Legacy: The Quisenberries

 It was the summer of 1988, when I first arrived at Wilberforce University. I was out of Michigan, and would be on my own for the first time in my life. I would ultimately fail miserably. My father had three siblings. My Uncle Thomas, my Aunt Beverly and Aunt Hattie. All of them had been college graduates. My father, the "black sheep" of the family didn't have a degree and was kicked out the Air Force for trying to organize race riots. At this point, I don't know who to be prouder of. My uncle the attorney or my father the rebellion organizer. In the times we live in now, there are times that we need demonstrations to be heard. I'm most positive it was needed 60-years ago. I met a John while at Wilberforce. He belonged to the fraternity, Kappa Alpha Psi. He would quickly become my boyfriend and lover. Despite our rocky road, he will go down as one of the loves of my life. I have a tendency to capture the best in the man pool, wherever I go. John was the smartest man on campus. He had graduated from a school in Cleveland that graded on a five-point scale and he was at the top of his class. He once laughed at me when I tried to quiz him on his definition in Economics. My close friend at the time had this guy friend that was having a hard time with the same Economics class. We were all sitting around in her room and he was complaining about the work and the professor's teaching style. My friend took his hand and asked, "Is there anyone in the class doing well?" He paused for a second and looked directly at me and said, "Yeah, this guy named John." I fell back on the floor where I was sitting and let out a bellowing laugh. It was my John. 

As my suitors fell off, so did his. There was one guy who wouldn't stop his pursuit of me and it almost cost him a place in Kappa Alpha Psi. He had told me all about John. Any and everything he knew, which was a big "No, No" to the bros. All the stuff about sessions and paddles was off limits and especially about John who was leader of his group of pledges. The biggest reason was John, the leader of his line, was a triple Legacy.  His father was a Kappa, his grandfather had been a Kappa, too. The most notable fact about the men in his family was this, his grandfather had pledged on the same yard. Hid grandfather was a member of the fourth Kappa line in American collegiate history, the Delta Chapter. That meant he was untouchable and not able to fail his line experience. It was left up to his other guys on his line to take up his slack and do all kinds of crazy stuff to become a Kappa. John had to do the bear minimum, which meant he had to make it up to his Sans. I was impressed and understood his swag for only being five foot six inches tall. I think about this story, whenever I think about the Quisenberries of the Oakland County, Michigan legacy.

Joseph Quisenberry is a Captain and runs the Investigations Unit for Oakland County Sheriff's Department. He investigates murders and stuff. When the opioid addiction were at its peak, he was the man that was supposed to help Sheriff Michael Bouchard get this area back in shape. People were going into Burger King bathrooms shooting heroin and overdosing. When his picture flashed on my screen, and the caption read Quisenberry, my stomach turned. Not the same Quisenberry from Oakland County Jail. The young deputy who was known for having sex with drug addicts that came into the jail. I subsequently went back to jail after the opioid task force aired on the local news. When Quisenberry came up to make a round, I asked him if he was any kin to Captain Quisenberry and he told me that he was his uncle. He at first asked me, which Quisenberry, because all of his family worked for Oakland County. He said his uncle, siblings and cousins all worked at Oakland County. It is a rite of passage for a Quisenberry to get a job with Oakland County. This Quisenberry in the jail had his rite and all the prostitutes he could manage.

When I had first arrived in 2010, I met a young woman named Connie. She was in jail for "Conspiracy to Commit Armed Robbery". She approached me when I first arrived in the pod. She told me her entire story. She'd met this ex-con at work and had started using a lot of cocaine with him and his friend. The three of them concocted a scheme to rob the place she was working at. The man had supposedly kept large amounts of cash at the place. I think her boyfriend had set her up, because the police had so much evidence. She had resigned herself to her guilt and was relaxing in the jail. She had books and all kinds of stuff in her cell. It looked worse than some of the long timers in prison. Just a whole bunch of everything, everywhere. That night, after we had locked down for the night, she had left her door unlocked. This can happen just by not closing it all the way. When the third shift arrived and Quisenberry arrived, she opened her door and ran down the stairs to the window and knocked, "Hey!" She shouted a whisper. She kept calling out, but didn't get answer. After a minute, I could hear the microphone click and some one yell, "GET AWAY FROM HERE! GO BACK TO YOUR CELL!!!" She shuffled across the floor and up the stairs. When she got to her door, the voice came back on the speaker, "AND CLOSE THAT DOOR!" 

It was Ashmead and this time, when he clicked the control her door locked. For the longest time, I thought she was having sex with Ashmead, but no. Ashmead was taking up for Quisenberry. He had not wanted to get with her that night for some reason. He asked Ashmead for his assistance, and he had rid of the insistent Connie, whose face was filled with red polka dots. I didn't get it myself. She was thin as a rail, with stringy hair and had developed a acne problem while in jail. Quisenberry wasn't her only conquest in the pod. She was a regular run-around Sue. After I was moved to the other side of 29, because of a fight I had with Connie's bunky about cars, I met one of her old bunkies. She explained that Connie was crazy about Quisenberry most of all. She never closed her door at night, and no one ever cared. If one of the other inmates left their door ajar, it was "click...click...click" Not Connie, not a sound was made and she said, after a while she would skirt down the stairs to the window and be gone for a while. She would come back in the cell with tales of his generosity and sexiness. I had to admit he was cute, but a bit of a weirdo. He spent his first half an hour at work cleaning the bubble of germs. One time, two Alpha deputies thought it would be fun to leave half eaten pizza and boxes from the take-out joint in the bubble for him, after their shift. He went ballistic. One woman looking out her door called us all to watch the show. He was ranting and raving like a lunatic. Slamming boxes and letting out what appeared to be curses.

That's the price legacies pay. There is always going to be someone or someone(s) that resent your legacy. Whenever you assert yourself as a legacy, you can be challenged by the paupers you work with. I saw the two deputies eating the pizza in the bubble. I also saw them abandon the bubble long before their shift ended. Quisenberry was always on time, with his little lunch bag and duffle bag. These two hung around outside the bubble and waited for him to appear and walked right passed him on their way out, knowing he was going to "hit the roof" when he saw the mess. There must have been a discussion or incident in the past that warranted such a display. Whatever it was, it had gotten under the other two deputies skin. They wanted to show, they didn't care who his uncle is. He was working the Annex with people of the same statue as him and he wasn't going to treat them like he was their boss. They were all there. They were all turn-keys and they were all having sex with inmates. He was no different from any of them. He wore his legacy like a badge and had bragged about it to me. That was probably more about getting sex than anything else, but he was proud of his family's relationship to Oakland County, even if that meant that people more qualified didn't get positions that his family would occupy.

I just read about another Quisenberry. Justin Quisenberry. A far cry from the jail's Quisenberry that was having sex with addicts in the jail's bathroom. This man is a war-time hero. He has spoken to high schoolers about leadership and his time in Iraq and people he met that taught him courage and humbled him. As I read the article, I couldn't help but see the resemblance between him and the jail's Quisenberry. Maybe Justin is his brother, but one thing is certain. Justin Quisenberry is not an employee at Oakland County. He is some kind of data analyst for some company. His claim to fame is not nepotism, but real substance and fortitude. I wondered if this is jail's Quisenberry's brother, how in the world could parents birth two such polar opposite children. But I know it happens all the time. Even if it's his cousin, the same question still applies. I don't know where Connie crime took place, but I can't help but wonder if it was one of Oakland County jurisdictions. Maybe he promised his uncle would help her out. Maybe his uncle had helped her out. She only had gotten probation, but was back in a month. She was just trouble.

That's what they said about my father, who 10 years after leaving the Air Force became a dealer. What about my friend who wanted me to the point he would risk his Kappa dreams to speak on a Legacy. The game is a hard thing when your dealing with legacies, because they seem to stay and you seem expendable. Many of them take risks that others can't afford. Like the time a white car was driving near me erratically. I did a few of my driving tricks and pulled up beside it, even if it seemed they were trying to get away. When I looked over into the car, I could tell why. It was Deputy Quisenberry from the jail. He was trying to give me a hard time on the road, like so many had done, before. A screw until the end. Never seeming to get it quite right. Never seeming to live up to his legacy. 

Walsh College: Master's of Deception

 

I saw the advertisement for Walsh College on WJBK, Fox 2, every day while in the Oakland County Jail (OCJ). The television in my pod was stuck on that channel. You couldn't watch anything, but Fox 2. My pod was the sex pod. The had women in what we called the bam-bam rooms. In these rooms, inmates performed various sex acts on deputies through the night. Many of the women weren't in a state of mental crisis at all. They came into jail and immediately gave a complete farce of a performance to get naked and go into one of these cells. The not only got to go home quickly as a reward, but had the chance to eat well, by getting free commissary and weekly hot food. Hot food, was burgers and fries, calzones, chili dogs and cookies, along with ice cold Pepsi. Mostly, however, they sat at their food slot naked and watched T.V. Everything Fox 2. I think that was their choice, because fox was thoroughly Republican, and all Conservatives stick together. Michael Bouchard was a Republican, and when I started my writing campaign, unknowingly I wrote to Huel Perkins. A man unwilling to help me, because he worked for the Conservative news channel. 

When I finally got home from the second of the recent stalking charges, I was ready to get my degree. I was never going to stop my zeal for a degree. It was very important that I finished, and I only had a few classes to go. I didn't have transportation at first, and decided to finish my degree at the online school University of Phoenix. I can't prove it, but my last session with University of Phoenix had been infiltrated by law enforcement. The people in that cohort group had given me such a hard time, and had threatened my grade in such a horrific way, I didn't want to risk the same experience and left. I had bought a car, and decided to take my chances with Walsh. It was going to be hard, I had imagined, because it was one of the best schools in Michigan. Getting your degree from there was a guaranteed successful career in Southeastern Michigan. That was true, only if you were a White student. I had come in contact with several racially stimulated experiences. Also, many of the male teachers were having sex with students, and I had been courted by a professor that wanted a relationship with me. He phoned me unsolicited, spoke unfavorably about his wife and marriage when he did and made statements in class that we were more than a professor/student relationship. Walsh hired an attorney out of Chicago that sided with them, of course.

I had been at Walsh almost a year and a half by now. My grades were slipping. My professors seemed to be lacking. My first problem, however, was online classes. Someone was going into my sessions and changing my posts. I had grammar errors, syntax errors and poor sentence structure. My professor Richard Chasdi, wrote me a scathing review, and said he didn't think I should be a student. I went back to the posts and saw all the errors and things and emailed him to tell him that was not my work. It continued through the rest of my stay at Walsh, until I spoke to Beth Barnes (the new Vice-President) and Dr. Mike Levens (the new President). They told me to write all my online post in PDF, and create a link and make my posts. Later, Susan Gilkey, my Operations "professor" would use that to fail me. She claimed that she had told me that that wasn't acceptable, and I had ignored her. She claimed that the other students couldn't reply to my posts, but they did. When I challenged her grade, Beth Barnes or Dr. Mike Leven stood up and said it was their doing. Dr. Mike Rinkus let my grade stand and I was not allowed to graduate. That was 2018.

In 2020, I was allowed to graduate. I left a flipped comment on Dr. John Moore. He is the head of Finance at Walsh and a fake PhD. That's the colleges biggest problem with me. It is also the reason I can't pass a test online. It is also the reason that Walsh won't allow me to attend their Master's College. Their college is full of fake PhD's and improper degrees. That Operations "Professor" has no degree at all, not even an Associate's degree. John Moore is not a PhD in anything, but he does have a Master's from Walsh. I wrote about it in a blog two years ago (click on the link below):

Walsh fake PhD's

I knew, because I've been around real professors; a lot. Seeing that law enforcement was attacking my education, it figured Walsh College was helping them. It was full of fakes. A group of people that was running a prostitution ring out of a jail, and a racket in local box stores, would be able to associated with a bunch of fake PhD's to ruin some Black woman's education. I even seen one of the prostitutes there once leaving class. But they graduated me and I should feel happy, but they are using the letter that is at the end of my first blog to keep me out. He said I wasn't happy with my experience and should seek my Master's elsewhere. He's right, because all my grades were one whole point less than it should be on my transcript. None of the local businesses will hire Black people, and Walsh doesn't care and doesn't try to build relationships with those who would hire Black students. Sadly, there are White students that have noticed what I have and are struggling. The fake professors find intelligence threatening and will unfairly grade a student down for being more intelligent than they are, Black or White. The idea that they are the elite in schools in this area is promoted by those partnerships, and their ability to influence the narrative to make them elite through bogus awards and word of mouth. I saw their commercials and thought they were the best, in reality they are a sham, and full of deceit.

Women are not Soldiers, We're Sex Toys

Me the summer of 1989

 I was never given a chance. I was 18-years old and a soldier in the US Army Reserves. My father had died the day I had did my swearing in at the M.E.P.S. Center near Greek Town in Detroit. I had gotten my ears cleaned that day, too, which served for me to hear the howling of my sister, the screeching of my uncle and my exhausted moans of abandonment.  My father, an avid drug abuser and debilitated invalent had been dying for years. The mixture of cocaine and heroine that he snorted had taken it's toll. His stomach was the size of a inflated beach ball. He carried so much water weight from the quinine the drugs were cut with, he was drowning in his own fluids. Some days were better that others, some weeks and some years, but the drug abuse would take him slowly over the next seven years, especially, since he didn't quite stop after his indictment and jail stay.  He had given up after a few years. My aunt, a nurse, tried to get the water to go away, but whenever they drained it, it just came back. For a period of time, he would develop little sacks on his body filled with fluid. As a child, I thought my father to be invincible. By the time he died, he was, in my mind. When God finally took him, it crushed the last fallacy of my childhood, along with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Daddies die and they don't ever come back. The End.

My commitment to him ended when we left him at the cemetery, in the little house with a few benches for us to sit. The shame was all my aunt and uncle could stand and they buried him Tuesday, April 18, 1989. It was so quick, some of his closest friends did not attend. The room in the funeral home was packed, and the tears flowed like a stream of lovingness, that was John Stanley's legacy. I didn't eat for four days, until he was in the ground. Everything is either a blur, between the 14th and 18th, everything, but my father. I sat in my grandmother's kitchen, eating KFC, while two women debated on who I was. I didn't feel the need to introduce myself, I just cleaned my plate, washed it and put it away. It was what grandma would want, and I couldn't upset her at her youngest son's funeral. I sat and thought about going to basic that Friday and if I could make it. I decided I could and I would. I would make my father proud, even if his burial was a relief that gave me the strength to eat, again.

That morning, I woke up, my grandma and aunt had come for a visit from Alabama. It was a coincidence, and they had not come for the funeral. I spoke to my mother briefly and kissed my aunt goodbye and went to wait for my recruiter on the porch. He came right on time, just like a military man. I drove away not knowing how much I would change in the next couple of months, but the challenges would be many and the success would equal each one. I would grow and morph into a person that had no choices. Not even the choices of how fair life would be. I took myself into the M.E,P. Station that day. My recruiter didn't have to tell me where to go. I walked up to the table and stated my fate. 'I'm going to Basic Training, today." Some woman they call "Active-Reserves" told me where to sit and I met others who were going to "Basic", too. We were all going to different places. different branches and different MOS's. But we were all a part of the US Military, and were  "headed out". We had lunch together and some even headed out from the airport, before lunch. I left second to last, about two headed for Jersey. Fort Dix, "Fort Dixie Land" some liked to call it. It would come to live up t that name.

"Blue Jean"! I was so puzzled. They said these men would be mean and aggressive towards me. Every time I walked into a room and they were there, they would lean in to each other, whisper and giggle. I took to my name quickly, because it obviously made them happy and kept me out of trouble. That is, until Faison came in. He taught us how to march early one Saturday morning. He was extra hard on me. "Hey Private. what's your problem?" I would answer quietly, "I don't have a problem Corporal." He would fix his face in a menacing glare and bellowed. "You act like you have a problem!" I thought I was doing good. I had smiled at him the same way I had smiled at the others all week and it had gotten me favor, but with him it had gotten that menacing glare. I took my place in formation. He was good at calling cadence, and zi could tell that he was waiting for me to mess up, but I caught on quick. This was as difficult for a Black woman moving down the "Soul Train Line" at my cousins wedding. "Left....Left...Left...Right...Left! Every time he gave a direction that foot had to strike the ground, and every woman foot had to strike the ground at the same time as you. "Always on your Left!' Boom, down came that left foot. I got it, and it pissed Faison off even more. He had been there twice that week, talking to the men. He had been asking them why we didn't have our BDU's yet. He had to teach us to march, but we couldn't march in our street clothes.

It seems the Sergeants on duty didn't want to give me BDU's. They liked me in my blue jeans. We couldn't go anywhere in a group or anything, because some of us had uniforms and some didn't. He had some women marching in civilians clothes, but it was a Saturday and nobody who cared was there. He had acted like it was all my fault. In a way, it was my fault, but it wasn't something I had done. It was something my Sergeants had done. Besides, I had my uniforms. The women I came in with and I had gotten ours just the day before. His job wasn't my responsibility, but I was getting the brunt of his anger and frustration. Two days later, we were shipped off to our regular barracks to begin training. There I would learn the full force of my nickname. We were forced to pack up all the new uniforms we had gotten, along with all our personal gear we had bought and anything we had brought from home. We all came to the consensus immediately that we should have waited to buy personals. Some women had bought  their full regiment of hygiene and personals. Stuff that they now had to march to our new home. I bought some stuff, butt not much. My recruiter was cool and had mentioned that "too much" wasn't good in the military. I understood, as soon as we had our first long march. We carried everything on our back; literally. We got this big duffle bag and a ruck sack. A ruck sack is a back pack. Unlike the one you had for school, you didn't carry books and pencils and paper. You carried a change of clothes, and stuff I can't remember right now, but it was heavy. Once we got hip, we filled our ruck sack with a sheet, to make it look full. Then we stuffed all our stuff in the duffle bag. It looked like the bag the girl used to unpack her adjectives. If our Drill Sergeants unpack our adjectives, they would find, lazy, cunning, sneaky and deceptive.

"Which one of you is Stanley!" I looked up from where I had been searching for something they asked us to find. I had no idea where I had put mine. I was digging deep in my duffle bag and the midget was a distraction. I looked in his eyes and they were blue and glowing. "Here Drill Sergeant," I spoke in a light yell out of both fear and frustration. "We're going to be friends for the next two months and your not going to like it!" He had a menacing glare and I was confused. He had been huddled with one of the sergeants from the Reception Center. I didn't know what I had done, or why is was angry with me, but I swallowed deep and kept looking for that thing. 

They broke us up into three large platoons. Usually, they would make 240 women four or even five platoons. We had all came in that way. My platoon had 82 women. I was not in Second Platoon, which was where the blue eyed midget was. I got Lopez, Mondragon, Thomas and an Ad-Man I forget. They got all the Spanish women that worked good for them and penis size. I didn't care and took my place. I just wanted to get it over with. We all marched right across the fire lane from where we were, after taking a unnecessary walk to the main building two blocks away. The next day, after getting my weapon, I was trying to put my TA-50 gear on, unsuccessfully, when the midget called out my name, again. "Stanley!"  I had gotten better at answering, "Yes, Drill Sergeant! " He didn't glare this time, he was a little softer, "You wanna come to Second?" I looked up from my twisted gear at the three men huddled together, Thomas, Mondragon and "The Midget" "No Drill Sergeant". I had lowered my voice again, confused, again. I wasn't leaving the group of women I had just spent the first two weeks in hell with. I would lose my comfort zone. I went back to my tangled mess, happy I was smart enough to dodge that bullet.

Second Platoon was made up of two midgets. The first was "ole blue eyes" and "The Loser". I think they were acquainted with the sergeants at the Reception Center. Because, the next morning while in weapons sequence, "The Loser", Drill Sergeant Griffin, grabbed me by the arm and got close enough to my ear to bite it and asked, "WHO IS YOU VERN?" I looked straight ahead and whispered, "Private Stanley, Drill Sergeant." He let go of my arm and said, "Okay then!" I was confused again, until he did that almost every morning in a exhausting display of affection. He would call me out any where we went, but he had gotten another lover in his platoon. Since I was in Third Platoon, he couldn't make me vanish all weekend. He had gotten another woman, and I was glad, but he gave me so much attention that I began to like it. Sort of like the sergeants in the first place I went. I didn't understand any of it, however, I barely knew any of these men. I learned the following year in school, AIT that a day in the military was a week or a month in civilian life, and soldiers hooked up our first weekend pass. I didn't and never hooked up at all. I would sneak to the third floor at night and have phone sex with my boyfriend at home. Military life is fast, because it is run by men and men have hearty libidos. When you think about it, those sergeants weren't even 30, and at their sexual peak. My blue jeans were tight and my butt hefty. It obviously was exciting to them, but "The Loser" was intrusive. He was able to be there all the time and he would drop in all the time. Never on the weekends, however.

When "China Doll" woke me one early morning to tell me I had a phone call, I jumped up. We called her that, because not only was she Chinese, but she was beautiful and looked like one of the dolls that were big and had smaller dolls in them as you opened them up. She had cut her hair into a pixie bob, and it didn't touch her neck or her ears. She was so sweet and lovable, just like a doll. When I heard what she had to say,  I jumped up. Remembering my older sister had taken my father's death really hard. I thought maybe she had done something desperate. I didn't even bother to put on my uniform, but ran down the hall and was taking the stairs two at a time. Suddenly, Griffin appeared at the bottom of the second landing and put his finger to his lips to keep me quiet. Then he used his hand to motion me against the wall out of sight. Once I was silenced and out of sight, he went through the door. I over hear him talking to "China Doll", and give her the cup he had been holding and direct her to clean it and fill it with water. Guard - duty is vital, and he told her he would watch her post. Once she was safely in the bathroom, he ushered me in his office. I went in and looked around, and there was no phone off the hook, waiting for me to pick-up and he wasn't taking me to the Senior Drill Sergeant's office.

"What's up? "China said I had a phone call." He looked at me with a glare of dissatisfaction. "You don't want to be here with me?" I didn't answer him, I lifted my hands in the "What?" position, I was sure this man was insane. It was 2:20 am and I had to be up in 2 hours and 25 minutes, dressed and on the fire lane. This motherfucker wanted to know if I wanted to be with him. "Nah, you dumb fuck, I want to be sleep!" I couldn't say what I was thinking, and when he took me by the waist, and pulled me into him I was flattered. Then there was a knock on the door. He ushered me into an open closet. She handed him the cup, he sat it on the desk and came to me in the closet. We began to kiss and I stopped him, when he put his hand up my gown.

"No!" I pushed him away and he stopped. I went and sat at the chair in front of the desk. We talked and I got up to leave and he crossed the desk to stop me. I knew that "China Doll" was there and didn't care. He pushed me back in the closet. and forced his lips on mine. He seemed angry and impatient. I took myself to the back of the closet to escape his gnarly claws on my body, holding me and pulling me to him. I kissed him back and after a short while, he pulled back and placed his claws on my neck. It was almost a threat, then he stated, "So, are you going to do this or what?" I said lowly enough that "China Doll" didn't hear. "Okay:" He then grabbed my waist again and spun me around so my back was to him and lifted my gown, pulled down my panties and with his super small penis, entered me. His penis was like sandpaper, too, and he was rough. I was disgusted by his handling of me and the situation, but I did agree. He went on to tell all the drill sergeants and it began.

Either the other drill sergeants and staff thought I wanted them, and "hit on me" at every possible occasion or acted like I was the most disgusting thing in the barracks. I had the Ad-Man cuss me out. He used all kinds of profanities that caused me to shrill and think twice about how I spoke to him. I was woken out of my sleep, snuck into an office man handled and practically choked for lust. He needed to have me out of "saving face" with the other drill sergeants. I was "Blue Jeans" the girl with the tight jeans and ass. If that wasn't true he wouldn't have told everyone. What he didn't know, I was a rape survivor and no less than three years before, a man hade jumped out of bushes and raped me by choking me into submission. I said, "Okay", but I was in distress and fear. What I didn't know is his record. He wasn't 25-years old like the other sergeants. He was closer to 35, because he had lost his strips twice and worked his way back up to a sergeant, and drill sergeant. He was a Loser. He was the best example of everything wrong with the US Army and he was going to take me down with him. Sergeant Thomas let me know all about him the way he could; talking out loud. I don't know if it was my father's death or the rape, but I wasn't being me. Some how Drill Sergeant Thomas knew that. It still followed me to. AIT, military school. Even if I did go the following summer. It wasn't enough time. Drill Sergeant Gabrielle was waiting for me. I made it, though. I made it through Basic Training and AIT. I was even a squad leader in school. Even if it was to keep me out of trouble.

I had acquired the name "Trouble", all about my favorite pair of jeans. I even got a new Drill Sergeant just for me in Basic. She called me her "Special Child", but even she couldn't be too hard on me. I was not a bad person. I wasn't a bad soldier. I was just pretty and dumb. That could be a poor combination in a male driven Army. To fall for the worse person in the company, because you're young and inexperienced with men. The way he grabbed me every morning in line and ask who I was, showed no candor at all. Even asking me to join his platoon in front of my entire squad was iffy. I had started not respecting him as a drill sergeant. Not calling out, "At ease make way!" If he walked passed. I would keep on my way. The other women had taken notice, too. I didn't care, he had crossed the line with me and I was being treated horribly by all my superiors and I didn't even like him anymore.  It was getting close to time to graduate. We were doing everything now. Every weekend we had a base pass. We got one our second week there. The men soldiers had remedial P.T. We were eating Twizzlers and Burger King. Senior Drill Sergeant punished them for allowing certain privates to chase them around the base with pogo sticks. When training ended, The Loser, called and asked me to stay on with him in New Jersey for the summer. Homesick, I replied with a solid and definitive, "No!" He tried to pull the, "You don't want to be with me line, but I did not relent. He kept me on the phone past nine when we were supposed to be off. The Drill Sergeant on duty had to get me off the phone.

The next morning, I was awoken to two drill sergeants yelling at me. "Who do you think you are private? You can't be on that phone as long as you want!" It was graduation day. I stood at parade rest while they yelled and screamed at me to pick up my room. My roommate had moved out and I was there alone. So they scared me lifeless. I was shaking uncontrollably. They took all my things and threw them in my locker. "Get dressed," One of them yelled. I put on my dirty BDU's that were in my laundry bag and went to the Senior Drill Sergeants office and stood at parade rest for the rest of the day. When the lieutenant came before graduation, the Senior Drill Sergeant had lied, and said I had been in trouble. I was a few minutes on the phone. It wasn't worth missing my graduation. I had worked hard. I had faced every challenge put before me and survive, to come out on the other side. I didn't want Drill Sergeant Griffin and all his loser ways. I still wasn't going to tell anyone what he had done to me I just wanted him to stay away from me. I went alone to the discharge place. Sat alone and waited for my ride. I have never told this story before today, not all of it. 

The reason I'm telling my story now, is young women are either being murdered in the US Military or killing themselves, and I believe one young woman killed herself recently. I could have died. If I wasn't such a survivor. It didn't matter if I was a good soldier. They don't see us as competent or worthy. It was obvious to me that men couldn't see past our good looks to take us seriously. We were objects to be fondled and sexually harassed. I was so young, I didn't even know what that was. Where I came from, men just touched you. Said what they wanted. Did what they wanted and never cared about consequences. I never thought of them either. I know my phone sex boyfriend wouldn't go to my friends house, because she had a father and a brother. Years later, when my brother was 27-years old and not 17, he came to visit me. He sat outside, like we did when I was 19. My brother walked out the house and gave him a mean mug. I told him that he had questioned me. He wanted to know if he had a house to go to, because he had that nice car. When I told him what my brother had said, he wanted me to move into my own apartment. My brother told me, "No!" Unless he was paying all or part of the rent.

In the Army, there is no little brothers that turn into men. Only men that look out for one another and who are against you. If you can't keep yourself, they won't be able to keep you. Even in all his religious beliefs Drill Sergeant Thomas could only talk out loud. Even after I survived all the madness of Bravo Company, I had to face Senior Drill Sergeant Gabrielle at Charlie Company some 11 months later. He would come out his hole to tell me how worthless I was. Even when I hadn't done a thing. He was so savage, he made my fellow soldiers believe it without proof I was worthless. I never went to my Reserve Unit, because I had enough of the harassment. My tenure as a squad leader was tarnished by the harassment, and the idea I couldn't complete the run in time. I think a drill sergeant had to give me a few minutes on my time. I still got honorably discharged. That's what they had me afraid of being. I just sucked it up. I feel sorry for those two women, one who couldn't get justice and one who couldn't take it all. I was both of them.

The Rules Don't Apply to Me

 In January of 2004, I was almost a year from prison. At the time, I was on probation. I was catching the bus to probation every month and looking for a job that I didn't have a ride to. I began watching this new show on NBC called, "The Apprentice". It was pretty good, too. The millionaire, Donald Trump, was the host. He had his two children and this stiff multi-millionaire side-kick that knew a little something about business. He was there, because that knew Trumps children knew little about real business and the network wanted some legitimacy on set. They had some pretty smart and productive people on the show and Omarosa. She was there to antagonist to keep everything negative and disruptive and lasted waaay longer than she should have. Then it came to the last task and a Black guy named Kwame and a White guy named Bill. They got to pick teams and Kwame ended up with Omarosa and Bill got all the smart and "innovative" White contestants. In other words they spoke the part, dressed the part and looked the part, but in reality couldn't execute the part and that showed as they put together the golfing event. 

Kwame had the more amusing and exciting task. He had to put on a show with Jessica Simpson. She and Nick came to Atlantic City for a  day, and were swept away by Omarosa's antics. Trump used Omarosa to sabotage Kwame's event. He couldn't use one fake the White players. Kwame could scream foul and racism. No, he got Omarosa the Black patsy to steal the star and any chance for Kwame to be a success. She was rallied by Trump to blow it for the Black man and thus, the racist Trump showed his face for the first time on national television. A whole 12 years before the real show. I was pissed and wrote to Mark Burnett about all I saw. I bet he never read my letter, but I told him Trump was a racist back then. Omarosa was a Geechie pawn in a game to show the world that we can't work together and not have any growth when we try. It didn't matter what would be said about her in the end, because the rules did not apply to her. She was a part of an elite group of White people in America, lead by one of the "richest" men in America; Donald J. Trump. We came for her, of course, the same way we did in 2016. She hid behind the elite curtain of Trump, and the rules didn't apply to her. in 2004, In 2016 her antics would not be tolerated by the elites White Supremist of Trump's administration. For once, she didn't have to just make one happy, Trump, but a whole slew of them that included "The Whitest", Steve Bannon. 

Donald Trump & Omarosa

I could just imagine they had brief acknowledgements of how she was out of control and didn't know her place as a Black person, allowed into an exclusive group merely for show. She didn't understand she wasn't ever going to be taken seriously or her position taken to the heart of any of them. That's not why they were in the White House and at the first opportunity they were going to let her go. When she was told to leave, Trump did exactly what he did yesterday, abandon the plan and go with what works best for his agenda. I know Trump planned to make America pay with the very people they fight for every day. Just like Omarosa, they met with some of those people and made promises of a better day. When it didn't work, he cut them loose with an, "I love you". He doesn't want them to abandon him and tell the truth about the coup. At this point, we can't say the police weren't in on it. They moved barricades, took selfies and left areas unguarded. Just like Omarosa, they were free to make Pelosi, Schumer and Pence pay for not letting him get what he wanted, the Presidency. I watched him, watching the may lay be carried out, and I could tell he felt they weren't doing enough. He wanted more fire, more yelling and more carnage. He had a much bigger coup in mind. 

He made the people feel the rules didn't apply to them. They are the White people of America and they would be seen like the men of the Boston Tea Party. Rebels and Revolutionaries in the end he would stand with them and for them for the cause. Only it was all built on a lie. When those men tossed that tea, England had abandon them to fight a war with the French. Then came back to them after they had built their empires, broke and with an agenda to steal their wealth through taxation. They had every right to protect their way of life and all their hard work and prosperity. Those people on Wednesday, were doing Trump's dirty work, just like Omarosa who is in hiding somewhere, after coming out against Trump and no one wanted to hear her. Hawley wants to tell a story and no one wants to hear him, either. When a bad player has shown his hand and abandoned his followers for his own self, then best run for the hills. Everyone that was a part of his lies and destruction must be cut off from everything good and decent. Pence saved his career with one sentence, "Let's get back to work". It wasn't his plea for the thugs to stop that saved him, but his willingness to do the will of the people. What this country was built on. Majority rules, and Trump lost. This isn't a game show, where he sets the rules and players. This is America, where you are punished for your dirty deeds. The rules do apply to each and every rioter at our Capitol and time will show them punished. 

This is not enough? This is sacred buildings and America's history. He wanted them to burn it down!

Big Gretch..."I ain't Scared!

 I was at McDonald's the other day and the news was on. All my favorite stations are playing Christmas music at least part of the time. I haven't been in the mood in 20 years. Christmas of 2000, I bought a pre-lit tree that is still in storage in the basement. I hope to one day throw it away and buy a new one to put up in our home. However many years it will take that to happen. I listen to NPR 91.7. With all that's going on with Trump, it's as entertaining as I can get. The newsman said that they had lowered the bonds of the two brothers in the case to kidnap and kill our Governor, Gretchen Whitmer. We call her "Big Gretch" in da' hood. I was so mad. How can they keep letting those men go. Me and "Big Gretch" got a lot in common. Except, they won't even put a face or a name to the men who are after me. We in da' hood know who they all are. The same men that have been shaking down young drug dealers on the block for years. The same men who when they make a mistake, go after the victim, instead of correcting their own behavior. The first one to say, "She ain't nothing, but a stalker!" or "He a drug dealer that don't deserve a day in court!" So they chase him down the street, trying to catch him with drugs in his car. The worse cops you ever want to meet.

These judges, the ones that are letting these men go free, see no loyalty or justice for Big Gretch. These militia men are criminals. During deer season, these judges travel "Up North" and spend time with men like these. They run guns, drugs and stolen goods from big retailers in the cities that lay South of Houghton and Bad Axe. I know these places, because these same men stole out of Sears at Summit Place Mall for nearly 50 years. I hear Cass City and Bad Axe got a Walmart. Back in the day these places were void and without much of a shopping experiences. Many people far North were snowed in for most of the winter and came down here to work and steal during the spring and summer. When I worked at Sears, Troy and Summit Place were the big stores that controlled most of the trafficking of stolen goods. One woman's husband saved up so much money that he bout a Sears franchise. The people that worked at the Waterford store sold their goods to him and they sold them for Sears prices. Not to mention the flea markets and trade shows Up North and Canada. Yeah, they went into Canada, too. The police are "knee deep" in it, and border patrol is, too, obviously. 

Just like in my case, you got to have people involved in all the mess. The judge is the most important, because he/she will have the ultimate decider of the whole deal. Once they hit that gavel, it is done. With me, it was never let her go. With Big Gretch, it's "Let 'em go." This will show the people that it's not as bad as it seems. So, when they finally let them off the hook, everyone has been lulled into believing that the whole thig was blown out of proportion. We saw these men gearing up with guns and gear, with maps and plans of her home. How can we ever believe that they didn't want to kill her. Tears, now that they are caught! These are the same type of men that are after me. They know they have people that are willing to "help them out" if it comes to it. Maybe they never wanted her dead, just to scare her out of doing what she did, today. She shut the State restaurants down for another 12 days. I just shook my head. "I ain't scared!" Was all I could heard.

I know her heart, because it's my heart. I recently taped a lieutenant of the Oakland County Sheriff's Department trying to scare me. He wanted me to stop making complaints about his deputies. He told me he was going to arrest me, if I made one more complaint. He was taking me back to the Val Gross case, where I was arrested for trying to file a complaint on a Pontiac Police Officer, Paul McDougal. He was telling me that they would do it, again. Only, the tables have turned and we have a new prosecutor. Besides, those ristorante's are hurting, but who is really hurting is those people stealing from Kroger, Meijer and Walmart and selling goods to those establishments. These are the same men that want to shut me up. Who are getting their "informants" to snatch my kit off the front of my car. Scott Erickson, ex-Sport's Authority employee, now OCSD, and ex-gun runner wants me to go away. He was manager over the gun and rifle department at Sport's Authority. Half of Sears old security department works at OCSD. Shawn and Anthony Scarpelli have been stealing for years. Towards the end, she became Sears Asset Protection Manager. 

These are the same type of people that are letting those men go. They are racketeers. Running drugs, guns, merchandise and women. They are many and they are strong. You got to have some serious back to go up against them. Remember, they put me down for four years. Not only that, but put me in jail two other times for things I never did and they couldn't prove. They don't like Jews, they don't like Mexicans, they don't like Blacks and they don't like women! Light-skinned Blacks are okay, and Mexicans that denounce their racial background. I got one on Big Gretch, because I'm a woman and I'm Black. But I have dicovered from being in the jail that they love a Black woman's oral pleasure and sex, but will never say it and will pretend to protect "their kind", but really like one another. What else is it for grown men to do trampling around in the woods? I'm just saying...

 

Lt. Robert Ford: OCSD

Lieutenant Robert Ford

 On Saturday, September 12, 2020, Dorinda Clark-Cole performed at a concert for 'The City of Pontiac 2020 Census'. Loving gospel music, I went. She was great! I had been playing 'hit or miss' with Dewayne Lyons, Mayor Waterman's Executive Assistant. He said he had something that he needed to talk to me about. After the concert ended, I drove behind the stage to find him. He walked up to my car and gave an enthusiastic greeting and hopped in. It was a good start to what is always a pleasurable conversation. We drove and talked.  We got back to the stay and Gil Garrett was now standing near the stage and did a double take as Dewayne and I drove by. As I was riding slowly looking for a place to park, Garrett looked over his shoulder and called out to Dewayne, 'Hey man, you alright'. He seemed to be concerned about his safety and care. He decided to insert himself in my private affairs and ask if my friend was safe. Working for the Mayor, he is responsible for the citizens. I guess he never even thought that I would hurt him, he just called out and said, 'Yeah!' Although I had told him everything, almost as it was happening, he never thought twice. I had never mentioned Garret in any of our conversations. I always was concerned about Paul McDougal. I never knew Garret was an enemy of mine, but that night he showed himself true. Then it took me back to September of 2018.

Chris Jackson on the heel of his second political loss in Pontiac, lied and went to a Circuit Court judge and said that I was harassing him on Facebook. I want to remind you that it is Facebook. You have several options that allow anyone that is bullying or harassing you to stop and cease all contact with them. You can 'unfriend' someone, but sometimes that's not enough, because people can still 'message' you or see your 'public' post. You 'block' someone and they are completely gone. They can't see any of your posts, pictures or even your likeness. I have people that use other people accounts to look at my account. These people are my friends. They can also create a whole new account, I had someone do that to me, too. Left me 10 paragraphs telling me how stupid I am, but how pretty my lips are. Those are the times you start reporting to Facebook, and they know they have built in options and after you report a person they ask you if you want to 'block' them, or 'snooze' them for 30-days. Jackson, with the help of a 'friend' at the OCSD decided that my posts were 'stalking'. They set it up with a 'Visiting Judge' to give him a fake Personal Protection Order (PPO). Jackson admitted in the hearing that he had help from a 'friend' at OCSD and had several of my mugshots and could quote Wittebort's testimony from the first bogus trial in 2003. He didn't quote anything from Gross' trial, because I fought real hard and got the right out come; 'Not Guilty! Somehow, because he had a White 'campaign manager, Jackson was suddenly a privileged 50 year old White man. Truth is he got the PPO. That judge was so prejudice, he could have probably got a murder conviction, too. That went absolutely no where. I don't stalk men, and those post were so silly. He was setting me up the entire time, from the first day he met me. He claimed that he was campaigning. I came home from Walmart and he was on my neighbor's porch. I saw him look my way, leave his porch and walked up to my SUV. That look of knowing should have let me know. I proceeded cautiously, but it took two years for me to tag him in a couple of post that he treated like threats to kill his offspring, and once again a corrupt system allowed it to happen.

I left the courtroom fuming. They had did it again. Wittebort took seven love letters, Gross took one day and a lie, and Jackson used an infallible system that was created by one of the most brilliant young minds of the 21st Century to pull me into court and convict me of a crime I did not commit. I would have told you about it a long time ago. Except, Jackson would have dragged me back in court and claimed that I was harassing him. It's been two year, and I have had no contact with him. I know it's not enough time, because I hadn't had contact with Wittebort in 11-year and Kelly Collins tried to charge m with an habitual on a lie. He was caught in that lie in open court. I've written that down several times. These men are not studious, illiterate or just lazy, but no one is reading what I have to say. They hear about it, get into Google and change my sentences to fragments and put in spelling errors, but no one is reading them.

So, on Thursday morning, Lieutenant Robert Ford called me. He said that if I wrote another complaint that I was going to jail. I had written a complaint on Garrett for his remarks at the concert and questioning if he was the 'friend' Jackson had on the OCSD that gave him my mugshot that is no longer available on OTIS, I checked. I also made a claim that he beat his ex, which is what I heard. The only thing that Ford cared about was that he 'might' be involved in prostitution. 'I don't know'. Dewayne had asked me to get involved in a commission for youth and violence in Pontiac. I declined, because I would have to work with Garrett. Based on his question to Dewayne, he wasn't convinced I had been reformed. With whatever he thought, I've done my time and the police has no business telling or asking my friends anything that concerns me. It's a bunch of them after me. At the time of the Jackson PPO, marijuana was big on the City Council agenda. Kermit Williams, not wanting me to put my two cent in it, evoked the name of Jackson during meetings, and he was there for every meeting on the subject. That marijuana is he and Councilman Carter's road out the 'poor house', since the Mayor 'tighten the purse strings'. No one has ever threaten me before, however, and to go to jail on a civil matter. You can't put a person in jail for 'Slander' or 'Defamation'. First, however, you gotta investigate the matter. There has been no investigation. But Ford calls me and tries to scare me into stop making accusations at his deputies with jail. Hell, I been to jail. I'm not afraid of jail, and as I said a dozen times in our conversation that I'm not afraid of him either! If you ever get to hear the tape, I said it loudly. I emailed it to several news reporters.

I also told him that he was being recorded. I would be taking the tape to Michael Bouchard. That was met with jail, too. I wonder what my blog will get me. Five to ten in the BIG HOUSE? Been there too, sent by a liar. That' what got him more than that he was being recorded. The idea that Steve Wittebort got caught lying in open court. He and his friend Detective Marogi. They were foiled by phone records. Both of them had lied at the preliminary exams. Gross went all out and said that I called him 30 times. Those deputies held up those phone records for years. When they finally came back there was not one call from me. I called Wittebort and asked him to call me back and he did. Somehow that turned into six or seven calls. Oh, he called me to tell me not to call him, anymore. First trial, he claimed he would never call me back. My unstable ways would cause me to put more into the call than what was really his intent. Liars often forget their lies. Lt. Robert Ford told me that I was a stalker, who had went to prison for stalking a police officer, and why would they follow me around and harass me. I'm figuring the same reason he called to try and scare me into not making anymore complaints. What he needs to do, instead of calling and threatening me is investigate my claims. Michael Bouchard was on television talking about they take all complaints seriously. A black SUV ran out of the Sunoco on Huron, like they were going to run into me. I got the license plate DXM 9921. When I sped up to avoid the collision a Star EMS ambulance pulled out in front of me. This isn't the first time they have work in concert to harass me on the road. The Waterford Fire Department either. It's just the first time I complained. I lift my wet finger in the air and can feel the shift. I told Lt. Robert Ford. 'They are coming for you!' I CAN FEEL IT, and I'm ready to go to jail. Right is write...

This is the entire second conversation. This is where I stand my ground. So yeah, I'm yelling...A LOT.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/18tVs-yvSU9bpJSK2uuhe-1FKSysl793_/view?usp=sharing

A NIGHT OF VIOLENCE AND LIES

 One day, back about ten years ago I got a mysterious phone call from a man I know. He told me that a friend that he knew in high school had died and come back to life. He whispered into the phone, "Lesley that nigga died, I went to his funeral. Now, he back in the city. This is scarier than a motherf...." I held the phone and remembered seeing people on social media who were supposed to have died, but sent me a friendship request. I look at the screen and think to myself, "I though he/she had died!" I find it rude to send a message that asks the question, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" or "Didn't you die?" I just accept and watch their life play out before me that shouldn't exist. I remember in 2010, I began writing to elected officials about Paul McDougal beating my old best friend, Patricia Sanchez. That was the same summer that Torrie Emery chased Danielle Booth and Alesha Abernathy down the road, with McDougal "in toe". He never turned on a siren or blew his horn, he followed behind the women as Emery chased them at a high rate of speed. All the information that I am reading on the internet, today, says Emery rammed the two young women's Taurus and pushed it into the street. That'ts when it was struck by a truck and Alesha was killed on the scene. Booth was critically injured in the crash and McDougal, protected by the "Blue Wall" didn't get any punishment for not putting an end to the folly! I wrote to Alesha's cousin a long time associate, Katrina Abernathy. Katrina is dead, now, and told her all about what McDougal had done at that time, six years before. McDougal, lead detective of the case that sent me to prison was still harassing me. At the time, OCSD "turn keys" didn't even know who I was. It would be six months, before I would be charged with Val Gross and put in jail. Guilty that my messages on Facebook had gotten my friend of 40 years killed, her body riddled with cancer, I attended her funeral. I was a stranger and none of her family knew the secret I held, as I walked passed her coffin and watched her mother cry in her loss of her only daughter. All I could think was, "This is my fault!" These are the messages from 10 years ago:

I never spoke about it, again.  I later met Torrie Emery while in jail, she was sick with shame and remorse. That "crazy lady" had turned into a remorseful child. It was very hard not to, but she had a family and young children of her own, and at the time, I had no idea the police was reading my messages on Facebook. They even read my text messages. My brother almost died back in March and still cannot walk without a cane, I had a stroke and my nephew is dead. That should prove to me to be a warning, but I've learned from the past that your silence is a submission to your death. If you don't tell what you know, once they feel you are a threat, they kill you. Before you can tell the authorities what you know, might know or think you know. After my nephews funeral, I called the police ans told them what I felt. Even if it was just my suspicion dying without them knowing what I knew or thought I knew, would let the killers have another day to kill and that in my opinion was unacceptable. When I was finished doing that, I filed several complaints against the OCSD from 2010-15. I spoke with a crooked lawyer that told me that the statue of limitation has run out on my case. I could file a lawsuit against the Sheriff. I wonder what law the Larry Nassar woman sued under. Probably the one that said sex crimes has no statue of limitations. These are the kind of people I've been dealing with. These are the people lying on Torrie Emery and giving her 15-years for murder, when what she did was "Manslaughter", because that young woman drove off into traffic trying to get away. Emery never rammed her car! It was "Involuntary", too, because there was no physical contact with a car, a fist or anything that could cause her death. It was six years at the most. Emery has been down now, 10-years. Racism, and privilege. I got 18 months to 5 years for wanting to marry a White man, I've known practically my entire life.With an education and military service I got 90-days MAX for a high felony, "Aggravated Stalking," but just like the lesser sentences prostitutes get for giving blow jobs through a food slot, I got more for not knowing my place. Emery got hers for killing a White woman. Oakland County sucks, and not electing Dave Coulter and Karen McDonald, it will be more of the same for us.

Just like McDougal playing on the White women racist opinion about my declaration of love for Steve Wittebort, Oakland County Black Captain and Lieutenant are playing on Black folk and violence. I wrote to both Ewing and Ford about McDougal. Pontiac and the "Sweeps" done on Baldwin are the main source for the prostitutes they get in Oakland County Jail (OCJ). I'm hitting Both Ewing and Ford where it hurts. Ford called me to the Pontiac Sub-Station to tell me that he was going to investigate my claim that McDougal had beat his girlfriend. Not only did he beat her, but she lied and said he was a great father and boyfriend, when he was actually lousy at both. All Ford cared about is McDougal's demotion from detective to patrolman. No care for the scars of Sanchez or the years I lost in prison and jail. When I was complaining, I gave the OCSD the letters I wrote to Ewing and Ford. Now, we have had the worst week in this city in a long time. Three men were supposedly shot to death, and they shot three little girls on yesterday. Like 10-years ago, when Paul McDougal allowed two women to be plummeted by a truck. Three little girls have been hurt to cover their folly and illegal activity. They even had a rally for the three men that were supposed to have died in gun fire, with Kermit Williams, City Council President having a cousin among the men. Well, I want a DNA test. Because, I watched the mayor's speech and it had been written for her. Knowing that I had been complaining, and the Facebook Murder happened soon after my complaint, I knew this was more of the same. The men that shot those girls didn't care, just shot blindly into a home, and could have killed everyone in the house. Al to cover up illegal activity by the sheriff's department, in our city.

Michael Bouchard was with Kermit Williams, yesterday, but did not stand with the Mayor. It would have been ideal. We needed to show Black Unity. Instead, he did a Facebook video alone, in his car. He wants to be Mayor, at this point and really wants control of the cannabis in Pontiac. There is a lot of money in the industry. Pontiac is opening 40-50 business in the city over the next few years. If he and Randy Carter can get it right, they could become rich men through bribes from pushing the applications through. Colorado has a $1.75 billion in profits in 2019 (Tiney, 2020). If Pontiac makes a small fraction of that, Williams could be rich in no time. He's trying to pull away and be on his own. This way, he can set himself up for a run in 2021. I asked him in a post on the video on Facebook, why he didn't stand with the Mayor and was doing his own thing? I got no reply. The ole "Fish in the barrel" thing strikes again in our community.

These burst of violence in the Black community are staged, by other Black officials that are involved in criminal activity in this city. Children are now being used in the corruption. These men and women have no cares about anyone, but themselves and can careless about the people in the cross-fire. All those men who were supposed to have died, were probably drug dealers, who worked with the police and are off to sell drugs in other corrupt cities. There is more to this story, but I don't want to give them ammunition to put me n jail and some crooked judge holding up my life for another five or six years...