Smoking pot and doing legal work in the pen, I had the opportunity to meet an old gentleman by the name of Lonnie Howard McPhail. Smelling the strong, pungent odor of commercial Mexican coming from my cell one evening, old man McPhail happened by and asked me if I could spare a toke or two. “Sure old feller,” I said. “Come on in and sit a spell and we’ll catch a buzz.” Having seen the old guy around before, I knew he was okay. I knew he wasn’t a snitch and even though solid white headed and in his late 60’s to early 70’s, Mr. McPhail still liked to smoke cigarettes and a little bit of weed now and then. Talking to him, he told me he was from Calhoun County Mississippi. And the feds railroaded him, took all his land and property, and gave him a hot twenty year sentence. When I asked Mr. McPhail what he was in prison for, he said, “Having something someone else wanted, but being too bull-headed and stubborn to give it to them. Sure wish I had now.” Even though Mr. McPhail was serving time in federal prison for violation of 21 U.S.C. §841(a), possession with intent to deliver marijuana, he wasn’t guilty of the crime. What he was guilty of was … standing up to a bully who wanted to steal from him and guilty of being poor, uneducated, southern white trash.

Coughing and turning red from the joint we were smoking, I watched as Mr. McPhail’s eyes turned red and his blood pressure rose. “What do you mean having something someone else wanted and not giving it up?” I asked. “Well young Trip, my family left me and my two sisters hundreds upon hundreds of acres of land in Calhoun County. I had several businesses; a gas station, dry cleaners, and some other places around town. Didn’t want for much. Didn’t need anything. All I wanted to do was be left alone. Then, some big shot from one of the major petroleum companies came along one day and wanted to buy some land. A particular piece of my property, a 900 acre tract that apparently was sitting on top of a huge deposit of lignite coal. I told the tall, lanky, suit-wearing city slicker, as calmly and nicely as I could, that I didn’t want to sell. That my folks had given it to me and since me and my sisters weren’t hurting for money, I didn’t want to get rid of it. That we’d just keep it in the family. And for some reason or another, this guy didn’t seem to understand English. I thought I’d made myself clear. Yet he seemed like he didn’t want to take no for an answer. He left. But only to return two weeks later demanding I sell.”

“I’d just ran for county sheriff against the crooked asshole who’d held office the previous term. A man so evil and mean you just couldn’t believe it. Even though he was so-called ‘law enforcement,’ he was also a ranking member of the Dixie Mafia. Ever heard of them boy?” he asked. “Seems like I have. But I’m not sure. Were they anything like the White Citizens’ Council or the Ku-Klux-Klan?” “No. A slight bit worse actually. This particular guy, a dirty ass crook hiding behind the protection of his badge, thought and knew he could get away with murder. He’d done stuff so hideous that he literally thought he was above the law. He’d robbed, raped and killed and he didn’t like me. Mad at me because I had the nerve to run against him for public office. And … almost won! Then one day he threatened me Trip. Told me he was going to get me. Then, he started harassing me and my sisters and even some of my workers and farmhands. I didn’t know it at the time, but I guess that oil man from the petroleum company came to him and cut some sort of deal. Joining forces, the two came up with a plan not only to steal my land. But to lock me up for the rest of my natural born life. In the end, they succeeded. And here I sit in this cell at FCI Memphis smoking this joint with you.”

“One of the oil execs came back to my farm insistent that I sell that one 900 acres of land,” Mr. McPhail continued. “He pissed me off and I told him to leave. He said I’d be sorry. And he was right. Maybe I should have listened. Because here’s what he did. He filed for the right to drill on an easement running through my property. On an old dirt road right on the 900 acres he so desperately wanted. Through satellite technology, I guess he knew my land sat right smack dab on top of a forty-billion dollar coal deposit. And once he drilled, he knew for sure. That’s when he went in cahoots with the county law-dog and together, they got what they wanted. They knocked me off. They set me up and stole my land!” Taking another long, slow hit off the new doobie I’d just rolled, I asked Mr. McPhail, “How’d they do that Lonnie?” “Well you see Trip. I had so much land that there was no way I could frequent it everyday. So the sheriff and some of his henchmen came, planted hundreds and hundreds of marijuana plants on my land, and left. Then, they came and arrested me. Sitting in back of the sheriff’s cruiser, the sheriff said, ‘Lonnie. Sorry this had to happen. All you had to do was sell and everything would have been okay. But better you than me.’

Cuffed and looking out the back window of the cop car, I saw a helicopter land and several camouflage wearing men jump out carrying large bales of something or another placing it in one of my barns. At the time I didn’t know what
it was. Pretty soon, after about fifty to a hundred or so of those bales were unloaded, the men climbed back in the whirlybird and flew away. That’s when the sheriff got on his radio and called for backup and the news media. Next thing I knew, we were surrounded by law enforcement officials from several different
state and federal agencies as well as members of the local news team. Filming everything that was going on, the media reported that I was getting busted for growing marijuana and possessing processed marijuana, in the form of all those
bales that had just been unloaded and weed growing on the acreage behind my barn.My sisters and I were put in jail, couldn’t make bond, and we were rushed into federal court where all three of us were sentenced to the pen. I got a twenty and my sisters each got fifteen. And I swear to you Tripper, I didn’t have anything to do with any of the weed that was found growing or sitting on my property that day. My property and bank accounts were seized, I was unableto hire competent legal counsel, and the oil company eventually got my land.”

For several months, I typed legal motion after legal motion appealing Mr. McPhail’s case to the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. All to no avail. Even though uneducated in the complicated science of law, Mr. McPhail tried everything within his power to overcome the crooked legal system that locked he and his siblings away. Nonetheless, he inevitably failed. Soon after, Mr. McPhail got sick. The Bureau of Prisons shipped him to a medical facility out east. An old man in poor health that refused to stop smoking, Lonnie Howard McPhail passed away. Talking to a guy who’d recently transferred in from the same prison where Mr. McPhail died, I found out he’d bit the big one the very day his seizure case was finalized in court. He fought them till the bitter end. He did everything he knew how trying to win his case and get his property back. But in the end, he died in federal prison trying. I’m sure if someone wanted to, they could find some information on the web about Lonnie Howard McPhail’s case. I didn’t mention the particular oil company nor the sheriff’s name for a reason. This blog was written in remembrance of my old friend Mr. McPhail. May he rest in peace. I am Tripper! Better Days!

Does anyone believe in karma? I’m talking about the consequences of a person’s actions that determine their specific destiny. Sometimes, I think about karma and wonder if it had anything to do with why I’m here. Why I’m serving this assload of time in federal prison and why all this is happening to me. Then, I think about what I might have done. Surely I didn’t do anything too awfully bad. Surely I haven’t hurt or harmed anyone so bad that I deserve this much mental and physical torture. Have I? Yet if someone believes in the laws of karma, I did something somewhere along the line that caused this to happen to me. And let me tell you folks, whatever it was, I sure wish I hadn’t done it. It had to be something to do with me selling drugs. That’s all I can think of. That’s all I can figure out. Because that’s all I’ve ever done. Sold dope to friends and acquaintances.

I didn’t sell marijuana, cocaine or speed to little kids. I sold it to my buddies. Grown adults who were capable of making their own decisions. Individuals just like me who simply wanted to alter reality a little and have a good time. Despite what society and law enforcement want you to believe, I wasn’t the guy in the dark trench coat hanging around schoolyards forcing drugs on small children. Yet that’s the way the legal system paints guys like me to be. The decision to use and purchase drugs is a conscious one. And to me, buying and selling dope is a consensual crime. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t used or sold. I wish I would have went to college and become a lawyer or doctor. Wait, not a lawyer. Changed my mind on that. They’re just as crooked as any criminal there is, doing time right, here sitting next to me in federal prison.

Anyway, back to karma. Some dealers have sold dope to individuals who overdosed and died. Not me. I’ve never done that. No one ever kicked the bucket as a result of doing any of my party material. In drug rehab at the prison my 2nd or 3rd go round it was offered in prison, I’ve watched films showing the most strung out, fucked up, totally wasted out of their minds junkies in the world! But truthfully everyone. I’ve never even met anyone like that! All the people I sold to and partied with were average folks. So, why is karma kicking my ass? Can anyone explain that to me? Or, is it karma at all? They say hindsight is 20/20. Wish I knew why this is happening to me. Maybe one day, after I finally leave this world, and my entire life is played back for me on a big movie screen, I’ll know. I’ll have found out what it was I done that was so fucking bad. Think that’ll happen? I doubt it. But you know what I mean.

My friend Robert T. was an asshole of a drunk. He hung around all the meanest bars in Fort Smith mouthing off and running his head to those he shouldn’t have. He fought all the time and probably hurt some people too. I know he at least stabbed one or two. Yet they didn’t die. Sure, they went to the emergency room with a couple of puncture wounds but they didn’t bite the big one. But one day something happened to old Robert. Was it karma that fucked Robert off? Drunk as a dog, he said something stupid to the wrong guy. Finally went and done it. He got stabbed and killed at Abe’s Oasis on Midland Boulevard. Was it Robert’s specific destiny to die at the hand of another wielding a knife? Or, was it simply coincidence? I don’t know. Even as ignorant as Robert acted sometimes, I don’t think he deserved to go out like that. If it was karma, then karma is a mother fucker. A stone cold mother fucker that I detest and abhor.

In closing, was it the laws of nature that put me here? And, will my good or evil ways have a bearing on me being reincarnated into someone decent or something bad? Or, is there really such a thing as karma and reincarnation at all? I honestly don’t think I’ve done anything that horrific in life. And if there is a heaven, I’ll go there because I’m not a bad person. My nature, disposition and character are that of a happy individual who never once meant to hurt or harm another living soul or creature. Yes, I broke society’s laws. I sold speed and weed to people and I’m doing time for it. But did I really deserve all this? I know some of you self righteous do-gooders out there will say I did. And others who have been in my shoes will say just the opposite. If anyone has any mind boggling insight on karma they’d like to share with me, I’d like to hear about it. Because right now I’m sitting here in prison kicking myself in the ass constantly wondering if it was karma that fucked me off, took 17 years of my life, and put a black label on me stating I am a no good rotten asshole. I’m Tripper. Better Days to all of you readers! Thank you for hanging out, it’s been rough here lately.