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Super Typhoon Yolanda Aftermath One Year Later — The Lesson : “Live Life”

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by Samuel E. Warren Jr.

Super Typhoon Yolanda changed my Life.

I lived inside “Ground Zero.”

I am a “Survivor.”

One obvious change Yolanda has made to my Life is I am more “aggressive.” Any pretense of patience is completely gone from my Life. I get a project done or I toss it and move on to one I can get done.

One obvious change Yolanda gave me is the opportunity to “Face Death.”

I have had a year to look at my reaction. I should be “Petrified.” I definitely felt, “Concern.”

Today is Saturday, November 8, 2014. A year ago, at “Ground Zero”, I stood in my bedroom and watched the winds of Super Typhoon Yolanda bow the coconut wood door back and forth like a warped, black LP record flexed back and forth.

Three times, Yolanda blew open the door. Three times, I pushed against the wind and intense walls of blowing rain to close the door.

Yolanda took the roof, but she left the thin sheets of plywood over the roof. Although, she did bend one down almost double to continue to pour a persistent waterfall of rain into the room.

Christy Warren, my wife, stood in front of me, and stared out the single window in the wall. I stood behind Christy and had my arms down around her. I watched the door disco dance against the door jab.

I still remember my chant: “You can stop anytime now.”

I have no idea, how many times I repeated those words. Everyone else in the room was quite.

Junea and Vanissa stood behind me. Digna Mora, the cleaning lady, stood behind the girls. Her son, David was under the concrete shelf sink at the back of the room. He fell asleep.

We heard Yolanda’s winds take the tin roof over the bedroom and the abundance of sudden sunlight over the plywood section confirmed the roof had gone airborne.

There was a plywood section for a roof under the tin. The plywood section held, but a sheet of the wood buckled in half.

The wingtip of “my” Archangel Michael statue held up that section of the roof, while the torrential rain poured in and the dry concrete floor began to fill like a swimming pool. The water inside the room would rise to a half-inch before Yolanda ceased her seize.

I remember every second of Yolanda’s bombardment.

Today, a year later, the sun is shining. The temperature is not too hot. Earlier this afternoon around one p.m., there was a nice breeze. A year ago, the phrase “Hell On Earth” had “A Real World” meaning.

I decided not to go to the “Yolanda Commemoration Ceremonies” in Tacloban City and Tanauan because I wanted “The Day” to think about my reaction to Yolanda.

All week long, ABS-CBN has aired the “Survivor Stories.” As a retired military newsman, I understand the decision. People want to know, “What Was It Like ?”

“Scary,” in a word.

The catch is, obviously, there is a limit to how much adrenaline your body pumps in a crisis situation. You sense and feel, “Fear.” But, the “Fear” can’t last.

“Numbness” replaced the initial “Fear” and the “Concern.” I stood at “The Mercy Of A Force Of Nature.” There was absolutely nothing I could do.

Yolanda could of snatched me or anyone else in the room and tossed us against the walls like rag dolls. Yolanda could of tossed any of us out through the roof.

Yolanda could of reached inside the room and pulled any or all of us out through the narrow doorway. Yolanda kept us corralled and “pinned up” in the room until her winds were done outside.

“Thanks To Yolanda, I no longer ‘Fear Death.’”

Naturally, I have “The Death Fantasy” where you lie in bed, surrounded by family and friends who love you. You close your eyes for the last time and “Death” arrives.

If I get “The Death Fantasy” fine; if not, at least, Yolanda, provided the lesson of awareness and acceptance of “Here Comes, The Last Ride ! ”

A year ago, once I heard the winds disappear, I stepped to the door and opened it.

“Stunned,” is the only word that works.

A Child Of The Cold War, I cut my baby teeth on the stories of United States, Soviet Union and Red Chinese Nuclear Armageddon Aftermath.

I remember the Civil Defense lessons in grade school. I got the blue prints I got in the mail from the United States Superintendent Of Documents to “build a bomb shelter in your backyard.”

Momma never let me build the bomb shelter. I couldn’t even convince her to build a basement. I always wanted a basement.

As a teenager, I had watched countless TV shows and movies about The Cold War Nuclear Apocalypse.

As a senior citizen, I stood on the concrete porch and looked at the devastated landscape of the island of Leyte.

No Hollywood Cold War Nuclear Holocaust Movie even came close to Super Typhoon Yolanda.

The brutal sky remained angry swatches of gray. The horizontal canvas was saturated. The rain had stopped and the sky still appeared soaked. The sky around me dripped like running paint on a wet canvas.

The dense emerald vegetation was yanked, pulled and discarded like a giant weedeater had gone ballistic on the landscape.

The huge tree at the corner of the porch had been yanked up by the roots and dropped like a weed at the hole, which moments before had covered the roots.

The 50 to 75 coconut trees in front of the house were gone. Two complete trees stood and four giant busted toothpicks, which had been coconut trees were still embedded in the ground.

Some of the coconut trees had fallen like discarded Lincoln Logs on to the plundered landscape.

Silence.

No sound.

In rural Leyte it is rare for an hour to pass without a rooster crowing somewhere nearby.

Across the barangay road, the neighbor’s bamboo house was gone completely. Christy’s white sari-sari store building was tilted at a 15 degree angle toward the road.

The bamboo carport had served it’s purpose. The bamboo poles were still in the ground. The dried coconut leaves roof had gone airborne.

Fortunately, the carport had stood long enough to keep the van on the ground. The other benefit of the carport, is it helped provide temporary shelter.

When the neighbors across the road, felt their house was going around them, they ran outside to the carport and got next to the van, according to the neighbor woman, they essentially formed a human chain and she held on to the van’s door handle.

Today, I stand with a mug of coffee in my hand and look out at the Land in front of the house. Sunlight bathes the dense vegetation.

We have a tin roof again over the house. The US AID gray tarpaulin still serves as two walls of the house.

I strolled up the barangay road a distance this afternoon. Houses are again beginning to take shape. The rice fields seem to be recovering. The Cameri Barangay Elementary School has a roof again. Neighbors’ roosters chase hens in the school yard and a concrete building in the corner is going up in a corner of the school yard.

Son, Samuel Ranilo Warren got tagged to participate in a Yolanda Commemorative Ceremony in Tacloban City as did cousin,Vanissa Saldana. Daughter, Donna Junea Warren got to “Fly Free” to a girlfriend’s birthday celebration today.

Christy and I have been relaxing around the old Pacific Ponderosa today. One Warren Way got severely remodeled by Super Typhoon Yolanda, but with time, I am sure we will have walls again someday. I need to find a carpenter, I believe, can put my concrete hollow blocks up to build a “Strong” wall.

As a political science and history student, I had memorized the photos of the destruction of “Fat Man” and “Little Boy” to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan in 1945. A year ago, Yolanda at “Ground Zero” in Tanauan, Barangay Baras delivered the “Destruction” without the radioactive “Fallout.”

November 8, 2014 — Tacloban City reports 6,000 people dead. Officials calculate, at least, 1,061 are still missing. I doubt an accurate “body count” for Super Typhoon Yolanda will ever be firmly established because a tidal wave came ashore and took structures and, no doubt, people back out to The Leyte Gulf and The Pacific Ocean.

The brutal winds of Yolanda took roofs and “bombed out” the insides of churches and smashed all the pews to smithereens. More than a week after Yolanda’s winds, I saw that Yolanda had parked a car and a Chevrolet pickup with the grilles against the ground. The trunk and pickup bed pointed up toward the sky, while the wheels rested on the side of a building.

Super Typhoon Yolanda, a year later, has reminded me of an Important Lesson Of Life: ”Live Life !”

I would emphasize : “Live Life With A Passion !”

Today is Saturday, November 8, 2014.

Tomorrow, at sun rise, my plan, is like the plan for today : “The sun is up. Time to make a cup of coffee and enjoy the day.”

Sam

Written by samwarren55

November 8, 2014 at 11:40 PM

Posted in Bloggers, Blogs, Business, Current Events, Ecology, Editorial, Family, Observances, Philippines, Tropics

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24th Wedding Anniversary

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Editor’s Note — I wrote this editorial on my Wedding Anniversary for my wife. I had problems logging into my Word Press blog accounts on that day. Thus, the editorial stayed on my hard drive until I could get logged into publish the article.
Word Press seems to have updated their publish system, since my last editorial, so the format of this editorial may look different than previous posts.
Samuel E. Warren Jr.
_____________________________________________________

24th Wedding Anniversary

Today, Sunday, July 20, 2014, Christy Warren, my wife, celebrates her 24th Wedding Anniversary. Wait, a minute. . .my wife ? Holy Cow ! That means I’ve been married 24 years today also.

I need a minute.

Okay. The shock has passed.

I am surprised I am celebrating 24 years of marriage. I was a single man. I liked being a single man.
My first marriage was “Made In Hell.” Actually, I made the Supreme Mistake of walking down the alise of the neo-Gothic cathedral of The School Of The Ozarks at Point Lookout, Missouri, back in the late ’70s.

I made it a point to ‘Forget’ that so-called “Wedding Day.”

The Lesson Of My First Marriage was simple: I will Never, Ever get married again. Two-and-a-half miserable years of being “Locked” into “Holy Wedlock”, is the reason Why I Don’t Fear Hell. I spent everyday in Hell for two-and-a-half, long, miserable years. I dreaded sunrise each day.

Once my divorce was granted, I made myself “The Promise.”

The Promise was simple: “Never Again.”

At age 24, I won back my “Freedom.”

I never had any intention of ever getting married again.

I was “Free !” I was single, again.” I had a good job in the United States Air Force. Thanks to Uncle Sam, I do my job, salute smartly and I could travel the world. I did.

Again, I was a Single American. I was fortunately to be a Single American G.I. I loved my job in Public Affairs because I got to live my fantasy as “The Reporter.”

I lived to write. My mentor Master Sergeant took the time to really “Teach” me how to use a camera to take news photographs for the newspaper. I worked at it and became a photojournalist. I wrote the stories and shot the photos, which ended up in print in a base newspaper. My Life was complete. I was Whole. I was Happy.

The day came when Uncle Sam handed me a set of orders for duty in the Pacific. Hallelujah !

The Ozarks country boy ends up at Kadena Air Base, Okinawa. I had heard my father’s stories about World War II in the Pacific. I had heard other veterans War stories about duty in the Pacific. I did some interviews and published some of those stories. When Uncle Sam gave me the orders, I had my camera bag packed before my duffel bag and I was ready to catch the aircraft on the runway.

While stationed on Okinawa, I noticed and met some of the Most Beautiful Women On Planet Earth.

I met Koreans and Filipinas. I got a temporary duty assignment to the Kingdom Of Thailand, so I met beautiful Thais, Cambodian and Laotian women.

I was in my 20s and 30s, so I was as “Handsome” as I was ever going to be. Fortunately, the striking blue uniform and my Battle Dress Uniform made even an average looking guy like me appear like a handsome Hollywood heart throb.

Still, I had “No Intention Of Never, Ever Getting Married Again.”
At Clark Air Base, Republic of the Philippines, I fell in love with the tropical climate, the country, the base, and my job. I was a Single American G.I., whose blood flowed and his heart pounded, so I naturally noticed I was “Ground Zero” in the Pacific version of Heaven. Everywhere I looked — Filipinas.

A Single Man In Paradise surrounded by beautiful women realizes Life is more fun and meaningful when it is shared.

One Filipina caught my eye. Christy had a Farah Fawcett-Majors shag haircut. Her eyes sparkled. Her smile was diamond bright sunshine.

She wasn’t tall. Still, she caught my eye and I could see her as a “Playboy” or “Penthouse” centerfold in my mind.

Christy might have known two words in English. Language was definitely the barrier. I learned broken Tagalog and she busted through the barrier and learned English quickly.

One of the things I noticed about my future wife was her independence and sense of style. In the Asian culture, women usually are shy and taught to stay in the background. Christy was one of the few Asian women I had ever met, who did not do the cultural “Docile Routine.”

When it came to style, Christy had the eye of a fashion designer. She knew how to mix and match colors that caught my eye and made other men turn their heads.

We began to date. I suddenly realized, “Jackpot !”

I knew “If” I didn’t marry Christy I would always regret the decision. I wanted someone I could “Love” and share my Life with.

Women came and Women went. I was a single man. I knew, Christy was “The Woman!” I didn’t want to see her, “Go.”

I proposed.

She made me wait.

I kept at the job and wondered “If” she would take me up on my offer.

She did.

Friday, July 20, Nineteen Eighty Nine, the presses rolled. “The Philippine Flyer” came “Hot Off The Press !”

In the best tradition of American Newspaper Editors And Reporters, I had told Christy, “The newspaper comes first !”

My Wedding Day was scheduled to happen — after “The Philippine Flyer” came off the presses. Show Time was 10 a.m., at the Justice Of The Peace office at The Main Gate of Clark Air Base. I and everyone of my witnesses and people from my office were in position.

The only thing missing ? The Bride.

Christy was having “Second Thoughts.”

The clock ticks. Time passes.

I smiled a lot.

The smiles helped to hide my nervousness.
I remembered the stories about being “Left At The Altar.” I remembered Dustin Hoffman in the movie, “The Graduate.”

The witnesses were getting restless. The Justice Of The Peace did some more paperwork to pass the time.

I got restless.

At 1 p.m., my “Bride” walked through the door. Heaven retired an “Archangel” that day. Christy was a heavenly vision. She wore a simple white dress with the traditional Filipina “Imelda Marcos Filipina sleeves”, which rise an inch or two at the shoulder seam.

Filipina First Lady Imelda Marcos made the dress style internationally famous, so, at least, Military Americans got in the habit of describing the dress as “The Imelda Dress” or a Filipino dress with “Imelda sleeves.”

Christy wore her long hair up to create a bun at the back described as Chinese style. I describe her holding mechanism as “Chopsticks”, for lack of a better descriptive term.

Christy was “Perfect.”

24 Years Later — My Bride, Christy is still “Perfect.”

The only thing my bride lacked was “Wings.” I looked at her and my mind’s eye supplied the feathery, ivory angelic wings to match her dress.

“I do.” The two most important words I ever uttered in my life, I spoke that day.

When I die, I doubt I go to Heaven. I don’t care. I’m a redneck Texan. I grew up in the Hillbilly Ozarks. I am an arrogant American. I love my country and my flag.

The Texan Warrens and The Missouri Ozarks’ DeLongs taught me the most important thing in Life is to Live It and Love Your Family.

The Day I Step Out Of This Life and stand before God or Satan and am expected to make a statement about my life, I already know, what I will say:

“Sir, with all due respect, I enjoyed every second of my Life. I had the Best Mother any Son or Daughter could ever ask for.”

” I am grateful for my father. I hit the celestial jackpot of aunts and uncles when it came to DeLongs and Warrens. The Universe hit me hard at times in Life.”

“I am not a religious man. However, I got The Best Wife that any man, in the past, present or future, could ever imagine or ask for. Christy Saldana Warren might not have been an archangel, but, she has always been, My Goddess. My wife has always been my strength, my heart and my soul.”

“If this is Judgement Day; so be it ! I ain’t askin’ for ‘Squat.’ I just want The Universe, Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, The Christian God and whatever other deities, real or imagined, which live in The Universe to realize I loved Christy Warren with my heart and blackened soul. I thank The Universe for my son, Samuel Ranilo Warren. I thank The Universe for my daughter, Donna Junea Warren.”

“My children have ‘The Best’ of their beautiful Filipina mother. I truly hope, my children have inherited some of the redneck arrogance, cynicism, skepticism, independence, stubbornness,and courage of their American Warren and DeLong ancestors and their ‘Hell-raising’ father, so they will achieve their own personal greatness in their lives.”

“Therefore, God, Satan, with all due respect,my Life is better than I could of ever hoped for. Faith, Hope, Beauty, Joy, Happiness — I had it all.”

“If you gentlemen dieties wanted me to suffer — you messed up ! I found ‘My Wife.’ I found ‘My Life.’ Christy Saldana Warren. I lived on the planet Earth. But, I Never really Lived until I woke up each morning and looked into Christy’s face.”

“My world. My Life. My Soul. I lived as a man. My wife completed me. No silly reward or No eternal punishment can ever separate my from The Love Of My Wife Christy On Earth.”

“Send Me To Heaven ! Send Me To Hell ! Cast My Atoms To The Far Reaches Of The Universe ! I will have the last smile. I had ‘The Best Mother Of Mankind.’ No Eternal Punishment Will Ever Torture My Sinner’s Soul because I had ‘The Best Wife Of Mankind’ — Christy Saldana Warren.”

In the United States, it is never easy to find the Love of another person.

In the Republic Of The Philippines, Love might be totally ignored because people are taught to believe in a God creature or his underling, rather than open their eyes and search for the soul that adds to or completes their Life.

My Life has taught me that Love is The Soul Who Completes You.

Christy has not always agreed with me. Christy, at times, has definitely disagreed with me. We have had our loud shouting matches at each other. However, I would never want to imagine My Life Without Her.

Thus, God or Satan — real or not — does not worry me. None of the deities of Mankind frighten me. Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, The Christian God can all take a bus to Brooklyn and drown themselves in The Atlantic Ocean. I do not “NEED” or “WANT” any of the silly religious fantasies and mythologies of The World’s Old Tired Organized Religions.

I stood at “Ground Zero”, the day that Super Typhoon Yolanda, came to my barangay in the Philippines. I heard the winds howl. I saw the intense white light around the door frame. The door busts open three times. Three times I rushed put my shoulder to the door and closed it.

None of the phony Gods Of Mankind had ‘The Power’ to take me.

I love my wife and family. The phony Gods didn’t get me and they had their chance.

Super Typhoon Yolanda didn’t take me and I gave her three chances when I grabbed the door and shut it.

Thus, “If” I ever do stand before one of the false Gods Of Mankind or Satan, I will be respectful: I was born a Texan and “Respect” is ingrained in my DNA.

I will not “Fear” because I was raised in the Ozarks by a proud “hillbilly” mother, who taught me “Love IS Family” and “Family IS Always Love.” Relatives who betray you; aren’t family — they are just biological lifeforms who have a lot of the shared RNA and DNA.

Marriage can and does “Create A Special Mystical Strand Of RNA and DNA”, which flows through the blood and enhances the organs to evolve a human into a special, unique human, who lives for his or her family.

In the final analysis, I have, no doubt, I could look God or Satan in the eyes and present my final statements.

“My wife,Christy made me welcome each sunrise. Everyday with Christy was an adventure. We had our ups. We had our downs. We always had ‘The Love.’ Christy gave me two beautiful children, Samuel Ranilo Warren and Donna Junea Warren. The Universe knows ‘My Goddess’ is Christy Warren — my heart, my soul, and my Life.”

Thank You, Christy for 24 Wonderful Years Of Married Life. Thank You, Christy for 24 Years Of Life. Christy, You are “My Goddess.”

I love you, Christy.
Sam

Black Market Movies In Asia Photo by Samuel E. Warren Jr.

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BLACK MARKET MOVIES IN ASIA_Nikon D 70 Photo by Samuel E. Warren Jr._resized

Black Market Movies In Asia

Nikon D 70 Photo by Samuel E. Warren Jr.

 

I love movies. When I buy a movie or pay to see a movie, I want to know, “It is the ‘Real Deal.’” The demand for movies and TV episodes from the West always exceeds the reliable,credible and efficient supply methods into Asia.

 

The end result always seems to be “The Black Market Movies”, which are rip-offs that can have low-lighting, out of focus cinematography, sound that sometimes has audience reaction in the background and captions they make absolutely no sense at all.

 

Movies and TV episodes made in Hollywood usually have the “Pirated Movie” video footage and the FBI and Interpol movie warnings at the beginning.

 

In the Republic of the Philippines, the legitimate movies, always have the warning about unauthorized use results in a fine of several thousand pesos and possible imprisonment for a number of years.

 

The Black Market Movies usually don’t have the FBI, Interpol or NBI warnings, they usually either go to a screen that allows for Asian language selection or a screen that offers other movies on the DVD that can be played as well as the original.

 

You do not have to be a law enforcement official, a video technician or a sound engineer to realize that some of the illegal movies have been recorded off of a satellite TV channel and simply burned to disc for mass distribution. The tendency of a satellite TV signal to freeze on screen, during bad weather and the erratic pixelation across the screen are obvious indications that the video was recorded off of a satellite TV signal.

 

While Hollywood, London, Sydney, Toronto, Calgary and cities in the West seem to have problems getting the legitimate movies shown and distributed in Asian, “The Black Market Movie System” solves the distribution problem by quantity and the speed to have the product ready for viewers to watch or purchase.

In the photograph,the water buffalo is the animal that is found throughout Asia and has become a symbol that represents the countries and nations of the Pacific and the coconut is a reminder of the island cultures of the East.  The plastic CD case is a reminder that the “Black Market Movies” can even be displayed in what seems to be “official” or “legitimate” packaging.

 

In November 2012, the cast of “The Twilight Saga Breaking Dawn, Part 1,” came to Manila to promote the release of Part 2. Today is November 28, 2012, which means “Black Market” copies of the movie should already be “On Sale” in the cities and rural areas throughout Asia. Nikon D 70 Photo by Samuel E. Warren Jr.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons license.

Gangster Research Request

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Gangster Research

Request



by Junior Warren

Stone County, Missouri’s Major Claim to Global Historical Fame is as “The Site Of The Last Official Public Hanging In The United States,” which is also the “Last Hanging In the State of Missouri.”

Roscoe “Red” Jackson, 36, on May 21, 1938, walked up the steps of the gallows on the Stone County Courthouse lawn. He had robbed and killed a salesman who had given him a ride.

The crime had happened in a neighboring county, but, the Missouri Law of the day stated that a “Death Sentence” had to be carried out in the county that passed the sentence. Thus, the duty to execute Jackson fell to Stone County officials.

Stone County Missouri Courthouse - August 1985 - Canon AE1-Program Photo by Junior Warren. The Last Official Public Hanging in the United States took place at the rear of the Stone County Courthouse in May 1938.

There was a board fence built around the scaffold and tickets were issued to witnesses. Still, the actual event was relatively easy for the public to witness. The 1920 Stone County Courthouse, on the National Register of Historic Places, is a structure that would allow people on the second floor to view the hanging with ease.

The actual specifics of the story written for the “History of

Ammabelle Burk, authored "Last Hanging In Missouri" on page 271 of the "History of Stone County Missouri, Volume I book published by the Stone County Historical Society. Nikon D40 Photo by Junior Warren

Ammabelle Burk, authored “Last Hanging In Missouri” on page 271 of the “History of Stone County Missouri, Volume I book published by the Stone County Historical Society. Nikon D40 Photo by Junior Warren

Stone County Missouri,” Volume I, was authored by Ammabelle Burk, my second grade school teacher at Abesville.

The actual layout of the courthouse square from the 1930s to the late 1970s would of propably made it relatively easy for anyone who was interested to find a place to view the execution.

I met Herschel Johnson, a quiet, soft spoken easy going man, who liked to smoke his pipe and wore stripped railroad overalls. An outstanding carpenter, in my childhood, I was told that Herschel Johnson is the man that built the gallows for the Red Jackson hanging.

More Hangings ?

There were other hangings in the United States, after Red Jackson, but, research indicates that these executions were usually carried out in state “Death Houses” away from the easy or accidental view of the public.

Stone County, Missouri’s unique claim to fame isn’t the sort of publicity that has Mom and Dad loading the kids into the RV for a summer vacation to Galena, Missouri.

But, the “hanging” event does raise not only “Death Penalty” and “Capital Punishment” issues, but it also brings the focus of attention on The Great Depression and America’s never ending war to understand economic issues.

While there may have been people in the “Depression” who were simply “crooked,” ;it does seem as though some Americans were pushed to the limit and turned to “crime” to make ends meet on a day to day basis.

Shock Short Search Continues

For the last couple of weeks, I have been trying to research events in the life of Leonard “Shock “ Short. I know other kids heard stories about Shock Short growing up.

I would love to get emails from these people spelling out what they were told as kids. I was told time and again Shock Short was “Stone County’s Robin Hood,” who really did use some of his loot to help neighbors in the Depression.

Family Members’ Recollections

I would hope the grandkids, great-grandkids, grand neices and grand nephews would also send me some emails with information about their famous relatives: Dewey Gilmore, Davey Gilmore, Virgil “Red” Melton, Fred Reese, Irish O’Malley, Jackson “Jack” Miller, Russell Cooper, Daniel T. “Dapper Dan” Heady, “Pretty Betty” Heady, and, of course, Leonard “Shock” Short.

Texas Ranger badge - 1962 - from the Texas Ranger Museum website. In the early 1930's, J. Edgar Hoover sought men who were proficient in the use of firearms. These Texas and Oklahoma lawmen, would be called “Hoover's Gunslingers by later authors. The interesting details of this era in FBI history is at the website: Dusty Roads Of An FBI Era.

I would also like to hear from the grandkids, great-grandkids, grand neices and grand nephews of the Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, Illinois, and Oklahoma lawmen who pursued “Shock” Short and his gang.

Are there any family members of FBI agents, who pursued the gang ?

The irony is that current research indicates that there were no FBI or Federal Bureau of Narcotics agents that were actively seeking this gang, which really seems unusual for the time period.

Obvious Subjective Approach

I grew up in Stone County, so I’m inclined to give “Shock” Short the benefit of the doubt, especially based on the times that he grew up in. Plus, as a kid, he was portrayed to me as a “Robin Hood” larger than life. Also as a child, I often saw Shock’s sister Bess Short Allman, almost everytime my mother and I went to Galena. I met Congressman Dewey Short, when I was a young boy in Galena. Since I met and respected members of the Short family, I will, no doubt, be subjective in an article about Shock.

I went to military journalism school and wrote numerous articles for Uncle Sam, where the instructors and editors always drove home “a journalist must be objective.” True. But, journalist and reporters are humans and humans have emotions, which usually influence the overall “objectivity” on the issues. Unfortunately, in the Real World, even reporters, are not Mr. Spock.

The Forgotten Gangster

Jake Fleagle isn’t one of those names that leap to the forefront, when people talk about Prohibition and Depression Era Gangsters. While I don’t know of any books that have been written or movies made of his crime spree; you can find information about him.

The Forgotten Gangster Of The Depression Era seems to be Shock Short and his gang. The information is out there and Ive found some. But, even now, there are more questions than answers. Where did these men get together as a group to begin robbing banks ? Who were there contacts along the way, who helped them out in the various cities ? Who were their girlfriends ? Besides, “Pretty Betty,” did any of the rest of the men have wives ? Did they have a favorite hangout to hide from the law ? These and other questions, really keep me from getting a good night’s sleep.

It’s not fun waking up in the middle of the night and asking, “If these guys were on the lam, did they ever hookup with Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker to take down a bank ?” Stone County history does record the story of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow having a shootout, near Reed Springs, Missouri.

Finding the information on America’s Forgotten Gangster might help to add new information to the well known gangster stories of Dillinger, Karpis, the Barker Gang and perhaps others.

Reason For Writing

What is in the Shock Short Story for Junior Warren ?

A Good Story.

I’m not trying to write a book.

I don’t have a book deal of any kind.

I don’t want to write a book – I’m too “long winded” when it comes to writing.

My Grandma DeLong told me the Shock Short Stories, when I was a kid. I would just like to write the story and post it to my blog. Maybe, then, I can finally get a good night’s sleep.

The kids of Stone County, Missouri had their own local John Dillinger, so they should have an opportunity to know the history of the man and the difficult times that he lived in. And, the Stone County Historical Society can fill in the blanks about the local boy who made history by robbing banks in the 1930s.

I ‘ll leave the intense research of the Shock Short story to other writers, authors, Missouri and American historians to dig deeper for the true trivia of history (- like did Shock have a newspaper route as a boy ?)

I leave it to the Hollywood screenwriters to look for the details to try and get Michael Mann, Dick Wolf, or Jerry Bruckheimer interested in bringing the story to the movies. The Hollywood screenwriters can try and convince Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, Matt Damon, Bruce Willis or Don Johnson that here might be another unique gangster story that could use their talents to bring the story to the silver screen.

If family members want to send me their Shock Short stories, then, please email me your stories and recollections to : SamuelWarren55@gmail.com

Thank you,

Junior Warren

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