The Coming of an Era

The Coming of an Era

INTRODUCTION

This is my first attempt in writing a book.  It is a book relating a story about a man, a lonely man, who sought solace and hermitage via many mediums.  He lived his life in an atmosphere of constant crisis.  He knew no other way.  It was his only way.  This is his story.  It just so happens that it could be a story that describes a lot of lives.  This story is dedicated to those who can relate to its content.  It is dedicated to those individuals, men and women, who need the space to feel and heal.  This is a story of a man who attempted to take his own life upon occasions but discovered renewed strength to face his anger and his rage another way.  He was 44 years alive when he discovered a simple decision for a simple program offered by two people in his life that have become his closest friends.  Friendship came hard for this man because friendship, required trust.  It is hard being up front with people when my whole life has been one covert operation.

 

FORWARD

I was born in Stamford, CT., in St. Josephs' Hospital, in 1955.  I was born into a Southern Baptist home.  I do not recall if it was an extremely strict Southern Baptist home but it was a devout Southern Baptist home, which at times bordered on fanaticism.

I do recall that the world was going to Hell in a hand basket and the SBC was going to set the world on fire for the Lord and save the world from eternal damnation, as it were.  I got caught up into that realm of reality or, unreality and became quite active in the communities of our neighborhoods and the religious entities in our areas.  I also recall being "saved" when I was six years old.  As I said earlier, I was quite active.  I was involved in all the activities associated with the church and was quite popular.  But, then something happened.  I began questioning the Elders of the church and was frowned upon.  My popularity swayed with the strain.  I only wanted to know why what was being taught in church was not being lived out on a daily basis.  As far as I could tell, my home was the only one that practiced what it preached.  I only wanted to know why.

It was a time of turmoil within the borders of our country.  The sign of the times was, if it feels good, do it.  Free love was rampant everywhere you turned.  Drugs and alcohol was the in thing.  As far as I could tell, God did not like such activity.  I prayed that all this would go away.  I questioned the activities of the Elders and they cast me aside because I did not fit the program.  I was an outcast.  I had put my Faith and trust in the wrong realm of reality or unreality, as it were.  I shrank into myself.

I was always taught not to express my true feelings because you may hurt someone else or "they" could and would use my feelings against me.  "Do not air your dirty laundry out for those to see and ridicule your strength or lack of it" was the battle cry of our times...of our faith.  Faith.  What is that?  I had lost the definition of the term.  I shrunk back further.  I withheld my questions.  I stuffed my emotions.  My queries went unanswered and unasked.  I was told that I would get over it before I got married.  I did not.

Early 1968:  my mother woke up from an apparently deep sleep screaming a lot and I remember only the most coherent words.  "O my God!  O my God!  Jimmy is dead!  Jimmy is dead!  O my God!  What have we done to you to deserve such a thing!  O my God!  O my God!  Why?  Why?  Why, God, why?"  I was thirteen years old at the time.

Jimmy was KIA in Southeast Asia, South Vietnam.  He was killed in the Quan Tri Province during a heated battle of the Tet Offensive of 1968.  This, for some reason or another, solidified my hatred of God.  God was to blame for all of the events of the world be they good or bad.  This event was bad.  It was bad enough that I quit going to church because none of my questions could or would be answered.  My parents tried their best but for me, it wasn't good enough.

This is where I can put my finger on the time that I declared God to be dead and I hated the concept of a true and loving God.  There was no God and the only way the world was going to be saved from itself from all the two-faced people of the world, would be if I had a direct hand in the eradication of the virus I considered the "bad guy" to be.  Anybody that was contrary to my beliefs or me was a bad guy.  The world as I knew it and came to believe it was, was now on my shoulders.  It was up to me to set the record straight.

We buried Jimmy somewhere in New Hampshire.  He died under vicarious circumstances.  He wasn't supposed to be in the Quan Tri Province of South Vietnam.  His name isn't even on the Wall.  There was no Honor Guard.  There was no presenting of the Flag to a Veteran's grieving mother.  All there was, was a hand delivered telegram from the Colonel who sent Jimmy back for his third tour of duty.  He was forward recon.

Jimmy served his time and was being routed home.  He flew into SeaTac Int'l Airport where he met up with some anti-war elements of society.  My brother was a trained assassin.  One of the protestors of the war spat on Jimmy and Jimmy killed him where he stood.  He made his way back to San Diego where he signed up to go back to Southeast Asia where his friends were.  Twenty-four hours after the airport incident, Jimmy was heading back to his friends.  This is where he died and this is why he died.  He served his country well.  He served it with honor.  He defended his country at home and abroad.  A gutless coward attacked him...and died in the process.  Jimmy's battle banner fell in an airport in the state of Washington.  How ironic it is that the war began in Washington, D.C. and my brother's war ended in Washington State.

This is where I can put my finger on the time when I began picking up the battle banners of others as they fell in one way or another.  When we got back home from New Hampshire, I picked up my brothers battle banner and proceeded to pick up the battle at home where my brother had left it.  I had a couple of friends left at that time and we all hated, absolutely loathed the fact that the hippies and flower children were allowed to berate our country and advocate it's overthrow without any action taken against them.  So, we took it upon ourselves to do what our seemingly inept government could not or would not do.  We began to hunt down those dirty dogs we called chronic malcontents and stirrers of hatred for our military.

This is where I can put my finger on the beginnings of my lust for alcohol.  I could not keep anything down except for Vodka.  I developed a twisted taste of Russian Vodka, an alcohol developed by my sworn for eternity enemy.  My father would not let me go to avenge my brother.  I was not old enough to die or kill for my country.  My father and grandfather were heroes of WWI and WWII.  In my eyes, my brother was a hero of the Vietnam War but our government said that he died without honor.  A friend of Jimmy's came to see us after he was rotated home and got fitted for new legs.  He was on the battlefield the day Jimmy died.  His name is Bret.  Bret watched my brother die.  Bret said that Jimmy appeared out of nowhere and single-handedly saved his unit from complete annihilation that day.  Jimmy was the hero of the day, the day Jimmy died.  Yet, to this day, his name is not on the Wall for all to see and visit and feel to heal.  Jimmy is in an obscurely marked grave somewhere in New Hampshire.

This was the catalyst my demented brain and my hardened heart required...more fuel for the hatred of God and Man.  The hippies and flower children needed to die.  Their families, if they had any, needed to feel the pain of senseless and untimely death experienced by so many.  They needed to know that thousands of men and women died for their right to breath and live.

I began my life-long career of double and triple lives...several personalities.  I learned how to be one person to someone and a completely different person to someone else.  I used my talents of deceit and malice against my enemies...perceived or real.  I didn't care if they really were or not.  I was angry...I was full of hate and did not realize that my activities were eating me alive from the inside out.  I was never satisfied with the madness and mayhem I caused and created.  I hated everyone up to and including myself.  Still, I didn't care.  I had my taste of first blood when I was thirteen.  Hippies were the enemy.  They did drugs...drug dealers were my enemy...they supplied the mind altering material to those that caused my brother to go back to his friends and die.

My popularity came back as I entered school activities in the sports areas.  I was a talented soccer and track star.  I still have the newspaper clippings.  I was well known for my caring and understanding nature.  I had them all fooled...if they only knew what I did when I was alone.  I frequently notified the authorities when I saw drugs around.  I gave them names and dates and times.  Some were teachers...most were students.  I was saddened openly when some died of overdoses or arrested.  Inside I was a happy camper because I had direct activity in the demise of my sworn enemies.  After all, they were all related to those that killed my brother.

Some Law Enforcement people noticed my activities in this area and I was approached for a look-see.  I was a senior in high school by this time.  I was considered a natural and was asked if I ever considered a career in Law Enforcement.  Here was my chance...a chance to legally eradicate the scum of the world...me a cop.  The decision was made without consulting my parents.  I was counseled that I should at least ask my father.  I said no because he stopped me originally from killing those that killed Jimmy in the first place.  So, it was decided that I should start my career as a cop with a record.  The sports star of high school was arrested for possession of a controlled substance with a bunch of church folk around to witness the whole thing.  I was scum from then on.  I loved every minute of it.  This solidified further my multiple personalities skills.  No one told me that later on in life, this would kill me.

I attended police academy on the sly.  I was still in high school.  I didn't think this to be odd in any way shape or form.  I went to college like I was supposed to do after graduation.  The narcotics charges against me were miraculously dropped and I was placed on probation for a year.  No one knew I was a cop.  I could not believe it myself.  My first year in college netted me more blood lust and a lot of bad guys going down.  My old high school was a target of our unit.  I went back there just to bust a guy I hated any way but didn't know why.  I found out why...he was a pusher.  Sly little bastard he was.  He had me fooled all through school.  I got him and his dog Toto too.

My activities as an insanely creative undercover Narcotics officer was noticed by many in the Law Enforcement realms.  I had no idea that I was being molded and manipulated just like my brother was during the war.  I was being turned into an assassin as well.  The body counts did not matter.  It was the confiscation of the drugs and guns that was so imperative to government funding for the anti-drug war that I was a major player in.  I was transferred to an entity that I remained with, on and off, for over 19 years.  Looking back, it was the DEA, originally.  However, we were paid in cash for the "jobs" we went on.  We were paid by check for normal activities via payroll checks.  It never occurred to me until recently that this was odd.  I was enjoying the hell out of eliminating the scum of the earth and at the same time, I hated myself for enjoying the blood shed and destroying other people's lives just like mine was so many years before.  I needed a change.  I dropped off the face of the earth in 1979.  I was someone else with someone else's' ID.  I traveled a lot and had unlimited funds.  I thought I had found myself and my Faith from many years before.  I regretted my past and tried to make recompense in one way or another.  Alcohol use came back to me in a vengeance.  I had no control how much I would drink.  I could control when to a certain extent but not the quantity.  I found myself lonelier than I ever was before.  I came out of hiding and joined the military.

It was in the military when my past activities caught up to me.  I declined going back into narcotics work.  I was told that you could never ever just up and quit this organization.  They did not want me for anti-drug warfare.  I was wanted in the anti-terrorist war that was ablaze at the time.  This appealed to me because it was a chance to stop the madness of self-hatred and self-pity.  I was more at ease being several other people other than the real me, whatever the real me would be.  The real me died when Jimmy died.

I had tried to die upon many occasions prior to my vanishing from the earth.  No one would oblige me.  I had been shot, blown up, stabbed and, hit over the head and left for dead but I was never really dead.  I didn't understand it.  Other men received the same wounds I did and died...I did not.  Why?  It baffled me.  I would run right into the middle of a firefight and not get hit once.  I wanted to die, damn it all.  Years later I found out why...God was not through with me yet.  For the next several years, I was trained and on an Anti-terrorist Tag Team.  We made actual contact with them.  They either cooperated with us or they died where we found them.  Many died...few cooperated.  They felt that the more innocent women and children they could kill, the higher level of Heaven they would enter.  We sent them to their version of Heaven without their body counts.  We were amassing our body counts while they were losing theirs.  This did not bother me, at the time.  We were engaged in a War on the home turf.  The world had changed and my demented mind told me that I had helped change it... only it was worse.  I had to correct that fiasco.  I worked hard at it and in 1996 I knew that I had to retire from all this madness and mayhem.  All the physical and psychological scars overwhelmed me.  Memories of long forgotten events and battles flowed over me like a tidal wave.  Lost friends and comrades in arms...lost time with families...lost times with God. But I hated God because the world had gone to hell right in front of me with Him watching.  Didn't God know that I was trying to help?  I shrunk further down deep inside myself than I had ever gone before.  My drinking bouts came closer and closer together.  I was beginning to lose control over when I drank.  I would not allow myself to do any narcotics.  Little did I know about the power, the evil cunning power of alcohol.  Looking back, I can see faces, names and, dates.  I am writing them out in the quest for a return to sanity...to spill my heart out.  I do not know if I ever was sane or not.  I do know that in July of 1999 I was insane.  People, places, things and, situations were uncontrollable.  My life had become unmanageable.  I was alone...again.  I was not able to cope with my perceived realities.  I wanted to die and end it all.  I tried but God intervened, for what reason or reasons I do not know.  God sent two people into my life through a miracle of only His power could muster.  The following pages are the recounting of the memories of a former anti-drug soldier and an anti-terrorist soldier.  We were soldiers...let no one tell us, or you any different.  We never had parades...we never had press recognition.  We did not exist in the eyes of the world. 

It is under the threat or potential threat to loss of life that this story is about to unfold.  I no longer look over my shoulder to detect the presence of my former comrades.
Where they used to be friends, they are now my potential enemies.  I used to live within the shroud of paranoia.  I will not mention real names...only real places and people...real events.

I pray that the story, which is about to unfold, will aid someone who is desperately seeking solace and serenity...peace of mind.  We did what was asked of us in the line of duty.  There is a real war going on and being fought within the borders of our beloved country.  Many are dying everyday.  Many lives are destroyed everyday.  It saddens me to remember and relive the past events.  I have learned not to regret the past nor dwell on the negative feedback from my past.  I cannot change where I have been, what I have done or, who I was.  The only thing I can change is where I am going now
and who I am now.  I live one day at a time.  I take what I have learned from my past and apply it to the present. 

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your point of view, none of this story can be confirmed or disavowed.  There are many men and women exactly where I am right now, today.  Some will step forward...most will not.  Most will do what I did for years...run away from the past in the hopes that it was all a bad dream.  Some will end their own lives like I contemplated many times.  The shame and guilt, when allowed to overwhelm, will eventually kill you.

I pray that those who read this story will find the courage to embrace their futures and move forward in life.  The past is gone...history.  The future is projection.  All we have is our present.  What we do with that will determine our destinies, which will unfold, as our futures.