My husband spent over 25 years in prison, where he got saved in 1985. I
can shorten his testimony if you would like to use it. -- GG

The Early Years

My name is Robert 'Doc' Beckett. I came from a family of 5 boys, one
older and three younger. I was born in 1948 in Kentucky, but I never
lived there. My family and I moved to the Rio Grande Valley right after
I was born. My dad worked in the coal mines in West Virginia. It was
hard, dirty work, low pay and not much future for a growing family.
Early in 1949 we moved to the valley and Dad got a job as a body and
fender man in Donna and a little later he landed a job as a welder for
Sonoco in Starr Country. The eldest of 12 children on a West Virginia
farm, he was very responsible and hard working. My mom came from a
different background. Her dad, whom I never met, was a gangster who ran
shine and had some gambling joints. He also did 12 years in Alcatraz.
When he was released from prison and got off the train at Ashland, Ky.,
he was gunned down and killed. My Mom always suspected a close relative
did the shooting so that he could be in charge of all of my grandfather's
gambling joints and the area he ran booze in.

Mom and I had a special relationship. Maybe because I was so different
from my brothers. They were normal boys, getting in a little trouble
here and there. But for me, Trouble was my first name, middle name and
last name. I loved to hear about my grandfather, and Mom would recount
stories of him before he went to prison. She would tell of how he got
his car shot up several times and my Dad would patch the bullet holes.
So from an early age, my desire was to become a gangster like my
granddad. The only story I remember about my Grandmom is that she made
shine in the bathtub. When I was little, I remember getting frequent
switchings from Grannie. But when I was growing up, liquor and booze
were legal, so I couldn't figure out how I could become a gangster. A
popular TV show back in the 50's was "The Untouchables." I used to watch
it all the time and I guess I associated the gangsters with my granddad.
Never once did it dawn on me that the gangsters were always losing. I
loved the excitement of the Tommy guns and the violence.

When I was 4 years old my older brother shot me in the left eye with a BB
gun and I lost the sight of that eye. My mom didn't know I was blind
for over a year. My brother and I came up with a good story about how my
eye got hurt. We told her that my brother poked me in the eye with a
stick, so she would not take our BB guns away. I remember her putting a
big ol' steak on my black eye and I slept with it on my eye over night.
After about a year she finally found out that I had no sight in that eye
and she gave us a real spanking. She was a raging woman all that day
and a sight to behold, to say the least. She took my BB gun and my
younger brothers BB guns and twisted them around the clothesline pole.
She kept Everette's, my older brother's gun, to work Dad over with. I
remember it had gotten dark when Dad drove up in the driveway, after
having a few beers. I remember Dad giving Mom a loving greeting. Mom
was waiting for him out in the yard and because of the darkness, he
didn't see the BB gun in her hand or the expression on her face. WHAM
-- WHAM -- WHAM was all we could hear and then the cries of my Dad.
He said "Betty, what's wrong with you, woman, have you gone crazy or
what?" Mom, said, "What do you mean crazy? I'll show you crazy! WHAM
-- WHAM -- WHAM By that time the words were flying between Mom and
Dad, and those words were of the spiciest nature. She said, "It's all
your fault. It's ALL your fault. I told you not to give the kids those
BB guns. Now we have a blind son. He's been blind in one eye for a year
now and we didn't even know it." My Mom could cuss like a sailor. She
was not light tongued. On top of that she was an expert boxer and could
fight like any man, but Mom was a dirty fighter. Poor Dad had knots on
his head for at least a week. My mom took me to the doctor to see if
anything could be done to help my sight. She was informed that the eye
was permanently damaged and a tumor was found behind the bad eye and
shortly thereafter, an operation was performed to remove the tumor. We
had been living in Donna, TX, up until that time, but soon after the
operation, we moved to Rio Grande City, TX.

When my Mom was in Donna, she used to go to a church that my grandmom
referred to as a Pentecostal Holy Roller church. My grandmom used to
say, "Betty, you've really went and done it now. Those people are crazy,
rolling all over the floor." When we moved to Rio Grande, my Mom no
longer went to any of the churches because the kind that she liked were
all in Spanish in Rio Grande. However, she did send us 3 boys (there
were 3 of us at this time) to church. We'd get dressed up and she'd give
us money for the offering. But my rascality corrupted my brothers. We'd
take the money for the offering and buy 22 shells. Before we'd get
dressed for church, we'd stick our regular clothes and our 22 rifles out
the bedroom window. We'd head off down the alley, like we were headed
for church, but we'd circle back and get our clothes and guns. Then we'd
beat it to the woods and go hunting. We knew that we had to be back by
12:00, so I'd steal one of my Dad's watches to make sure we got back home
on time. After hunting, we'd dress back up in our church clothes and
come back home. When we got back, we'd ask Mom if we could go hunting.
She would be so pleased that we went to church that she gladly let us go.
So we got in two times of hunting in one day.

I started smoking cigarettes by the age of 6 and received many spankings
for this. I used to hang around a friend, Jerry. He was younger than
me, but he smoked cigarettes. He would steal packs of Buglar tobacco
from his Mom. It made us feel like John Wayne. We rolled 'em and smoked
'em quite often. We didn't like smoking them, but it was the John Wayne
macho man image we admired. What can I say. We were dumb little kids.
By the time I started school at 7, my mom had already beat me so many
times from smoking that she was worn out. She used to use a buggy whip
on me. She'd chase me around the house and that buggy whip could always
catch me on the behind. I was given every kind of punishment that my Mom
could think of, but none of them worked. I'd get a spanking every day
when I came home from school because she could smell cigarette smoke on
me. Mom didn't smoke and it was obvious to her that I was smoking.
Speaking to me didn't work and beating me didn't work. I was very strong
willed and defiant, even at a very young age. So finally she gave in.
She'd give me a quarter for lunch and a quarter for my cigarette habit.
This was so I wouldn't steal money from Dad or Mom.

The beginning of my school years was really rough. My older brother
rescued me from several fights when I was in the first grade. By the
time I was in second grade, I was constantly fighting and I didn't have
my older brother, Everett, to rescue me because he was in another school.
The population consisted of about 98% Hispanic and about 2% white.
Every time I'd hear guys saying the word 'gringo', I'd pop them in the
mouth. One guy got tired of getting popped in the mouth, so he took it
upon himself to teach me Spanish. He said, "Doc, I want to be your
friend and teach you Spanish so you'll stop beating up on me." He said,
"Gringo is not a bad word, so every time you hear the word 'gringo', it
doesn't mean someone is talking bad about you. The first thing I want to
do is teach you all the bad words. If you hear 'gringo' with one of the
bad words, then you pop them in the mouth. But if you hear 'gringo'
without once of these words, don't worry about it. So he set about
teaching me all the bad words. After learning all the cuss words, my
vocabulary expanded little by little. By the time I was in 5th grade, I
could talk Spanish as good as the Mexicans could talk. I even have an
accent and sound like a Mexican when I talk English.

I started doing drugs when I was about 10 years old. I was a baseball
pitcher in Little League. An older friend of mine, J. R. started giving
me speed. He was around 15 years old and good at baseball. He didn't
tell me they were drugs, but told me they were pep pills. When I asked
him what pep pills were, he told me they were like vitamins. My mom
used to make us take 3S Tonic. The stuff was terrible. So when this guy
gave me these pep pills, it was great. They did a lot more for me than
the 3S Tonic did and didn't taste bad. After giving me those pills for
a couple of years, he started selling them to me for a quarter each.
This was no big deal, except that I had to start stealing from my mom and
dad in order to buy the pep pills.

My Mom and I were close and we shared a lot with each other. When I was
12 and in the 5th grade, I remember my Mom showing me how she could pick
locks and work any combination lock. She would sandpaper her fingertips,
so they would be real sensitive and be able to feel when the tumblers
fell into place. My Mom was a great teacher and I followed her
instructions to the tee. I began to practice on a combination safe we
had in our home. After some weeks, and much effort, lo and behold, I
finally opened the safe. Wow! There were a lot of little stacks of
money. I started stealing from those little stacks. I'd take one bill
from a stack on one day and then a couple of days later, I'd get another
bill from another stack. I was only caught because of my cousin. We
were at school and he asked me for a quarter and I gave him a five dollar
bill and told him to keep the change. After school, he left the change
in his pants and his Mom found it when she was going to wash his clothes.
She called my Mom the next day while I was at school and asked my Mom if
I was given that kind of money. My Mom checked the safe and found out
that there was $640 missing. She then called the principal and asked him
to send me home, but to please check out all my books and my locker to
see if perhaps there might be some of the money left there. The
principal gave me the spanking of my life and sent me home. But he also
warned me about the $640 that was missing and I knew I'd get a bigger
spanking once I got home. I walked home rubbing my behind, knowing that
I was in BIG trouble because I'd not only get another spanking from my
Mom, I'd get another from Dad when he got home. After much thought, I
decided to run away from home instead of facing the music. We lived
close by the Rio Grande River and there were some woods that were close
by the house. From the woods I could see the house and hear every thing
going on. Around dark, I could hear my family hollering up a storm for
me, but I wasn't about to go home, because I knew what was waiting for
me. I slept in the woods over night. The next day when Mom left the
house, I ran home and stole some food and went back to the woods. By the
second night, I could hear my family calling me and threatening me with
big-time punishment. So on the third day I surrendered. I should never
have done that. The principal's spanking seemed like a powder puff game.
First I got an unbelievable spanking from my Mom. When my Dad got home,
he had a one-by-four whittled out like the old board of education. It
had holes in the end of the paddle, so there would be no wind resistance
when it hit my behind. Each time it made contact, my body moved a heavy
hide-away sofa bed about 5 inches. My Dad only stopped because I reached
the wall and the sofa bed wouldn't move any farther. You'll never guess
what he told me. He said, "Son, I want you to know something. That hurt
me more than it did you." I couldn't sit down at school for a week.
Some of my teachers sent me to the principal's office, but the principal
said it was OK because he knew what had happened.

I always tried to stay one step ahead of the paddling board. During the
first 6 weeks of my 5th grade activities, I found myself in a precarious
situation. We got report cards and my grades were terrible. My older
brother, around 14 at the time, was on the honor roll and his name was in
the local paper. He was studious and very smart. As far as I can
remember, he was always on the honor roll. I, on the other hand,
literally hated school. My highest grade was a C, so you can imagine
what was my lowest grade. It was not a pretty sight. My brother got
paid for making A's and B's and I wanted to get paid also. I devised a
system so that I could get paid for my A's and B's. My first report card
had to be taken home. My Mom, of course, was very disappointed, but
signed it. I never returned that report card to the teacher, but kept
it. I told the teacher that I had lost my report card, so she made out
another one for me to get signed. Now, I could still make poor grades,
but I had my "lost" report card and could give myself some B's and even
an A to get paid. I'd never give myself enough A's and B's to get on the
honor roll and get in the paper. That would have blown my cover. Of
course, my Mom was impressed with my improvements and I got the money.

Money was influential. I liked to "buy" people and play the big shot.
Sooner or later, I could ask a favor back and use the person I had made
'friends' with. I stole from stores and neighbors houses. One neighbor
kept a 45 pistol and his wallet under his mattress. I'd sneak into his
house (houses were unlocked in those days) while he and his wife were
asleep. I'd get on my hands and knees and crawl into the bedroom. My
face and his face were not more than a foot a part and I'd watch his face
for any movement that would give me a hint that he was waking up. The
adrenaline was really flowing and there's no high, like an adrenaline
high. I'd only get one bill and would get anything from $1 to $50. It
wasn't really the money, it was the adventure with the risk I was taking.

Around the beginning of the 8th grade, my Mom needed to get her mileage
warranty inspection for the station wagon. Dan my friend, who lived with
us, had his driver's license. She asked us to take her car to McAllen to
be inspected and serviced. Outside of Mission, Tx, we were driving along
at about 85 mph and I decided to pass a big truck. I pulled out to pass
and my front tire ran off the narrow road, so I jerked it back. The car
flipped about 8 times and landed on it's wheels. It was about 100 yards
off the highway and had knocked down many trees while flipping. As soon
as the car stopped rolling and while the dust was still flying, a man,
dressed in a black robe and sandals, who looked like a priest, was trying
to open my door, the driver's side. He couldn't get it open and walked
around to Dan's side and with some effort, yanked it open and we both got
out. He asked us, "Are you boys OK?" I couldn't believe that a priest
would be opening my door, out in the middle of no where. So I grabbed
his hand and shook it real hard because I didn't think he was for real.
Dan also grabbed his hand and shook it real hard. He said, "You boys
sure messed this car up." I said, "We sure did." I started walking
around the car to see how bad it really was. The top was flat against
the top of the seats. By the time I got around to the other side of the
car, the man in the robe had disappeared. We looked all over the place
for him. People who stopped to see the wreck thought we were crazy
because we kept asking if they had seen the man in the robe who had
opened up the door. No one saw him. Even the police officer told us,
"Son, it's OK, the ambulance will be here in a little while. There is no
man who opened up your car door. Just lay down over there and take it
easy." Looking back, I believe the Lord spared my life. I had one more
bad auto accident and 3 motor cycle wrecks. Any one of those accidents
could have killed me.

The next day my Dad took off work and went to McAllen to see how bad the
station wagon had been wrecked. He couldn't believe it had been totaled,
because Dan and I got out with only a few scratches. The previous day,
Dan and I were given a rental car to get home in. On his way home, after
a few beers, Dad plowed into the back of an old pick-up truck. The truck
was driving without lights and Dad hit it and knocked the older couple
from behind about 80 yards. That older couple had never moved so fast in
their lives. The couple was uninjured, but Dad was hospitalized with a
big slash across his forehead and over and on his eyelid. Because of the
stitches, my Dad's right eye stayed open when he slept. This caused a
problem in later years. I'd have to make sure Dad was really asleep
before I tried to take money out of his wallet.

The next day I took the rental car to spring training football practice.
But I never ended up at the football practice because some friends and I
started drinking and ended up at Falcon Lake. When my Mom found us, we
were drunk as skunks, so she put me in the rental car and took me
straight to jail. This was my first taste of jail. My Mom said, "Lock
him up. Don't let him out until I come back for him. He can have
visitors, but don't let him go." She told the jailer, "Don't worry. I
will be back to get him." Poor Mom. This enabled her to go up to visit
Dad at the hospital without worrying about me.

During Christmas vacation in the 8th grade, my Dad, older brother, and
Victor, a friend of our family, and I, went quail hunting. We had been
hunting since early morning and I had not killed any quail up to this
point. All of a sudden, 2 quail flew up and went about ? mile into a
field of buffalo grass. My Dad said, "We need to be careful in this
buffalo grass. There could be lots of snakes out here." The grass was
up to our waists, and even though it was December, it was hot enough for
snakes to be out. The walking was slow because the grass was so high.
Me and my big mouth had to comment that I'd be looking more for snakes
than for quail. Right about the time that we should have flushed the
quail out -- BINGO - a big 6 foot plus rattler got me. He had 18
rattles and he was as big around as the calf of my leg. I jumped around
hollering with him hanging on my leg and finally knocked him off with the
butt of my shot-gun. My brother ran up and shot the snake that was still
rattling and threw me down on the ground and cut into where both fangs
had bitten me. My Dad said, "I can't suck the poison out, I have bad
teeth." My brother said, "I can't suck the poison out, I have cavities."
Victor said, "I don't know if I have bad teeth or not, but there's
nobody left, so I'll do it." After the poison was sucked out, Victor ran
and stopped a pick-up that was driving by. They cut the fence and came
in and picked me up and took us back to our station wagon. They packed
me in ice from the waist down and we drove to the hospital. The bite
felt like a burning hot poker in my thigh and the burning sensation was
slowly creeping up my leg. On top of that, the ice was terribly
miserable. I kept asking if I was going to die. The doctors said the
cuts were worse than the bite and I stayed in the hospital a week -
mostly for the deep cuts my brother had inflicted upon me. For about a
month after that, I was very unpopular in school. The poison made the
skin tissue, where the two fang bites went in, rot and fall out. The
odor was obnoxious. I had two big holes about the size of a quarter in
my thigh. Even though I wasn't aware, God spared my life again.

Also in the 8th grade, I smoked my first marijuana joint in the bathroom
at school and remember the principal almost caught us smoking. I went
into the bathroom to take care of business. Several guys that I knew
were standing around smoking on a cigarette. They said, "Hey Doc, you
want a hit?" I said, "Sure, man." So I walked over to where they were
and took a big puff off the cigarette and blew the smoke out. One of the
guys said, "Hey, man, that's not the way you smoke that. That's
marijuana." I said, "Hey man, I know how to smoke." He said, "You got
to holllldddd it in man, if you want to get the effect from it." Then I
heard a loud holler from outside. Here comes the principal! Everyone
ran. But I didn't run. I just went ahead and started to take care of
the business that I went in there for. The principal came in. He stood
right next to me and hollered, "Who's been smoking in my bathroom?"
There was a big cloud of smoke hanging low in the bathroom. I said, "I
don't know. It was them guys over there." He said, "Who was it?" I
said, "I don't know man. I came into here to take care of business." He
said, "If I ever catch you smoking in my bathroom, I'll kick you out of
school." I almost got suspended from school and stayed in trouble during
my school years. As far as teachers trying to help me, I can't recall
any help. I was happy the way I was and wouldn't have listened to
anyone. The only thing that interested me in school was sports. I was a
good ball player. I lied, cheated, and did whatever it took to get
through school.

The one thing I hated more than school was work. My dad used to punish
us by taking us to work on the weekends. I probably had to go with him a
couple of times a month. I learned many things - how to overhaul motors,
work on electrical things, plumbing, body and fender repair, pipe fitting
and welding work. Looking back, I know that Dad loved us because he
worked so hard and provided for all our needs. Dad hunted and fished
with us, but I never remember any words of affection coming from him.
Mom was mostly the disciplinarian on a day by day basis. However, I
remember 3 major spankings my Dad gave me. They were hum-dingers, to say
the least.

My Mom gave me many spankings for lying to her. When something went
wrong at the house, she'd call us in and look in our eyes (us boys) and
ask each one of us individually if we were guilty of that particular
offense. Most of the time I was guilty. She'd say, "Doc, I can see it
in your eyes. You're the guilty one." And Mom was always right. I set
out to perfect my lying and used to spend hours looking into a mirror in
my room, lying to myself to see why my Mom could tell I was lying. I'd
tell myself the biggest lies I could imagine, to see what my eyes would
do. I'd ask myself, "Doc, are you lying to me?" And I'd look straight
back into my reflection and say, "No Mom, I ain't lying." I got so good
at looking into my own eyes without blinking an eyelid, that I could lie
to Mom and not get caught. She'd say, because of her experience, "I
think you're guilty, but I can't tell for sure. So get out of here." I
escaped a bunch of spankings by perfecting my lying abilities. This
greatly helped me in the future when I talked to police officers.

In 1965, on April Fool's day, we were home early in the morning before
school started. My mom got a phone call from Dad, and he said that his
truck had broken down. Mom said, "Doc, would you like to skip school
today and go pick up your Dad?" Normally I would have jumped on the
opportunity to skip school. I asked, "Where is Dad and what happened to
him for him to need picking up?" She said, "His truck broke down. The
back wheels fell off and he needs to go get some parts." I said, "Nooooo
thank you, Mom. I need to go to school today. I'm going to play jokes
on the kids at school today." "She said, "O", you get ready for school
and drop you off. Then I'll go pick up Dad." It was a real foggy day
when Mom dropped me off at school. When I got out of the car, I told
her, "You be careful driving out there to pick Dad up because of all this
fog." She said, "Look who's talkin'. You've recently had 2 accidents
and I've never had an accident in all my life." So she with my youngest
brother, Rowdy, took off down the road. Rowdy had his 5th year birthday
the day before. Mom had dropped me off about an hour before school
started, in order to pick up Dad. I remember going to 1st and 2nd period
and playing silly jokes on the kids and teachers. Pulling chairs out
from under the kids, putting tacks in their chairs, things like that. It
was around 10:30, so when I heard my name called over the loud speaker,
it came as no surprise. I figured someone had snitched on me for one of
my jokes. Slowly I walked to the principal's office, trying to figure
out who had been the snitch. I walked up to his desk and was looking
kind of cowardly when I said, "Yes sir, here I am." He said, "Doc, I've
got some bad news for you." I thought to myself, "Whenever you're
called to the principal's office, it's always bad news." At least that
was my experience. This time was no different. "Your Mom and little
brother were in a car wreck," he said. I asked, "Are they alive or
dead?" He responded, "They are alive. They took them to the hospital."
Then he said, "We are going to take you home and we are going to pick
up your younger brothers and take them home also. That way, when your
dad needs to find you, you'll all be at home." My English teacher also
went with us that day. She was the preacher's wife. I should have
known by her coming along that there was something really wrong. When we
got home, my next door neighbor came running up to me and threw her arms
around me and said, "Lo ciento mucho Doc," (I'm really sorry for you,
Doc) and I said, "Por que?" (Why?) "Don't you know that your Mom and
little brother were killed in the car wreck?" she said. Boy, I went
completely insane with rage at that moment. Not really, but the devil
took control of my life at that point. I turned around and hit the
principal in the mouth and knocked him down. I jumped on him and
started to beat him. I felt betrayed and for some unknown reason (the
devil), took it out on him. I never knew such rage and hate and a desire
to kill as I did that day. I wanted to kill this guy and he was not
even to blame. My English teacher tried to get me off of the principal,
but with one arm I grabbed her blouse and threw her about 6-8 feet in the
air. She weighed around 185 pounds, so there was no way that I, as a
boy of 16, could throw 185 pounds through the air except by the power of
a demon. They finally got me off of the principal. Poor man, he was
not to blame.

My Mom and little brother, Rowdy, never knew what happened. They were
both decapitated when the car slid under the Hygeia milk truck. The top
of the station wagon was totally cut off. The motor traveled 400 feet
from the impact of the accident and it turned the 18-wheeler over on its
side. The 18-wheeler had been pulling from a farm and market road onto
FM 755, the road Mom was on. Because of the fog, Mom must have never
seen it.

I remember going out to the gravesites after we buried my mom and little
brother. Our insurance had paid for both their burials. I had gotten
drunk and high on drugs to cope with the devastation. That night, after
the burial, I cried all night long until the sun was coming up. I'd lie
on Mom's grave and say, "Mom, I love you, Mom." Then I'd lie on my
little brother's grave and say, "I love you Rowdy." He used to sleep
with me every night and he had just had his 5th birthday on March 31.
My mom was only 38 years old. All night I cried and told them I loved
them. I hadn't told them that I loved them when they were alive and now
it was too late. Neither Mom nor Rowdy could hear me now and neither
could answer me. After that night, my heart became like stone. I said
to myself "I ain't going to cry no more. I ain't ever going to cry
again. This is a bunch of bull." So I made a promise to myself not to
ever cry again for any reason. The two people who meant the most to me
were gone. My reasons for living had disappeared in one whack. I hated
myself and I hated my dad. I reasoned that I should have gone to pick up
my dad, so the accident was my fault. I also reasoned that Dad was to
blame because if he hadn't called my mom to pick him up, she and Rowdy
would still be alive. I kept that promise about not crying and didn't
shed a tear for the next 20 years.

People told us about the Hygeia truck driver. After the accident, he was
taken to the hospital. They said he was in a lot of remorse because of
the accident that killed my Mom and Rowdy. I remember there were 2
accident reports made. One at the time of the accident and another one
after the Hygia milk company insurance investigators came to town. The
driver of the truck had already said he was at fault. When the second
report was filed, it said my Mom was at fault. This change in reports
made me angry and I became very bitter. My thinking was that a bunch of
crooks were running our town, so I went down to the court house and told
the sheriff and his deputies that I was going to kill them one of these
days. They didn't pay much attention to me because they reasoned that I
was talking out of the anguish from the death of my mom and brother. I
decided at that point that I was going to be a worse crook than they
were.
Drug Smuggling Days

My Dad had slowly built up a construction company before the accident.
It started out with just him, a one-man operation. He worked hard and
slowly added workers and equipment. By the time my Mom and brother got
killed, the construction business had about 25 people and had tractors,
backhoes, and other construction equipment. However, he lost the company
because of his heavy drinking. He sold off all of his equipment to drown
himself in alcohol. He had to start working out of town on any job he
could get and would come home on the weekend. This left me all alone
during the week and totally without supervision. My younger brothers had
been sent to live with relatives. It had to have been hard for them and
I lost contact with my brothers at this time. My older brother, Everett
had gone off to college and gotten married. He was living quite a
distance away in Kingsville, TX. Little, 13 years old, and Ricky, 7
years old, both went to live with my Grandmother in Donna, TX. I was the
only one who lived at home with my dad after Mom's and Rowdy's death.

I hardly went to school anymore. The principal called me into the office
and told me, "Doc, you're not going to graduate. You're a 1 ? credits
short." I didn't know what to do to earn those credits and I sure didn't
want to come to summer school. So I went around telling all my teachers,
"Guess what! I'll be back next year." The first lady teacher I told
about coming back to school for another year, told me, "Doc, do you
remember the class you had with me? I never gave you credit for that
class. I'm going to talk to the principal and make sure you get your
credit." Then I went and talked to the coach. "Hey, guess what, coach.
I'm going to be back next year, pitching hard as ever and doing my thing
for you." He said, "Why Doc?" I said, "I'm a credit and ? short and the
principal said I'd be coming back next year." He said, "Doc, do you
remember when you took health with me at 7:00 in the morning? I never
gave you credit for that class. I'm going to talk to the principal and
make sure you get your credit." I never took either one of these
classes. But the principal called me in about 2 weeks later and told me
that I was going to graduate. The reason I was graduated is because they
didn't want me back in school.

It was at this time that, unknown to me, my 'friend' got me strung out on
heroin. We used to smoke marijuana together. He'd come by my house and
I'd go by his house. One morning I woke up feeling like I had the flu.
I smoked one of my joints, but it didn't do any thing for me. So I
thought I'd go see Joe to see if he had some better weed than I did. I
hopped on my motorcycle and rode over to his house. He was around back
on the porch shooting up heroin. I asked him if he had any good weed.
He said, "You know I have the same stuff you have." I told him that I
felt like I had the flu this morning. He said, "What you need is a fix."
I told him, "Man, I don't do that stuff. Besides that, I'm scared of
needles." He said, "Doc, you're already strung out. You've been smoking
heroin for the last month." I said, "What do you mean? I don't do that
stuff!" He told me, "I lace all my joints with heroin every morning."
He gave me one to try, and sure enough, my flu symptoms went away. After
much coaching, he got me to shoot up my first fix of heroin. It made me
sick and I threw up. But from that day on, I shot up every day. It got
so bad, that I'd shoot up about 15 grams of heroin a day. Many times I
have OD'ed, but God spared my life by sending a friend by at the right
time. I've been revived at least a hundred times from OD'ing on
different drugs.

I remember that drugs, mostly marijuana and LSD, became real popular in
1966 and 1967 around the time I graduated. In addition to drinking
heavily, I was using marijuana, cocaine, MDA, PCP, THC, LSD, peyote,
speed, downers, heroin and any thing else I could get my hands on. At
this time in my life I remember thinking that I'd never reach 21. Because
Dad worked out of town during the week, it was easy to party-down all
week long. Kids would come over to the house and stay there from Monday
through Friday. On Friday, whoever was there, would pitch in and help
clean the house so that it'd be clean by the time Dad came home for the
week-end. All the rest of the week you could cut marijuana smoke with a
knife and you'd stumble on beer cans as you walked through the house. At
this point, Dad was lost in his own world of alcohol, and I was no big
concern.

Soon after graduation from high school, I started smuggling drugs into
the U.S. from Mexico. Now my dreams were coming true. I was on my way
to being a big time bandit with lots of money and lots of friends to help
me spend it. Fast cars, fast women, and a fast life. Any thing that was
fast or dangerous, I liked it. A friend, Jimmy, who was about 10 years
older than me, and I would spend thousands of dollars going to Boy's Town
in Mexico (a town of brothels and drugs). He'd drink and I'd drink and
do drugs. We both had more friends than we knew what to do with. Jimmy
came from a very influential family, so he always had money to throw away
and Jimmy knew how to throw it. But thanks be to Jesus, Jimmy is now
born again and uses his resources for the Kingdom of God.

Jimmy had a brother, Pat. He and I were about the same age and good
friends also. Pat was different from Jimmy. Pat and I worked together
in the beginning of my drug career. Pat was a 'flower child' of the
60's. For a while, he and his girl friend lived in a TP in the woods in
Bastrope, Texas. Pat was non-violent and the only reason he put up with
me was because we became friends before I became violent. He was always
scared when I'd go to where he was staying because I always carried a
sawed off shotgun and a couple of pistols with me. He didn't mind the
weed or other drugs I'd bring to him, but he didn't like the heat I might
bring on him. Pat got saved around '75 or '76 and has been pastoring and
preaching the word of God in Canada for over 20 years.

My friends would often have needs, and I'd always be there to help them
out. I'd pay their rent, give them money for car payments, and give them
money to party on. But I did this for my own selfish gain. I knew that
sooner or later, I'd call on them for a favor and they'd be indebted to
me.

Drugs make you do insane things. I remember when me and four or five
other friends would sit around the house, play records, shoot up heroin,
smoke pot and play Russian roulette. I'd guess that I've pointed a
pistol at my head and pulled the trigger with a bullet in the cylinder
between 75 and a hundred times. I'll never forget the day I almost died.
I had just shot up a big shot of dope and it was my turn to spin the
cylinder. I picked up the 357 magnum and gave it a spin. When the
cylinder stopped spinning, I cocked the gun and I heard a voice speak to
me. It said, "Don't point the gun at your head. Point it at the lamp
and pull the trigger." BANG! The lamp exploded. The bullet went
through lamp, the wall of the garage, the door in the living room and
missed my Dad by a couple of inches. He was laying down asleep on the
sofa at the time. Thank goodness he was drunk and asleep or he would
have been killed. Needless to say, we never played Russian roulette
after that day. It was only because of God's very abundant grace that
none of us killed ourselves.

My life's dream was fast becoming a reality. I had two shoot-outs with
the Feds in Rio Grande. One of the high-speed chases stemmed from a
friend of mine getting busted several weeks before. I had fronted him
some weed and he got busted at the border patrol check-point outside
Falfurrias. Unbeknown at the time to me, the authorities made a deal
with him to set me up. But I was tipped off by a girl who was going out
with a customs agents son. She called me on the phone and said, "Doc, on
Wednesday they are going to try to bust you. Someone that you sell drugs
to was busted. They drew a map to your house and said you're name was
Doc. I saw the map. You're the one they're after. So beware on
Wednesday." I said, "Thanks for the info, and I'll be on the look-out."
On Wednesday, Carol, a working partner, and I, were driving around in the
Valley just killing time. We had already told Dad that we'd be expecting
a call or visit with someone that day. We told him we'd either call him
or check back in with him later on. Around 6 PM we called Dad from
McAllen and asked if anyone had called or had come by. He told us that a
certain person had called and was waiting for me at the Holiday Inn in
McAllen. This set off an alarm in my head because the Holiday Inn of
McAllen, at this time, was a known drug-busting motel. There were
stories about the Holiday Inn and some drug busts they had had there. My
friend had never gone there before, but had always gone to my house.
This was suspicious. Carol said, "Doc, I wouldn't do it if I were you.
It's too dangerous. Sounds like a set-up to me." I told her, "I'm gonna
do it. I have to find out if this is the guy that I was tipped off
about." I went to the Holiday Inn. He had all my money from the
previous deal. That was a give-away because he had never before paid me
in full. He always owed me several thousand dollars. Not only did he
pay me in full for the past deal, but he also had money to buy 600 pounds
of marijuana. I took his money and told him that I'd see him in Rio
Grande at a certain time for the deal. However, he wanted me to deliver
at that same Holiday Inn. That set off all kinds of red lights. Going
back to Rio Grande, Carol kept telling me, "Don't do it Doc! Don't do
it! It's a set-up. It's too dangerous." I told her, "I've got to find
out if he's the snitch." I dropped Carol off at my house and went across
the river to Mexico to score. I paid my connection and he put the drugs
on the US side of the river. My plans were to pick it up at a certain
time. I came back to the US and drove to the delivery area where I
loaded and picked up the weed. I drove from the river-bank and pulled
onto the highway with my headlights off. I pulled out in the middle of a
stretch of road that had two large curves. It gave me an opportunity to
see the traffic from both directions, so I'd be undetected as much as
possible. Not more than 30 seconds after I was on the highway, I looked
in the rear view mirror. Because of some background lights, I could tell
that a car was in back of me without any lights on also. So I knew what
time it was. PUNCH IT!!! This was the BUST. I turned on my lights and
put the pedal to the medal. When I went around the curve, there were 2
narc cars sitting in the road. Where they set up the road-block, there
was a little arroyo (a very small creek). A guardrail was at the curve.
The only room was between the narc car and the rail. It was a very small
shoulder and going 125+mph, I couldn't tell if it'd be enough to get by.
But there was no choice and I sure wasn't going to stop. The narcs in
back of the two cars saw that I wasn't slowing down and had to jump out
of the way. How I did it, I don't know, but my car sped through without
hitting either the narc car or the rail. The car following me hit his
brakes and didn't try to follow. That gave me the advantage. However,
as I sped by, they fired several shots into my trunk, but I got away.
They tried to follow me, but being from the area, I knew all the back
roads and was able to out maneuver them. I went and stashed the weed in
a special stash place and made my way home through back roads. After
putting the car in the garage, I went inside the house and told my Dad
that the narcs might be coming. Poor Dad. He was beside himself. I
also needed a favor from him. I needed for him to use his body and
fender skills and patch up the bullet holes in my trunk. I told him and
Carol, "Whatever you do, don't go outside of the house. So he went out
into the garage and started working. Mean while, I went in the weeds
behind the house with my guns, waiting for the narcs to show up. Within
a short time, the narcs drove by the house. They drove by real slow but
never stopped.

When the sun came up I made my way into the house. A couple of friends
had come over around 7:00 to get high. About 8 o'clock in the morning,
the snitch showed up at the house and asked why I hadn't delivered his
weed at the Holiday Inn. Boy, I was mad. Two of my friends, Bucky and
Critter, wanted to shoot this guy with a sawed off shotgun. The snitch
cried out "Please don't kill me. Just let me go. I'll never come back.
We thought he was probably wired and didn't want the scene getting any
hotter. So we let him go. Bucky and Critter left. Carol and I checked
out my car and then we left and got about a quarter of a mile from the
house and 4 narc cars stopped us. Boy, were they mad! They looked at my
car. Of course, my Dad had expertly patched it. It was spray painted
and everything. They couldn't find any drugs in my car or any bullet
holes in the car. One of the narcs said, "Doc, you better go get your
weed and get your butt out of town, because the next time I see you, I'm
going to blow your s _ _ _ away." I said, "Hey punk, are you threatening
me?" He said, "Take it however you like it." I told him "Next time I
see you, be ready, because you know I pack. When I see you out there on
the back roads, it's open season. Hey, let's me and you go over to the
rifle range and we'll kick butt to see who's a better man." He said,
"Doc, you know I can't do that." Then I told him, "Then how in the world
are you going to shoot me, punk."

I remember the first time they caught me and I couldn't get out. The
police used 2 young girls, ages 15 and 16 to say that I had given them
drugs and that I had sexual relations with them. They arrested me for
statutory rape and furnishing drugs to minors. They then took me back
to my house and searched it and found heroin, marijuana, stolen weapons,
TNT, blasting caps, a detonator and wiring outside my house. They
charged me with possession of a bomb. I never had sex or any other
relationship with those two young girls, nor did I ever give them any
drugs. I never had these girls killed so that gave me the desire not to
give in when I was being beaten. However, I did give drugs to all the
guys that worked with me and I knew these girls hung around with some of
my friends. Well, before I could be taken to trial on these charges,
the girls were killed and they found them in the Rio Grande River. When
this happened, the police and Texas Rangers came into my cell. They
told me that I was going to sign a statement saying that I had had the
girls killed. I said, "No way I'll sign anything." They beat my head
against the walls and the bars of the cell and then dragged me out to the
interrogation room. There they asked me some questions and pushed a
paper in front of me and told me to sign that paper. I said, "What does
that paper say?" They said, "Doc, it says that you're responsible for
having those girls killed." I said "No way I'll sign any paper saying
any thing because I don't know what you're talking about." The Texas
Rangers would take me out daily and play the good guy, bad guy rolls and
try to get me to sign the paper and talk to me about the deaths of the
girls. I never said any thing and never signed any thing. I just took
my beatings and was sent back to my cell. These beatings enraged me and
caused me to hate the sheriff.

They then started investigating me for getting high while I was in jail,
but they couldn't prove that either. Friends would bring me drugs. I
was on the fourth floor of the county courthouse where the cells were
located. At night, I'd whistle. Friends would come outside the window.
I had a sheet string with a sock tied on it with a bar of soap in the
sock to weight it down. This made for more accurate throwing and quicker
descent to where the friend was. He'd fill it with drugs and I'd quickly
pull it up in a matter of seconds. The other inmates in the jail looked
up to me because I had drugs and money while I was in jail.

While I was locked up, awaiting trial, my younger brother, 'Little', who
had just been kicked out of the army for selling drugs to an undercover
agent in Arizona, came back to Rio Grande and came to the window of my
jail cell. He asked me if there was anything he could do to help me. He
had had a promising career in the army and had come home on leave.
Because of my big bucks and extravagant living, I influenced my brother
to go astray. I told Little to go find Carole, my working partner and
part-time girl friend and get the money that she had that belonged to me.
It was from a drug deal and I needed that money to make bail. My bond
was $92,000 cash. I had $52,000 to put up, but needed the money Carol
had to spring me. My brother found Carol. However, neither came back
with the money. I had no idea at this time what happened to them. The
next time I heard from them was about a year later. I got a post card
from them in Estes Park, Colorado, asking me if I was still in jail. At
this time I vowed to kill my brother and Carol when I got out.

As for my trial, they took me to court 2 times in my county, but couldn't
get a jury. Everyone that would come to be chosen for my jury would say
that I had a gang and they feared that they'd be killed or members of
their family would be killed. We finally got a change of venue to the
next county. The same thing happened in that county. No one wanted to
be on my jury because they said I had a gang that would kill them or
their family. While I was in this other county jail waiting for a trial,
there was a jailbreak and 3 guys came to investigate and found me still
there. They were really surprised. Shortly after this my lawyer got
me out of jail and all the charges were dropped. He told me that I was
not supposed to go back to my hometown of Rio Grande nor to Starr County.
If I did go back and the police saw me, they were going to kill me
because they didn't want me in their town. I remember going to my
lawyer's house, and I asked him if he had a gun. He said that he only
had an air weight 38 special. I told him that it was good enough. He
asked me what I wanted it for and I told him I was going back to Starr
County. Even though he thought I was crazy to go back to Starr County,
he asked me if I could get him any speed, specifically 'black mollys' and
he'd buy up to $100,000. He gave me the gun and $5,000 for expenses to
look for the mollys. So I went back to settle a score I had pending with
the Sheriff.

I went to Magdaleno's house, a friend of mine, who was in the process of
getting stoned. "Que pasa Doc, when did you get out," Magdaleno said.
I told him that I had just gotten out that morning. He said, "Do you
want to get high?" "Of course, dummy, why do you think I came over to
your house," I told him. So we started to get high. We did some
heroin, redbirds (downers), some weed and some tequila. He asked me why
I was in Rio. I told him I had come to kill the sheriff. He said,
"I'll go with you because I don't like that whole family." The sheriff's
brother, a deputy, had broken some of Magdaleno's ribs when the Texas
Rangers came to Rio Grande to break up the farm workers strike in 1966 or
1967.

Magdaleno was a 'pistollero (gun-slinger). He was about 5' 5", weighed
about 150 pounds at the most, had an ace of diamonds, an ace of hearts,
an ace of clubs, and an ace of spades etched in gold on his 4 front
teeth. Magdaleno always packed (a gun). His past time was raising
fighting roosters and holding cock fights. He had killed four people in
beer joint fights up 'til that time. Years later at a fight in a beer
joint, Magdaleno shot and killed two of the sheriff's nephews and was
beat to death with a brick by a 3rd nephew, after Magdaleno had been
wounded.

We went to the courthouse to look for the sheriff, and asked the
sheriff's nephew if the sheriff was in. He told us that the Sheriff
wouldn't be in until around 10:30. I told the nephew to tell the
Sheriff that I'd be back to see him about our unfinished business. When
I was in jail I had promised the Sheriff that when I got out I'd come and
kill him. He had asked me if I was threatening him and I told him that
it wasn't a treat, but a promise. My friend and I went to a beer joint
to wait for 10:30. We were drinking a few beers and the time passed
faster than we thought, because about 1:00 PM a guy came in the beer
joint and said, "I just came from the courthouse and they told me that
the sheriff died of a heart attack." "What did you say," I asked. He
told us again that the sheriff had died of a heart attack. I paid for
beer for everyone and my friend and I went to the courthouse and asked
the sheriff's nephew if the reports were true. Sure enough, he had died
some time earlier that day. So I didn't get to kill him.

By this time, I heard that my brother Little and Carol were living in
Austin, Texas and smuggling drugs. So I went to Austin to take care of
business. They were living out in the country, but when I went to the
house, only Carol was home. I told her that I was looking for my
brother, to kill him, or maybe I'd just blow his knee cap off so he'd
remember me. Carol sweet-talked me out of doing anything to my brother
by taking all the responsibility of taking the money. She said, "Doc,
you fronted me the dope, so I'm the one who owes you for it. If you'll
give me a chance, I'll work for you and pay you back everything I owe
you." That seemed better to me than putting a bullet in both of them.
On her very first drug trip for me, she had a car wreck. Her car ran off
a bridge in San Marcos, Texas and she was killed.

I started smuggling drugs big time at this point. The operation
supplied drugs to many different parts of the United States. My brother,
Little, other working associates and I were moving tons of marijuana
every week. I got busted in Austin, Texas with several hundred thousand
dollars. They took my money, my gun and my truck and beat me up. My
brother told me that I needed to leave town before I'd bring heat down on
all of them. I decided it was time for me to head south. I moved to
Acapulco, Mexico where I rented a house. As I learned the ropes in
Acapulco, I managed to put together a network of protection, including
about 25 of the officers in the police force, who got on my payroll. I
supplied them with Browning 9mm pistols and plenty of ammunition. They'd
bring drugs by my house almost daily and I'd buy it from them and stash
it in my closet. I really didn't need their drugs and it was more
expensive than the drugs that I'd buy in the mountains. But it was a way
to keep them friendly, so I included that as part of my PR expenses.
These guys helped me several times, so they were well worth it. I was
down there having a good time getting high and making drug connections.
After I'd been there about 4 months, my brother Little came down and
asked me to do a deal for him. We got a little over 5 tons of marijuana
in a tandem truck that I had bought. We made it all the way to Reynosa,
Mexico. I had tol

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