The addictive nature of ' laws ' and their implication on a ' mind set ' governing an indifference of unnatural acts of obedience in violence, from the perspective of an adult, of adults for the education of minors. If you drink alcohol, take prescription drugs or illegal narcotics, you are not the same person you once where. You are not seen as the person you once where in the minds of family and friends, they only remember the person or child that once was. I knew of the constant need, or better put, craving, and the never ending quarrels of right and wrong. The people and places one finds one in, the company ' we've ' kept. All in the guise of a straight face and a balance always kept; anger in constant check. I can think of one example that visits me often, the renting of an apt. to an individual, only to become ' friends ' later, an ex con. I rented to him because I was told to by my boss, though I objected strongly. Her boss was called, and with reservations he decided the complexes need of revenue was greater than my objection, the apt. was rented to him anyway. I got to know the guy and a couple of others, though duration of leases was cut short for a variety of reasons, mostly a lack of knowledge relating to the interfacing and skills of engaging society. Coping. I didn't know he was a heroine addict. I eventually evicted him, on account of violence. A fight. Violence was my stead fast rule. No violence. We remained ' friends,' because I felt that out of that whole charade, he was the only success. I remember dropping by once in between pay checks for beer. Asked for money, but got beer instead. I remember the extreme sweating and almost drenched nature of his clothing. If memory serves, when I left I was in the same condition. Alcoholism and drugs in his case, he wasn't drinking. It's almost funny what we choose to forget. The craving, then, when satisfied, the immediate denial of prior condition. I was about a beer or two over a twelve pack a day, seven days a week back then.
Later, within my circle of friends at the time, this all happened in, or about the mid nineties, he was arrested for murder, then later tried and convicted for, I think, both the murders of two young women, and the rape ( ? ) was suspected to have occurred after death, in any case, not while they were alive. According to local talking heads. I don't know if the other ' guy ' was ever caught, for I've recollection of a ' partner, ' in crime, at least that is what was reported at the time. Something about the ATM machines and video taken.
What I do remember, is the clear ' gut feeling,' I had at the time of meeting the employee of the business that placed these guys. I remember the ' feeling ' that I had of this person in particular and the ' air ' of something I couldn't quiet put my finger on. I often have thought, had I put up a better fight in argument, perhaps two young women would still be alive today. Of conscience and the application of all your resources to work; the senses.
Of course I know that their deaths are not of my doing. Or of the death of another young lady, who after arrest, died of I believe an overdose, I don't think that death was murder , at least in the first person. She was removed from a property because of the nature of her businesses. The dream of the apt. complex was that of professionals, nurses and collage students. In the end, even background checks didn't work.
I only made one mistake, I believe, in terms of renters, and that was to an athlete and near pimp of all those around him. The parties to all hours of the night, gunshots and just about any other activity you can think of. I remember how I asked him to leave and the reason why. He accused me of stealing money off a TV set, and threatened Police. I said go ahead, but instead, did it for him; he refused to speak with them. The woman he left behind to clean up after the party the night before, and the apt. her black blouse, covered in bodily fluids. I asked them both to leave and treated him fare in cleaning charges.
You might be thinking, what's the concern? His friends, other football players, girls and women ( 21 years of age and acted worst than the 18 year olds ), and the concern of more than one tenant of his constant carrying and displaying of a nine mil. pistol and then a ' plastic ' Uzi as ' fun.' The gunshot, really didn't help either. The police couldn't really ' touch ' this guy. It's amazing what a smile and a ' build ' will get a person in life as opposed to using ones conscience. I was one of the few if any, who rented to blacks and football players at that. The sad part is, he even got the rest of his deposit back.
He stands out in my mind because he was one gifted of spirt and body, and though I know some of his history as to the neighborhood's on goings that he grew up in, I felt that he was a person of promise. I rented to one of his friends, a care giver, one who was said to be with a sixteen year old at the time, of the gunshot. I evicted him too. I was told to stay out of tenants affairs. ' The Code.' The football player was a man of leadership qualities, if applied, and thus a teacher of others in our culture.
The ex con, a white man, was an addict in denial, and allowed himself to be used by others and did time for it. This was his admission of himself and the company he kept. He was given a chance in release, then other than a half way house, an apt., if not the apt. itself, and two students lost their lives in turn, just trying to sell a waterbed.
Of the two, I saw real promise in one and real trouble in the other, the davit of course was the use of my upbringing and limited education in both decisions. I could of quit. Yet, I found the person as trying and employed, a man trying to become that which he used to be. Not who he was and learned to be. I was right in the end, but in the worst of ways. On both accounts. The police officer who answered the call when my car was destroyed by their gang, was the first time I ever used the word Nigger. I will never forget the look on the officer's face. I was about thirty five at the time ( ? ). He was black. A black man who was a good man, of his nature and I wonder to this day how that word was ever learned, and I'll never forget his face.
It would of been far worst had the ' LAW OF THE CODE ' hadn't been broken to the extent it was. Just before I took the job, a body of a young black male was said to have been dragged back into his apt. He was shot in the head. Word on the streets, was murder. The prior resident manager wasn't all that upset to lose his job, not in the least.
As an addict, if that's the correct terminology, and almost four years sober, I really don't know. I would have to look at a calender. I've never had the urge, I don't know why. I do think or rather have thought of every thing that I have done...and seen...and been.
In brief, I remember a man, I now know to have been ' forced ' out of town; the look of wide eyed fear and the almost ' kept ' trembling of limbs in a hurried rush of acceptance/denial of what was taking place as he with the ' help ' of a ' friend, ' sold all of his earthly possessions because he had to " get out of town." His ' friend said with a smirk. That truck of his, red and white with chrome trim, that spoke of ' a gentleman's truck.' That awful smile of ' a gleeful reptilian ' of no soul, dead man's eyes and those who in his representation deals death on the streets of Albuquerque, New Mexico. But I'll tell of that with other lessons of ' THE CODE,' tomorrow or the day after.
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