I’m not saying our family was poor, but the cockroaches brought their own food and the termites their own wood to eat. 

At the age of four, my brothers and I were kidnapped in the middle of divorce proceedings and taken to Oklahoma. We lived with various family members in homes with water wells and outhouses. My dad was a hard worker but had a serious alcohol problem which brought out his violent tendencies. He married a woman with five kids and had two more, so along with my brothers and I, that made ten.  I went to live with my grandparents, which was much better. 

I made money selling empty whiskey bottles and fruit jars to moonshiners and I delivered to customers for a quarter. The police never bothered me since I was just a kid. 

In 1957 my dad called my mom and told her to come get us. Three days later, I arrived in Stockton, California and what a culture shock! It was like entering a foreign country. I was small for my age with a heavy Oklahoma accent and was a target for bullies especially as a white boy in a black community. This ended on the day when the main bully and his friends were going to kick my butt in front of my house. My mom stepped out with a shotgun and said to fight one at a time. I kicked the crap out of him. The rest left me alone after that. 

Highschool was good and life wasn’t bad living in Okieville. I graduated from Franklin High and immediately enlisted in the Navy and after boot camp and more schooling, reported to my first ship. Prior to reporting I was on leave and attended my buddies 21st birthday party. There was a fight, and a man was killed after I hit him with a piece of pipe to prevent being stabbed. I was arrested for homicide and later released as all witnesses corroborated my statements. 

I reported to the ship. I did three tours off the coast of Vietnam where our primary duty was picking up pilots shot down during raids over Hanoi. In July 1966, four PT boats were attacked by the North Vietnamese Navy and all were destroyed with nineteen prisoners taken captive. 

Released from active service in December of 1967, I went to work for the California Department of Corrections day after New Years and thought I was back in Vietnam, I worked as an officer, Sargeant, Counselor and Lieutenant. My blood pressure wasn’t doing well and subsequently contributed to my leaving the department. 

After my fifth admittance to the hospital, Dr. Nyegaard told me to either get another job or buy a cemetery plot, as there was nothing else he could do for me. Inmates were seldom a problem but some of the staff were something else. Some were great and had your back too. It was during this time where I learned of jealousy, backstabbing, fence straddling politicians who wouldn’t make a decision unless it made them look good, supervisors who took credit for your work and cowards, especially with the last supervisor I worked under. 

I left the department in March 1981 and in November a sexual harassment charge was filed against me along with an additional one hundred plus officers and supervisors. The aggrieved parties got nothing but the charges were like being falsely accused of being a child molester. Friends are friends while enemies always believe the worst. So there I sat with a BA and two AA degrees wondering what I was going to do. My entire life had centered around the CDC. 

My education and devotion to work proved I was a lousy husband and father who spent more time at the department, where I cheated on my wife and denied my children a close loving father. I never thought about God until I looked back on my life and all the times I was nearly killed as a teenager, in Vietnam, and at the CDC. I received minor wounds rescuing an officer under attack by a number of inmates. Officer Looysen and I had no weapons for defense and Ray was stabbed nineteen times. Twenty-three prison knives were found at the scene. Six months later, another attempted assault with a knife failed. Its apparent God has had his hand on me and harsh reality finally revealed that. 

In 1981 a door closed and He opened another. My wife and I founded a business called BARGAIN HUNTERS and it thrived, making me more money than I would have earned with the CDC. 

I gave my life to the Lord on Mother’s Day and have never looked back. It wasn’t easy and I have to ask for forgiveness every single day. I was not involved in anything other than business and home with no purpose. 

In 2018, I joined a Motorcycle Ministry named Soldiers of the Cross. The last 5 years I have served as its Treasurer. In this small way, I serve God and am part of a group furthering God’s kingdom. The men of this club are former addicts, ex -inmates and people who were lost but know of God’s love and his Son Jesus. I love these men and have never served with men more loving and loyal accepting people who always have your back . IN HIS SERVICE ,THANK YOU JESUS!