A Life Wasted

Captured

At a country store on a lonely road surrounded by nothing but woods I stepped out of the trees and went inside. I bought a Coke and sandwich. I needed to know where I was but didn't risk asking or even buying a map. As I walked out of the store a gas customer was getting back into his car so I asked for a ride. He agreed and off we went. I was starting to think I'd got away when a county sheriff's car pulled him over. The officer jumped out with a shot gun pointed at me. The store owner had heard about my day on the news. The authorities didn't know who I was so there were no photos, but he took one look at the ware on me and my clothes and knew I'd been in the woods all day, so called the local cops with my description and a description of the car I'd hitched a ride in.

The county cop arrested me and allowed the innocent driver to go on his way, but we just sat there. Eventually two Florida State Trooper cars showed up and took custody of me. They searched me thoroughly on the side of the road and found my hidden handcuff key but I had no identification. I hadn't had any id since my escape from the Shore Patrol in Jacksonville. When they asked my name I gave them a fake one.

They drove south for about twenty miles then turned down a dirt road, went down it about a mile then stopped. The trooper driving the car I was in got out and went back to the other car and stood with the other trooper. I looked around and saw nothing but dirt road and thick woods. The troopers were smoking, talking quietly and looking around nervously. This worried me. I thought this might be a set up for me to attempt to escape so they could shoot me, so I ignored the unlocked door and tried to relax. After about twenty minutes a civilian car showed up. A big guy got out. He wore a t-shirt, blue jeans, and a holstered gun. I noticed his gun was an automatic, which stood out because Florida cops were all issued revolvers in those days. He spoke with the troopers, then pulled me out of the back seat. He asked if I remembered him. I didn't and said so. Nothing else was said while the troopers got in their cars and left. When both cars were out of sight the guy hit me in the stomach. Hit me hard. After I was able to stand straight he said, "Remember me now?" I did remember him. Last time I saw him he was trying to kill me with his service revolver, so I said, "The guy who can't shoot straight."

At the time of the chase that morning, the trooper whose name I have long forgotten had worked all night and was about to get off duty when I blew past him at 147 miles per hour. He'd wrecked his police/race car trying to follow me up that hill, so had switched to his own car to hunt me after tracking dogs lost me at the river. He had spent all day hunting me: on his own time burning his own gas. When the call went out that I had been captured he talked his two coworkers into allowing him to bring me in. It had become personal to him so we had this little chat.

He slapped me to consciousness after a thorough beating and asked my name. I couldn't remember the fake name I was using so I said nothing. He hit me in the mouth with his gun, which caused my mouth to fill with blood. I wasn't trying to upset him further, but I had little choice but to spit out the blood. I was laying on my back on the dirt road with him on top of me so my bloody spit covered him. The next beating secession was worse. At some point I must have given my real name because when I woke in a jail cell the next day they knew who I was.

There was a quick trial in traffic court. They discussed reckless driving and attempted murder with a vehicle but after seeing how badly I'd been beaten the State's Attorney refused to charge me with anything other than speeding and eluding. The officer who beat me was in the court room, but he seemed subdued. He gave the facts of the chase but didn't add commentary. The trooper made a big deal about winning a state shooting competition and seemed embarrassed by the fact that all six of his bullets missed me. I smiled, knowing I had hit a nerve with my earlier comment. The judge seemed more interested in the top speed of the police cars than the other facts of the case. I was sentenced to ten days in jail, most of which I had already done, my Florida Driver's License was suspended indefinitely and I was given a big fine. Somehow my license was never suspended and they never attempted to collect the fine, but most interesting is that they never brought up the twenty-four pounds of marijuana strapped to the back of the bike. The drugs were as invisible as my bruises.

On May 5, 1975 deputies from south Texas extradited me to stand trial for Breaking and Entering the Kawasaki dealership there.