May He bless you with understanding of this truth...

Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are,

and the things which shall be hereafter...

Revelation 1:19

Page 13

Chapters Sixty-One - Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-One

Wednesday, December 13, 2006



This was just the beginning.  Things would really escalate from this point on.  Reality had yet to hit me as hard as it could.


As I became closer to Sam Clanton and his family, they became more and more open about their family businesses.  Prostitution, drugs, white slavery, bootlegging, these guys were into everything.  As I became closer with them, we would all sit around at night and they would tell their 'war stories.'


If the stories were true (and this was the reason I was here) they were not only criminals as described above, but they were cold-blooded murderers as well.  They spoke about killing approximately thirty to forty people.  They would belly-laugh and say they lost count as to how many they actually "offed." 


As their stories progressed, the scenarios got worse, becoming even more blood-thirsty and cruel.  Was it just bragging or real?  I was soon to find out.  These boys actually believed no one could touch them.  They thought they were totally immune and above the law, totally protected from whatever they did.  I wanted to make sure that reality fell squarely upon their heads.  That became my goal.


Sam, as it turned out, was importing tons of cocaine and marijuana on a monthly basis.  He also had a lucrative pill business going of selling stolen pharmaceuticals to many of the locals.  Remember, all these people are supposed to be good, God-fearing Southern Baptists. 


Sam's prostitution business stretched from Jackson, Mississippi, to Memphis, Tennessee, into Alabama, Texas, Arkansas, all over the place.  However, Sam was a good racist.  He never allowed 'nigger women' in his prostitution stables.  He hated black people with a passion as I found out later.


Sam even had contacts in the Arab countries where he sold white women as white slaves to the various harems owned by the very rich and powerful Arab sheiks. 


True to the stereotype, Sam had bootleg stills set up all over the state of Mississippi which were operated by his extended family of cousins and in-laws.  I even remember a few times when Father Joe (not his real name, changed to protect the innocent), the priest from the Catholic church, and I called the 'local taxi cab' company (there was no need for taxis in this tiny town).  Cabs delivered 'moonshine' all over this dry county.  So, after our delivery, Father Joe and I would sit and chat and drink together on those evenings.  Organized religion and its minions hard at work.  It was totally amazing how these good, God-fearing people could rationalize anything. 


"Revenuers," government agents trying to locate the stills tried to catch these people, but these agents ended up 'missing,' presumed dead.  We discovered that this had happened many times over the years.


If you stood in Sam's way, you simply disappeared.  Sam also either murdered or ordered the murders of some of his own relatives.  I warned you that this guy was a dyed-in-the-wool, first-class bastard.


As things and time progressed, I found myself smack dab in the middle of it all.  Sam liked me.  I helped him with some of the people who 'annoyed' him.  He called it my Vito and Quido routine.  He always made a joke out of me roughing up some poor guy for some strange reason.  I didn't care much for this part of the mission.  In fact, I hated it, but I will say this, the guy I really wanted to 'put hands on' was good ol' Sam himself.  I could taste it I wanted it so badly.


Although Sam hated black people, he had many of them working for him in various capacities.  They worked in his home.  They worked on his farm.  They worked his stills.  They even worked his drug warehouses.  Actually, this is where things got bad.


By this time, I've been Sam's "best friend" for almost a year.  Sam and I were inseparable.  I left my job with the Catholic church group home to work with Sam.  But, I still kept in touch with Father Joe.  I believe he always knew I was here in this little town for 'other' reasons.  Father Joe was a smart man, a very perceptive man.  He always reminded me that he was here for me if I needed anything, anything, he would emphasize.  He knew, I'm sure of it.  Thing is, I really liked Father Joe, he was truly a good man, a man of the cloth...nothing like the priests we hear about nowadays. 



Chapter Sixty-Two

Wednesday, December 13, 2006



Sam showed his true colors one night after he received word of a problem within his business.


As the story went, five black guys who worked in Sam's cocaine warehouse allegedly took some of Sam's cocaine, got high off it and raped one of Sam's local white prostitutes.  I'll tell you, Sam was furious.


I asked him what the big deal was about it.  I told him it was just a few niggers gettng out of line and I would take care of it.  But he was beyond furious.  I don't even have the words for how mad Sam was.


Sam was shouting everything, he forgot how to talk.  I told him to calm down, he couldn't or wouldn't.  He started telling me his beliefs.  He said that first off, those niggers work for him, they follow his rules, or else.  He said they knew that.


Secondly, Sam said they know better than to steal from him.  That he will not tolerate a nigger stealing from any white person, let alone HIM.  All the time Sam was shouting everything he was saying.


Third, and most importantly, Sam exclaimed that no nigger touches a white woman.  He shouted that he didn't care if she's a whore or not, she's a white woman.  That's a major sin and against HIS rules, Sam screamed.  I thought this man was going to have a stroke, heart attack, or just literally blow his top.  I've never seen Sam like this.


Sam was right, the most important thing to him was the fact that these guys touched a white woman.  White trash she was, he said.  A whore she is, he stated.  But, all-in-all, she's a white woman.  He went on like this for three days, day and night.


He bounced around his brothers when they tried to talk to him.  He even hollered at me a few times.  Something Sam never did with me.  He liked me, very much.  He liked me so much, he was even paying me more than he paid his own brothers.


Finally, on the fourth day, Sam woke calm, cool and collected.  He told me we were going for breakfast in town.  He was almost too calm.  Should I be glad he calmed down or was something up?


We drove into town and had a nice, friendly breakfast.  Sam joked with the townsfolk and anyone he came into contact with, even black people.  I was relieved.  I thought Sam had finally calmed down and gotten over it.


Let me digress a bit right here.  I did not take Jim up on his offer of becoming a Klan member, but I was a supporter of the Klan, I assured him.  This kept me in good graces with Sam.  I told Sam I wouldn't become a member because being a Catholic might make Sam look bad by inviting me into the Klan, especially a Klavern where there weren't even any northerners as members.  Sam thought that was great, my looking out for him like that. 


I did attend meetings of the Klavern weekly with Sam, Jim and his people.  These people, really I should call them what they are…animals, were the sickest group of people I have ever met.  At the meetings, they would work themselves into a furious frenzy wanting to kill every black, Jew and anyone else who even remotely disagreed with their beliefs.  They were crazed, dangerous people:  men, women and children alike.  That's right children.  Children of all ages attended these meetings.


A whole week passed after Sam finally calmed down.  He didn't even mention the problem at all.  I guessed he'd finally gotten over it.  Then, one autumn evening Sam told me to get ready, we were going out.  Where are we going, I asked him.  He said out for a 'good time, my friend.'  This didn't sound good to me.


It suddenly dawned on me that it was Friday, the usual night for the Klan meeting.  I asked Sam about it.  He said that we cancelled the meeting for tonight.  It's fun time tonight, we need a break he said.  Uh oh, this wasn't like Sam, something was up.


As the sun set and the sky grew darker, Sam and I headed out of the house.  But instead of heading for town, we drove further south, away from town and Sam's farm.  Something is up.  One thing that gave me hope though was Sam didn't take my gun, or ask me to leave it at home.  Sam issued all his men weapons.  He did have good taste in weapons--all sorts of weapons.


We drove for about half an hour, deep into the woods of rural Mississippi.



Chapter Sixty-Three

Wednesday, December 13, 2006



It was nice and dark by the time we arrived.  Sam pulled onto a dirt road that took us deeper into the woods.  I don't need to tell you that I was getting jumpy, very jumpy.  There was a house trailer on the edge of a very large open field.  Sam pulled up in front of it.  We went in to find two of Sam's brothers already inside.  They made coffee, set up a makeshift bar and had sandwiches laid out.  What's this, a party in the woods? I thought to myself.


It was a party all right, but not the type I wanted to attend.  More and more vehicles began arriving at the field.  By the time everyone arrived, there must have been two to three hundred cars, trucks and motorcycles out there.  This was going to be a major event.


I contacted Mr. Z, Jona and Sag.  I told them to keep the telepathic connection wide open and have Omega people monitor what might happen here tonight.  I wanted a record of it.  Mr. Z put Sag, Aquarius, Cappy and Leo on it.  Jona had a few Reticulans monitoring also.  Something big was happening here tonight.


I had Mr. Z contact 'his' people at the FBI to be alert and ready to move if anything untoward happened.  He did.  We were all tense.  We waited in anticipation. 


Curious, I looked out of the house trailer and saw someone had rolled a flatbed trailer in to use as a stage.  It was decorated with Klan flags.  There were tables set up in front of the stage where people were handing out some sort of literature.  This was starting to look like a Klan convention. 


I also noticed someone had set up a large cross to the left of the stage.  I mean this was a large cross, it must have been fifteen feet tall, by ten or twelve feet wide.  There were hundreds of people milling around everywhere.


Sam was the grand master of this Klavern.  He always wore a long, red satin robe which denoted who he was.  However, tonight Sam was putting on a short black satin robe that was a tighter fit on him than the usual red robe.  All the robes had hoods which covered the entire head of the wearer.  Sam threw me a black satin hood for me to wear.  I've never worn any of the robes, hoods or emblems of the KKK at any meeting I've ever been to.


Something was happening this night and was going to be BIG.


The time was around 9:30pm, and Sam was getting ready to address his followers.  I was holding my hood in my hand and hadn't inspected it yet.  Sam, in a very authoritative voice, told me to put it on before we walk out of the trailer.  First thing that entered my mind was that I was the night's main show...whatever that might be.  However, much to my relief the hood had eye holes in it. 


We stepped out and I was shocked.  Looked like the whole town and more were gathered in that field.  It was a veritable sea of white-hooded people with a small contingent of men, right in front of the stage, dressed in the short, black satin robes.  The cross was burning in full flame when we walked out.  Sam's brothers went first and I led Sam out the door.  As soon as the people saw Sam step outside, they started cheering, whooping, hollering and carrying on.  It was their saviour ready to speak to them.  To fill them with the hate Sam had fomented over the years.


I couldn't see Sam's face, but I knew Sam was grinning and loving every second of it.  When he stepped to the podium that was set up on the stage, the people really went wild.  It was like watching a Beatles concert when the Beatles first arrived in the United States.  I expected to see Ed Sullivan come out and introduce Sam to the crowd. 


I'm not sure how many of these people knew what was to take place this night, but it sure seemed as though they were ready for anything, as long as Sam was their leader.


Sam started his speech.  It was aggressive, powerful, demanding and filled with hate.  The people ate it up.  They cheered and cheered some more.  I've never seen any of the meetings go like this.  They hung on every word Sam spewed forth.  When Sam spoke, you could hear a pin drop.  When he took a breath, the crowd cheered and cheered some more.  He was riling these people up unbelievably.  He reminded me of the films I've seen of Hitler giving his speeches in Nazi Germany.  I guess Hitler was Sam's idol.


This went on and on for about an hour and a half.  What I noticed though, was the men in front of the stage with the short black robes on, were not cheering and carrying on.  They were quiet, almost somber.  They were also all carrying sawed-off shotguns.  When Sam would take a breath, they would mutter something, but not carry on.  These guys seemed serious.



Chapter Sixty-Four

Wednesday, December 13, 2006



Sam ranted and raved for about fifteen more minutes.  I was watching the crowd.  Sam whipped them into crazed fury.  Sam was good, but crazy himself.  I glanced back down to the men in front of the stage.  They were gone.


I heard what sounded like a wagon being pulled by horses.  Okay, all this is driving me crazy, I thought.  But, I wasn't crazy.  Not at all.  I was right.  It was a wagon being pulled by four beautiful horses.  The wagon was done up in Klan flags like a float in a parade.  In the wagon were Sam's men in black.  Also in the wagon were the five black men who stole Sam's coke and raped the white prostitute.


Oh, damn, I thought, almost out loud.  I asked Mr. Z, Jona and Sag if they were getting all this.  They assured me they were.  The wagon came to a halt in the middle of this crazed crowd of racists.  Damn it, there's not a thing I can do to help these guys, I thought.  I instantly spoke to Sag.  I told him to get it all.  I don't care what happens, how bad it might be, I want it recorded, ALL OF IT.  I didn't put myself in the middle of all this not to have EVERYTHING recorded.  I demanded Mr. Z, Jona and Sag, GET IT ALL!  No matter what happens, I'll keep watching, I assured them.


All of a sudden from the center of the crowd, something started to rise.  It was two poles standing vertically with one big beam running horizontally connecting the two uprights.  It was about ten feet high, and fifteen feet long.  The men in the black robes started throwing ropes over the horizontal beam.  Damn, I said to Sag, Mr. Z and Jona, they're going to hang them.  I was never more wrong that night.


The black men had their hands tied with rope in front of them.  They stood in the wagon in a total state of shock.  That was obvious from where I stood.  They were paralyzed with fear.  I felt so helpless.  I've never felt as helpless as this in my entire life.


They tied the ropes around the black men's feet.  A rope around each ankle.  Slowly, one at a time they pulled the ropes and the black men fell over then went up in an upside down position and hung with their legs spread from the horizontal beam.


When all five were strung up, Sam gave a final speech.  In this speech, he reminded the people of God's mistakes, the niggers and Jews, and how it was their duty, under God, to correct those mistakes.  The crowd went wild.  Sam, I could see, loved it.  This man truly is the sickest bastard I've ever met or known of.


Sam stood straight and tall and motionless, while the crowd cheered and shouted praises to Sam and God, in that order, I might add.  Suddenly, Sam raised his arm over his head and held it there for a few seconds.  The crowd cheered even louder.  Sam dropped his arm and the horror began.


When Sam gave the signal, the men in the black robes started to skin the black men as if they were dressing a deer in the woods.  My stomach turned like never before, but I was determined to get it all recorded.  It was the least I could for these men.  These poor men were not killed, right off, these animals skinned these men alive as the crowd cheered and shouted praises. 


I checked with Sag, Mr. Z and Jona to make sure they were getting every second of this horror.  They were.  I couldn't believe that another human being could do anything like this to a fellow human being, but here it was, right before my eyes.  Sam stood there just watching.  He never said a word nor did he even move, he just stood there watching, savoring his power.  I wanted desperately to grab this man and beat him to death, but that would only put me in his class.  Sam was truly the most perverted son of bitch I've ever known.


I wondered why we needed to wear the hoods and I soon found out.  Everybody knew everybody here, so why the hoods?  It was protection.  These crazy, blood-thirsty bastards started taking pictures like this was a major tourist attraction or something.  These sick animals wanted souvenirs of this evening.  Were they going to put them in their scrapbooks or something?  Pass them down to their grandchildren to say proudly, I was there?


Well, these men were incredibly fast.  They skinned all five in about twenty minutes as their victims screamed and screamed and pleaded for them to stop until the pain overtook them and they passed out.  Not dead yet, just unconscious.  The men in the black robes stopped, turned toward Sam and saluted in a Nazi fashion.  The crowd went crazy again.  These people have no conscience.  As I watched them respond to what had just taken place, I thought everyone of these people were the devil himself.  My head was spinning out of control, I had all I could do to hold myself together.


Sam approached me, put his arm around my shoulders and said that this is how insubordinate niggers are dealt with in his land.  This man was the devil incarnate.  I actually thought this was a threat toward me.  I was wrong...Sam was just proud of his accomplishment.


The five black men were not dead yet.  However, the men in the black robes drove their wagon away from the men hanging upside down, leaving what was to happen next up to the crowd.  These people were WILD ANIMALS.  The crowd started poking the black men with sharp sticks for about an hour.  Then one man walked up to the hanging black men and proclaimed them dead.  The crowd cut them down.  Their bodies were left there on the ground for the animals to feast on.


We departed the gathering and headed back to Sam's plantation.  Sam had his 'niggers' set up a celebration, he told me on the way home.  This man truly was the devil incarnate.



Chapter Sixty-Five

Wednesday, December 13, 2006



We went back to Sam's and they all started celebrating.  I somehow had to get out here.  I waited until they started drinking and they did, heavily.  After about an hour or so, I managed to get out of there.  I immediately headed for the church and Father Joe.


When Joe took one look at me, he knew something was wrong.  He never asked what though.  He just led me downstairs to the basement of the rectory, through a tunnel and into a small living area.  Father Joe just said, it's secure here...  This is our sanctuary. He'd hoped we'd never need it, Joe said.  He left me alone for a while and returned with hot coffee and a real live bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon.  He also brought his carton of cigarettes down with him.


Father Joe was a good man.  He understood things...and he knew I was into something of which I could not speak.  But I did.  I told Father Joe everything.  I also warned him that my disappearance might bring Sam and the boys to his church or rectory looking for me.  Joe assured me they would never find this place and told me I could stay here as long as I needed.


Father Joe was a small man but I wouldn't mess with him, there was just something about him that made you think twice before doing anything.  Joe poured the coffee, then added Wild Turkey to it.  He added a good shot, actually it was more like four shots, to the cup of coffee.  He joked and said it was a standard priest's pour.  We drank our coffee slowly, and I started talking.


Father Joe just sat and listened.  He never asked questions, didn't add any comments, just sat quietly listening.  When I finished, he told me he knew things were bad here, but didn't know it was THIS bad.  He told me he had spoken with the church about it and they did nothing.  They advised him not to get involved. 


The man who ran the group home, I'll call him Al, was a good man, but an ultraliberal even back then.  Father Joe told me things were only about to get worse around here.  Al, Joe told me, was going to bring a black kid into the group home in a couple of days.  Joe knew this wouldn't go over too well in this community and tried to stop Al, but Al went over Joe's head and got his way.  More trouble was on the way.


All I could do at that point was sit there and shake my head in disgust.  I looked at Joe and told him he should think of packing a bag and getting the hell out of Dodge.  He told me he was staying to see it all through.  I cautioned him that it would only be ugly.  I know, I've witnessed ugly.  Joe told me he was doing Jesus' work and that he put his life in the hands of Jesus. He would take care of him.


Much to my chagrin, it wasn't Sam or his boys that showed up at the church the very next day.  It was the FBI, U.S. Marshals and Mississippi State Police who showed up.  This took both Joe and me by surprise.  They asked Joe to get me.  Joe told them he didn't know where I was, he hadn't seen me in over a week.  The head FBI agent told Joe he could go to hell for lying and reminded him that he was a priest.  Joe swore he didn't know where I was.  Then, the FBI agent produced a photo of me being met by Joe at Joe's back door in the middle of the night.  It was taken the night before.  BUSTED!


He assured Father Joe that they weren't here to arrest me or take me in or anything.  That they were here to protect us and help me round up the criminals of this town.  Joe was hesitant, but believed him.  I told you Joe knew things.  He let them in, took me to them.  And, they were here to help.


They were, if fact, here to ask for my help so they could round up all the animals.  The FBI team Mr. Z contacted located and picked up the bodies of the five dead black men.  I was feeling very much on edge, sick at my stomach, annoyed and pretty damn mad.  Just then a familiar face entered the room, a face I could not openly acknowledge.  Mr. Z, himself, wandered in.  I instantly felt more at ease.  He looked squarely at me, gave me a quick wink and smile.


The agent-in-charge apologized for showing up so soon.  He said he felt I really needed time to myself;  however, in this case, they wanted to move fast.  Well, move fast they did.  Just north of town, sequestered in the woods, were hundreds more FBI agents, US Marshals and Mississippi State Troopers waiting for the word to move.


When the word came, they all converged on Sam's farm, stills, local houses of ill repute and the drug warehouses.  Sam was actually shocked that the law had showed up on his doorstep.  After all, this was Sam Clanton, Mr. Untouchable.  He was being touched however.  In fact, he was being pushed around, moved from one spot to another which is a tactic used to disorient.  But, that didn't work with Sam.  As always, he remained cool, calm and collected…the bastard.


The agent-in-charge read Sam the charges leading to his arrest, then sat Sam on the floor.  Sitting him on the floor was just a demeaning gesture, to make Sam feel more like the criminal he was.  I just stood there looking down at him and fuming.


I stood there with my fists clenched tightly, glowering at him.  Finally, I spoke, screamed at him actually.  I told him he was a racist low-life piece of shit, and deserved to die the same way he'd ordered those five men to die.  I guess my anger must have been quite apparent as all the FBI agents slowly turned their backs to me while putting their hands in their pockets...a gesture meaning, 'we see nothing.'  I caught their message. I took my best shot and kicked Sam square in the face as hard as I could.  The kick broke his nose and knocked out a few teeth.  His head hit the floor so hard I thought he cracked his skull.  Not the case though with this thick-headed racist bastard.


As the agent-in-charge touched my arm, I got the message.  The agent asked me if I felt better.  Some, was my reply.  He then turned to Sam and said that he'd warned him not to try and run...that with those handcuffs and leg shackles on he knew Sam would fall and hurt himself.  All the other agents agreed with him.  They hauled Sam away.


While this was taking place in Sam's living room, Sam's three brothers took off and were hiding in the outbuildings.  As shots were exchanged, all three of Sam's brothers were shot dead.


The FBI, US Marshals and the Mississippi State Troopers recovered, literally, thousands of pounds of cocaine and marijuana.  They also recovered explosives, automatic weapons, two .50 caliber machine guns, hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition of all types, hunting rifles by the hundreds, handguns and even an older Howitzer.  Sam and his boys were prepared for war.


This gigantic roundup took place in the early morning hours.  Sam was moved to the local town jail, which was taken over by the US Marshals, and guarded by US Marshals and State Troopers.


At nine o'clock the next morning, Sam was to be taken to the courthouse, just next door, where he would be arraigned.  Sam having all the connections he did, never made it to court.  A sniper shot Sam in the head as he was being led to the courthouse.


Sam knew too much.  Sam knew too many highly placed individuals.  Sam had too many connections at the federal level to be left alive.  His sniper/killer was never found.  I, to this day, feel Sam never got exactly what he deserved.  I hope he got what was coming to him from our Creator.  Sam, if anyone did, deserved to burn in Hell for all eternity.



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