The Courthouse Life

All I know is what my mom and dad and several relatives have told me about themselves and how it all began for me. As far back as I can remember my dad has told me that he grew up in Roxborough, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and that he skipped the seventh grade because he got straight A’s in school and that when he was seventeen, back in 1965, he volunteered for the Marine Corp and they sent him to Iceland for a year where he lived with another guy at the barracks and then they sent him back to Philadelphia in 1966 and then went to Denver and then San Diego and left for Vietnam where he worked as a Diesel Mechanic and became a Staff Sargent during combat when the the previous Sargent was killed and that he sent just about all of his money back to Arbor Street where his mom Rita put it in the bank for him until he got back in 1969 and he showed me pictures and years later my Grand Mom Rita showed me the letters post marked “Vietnam”. My dad told me that he was a Philadelphia Police Officer from 1970 – 1979 during Police Commissioner and Mayor Frank Rizzo Administration at Philadelphia City Hall and that he worked the 1st District near 26th Avenue and Passyunk in the Projects as Shotgun on a Paddy Wagon and that there were riots in the streets over many Civil Rights Issues during the summer of 1972 the year I was born. My mom told me that her earliest memory of me and her was while she was asleep on the sofa late one night and I was 3 years old and playing on the floor with the Television on while the Marines in the famous Helicopter Picture of the Embassy Evacuation were pulling out of the South Vietnam in 1975. I guess that’s probably some of what they wanted me to remember most about them now that I am a United States Marshal on Disability and they had to say goodbye to me a few years back. I do remember that when I was about 9 years old I asked my Mom about what appears to be two small caliber gunshot wounds to my upper inner thigh with only one exit wound shaped like a “Football” a little lower on the outside and all she could tell me was that I was jumping on a black trash bag full of broken glass in the shed near the backdoor when it happened and not too long after that I asked my Dad about my fraternal twin brother Eric’s wounds on his leg and all he could say was that my 2 year older brother Jerry was playing with his “Service Revolver” and used his chin to draw the hammer back and it discharged going through my Fraternal Twin Brother Eric’s arm and leg nearly taking off his knee cap before lodging several inches above my sleeping mother on their bed and my Dad said that the newspapers really overdid the story running a Headline that said “Cop’s Son Shoots Brother” and the strangest thing is I seem to remember the event which is crazy because my Dad said it happened when both Eric and I were only 6 months old and that makes my older brother Jerry only 2 1/2 years old and my older brother Jerry was in leg casts to correct a human growth disorder and I’ve seen the picture at the the time and he does have Scoliosis which is curvature of the spine and is about 6 foot 7 inches tall or more and I don’t want to call them all liars because I think they had to form some things in Riddles for me but my brother Jerry always told me he was about 6 foot tall and he’s always walked kind of hunched over like a cowboy riding a horse would and he’s always been really tall almost as if he was really more than 10 years older than me. Enough about all of that though. I was wondering why it seems like the Court today doesn’t want to come through on those contracts they had me sign in Court that have made me a US Marshal and I only seem to be getting basic Magistrate Pay labeled disabled which makes sense because they won’t issue me my Uniform with no place to live and I have worked for hundreds of Police and Sheriffs Departments around the world as “The Man in the Box” which is a Police Officer without gun in a really dangerous environment so that they might all confess their felony crimes and free themselves of the guilt and shame of having done everyone wrong but I don’t remember ever having heard any sort of confession that I might have to Testify too from anyone except what I’ve told you and that hardly seems like anything even if I wanted to lock them up for something which I don’t so I’m between a rock and a hard place I guess because I don’t want to queer and they don’t really have enough evidence so that the (Chief Executive or US President (The Chief of the Supreme Court’s Representative), Federal Attorney General and Chief of Homeland Security can arrest and Impeach me before the US Congress on Capitol Hill so that the Justice’s of the Supreme Court can fire me and put me in Prison. Sometime’s I wish I could just go back to South America, or Central Asia, Africa, Europe, England or Australia or someplace else but I’m a US Citizen born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and reborn in Brooklyn, New York and of Bavarian Origin if my information’s accurate and having said that does anyone have a Beer and a Brat and want to watch a Frankenstein, Dracula or any other Monster Movie with me, I’m sure my cousins with the “Reif Theater” could provide one and we could go to the “Hotel” I’m sure my uncle “Doyle” has one and we could get new clothes at my Aunt “Taylor” store and we could eat some candy from “Brachs” from my Uncle Brasch, well I don’t know what else to say except why do I feel like all of my rich relatives seem to think I make them look bad because I’m not gay and they had to throw me out like a bad slave and that they’re all Marine Corp and don’t want me anywhere near them because I’m “Marine Corp” and “Army” now or “US Army Provost Marshal”.

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