best.  In 1992 Don & I moved to Bozeman Montana to get away from his family and my family who were “causing all the problems. “ George & I continued to talk 2 or 3 times each year.  Late in November 1993, a man identifying himself as being from The United States Customs Department called for Mr. Ramos.  I explained that he was at work, how to use the Marine Operator to raise the ship, and that Don could call back in about 10 days if they didn’t connect.  And so began the next decade of My 3d Husband the International Drug Smuggler.

June 1997.  Don had been in jail for months.  I HAD to get out of the house we had been renting from my Mother.  I found a dilapidated little place on 2 acres, a 90 year old repo which every single contractor in town had looked at, and intelligently passed up.  http://www.zillow.com/homes/42165-Little-Lake-Road,-Hemet,-CA_rb/

It was my haven, my refuge and I would never leave there until they carried me out dead, perhaps slightly nibbled on, in 2058 with my long tangled hair dragging in the dirt, and a multitude of Blue Russian cats wailing and yowling  from every direction.  But first … I had to move in – and yet again – the phone was ringing when I walked up the steps.   “Will you let me come over and help you? You are going to need some tree work”   At this point- although I would talk to George, I had in no way forgiven him for his mistreatment of me 12 years earlier.  “No thanks – I’m fine” I replied.   I moved in the first week of September. El Nino was being predicted and Santa Ana’s usually start in October.  We had a couple of summer thunder storms in those first weeks and I watched the big Eucalyptus creak and moan as it leaned well over my crooked little house.   After the first Chinaberry tree fell over, I went to Ace and bought an electric chain saw.  I cut that whole tree up!   I was sore for a week!!  The pieces were too big for the wood stove!  Dammit.   I was pretty busy with my full time job, 2 acres, 3 kids, 4 dogs, 2 tortoises, 18 sheep, 7 goats, 3 horses, and a steer – which I hauled for in my old VW bus.  We had moved ¼ mile from our old place, but there were no fences or corrals when we moved in.  I kept my 14 year old son and all his friends busy for weeks hauling and installing fencing from our old place.  George Rowe, despite all my objections, kept calling, coming over and telling me I really needed to let him help me.   He said he would just send his crew over to do the work, if I didn’t want him around.  I told him I would think about it – but I was stubborn.  That winter was a record breaker.  It rained and rained and rained.   The trees dropped limbs, or split in half or just lay over.  8 Olives,  10 Chinaberry, 6 California Pepper, 2 Eucalyptus, 2 Italian cypress, 4 Silk Oaks, 6 palms, a Juniper, a big stand of nopales and a majestic century plus Oak.  One day – exhausted – I came home and realized the yard was raked, the haphazard limbs had been cut, split and neatly and stacked, and I had an actual woodpile.   I thanked my son.  He said – “Nope – George was here.”  Honestly, without George, I would have had serious problems at that house.  It had been owned by a member of the Hangmen, who had gone to prison for cooking speed.  When I found his gas tank in the attic – I got it back to a club member.  There was a lot of haphazard ramshackle construction. Half built or falling down couldn’t be determined.  Live wires ran out into the field where a mobile had been.  Weeds.  George and his crew & I worked out some business arrangements.  There were a few times where I caught the sparkly eyed look, and I was sorely tempted.  He was single for a while when I had filed for divorce.  Don wouldn’t co-operate and I didn’t have the resources to fight him. Then George was dating someone- he called her Big Mike’s daughter- like I would know who that was.  His business grew and I saw less of him and more of the crew. When Don got out of jail and came to this house I’d moved us to, he was extremely unhappy with it.  I suggested he could be grateful I had brought his things, or he could just take them and leave right now.  When George rolled in one day like he owned the place – Don got really upset.  George talked him down, and they reached a truce.  They actually started hanging out and going for beers together.   Another year or so went by.  Thinking Don & I were reconciling, I conceived child #4.  When I shared the exciting news, Don swore he would never touch me again and he has kept his word.  In a short period of time, 3 things happened.  First, a very conservative, straight-arrow  woman I worked with asked me, with big round eyes… “Do you know… ummm … George?”   Next, I went to daycare to pick up my young son, and bumped into George at the counter, swooping up a little blonde girl.  Our eyes met, we looked at each other, looked at the kids, looked at each other, laughed out loud, hugged & kissed & left our separate ways without saying one single word, both of us thinking (déjà vu) of Mike and Stephanie, 18 years ago, now here we are again at the same exact daycare with Randy and “Sierra.”  And third he showed up at my house sporting a big green 22 on the side of his head.   “WTF is that shit?!”  Holy mother of Christ!!  I told him don’t be bringing that crap around here! Are you back on the shit?!  And he laughed at my indignation.   When I dream sometimes still, I hear his laughter.

One thing he touches on very lightly in his book is his relationship with Kevin Duffy.  I had been introduced to Kevin in October, 1982 by Michael Cobb, a guy I was dating,  as “This is my neighbor, Kevin”   In early 1984 in yet another déjà vu moment, I came home from the same job, to the same house, at the same time – nearly midnight and walked into my  kitchen to find the same scruffy long haired Kevin, in the same ratty flannel & dirty Levis, sitting in the same chair, drinking Coors Light only with George, not Mike.  Kevin did not make the slightest indication that he had ever seen me before, let alone sat in my kitchen drinking beer recently with me and my immediately previous man.  Mike had died in the summer of 1983.  On a hot afternoon, he was drinking with friends and swimming up at North Fork.  Mike jumped into the big pool, his head hit the rock going in, and he never came up.   Kevin did not mention it.   Later that year at my work Christmas Party, one of the nurses I knew,  introduced me to her husband.  He was a nice looking clean cut guy in a suit & tie.  She had always talked proudly about her man and I knew he had recently made Detective.  “This is my husband Kevin”   So then it was my turn to play it cool.    I met Kevin both personally and professionally, many different times, and it was always the same thing.  Always like the very first time.   Flat affect & Zero recognition.  I was at a party for my daughter’s softball team in roughly 2004.  I got to talking to one of the grandpa’s.  Retired Hemet PD. We talked about all the notable small town crime highlights of the late 70’s and 80’s, and eventually we got around to George.  This cop told me he felt he had always had a great relationship with George – describing the multiple traffic stops and numerous arrests as a game at which they all played, and the opponents were worthy.  We chatted at some length & I thought – What the hell & so I asked him – “What’s Kevin been up to lately?”  Dude ejected from the couch and left the party.  Hmmmm…..   Google it a bit and you will find reported that Officer Duffy committed suicide alone in a hotel room.  There were some rumors going around, a family pressing charges of child molestation.  I find it difficult to believe that someone who had 25 years in with Police Activities League suddenly took up pedophilia, with no prior hiccups.   His uber-bitch ex-wife told a mutual friend “I can’t believe it took him this long” regarding the suicide.  In yet a third small-town coincidence, Officer Duffy and I had been in contact recently.  In 2004, his 17 year old daughter drove past my husband Don, who was getting the mail, fast and close.   Don threw the mail at the car, jumped out of the way and swore at her.  She pulled over, well up the road. She got out, marched all the way back and gave my 45 year old burly bearded sailor convict husband a piece of her mind.  He sounded her right back and she said “Stop threatening me!”  She left, but within 30 minutes we had 3 cars and a full SWAT appear at the door.  We didn’t know who she was, but Officer Friendly slipped it that Daddy was a certain cop.  Well, she screamed first & loudest, and the windshield was in fact broken.   I told him just fix it, but Don insisted HE was the victim, and insisted we take it to court so we ended up paying for an attorney AND fixing it when he lost in court.    In 2006 Don stole a nice hydraulic dump trailer from Bill Haynes, my contractor.  Bill asked me to get it back, and I felt bad about the whole deal but I told him– you have to go to the cops.   After Bill filed a report, Officer Duffy called me a couple of times and asked me to speak with Don and just get it returned.  I explained that “…if Don listened to me – I could have just bought you a windshield!”   The police reports are supposed to be confidential but in a small town with stories like this – it’s a joke.  I told Kevin “Don insisted on hiring Dave Angeloff, so instead of $300 to replace your windshield –  it cost me $1000 PLUS the $300.  Since I paid for all that – Please could YOU just talk to Don about this trailer?”   I know he tried.   Kevin died in 2009, and the next summer I found the trailer.   It had shiny new plates on it, but I knew for sure it was the stolen trailer and I raised hell with Riverside Sheriffs to get over there and arrest Don’s thieving ass.  Well – they went, and they were going to arrest someone alright – They were after the person who had registered it, not the person who had it “stored”  So – guess who ended up in hot water?  My oldest son, Mike.  When did this occur? 3 days before my older daughter’s wedding, where Good Family Times were had by all.  So who ended up – yet again-  being the psycho bitch from hell?   Mama did.  Don just leans back and laughs.  I tell you – he is Teflon coated and it is just not right.

I have learned a few things from your recent TV appearances.  Maybe – got the sequence is more appropriate.   The whole BS with Mongols & Doc and getting the gangbangers involved in the club explains most of 2002-2004.  I worked with a Cousin, Wife & Ma-In-Law of Mongol VP (RIP) Sonny Ahumada.  We did a lot of socializing which included extended family at work events.  My past with bikers did not prepare me for some of the things that happened – like 25 people getting arrested in Mexico- because I just didn’t recall brawling as being part of the party. Not like that anyway.  I think the whole new scene is more meth based than anything – plus there was a shift when “Shame” left the building.   Kids these days don’t even know what shame is and they are clueless about evidence.   I consider myself to be Morally Flexible.  I also consider that is a fact which doesn’t necessarily need to be advertised.   I will never forget Ma-In-Law (who was a bartender for many years) indignantly stamping her feet when the Feds were going after the Mongols patch. “These are just nice family men who want to spend some time being men together!”   Well… Yes, and ahhhh…. No.

There are no innocents.  There are different degrees of responsibility.   So -Once upon a time, late ‘05 or early ‘06, My husband Don had come home from drinking at the bar all day with his friends, some of whom make up a fairly large chunk of the RUB-ish Vagos and said to me “I hope you told your boyfriend George ‘Good Bye’, because he’s going to die” At this point in our life together our conversation usually consisted of “Fuck You” and “Fuck YOU, you fucking Fuck”.   I remember looking at him intently, and holding my breath for a bit.  Then I said “Good Bye Don…  Don’t you know? We are all going to die” and then my ears started roaring.   I had always felt George would be killed by a shotgun blast while in bed with some guy’s wife, or daughter.  Before reaching age 40.  Here we had made it to 45 already!  WTF was this ass talking about?  I started reviewing what I knew. When HAD I seen him last?   Nancy, the very straight woman from work, had asked me if I knew George.  I had answered, “That depends”   I met Nancy in 1997 or 98 shortly before she started dating her cute neighbor “Fireman Bill.”  Bill had a Harley, and had asked her to ride with him.  She was nervous about it.  I coached her.  She did fine. After a few months, he asked her to go to Laughlin for the River Ride.  She asked me about what to pack.  I was green with envy!! I waxed rapturously about leaning back, feet on the pegs, and all those miles of Good Vibrations, wind, boots, braids & open face helmet with goggles… and she said she didn’t think there would be room in the saddlebag for her hair drier.  I was dumbfounded.  She packed three suitcases and drove her car to Laughlin.  I asked her “What exactly is the POINT?” …  We are just different kinds of girls. So next they went on the Love Ride.  15 years later– she’s a RUB with a man & bike – & I’m just about homeless, and solo.  I can’t even hang as a fuck buddy anymore, because I know it’s a bullshit game, and I am unwilling to pretend otherwise.   So – Nancy –why do you want to know?  Because George Rowe is not something I wave my flag about, but I trust her.  Well – Nancy married Bill.  Bills ex-wife is a pothead, and at least one of his two girls is a hellcat strung out heroin junkie.  I’d heard about some of this before.  Nancy had told me they were anticipating a call any time that the step daughter would be found OD’d.   Apparently “Jenna” had brought her questionable new (and about 20 years older) “friend” home to meet Daddy.  Charmer that he is, George quickly had Nancy eating out of his hand, and made a connection for her with me.   So I told Nancy “George is a lot like the movie “Kingpin” I cannot recommend that movie to anyone, but I absolutely love it and find it adorable.”  I told her “bottom line – I trust George with everything I have.  I can’t say if that is a good thing for anyone else.  He does well when he can be a rescuer, and ride a white horse and save the girl from the dragon.  I’m not very needy, so he got bored with me.  Plus there was all that money in crank.  So – if your girl is strung out on H – you couldn’t ask for a better guy to be at her side.”   He has the experience, the aptitude and the interest.  Plus- he’s not going to backslide now.   “Sierra” the little girl he had picked up at daycare was “Jenna’s” daughter.  All those people “Jenna” ran around with were seriously low-life biker trash.  I can say this with love – but let’s just say the character of these dudes has skewed sharply away from what I consider to be a biker.  “Sierra’s ” father is a nephew of my co-worker.  My co-worker is the only family member in three generations with any education after high school or a job.  My co-worker first joined the Army, then moved two states away to keep his own kids away from his family of origin.  I like that Warlock’s Big Ride guy– He’ got the right idea, if only people will get their heads straight for a minute.  So.  Where was George.  I knew he had been having trouble with Jenna.  She would not stay clean. Or home.  I will put $1000 on the table that a DNA test will show George is not genetically related to that baby she had in her belly when they  went off into WitSec.  He chose to put his name on the birth certificate and is the most devoted, kind, protective and loving Daddy any child could ever have the good fortune to have, because he had the opportunity to do so.  Maybe it started as just part of the cover – keeping the game on, but it has really been a blessing for him.   Nancy and Fireman Bill had given me their two pet goats because I had a farm and they were moving to a condo.  Bill & I had met a number of different times and Bill has almost the same affect as Kevin.  Flat, dry and measuring.  This is all really old news now.  After George was gone, his crew kept coming around and doing work for about 6 months, then they just hung it up.  His birthday came & my birthday went. No word.  2006 was the year my divorce was final, and I worked off the last of those 65 pounds and I was taking home over $10,000.00/month, and my entire household disintegrated into utter madness.   My son had come home from Iraq in 2004, and still wasn’t talking much. His wife was staying late at the office. Then it wasn’t the office, it was her boss, and my boy left their house so he wouldn’t hit her, and he drove around the corner, turned off the pickup and sat there for a bit.  That was why the cop came over to check him out.  Because he didn’t get out.   So – yeah there was some alcohol.  But he wasn’t drunk and he didn’t hit her in front of the boy.  Or ever.  But the Class A license, and the truck driving  job, and my dream of him teaching me to drive and us going over the road someday  as family business was done.  At the same time my two daughters were in charge of their little brother.  I gave one the ATM card and thinking “Stater Bros” and said please  go get your brother something for dinner.  So she did.  With her sister too, at Denny’s  in Oceanside.  And then the girls thought “we could go to the mall on the way home!!”.  And it was Soooo  Goood they did it again the next day, and for most of the summer. When I caught it – I gave them a lecture and cancelled the cards.   The next month – my statement showed more activity.  The bank had cancelled the WRONG Card!! By the time I got that turned around they had both shopped at Victoria’s Secret for Back-to School, bought all their friends lavish gifts etc.  adding up to almost $8,000.00 cash.  Don had encouraged them – saying, “you know, when your Mom finds out she’ll be so mad that she won’t get you anything for Christmas – so you’d better go back again tomorrow!”  I missed the opportunity to prosecute the girls and teach them a lesson they wouldn’t forget.   I hate court.  I began to realize I could do without that kind of co-parenting.

In June, 2006, I hired Bill Haynes to do some work on my house.  Bill’s wife Kim worked with me and heard me speak about trying to get a reasonable general contractor to do some work on my 100 year old house. So – I met Bill at the house, and we discussed the project.  He didn’t tell me my ideas were stupid, and he bid it at a reasonable price.  Over the summer we spent a fair amount of time together discussing the project, buying supplies & problem solving. Bill told me a lot about his favorite hobby, bouncing at Angels Roadhouse.   He knew the former stripper/owner, and spent a lot of time there. Bill grew up in Ohio and as a child he played with Wendy, the real girl of the Hamburger Wendy’s when he was young.  Bill came to Riverside in his teens or twenties, and fairly shortly after arrival, he  got shot in the face by a N*****.  He nearly died, and today he wears a glass eye.  Bill asked me about George one day – completely out of the blue.  Bill’s Dad is named James Haynes and he invented a process to color diamonds black.  There were a lot of stories, about gold, and smuggling, and cocaine and a real movie was made about some of it, and the guy who overdosed and dies, did so for real  in Bill’s bedroom back in Ohio when he was still pretty young and when his parents were still married.  I’m not sure if Bill was at the bar that day George started the fight, but they do know each other.  In about 2009, Bill decided I was responsible for his divorce, even though he & I both know his wife was sleeping with that Doctor for quite a while before she thought to accuse me of having an affair with her husband during the summer of 2006.  Don decided I was sleeping with Bill the day I hired him.  I said – “I probably could… but he is married to my friend- so -No.”  All Bill ever talked about was how much he loved his wife.  I think he is buying gold in Riverside since housing tanked.  That movie might have been “Blow.”   In ‘06 it was still sort of recent.

Don’s brother works overseas building high end golf courses. They had talked about a trip for years. In October 2006, Don went to Ireland for three weeks.  We are divorced.  He still lives free in my house.  He asked me for a little travelling cash – as he was a bit short for this trip.  Well – I think travel is wonderful, and I don’t hate him – I just can’t live with him.  So I gave him a few hundred.  What that bought me was complete humiliation a few months later when the kids were talking about seeing the pictures of Dad’s trip.  “Dad took Anne – his high school sweetheart.  He paid for everything!”

All I heard for 25 years was how perfect Ann was, which I already knew because she was my friend before she ever met Don.  I’ve encouraged him to call her.  I was happy they had their trip.  The man makes $80K/year and he only pays for gas!  All this I have done to myself – I know it.  So where IS George?   Time passes very slowly, and then one day – my phone rings and I hear his bodacious laughter! Hey baby!!  And he tells me he had to go away – it is crazy – he can’t tell me anything about it – but what’s up do you miss me?  I was so happy!   “ ‘Don told me you were going to be dead’– and I said ‘We’re ALL going to be dead’ ”    We laughed and had a great talk and he promised to call the next day.   He was happy to hear I’d finally divorced Don, and said he was sorry he couldn’t come to California ever again.   Within 3 days I was in his arms in a Motel alongside an Interstate.  I spent 16 wonderful hours with him.  It had been 22 years since the last time we made love and my experience was an amazing mix of the familiar remembered and a couple of lifetimes of new experiences brought to the table.  The man has a deep appreciation, broad understanding and detailed anatomical and physiological knowledge of women.   Plus – I like him a lot.   I have a random photo someone took of me a couple of days later – You can see my happiness like an electric aura.  That was November 2006. He said wait for me Baby – it’ll just be a little while.   I was on fire after the past 8 years of sexless marriage/emotional torture.  George told me I could ask Kevin Duffy to reach him if I ever needed to, for a real Emergency, and that Kevin would always know where he was, and how to reach him.  I never asked Kevin, but I fully believe I could have.  For years, I was working too much.   I was supporting my own 4 kids plus Don in my little household of twofaced backstabbing thieves. Don’s older brother plus nephew and a friend (3 guys) were also living there along with their girlfriends and assorted babymommas (6 girls and 2 infants) in and out all day – lounging around and cooking meth down in the shop.  My husband is on probation! What kind of friends are you?   Why are you in MY house? So I sold the house.  It was just Pure Luck that the market had peaked.  Now comes the Real Drama.

I was at nearly my high school weight.  Fit and Trim.  Lots of cash.  Bitter about a few things.  I needed that man to fuck me, and all I could do was wait. Well- I was weak.  I made it until February, and then I seduced my friend’s brother-in law.  I got what I deserved there – undoubtedly, although waiting for George wouldn’t have worked out either.  David was 31, and an Old Testament Bible-thumping Christian.  Inflexible.  We lasted 3 years before he hit me.  David was injured in March 2008 and his personality changed after the trauma.  Back to the person he was before. The one I had met was the fake.   George slapped me just once, in about 1982.  David gradually escalated from that one slap into full on beatings.  I watched that nannycam invasion video and I thought “I know exactly how that feels.”   When he said he was going to kill me- I believed him.  Before that, we had some good times.  His family loves me still, and is sorry he hurt me.  Hell Yes they love me – I gave them a break from dealing with him.   David broke his neck in a dirt bike accident in 2008.  I stayed with him in the hospital and did all those things private nurses do; only you can’t pay anyone to care for you, and that is what I really did.  If he wants to give God all the credit for being healed I say that’s fine, God gave you friends who had a phone who called me, and I said hang up and call 911, and they did. And the ambulance brought you to a trauma center where the ER has a lot of experience and knew just what to do. And on the 6th day the Neurosurgeons operated, and put you back together again. God lined all that up for you.  But you have to have the willpower and the determination to move all your fingers, every joint, 5 times every hour, and if you sleep or forget, I will do that for you.  And you need to move your wrists and your elbows and your shoulders and your toes, and your ankles and your knees and your hips.  I am here to help you with that, because if you do not do it now, you cannot do it later.  I am your angel and God sent me here for you.  And 2 years later with gratitude, and 99% return to function, instead of being in a wheelchair, that man gave me in several installments 5 black eyes, twice broken ribs, a bit through lip, detached tendons in my wrist and a L5-S1 vertebral dislocation.   When I first met David, when we were getting to know each other, I told him that sometimes my phone would ring at odd hours and I would take that call no matter what.  George called me through 2007 and 2008 about 12 to 14 times, like in the old days.  Sometimes we could talk for 3 hours and sometimes just a moment.  I know it was hard for him. He never told me anything concrete about what he was doing.  We would talk about the weather, or what he was cooking.  We talked a lot about the kids.  He was new to parenting and I was so envious that I wasn’t part of the life he was having with them.  I felt cheated.  Somewhere along the line – I finally let go of that resentment.  That day I realized why and I explained it to him.  When we were young, I so desperately wanted your baby.  All those years, all that amazing sex – I never got pregnant.  I had a fertility problem because I’d had an ectopic pregnancy, and the Doctors told me I’d have trouble getting pregnant in the future.  If we had stayed together, I never would have had 3 more children, and you wouldn’t have been able to have this experience now.  Not that being in hiding is all that fun – but at least you can spend a lot of time with your kids and not worry about starving to death.  So during our little chats I kept in mind what time it was, was it snowing, and I would look on the weather map until I had a guess.  It was part of our little game.  I wouldn’t ask, and he wouldn’t tell.  One time I guessed in a hurry – you are in… A, B or C.  and he laughed  “Yes! – you got it” but then he wouldn’t tell me which one.  As the physical relationship I was in became more dangerous, I was looking for the way out.  I didn’t talk to George much about it, but he knew I wasn’t in a good situation.  Don had called CPS on me because he felt the house I lived in was too small.  He was suing for child custody and support, and at the same time my company was slowly going bankrupt.  My older girl was sneaking out and her straight A’s went down to almost not graduating.  My younger girl just tried to stay out of the way.   I had to go to court over and over. Psychiatrist, Parenting Classes, Mediators, Moderators. You would think after all the years we spent in Federal Court, the man would have a new hobby, but apparently Don likes seeing me in court.  So – I bought a bigger house, let the little one go back to the bank, and we moved to the suburbs.  The real excitement of 2009 however was that … after 3 years of hinting… George got a phone number that I could call him back on. I did a reverse look up and laughed out loud when I saw where the number was located.   When we talked, I asked how the weather is, and he told me, and I replied “Well,  according to your phone number,  your weather should be overcast and 20 below! “  We had some fun that day.  Just being able to leave a message was so wonderful.  We escalated the conversations substantially, and I asked him not to call in the night anymore.  Sometimes our conversation would unfold over a couple of days with messages going back and forth but not actually talking.  Then I texted him a couple of times.  He didn’t know too much about it, although he knew his kids did it.  So we got on board with texting, and later a few photos were exchanged.  One of the things I was concerned about regarding George’s situation was that – to me- it sounded like the story of Pinocchio where Mr. Fox has shown him the carnival and given him a cigar.  It sounded to me like the IRA – once in, never out.  George talked about coming to California, whereas earlier he’d said he could never come past the Mississippi.  I was just trying to make a plan for myself.  I decided that I needed to get rid of David, give Don custody of his son, like he wanted, and move to South Dakota.  I am not a fighter – but I was being fought from every direction.  I picked South Dakota as my base for being a travel nurse because they have great tax & residency rules for that.  In September 2009 I flew to Denver.  I asked George if he could meet me in Rapid City, and I believe he really tried.  This was right when all the   gunwalker activity was blowing up in Phoenix, and I think we were at least in the same time zone for about 3 days.  By summer of 2010 I could not put off my knee surgery any longer.  I was on medical leave for 6 months.  During this time was when the irrationality and narcissism of David’s world really came to a head.  He berated me for never dressing up, and for having gained weight since we met.  Then in the final beating he was calling me a whore because the dress I had worn to his work party was red, and I called attention to myself.  Well, I took what he dished out, and I waited until the next day.  I got my kids out, and I got in my car and drove away.  I sent George a photo of my black eye.  He talked me all the way to Blythe.  He told me turn around, go back and call the cops on that Motherfucker.  I told him – Baby – I know you are right, but I just can’t do it.  He was frustrated, and said What about the next girl?!  I said – I can’t. She’s on her own.  When I left, I still had three weeks of medical leave, and I had already interviewed for a new job.  I couch surfed across the Southwest, arriving on short notice at homes of friends I hadn’t seen in years.  I stayed with 6 different families and camped at Havasu, and in Kingsburg.  I had Christmas in 90 degree Phoenix, and New Years in Tahoe with snow.  While I was gone, David’s family went to my house, cleaned his stuff out and changed the locks.  They told the neighbors what was up and to call the police if they saw him.  So – I returned in a slightly surreal fashion.  No one appeared to have needed me or missed me for over three weeks, and the next day I started driving to work in Poway.  80 miles each way.  Commuting is a special kind of Hell.  I’ll drive 750 miles, go all damn day and well into the night, but to have to – then work?  Uhhhhnnh.    So, the end of 2010 finds me talking with George 3 or 4 times a week. He tells me about his days.  He has some work now, and about the kids, and what the latest with Jenna is.  She’s had a relapse or several, and they have been in at least 3 different locations that I can figure out.  There is probably another guy.  David was 16 years younger than me,  she is more like 20.  George & I are 6 months apart.  All this time George has been in hiding, it’s been years now, like 5 years.  He has never told me a single fact.  He uses terms like his boss, and his bosses boss, and the big boss.  I listen to what he tells me, and I read the weather.  Google is my best friend.  I see outlines but the picture is hazy.  He has held all through 2010 that this is something he will be through with soon.  He has a date in March.  He will be done then. He is going to a different job.  We can go someplace and start new.  I am enraptured at the thought of waking up next to him again.  I am not fighting with my ex, I never do.  But relentlessly-  Don causes problem after problem.  He has changed my son’s school, doesn’t want him playing music, will not let me take him to see his dying Grandma in Arizona.  Don will not drive him to baseball practice or Boy Scouts.  “He doesn’t need it – he has a Dad.”  The boy will be fine with his Dad.  Well, he will be what he will be.   I just want to be at peace.  At times I have been impatient, but mostly I am content with the phone situation with George. He WAS through, had a plan to leave and begin again with me, or perhaps I am still naïve, and he just wanted someone friendly to talk to while he was living out his lie.  I prefer to believe what he tells me is the truth, at least at that moment.  But then in January he walked into a donut shop and recognized a fugitive and that changed the entire plan.   When I monitor the ATF websites for the Georgia, Tennessee, Arizona, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and North Carolina offices, I read press releases about activities that match events and locations and times of things he had already told me about.  Usually within a month after, I could find a report which matched particular things like gun trafficking or homemade bombs.  Early on – I decided not to make notes or keep a journal of any of this information.  Usually I am a nearly obsessive documenter, but this is a very private thing, and I wouldn’t want my journal to be someone’s undoing.  Anyone’s.  I am not thoroughly comfortable with sharing my story with you.

Throughout 2011 I spent many of my mornings on the phone with my best friend, the love of my life.  Our scheduled drive times fit perfectly and like clockwork – we talk from 5:15 when I leave home until 06:30 when I clock in.  Sometimes we miss a day, or get cut short, but it is a happy routine.  I don’t miss the physical contact as much when I can talk to him.  My back hurts constantly, from when David threw me on the floor.  I have spent 32 years working in hospitals, I will not be one of those back pain people.  Some days I can’t drive home and so I sleep in my car. I don’t take medicine or drink. I don’t go to a Doctor.  I know where the pain reaches, so I know where it comes from and I know how it got there.  And I will suffer it.  And the mornings when I wake up in my Honda in some swanky neighborhood in Rancho Bernardo where I pretend, No- I do… I LIVE there, because I am there and I am alive… I start my car and drive down to the strip mall and walk into Starbucks, and I get to sit in a cushy leather couch and listen to my love tell me how his yesterday went.  That is pretty darn close to Heaven, and then I can get up and go do my day.  I never realized how exhausting chronic pain is.  2011 passes in a haze.  I miss my co-workers from my old job.  I started there in 1980, and 31 years is more time and commitment than I have had from any other person or thing in my entire life.  I left home at 18.  Don’s pledge ‘til death do us part was in ‘91 after a few rocky dating years.  He was in Alaska or the Gulf of Mexico or offshore at Oxnard or Avila for at least ten of those years anyway.  Then there was the run out to Hawaii to meet the Columbians, and all that time driving back and forth to New York City with a briefcase full of Pablo Escobar’s cash.  Oh, and there was all that time in Federal custody.  However he’s keeping that pledge NOW, regardless of any divorces.  He has worn me out.  The end of 2011 found me looking for work at the brand spanking new Seventh Day Adventist hospital just 20 miles away from home.  I got hired in December, and waved farewell to my San Diego friends in January.  George’s phone had been turned off for a few days or even as long as two weeks.  One time he told me he locked it in the car, another time he told me he stepped on it and had to get a new one. I quickly realized that 20 mile x 5 days was NOT better than 80 miles x 3 days.  I was also not a good fit in a faith based setting.  My back hurt constantly.  George had switched jobs in the fall, but he too was learning the grass was not greener within the next branch of the Federal Agencies.  He was getting frustrated with his new boss and the excessive layers layers of rules and middle-management.  He had not experienced this when he ran his own business.  We talked about our options.  I felt I could make a move as soon as school let out.  We talked several times through February, and late at night, very late for him, on the 13th, I was thinking I should say Happy Valentine’s because it was almost, already, when there was a really loud noise, and he said “Babe I’ll call you later” and disconnected.  Well, later was a week, two weeks.  I was getting worried.  There was nothing I could do.  3 weeks.  5 weeks, I felt paralyzed, and I felt like screaming.  I waited.    The message on his phone was the temporarily out of service message.  The phone had been off for 5 weeks at Christmas, which was hard, but he had told me ahead of time – I’ll be out of touch for a while, at least a month, so I was OK with that 5 weeks.  These 5 weeks put me right down to the dirt.  I wasn’t sleeping. My back hurt.  It made my leg weak. The new place was completely disorganized.  I was deeply mentally involved in some computer programming – not my job, but something I know about – and I was totally preoccupied with breathing and not screaming. Well what if he was dead.  I was powerless.  I was more worried about if he’d been hurt and he might need me.  I need him to need me too.  I liked the computer problem solving because I could sit down.  My real job is about 90 % standing. I have no one else I really care to talk to, that always makes me laugh and brightens my day.  I am going through the motions on the outside – completely crazy on the inside.

One time a long time ago, in the 80’s, George came home and told me he hurt his arm at work and he thought maybe it was broken.  He knew I had plaster rolls, and talked me into applying a cast to his arm.  About 3 days later it was gone, and he said it felt better.  In 2011, I was helping a friend who’d just gotten out of prison.  We were catching up on old times when he paused and looked at me.  “It was YOU!” he said.  Sure – Yeah – what did I do now?  “You put that cast on George”.  He went on to tell me some tale of extremely bad behavior which had occurred long time gone, with a lot of water under the bridge.  I admitted I had indeed put a cast on him, but that my intention was not to create a weapon!

The time George slapped me, he was really saving me.  It was summer 1985. We’d come undone and I wasn’t doing well with it.  It had been a month or two since he’d left me, I was devastated, nearly incoherent and I had lost 30 pounds.  When you weigh drastically less, alcohol is a lot different.  I’d been down at the bar a lot.  I went to an apartment with a guy, who didn’t mention he was married.  Turns out- I worked with his wife, but I never saw his picture or met him before.  So – the next day, I was back in the bar.  I don’t remember George being in the bar but he was sure as hell out in the parking lot.  Patti came in, hopped up next to me and started chatting.  She suggested I come outside with her so she could show me something in her car.   All I know for sure is, that girl was Italian.  We walk up to a big black truck and the door opens.  The guy I went “home” with yesterday is sitting in the truck looking pale.  I was very drunk.   There is next, some commotion, and dust.   George strides up to the assemblage swearing a blue streak and calling me out.  Patti has me but George pulls me out away from the truck.  I remember clearly that he looked me right in the eyes and said “Babe – I’m so sorry”, then he slapped me one time hard across the mouth and I flew up in the air and crumpled into the dust in a heap.  Then he berated me and called me names while I took a few minutes to get up and he took me home and cleaned me up and held me while I cried, and took me to bed and sometime in the night he asked me what in the hell I was thinking.   I replied “What does thinking have to do with it?”  Patti moved back to New Jersey.

So in April 2012, being totally preoccupied and worried and in severe pain, I made a mistake at work and got fired.  Then panic set in. I had trips planned to New Orleans and Vancouver, my kids would starve and I would be homeless! I was FREE!  I could GO where I wanted.  And I calmed down, and called my friend in Michigan and got a flight and went to my class, and my conference.  My friend in Michigan wanted to do my cards.  He thinks I am fascinating and very powerful.  We met in 1979 when he came to Cali to work in the sex trade.  We were just teens smoking pot at a house party, he hadn’t quite gotten started in his career yet.  His hair was long and wavy and past his belt.  33 years later as he gave me the instructions for the reading his phone rang.  I concentrated on shuffling the cards and on my question (It has been 7 weeks. Sweet Jesus Please send me a sign) for 45 minutes instead of 20.  My reading came up entirely Major Arcana cards.  The Devil, the Magician, The Lovers, The High Priestess, The Hierophant, The Sun, all twelve cards.  Bruce was stunned.  He called someone and they discussed it. Never.  Never seen anything like it. Statistical Improbability.  Hmmm. Never.

He is still talking about it now.  He wants me to return to Michigan and do another reading.   I believe in Tarot about as much as The Torah and the Koran and the Bible and the California Lottery.  At the end of April 2012, I began a 13 week assignment in Central California.  I took it because it was close, and I didn’t know exactly where I was headed and didn’t have a license to work anywhere else.  Well, I have Oregon, Montana and South Dakota, but they are all expired.  I had NO cash reserves when I’d been fired, and this was the fastest place I could start work.  I drove to Porterville and lived for three weeks on $26.00, in my Suburban CarV.  I planned to leave after the 13 weeks and go work next near my cousin in Charlotte, and perhaps the other cousin in Orlando.  Really 3 days are plenty of Florida for me.  However, as time passed, my mental paralysis wasn’t as evident to these strangers.  They don’t know what I am really like.  It remained about all I could do just to get through a work day, and sleep.  I bought a $1000 trailer, and lived in the campground, down by the Tule River.  Good people there. Disabled vets younger than my son.  Edison sub-contractors.   I kept to myself.   Well mostly.  I stayed on for 9 months.

Around Labor Day a miracle happened.  It was very hot, and I was just floating in the pool at the campground.  No-one else was there, just me and the helicopter that was circling endlessly over the river bed.  I was the perfect buoyancy and did not have to exert any effort whatsoever to stay afloat.  The helicopter went around and around.  I finally decided it must be a pot thing, and stayed relaxed.  I may have fallen asleep, or possibly become hypnotized, because next,  I realized it was near dark, and almost chilly. When I moved to swim to the edge I noticed immediately that the constant sharp knifing pain in my back I had lived with for nearly two years, was gone.  Something had slipped or released when I got deeply relaxed. Amen & Hallelujah!  As I stepped out of the pool I noticed I had exchanged that back pain for numbness across my right foot.  Well, I’m not 20, and numbness is better than pain, so I continued my protocol of no Doctors, or drugs, or alcohol and now, a year later, the numbness has mostly resolved as well.  I still get tired easily, and if I move sideways sometimes I feel a little jolt, but I don’t have that deep pain or any numbness.

https://mokeworks.wordpress.com/2012/11/13/sunday-maybe-someday/

Sunday, Maybe someday

Posted on November 13, 2012 by mokeworks

Well, I tried – I really did.

https://mokeworks.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/whos-selfish-now/

Mama IS A Rolling Stone

Who’s selfish now

Posted on December 5, 2012 by mokeworks

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

And I wish it had been that easy, but it wasn’t.  In October a new travel surgical tech came to Porterville.  When she left in a huff after 2 weeks, it was like a bomb went off. She left with a letter accusing  Sexual Harassment, Violence in the Workplace, Unprofessionalism and on & on.  HR  came and interviewed our entire staff.  I answered the questions they asked.  The drama unfolded slowly as there were accusations on several fronts.  No one asked me if I was sleeping with the Doctor. I was assured I’d done nothing wrong.  I was upset with myself because I’d let him talk me into staying on, and doing a few other things, that my heart just wasn’t into.  I actually like him quite a bit.  I dislike the way he treats me at times, and I do not write this off as he is a Mexican.  He is an educated man who spent his adult life in Oregon and Michigan, living white.  He has said I do some things more Mexican than he does.  I just want to be kind. Well, my contract was until March 3, but they released me early on Feb 2.  So – now the choice, do I stay or do I go?  I want to go but I do not know where.  Just then I spotted it! On Aging Rebel – A reader posted a comment that George Rowe was publishing a book soon.  Google no Amazon, and there it is. OMFG. The publishing date is the one year anniversary of our last conversation.  Did he know? Is this co-incidence? Grrrr.  I ordered the books pre-sale, but my credit wouldn’t fly.  Besides, I am 275 miles from my mailbox. Finally I figured out I could do Kindle on my phone, and paid for the download.  And I waited.  I read the advance reviews. When the book finally dropped to the phone, I read it straight through.  Just like talking to him, indeed Jay Fucking Dobbins.  You, Sir,  are what got me into this mess in the first place!!   Sometime around the time that  Jay’s “No Angel” came out, you wrote an article.  I quoted something Jay had said about when people are down, what they are capable of and I texted it to George. He called me RIGHT back and told me in no uncertain terms not to ever use that name again, and to stop reading  your ”nonsense”.  George’s ghost writer did good fact filling and spaced it in between his segments nicely.  I knew most of the story, and it all sounded just how I remember.  When  I sat down and wrote my review on Amazon.  I titled it as a review, but it was in fact a ridiculously personal, deeply passionate love letter.  I wrote and I wrote. Then I cut. Then I revised and hacked then I started over and I ended up with three dense paragraphs of intensely personal- disguised -commentary.  I posted that review on Valentines’ Day, and on the 16th, just like that = my phone rang.  The number was unfamiliar, but from a certain area code.  First a ring back, then a text.  At Last!  All is now right with the world.  We talked a bit.  I knew tell he wasn’t telling me everything. But – we were talking.  Someone once said “That man is your Heroin” and I believe she could be right.

Miraculously in about 4 days, I find a spot and get hired.  Again – I didn’t have the resources to not work.  My MINI had a $4,000.00 breakdown in December, and that wiped me out.  Children’s Hospital Central California in Madera.  I am invited to move in with the Doctor.  I really foresee problems with that.  I ask if I can stay just for a week or two.  Then I decide I really need to go home. I will have 5 weeks off before the job actually starts.  I will jump out of my skin if I am with the man that long.  George calls once or twice.  He is concerned.  He has read my book review and he sees that I know things right now there is no way he can imagine I would have learned.  He is very curious  about what I know and how I found out.  I edit the review sharply, so by the 4th day – it is almost insignificant.  The Amazon account was opened from my exDH’s computer when I was still married, so it posts as my ex.  I see no reason to fix it.  George  sounds  a little worried.  He talks about California and mentions  he has plans for a book tour and a few meet & greets.  I am OK if we are just talking, but the thought of seeing him is captivating.  I have a lot of time right now.  I think everything would be much better if I flew to his area.  George flies to see me in California March 3, 2013.  He said he would be in LA for a few days as there were book tour obligations he must do.  Arrived at LAX, and just walked out to the curb as if we did it every week. He looks pale, and a little puffy, but damn it is good to see him. I have to smell his neck. I inspect his tattoos. My favorite is still there. My successors’s name is covered, some color is added here and a few tweaks to cover there.  We get in the car and drive.  We drive south and east and north and west.  He wants to eat at a real taco shop. He orders my most favorite thing for me without asking.  We roll on down Memory Lane across the freeways and highways of So Cal.  He tells me he rarely even drinks anymore because he is always busy with his kids.  We talk about some of our youthful adventures and he laughs low & slow “Babe – you are the only woman I ever knew who is hotter & the sexiest when you are sober and know exactly what you are doing”  He sits close beside me, and I can tell he spends his time in big trucks by the way he leans as I weave the MINI through traffic.  We can take the carpool lane! We do, until the first bike roars up on his side.  I see his reaction, and I ease over at the next break.  I see the fear flash over him viscerally, and I am suddenly deeply sad. This will never leave him.  I think of tradeoffs.  I ask about the neck biopsy, because I never heard what the results were.  “Lymphoma, but it is the “good” kind.”  He talks about chemo and radiation. I feel very cold and my head is rushing.  I do the math and I think “about 12 years” just as he says I need twelve years, just gotta get the boy grown.  Jesus.  It seems so close.  Maybe 12 years. He is here with me Right Now.  Warm and breathing and very alert.  I need to hear him laugh.  He needs a smoke.  He has been fidgeting, and I let him wait.  “Light me up honey, or are you going to jump out of your skin?”  I get a chuckle.  He says “You don’t” and I say, “Oh, but with you – I do.”  We puff companionably past the exits of our youth.  George is really tense.  We see some different colors fly past us.  It is time to hole up and get a room.  He gives me cash. I think it is a LOT of cash.  He tells me to keep it.  In the hotel he paces. We smoke. Seven years ago there was a hit on him.  That hasn’t changed.  He is really wound tightly.  I ask “What are you not telling me?  Is there a girl?”  The Doctor thinks I am foolish to waste my time on this silly little hobby of mine “Of course he has a girl! If he’s really anything like you say he is – he has two girls”   The Doctor doesn’t like my hobby.  I don’t like his hobbies either.  Fortunately, he has playmates for that.  I don’t discuss my life away from him.  George wants to know exactly what I know, and how I found out. He says his boss is worried. I know they know some things about me- I have been being surveilled constantly by agencies since the late 80’s.  I think his handlers are probably very good at what they do – but I believe that George is better.  These jokers do it for a job. George plays for life. I can see George does not like the idea that he may have let something slip.  I remind him of how crazy I got after we broke up back in 1985.  You remember honey– I couldn’t sleep so I would drive 150 miles up & down through the neighborhoods at night?  Well… now there are search engines.  Remember you had that cowboy at the phone company keeping tabs on me?   I told him about the past year we were out of touch, how  I was frantically researching every thread of my memory, of recollection, of yearbooks, old diaries, letters, just anything. Like a meth fueled hamster I ran on my wheel around and around.  I read every article and comment on the Sipsey Street Irregulars.  The Aging Rebel.  The ATF Whistleblower website.  I read about Dobyns, Cefalu , Fast and Furious.  I read the regional ATF news releases.  I added that all to my mental checklists with the weather, and when he was getting the kids after school.  And one day- I just got it.  I assured  him, because it’s true, no-one else has as many pieces to the puzzle of you as I do.  I am the only person on this planet who is that interested in George Rowe.  Then I looked him straight in the eyes and said.  It’s the little blonde at your Urologist’s office, Right?   And I was right.  And I hated MY Doctor for being right.  But I don’t hate George, not even a little bit.  Because he is just what he is.  Those long ago promises – we swore to never try to change each other, but to speak up if we were doing something stupid.  We promised to lie only when truly necessary, keeping in mind, we each prefer the painful truth.  We promised to love each other always, and to never hurt each other intentionally.  We have done our best, and while I may think about how something could have gone down differently here or there – I have No Regrets.

George is a survival master.  He operates from the most basic level.  I have tried to get him to email me for almost 8 years.  He will not do it.  I doubt he will ever appear on any TV show or do any interviews or any book signings.  We passed a quiet night together in a trucker’s motel.  I held him tightly to me and listened to him breathe, and in the morning he told me he hadn’t slept at all, but that he had held me close all night while I breathed.  He awoke early, got up, smoked a cigarette, paced back and forth and said; Babe, how fast can you get me to the airport?  Well – I told him – I’m all you’ve got  – Let’s roll.  He was really uncomfortable and wanted to get a flight out.  I sat next to him while he called his boss and cancelled all the media events. “Nope – I‘m just not doing it.  I don’t CARE! …No MotherFucker – just NO!”  He dressed, tossed me his dirty shirt, and we stepped out just before the sunrise.  LA was awakening too and I slid into my seat.  Hold On – Here we go!  Magically, on a Monday I was able to transport us to LAX from Santa Ana in about 18 minutes.  He stepped out of my car, and stretched, then leaned back in for a kiss, and was away to his little blonde and the comforts of his home.  I have a steadier kind of happiness now.  I am quietly happy.  We are OK.  He assures me, if anything ever really happens to him– I am on the notify list.  I ask him to call when he gets close to home.  He wishes me luck at the new job and tells me to let the Doctor take care of me for a while.  I will try, I say. Then he is gone again.  I head north to Visalia.

I find a place in Kingsburg, right by the rest stop where I stayed on my escape trip in 2009.  If you cross the freeway there is a lovely campground with studio apartments right on the Kings River.  I rent one and I stay there and I love it.  There is a bar called Bullfrogs, and sometimes 81 is in the house.  The job is not quite as good for me.  I see some things I have not ever seen before.  I run into a couple of moral and ethical dilemmas. The same kinds of problems are found at the beginning of life as the ones I am more familiar with at the end.  I ask another nurse “What if I had delivered that baby with those problems and I had strong feelings which could be religious that undergoing this operation was not what I wanted for my child?”  I was told the child would be made a ward of the state and all those surgeries plus more would be done.  I do not know if what she said is true but she was very convincing.  Just about the time I got the letter from Riverside County DCSS announcing they were garnishing my wages for back child support, I realized this was not the place for me.  I will not even talk about the Mean Girls.  There are always a few – but here they have overrun that area.  I gave my notice and started packing up to leave.   The hospital kindly paid me two weeks, and let me go  immediately.  Admitting failure is always bittersweet.  I learned some things and met a couple of great people.  But I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.   So during the West’s latest deadly heat wave, I packed and made three round trips of 700 miles each in my beater Suburban. Then I unpacked a year in 4 days.

And again, I consider my situation.  I have enough money for a month, or maybe 6 weeks. I can get by until Christmas on unemployment if I am careful and able to sell off a few cars. I am registered with an agency.  There is work all around.  I just have to find the correct ratio of drive time to shift time.  I spent a quality week with my son at Del Mar.  He is registered for the next school year. I have filed my new motion for custody and support.  I have registered for my online program at Santa Barbara City College.  I clipped my dog, just in time for the heat wave.  I ‘m working my way through the stack of books to be read and I vacuumed the living room.  I’m set.

I have enough Southwest miles to take my boy to visit Michigan with me, or I can go to Michigan AND visit my cousin in Orlando.  The Doctor is in Michigan right now too.  I don’t want him to ever meet any of my kids.  They know I have been seeing him, but he’s so crazy he needs to stay in the abstract.  Monday night, before I left on my third moving trip, I thought WTF. I should just hang out and smoke pot like everyone else.   I won’t have to drug test for a couple weeks.  I haven’t smoked since the 20th High school reunion.  God, that was a long time ago.  So Doctor 420 fixed me up a bowl.  Yep, he smokes more pot than any human I have ever encountered and I used to run with a serious rock star crowd.  The super crazy part is – it keeps him normal. Like, he has to have a baseline level to function.   It’s wild.  So, one hit off the bong and I flew up into the corner of the room and was instantly paralyzed, just like when I unknowingly hit the angel dust.  It’s gotta be some reflex reaction I got rewired to have now. It is very uncomfortable.  I was literally, and instantly transfixed into statuary, and could barely move or speak for hours.  Doc thought I was kidding.  He tried to move me and I started to vomit.  So then he left me alone.  It was a complete waste of almost 14 hours.  Now he understands better why I am so negative about pot.  I inhaled a lot from ‘75 to ‘81, and it was always a giggly snackin’ fun hot sexy time. I moved Thai sticks after school for fun and profit. I remember a lot of laughter & good times, but it works on me differently now.

When I finally got down from the ceiling and could go home again, I got on my wicked hamster wheel and I see that 3 weeks after I was with him in LA, the cute blonde from Georges’ Doctors office has announced that she is engaged.   I hope they are very happy for a long time.  I hope he will continue to lie well enough that she never learns the true story.  Do I really mean that?  I believe I do.  My position in his life has been almost invisible, yet constant, since 1978.  His influence on my life has been primarily to school me in street smarts & common sense and the ways of the real world.  I did not always believe his lessons, but as it turns out, he was usually right.  George loved his Dad, and has missed him for a long time.  George’s weak spot is kids especially ones missing their Dad, and Ladies in distress.  What I believe about George is this;  He was not given much to start with and he lost a lot of  what mattered most at a very young age.  Despite these events, he is not mean spirited or hurtful.  George has always been able to survive.  He cautioned me for years, well before facebook,  to reduce my internet exposure.  He explained facial recognition and RFID chips to me three to four years prior to my seeing an ID badge or passport with one.  He’s told me about super hi-def cameras in public places, last summer.  Like what we just got an example of in your blog.  I know that everything you worry about- government power, police state etc. you are smart to be very concerned about.  I know people call him Rat, Snitch, Liar, Thief – he’s certainly been all that and more.  I also know that he would have never become a Vago on his own. At that point in his life in Hemet, he was peaked out.  He was not going to become a doctor, or a fireman, or a banker either.   It may have been his idea to infiltrate the Hemet club, but Kevin Duffy knew  how to actually make him do it, and Kevin was certainly well-connected enough to maximize the opportunity into something bigger.  Kevin got George  in touch with the Feds, and I am sure Kevin knew the way George was headed was down a one-way street.  The relationship between them was long standing and much more complex than anything George states in the book.   The road they took together was likely one they had started down way back in the early 80’s.

George has said to me more than once that he agreed to Kevin’s request to go undercover just for a short, one-shot deal.  This dynamic was a very familiar one for the two men.  In the beginning –back in the 70’s or early 80’s  there was probably a deal, like road camp instead of County.  I can’t say for sure, but by the time this opportunity came along – it was truly a mission.  They were playing out the roles they were born into.   And then once George was in, there was nowhere else to go but forward.  Onward and then, even Further.  Later, after he took on responsibility for “Sierra” and the baby – his whole MO changed.  George finally bloomed.   In Hemet, George had a nickel & dime business with a couple toothless alkie employees and a junkie woman, lingering along in a dying town.  Going into WitSec and subsequently undercover has led him into a whole new life filled with as many opportunities as he can reach out for.  He has skills, aptitude and knowledge that those people – your nemesis- need to run their game.   He’s a natural on the street.  He’s got a wide network on both sides of the thin blue line, and he knows how to use it.  I don’t ask a lot of questions, but I wanted to know if he sets people up.  Emphatic NO is the immediate response.  He talks about crack and heroin and speed and guns and the effects he sees in the country and on the people around him.  He tells me unquestionably, he works hard every day to clean up the streets so kids can be drug-free and safe out in the world.  He states it helps him deal with the wreckage he created in the past, and that he expects to keep doing this as long as he has air.  I believe him.

They reward him well for doing what comes to him, naturally.  He has become educated.  His penmanship is legible &  his writing literate.  His vocabulary is professional, and he speaks well.  He wears a suit sometimes.  He found ways to get “Jenna” into rehab, and a professional job.  Since she left him she has attended a trade school, and found a new boyfriend.  George got the dog and the kids.  Then they got another dog.  His kids go to great schools, and he’s made a nice home in a good neighborhood.  When you know what living in Cali was like for him, it is amazing to see how far up into the middle class lifestyle he has come.  He has been able to diversify his revenue stream with jobs, side jobs, a business, book deals and movie rights.  That native intelligence which he used to great effect as a small time con man, he now uses to his advantage as he works within the Federal system.   I am all for his profiting on these activities.  He is paying a lot of taxes now, and has almost paid off his prior child support obligation.  Disappearing into WitSec does not relieve you of that!  He told me, with some amazement, that if he knew it was this easy to go straight, he would have done it a long time ago.  He explained to me one way cops make big money in Real Estate.  Protected people can’t live just anywhere, and have to keep moving along,  Rents received  for those wired up teched-out safe houses is roughly triple the going rate, and with high un-occupancy to write off.  Government employees have insider privileges like first crack at buying repos or seized property.  Paid Time Off! Dental Insurance! Employee Discounts!  Concepts like this were completely foreign to him in his previous life. He knows I am so crazy that I am fully capable of jumping on a random flight, or into a car and appearing at his office to take him out to lunch, completely unannounced.  He asks me not to do that.  He tells me there will be another book, and that I feature prominently in the next story, including  my  name.  I don’t want to feature prominently anywhere except his bed.  I don’t aspire to be in any book.  I tell him he absolutely cannot use my real name.  He laughs when I demand he use “Candy”.   If ever needed a stripper name, “Rock Candy” the Montrose song was our inside joke.   I can’t quite decide if I truly believe there will be another book.  If yes, Christmas-ish is the timeframe.  ( It was the paperback release) I have been talking to him in a long serial conversation through most of four years. During this time he has described different missions in the UK – I think it was Ireland and in Chad.  I had calculated with the time and weather that he must be in Turkey, or Afghanistan, but he told me firmly – it was Chad, in Africa.  I love to listen to the man talk.  I don’ t usually believe most of what he says, but over the decades –  and especially during these past years – 2006 – 2010  he has been very open & honest about everything.  Right now – I will say when he dropped out of contact in 2012 – it was probably partly the job – but mostly because of the girl.  Honor among thieves and all.  I knew he had met someone after Autumn left – but I never ask, and he doesn’t tell.  I asked him a long time ago not to lie – and if he felt he needed to lie – just don’t talk to me.  I understand about Human Nature – I have one myself.

I think a brass ring came by and George grabbed onto it hard and is making as much of it as he can.  I am very proud of his accomplishments, whether or not I believe in the greater mission of his employers.   Is lying wrong?  Yes.  Are people rewarded for it?  Who, Lawyers?  Car salesman?  Bankers?  Politicians?  Police?   Is it a going-to-hell sin?  I have decided intent is the qualifier.  Is he lying to me?   Since he came to California in 2013, he has stopped talking to me again.  We spoke two or three times, and then the newest phone was tuned off again.  He knows that I confirm and research everything he tells me- that is just the way I am.  He realized in March that I have discovered far more about his new life than he ever imagined I could.  We both know if I divulge anything at all, there may be dire consequences for either of us.  He knows better than I – just the fact that I may have information puts me at risk in certain circumstances.  I am more worried about the Feds protecting their “assets”  than  I am about having a Vago trying to extract anything useable from me.  If his information gets out, there is a very short and direct trail – straight to me.  If  the feds want to prosecute me for outing him, if he becomes at risk, or actually gets damaged – I’ll be spending more time in court.  I know John Carr has knowledge of my existence.  I believe that in late 2009 he began pressuring George to cut me off, about the time I was trying to figure out who he (John) was.  I think George turned in his phone, or it was shut off  for that reason.  I have nothing concrete to back that up.

Life is uncertain.  What George has right now is two young kids to provide a future for.  His activities have cost him – but have also gotten those two kids out of a shack, and into Academic Honors.   The girl is on her way, but the boy is still young.

I realize that my perception of and experiences with George Rowe are unique to me, and that he and his actions are completely unacceptable to most of society, from both sides of the street.  I know too that sometimes what IS, is all there really is.  For a series of moments throughout my lifetime I have been lucky enough to transcend the ennui of daily living and fly through the stars with my soul mate.   I have also experienced the bitter depths of utter despair without him or because of him.  I accept that these experiences were my choice to engage in, and I bear the consequences of my indulgence.  I know too that my continued attachment to him has likely sabotaged many of my other relationships, and my preoccupations have led me directly into trouble on the job, and with those around me.  Knowing I have an obsession, which I could work to overcome – but instead choose to wallow in, does not make me a sympathetic character.  When you wrote Coconut Dan’s obituary, I cried.   I don’t know that guy from a road apple, but there are enough similarities in his story,  to George’s that I cued into it a little too deeply.  I read your descriptive prose and tears leaked down my face.  I imagined you might write the same type of contemptuous denigrating essay, which could be wholly justified and absolutely true about George, from someone else’s perspective.  I am positive when that day does come – the commentary will be sharp, derisive, and because  I see him differently, hurtful.  I can’t change any one’s mind.  All the other positions are valid from their perspective.  I believe when George makes it up to Heavens Gate and is being judged, it will not be a straightforward easy decision.  I know I was very lucky to have seen him this year and especially so in 2006.  I do not think I can walk away from my current life at the level I would have to – for us to really have anything more than a few stolen moments, or the continued telephone contact.  There are clear and present risks with our being in contact.  How I feel about him will not change if I see him tonight or never again on this side.

I am feeling sorry for myself and I know it.  George had a very serious conversation with me a few weeks before he disappeared in ’12.  Now I realize he was trying to prepare me.  He wanted me to be happy for him – because he had finally accomplished so many of the things I had envisioned for him.  I told him of course I was – but that my vision included me being in it with him.   If he had just left me alone when I hated him, I would be fine now.  Instead he had to get my forgiveness, then actually be a kind and concerned friend for nearly a decade, then my soul mate & lover again, and then my therapist and supporter through an exceptionally traumatic experience, and THEN he chose to disappear.  I am always grateful when he is with me and I am not ready for our story to end.   I try to take that love I have for him and spread it around.

I have been through “life with the Feds”  from November, 1993 through today.  I get why contact with George is like suicide for me.  Since March 4th,2013  I have been consciously trying to just let him go.  Seeing his reflexive reaction to bikers out on the road told me a whole lot more than any 1000 words could have.  George is getting by, but his choices in life have given him a hard burden.  He really truly doesn’t ever rest.  He wonders about choices he has made.  We held each other quietly for a long time, just being still.  He still feels to me like my rock in this world.

I wish him well.  I am not suited for living quietly and discretely. I am not willing to leave my children to start a new life living undercover no matter how much I’d love to never have to deal with their Dad ever again.   I pray that George lives comfortably and that he gets his 12 years to raise that boy.  I do not regret one single thing I have done.

I miss talking with him, but it is safer that we don’t.  I can replay the messages on my phone whenever I want to hear him laughing and flirting with me.

I look at this girl’s photo.  She has soft round eyes and she has a very peaceful expression.  I imagine she might be placid.   That is probably a good thing to go home to after a hard day at the office.   Well – mainly she is there, and I am not.  I try to concentrate on what is real, and right now a flight would be $268.  $140 for a rental car, I take home less than half of what I made last year at this time.  That is the difference of  being a professional traveler.

In my new dream, I will visit them one day, not too long from now, and all our kids and dogs can romp together in a meadow, or a forest or on a beach and George & I will catch each other’s eye and sparkle and laugh together as friends once again.  It will be enough.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Oh Man – I know I am boring as hell because I will not let this shit die but really?!

From your site; “and that police piled out of a U-haul trailer and started “throwing people to the ground.”   Who’s trademark move is that?  Right there on Page 34, “Gods of Mischief”. So either his crew was there – or guys he knows were there, or guys he’s trained are there.   Or maybe it is just that somebody read his book.

Through the magical portals of social networking – I know a lot about George and his life, friends and family both new and old.  I have had the time and the money and the opportunity to go to him twice, yet did not –because by June his phone was off again, and I don’t really have the chutzpah to bust through the Federal Witness Program to stalk my man down without letting him know my agenda– if he has decided not to talk to me – there is a good reason.  I must be patient.   I am patient – to a point.  You & I cannot – I will not communicate electronically about this.   There is no real reason for me to tell you any of it and lots of good reasons to NOT tell you any of it.  But being not all that smart –I started to tell you this – and if  I am going to hell for the telling, I want the fire to burn hot and clear and catch every little piece of the truth.

It would be so much simpler if I were simply “ a writer groupie.”

I am still waiting for my Burgess book to arrive.  It is currently over 10 days past arrival date.

And – I plan to hand this to you in person at the GC movie in Ventura.  Not sure how that will really happen – but it is time to get out in the world and live.

(I really have mixed feelings about even this limited disclosure of my story.  But I am going to keep writing it – and I got you the teaser, as advertised)

Saturday, October 12, 2013 – Last week I was in Michigan visiting a long-time friend.  He first came out to California in the late 1970’s.  The first time we met – he worked at a gas station, the old school kind with the owner’s house in back.  At that time – the owner rented the house to a pack of girls.  Five of us split $300/mo for rent + utilities.   It was quite the scene.  This particular guy is gay, well bi. Actually – He will “tri” anything.  I met him again later as a co-worker, but it wasn’t until even later – well into our respectable professional lives,  when I lit up with a matchbook from “Hipscher’s Mobile” and he about fell off his chair, that we put two & two together about our respective pasts and intertwined lives.  Last year when I got fired – the first thing I did was book a flight and go see him for the first time in 10 years.  See line 534.

He’s been asking me about George’s book, and wanted to know if I thought he knew George.  Knowing the volume of speed use within the gay lifestyle  – I told “Bruce” that I was sure he would know some of the  players in the story – if not the main man.  Tonight he called me and was quite exciteable about things he’d been reading.  I have no way of confirming any of what he told me.  “Bruce” swears he had on ongoing sexual relationship with Pat, George’s  stepfather.  “Bruce” also stated flatly that he knew Kevin Duffy very well, and that the suicide was completely out of character.  “Bruce” asked if I thought George had ever had sex with him.  I took the question as pertaining to Kevin, and my answer was that I had wondered if somehow in their distant past they’d had some kind of relationship, which would have led to this long term confidante dynamic.  Bruce said “No not Kevin! -ME”.   My basic feeling is no – but I don’t know what goes on behind closed doors when people are high on crack, and ever since Bill Clinton I don’t really know if blow jobs are sex, so I laughed and told him I had quit trying to keep track of all the women a long time ago, but I never thought he’d been inclined toward men.  Bruce’s reply was that essentially – a mouth was a mouth when your dick was getting sucked.  He asked me if “Old Joe” was still alive, by his real name.

George &  I had talked about  “prison gay” in the 90’s when he was doing some state time.  As I recall – his reactions were negative and immediate, but not overly protesting.   I remember him calling me collect and talking about how he hated the nights inside because he couldn’t sleep.  As soon as the lights went out it got real busy in there.  Our relationship was always open, in that I became aware after the fact, that he was married when we first had gotten together.  I never wanted to pretend it wouldn’t happen the same way to me – so I made sure he knew that I didn’t want to catch any diseases or be blindsided by secrets or lying, and I would accept his decision if he chose to sleep with other women.  I found out the hard way that I don’t really believe in sharing.  I’ve never been with a man who has my number so completely.  I understand it is not that I am special, it is that he’s mastered the Game.  In summary  – George probably had a multitude of unspeakable things happen to him, and around him when he was young.  He did what he could with what he had.  For reasons that are lost in the sands of time  –  he made me laugh and  I love him unconditionally.  Right now – he is relatively safe, and happy.  His 9 lives are about used up.  I am unable to make a new life with him, and I’m having problems trying to make it out here without him.  I need to find my Way.

January 13, 2014   your posts about John Ciccone are chilling.  I was lurking for all that time.  I never ever posted anything for over two years.  George knows I post as Austin, and I usually keep in mind that he will most likely see anything I write.  Sometimes I think I will simply out him in that snitch article.  I realize now, today – I am just more collateral damage.  I used to believe if I got on a plane and flew off, I could have a new life and the essence of me would shine brightly and I would be free and happy, but it is not true.  I cannot blow off my current life in the default world to the necessary extent to make a happy life with George.  If things change – I will let you know so you can write an obituary for my former self.  I am sorry about your Muse.  I hope you are starting to feel better.  I hate the lies, the obfuscation and the blame shifting of this particular chapter in law enforcement history.  I have been keeping company with the Doctor occasionally.  He has been on good manners and tries to be kind and reasonable with me on the phone.  However – in person – he gets unkind and unreasonable nearly immediately.  He has a nearly perfect record of leaving to go camping, spend time with his friends, or fly to see his kids on the weekends I work at that job.   I have my own diversions – starting with your blog.  I have the extreme good fortune to be able to spend quality time , although  rarely,  with a person I adore.  It is quite inappropriate.  I don’t even try to understand anything about it.  I will likely remain Solo Forever.  Forever Searching.

For what it is worth – I most especially admire your desire and initiative to make the truth known.  I’d love to throw gasoline on your fire.

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About mokeworks

One is the loneliest number... but it also means you can just do what you like.
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