Got the call from Academy again today.

Last week, I got a call around 8:05 to substitute for a history teacher. I spent the day proctoring her exams. At one point, as the kids, Juniors, were studying for their exam, asking one another questions, I volunteered a few clearer explanations. Who was Alfred Thayer Mahan, etc. One of the kids turned around to me and asked "Did you used to be a history teacher?" I thought about it for a second, and then nodded my answer. Yea, I used to be a history teacher.



It was weird as hell to proctor someone else's exams. I wanted to lecture. I was itching to get back into the game, but I had fun, as I always do. I sat there, as you see in the picture above, while the kids studied. But then, when I'd get up and walk around to the front of the class to tell them to put their stuff away and get ready to take the test, the inevitable surprised stares and questions would begin.

"Oh my God, how tall are you?" I guess I don't look this freakishly big when I'm sitting behind a desk. "Did you play basketball? Football?" I get it all the time. Some little boy or girl will usually look up and say something like "Oh my God, you make me look like a midget." It used to embarrass me, back when I was their age. Back then, all I wanted was to hide and be invisible. But I've long ago made peace with all that and learned to enjoy the notoriety. It's always fun to joke about it now, and even to use it to flirt now and then. I wish I'd been this self assured all those decades ago.

I used it in San Saba, asserting a strong personae by just playing the role that was made for me. Being the biggest guy in the place. It was, and usually is, the first perception people have of me. Profiling is wrong, I suppose, but it's been a factor in my life for as long as I can remember. The first day I walked into the prison, the Windham School District Principle decided he knew who I was with one look and said something like "Now we have someone who can stand up to Wittaker." I didn't know what that meant, but I knew I didn't like it.

It turned out Wittaker was a big guard who kind'a ran the education building, or at least acted like he did. An ex-drill instructor, he took great pleasure in making the prisoners nervous. I used to love having him around. He'd just walk by and the youthful offenders would shut up and stand quietly. It was beautiful. He turned out to be a cool guy, with a hilarious sense of humor. We ended up getting along fine.

In the end, Wittaker and I became friends, and I missed him a lot when he had himself transferred to a jail in Gatesville. I think he was sick of all the fat female guards in San Saba, and the wardens duplicity, and he felt like he would have a better chance to really bust some heads in Gatesville. I missed him when he left, and I guess I tried to emulate some of his swagger, playing the roll of a more benign tough guy, to keep the "offenders" in line while they were in my class. It was an easy role to play, and it worked beautifully. I got to where I enjoyed the hell out of it. The prisoners and I had fun with it.

One day, an young offender stopped across the hall from me, standing in the door to another classroom. He looked up to me (they're mostly little skudders), scowled and said "You're not that big Wilson." I smiled, leaning in the doorway of my own classroom. "You better bring a gun!" Everyone laughed. The prisoner smiled, laughed and went into his class. That was the atmosphere. It was maybe the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin, posturing and embracing my size. I loved it, probably because I knew the actual chances of any kind of altercation were very slim. It was all just for fun, and everyone seemed to know that.

Once, I had two offenders standing up to one another in class, posturing closely, silently pretending to threaten one another. I could see that it was all clearly a pose. It was the kind of thing that went on all the time, usually as they were coming and going from the pencil sharpener. I waited for one of them to look up to me and said, again, while leaning casually against the doorway, "SO much sexual tension in this room." Both offenders turned red and laughed. God, I used to love that job.

Of course, that tough guy personae may have been the thing that did me in in the end. The "joke" I played on one prisoner, giving him a little shove one day on a sidewalk, was used by that prisoner, and maybe the Warden too, to toss me out of the jail and send my career into the twilight zone. Of course, it was blogging about it all that gave people on Ft. Hood the fuel they used to really screw me, but that story's not over yet.

The latest move in the drama has been to send a letter to the Army, asking them to explain their position in the whole thing. Did they in fact conclude that I was a danger to students, ban me from the base, and then escort me off the base? And if so, why? The college is still saying that I'm banned, and is using the shove and the blog post to assert that I'm somehow a danger to students.

It's all an amazing load of crap, and everyone who knows me knows it is. Thing is, the Dean who canned me has known me for 15 years, so it's hard to explain what would motivate him to stick to such an spurious assertion. But we'll find out in the end.

Meanwhile, the folks in Academy called me again today. They want me to come in tomorrow morning and substitute for a Spanish teacher. That should be interesting, seeing as how I can only really cuss in Spanish. Once again, back in the saddle, somewhat. I've got chores to do today, tryin' to get my trimmer and edgers fixed. I also have plans to visit an old friend and colleague who's been put in assisted living in Temple.

So, y'all be good, and I'll keep plodding along. Maybe some day I'll have good news to tell. Cheers.

By the way...

Here's how the last knife turned out.



Still a few finishing touches to be done here. The guard was too wide. I needed to grind it down to match the brass.



There you go. A little fine tuning of the taper, sanding the grip so that everything was smooth and fit without being able to feel any of the seams.



In the end, I liked how it turned out. I still haven't decided on the correct concho for the pommel.



This one looks cool, but it's a little too flashy. When it's finally done, with sheath and all, I'll show it to you again. Cheers.

More random stuff.

A few weeks back, after having lunch with a friend, Denise and I then drove over to the mall in Killeen so that Denise could return/replace the purse I'd bought her a few months ago.

She's had two of these purses since I've known her. The first one came apart steadily, even after I resewed the straps together. Now, after a very short time, the straps on this new purse are also coming apart. I resewed them, trying to do a more durable job this time, but I don't think it'll last.

That thing just isn't put together well. Key parts, like the straps that the handles attach to, are made from some kind of cheap, crappy material, rather than leather. It feels almost like rubber, reinforced with string. Piece of Shit! But she loves the hell out of that purse.

Well, they didn't have another one like it, so we'll have to keep this one together as long as we can. I joked with Denise at the store... "Well, stop swingin' it at me so much, and it'll last longer!" Funny thing too. We were talkin' to the gal behind the desk and she starts to look at me like she recognizes me. When she hears my voice she asks me if I teach on Ft. Hood. Turns out she's one of my former students. She asked me if I was still teaching out there. I didn't want to cut loose with the full melodrama there in the store, so I let it go. I looked at Denise and she says "Another one eh?" Yep, they're all over the place.

A few days later I went to PetSmart and got a treat for my cousin' Sues cats. I found this thing years ago, and my cats have gone through about a half dozen of them. It's a little toy mouse, with a chip and battery in it that makes it chirp whenever it's moved.

When Susie got these two little cuties, I knew they'd love one, so, after dinner one day (it was Labor Day, a trip to the Texas Roadhouse), I drove us all by the store and sure enough, they still have them on sale. I brought the toy home, tossed it on the stairs, and the rest is history.



Since then, the cats have continued to enjoy the thrill of the kill, and Moms older cats have joined in as well. Of course, my little children still enjoy the real thing, as you've recently seen here. Nothing like the panicked chirp, the struggle, the last desperate kicks and wiggles, and then, of course, the taste of... Well, you know what I'm talkin' about. That's why my cats are healthier and happier than any of the other felines in the family. They actually have access to the goods. Living off the rez, as they say, to the neighbors endless torment. But nature will out. Cheers.

Last night's little drama.

There I was, out in the geeeerage, workin' on my next project. Mindin' my own business and all, when Denise comes rushin' out, breathless. "You need to come in now," she said to me, eyes clinched. "You need to come in and take care of something."



Yep, projects (I digress). The Damascus, dirkish lookin' dude, er, dagger there at the bottom of the picture.



I think it's gonna look cool as hell when I get it done. My buddy Waters provided the antler. He says it's the only one he's ever found out there on his 20 acres. Once I get the spacers ready (there will be bands of black, white and maybe red between the layers), I'll glue it all together and begin grinding it down to where I want it.



I'm in the midst of getting the hole drilled correctly in the deer antler, and getting the wood (Osage Orange, aka Bois de ark) and Oosik layers spaced in there correctly, when one of my cats, Tiger, brought us home a present. Denise found it, alerted by another cat that was sniffing Tiger and growling at him. I went into the guest bedroom, where the cat door is located, and sure enough...



There was a little present waitin' for me. I went back to the garage and got my little shovel, picked him up, made a slight move like I was gonna go after Denise with it (that'll never stop bein' funny), and took it out to the work bench.



Poor little dude. I tell ya, life is HARD for the critters who live within' range of my little killers.



It warms my heart to know that my babies can still fend for themselves, if the have to. Like a proud daddy. Oh, yea, I tossed the unfortunate rodent in the field across the road from the house. It'll marinade out there in it's own juices, until a local Fox, or one of my little killers sniffs it out and has a snack.



By the way you can see the next project sittin' at the top of that picture up there. Again, Damascus. I have a thing for that stuff. This time a coffin handles bowie, with sheep horn handles.

Keepin' busy. Cheers!

How we spent last week.

This is gonna take a while, so brace yourself.

Remember, Denise's family drove down from Kentucky weekend before last, getting here on Saturday afternoon. Before they arrived, Denise and I went over to her house to clean it up. Denise worked inside and I mowed the lawn. I was in the process of sweeping up and trimming when that huge friggin' red Ford pick-up drove up.

We relaxed that afternoon, getting pizza from our favorite place and hangin' out at the house.



The next day, Sunday, we took them on a trip up to the Texas Ranger Museum in Waco. You can check out the pictures here. I've been there a few times, and it's always fun. I really enjoyed seeing the beautiful guns and Native American relics. The Apache arrows are cool as hell!

A day or so later I drove these folks up to Gatesville and took them shooting out at my buddy Dave's place. Denise's daughter Chantel, who is a Nurse in Kentucky, took to shooting with appropriate humor and wonder.



I don't think she'd done a lot of shooting before, but she enjoyed the hell out of it. Her sons enjoyed it too. The eldest, Bryce, had been up there shooting at Dave's before. He's the one that floated the idea for the shoot.



I gathered and brought an appropriate arsenal, and Dave added one of his Garands to the mix (we shot my ammo), and we set ourselves up out beside Dave's house.

Chantel's youngest son, Colin, wanted to shoot everything, but he's so small, weighing in at less than 100 lbs. (he's 13, but looks to be about 7 or 8), he could barely lift the full sized rifles.



I had him shoot my AKMS with the stock folded, from the hip, so he could hold it up. I brought the M-1 Carbine because I figured he'd be able to lift it.



He did a great job, though his gun safety knowledge needs improving. His mom needs to set him up in a class.



Here, you can see that he's too weak to hold up my AR-15 and pull the trigger.

Later, while we were eating steaks in San Antonio, I tried to get him to get over his usual reluctance to eat. He's picky as hell, and usually doesn't finish his meals. I told him to eat up! "That's protein boy. You need to eat all of that you can. Build muscle and get big." I think he bought it. We'll see.

We had a wonderful time at Dave's, and then, the next day, we had another wonderful time in San Antonio.



We had a great time on the River Walk, ate great food at Texas Land & Cattle, and then moved on to the Alamo.



I can't tell you how often I've visited this shrine to Texas History. Truly, a Shrine to human liberty. When we lived in San Antone, in the early '70s, the school used to take us there on field trips about five times a year. Even so, I was surprised at how moved I was by this visit.

The crowds were light, so we didn't have to wait to get in. After visiting the church, we moved to the garden behind the main building. There, a guide gave a history talk about the Texas Revolution that was surprisingly similar to the one I would have given to my class.

Sitting there, listening to how our forefathers and mothers were subjected to a murderous campaign of ethnic cleansing by that peacock Santa Anna and his armies, I allowed myself to become submerged in the history. Later, looking up at the visages carved into the Cenotaph, thinking of the sacrifices that were made so that we could live with freedom, and not as subjects of an authoritarian government in Mexico City, I found myself almost in tears.

After that, we all slowly walked back over to the river, and made our way back to our cars. We drove back home, and got back late. The next day, after sleeping in (Denise had to work), I took the folks out to Ft. Hood. I got yet another pass and took them to have lunch at one of the big food courts out there.



After eating, I took them to the 1st Cavalry Museum and the 4th Infantry Division Museum, including the memorial to the folks who have paid the highest price in Iraq and Afghanistan. You can see some of the pictures here.

Later on that evening, after Denise got off work, we all drove down to Austin and had a wonderful Tex-Mex dinner at Pappasito's. It'd been a LONG time since Denise and I had been able to enjoy their fare. I think it's the best Mexican food you can get, anywhere. My favorite thing is the Brochette Shrimp. I told John, Chantel's boyfriend, that he'd love them, and he did. Denise and I enjoyed the Fajitas, sharing a large order between us.



On Friday, with Denise going back to work, her kids went back to San Antonio and went to Sea World. I went back to Austin with my buddy Glenn and attended the first day of the three day Austin City Limits Music Festival.



It was a great time. We got there in time to hear the last half of Blues Traveler's show, and then set up our chairs for the Black Keys.



The music was wonderful, but the idiots in the crowd were a pain in the ass. Why the hell would someone pay a lot of good money, work their way up to the venue through thousands of other people and then stand there and have a loud conversation with their friends while other people are trying to listen to the music?

I think it's because they're not really music fans. Glenn and I agreed, they're just posers, wanting to be seen at the gig. They want to be able to say they were there, but they don't really care about the music. We have to deal with this a lot, at many of the concerts we've attended together. These dolts stand there and ruin the experience for everyone around them, even hurling insults at the players. Assholes. Thoughtless assholes. You can experience some of it here. Eventually I just stopped trying to film any of the music. In retrospect, I should have moved much closer to the stage, where the real fans were. Here's where I should have been standing.

Still, the festival was wonderful. We both had a great time. After the Keys, we relocated ourselves over to the Clear 4G stage and got some food to eat while we waited for the next show. Glenn was particularly excited to see Robert Randolph and the Family Band, so named because it's filled with his siblings and cousins. You can experience their amazing, energetic show here.

The show ended with a concert by the band Phish. I'd filled up my camera card on The Keys and Robert Randolph by then, so I didn't get any video of that.

We set up our chairs and sat back to enjoy the show. About half way through it, somewhat tired of the endless noodling and jamming, we decided to beat the crowd and make our exit. I stopped long enough to get a few t-shirts, and then we got in line for the shuttle bus.



It was a long line, but it moved fairly quickly. I think I got home around 2AM. It was a great time.

The next morning, Denise and I got up early so we could join her daughter and family for breakfast at a local I-Hop. Turns out they'd had a long day of fun at Seaworld. The breakfast was great, but then the parting was tearful. The kids drove off to make the 16 or so hour journey back to Kentucky, and Denise and I went back to the house. Now and then during the day I'd look over and see her tearing up. That'd usually get me goin'. It was sad to see how much she missed them. Of course, I missed them too.

The rest of the weekend was a lazy time, resting up from the busy week. Monday, Denise went back to work, and I headed out to get the verdict from the shrink. So, now we're back to the routine of waiting. I'll tell you how it goes, when something does happen. Keep your fingers crossed. Cheers!

What's been goin' on.

Short answer... Not a hell of a lot, but things are finally moving forward a bit.

The results of my psych profile finally came in, showing me to be completely normal, with no dangerous tendencies. "Textbook normal" was the term he used. I also found out I have ADHD, which I'd long suspected. But it's nice to have the formal confirmation. Now, whenever Denise comes home from work and goes into a long dissertation about her day, I can defend myself when I drift back off to whatever's on TV and she gets pissed at me. "Hey, I've got an actual medical condition!" See if that works.

Where do we go from here? Well, when he canned me, the Dean told me "The army has taken it out of my hands. They've banned you from the base" (based on the blog post and their contention that my words there showed some violent tendency). Ergo, I couldn't teach classes on the base any more, and furthermore, the words I posted on the blog were suspicious enough to threaten my continued employment with the college. The next day they fired me, "without possibility of rehire."

Well, since then I've dealt with the ban. I went out there a while ago and easily succeeded in getting my name cleared and have since gotten three separate passes to go on the base without any problems. Now, having this psych profile saying that I'm as normal as normal can be all points to the unjust nature of the firing, revealing it as an unwarranted "rush to judgment" on the part of the college and the Army.

Late last week, my attorney sent a letter to the college Chancellor pointing out these facts. It talks about my 20 year service to the college, without a serious blemish, documenting my skills as a teacher. In the end, it asks the chancellor to personally intervene on my behalf. So, the ball is in his court. We're back to waiting. Waiting to see how he responds.

Initially, all this waiting and inactivity was drivin' me nuts. I was used to being on the road or in a classroom from 7:30 AM to 10PM, four days a week. But I tell you what, I've acclimatized myself to it. It's kinda like bein' retired, so long as my money lasts (I won't touch my retirement money). I hope they'll hire me back and everything will be back to something like normal soon. I've applied for other jobs teaching online classes, and substitute teaching, but none of that has born fruit as of yet.

Meanwhile, I've kept myself busy with projects around my house and Denise's house. Mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, working on long over due knife projects and such. My buddy Glenn brought me his grandfather's knife, which he'd left out in the rain. The blade was rusted and the horn handle grips had warped. I took it apart, cleaned it up and glued it back together again. In the end it turned out pretty good. Now he's gonna bring me an old rifle and have me clean it up for him. Lookin' forward to it.

My buddy Dave brought over his old hunting/reenacting knife and asked me to trim and resew the sheath. It had always been too loose for his liking. I took it apart, trimmed it and resewed it so that it was tight as a... Well, you fill in the rest yourself. Bottom line, it worked out really well, and I learned a lesson on how to resew it the way it had originally been done.

Aside from that, I get up with Denise in the morning and fix her milk coffee before she goes to work (I used to do that when I had a job too). During the day, I peal my ass from this chair and try to clean the kitchen and/or get the laundry done. I drive out to get Denise and take her out to eat lunch most days, and I cook dinner most nights. There's boneless pork ribs marinading in the fridge as we speak, and I've got to cut this short and make some sandwiches for lunch. I'll take them out there and we'll find a quiet place to chill out.

We had some visitors last week, and a lot of other stuff's been goin' on too. Denise's daughter and her family drove down from Kentucky and spent the week with us. She had to work part of that week, but being unemployed, I was free to spend a lot of time with them and show them around. I'll talk about that in a bit. Cheers!

Nice thing about livin' this far inland...

And on a hill, is that when a hurricane like this one blows up from Mexico or the Gulf and it rains all day and night, dumpin' like 8 or 9 inches of water on your town, you're very unlikely to be forced to flee or watch your car being swept away. Barring any mud slides from the yard above mine, I'll be fine.

Of course, I hate to see the folks who live in low lying parts of town or trailer parks being forced to flee to high ground. God bless those folks. But I think the same thing happened to them the last time one of these hurricanes blew through. Mmmm, maybe those folks from the last time learned their lesson and moved, and now it's a completely new bunch of folks fleein' for high ground?

Anyway, when Hermine hit us yesterday morning, my cats all retreated to the back porch. It's covered and has a nice dry, cozy swing they can sleep on. There's also a heated, electric foam pad (unplugged) out there for them to relax on. From top to bottom: Tiger, Sandy, Rusty, W (starin' at the camera), Hissy, and Lulu. My babies.

Normally, they wander the neighborhood and sprawl out under someones bush during the heat of the afternoon. Or, they come in the cat door and chill out on or under the bed in the guest room. But when a hurricane is spinning off 8 or 9 inches of havoc, even my little pooties are smart enough to know how to come in from the rain.

Considering what's been going on lately, I've got very little to do these days, aside from the few specific tasks I've been given by my attorney. Working on those took much of the morning and afternoon. There was yard work in the mix, and a trip to Temple to do some chores with mom, but the hurricane killed those plans. By the time I got home from one task, it was time to cook dinner.

I'd soaked a few chicken breasts in Teriyaki sauce and chicken fajita seasoning the night before, and there was a tub of potato salad (for Denise), another tub of Macaroni salad (for me), and some left-over baked beans there to go with the chicken. Denise was gonna be home from work some tome around 6:30, so I tossed the chicken in the pan and grabbed my camera.



The car went in to the Toyota place this morning. Now I'm sittin' here, watchin' some show on NatGeo, waitin' to find out how much it's gonna cost to get it back. The show is about how close we are in DNA to chimps. Turns out we share something like 98% of our genes. That's like the difference between a horse and a zebra. Pretty wild.

Today is gonna be fun. A good buddy of mine is gonna drive into town for a doctors appointment, and then after he gets loose from that, we're gonna hang out and go get something to eat. You remember my buddy John, and that possibles bag I was making him?

Well, today's the day he gets it. You can see the finished product there on the left. I hope he likes it. It'll be fun to hand it over. I think he's gonna hand me a big bottle of George Dickel in exchange. Mmmmm, good.

He has a liquor store there in San Saba, and I've been tellin' him about some of the interesting stores we've got around here. So I think we're gonna do a liquor store tour, and then hit a good Chinese food place. Maybe I can talk him into Dynasty in Temple. With my car in the shop, he'll have to drive. We'll see. One way or the other, we'll have a great time.

Aside from all that, I'll be calling and talking to the folks in Austin today who run an accelerated certification program for those who want to teach in the public school. I think that's my best bet for another good, full-time gig with benefits and retirement. Ideal scenario... I get rehired by my old employer, and then I get hired to teach high school in Florence, or somewhere else that's very much like Florence. I could teach AP classes and then high school too. That'd be cool.

After teaching college for 20 years, maybe it's time to switch gigs. I'm still young, and life is a journey designed for learning. We'll see how it goes. Stay dry out there, and I'll keep you informed on everything that's goin' on. Cheers.

Update: It turns out the quick lube dudes failed to put on a drain plug gasket when I had my oil changed last. Dodged a bullet there, so all is well. I'll be able to drive John all over the place and show him a good time. Cheers again.

Last Saturday.

Saturday started out with my buddy Dave (one of the many Daves that I'm lucky to call "buddy") calling and waking us up at about 10 AM. He keeps farmers hours, ol' Waters. Not sure why. He's old fashioned, so he naturally assumed we'd be up by then.



He'd gone over to the home of and old school administrator we both know and had a new purchase to show me.



It's an 1817 Springfield flintlock musket. He laid out all the details on the gun, which he's paying $2000.00 for. Man, I miss that full-time paycheck. One thing he wanted to assure Denise was that this gun was made too late to have taken part in any of the unpleasantness between our two countries. I tell ya, there's nothing like holding a piece of history like this in your hands. Imagine the people who held it, and the history it's seen. If it could only talk.

After showing off the new toy, Dave came in to the house and sat on the couch and we talked about all this mess that's subsumed my life in the last week. He's always been supportive in all of my dramas. He's a great, valued friend.

After Dave (Waters) left, I got a call from another valued friend. Dave (Willingham) was driving up from Florence with the contents of my desk and classroom in two boxes.



I'd called down there Thursday to see if the principle wanted me to come down, get my stuff and turn in the key to the room. He told me that CTC had told him not to allow me back in the building. That shocked me. I told him to give the stuff to Willingham, and that I'd drive down and give him the key. But Dave decided to come up. I wasn't going to argue with him too much.

Not only did he bring up all my possibles, the contents of my desk and the maps I had hangin' on the walls. He also brought up the school custodian's jacket. Apparently, Debbie has a tradition of getting a lot of departing kids sign her Florence jacket. She'd always been good to me, taking care of my room and everything, but it surprised me when Dave told me she wanted me to sign her jacket. To me, it signifies the good will that so many people have been showing me as this drama has ensued. The people who know me, who've known me for years, know who I really am. They know I'm not the person those few powerful people have said I might be.

After Dave left, I got a call from my long time friends, Jim and Terry, in Ft. Worth. They'd talked about drivin' down and stoppin' by on the way down to Austin. Three hours later, after a quick stop for sausage at Green's in Zabcikville, they were here, sittin' in my living room. We hung around the house for a while, and I told them all the dirty details of what had gone on this last week. In time, the subject happily changed to other things, like a new cat, and fond memories of when the three of us floated the Grand Canyon in '03 and '05.



We talked about how cool it feels to be part of the small percentage of the population that's actually left the south rim on a visit to the canyon, much less walked into and out of the friggin' thing. We talked about how cool it would be to do it all again in a decade or so. Next time we'll avoid the walk, and do the whole river in one trip. They'll drive us in to Lee's Ferry and fly us out at the dam about 17 days later. It should be cool.

In time, all four of us piled into Terry's Camry and headed for Austin. We drove down 195 and 35, exiting downtown and driving west on 6th street. After debating the topic for a bit, we ended up having dinner at Hut's Hamburgers, a pretty famous local diner. Jim had been there before, when he was briefly working in Austin, but none of the rest of us had ever tried it.



It's Texas, so there's a Longhorn head up on the wall. There's also a Buffalo head up there. That dude glared down at us as we enjoyed out teas and burgers.



And it's Austin, so of course, there are pictures of Stevie, Jimmie, and Lou Ann on the wall.



The food was pretty good, but it wasn't knock-your-socks-off good. The onion rings were awesome though, so I'd go back.



We drove down by the river and soon found a parking lot that looked like it catered to Bat watchers. $7 later we were walkin' a block or so down to the bridge and beginning our wait.



We were NOT alone. This little wildlife drama attracts bat aficionados from all over the world.



And then there's us local folks. Both Terry and I had seen the bat spectacle before, but it's always cool to check it out again. Denise and Jim had never had the pleasure.



The wait turned out to be a long one. But there was plenty of action on the water to watch as we waited. I had a good cigar burnin', and thought now and then, "If I get busted for smokin' in this liberal, pissy assed town, that'll be the capper on the week." I don't think smoking in public is illegal there, but I'm not sure, and I'm kind'a gun shy these days.



We went down under the bridge, thinkin' we'd get to see all the bats come flyin' out of the slats underneath the structure. By the time they did come out, there wasn't enough light for me to capture them with my camera. You can hear them chirpin' though, over my blatherin'.



Here's what we were lookin' for. It's what Terry and I had seen before. The bats come out in a long streaming flock and twist through the sky. I guess, in retrospect, it would have been better for us to be on top of the bridge.



But then, Terry stayed up there, watching from the north end of the bridge, and she didn't see the cloud ether. Maybe it just wasn't our night.



Finally, on our way back north, we stopped at Rudy's and picked up some brisket, jalapeno sausage and cream corn to go. Rudy's is a wonderful BBQ place, and their cream corn is to die for. I ended up bringing home three jalapeno sausage links, a pound of extra lean brisket and a quart of corn.

Jim and Terry dropped us off at the house, and after making a pit stop, drove on back up to Ft. Worth. Denise and I stayed up a bit longer, and then hit the sack about the same time Jim and Terry probably got home. It was a great, great healing day. I loved seein' all my these good friends. It makes me feel truly rich and lucky.

Well, the holiday weekend isn't over yet. Relax and I'll share the rest of it all with you in a bit. Cheers.

Life goes on.

What do you do when you're newly unemployed? Pffft, go to a high school football game, of course. Denise and I hit the road after she got home from Work. We hit the dry cleaners on 57th street, and the3n went by mom's place. She wasn't feeling up to going out to eat, so we just visited for a while. Then we headed out for the game.



My former students from Florence were playing the kids from Holland, Texas, down in Holland. That's where my daddy grew up, kinda. His daddy moved to a farm just outside Holland after my daddy left to go to the army in the 1040s. It's where my uncle Punk, who was still a kid when my daddy left home, grew up went to school. It's about fifteen minutes south of where my mom lives, so Denise and I decided to check out the game after visiting with mom that afternoon.



It was decidedly werd for me to wander out there, knowing what's gone on, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna hide away in the house. These folks know me, and it was great to run into a few students, and former students.



Plus, it was really an awesome game. The kids came to win, and played that way. The QB was one of my students, as were several other players, and the water boy, and about a third of the cheerleaders.



It's always fun to sit in the stands and see them going through these high school rituals. It's a life lesson. Life does go on, and the world continues to turn.



For the Florence folks, it was a great night, and for Denise and I too. We had a blast, and then we drove home and relaxed with a few adult beverages in front of the big flat screen. Of course, it was also very weird to be there, and to see these kids. I guess I'm still in shock about everything, but I've been hearing a lot of encouraging stuff from students and friends in the last few days. And I've been given reason to hope that everything may soon... well, I don't want to go there.

I have to say that it's all been, and continues to be a very educational experience. I've had people telling me for years that I shouldn't be so open on the blog. So revealing of my inner self. Looking back, I can see how this blog has evolved in time, as I have. I went from Fatty Fridays and a futile attempt at a gross out contest with Dick, to posting about my Dad, taking him out to eat and then to football games on Friday nights.

Frankly, I don't think I have anything in there to be ashamed of, but it's another thing to have other people, with their own opinions and motivations, checking out your posts and judging you by their standards. So, from now on, the blog will be private, and I'll be doing this for my own little circle, which is what I thought I was doing all along, but I was proven wrong. I also wanna say that it's been wonderful to read and hear all the well wishes from folks in that last few days. That almost makes it worth while to go through all of this.

No, no it's not. Nothing could make this bullshit worth while. It's too humiliating and horrifying. But Denise and I will work our way through it. So, you guys be cool, and I'll keep you updated on what's going on. Cheers!

You guys know what's goin' on.

I told you that I'd post that appeal to the Windham School District individual who drafted and sent the letter detailing why I was banned from teaching on any Texas prison facility, which led to my first trauma a few weeks back. It's five and a half pages, so brace yourself. Here goes.

My name is Jeff Wilson, and until recently, I was a college professor contracted to teach History and Government at the San Saba Unit by Central Texas College. This letter is meant as an appeal of the charges leveled against me by the Windham School District (WSD) and Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ) concerning my physical contact with a prisoner named XXX at the San Saba Unit in 2010.

I’ve been accused of “pushing an offender without provocation”, of violating several specific provisions of the TDCJs PD-22 General Rules, as well as the WSDs employee guidelines. As a result of these charges, I’ve been permanently banned from teaching at any TDCJ facilities in the future.

The official letter listing these violations, informing me of that ban, includes references to PD-22, Rule 7 (Substandard Duty Performance, Violation Level 4), Rule 24c (Use of Unnecessary Force: Non-Provoked Without Serious Injury Violation level 2), Rule 25c (failure on my part to report the alleged use of unnecessary force), and finally the WSD Handbooks rule against, “Using unnecessary force or coercion in dealing with offenders.

The letter asserts that I have “demonstrated clearly” a “lack of remorse” concerning the incident in question, and that I am therefore incompatible with the “mission of the San Saba Unit, of Central Texas College, and of the Windham School District.”

It also questions my safety on the unit, now that this incident has taken place, and the safety of other CTC and WSD employees, as well as the “substantive liability exposure” this incident has drawn to CTC, WSD and the TDCJ. It claims that, due to the nature of the violation, and what it asserts is my attitude about the incident, my permanent removal from the list of approved contracted personnel is a warranted punishment.

This appeal will attempt to set the record straight, as I see it, and answer the assertions and charges leveled at me concerning this incident. Accordingly, let me describe the incident in question, as I remember it, and answer the accusations dealing with the specific violations I’ve been accused of making.

First, I do remember the incident in question, but I don’t remember the specific date on which it occurred. I believe it was sometime around the week of May 3^rd, 2010, but I’m not sure about that. On that date, as my noon-to-2:30PM class was letting out, I was walking out of the Education building at the San Saba Unit, headed for the first in a series of locked doors I would go through to exit the unit.

As I exited the door from the Education building, walking past several guards who were patting down inmates, I saw an inmate in my path that I’d had considerable contact with in the past. This inmate, Mr. XXX, had finished all four of the classes I taught at San Saba, and had repeatedly caused disruptions in the last of those classes. I’d been forced to write two cases on Mr. XXX in that last class, including one case for refusing to follow an order (to stop talking in class), and another case for assault (throwing a small object at me while I lectured, hitting me in the eye).

When the second case was written, Mr. XXX was facing serious consequences for that action. I was told at the time that it could add several years to his sentence. A day or so after the case was turned in, the sergeant of the guards, shift supervisor out at San Saba took me into his office and asked me if I thought Mr. XXX intended to hurt me with the object he’d thrown (it was ether a small, rolled up piece of paper or a piece of an eraser). I said that I didn’t think he had.

I expressed the feeling that as annoying as Mr. XXX was, I didn’t want to do anything to add years to his prison term. As much trouble as he’d been, I didn’t want to mess up his life any more than it already was. I expressed to the sergeant and others at that time that Mr. XXX was his own worst enemy… A smart kid, but he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The sergeant then reduced the severity of the offense, and the assault charge went away.

Mr. XXX was back in class a few days later, smiling, posing to the other offenders and acting like he’d gotten away with something. In retrospect, I wish I’d asked the sergeant something like “If he’d hit you in the eye with something, would you reduce the charge?” But the water has long since dribbled under that bridge.

Regardless, I still would have reduced the charge, because the punishment would have been extreme, considering the nature of his action against me. As I’ve related, Mr. XXX caused me considerable irritation in that last of the four classes that he took from me. But our interaction did not start out negatively.

One day, during the first of those four classes, as I began my lecture, Mr. XXX gave voice to the realization that he’d seen me before. It turned out that Mr. XXX had attended Florence High School, where I also teach (AP) college classes. He said he remembered me from there. It turned out that we knew some of the same people down in Florence. When I asked those people about him, they all remembered him. A few told me to tell him hello, and to give him encouraging messages.

At some later point, probably in an attempt to curry sympathy, he showed me pictures of his baby girl, and he told me about his offense and how he wanted to get his degree and change the path of his life. Mr. XXX, who has a pleasant, humorous demeanor, always did well in my classes. And he was never a significant problem to me, until that last, fourth semester.

After Mr. XXX finished with my classes, he moved on, trying to finish his degree and I moved on to continue teaching other offenders. We’d see one another now and then in the halls. There was often a lot of joking around, but there was never any serious animosity between us. Other offenders often made reference to the trouble Mr. XXX had caused in my class. The whole thing turned into a running joke, with offenders bringing it all up to have a laugh now and then.

People would ask me now and then if I still harbored any animosity for him, and I told them I didn’t. I’ve been teaching for 20 years, and I’ve had MANY students who acted up in class. It’s part of the job, and nothing to get excited about. But the offenders didn’t want to let it go. I even had one offender offer to beat Mr. XXX up in exchange for extra credit on his Final Exam. I laughed at the offer, treated it as a joke (like when they would, tongue in cheek, try to offer me stamps as a bribe on test day), and told the offender that I didn’t have any bad feelings for Mr. Vences. He was out of my life, and no longer a problem in my class.

However, after that semester ran its course, Mr. XXX began to openly refer to me in front of other offenders as his “Little Bitch.” He’d be standing in line in front of the locked gate, waiting to get back to his cell and he’d say something like “You gotta straighten out your little bitch now and then,” and then smile and look up at me. I’d laugh, riddle him with expletives, or say something like “Yea, stop dreamin’” and then move on as soon as the locked gate was opened.

Whenever those kinds of incidents took place, we would always end up laughing about it. He’d call me something, and then I’d call him something in return, and then we’d both laugh. Of course, I could have written him up for those words, but again, there was no harm being done. It was par for the course there at the prison, and it would have been silly for me to take any of it seriously. I’d moved on, and I didn’t want to cause ether of us any more trouble.

The environment there in San Saba is a very coarse, masculine environment. One in which there is always a lot of joking around, a lot of good natured barbs and insults traded, and almost constant physical contact between inmates. They joke around, insult one another and playfully shove and tussle with one another in class, all in full view of cameras, and no one ever comes rushing in to stop it. The very few guards stationed in Education do what they can, but if they had to run into every one of the half-dozen classes being taught at any one time, every time something like that happened, we would have very little time left for teaching.

So, despite my training, which was minimal to begin with, I guess, in time, I got used to the environment... the joking around, the playful insults, and the personal contact. I suppose, in time I began to take it all for granted. But my behavior at San Saba was always in line with the twenty years of experience I’d had teaching in every kind of environment there is, from teaching deployed Navy and Marine Corps personnel on an aircraft carrier during the 1991 Gulf War, to substitute teaching unruly 3^rd graders in a Ft. Worth public school. I learned early on in my career to adapt myself to the environment I was teaching in. Furthermore, I was always reliable, and I was always absolutely professional in the way I did my job there in San Saba, and the WSD officials there will tell you that.

On the day in question, as I was leaving the education building, headed for the next locked door on my journey out of the unit, I saw that Mr. XXX was one of many offenders who were standing along the sidewalk leading to the gate. Without thinking too much about it, I put my hand on Mr. XXX’s shoulder and gave him a shove, pushing him towards the wall. Mr. XXX said something like “Hey,” and the other offenders laughed.

It had been done as a joke, in the spirit of the moment, and in the context of the environment that existed there in the jail. Mr. XXX and I had been trading barbs, back and forth, and that was just my latest shot. It was done with humor, and I expected it to be taken that way. This was the environment that existed there in San Saba. There were several teachers and others there who regularly traded insults with inmates, but it was all just good natured fun. Nothing was ever taken seriously by anyone.

Furthermore, it was done in full view of the guards who were patting down inmates, and in full view of the cameras, and nothing was said to me. No one came to me at any time and said “Hey, don’t do things like that. It’s against the rules.” In the moment, everyone laughed, and I assumed the act had been taken as it was intended… as a joke.

I’m told that when I went through my original orientation in 2008, the orientation preparing my colleagues and I to teach in San Saba, I was told to never touch an offender. But I don’t remember ever hearing that.

I remember a very short orientation, consisting of several instructional videos, the main theme of which seemed to be that we should avoid engaging in personal, sexual relationships with offenders. I remember being told, among other things, that I should never bring anything into the prison for an inmate, or take anything out of the prison for an inmate. Most of that stuff was obvious. I also remember hearing that I should never let the offenders know any personal information about myself, like my full name and where I live. Well, the offenders found out my full name right off the bat.

My employer, Central Texas College, insisted that we wear name tags displaying our full name on our chest. Furthermore, spending 95% of the next twenty or so months in San Saba with the offenders, I suppose I adjusted my self to the environment I was teaching in. I never forgot where I was, and I never considered any of the inmates to be my friends, or anything other than inmates. But the inmates were my students, and for the most part, I treated them just like I would the other students in my other classes.

When the time came for our follow-up briefing from the same WSD official in 2009, to keep my certification to teach on the unit, the briefing consisted of sitting in the Dean’s office on Ft. Hood for 20 or 25 minutes, talking to that WSD official about the kinds of things that were going on in San Saba. At no time did he say anything to me about not touching inmates. We basically chatted as a group for a brief time, discussing subjects like the difficulty CTC had experienced finding administrative staff to work in San Saba, and that was it.

So, in the context of what had been going on over almost two years, and the experience I’d had in San Saba, you can imagine my shock when what I’d considered innocent contact with Mr. XXX, contact that had been intended as a joke, began to turn into a major incident. It wasn’t until a few months later that I found out, from another offender, that Mr. XXX was having meetings with the Warden. No TDCJ or WSD officials ever came to me in person, immediately after the event or at any other time, telling me that I’d been in the wrong. Furthermore, since I had no idea that I’d done anything wrong, I had no reason to report what I’d done to the WSD or TDCJ.

Months later, while I was in Kentucky on vacation during our three week break between semesters, the CTC administrator in San Saba (who has since resigned), Mrs. Latona, sent me an email asking for my version of the events in question. I must say that I was a little shocked at getting such an email, and I didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation. The event in question had taken place in an instant, and that instant had been at least two months earlier, so I had to think back and try to remember everything.

Rather than wait to consult anyone and find out exactly what I should say, or how serious the situation really was, I jotted down my recollections of the events, including a little about my history with Mr. XXX. In that statement I expressed my feeling that Mr. XXX was blowing what I considered to be an innocent situation way out of proportion in order to retaliate against me for having written him up while he was in my class. I assumed at the time that this was his motivation. I said something about how I never meant to hurt Mr. XXX, and apologized for the contact, and then I sent the email back to Mrs. Latona.

A week or so later, after returning from that vacation, I had a meeting with the Dean of the Ft. Hood CTC campus, who is in charge of CTCs operations in San Saba. I was informed then that the TDCJ had permanently banned me from ever teaching on their facilities. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and neither could the Dean (who has known me for fifteen years). After a few more weeks, the Dean received the official letter from Don Lawrence, the Director of the Divison of Operational Support for the Windham School District. In that letter, listing my official offenses, several assertions are made:

First, Mr. Lawrence quotes me as saying that “I think it is silly to blow such a small thing out of proportion,” and asserts that these words on my behalf “demonstrate that Mr. Wilson firmly believes that instigating unprovoked physical contact, with respect to his role as an instructor, with an adult offender is an appropriate method of behavior management.” He then asserts that, based on this, I “clearly do not meet the standard of a professional educator.”

He goes on to say that it’s clear that I used my “position of authority to intimidate the offender and/or seek revenge.” He says that I further violated the rules by failing to report my contact with Mr. XXX to the appropriate authorities. He asserts that the conduct I engaged in is covered in the WSD Contracted Personnel Handbook, and is covered in the annual briefing, and that I should have known such contact was prohibited.

In response to these assertions, I would simply point out that, at no time, to my knowledge, was the issue of personal, non-sexual contact between offenders and instructors covered in the briefing. I would also remind you that the original briefing was just that… brief. I’m told that all WSD and TDCJ personnel who are trained to work on prison units in Texas receive a two to three day security briefing. My colleagues and I with CTC only spent two or three hours in a back room on Ft. Hood watching various short videos. And the follow up briefing in 2009 was nothing more than an informal conversation in the Dean’s office.

So, having received an abbreviated security briefing, being ignorant of the rules banning all physical contact with offenders, and having spent almost two years in an environment where there is regular physical contact, it was natural for me to view the physical contact in question within the context of the environment in which it occurred. In THAT environment, and in THAT context, the incident was easy to view as innocent and forgettable.

I would also say that at NO TIME did I ever intend this contact between Mr. XXX and myself to be a form of punishment or “behavior management.” It was something that took place in seconds, with no forethought, and was considered to be a joke, nothing more. Again, in the context of the environment there in San Saba and the things that had taken place between Mr. XXX and I, I can understand why someone would think that I had animosity for him. But I’ve been a professional educator, teaching adults and children for twenty years, and unruly students are a normal part of the job. They come and go, and I would NEVER seek retribution outside the school for such silly behavior.

Furthermore, on the occasions when I did have chances to exact some sort of retribution against Mr. XXX, when he’d been written up for assaulting me in class, or when one of his fellow offenders offered to beat him up for me in exchange for extra credit on his Final Exam, I quickly backed off and avoided such retribution. As I said before, when Mr. XXX was out of my classes, he was no longer a problem for me. End of story.

Finally, Mr. Lawrence states in the last paragraph of his official letter that my actions “were intentional and without remorse,” and that they “pose significant security and safety concerns for offenders and staff, as well as substantive liability exposure to CTC, TDCJ and WSD.” He goes on to say that the nature of my offense has risen to “an egregious level,” warranting my dismissal from the approved contracted personnel list on a permanent basis.

As I have said before, my action toward Mr. XXX was intended as an innocent, incidental contact, without any intention to hurt him in any way. I will continue to assert that the action in question, considering the context of time and place, is being blown completely out of proportion. From the official wording of Mr. Lawrence’s letter, the reader would think that I cornered Mr. XXX in the classroom and beat him within an inch of his life. One would think I was a raving lunatic, bringing everyone around me into danger of life and limb. In fact, the opposite is the case.

If you interview any of my co-workers out in San Saba, or any of the people I’ve worked with over the last fifteen years at the CTC campus on Ft. Hood, they’ll tell you how shocking these allegations are. The notion that I would pose a physical threat to anyone is bizarre in its inception.

I’m at a loss to explain how these conclusions, laid out by Mr. Lawrence in his letter, could have been arrived at. At NO TIME has Mr. Lawrence ever sought a personal interview with me, or personally observed my conduct in an actual classroom setting. For him to assert, as he does in his official letter, that I “clearly do not meet the standard of a professional educator” is absurd and absolute slander, amounting to defamation of character, and is in itself worthy of legal action on my part.

Furthermore, the notion that what happened between Mr. XXX and I might pose a danger to other inmates or staff in the unit is equally silly. Everyone I know, including those I worked with on a daily basis in San Saba, who have been made aware of what has happened here has expressed shock at not only the response by the WSD and TDCJ, but also the severity of that response.

I’m even told by reliable sources that the other offenders in San Saba are just as surprised by these events as the rest of us, and that they are expressing anger at Mr. XXX because they are now unable to take my classes, and therefore unable to finish their degrees. They are also telling other instructors that Mr. XXX has been bragging since my dismissal about how he “Got my bitch ass,” and making other similar statements.

For my part, I’ve been a professional educator for twenty years, and I will continue to be fully employed as one in the foreseeable future. I enjoyed working in San Saba, helping to try to give those offenders who would apply themselves a hand up from the path their lives have taken. I thought Mr. XXX was one of those. He may well be. I would enjoy working there again. Accordingly, if the WSD and TDCJ ever change their minds about this situation, I will always be available for an interview.

Well, considering what's happened in the last few days, I doubt the letter will have the desired effect. But I sent it anyway. What the hell.

By the way, I've reset this blog to be open to the public. When it comes to the post in question, from the 17th, I believe I never did anything wrong, I have nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of.

So be it (on advise of counsel, I've replaced the offenders name with XXX and made the blog private again. It'll probably stay that way).