Down by the Riverside

 Amigos, at 73 years old the mind doesn't get any sharper than when we were young. At my age the mind starts to jump the bike chain more often you know. And from time to time one my age just spins his wheels when he tries to recall names and places and things, and those memories just don't want to compute anymore. It's like when I used to get sky high on drugs, especially on Mescaline and Acid, the hallucinations just messed up my mind badly. During those trips I lost track of everything and was scared to drive anywhere in my car for hours. And sometimes as I wander out and about in my excursions going here and there, whether in town or out of town, I try to recall some events of my life and I just can't remember some names of special people and places that had an impact early in my life. Or sometimes here in my sardine empty can that I live in, I set out to do something or get something and forget what the hell I was looking for. It's incredibly sad that the mind slowly deteriorates as we age, but I just laugh at myself and try to pull myself together as much as possible. I can't take life or myself that seriously. Who I'm I that I can't be plagued by diseases and old age anyway? I ain't nobody special. All I know is that before I die or completely lose my memory, I want to leave behind what I do remember still. And since I feel that I am a man of the world, what I have to say will resonate with many kinds of people. Especially with young people who have, or had, family members who were at some of the places that I have mentioned. Or know something of the histories that I reference here in this crazy Blog of mind. For example I read in one Blog regarding Gatesville Reform School about one guy who wanted to know after all these years, when was this Reform School Integrated Racially. And that's why I included in one Blog about Riverside School that it was 1964. Not because I had previous knowledge of The Civil Rights Act of 1964 Law back then, but because that is what I personally witnessed myself when I was visiting my brother David in that year while he was there. And because I was at Riverside in 1965. I didn't know diddly about Politics nor did I care anything about such things, especially The Law or History. My life was colloquialism and being free spirited, as it continues to be. My life was not rigid and standardized like some kind of robot or parade plastic soldier. I was like Tom Sawyer who wanted to be free and play all day long down by the river. Just living a carefree life like The old man and the sea. But that was not meant to be for me. My life was more like that of the "Old man River" story and a great song that Blacks would sing. Down at Riverside Gatesville Reform School they too had a river nearby, The River Leon. And that river didn't give a hoot about our pain and suffering either. That river didn't give a rat ass whether we tried to swim through it during our escapes or not. It was totally indifferent and oblivious to the ass whippings that were administered to the delinquent kids next to it on a daily basis as well. Oh but I do remember when I came so personally close with the river Leon one time. But if we would ask him anything about those two days and nights that a friend and I tried to negotiate with him, he wouldn't have the decency to say anything one way or the other about that time.  However, I still remember being released from Lock Up after my failed attempt at busting out of that place called Riverside. After leaving Lock up I never saw Fidel again. And when I arrived back I was assigned to the A-3 Unit or Company. They didn't send me back to the B Unit, thank "God." The A-3 unit was on the first floor along with the Supervisors Office next to it. The A-1 and 2 units were upstairs on the second floor of this very old building. Each unit here housed about 60 to 80 kids each. Here I met some very cool guys from all over Texas. At the A-3 unit I spent time with guys that became like brothers to me. Here I met Alex Mojica and Jesse Hidalgo from the Eastside in Austin; Holly Street. I met Ruben Estorga from West Texas. I also met El Chato de Corpus and Julio de Dallas. I met El Pena de Houston and Lopez de El Paso, and also a young White guy friend of mine that attended public school in San Marcos with me named Ruben Henderson. This Unit was no different than all the others on our section of Riverside. The conditions for which we lived were the same as for everyone there. And so was the treatment, unless some units had better humane guards than we did. Some of the guards and Supervisors names that I remember are people like Mr. Ramsey who is a Black Supervisor and Mr. Parker who is a White Supervisor. I believe that later in 1967 or so Mr. Ramsey becomes a Floater because he will be a substitute for Mr. Jones, our permanent evening guard at dorm 10 at Mountain View. Anyhow, back at A-3 unit I only remember a Mr. Benson a White older man. And Mr. Carroll, a big Black man. Both of these guys have mental issues too. Some rumors that were prevalent here in our section were that Mr. Parker had lost an eye somewhere in Dallas or Houston from a beating that some convicts from Gatesville had given him when they recognized him in that city. It was said that Black guys jumped him for being sadistic with them here at Riverside. And as for Mr. Benson, his story was that he became so paranoid after being jumped on by other kids at the White section of Gatesville Reform School for being ruff on them there. I remember that every time some of us raised our hands when he was close to us, he would cover his face and head with his arms and hands and begin to shake. Oh but once he recovered from that sudden fear, he would beat the crap of whoever raised his hands around him. And like most of these guards, they would have special preferences for selecting their equipment for torture. Our lifestyle here would have made anyone happy who was endeavoring to study human behavior in its rawest form. This place was not a Cuckoo's Asylum, but it was close. The punishment that we endured here was extreme, but it sure discouraged many young guys from coming back after they paroled the first time. I believe that they were happy that they made it out alive or at least not raped. And please remember the sentences for first Timers were only six months. Therefore, six months of hell left an indelible nightmarish impression on many young boys' minds after doing time here during these days. But for the real rebellious kind of delinquent, this place was gonna make him even more rebellious. It was a war between The Law and The Gangster. Well, the uneducated gangster anyway. And after many years of observing the conditions and punishments at Gatesville Reform School, and living out The stupid crazy Codes of Conduct for Los Locos, I concluded that we were all mental cases. I remember that Mr. Carroll had hands as big as baseball leather gloves. Shit, I got beat with wire coat hangers twisted together over the head by Mr. Benson. Got whacked by 8 inch solid oak wood ash trays over my head by many other guards. I had my forehead leaned against the brick walls for long periods of time with my feet kicked back far away, and hands behind my back. I got whacked with hickory broom sticks on my ass hard by these crazy guards. But shit, when Mr. Carroll got me up against the wall with my hands in my pockets and began to slap me at first. The stinging burning sensation was unbearable. But the slapping was his way of warming up before using me as a punching bag and hitting me with his fist. Now, after so many punches to my face and ribs, and stomach..., that felt like an out of body experience afterwards. Guys, the list for the means used to punish us here are endless. And the reason the grass always appeared professionally manicured throughout all the Schools, was because the kids cut the grass by hand on their hands and knees. And all the streets inside this whole compound were swept by hand with push brooms by the kids too. The Federal Government under the Leadership of a Federal Judge named William Wayne Justice changed this place and The Texas Department of Corrections Cruel and Unusual Punishment System. Along with all the Plaintiffs who filed complaints on behalf of their Kids who most likely were crippled or killed here. And at T.D.C. it was people like David Ruiz, Et. Al., of Austin, Texas who fought against this cruelty system. And David Ruiz did do time at Gatesville Reform School also. He didn't just get over it and forgot who he was fighting! But back at Riverside in 1965 and 1966, I did make one more trip to the Lock Up and The Caliche Pit and The Honey Bucket(Cesspool), and Grease Trap for fighting. There was so much going on here at this School, I just can't bore you with all the details. All I can say is that this wild and crazy experience was meant for me to see. And as for The River Leon, he has a mind of his own. And if he could speak...  damn..., the great stories he could tell. But all I noticed about him was that he was only anxious to flow downstream and have a meeting with the sea. And as far as I can tell now about him, shit, he was having his own set of struggles getting there, if he made it there at all. That's why he didn't care about our troubles, hell, he had plenty of troubles of his own. But why did he want to get to the sea? Because he wanted to start the Great Cycle of Nature all over again. And now I can still see many people standing and gathered by the river, some are singing happy songs, others are singing sad songs. Eric Clapton is talking about a River of Tears; and I can feel him, and Buddy Miles is confessing about having shot his woman there, Down by The River. But Amigos, many years later I am given a Great Dream about a "River" that never runs dry! Oh!, I have so many stories to tell, but time  is not on my side. And with no further adieu guys, I say Adios for now. Let us sleep on that and carry on para delante, not backward. Thanks again.                                                                                                  

   Respectfully,                                                                                                                                        

        Ruben N. Gutierrez