It was not my intention to get drunk that day. It really wasn't but it did happen. In order to better understand my personality, it is necessary to back up a few days, say a week, and see how causality linked together to suggest that it was the thing to do at the time.

Eight days before, I was living at The Cattleman's Hotel across the street and upstairs from The Cattleman's Steakhouse in Packing Town. To make a long story short, I was told to leave when my rent was due because I created an uproar in the middle of the night.

The nature of the event was in my favor. Three crystal meth dealers came through the kitchen area as I was cooking pork chops, salmon patties, and hamburgers for cold storage at 2 A.M. They were real mouthy and profane so I threatened to clobber them if they did not shut up and get out of there. Since the walls were made of 2x2's supporting 1/8" panelling with no insulation between, this woke everybody up.

As I paid by the week and had just paid a week's rent a day early, Marcel (the owner) let me stay eight more days before being tossed out. That same day, I went to The Whittaker at 820 NW 6th Street, a place where I had lived before, and told Shaun (the owner) that I would be homeless in eight days and asked if she would please rent me a room.

Shaun said that she was fixing to kick out five tenants for being late on the rent and that she would have something available. However, when I showed up with the first of two truck loads of stuff a week later, she said that she had decided not to kick anyone out and that she could not rent me a room.

Well, I checked on storage prices and hotel rates and decided to double up with an old

That evening around sunset, I set up my card table in the middle of the room, hooked up my computer, and set it on top of the table. I booted my Microsoft Visual Studio and commenced to continue working on my 3-dimensional graphing calculator which I was writing in Visual Basic. Chester sat on the bed watching.

As this was a Friday night in early October 2001, company began to visit. First, there were one and then two other people sitting on the bed with Chester and drinking whiskey and vodka. It did not take long until they metamorphosized into the Three Stooges and I realized that I was not going to get much done on my program. So, I broke everything down and packed it away in the corner.

Now, I don't mind telling you that these guys were really stooped (stupid). It was very annoying to listen to them talk and they were getting on my nerves ever worse by the second so I left the room. I headed up the back alleyway east to Shartel Street, then south one and a half short blocks from there to The Neighborhood Lounge at NW 5th and Shartel. The Neighborhood Lounge is a beer bar.

I ordered a beer and sat on a stool. Friends came up and bought rounds so I ended up with my fill of 3.2 Okie beers. I decided that I wanted to get out of this red-necked karaoke joint, drink something a little more substantial, and listen to some jazz.

I caught a cab up to The Tower Club where they serve real booze and have a jazz jam sometimes. I listened to jazz music for an hour or so, realized that I was getting pretty lit up, and had the bartender call me a cab for the ride home.

As the tower club is in the basement, I caught the cab in the parking garage. It was a Yellow cab.

As the vehicle pulled out from under the building and into the street, the cab driver began to make conversation. It was all just blather. As I had once driven a taxi cab myself, I knew the routine: Find out how drunk someone is if you pick them up at a bar. Determine there mood to see if they are violent. Get a fix on whether or not they are going to throw up in the back seat...

The cab driver let on that he was from Morrocco. This concerned me as it had been scarcely over a month since 9-11 and one of the terrorist suspects¹ involved in that incident had lived in Norman² for some time prior to the incident.

I asked the cab driver how long he had been in this country and he ignored the question. I asked him again how long he had been in this country. Again he refused to answer. A third time, I asked the Morroccan cab driver, "How long have you been in this country?" Still no answer. I said: "Are you Taliban or what, man?" The driver then turned around and said, "Do not call me retarded!"

As you might have guessed, I was in a very bad mood by now and so an argument ensued in which I tried to explain to the cab driver that I did not call him retarded but, instead, I was merely interested in whether he was Taliban or not and "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THIS COUNTRY?!" The cab driver could comprehend none of this and so I decided that maybe he was retarded and told him so with a few other expletives thrown in for good measure.

The cab driver immediately pulled the cab over to the curb and told me to get out or he would call the police. In retrospect, I should have jumped out and run. However, as I was full of idiot sauce, pissed off, and recalled President Bush's televised admonition to report anything suspicious to the authorities, I told the cab driver that I would wait for the police as I wanted to get an identification on him.

I lit a cigarette and waited.

¹The suspect's name was, Zacarias Moussaoui.

²Norman is a suburb located on the south side of Oklahoma City about thirty miles from where I was arrested. It is where The University of Oklahoma is located.

The police arrived after about 15 minutes. I snuffed out my cigarette as he approached the car. The officer opened the back door to the taxi cab, yanked me out of the back seat, and threw me to the ground. I attempted to stand up and explain myself as I really did think that this guy might be connected to Al Qaida; and I really did want the police to check his identification and immigration status.

As I rose to my feet, the police officer grabbed me by the collar and demanded the cab fare. I reached into my wallet and produced the fare-including waiting time. Before I could say anything else, the police officer spun me around, slammed me across the trunk of the cab, and slapped handcuffs on me. Then he placed his right hand on the top of my head,

As we rode to the station, I tried to explain myself to the cop but my position was clear to him: I was just another babbling drunk that he had to bring in on a Friday night and he would have no conversation with me. He told me to shut up a few times and then cut the dash radio on real loud country music.

We soon entered the sally port at the Oklahoma County jail and everything was bathed in light. The OCPD car stopped. The policeman opened the door. He unbuckled my seat belt. I got out.

Entering the jail, I was placed in the holding tank and anger set in. My thoughts raced. I had merely wanted a place to live and I was trying to complete a Visual Basic application that I would later use to draw atoms with.

Also, as Timothy McVeigh had blown up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building five or six years ago in Oklahoma City, I was concerned about the safety of my community and wanted to make sure that there was not going to be another terrorist attack; THIS time conducted by foreigners showing that they could out-do our local boys.

I began yelling to get the guard's attention. It was very important to me that I warn them that there might be an Al Qaida terrorist cell operating in the city. Drunk or not, surely they would listen to me and understand. After all, they were all employees of the sheriff's department.

One of the jailers, a very young blond fellow, came and opened the door,

took me out of the holding tank, took me across the hall, and threw me into my own private cell where I was seperated from the general population. I decided to be quiet and wait until another opportunity presented itself.

Finally, they came and got me for finger printing and identification. As I was out of solitary and in the area with computers and desks, I tried again to tell them my story and they all laughed at it. I made it very clear that the President of the United States had said to report anything of this suspicious nature to the authorities and that this was certainly suspicious. They all surrounded me in a threatening manner as if I was nuts, I decided to calm down and try to come through this thing smiling instead of push my luck and chance being treated like a King.¹

So, I got booked without further incident and went back to my single cell. Eventually, I did sober up and "OR-ed"². The guards told me that I was charged with public inoxication and impersonating a Republican.

¹Rodney King was videotapped being beaten and shot with a taser by police in Los Angelos, California a few years ago. This threw that city into civil disorder for several days.

²"OR-ed" is an abbreviation for "Own Recognizance." It mean that one is set free from jail without posting a bond. In some states it is called "Personal Recognizance" and is abbreviated "PR."

A few weeks later at the trial, Oklahoma City municipal Judge Austin presided. He is a very large and well proportioned man in his fifties or sixties. I do not know if he drinks or not but I would bet even money that he is an alcoholic as his cheeks are very puffy and he has vericose veins bulging out all over his face.

In his pre-ambular remarks, Judge Austin said that he would accept innocent pleas but that if anyone plead innocent, then they would have to wait until all the other court business had be completed and then he would schedule trials for everyone that plead innocent and that those who plead innocent would be sitting and waiting until at least none before court dates for trials would be scheduled. He said this at 8 o'clock in the morning.

It had been my intention to do just that: plead innocent. However, in the meantime, I had done my homework. I had contacted my associate, who was one of the people who answers the phones for Yellow Cab, and she had said that no drivers had confessed to calling the police on that particular night and I had been unable to find out the cab number through other means so I decided to plead no contest so that I did not have to spend half of the day sitting in municipal court. Besides, I was facing two charges, public intoxication and disorderly conduct, the fines total only $160 and I was sure that I could pay this off in a few weeks. I was given a court date a month away and left the court room.

See, Chester got kicked out of the Whittaker and I took over his room. Some drug dealers that lived there told Shaun (the owner) that I had said something that I did not so, she kicked me out the next day. I quit drinking and moved into the Salvation Army.

My "employer", Labor Ready cut me back from full-time repeat tickets to unloading trucks. This would only give me a half day's pay and no repeat and I had to drive all over the place to do it. As it was the last quarter of the year, everybody quit hiring. "Come see us after the first of the year," they would say. Slaver Ready...er..uh..I mean...Labor Ready ran out of trucks for me to unload and all the steady tickets were full so I opted for the only thing that I could think of. This was the bell ringing gig for The Salvation Army. I would do this through the holidays. After the first of the year when something better must surely come along.

As it turned out, I completed an eight week stay at The Salvation Army. Despite my appeals for an extension beyond their two month limit, as I was conducting a thorough and legitimate job search, I was kicked out on December 22,2001. I do not know the exact reasons for this but it may have been because I had knowledge of their state and international officers being involved in a "bucket skimming" operation of grand larceny(felony)proportions as well as their officers being involved in the use and distribution of crack cocaine. In any case, I got the big heave-ho three days before Christmas.

Coincident with this was the fact that my truck had been broken into and burgled. Whoever broke into it had entered through the driver side vent window (a $65 fix)and had also stolen a library book (Windows 2000) valued at $40. As the truck was parked in their secured designated parking lot, I filed against them in small claims court as I found it very offensive that I should be ejected into the cold like this just before Christmas and be expected to take a $105 hit on the way out the door.

Filing any lawsuit is not free and I certainly did not have any money so I strutted over to the 'County Courthouse and, in the space of a few hours, had a Pauper's Affidavit on file and a small claims lawsuit filed against The Salvation Army.

I managed to find different accomodations. In January 2002 I entered OKCCC¹ taking AutoCAD 1214 which I aced by the end of May. Labor hooked me up with steady work for a few weeks and I began making court appearances and paying installments on my $160 fine.

I was still legally classed as homeless and was having to pay for most of my meals from restaurants so I did not have a lot of cash. As a matter of fact, I did not have enough money to pay the junior college for my course all at once so I was paying it in monthly installments. Also, I had rented a climate controlled warehouse at U-Haul where I had my computer set up in a pseudo-office environment. This was another monthly payment. I churned numbers in my head on a daily basis so as to keep my obligations and make ends meet.Occasionally I go a cheap hotel room for the night.

As far as my fine went, sometimes I had some money to put down on it and sometimes I did not. When I did not, I would get a continuance. This costed and additional $15 per charge. That meant that my court cost went up $30 every time I got one.

Then one day my truck threw its rear driveshaft out in the middle of the street. It also torn off enough of the bell housing on the transmission to make repairs cost prohibitive and I knew that its days were minimally numbered. I ended up buying another car for several hundred dollars. This, of course, meant getting two more continuances for a total of $60.

Spring gave way into summer and I was still struggling to pay this damned fine so I began to make inquiries of the court. First of all, the computer system of the Municipal Court of Oklahoma City is set up so that any monies paid are automatically deducted from court costs before any money is deducted from the fines. This meant that I was merely paying the court for allowing me to be poor. Secondly, any name entred into thier computer system is printed out in ALL CAPITALS as opposed to Capitalized. Legally speaking, the ALL CAPITALS name is a legal fiction and not a flesh-and-blood human being. However, this latter point does not concern us here.

¹OKCCC is Oklahoma City Community College.

Golly! My "new" car started breaking down every week and I was racking up $30 per month in continuance fees just because I was poor and then it hit me! What if the pauper's affidavit that I filed with the Oklahoma City District Attorney's office back in December could be used to get me out from under the court costs being accrued over at the Municipal Court of Oklahoma City just a few blocks away?? It seemed to make sense. It would certainly make life easier for me.

At my next court appearance, I asked the judge if they honored pauper's affidavits and he said that he did not know. (I found this ironic as I knew that he was making somewhere around $100/hour to know this and other things related to his job.) I asked another judge at my next court appearance and he did not know. I asked another judge at my next appearance and this judge did not know. I asked another judge at the next appearance and he told me, in a very roundabout way that my pauper's affidavit was on file over at the District Attorney's office and that that is over there and that we are over here.

In other words, YES! However, in order for me to get The Municipal Court of Oklahoma City to honor a pauper's affidavit, all I had to do was to file a lawsuit against the City of Oklahoma City in state district court and then, and only then, would I not be liable for the court costs in The Municipal Court of Oklahoma City!

I began to comtemplate this, as if I did not have enough things to contemplate as it was, when another court date rolled around. This time it was one week before Labor Day 2002. I had no money and one follow-up job interview lined up for a couple of days in the future. So, I showed up and asked for another continuance. Even though Oklahoma Statute Title 22, Chapter 16, Statute 983, Paragraph A, Sentence 2¹ explicitly states that a fine may be converted into a jail sentence ONLY after a hearing has been held to determine the ability of a person to pay the fine. Even though this MUST be recorded in writing in the court record,²I was incarcerated for six days by Oklahoma City Municipal Judge William Manger.

Now, there are those who would say that judges enjoy immunity from their actions on the bench and this is correct. However, legal fictions such as corporations, i. e. The City of Oklahoma City, may be held responsible for actions such as these.

As Time waits for no man, my life continues. However, this is the end of this article in The Bombsite Bulletin. I hope it was a good read! Thank you.

¹As with most court law sites, the path name on this one is encoded so that Oklahoma State laws may not be referenced via e-documents. Appendix IV, which contains laws for judicial complaint, is also noticeably missing from the Oklahoma Supreme Court web site.

²The Oklahoma City municipal court is a court of record.