The prison uniform, now discarded in a shadowed alcove, lay like a discarded skin, a molted shell of a former self. It was a stark visual representation of his transformation, a physical shedding of the past. #Prison #crime #Thriller #Drama
My head swam. I tried to focus, to piece together what had happened, but my memories were fragmented, blurred like a badly scratched photograph. Images flickered โ a flash of bright light, the deafening roar of something immense, the sickening crunch of collapsing structuresโฆand then, nothing. Only the darkness before the agonizing awakening in this hellish landscape.
The ‘Sea Wanderer’ was more than just a vessel; it was their home, their adventure capsule, a testament to years of planning, saving, and dreaming. It was a forty-foot sloop, built to withstand the rigors of extended ocean voyages, her hull a sturdy, reassuring blue, her sails crisp and white against the deepening azure of the sky.A few weeks into their ocean cruise life for the Robinsons takes an ominous turn when a sudden storm wreaks havoc on the ship and family…
The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time… #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #2
In my younger days I lived my life like there was no tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about what to do when the check came due, when life changed, when I crossed someone or they crossed me. I wish I had grown up different, but my time on the streets and the lessons that taught me. #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #3
In AA they say that addictions will take you to hospitals, Mental Institutions and Prisons. It’s true. They will. I have been in all of those places because of my addictions. But addictions are not responsible for the life I lead entirely, and certainly not responsible for the things I did. #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #4
The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time… (Based on a true story from my life. Names have been changed, but truthfully almost all of them are dead now so it doesn’t matter.) #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
Free story from book one
THE DAM
It was summer, the trees full and green, the temperatures in the upper seventies. And you could smell the river from where it ran behind the paper mills and factories crowded around it, just beyond the public square; A dead smell, waste from the paper plants.
I think it was John who said something first. “Fuck it,” or something like that,” I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” Pete asked?
“Yeah… I think so,” John agreed. His eyes locked on Pete’s, but they didn’t stay. They slipped away and began to wander along the riverbed, the sharp rocks that littered the tops of the cliffs and the distance to the water. I didn’t like it.
Gary just nodded. Gary was the oldest so we pretty much went along with the way he saw things.
“But it’s your Dad,” I said at last. I felt stupid. Defensive. But it really felt to me like he really wasn’t seeing things clearly. I didn’t trust how calm he was, or how he kept looking at the river banks and then down to the water maybe eighty feet are so below.
“I should know,” John said. But his eyes didn’t meet mine at all.
“He should know,” Gary agreed and that was that.
“That’s cool. Let’s go down to the river,” Pete suggested, changing the subject.
“I’m not climbing down there,” I said. I looked down the sheer rock drop off to the water. John was still looking too, and his eyes were glistening, wet, his lips moved slightly as if he was talking to himself. If he was I couldn’t hear. But then he spoke aloud.
“We could make it, I bet,” he said as though it was an afterthought to some other idea. I couldn’t quite see that idea, at least I told myself that later. But I felt some sort of way about it. As if it had feelings of it’s own attached to it.
“No, man,” Gary said. “Pete didn’t mean beginning here… Did you,” he asked?
“No… No, you know, out to Huntingtonville,” Pete said. He leaned forward on his bike, looked at john, followed his eyes down to the river and then back up. John looked at him.
“What!” John asked.
“Nothing, man,” Pete said. “We’ll ride out to Huntingtonville. To the dam. That’d be cool… Wouldn’t it?” You could see the flatness in John’s eye’s. It made Pete nervous. He looked at Gary.
“Yeah,” Gary said. He looked at me.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’d be cool.” I spun one pedal on my stingray, scuffed the dirt with the toe of one Ked and then I looked at John again. His eyes were still too shiny, but he shifted on his banana seat, scuffed the ground with one of his own Keds and then said, “Yeah,” kind of under his breath. Again like it was an afterthought to something else. He lifted his head from his close inspection of the ground, or the river, or the rocky banks, or something in some other world for all I knew, and it seemed more like the last to me, but he met all of our eyes with one sliding loop of his own eyes, and even managed to smile.
~
The bike ride out to Huntingtonville was about four miles. It was a beautiful day and we lazed our way along, avoiding the streets, riding beside the railroad tracks that just happened to run out there. The railroad tracks bisected Watertown. They were like our own private road to anywhere we wanted to go. Summer, fall or winter. It didn’t matter. You could hear the trains coming from a long way off. More than enough time to get out of the way.
We had stripped our shirts off earlier in the morning when we had been crossing the only area of the tracks that we felt were dangerous, a long section of track that was suspended over the Black river on a rail trestle. My heart had beat fast as we had walked tie to tie trying not to look down at the rapids far below. Now we were four skinny, jeans clad boys with our shirts tied around our waists riding our bikes along the sides of those same railroad tracks where they ran through our neighborhood, occasionally bumping over the ties as we went. Gary managed to ride on one of the rails for about 100 feet. No one managed anything better.
Huntingtonville was a small river community just outside of Watertown. It was like the section of town that was so poor it could not simply be across the tracks or on the other side of the river, it had to be removed to the outskirts of the city itself. It was where the poorest of the poor lived, the least desirable races. The blacks. The Indians. Whatever else good, upstanding white Americans felt threatened or insulted by. It was where my father had come from, being both black and Indian.
I didn’t look like my father. I looked like my mother. My mother was Irish and English. About as white as white could be. I guess I was passing. But I was too poor, too much of a dumb kid to even know that back then in 1969.
John’s father was the reason we were all so worried. A few days before we had been playing baseball in the gravel lot of the lumber company across the street from where we lived. The railroad tracks ran behind that lumber company. John was just catching his breath after having hit a home run when his mother called him in side. We all heard later from our own mothers that John’s father had been hurt somehow. Something to do with his head. A stroke. I really didn’t know what a stroke was at that time or understand everything that it meant. I only knew it was bad. It was later in life that I understood how bad. All of us probably. But we did understand that John’s father had nearly died, and would never be his old self again, if he even managed to pull through.
It was a few days after that now. The first time the four of us had gotten back together. We all felt at loose ends. It simply had made no sense for the three of us to try to do much of anything without John. We had tried but all we could think about or talk about was John’s father. Would he be okay? Would they move? That worried me the most. His sister was about the most beautiful girl in the entire world to me. So not only would John move, so would she.
He came back to us today not saying a word about it. And we were worried.
When we reached the dam the water was high. That could mean that either the dam had been running off the excess water, or was about to be. You just had to look at the river and decide.
“We could go to the other side and back,” John suggested.
The dam was about 20 or 30 feet high. Looming over a rock strewn riverbed that had very little water. It was deeper out towards the middle, probably, it looked like it was, but it was all dry river rock along the grassy banks. The top of the Dam stretched about 700 feet across the river.
“I don’t know,” Pete said. “the dam might be about to run. We could get stuck on the other side for awhile.”
No one was concerned about a little wet feet if the dam did suddenly start running as we were crossing it. It didn’t run that fast. And it had caught us before. It was no big deal. Pete’s concern was getting stuck on the little island where the damn ended for an hour or so. Once, john, and myself had been on that island and some kids, older kids, had decided to shoot at us with 22 caliber rifles. Scared us half to death. But that’s not the story I’m trying to tell you today. Maybe I’ll tell you that one some other time. Today I’m trying to tell you about John’s father. And how calm John seemed to be taking it.
John didn’t wait for anyone else to comment. He dumped his bike and started to climb up the side of the concrete abutment to reach the top of the dam and walk across to the island. There was nothing for us to do except fall in behind him. One by one we did.
It all went smoothly. The water began to top the dam, soaking our Keds with its yellow paper mill stink and scummy white foam, just about halfway across. But we all made it to the other side and the island with no trouble. Pete and I climbed down and walked away. To this day I have no idea what words passed between Gary and john, but the next thing I knew they were both climbing back up onto the top of the dam, where the water was flowing faster now. Faster than it had ever flowed when we had attempted to cross the dam. Pete nearly at the top of the concrete wall, Gary several feet behind him.
John didn’t hesitate. He hit the top, stepped into the yellow brown torrent of river water pouring over the falls and began to walk back out to the middle of the river. Gary yelled to him as Pete and I climbed back up to the top of the dam.
I don’t think I was trying to be a hero, but the other thought, the thought he had pulled back from earlier, had just clicked in my head. John was thinking about dying. About killing himself. I could see it on the picture of his face that I held in my head from earlier. I didn’t yell to him, I just stepped into the yellow foam and water, found the top of the dam and began walking.
Behind me and Pete and Gary went ballistic. “Joe, what the fuck are you doing!”
I heard it, but I didn’t hear it. I kept moving. I was scared. Petrified. Water tugged at my feet. There was maybe 6 inches now pouring over the dam and more coming, it seemed a long way down to the river. Sharp, up-tilted slabs of rock seemed to be reaching out for me. Secretly hoping that I would fall and shatter my life upon them.
John stopped in the middle of the dam and turned, looking off toward the rock and the river below. I could see the water swirling fast around his ankles. Rising higher as it went. John looked over at me, but he said nothing.
“John,” I said when I got close enough. He finally spoke.
“No,” was all he said. But tears began to spill from his eyes. Leaking from his cheeks and falling into the foam scummed yellow-brown water that flowed ever faster over his feet.
“Don’t,” I screamed. I knew he meant to do it, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Don’t move,” Gary said from behind me. I nearly went over the falls. I hadn’t known he was that close. I looked up and he was right next to me, working his way around me on the slippery surface of the dam. I looked back and Pete was still on the opposite side of the dam. He had climbed up and now he stood on the flat top. Transfixed. Watching us through his thick glasses. Gary had followed John and me across.
I stood still and Gary stepped around me. I have no idea how he did. I’ve thought about it, believe me. There shouldn’t have been enough room, but that was what he did. He stepped right around me and then walked the remaining 20 feet or so to John and grabbed his arm.
“If you jump you kill me too,” Gary said. I heard him perfectly clear above the roar of the dam. He said it like it was nothing. Like it is everything. But mostly he said it like he meant it.
It seemed like they argued and struggled forever, but it was probably less than a minute, maybe two. The waters were rising fast and the whole thing would soon be decided for us. If we didn’t get off the dam quickly we would be swept over by the force of the water.
They almost did go over. So did I. But the three of us got moving and headed back across to the land side where we had dropped our bikes. We climbed down from a dam and watched the water fill the river up. No one spoke.
Eventually john stopped crying. And the afterthought look, as though there some words or thoughts he couldn’t say passed. The dying time had passed.
We waited almost two hours for the river to stop running and then Pete came across…
We only talked about it one other time that summer, and then we never talked about it again. That day was also a beautiful summer day. Sun high in the sky. We were sitting on our bikes watching the dam run.
“I can’t believe you were gonna do it,โ Pete said.
“I wasn’t,” John told him. “I only got scared when the water started flowing and froze on the dam… That’s all it was.”
Nobody spoke for a moment and then Gary said, “That’s how it was.”
The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time… #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #2
In my younger days I lived my life like there was no tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about what to do when the check came due, when life changed, when I crossed someone or they crossed me. I wish I had grown up different, but my time on the streets and the lessons that taught me. #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #3
In AA they say that addictions will take you to hospitals, Mental Institutions and Prisons. It’s true. They will. I have been in all of those places because of my addictions. But addictions are not responsible for the life I lead entirely, and certainly not responsible for the things I did. #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
True: True stories from a small town #4
The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time… (Based on a true story from my life. Names have been changed, but truthfully almost all of them are dead now so it doesn’t matter.) #NonFiction #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Childhood #Readers #KU #Amazon
The Streets By Wendell Sweet One evening, I found myself back at the scene of the car accidentโthe snow-covered road where my life nearly ended. The scars on my body served as tangible reminders of that brutal night; the emotional scars were far deeper. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind. The cold night air, the harsh sounds of snow crunching under my boots; it all was reminiscent of the night that would nearly cost my life. Standing there, I felt a wave of sadness, a flicker of the old fear, but it quickly subsided. The trauma was still there, woven into the fabric of my being, but it no longer controlled me. I had faced it, processed it, and emerged stronger.#True #NonFiction #Crime #Memoir #Kindle #KU Kindle:
by Dell Sweet (Author) Format: Kindle Edition To my brothers and sisters on the inside, those whose names I whisper in the quiet hours, those who taught me the brutal calculus of survival: may your scars be badges of your strength, and may your eventual release be a sunrise that washes away the long night. This book is a testament to your resilience, a raw whisper from the belly of the beast. It is for the ones who never made it out, whose lives were extinguished by the system, and whose memories serve as a perpetual warning. #Prison #Crime #Survival #Inside
Summers in Upstate New York are beautiful. After the hard winters and sub-zero cold the warm temperatures are like Heaven on Earth. The river and the railroad tracks bisected the city and any given day would find myself and my friends somewhere along one or the other.
The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time… #NonFiction #Crime #Drama #Thriller #KU #True
by Dell Sweet (Author) Format: Kindle Edition To my brothers and sisters on the inside, those whose names I whisper in the quiet hours, those who taught me the brutal calculus of survival: may your scars be badges of your strength, and may your eventual release be a sunrise that washes away the long night. This book is a testament to your resilience, a raw whisper from the belly of the beast. It is for the ones who never made it out, whose lives were extinguished by the system, and whose memories serve as a perpetual warning. #Prison #Crime #Survival #Inside
The Vietnam War (known in Vietnam as the Resistance War Against America or simply the American War) was primarily a conflict between the communist Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam), led by Ho Chi Minh and his successors, and the anti-communist Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam), backed initially by France and later by the United States.
North Vietnam sought to reunify the country under a single communist government. Their forces included the regular People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN) and the Viet Cong (VC)โa South Vietnamese communist guerrilla force supported by the North.
South Vietnam sought to maintain its independence as a non-communist state. Their primary military force was the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), heavily supported by U.S. troops and materiel.
The conflict was a major proxy war of the Cold War, with the North supported by the Soviet Union and China, and the South supported by the United States and other anti-communist allies.
French Involvement First (The First Indochina War)
French involvement was rooted in nearly a century of colonial rule over Indochina (Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia).
Colonial Resistance: Following World War II and the Japanese occupation, the French attempted to re-establish their colonial control, but they were met with fierce resistance from the Viet Minh, a nationalist and communist-led independence movement under Ho Chi Minh.
The Defeat: The war between the French and the Viet Minh lasted from 1946 to 1954. The decisive turning point came with the Battle of Dien Bien Phu in May 1954, where the French forces were decisively defeated.
The Geneva Accords (1954): This agreement formally ended French rule and temporarily partitioned Vietnam at the 17th Parallel. The North would be governed by the Viet Minh, and the South by a non-communist regime. Crucially, the accords called for nationwide unification elections in 1956, which were ultimately rejected by the South Vietnamese government (with U.S. backing) because they feared Ho Chi Minh would win. The division became permanent, setting the stage for the Second Indochina War (the Vietnam War).
American Involvement Afterwards (The Vietnam War)
U.S. involvement grew out of the Cold War policy of containmentโpreventing the spread of communism.
Advisory Role (1950sโEarly 1960s): The U.S. initially provided financial and military aid to the French and then to the new South Vietnamese government, installing a series of political leaders, most notably Ngo Dinh Diem. The U.S. presence consisted mainly of military advisors and trainers.
Escalation (Mid-1960s): Following the Gulf of Tonkin Incident in 1964 and the subsequent resolution by Congress, President Lyndon B. Johnson dramatically escalated the U.S. commitment. This marked the shift from an advisory role to large-scale military intervention, including bombing campaigns against North Vietnam and the deployment of hundreds of thousands of combat troops to the South. At its peak, the U.S. had over 500,000 troops in Vietnam.
De-escalation and Withdrawal (Late 1960sโEarly 1970s): The 1968 Tet Offensive, though a military defeat for the North, was a psychological and political victory that eroded American public support for the war. President Richard Nixon introduced the policy of Vietnamization, gradually withdrawing U.S. troops while simultaneously training and equipping the ARVN to take over the fighting.
End of War: The Paris Peace Accords were signed in January 1973, leading to the final withdrawal of U.S. combat forces. Fighting continued between North and South Vietnam until April 30, 1975, when North Vietnamese forces captured Saigon, leading to the total collapse of South Vietnam and the reunification of the country under a single communist government.
How many American men (and women) died in that undeclared war?
The total number of U.S. military fatal casualties is 58,220. This figure includes men and women from all branches of the armed services who were killed in action, died from wounds, or were missing in action and declared dead. This number is inscribed on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C.
How were returning men and women, U.S. Soldiers, treated by the American press and public?
The treatment of returning Vietnam veterans was markedly different from the heroes’ welcomes of previous wars like World War II. It is widely considered one of the most painful legacies of the conflict.
The Press: Television news brought uncensored, graphic images of the war’s brutality and futility directly into American homes. As the press became increasingly critical after major events like the Tet Offensive, the negative narrative about the war often spilled over onto the soldiers themselves. Negative stories focused on drug use, low morale, and atrocities.
The Public: Veterans often returned home to an indifferent or, in some cases, hostile public. The widespread unpopularity of the war meant that anger at the policy and the conflict was often conflated with anger at the soldiers who executed it.
Unlike World War II veterans who received triumphant ticker-tape parades, Vietnam veterans often arrived back individually at quiet airports and were urged to change into civilian clothes quickly.
While the image of veterans being “spit on” has become a powerful and politically useful myth, evidence suggests such incidents were rare. However, what was widespread was a distinct lack of recognition, gratitude, or organized celebration.
Many veterans also struggled with the long-term psychological and physical effects of the war, including Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which was not widely understood or formally recognized by the medical and veterans communities until years later.
Has it been rebuilt yet? How is Vietnam now…
Rebuilding and Economic Status:
Economic Reform (ฤแปi Mแปi): The initial years after reunification (1975โ1986) were characterized by economic struggles due to the imposition of a centrally planned, socialist economy, internal political repression, and a U.S. trade embargo. In 1986, the Communist Party of Vietnam introduced sweeping economic reforms known as ฤแปi Mแปi (Renovation).
Current Status: Vietnam has undergone a remarkable transformation. It has shifted from one of the world’s poorest countries to a lower-middle-income country with a dynamic, market-oriented economy. It is now a major global manufacturing hub and is largely considered rebuilt, economically speaking, having integrated fully into the global economy.
Is it a free country now?
Political Status:
Vietnam is not considered a free country by international standards; it is a one-party state ruled by the Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV).
While the constitution guarantees fundamental rights, in practice, the CPV maintains tight control over political life, the media, and religious organizations.
The government has cracked down on dissent and limits freedoms of expression and assembly. While economic and social life is much more open than in the post-war decades, the political system remains authoritarian.
In summary, Vietnam is a nation that is economically thriving and fully rebuilt, but it operates under a centralized, single-party political system that restricts democratic freedoms. Relations with the United States are robust and have transitioned from adversaries to increasingly strategic partners.
Sex on the Streets My aunt lived in that area, and we were taken there daily. I can remember her telling me that I had to do everything she said. Listen, practice. #Sex #ChildAbuse #SexualAssault #StreetLife
