DON’T TUG ON SUPERMAN’S CAPE

 I played golf this past week at our little country club. It was my off week from chemotherapy and I do so look forward to playing golf during that week. I can tell the effects that chemo is having on me. Exhaustion, lack of strength and balance are the big things. Our group of Tom's soldiers remains pretty much intact, and we still play together Wednesday and Friday. On those days we combine with a larger group of guys and we all enter into a skins game competition. Nowadays I count on golf for my mental health therapy days. Most of my golfing buds are praying for me and giving encouragement. It's good, it's a privilege to have that kind of support and it is helping to me through this arduous process.

Unfortunately my pace of play has slowed enough to irritate someone. In the future, it may irritate more players... I hope not. However, I must be more cognitive of other people's feelings. After all I'm not the only sick person out there. Most people don’t know that I have very quick and explosive temper. In the past, I have been too quick to strike out and it has cost me. I need my good friends that are so supportive of me.

Most would agree that you don't bring a knife to a gunfight. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you don't piss into the wind. Maybe we should quit trying to fill inside straights? Good advice for conservative personalities...well for most people, but me....

During my working days I dealt with a number of gun toters. I once had a guy pull a 22 Magnum and hold it to my head. This happened in Los Angeles and I happened to be armed that day. I was carrying a switchblade. A beautiful knife my father gave me which was taken off a WW II German paratrooper. As calmly as I could, I told Mr. Crook to relax. I had something in my pocket I wanted to show him. Cops don't carry beautiful bone handled switchblades and when he saw it, it got him to back off. Fortunately, my knife and some good old fashion tap-dancing prevailed over his gun. What the bad guy missed was the wire that I was wearing.

In the early 90s, I worked my way into a nationwide African American criminal enterprise. On the surface, they were a coast to coast computer sales company. In reality, they were using the company to smuggle and sell cocaine, specifically crack. I had worked my way in and was close to Eric, an ex-con that had served time for murder. Eric pumped iron at Gold's Gym every day, and at about 6'6" he was built better than Superman. As intimidating as he was, I found things I liked in the guy and we shared a number of cocktails together. I began laundering his organization's LA crack money and he soon introduced me to his contacts in Atlanta and then New York. "Blue" ran the NYC side of the organization and his minions delivered one half million dollars to me in the morning and one half million dollars to me in the afternoon for as many days during the week as I could stay in the Big Apple.

Cases like this require the resources of other federal agencies and local law enforcement to be successful. By no means did I ever do this alone or could I ever do this alone. The FBI did my backup security and a great deal of outside surveillance and manned wiretaps.  The NYPD narcotics squad also had excellent surveillance teams and vans loaded with very high-tech surveillance tracking equipment. Believe it or not the bad guys had even better high-tech counter-surveillance equipment. If I had to guess they may have had more fire power.

"Blue's" minions would meet me in my hotel suite dragging their suitcases full of money. Proceeds of crack sales consisting of 20’s, 10’s, 5’s and even singles, totaling one half million dollars per delivery... it was a lot of bags.  More often than not they came packing heat. One short stocky girl, with long dreadlocks, seemed to enjoy flashing the fully automatic weapon she carried under her overcoat. My adrenaline rushes never stopped. I wasn’t scared, I was hooked and addicted to the rush.

I was in New York City doing my "traveling money-laundering show" the day the World Trade Center bombing took place. Every FBI agent in the city was sent downtown, including my backup team. I made up some flimsy excuse to "Blue’s" thugs as to why I had to leave town immediately. Needless to say my unexpected departure did not set well with "Blue", as he had a lot of money he still needed to unload...I also had to come up with a decent explanation to Superman Eric back in LA!

People that try undercover work either love it or hate it; there's really is no in between. You can never be half good at this type of work. Like in a good game of "Texas hold 'em", you're either all in or you're out.

I spent a great deal of my life going against the grain. Defying the odds if you may. I put on a lot of capes and I've ruined many pants by pissing in the wind.  I'm still a sucker for that inside straight draw...I guess it's the rush I get when I pull it off.

People must believe they can use unconventional actions or mindsets commensurate with knives, capes, wind and straights to get through life's adversities. It has propelled me to fight this current challenge and gave me the strength to bend over, reach down, grab a root and growl. Try it, you have nothing to loose.




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