Diary of the Warden’s Daughters

By Michael Tombs

September 29, 2005, was a great day for Warden Edgar J. Kassel. He was known as one of the elite federal wardens in the United States Bureau of Prisons. That day was a bitter-sweet challenge as he arrived at the brand-new federal penitentiary in Jamesburg, New Jersey, as the chief administrator of the prison. The funeral of his best friend, Reverend Ronald F. Barfield, was on that day, and Warden Kassel is completing last-minute staff reports before leaving his prison office to attend his best friend’s funeral.

One month ago, in August 2005, Warden Kassel received an anonymous e-mail, calling Reverend Ronald F. Barfield “the most dangerous political enemy of the Black Youth Organization in America and in the world.” The e-mail read, “He is either a stooge or a traitor.” Warden Edgar J. Kassel feared that Reverend Barfield’s enemies were threatened because Reverend Barfield requested that the United States Justice Department should open an FBI investigation into the Black Youth Organization in reference to federal mail fraud. As Warden Kassel left his office on his way to the prison parking lot, he passed several low-level security prison inmates as he approached his car. As he entered his car and placed the key in the ignition, his car immediately exploded, killing three low-level security prison inmates and seriously wounding several low-level security prison inmates. However, Warden Kassel’s body was completely pulverized and burned beyond recognition. The only evidence recovered was Reverend Barfield’s obituary, identified as part of Warden Kassel’s burned suit jacket.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524581923

Michael Tombs

“I personally have always rejected the Puritan premise of original sin, however, any notion that I’m not serious, not intellectual, does not summarize my feelings.” ~Michael Tombs “I personally always believed that a warm, enthusiastic, confident, and concerned voice puts all of the resources to learn at the student’s command; eventually, I had to ask myself “The Grand Question” and its answers helped shape my choice of institutions of higher learning for the remainder of the 20th Century. These ideas offended a number of the so called white elite and their racist establishment, however, they were accepted by a huge segment of the African American community. They informed the Black Youth Organization (BYO) of the popular dialogue of the 1960s, in addition, many of the on campus demands of the 1960s protesters relied on beliefs such as acceptance, positive regard, & family life. As our distance from Elijah Muhammad grows, the American critiques, in my opinion, seem increasingly irrelevant. What Muhammad provides- what all Messengers provide is a unique vision. Before being dismissed and forgotten, Muhammad was attacked on a series of particular grounds. Reviews of Islam’s literature showed the necessity and the sufficiency of his teachings difficult to prove, although the evidence of Sunni and Shiite culture remains strong…

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Copyright © 2017 by Michael Tombs.

ISBN:                Softcover                    978-1-5245-8193-0

                         eBook                          978-1-5245-8192-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 02/08/2017

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Contents

Introduction

Preface

Foreword

Dedication

The Death Of Montgomery

Daphne Potter’s Escape

The Holy Man

Hell On Frisco Bay

The Smooth Operator

The Gift

An Innocent Child

The European Union

The Fortunes of War

The Juan Raphael Airline

The Diversion

The Fear of Falling

The Niagra Falls Movement

Du Bois and Kwame

The Michael Tombs Hedge Fund

The Silver Fox

The First Casualty

Special Note to the Student

Introduction

It was early January in 1969, Michael Tombs finds himself waking up in the Green Street jail downtown in the city of Newark, New Jersey. My psychological depression as a result of my street drug purchases began taking a heavy toll on my common senses. The façade was a unicorn…intense. Each morning the poison seems to leak away. It was awful. I even attempted to communicate through the trans-humanism methodology, but that too was a very long time ago. My life up until this point was a beautiful mistake. As I walked into the Green Street jail cell charged by the New Jersey state prosecutor with larceny and bank robbery, I took the high bunk because my cellmate, Angel Dickson, was a known legendary member of the New York City Mafia Cosa Nostra. He was charged with homicide. As we began to communicate, I immediately noticed that my jail cell was between two Puerto Rican mafia cartel cellmates on my left, and two Cuban mafia cartel cellmates on my right. The overtures from the left and right jail cells were very frequent. After putting bits and pieces together during the brief conversations of my cellmate’s charges, Angel Dickson said, the state’s witness against me, Henry Antis, said I made a former mafia stool pigeon named Jerk D. Chicken beg for his life and pray to God before I sparked him. In addition, Henry Antis said that I said to Jerk D. Chicken that God was not going to leave heaven and come down on earth and stop me from sparking the mafia stool pigeon named Jerk D. Chicken because God is too busy and that’s why God is not stopping me or answering your prayers. According to Angel Dickson, Henry Antis said, the former mafia stool pigeon named Jerk D. Chicken was allowed to pray for fifteen more seconds before being sparked. As I lay there in the top bunk of my jail cell I began to reflect back in the day when I was six years old in Newark, New Jersey. I clearly remember writing down in my personal diary that I was frequently very ill. In addition, during this time in my formative early development, I experienced the so called white flight years in the Felix Fuld Projects. That’s the housing projects where I grew up in Newark, New Jersey during my youth. In my neighborhood back in the day we nick named my projects The Little Bricks. By 1962, 98 % (per cent) of all white people had left my neighborhood projects and relocated to other small suburban towns in New Jersey. The only people they left behind where those white people who couldn’t get out of The Little Bricks because of their economics and their extreme financial poverty. The Felix Fuld Projects had been labeled, by wealthy suburban whites, as a place to live reasonably well with cheap rent, uneducated men, women, and many welfare queens. However, I loved my life in The Little Bricks in the early 1950s and 1960s. I had many great memories when I lived there as a young man. For instance, I enjoyed many sexual fantasies and three graduation ceremonies from my public schools. Years later In 1973 I was diagnosed by my primary care physician that my illness was maternal, seasonal, genetic, and I could not control any unexpected severe seasonal flare-ups, however, I could prevent a severe flare-up by following a specially prepared medical diet, and taking prescription medication. But that too was a very long time ago. I remember this one particular snowy Monday morning as I was getting dressed in my bed room preparing for my class at my elementary school in the early days of October 1956; the familiar genetic itching, swelling, foot soreness, mouth soreness so very common to erythyma multiform patients, started attacking my body’s muscles and skin in the bathroom of my home as I began to wash my body and brush my teeth. Because of many severe prior attacks, I looked in the mirror and knew what was coming. I wrote down in my diary, I immediately became very weak as I was walking with my older sister, Queen Esther, to school. Halfway there, I just stopped and said, Queen, I can’t go on, I just really feel too awful. My older sister, Queen Esther, just looked at me, left me there in deep severe pain in the snow, shivering in the cold as she darted off to her class at school. A few hours later, after sitting on the icy cold sidewalk in front of my neighborhood’s Boyd Street swimming pool," I limped back to my family’s apartment. I didn’t eat a healthy breakfast that Monday morning, so I became weaker as I walked inside my building. I walked upstairs to my apartment on the second floor and began resting then sleeping down on the floor in front of my apartment door. My mother and father were too busy at their jobs working, I was too young to have my own apartment key, and I didn’t stop to be subconsciously aware that I should have immediately called my parents at their place of employment to alert them of my medical emergency. I only knew from my own previous severe personal painful experiences, that it was going to be a very long uneventful day. My older sister, Queen Esther, arrived home later that Monday afternoon from school,