I learned to play games, lie, cheat, fight and to fight back, and most importantly I learned how to become respected and left alone….through fear and emulating psychotic behavior.  It was a whole lot better than what they had been putting me through.  But once I mastered it – that violence and striking fear into the hearts of those who may prey on you… I could not change back to my old innocent self.  I learned what we call now how to ‘rock and roll’ prison style.

Prison became the place no one feared being sent to by society because we were already there – we were out of society’s sight and mind.  We were the forgotten ones – the ones who society thinks will never return.
In one aspect – we were free of society – not free in society.
The guards were actually jealous of us – we did nothing but waste day after day doing nothing constructive or rehabilitative.
But they also did nothing to protect us – we were on our own day and night.
Screams of rape and beatings rang out night after night striking fear into our own hearts wondering when it would happen to us.
No one stood up for anyone.  I learned what real racism really was. It wasn’t just about black or Hispanic it was white and others as well.  No matter what you were it wasn’t good in that place.
Plus there were also men inmates who caused many of the fights and made my life even more of a living hell.  I was told day after day to allow myself to become ‘programmed by prison’.

It made me crazy and I began to have images like movies in vivid color coming into my head of how I would sort of reach out of my own mind with my hands and grab whoever was telling me something I hated to hear, no matter what it was, and I would slowly begin to kill them until I had done so in a bloody fit of rage – I could see it happen so clear and became so good at it those violent ‘movies’ soon became my source of entertainment.

I began to worry, was I merely becoming programmed or was I losing my mind in this place.  I would go back to my cell and at night I would have nervous breakdowns of weakness and hopelessness, but in the day or around other prisoners I put on a facade of .


I, like all convicts thought that the shoes we stepped out of to enter prison would be right where we left them and we would just step back into them when we got out and continue our life as it was when we left it on the shelf.
That is where all convicts are sadly mistaken, because prison is just beginning when they return… and sadly it never ends.  No employment for exconvicts – criminal record.
No apartment, home purchase, no credit, no car loan, no voting, no family acceptance, people thinking of you as an untrustworthy person, afraid of you, family rejection even moving away, the only fear was the fear of returning to the unknown. Prison becomes a functioning society without bills and responsibility. I became just another number stripped of dignity and humanness.

My life was over, I was finally caved in and broken and so weak, I had no future and the past I had was miserable, not even worth remembering. My present was black, filled with despair and rage for anyone or anything within a thousand miles of my rejected heart.  The only time I could ever feel was with pain, sweet pain usually from beating my own self in the face and head often blacking my own eyes, mouth and nose.

It was the only time when I was able to cry tears and know I was at least still alive and not totally dead inside. It felt like it was the only time I was in control of my own life and emotions.
Without the constant threat of if I did something else I would be sent back to prison. Something else I also wanted to be in control of, not only when but how I went back to prison.

The streets of Dallas held only darkness, humiliation and rage for me. Everywhere I turned more rejection, snickers, backs turned, and hopelessness.
I felt no love and I had no purpose when I said …. There is nowhere for me where I will be accepted…. Except back in prison or in a coffin.  I was crying so hard I knew it was my final act in and against society. The same society that had never accepted me back – even after I had so called ‘paid my debt to them’ whoever they were….. Now it didn’t matter – now they would all pay.
Standing in a small shack behind the family’s house where I lived who also rejected me.
I was in the dark and my chest feeling like all I had ever received instead of the love I wanted so bad was a trash can where in a darkened corner I sat alone while more wadded up trash was tossed into me.
Never I knew a purpose in life.  I thought because I was an exconvict I could fight my way through any battle in life after prison – I had never felt fear and nothing intimidated me – I had become known as the fierce ‘Del from Hell’ and I laughed about my reputation as a societal psycho back from prison, smarter than ever before, a product of its cold and furious environment…
I had told a neighbor who was about the only person who would even speak to me, a sweet Mexican lady who always told me she cared about me when the family I lived with would lock me out of the house, nail the windows shut and throw my belongings out into the rain and mud.  I had tried and tried not to believe I was going to commit a mass act but I felt it inside me coming for a long time – I had lied to her and told her I badly needed a gun to protect myself.
I knew as an exconvict I could not possess a gun plus I had become too crazy to have one before but she had believed me and had brought me an uzi. In Oak Cliff where I lived drive by shootings are an everyday occurrence.

I was holding that loaded uzi close to me – as cold as it was – I felt like it was protecting me from society’s hatred and rejection.  It was about to help me get even after all the years of pain.  I don’t even remember the year anymore. I just know it had been about seven years.

I was leaning against a table in the dark building. It was dark because it was the darkroom for the little printing business I had started because no one would hire me. I was trying to stop sobbing and crying and wipe away my tears, so I could reach for the doorknob and go out into the light with a deadly mission to kill others even if it meant my own going out in a gunfight with cops.  It was all I could see in my mind.
The shooting the killing, my dying or being taken back to prison – finally it was going to end.
Finally it was going to be over forever.  Life in prison, execution or dying.
I thought I had no other future – I thought my life was over.

When I received This Calling…..




This work in serving only God my friends has Replaced the family that Abandoned me when I
Was in prison – with Hundreds of thousands of others just like me. Nothing will ever come
Between my God given Family of Bajito Onda my violence has been replaced with peace.

My worldly greed has been replaced with giving.  My hatred for children has been replaced with love and passion for others to hear their tiny voices.  My misunderstanding and lack of compassion for prisoners had led me to being one of them.

On the most deadly day of my life when I was going to end it all – not only my life, but the lives of many innocent persons I honestly believe I heard God’s voice speak to me from behind my left shoulder about eight feet away.

I went to prison for making immigrants 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 and 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 and they moved here to Dallas 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.  I badly 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.  I got arrested by the Feds.



To be continued tomorrow.
Article written by Del.

del n hi
Hi Hendrixson together with Del.