THE DEADLIEST DAY OF MY LIFE… Part Two out of Six
In my short career of making birth certificates for people I remember the guys who told me, ‘don’t even worry about it – if you ever get caught’ we’ll be right here to get you out of the trouble.
I felt a bond with them since they were the focus of my problem and my wanting to help them.
Also a rejection by my country for doing something for them – that America was not willing to do, as it had done for the Irish, the Italians, the Cubans, the Germans, the Jews, the Africans, etc.
What was the big deal?
We were the melting pot except when it came to the generations of people who had been our brothers and sisters, raising our kids, making our gardens beautiful, feeding us their rich cooking, who built our highways, and
worked in our fields.
Raising our cattle, stocking our refrigerators with meat, vegetables, fruit and friendliness.
Now it was a crime to help them.
My lawyer finally made it to the Federal Building
Rescued me from the ‘bad guy – good guy’ team who refused to even let me make a phone call all day long. I had no experience in all of this – but I did know one thing.
I was supposed to get to make one phone call – and I never got to make it.
All I ever got was bad guy good guy over and over again.
By the time my lawyer showed up I was so happy to see him, thinking he could surely make this
nightmare go away.
When he opened up his briefcase, there was one of my birth certificates I had made for a client of his.
Ooops was the consensus.
I was finally able to leave only to come back some other day
Went home to a friend’s house in East Dallas. Where I thought no one was watching me.
I just slept for two days and laid low. My mind raced with all the what if’s in the world.
I was just sick not knowing my future. I was such a control freak and then the embarrassment of it all hitting my friends and clients in the body shop.
When I finally went back to my body shop and opened the door – there it was – the mess strewn all over the floor in piles dumped everywhere.
It was the same day the notice about my big bust came out in the Metro section of the Dallas Morning News.
I could not bring myself ever to read that article. Never.
The guy who was my painter came up to the door and screamed at me ‘what’s going to happen to my job?’
I looked at him and said….’your job?’ What about my life? I could see I really was in this alone.
And it was just going to get lonelier. Soon I started paying attention to strangers coming up to me from the street wanting to know about this, and that they were wearing those shiny reflect back sunglasses, even though it was August it made my skin crawl with paranoia.
Where did all these people with those reflecting sunglasses come from all of a sudden or was it just my imagination? Were they cops or clients? I tried to settle down and just take it one day at a time.
However one day I did notice a little truck parked across the street
It was a busy street so it wasn’t all that rare for someone to have parked there.
My paranoia finally kicked into high gear and I ran across the street and up to the passenger side of the little cream truck and sure enough! I had caught one.
On the guy’s front seat was a huge pistol, a recorder right next to it and the long mic was aimed right at my shop.
I told him ‘who are you and what in the hell do you want?’ I was so mad but so helpless.
They still were spying on me. He just sat there – didn’t move – didn’t say a thing.
I called Woody and told him about it. I had been arrested on August 4, 1982. When I called Woody he said, ‘uh bad timing – bad news’.
He and I had always had such a kindred relationship that no matter what happened to him, it happened to me right afterwards and vice versa.
We met up in person.
When I had been out of my shop I had often stayed over at Woody’s apartment for the whole weekend.
Parties, swimming, cooking out – hanging out, etc.
What I hadn’t realized was that the Feds were also tapping his phone and there was my phone going right into his apartment. On a totally separate case, some of Woody’s wild friends were fairly big time dope dealers.
I didn’t do dope so I didn’t really care what other people did. I figured Woody was dabbling in it because people used to call him up asking if he had any golf balls.
One time he told me ‘go figure Hendrixson… a golf ball is white and weighs one ounce’. Either that or since we both moved here from Arkansas – he used to call it mom’s homemade apple pies. Yeah right, he was selling apple pies.
Well his pie and golfball business had also landed him in the slammer four days after I was there. His happened on my Father’s birthday. That was the worse thing for me. It killed me.
After I got arrested Woody came and got me every day and would always pat me on the shoulder in the car and tell me ‘its gonna be alright Hendrixson’ we’ll get you through this – we always do.
He was my security blanket after my Dad died. I believed him. Now this! When he was released from the Federal building on his own case where there was a sting of 35 people arrested on these drug dealing charges I was there to comfort him. Now it was the two of us as always in a mess together.
Since he was number 35 on the case he had, his chances did seem more hopeful than me being the only one they would be looking at.
Soon I had to make the appearances into the Federal courtroom. I forget the judge’s name, maybe Barefoot Sanders… I’m not sure. I was in shock the whole time in there.
To be continued tomorrow.
Article written by Del.