I was going to end it all – not only my life, but the lives of many innocent persons.
Honestly I believe I heard God’s voice speak to me, from behind my left shoulder.
About eight feet away in the darkness, in my darkroom of my printing studio, and in my darkest ever hour.

Had gone to Federal prison for a year, for making Mexicans instant citizens by counterfeiting of documents to help them cross back and forth to Mexico, and other countries to see their dying mothers.

To enroll their children in schools legally, to work with dignity, and to contribute to the country,
they had come to for equal rights.
Fair but not rich wages and to take the jobs Americans would not even do. They built our highways, they worked in dead end food industries so they could serve Americans.

I knew it was a crime, but I was badly depressed when my father, my idol in life,
Colonel Logan Brooks Hendrixson died in 1980.

It was August of 1982

I had been crying over my father’s death every single day for two years.
Well not just that, but the fact that my mother and sister stole all my inheritance that my Father left me.

They moved to Dallas right under my nose, and turned their backs on me, so they could spend it all in front of me.
It was something I never expected them to do to me – they knew how my Father loved me, and I loved him.
Badly I needed counseling, and perhaps medication, but nothing existed to help me.

Instead I felt that I didn’t care about my future, I was weak, and easily influenced to help others. Even if it was against the law.
I flat didn’t care a thing about myself or my future – it had all become a blur.  So I got arrested by the Feds.


The day I was arrested by the Immigration Department of the Feds

I can clearly remember laying there on the floor with all the guns pointed at my head.
Stupidly I tried to count all the agents swarmed in all over me. It all happened so fast.  I was actually typing out another birth certificate when they knocked on and then busted down the door.

So I reached and hid it underneath the typewriter I guess like, ‘oh they’ll never look under here.’  The more they threw everything all over the place and the more they dug, the more they found.

I began to think….’what was I thinking anyway? – my whole life fast forwarded in one knock on the door.
I tried to count them there was so many.  Think I counted eight cars outside my business at the time, a paint and body shop, and I counted over 20 agents, all who must have been thinking I was another Al Capone.

Once again as I lay there on the floor

I was thinking…’what the fuck was I thinking?… what WAS I doing? To cause all of this.  I had been sick to my stomach with a bladder infection and had had my pants unbuttoned.  They didn’t bother to button up my pants, and as they drug me out of my office.

Handcuffed behind my back I remember my pants almost falling off, in front of all my business neighbors, and onlookers stopping to see what was happening to me, to my business, whatever.
It was a sick mess, and I was all of a quick sudden the center of all the attention.

I thought it was funny

well not funny but very strange that it was Immigration was the lead agency that busted me, and I was put in the same holding cell that illegal immigrants are put in.

Reached into my pocket to see what I had on me and I pulled out even more birth certificates…
I remember wadding them up tiny and flushing them down the open cement commode.

My pager kept going off over, and over because they didn’t take it from me.
people were calling me telling me, they REALLY had to talk to me about their car or other body shop issues.
All I could do was just stare at my pager, in disbelief of what was going on that second in my life.




To be continued tomorrow.
Article written by Del.

del n hi
Hi Hendrixson together with Del.