The Truth About Pigs: Judgement Absent Truth Is Ignorance

By Terry Carter

This book describes a life unlike most. It is the story of an innocent childhood full of hardship, stress, and challenges rarely experienced by a child or adolescent struggling with maturity, social acceptance, and trials all before puberty.

That child overcame the odds and chose a career in law enforcement, which exposed him to dangerous experiences involving racial tension, murder, police attitudes, mistrust, anxiety, deception, death, the dangers that face law enforcement officers, and a variety of intriguing events. Those experiences resulted in the unveiling of surprising strengths and weaknesses.

This account promotes a better understanding of the character of the men and women who enforce our laws, exposing imperfections and lawlessness at times, but honoring their commitment to fulfill the oath to protect and serve. Circumstances reveal true attitudes and inept political views with some black racist politicians stoking the fires of discontent, white politicians trying to be politically correct to favor minorities, and both races raising suspicions of biased authority.

The nonconforming attitudes that often come out toward authority figures are made obvious by race baiters. Politicians are suspected of using their authority to cherry-pick powerful administrators who lack integrity. They are suspected of kowtowing to pressures from the administrations top political powers, and they fail miserably at honoring their oaths of office. Our justice department and those in power exacerbate racial unrest. They appear partisan, catering to the emotional whims of rioters and seeming at times to have antiwhite sentiment. They draw conclusions without engaging rational consideration or a review of evidence.

Opinions based on emotional reactions or gathering votes, rather than facts, seems to be the position many politicians take. This leads to premature conclusions that provoke demonstrations and give rioters a feeling of justification for destruction and theft.

Racists of the New Party of the Black Panthers demonstrate their hate by intimidating voters at the poles, aligning themselves with racist beliefs expressed by those in the media limelight, and spewing hatred to further divide citizens of all races and religious beliefs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524688516

Terry Carter

Since the publication of his first book Birmingham Pals in 1997, Terry Carter has been an avid researcher of Birmingham in the Great War. For over twenty years he has been a regular visitor to the Somme battlefields and feels honoured to have walked in the footsteps of Birmingham soldiers. He has visited the many graves of those who did not return.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Summer was on the way out, and the southern climate began changing in Georgia, with leaves beginning to show the beauty of a changing season. Magnolia bushes would soon begin to lose with the aroma smell of their white flowers. The year was one of world events causing much concern. Hitler had begun fabricating incidents to rationalize his hatred, justifying violence against the Jewish people.

I was born into this world in September. The year was 1940, just a year before the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. Times were hard for my family during the early years of my birth. We resided in the rural area of Alabama. My father Had been a Hobo across the south, jumping freight trains as they slowly traveled through the rail yards. He was out of work, as were many people during that time, and he was trying to find employment, going from town to town.

With little money, my father was forced to find some kind of shelter for us. He was able to rent a cabin in the backwoods of Alabama, having only room for cooking on a wood stove and a space for dining. Heat was provided by burning wood or coal in a fireplace. A small room existed as a bedroom for the three of us. The toilet was an outhouse made of wood having the stench, cobwebs, and insects to cause concern for us each time it was used. There was no running water, only a stream near-by that had a small wooden bridge built for crossing. The other side of the stream had a clearing, absent the thick underbrush, making it more accessible for my mother to get water for drinking and cooking. It also allowed her to wash our cloths, using lye soap and a scrub board made for cleaning purposes.

My father had skills as a Welder and was fortunate enough to gain employment welding damaged ships in Savannah, Georgia, once Germany and Japan were at war with America. His skills were very much in demand, so much so that he was turned down when he attempted joining the military for combat.

We moved from the cabin to cheap row-housing provided for the shipyard workers in Savanna. They were very small, duplex type apartments. The space was not much better than the cabin in Alabama. My mother cooked on an old stove, making apple pies taken from a near-by orchard. She would place the pies on the kitchen window sill for cooling. Green Garden Snakes coming from a wooded area to the rear of the complex were attracted to the cooling pies, and occasionally were found on the sill.

At the time that we were living in Savanna, my father had an old Ford car. He owned a small .38 caliber pistol that he kept in the glove compartment for protection. My parents befriended a couple living next door that also had a child my age. One day we were allowed outside to play. We got inside my father’s car and discovered his revolver. Fortunately, we were small and had difficulty pulling the trigger. My parents realized we were in the car and caught us as my playmate pointed the gun at me and tried firing it.

As time passed and the war ended, my father was able to join the Army. He was stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, a huge infantry training base near Columbus, established in 1918, named after brigadier general Henry L. Benning of the Confederate States Army.

My memories of my relationship—or lack of one—with my father during my childhood are not fond memories for the most part. I was mentally and emotionally abused by my father’s own weaknesses in his character, which eroded my self-worth and self-esteem. He went about his abusive routine, causing scars that hindered my healthy development and ability to cope with life in many ways when I was young. I was a bed-wetter, for a much longer period of time than what was considered normal for a child. The mental abuse by my father was the doctors diagnosed reason for bedwetting.

Death of my Infant Brother

My mother gave birth to my first brother, after my father joined the Army and we moved to Columbus. My parents gave him the name, Guy. He was born with an affliction. I believe it was Cerebral Palsy and he died at age three. My parents sent me to New Orleans to stay with my Moms sister when he was near death. I knew he was not well from his drawn limbs and contorted facial expressions. My parents were allowed time to grieve during my absence, without having to be concerned about me. After the funeral, my parents had me return home. I was oblivious to the suffering they endured while I was away. It was a sad time for our family. After a brief two or three week stay in New Orleans, I returned home and got back into the routine of exploring the woods and playing in Bull Creek with my friends.

Dead Body in the Woods

During one of my adventures of exploring the area of Bull Creek with my neighborhood friends, we went into the woods seeking adventure—and boy, did we find it. We came to the creek bank, removed our shoes and socks, rolled up our pants and waded across the creek.

As we got to the other side, we began walking up an area where the soil was washed away. The area was a small trench caused by erosion, which was created by rainwater traveling to the creek. In the trench, we found a shoe that was in such good condition it looked new. We marveled at the idea that someone had discarded such a new looking shoe. As we came to the end of the trench, we spotted assorted change, pens and pencils.

A few feet farther up and off to our right was a large, open clearing. In the middle of the clearing lay a nude body. The body was an adult male who appeared to be in his thirties. His skin was blotched with areas that were bluish purple. The only clothing, he had on was a pair of boxer-type underwear that was down around his ankles. Rigor mortis had set in, and his arms were positioned like a person holding up his fists as if to fight.

We stood near the trench, frightened. Of the three of us, we considered Marvin the brave one. Being a pretty tough kid and about a year older, he walked over to the body and poked it in the stomach with his finger to determine if it was a real body or just a manikin. We were about twenty-five yards away when Marvin yelled to us exclaiming, Yep, its a dead guy, all right.

We excitedly rattled on and on about finding a dead person in the woods, becoming more and more convinced the guy had been murdered and that the killers were still in the area. We even stretched our imagination to believe they were watching us, waiting for an opportunity to kill us also. We could not understand why the guy we found was nude. Too young to consider the possibility of a sexual encounter going bad as the reason for his nudity and death. We puzzled over his nudeness, coming up with bizarre scenarios. We guessed that he had been in a hurry to take a crap, and had ripped off his clothes as he ran to find a clearing. We thought maybe he was squatting to poop when a bad person killed him for his money.

We were not concerned with how he had been murdered, or even considered that he may not have been murdered, we were just convinced he had been killed and that someone was lurking about, ready to strike at us. We ran as fast as we could to cross over the creek and return home to tell of our exciting discovery. My friends were a little faster than I was and reached the creek bed first. They removed their shoes and socks, rolled up their pants, and started crossing the creek just as I got to the water’s edge. I was afraid of being left behind, all alone not far from the body, as I was sure the killer was nearby. I was so afraid of being left behind that I just rolled up my pants and started wading across the creek wearing my shoes and socks.

Once on the other side, we ran for about a quarter of a mile to get to what we called civilization. We each hurried to our respective homes, telling the story so fast that we had to be told to calm down in order for our parents to understand what we were saying. Once the story was clear to them, our parents called the police. We all gathered at Marvin’s house to wait for the arrival of the police. Three cars responded: two marked cars with two officers in each, and an unmarked car with two guys that were obviously detectives.

They instructed us to get into the unmarked police car and show them where we’d found the body. The sun was just starting to go down, but there was still about forty minutes or so of daylight left. We drove up Clover Avenue for about two or three blocks to an intersection. We turned left and crossed over a Bull Creek bridge that led to the other side. Less than a block after crossing the bridge, we came to a dirt lane that led past some shanty-style houses while we traveled down a barren, rough trail, that led to a dead end. At the end, the police stopped their car, and we began walking into the woods to the area of the dead body. The body was still there. The police turned to us and said, You kids can go home now.

We were not only surprised but frightened. It was starting to get dark, and the walk home was about a mile away. Being as certain of the murder as we were, we could hardly believe the police officers would allow us to walk home alone in the dark. Those stinking cops were all we talked about as we hurried to put some distance between us and the murder scene.

We never heard anything further from the police, or our parents about the guy we were so sure was murdered. The truth was that he probably died of natural causes, but who knows? We slowly got over the excitement and fear, and we went back to our playful times in the woods near Bull Creek.

CHAPTER 2

Korean War

On June 25th, 1950, the Soviet backed North Koreans attacked the South Koreans that were supported by America. Seventy-five thousand North Korean soldiers poured across the border into South Korea.

My father was stationed in South Korea prior to the invasion of the south by the North Koreans, serving a year or so there during training maneuvers. He returned to Fort Benning, serving there until the war began. He later received orders for a combat assignment to Korea. He didn’t talk about the war much, but did mention a time he was carrying ammo up a hill to troops holding the high ground, keeping the strategic position from being overrun by the communist. He talked about bits of dirt kicking up around him as the enemy fired bullets at him, trying to prevent the ammo from being delivered.

Around this time, I was about eleven years of age, living with my mother in a small two-bedroom, brick home on Clover Avenue, in Columbus, Georgia. I had a Schwinn bike that I had turned upside down on the sidewalk in front of our home. I was attempting some kind of repair when I noticed a man walking on Clover Avenue toward our home. It was a man dressed in an army uniform, carrying an army duffle bag over his shoulder. I stared intently at him as being somewhat familiar to me. Suddenly, I realized it was my father. I was very excited as I ran inside, frantically telling my Mom that Dad was coming down the street. She scoffed at me saying, get out of here, you can’t fool me. After a few seconds absorbing my excited behavior, she became acutely aware, knowing I was sincere.

My father had become seriously ill after serving in the war for about a year. He was a tall