Injustice For The Sake Of Justice
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Page Two
2003 - Revised 2022
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Page Two
2003 - Revised 2022
My enlistment contract with the Marine Corps was to expire in July of 1974. I had no money saved. I decided to extend my enlistment in the Marine Corps for a period of two months in order to save as much money as I could during that time. Debbie gave birth in August of 1974 to Michael Burton Chapline. Debbie still did not know who the real
father was. I agreed that this child could have my last name for birth certificate purposes. Debbie and I had made plans to be married once my enlistment extension in the Marines had expired. Debbie and her newborn child were still living with her parents. This was a two bedroom row house. Juanita slept in one bedroom. Walcott slept on the couch in the living room. Debbie, the newborn, and her brother, Kim, slept in the second bedroom. It was a very strange family sleeping arrangement. Kim Peery was totally different from his father and sister. He was a momma’s boy, but he was very proficient in school, industrious, hard-working and well-mannered.
In mid-September 1974 I was released from active duty. I still had not saved that much money. I was staying at the already crowded row house on Potomac Street. When Walcott made it home at night, which was rare, I slept on the living room floor. I then went to work driving an oil truck for a company named Enterprise Fuel Company. Prior to my dad passing away he worked for this company for many years and had a great reputation as a very loyal worker. I did not have a valid license to drive the home oil delivery trucks. But I was Daniel Chapline’s son and nobody questioned me. They figured since I was the son of Dan, my integrity would be impeccable. Even though I did not have a valid license, I was a very proficient route driver for the company right from the beginning. I far exceeded the amount of home deliveries each day by even that of the most experienced oil truck drivers. The other drivers did not like me at all. I was happy to be showing them up.
Also, in the month of September 1974 Debbie and I got married. I had to ask one of my hoodlum buddies to be my best man and witness the marriage. Debbie and I knew we had to locate the cheapest minister we could possibly find. Walcott had disappeared with one of his mistresses. Juanita refused to honor this marriage. And, of course, my mother and brother wanted nothing to do with this bonding of holy matrimony. Juanita worked for a company in Baltimore named Maryland Cup. Like my dad, Juanita was a very hard and loyal worker. It was apparent to me even then, that without Juanita the rest of the family would be homeless. She was the absolute backbone of what little stability this family had. Juanita dedicated her off-work hours to my stepson, Michael, and her son, Kim. Although I thought that Juanita was weird and strange, the good side of me knew that Juanita was a top-of-the-line person. I had already begun to distrust Debbie, but I knew when Michael was in Juanita’s capable hands he was well taken care of.
I discovered in October of 1974 that while I was at work during the day, Debbie was leaving Michael with her younger brother, Kim. I did not have a problem with this because Kim was a very responsible young man. What I did have a problem with was Debbie seeing several different men, any one of which could have been the biological father of Michael. I decided it was best to get Debbie out of the neighborhood where she had grown up. It was time anyway that we move out and be on our own. I now had saved enough money to do this.
In November of 1974 Debbie and I got an apartment in Essex, Maryland. This area made Juanita’s house look upper crust. It was a one bedroom apartment. My extremely productive work ethic at Enterprise Fuel Company was to be short-lived. I discovered that even living in Essex did not stop Debbie from seeing these three men who still lived in her old neighborhood. Domestic disputes were becoming commonplace between me and Debbie.
This one evening it was extremely cold and snowing. I had told Debbie I would be out making emergency oil deliveries. Debbie said she would be skating with some friends. She had dropped Michael off at her mother’s house. I knew exactly what Debbie would be doing. I just didn’t know with which guy. At the conclusion of my night oil deliveries I went to Juanita’s house to pick up Michael. Juanita appeared to be very upset. She informed me that Michael had a terrible diaper rash. Juanita was right. When Michael was living at Potomac Street a diaper rash caused by negligence was unheard of. I looked at his rash and it was worse than even I had imagined. Now, I was not only pissed that Debbie was running around on me, I was even more pissed that Michael had this terrible rash. It was without doubt this rash was caused by negligence. I had originally planned on spying on Debbie at the skating rink once I had picked up Michael. But, having seen this rash on Michael I abandoned this plan and went straight home to our apartment in Essex.
At about midnight Debbie comes walking into the apartment. I looked out the window and I saw a man standing out front. He was a big boy, approximately 6’4” and 230 lbs. He saw me looking out the window at him. I turned and said to Debbie, “That’s one of your fuckin’ boyfriends, isn’t it?” I told Debbie, “It is bad enough that I am supporting you and Michael when he is not even my child, but then you are seeing your three boyfriends of which any one of them could probably be Michael’s natural father. You fuckin’ slut! I’m going to whip you and your boyfriend’s asses!” I opened my right hand and struck Debbie across the side of her face. The apartment door was unlocked. Debbie’s boyfriend walked inside. He asked me if I hit Debbie. I replied, “Yes, I did!”
He approached me to get in my face. We exchanged blows to each other’s faces. He then got in three more blows to my face with his fist. I was unable to retaliate at this point. I resorted to grabbing him and turning this altercation into a wrestling match. Michael was in his crib in the living room where our fight was now taking place. He was crying. Debbie was screaming for both of us to stop fighting. As our struggle continued, interlocked, we crashed into Michael’s crib. Michael went flying out of the crib and hit the floor. The crib was all but demolished. The fight between Debbie’s boyfriend and myself ceased. I stood frozen, looking at Michael lying face first on the floor. Debbie ran over to pick up Michael. It was apparent that he had been hurt. I was in a state of shock. Debbie’s boyfriend blurted out, “Oh my God! Is he alright?” I answered for Debbie, “I don’t think so. We better get him to the hospital.”
Debbie called her parents and told them that Michael had been hurt badly. In minutes both Walcott and Juanita had arrived at our apartment. Debbie’s boyfriend had left our apartment prior to her parent’s arrival. I was holding Michael in my arms. Debbie said she would be waiting out front for her parents. Juanita ran over and took Michael out of my arms. She was screaming at me, “What have you done to my grandson!” Walcott, Juanita and Debbie took Michael to the hospital. Juanita refused to let me in her car. A significant amount of time had elapsed before I found out what hospital Michael was in. He was admitted to Baltimore City Hospital. I immediately proceeded to this hospital to find out how Michael was doing. The emergency room doctor said he wanted to speak to me in private. The doctor informed me that my wife had accused me of physically beating Michael. He also said that Michael had suffered a concussion. The doctor explained to me that it was apparent to him that Michael had not been beaten, in that his injuries were consistent with injuries sustained from a fall. He stated that this is when Debbie changed her story and said I had thrown Michael to the floor vice beating him. I asked the doctor if the police wanted me to report to them for questioning concerning this incident. The doctor stated, “No. Once the police heard your wife’s story change they were more than satisfied that no abuse had occurred.” I then gave a written statement to the doctor as to the actual events that had taken place during this incident resulting in Michael’s injury.
For the next several days I went to a friend’s house to stay in the neighborhood where I grew up. My mind was not into my work. I arrived at work in the morning approximately two hours late. I was exhausted, worried about Michael, and finished with Debbie as far as our marriage was concerned. But, I proceeded anyway out on the road to make my oil deliveries. I was trying to make up for lost time. I was sitting at a stoplight at a street corner in Baltimore City. When the light turned green all traffic on this two lane one-way street would have to make a hard right turn. Accidents were commonplace here because some people would use the emergency lane to dart in front of the other lane’s traffic. Upon making the hard right turn, the emergency lane ended. I was sitting in my truck in the right hand lane. I was thinking about the past events that put my lile in total turmoil. A young woman had pulled up, unbeknownst to me, in the emergency lane next to my truck. In past days I had always checked my side view mirror to ensure that no vehicles had come into this danger zone. But, not on this day. I wasn’t thinking clearly. As the light turned green, this woman in a 1965 Ford Mustang attempted to speed in front of me from the emergency lane. She was not successful. I totally smashed the entire front of this Mustang. She had sustained moderate injuries. Upon the Baltimore City police arriving on the scene, they determined that the accident was clearly her fault. I was amazed. She was cited for the accident, and the police never asked me once for my license. I wouldn’t have had one to produce. The executives at Enterprise Fuel Company felt differently than the police did about this accident. They felt I was negligent. In their eyes it was my responsibility to keep sight of activity within my side view mirrors. They were correct. If I would have been paying attention as I normally did, that accident would have been avoided. I was put on probation. A Chapline put on probation with Enterprise Fuel Company…unheard of !!! Of course my mother had found out and I was again disgracing the family name.
I had experienced a horrible day. It seemed no matter what, my problems and anxiety were constantly getting worse. I went out that night to party with some of my delinquent friends. We had become extremely intoxicated. There were five of us. We stole a Pontiac Bonneville from the parking lot of the Perry Hall Shopping Center. On a four lane road, two lanes in each direction, we were reaching speeds of 115 miles per hour. I didn’t care whether we crashed or not. But apparently one of the guys who was with us did care. We got into a fist fight. He bloodied my face and knocked me out cold during a physical fight. I awoke later in the night in the middle of a snow drift. The blood on my face had frozen into the form of a splattered red popsicle. I was pissed off to no end. I was only a little over a mile away from his house. I started walking for his house with my anger increasing more with each step I took.
Approximately and hour and a half later I arrive at his home. I am suffering a tremendous hangover. My body feels frostbitten, and my face feels covered with frozen blood. It was now approximately 2am. I discover that the side door to his house is unlocked. I enter the house and go into the kitchen. I found here exactly what I was looking for, a butcher knife. I thought, “I’ll fix that sonofabitch up now. I’m gonna carve him up like a Christmas turkey.” I proceeded to the second floor where his bedroom is located. The hallways and steps that lead to his bedroom are pitch dark. I knew my way around this house well. After all, he was my friend that I was temporarily staying with. I open his bedroom door as quietly as possible, but it still makes a creaking sound. I enter the room and now raise the butcher knife above my head. I reach the side of his bed and discover that he had pulled the bed sheets and cover totally over his head. The glow from the night’s moon had dimly lighted the room. With my right knee I kept knocking the side of his bed lightly. I wanted the bastard to wake up and push the bed covers back away from his face so that he could see me “chop his head off”. Suddenly the bed clothes are pushed away, and I raise the butcher knife in the air once again to generate the most momentum possible to decapitate his head. As I began my downward thrust, I hear the voice of Mr. Williams, his dad. I stopped the swing of the butcher knife just in time. Mr. Williams began yelling at me, “Bradley, what the hell do you think you are doing?!!!” I apologized to Mr. Williams by saying, “I didn’t know you were sleeping here. How come you are in Mike’s bed?” Mr. Williams replied, “Bradley, what the hell are you doing with that knife?” I replied, “I was coming in here to kill your son for beating the shit out of me and leaving me in the snow to freeze to death.” By this time all other family members had heard the commotion and came running into the bedroom. Mr. Williams ordered me to leave his house immediately or he would call the police and have me arrested. Mr. Williams told me to never come back again. I departed the Williams’ residence.
I no longer had any place to stay. My old rusted out 1964 Mercury was all that I had left. In fact, it was the only home I had now. It was approximately 4:30am. I decided that I would drive down to the gated parking lot of Enterprise Fuel Company. I knew the night watchman quite well. I figured he would let me in the lot. Then, I could finally get inside of the drivers’ shack and get warm. The heater did not work in my car. On the way I stopped at a gas station and went into the bathroom and cleaned my face up as much as possible. It was now 7:00am in the morning. Some of the other drivers were coming into the shack preparing to take off on their daily oil runs. I looked like death warmed over. The other drivers were laughing, calling me the great flash in the pan. They were right. I was all but finished. I was in great pain. Man, was I suffering. It was a complete struggle to get my oil truck ready for my day’s deliveries. After my third delivery, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. I pulled over to the side of the road and went to sleep in the cab of the truck. After several hours the customers were now calling the office wondering where I was with their deliveries. The executives at Enterprise were now trying repeatedly to reach me on the radio. I finally answered. They were furious with me. I told them I had the flu and that I was sick. The executives knew I was sick, but it wasn’t with the flu. I prepared myself to start my run of oil deliveries again. This time I really had a lot of time to catch up on.
I was located in a predominantly black neighborhood in Baltimore City. In this neighborhood of row houses, I had to enter from the alleyway in the back. I didn’t have enough hose to reach. “Goddammit”, I thought. I was shy by just a few yards. In reality, I knew I would have to back out in heavy traffic, circle the block, and enter from the other side. I realized this was going to cost me a great deal of time that I could not afford. I then attempted to force my oil truck for several yards in between two concrete corner barriers. I now had just enough hose to reach the tank. I thought, “Yeah!!! Good move, Bradley.” As I was walking back to the truck to roll the hose up, I noticed that my truck had put tremendous stress cracks in these concrete barriers. They were the part of the stabilizing foundation for their block walls. I thought, “Let’s get this hose rolled up and get the hell out of here!” As I was getting inside of my truck, the owner of the row house that I had just delivered oil to came out back and was yelling, “What the hell do you think you are doing?! What have you done to my wall?!” I ignored him. I put the truck in low range reverse. I thought, “Oh, shit! The truck is wedged! It won’t move!” The owner of the house continued to scream at me. I gunned the engine and popped the clutch. It worked. My truck broke free!!! Was I relieved. That was until I noticed that I had virtually collapsed the entire block wall.
It was not even ten minutes later that the Enterprise dispatcher was calling me on the two-way radio. “KDY9683 Truck 242, come in.” I did not answer. I knew I was in big-time trouble. Then a scream came over the radio, “KDY9683, Truck 242!!! Bradley, you answer this goddamned radio right now!!!” I answered softly. The dispatcher told me, “You report back to the yard right now! This is management’s orders. If you don’t, the police will be called and you’ll be arrested.” The dispatcher then added, “Christ sake, Bradley, management just found out also that you don’t even have a driver’s license! You better get in here right now!”
I arrived back at the yard in approximately twenty minutes. As I drove into the yard it appeared to me as if there was a “lynch mob’’ waiting for me. One of the company vice presidents with whom my dad had been very close to while he was alive confronted me. He said, “Bradley, you are a total disgrace to the reputation your family has built within this company for years.” He further said, “You are not only fired, you are fucking fired! Get off this property right now and never come back or I’ll have you arrested.” I attempted to apologize to this gentleman because he was always a good friend to my father. He then told me, “Bradley, besides not having a driver’s license, in two days you managed to crush a car, tore down a block wall, and delivered well over 100 gallons of oil to the wrong residence.” I questioned, “Sir, what do you mean I delivered oil to the wrong house?” He explained, “The people’s wall you knocked down, where you pumped 112 gallons of oil into their tank. They were not even customers of ours. So just get your ass off our property right now!” I then somberly walked away.
I was now quite anxious for my paperwork to come back from Headquarters Marine Corps approving me to reenlist. I was now out of money and I had no place to stay. I then decided to go to my old apartment in Essex to get what few belongings I had accumulated there. At least I had a full tank of gas left in my Mercury. The evening
before when the night watchman allowed me in to the lot of Enterprise Fuel, I stole a tank of gas from the pump when the security guard fell asleep.
Debbie was home with Michael when I walked into the apartment. I told Debbie that I didn’t want any more fights. I just wanted to get my things and leave for good. I looked at my stepson, Michael, and my heart just sank. I was really glad he had fully recovered from his concussion. I was going to miss him very much. I really did love Michael. I was back in the bedroom closet packing up my clothes and tools. Debbie’s father, Walcott, walked into the bedroom. He says, “Bradley, I’m gonna kill you right now for what you did to Michael.” I told Walcott, “Look, Debbie is lying to you about how this happened to Michael.” Walcott comes directly towards me. I grabbed a large pipe wrench out of my tool box and hit Walcott on the side of his head. Walcott went down to the floor, the right side of his head bleeding profusely. I then ran out of the apartment with Debbie screaming at me. I quickly got into my Mercury and left this side of town.
While driving away I remembered a girl named Kathy Oldaker who I had gotten along with quite well when I went to high school. She lived in Perry Hall. I recalled meeting her parents on several occasions at their home. I liked her parents. They were quite liberal with their daughter. I had previously, while in high school, had sex with Kathy in her bedroom while her parents were home. They did not mind. I figured I would ask if I could stay there until my paperwork came through to reenter the Corps.
father was. I agreed that this child could have my last name for birth certificate purposes. Debbie and I had made plans to be married once my enlistment extension in the Marines had expired. Debbie and her newborn child were still living with her parents. This was a two bedroom row house. Juanita slept in one bedroom. Walcott slept on the couch in the living room. Debbie, the newborn, and her brother, Kim, slept in the second bedroom. It was a very strange family sleeping arrangement. Kim Peery was totally different from his father and sister. He was a momma’s boy, but he was very proficient in school, industrious, hard-working and well-mannered.
In mid-September 1974 I was released from active duty. I still had not saved that much money. I was staying at the already crowded row house on Potomac Street. When Walcott made it home at night, which was rare, I slept on the living room floor. I then went to work driving an oil truck for a company named Enterprise Fuel Company. Prior to my dad passing away he worked for this company for many years and had a great reputation as a very loyal worker. I did not have a valid license to drive the home oil delivery trucks. But I was Daniel Chapline’s son and nobody questioned me. They figured since I was the son of Dan, my integrity would be impeccable. Even though I did not have a valid license, I was a very proficient route driver for the company right from the beginning. I far exceeded the amount of home deliveries each day by even that of the most experienced oil truck drivers. The other drivers did not like me at all. I was happy to be showing them up.
Also, in the month of September 1974 Debbie and I got married. I had to ask one of my hoodlum buddies to be my best man and witness the marriage. Debbie and I knew we had to locate the cheapest minister we could possibly find. Walcott had disappeared with one of his mistresses. Juanita refused to honor this marriage. And, of course, my mother and brother wanted nothing to do with this bonding of holy matrimony. Juanita worked for a company in Baltimore named Maryland Cup. Like my dad, Juanita was a very hard and loyal worker. It was apparent to me even then, that without Juanita the rest of the family would be homeless. She was the absolute backbone of what little stability this family had. Juanita dedicated her off-work hours to my stepson, Michael, and her son, Kim. Although I thought that Juanita was weird and strange, the good side of me knew that Juanita was a top-of-the-line person. I had already begun to distrust Debbie, but I knew when Michael was in Juanita’s capable hands he was well taken care of.
I discovered in October of 1974 that while I was at work during the day, Debbie was leaving Michael with her younger brother, Kim. I did not have a problem with this because Kim was a very responsible young man. What I did have a problem with was Debbie seeing several different men, any one of which could have been the biological father of Michael. I decided it was best to get Debbie out of the neighborhood where she had grown up. It was time anyway that we move out and be on our own. I now had saved enough money to do this.
In November of 1974 Debbie and I got an apartment in Essex, Maryland. This area made Juanita’s house look upper crust. It was a one bedroom apartment. My extremely productive work ethic at Enterprise Fuel Company was to be short-lived. I discovered that even living in Essex did not stop Debbie from seeing these three men who still lived in her old neighborhood. Domestic disputes were becoming commonplace between me and Debbie.
This one evening it was extremely cold and snowing. I had told Debbie I would be out making emergency oil deliveries. Debbie said she would be skating with some friends. She had dropped Michael off at her mother’s house. I knew exactly what Debbie would be doing. I just didn’t know with which guy. At the conclusion of my night oil deliveries I went to Juanita’s house to pick up Michael. Juanita appeared to be very upset. She informed me that Michael had a terrible diaper rash. Juanita was right. When Michael was living at Potomac Street a diaper rash caused by negligence was unheard of. I looked at his rash and it was worse than even I had imagined. Now, I was not only pissed that Debbie was running around on me, I was even more pissed that Michael had this terrible rash. It was without doubt this rash was caused by negligence. I had originally planned on spying on Debbie at the skating rink once I had picked up Michael. But, having seen this rash on Michael I abandoned this plan and went straight home to our apartment in Essex.
At about midnight Debbie comes walking into the apartment. I looked out the window and I saw a man standing out front. He was a big boy, approximately 6’4” and 230 lbs. He saw me looking out the window at him. I turned and said to Debbie, “That’s one of your fuckin’ boyfriends, isn’t it?” I told Debbie, “It is bad enough that I am supporting you and Michael when he is not even my child, but then you are seeing your three boyfriends of which any one of them could probably be Michael’s natural father. You fuckin’ slut! I’m going to whip you and your boyfriend’s asses!” I opened my right hand and struck Debbie across the side of her face. The apartment door was unlocked. Debbie’s boyfriend walked inside. He asked me if I hit Debbie. I replied, “Yes, I did!”
He approached me to get in my face. We exchanged blows to each other’s faces. He then got in three more blows to my face with his fist. I was unable to retaliate at this point. I resorted to grabbing him and turning this altercation into a wrestling match. Michael was in his crib in the living room where our fight was now taking place. He was crying. Debbie was screaming for both of us to stop fighting. As our struggle continued, interlocked, we crashed into Michael’s crib. Michael went flying out of the crib and hit the floor. The crib was all but demolished. The fight between Debbie’s boyfriend and myself ceased. I stood frozen, looking at Michael lying face first on the floor. Debbie ran over to pick up Michael. It was apparent that he had been hurt. I was in a state of shock. Debbie’s boyfriend blurted out, “Oh my God! Is he alright?” I answered for Debbie, “I don’t think so. We better get him to the hospital.”
Debbie called her parents and told them that Michael had been hurt badly. In minutes both Walcott and Juanita had arrived at our apartment. Debbie’s boyfriend had left our apartment prior to her parent’s arrival. I was holding Michael in my arms. Debbie said she would be waiting out front for her parents. Juanita ran over and took Michael out of my arms. She was screaming at me, “What have you done to my grandson!” Walcott, Juanita and Debbie took Michael to the hospital. Juanita refused to let me in her car. A significant amount of time had elapsed before I found out what hospital Michael was in. He was admitted to Baltimore City Hospital. I immediately proceeded to this hospital to find out how Michael was doing. The emergency room doctor said he wanted to speak to me in private. The doctor informed me that my wife had accused me of physically beating Michael. He also said that Michael had suffered a concussion. The doctor explained to me that it was apparent to him that Michael had not been beaten, in that his injuries were consistent with injuries sustained from a fall. He stated that this is when Debbie changed her story and said I had thrown Michael to the floor vice beating him. I asked the doctor if the police wanted me to report to them for questioning concerning this incident. The doctor stated, “No. Once the police heard your wife’s story change they were more than satisfied that no abuse had occurred.” I then gave a written statement to the doctor as to the actual events that had taken place during this incident resulting in Michael’s injury.
For the next several days I went to a friend’s house to stay in the neighborhood where I grew up. My mind was not into my work. I arrived at work in the morning approximately two hours late. I was exhausted, worried about Michael, and finished with Debbie as far as our marriage was concerned. But, I proceeded anyway out on the road to make my oil deliveries. I was trying to make up for lost time. I was sitting at a stoplight at a street corner in Baltimore City. When the light turned green all traffic on this two lane one-way street would have to make a hard right turn. Accidents were commonplace here because some people would use the emergency lane to dart in front of the other lane’s traffic. Upon making the hard right turn, the emergency lane ended. I was sitting in my truck in the right hand lane. I was thinking about the past events that put my lile in total turmoil. A young woman had pulled up, unbeknownst to me, in the emergency lane next to my truck. In past days I had always checked my side view mirror to ensure that no vehicles had come into this danger zone. But, not on this day. I wasn’t thinking clearly. As the light turned green, this woman in a 1965 Ford Mustang attempted to speed in front of me from the emergency lane. She was not successful. I totally smashed the entire front of this Mustang. She had sustained moderate injuries. Upon the Baltimore City police arriving on the scene, they determined that the accident was clearly her fault. I was amazed. She was cited for the accident, and the police never asked me once for my license. I wouldn’t have had one to produce. The executives at Enterprise Fuel Company felt differently than the police did about this accident. They felt I was negligent. In their eyes it was my responsibility to keep sight of activity within my side view mirrors. They were correct. If I would have been paying attention as I normally did, that accident would have been avoided. I was put on probation. A Chapline put on probation with Enterprise Fuel Company…unheard of !!! Of course my mother had found out and I was again disgracing the family name.
I had experienced a horrible day. It seemed no matter what, my problems and anxiety were constantly getting worse. I went out that night to party with some of my delinquent friends. We had become extremely intoxicated. There were five of us. We stole a Pontiac Bonneville from the parking lot of the Perry Hall Shopping Center. On a four lane road, two lanes in each direction, we were reaching speeds of 115 miles per hour. I didn’t care whether we crashed or not. But apparently one of the guys who was with us did care. We got into a fist fight. He bloodied my face and knocked me out cold during a physical fight. I awoke later in the night in the middle of a snow drift. The blood on my face had frozen into the form of a splattered red popsicle. I was pissed off to no end. I was only a little over a mile away from his house. I started walking for his house with my anger increasing more with each step I took.
Approximately and hour and a half later I arrive at his home. I am suffering a tremendous hangover. My body feels frostbitten, and my face feels covered with frozen blood. It was now approximately 2am. I discover that the side door to his house is unlocked. I enter the house and go into the kitchen. I found here exactly what I was looking for, a butcher knife. I thought, “I’ll fix that sonofabitch up now. I’m gonna carve him up like a Christmas turkey.” I proceeded to the second floor where his bedroom is located. The hallways and steps that lead to his bedroom are pitch dark. I knew my way around this house well. After all, he was my friend that I was temporarily staying with. I open his bedroom door as quietly as possible, but it still makes a creaking sound. I enter the room and now raise the butcher knife above my head. I reach the side of his bed and discover that he had pulled the bed sheets and cover totally over his head. The glow from the night’s moon had dimly lighted the room. With my right knee I kept knocking the side of his bed lightly. I wanted the bastard to wake up and push the bed covers back away from his face so that he could see me “chop his head off”. Suddenly the bed clothes are pushed away, and I raise the butcher knife in the air once again to generate the most momentum possible to decapitate his head. As I began my downward thrust, I hear the voice of Mr. Williams, his dad. I stopped the swing of the butcher knife just in time. Mr. Williams began yelling at me, “Bradley, what the hell do you think you are doing?!!!” I apologized to Mr. Williams by saying, “I didn’t know you were sleeping here. How come you are in Mike’s bed?” Mr. Williams replied, “Bradley, what the hell are you doing with that knife?” I replied, “I was coming in here to kill your son for beating the shit out of me and leaving me in the snow to freeze to death.” By this time all other family members had heard the commotion and came running into the bedroom. Mr. Williams ordered me to leave his house immediately or he would call the police and have me arrested. Mr. Williams told me to never come back again. I departed the Williams’ residence.
I no longer had any place to stay. My old rusted out 1964 Mercury was all that I had left. In fact, it was the only home I had now. It was approximately 4:30am. I decided that I would drive down to the gated parking lot of Enterprise Fuel Company. I knew the night watchman quite well. I figured he would let me in the lot. Then, I could finally get inside of the drivers’ shack and get warm. The heater did not work in my car. On the way I stopped at a gas station and went into the bathroom and cleaned my face up as much as possible. It was now 7:00am in the morning. Some of the other drivers were coming into the shack preparing to take off on their daily oil runs. I looked like death warmed over. The other drivers were laughing, calling me the great flash in the pan. They were right. I was all but finished. I was in great pain. Man, was I suffering. It was a complete struggle to get my oil truck ready for my day’s deliveries. After my third delivery, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. I pulled over to the side of the road and went to sleep in the cab of the truck. After several hours the customers were now calling the office wondering where I was with their deliveries. The executives at Enterprise were now trying repeatedly to reach me on the radio. I finally answered. They were furious with me. I told them I had the flu and that I was sick. The executives knew I was sick, but it wasn’t with the flu. I prepared myself to start my run of oil deliveries again. This time I really had a lot of time to catch up on.
I was located in a predominantly black neighborhood in Baltimore City. In this neighborhood of row houses, I had to enter from the alleyway in the back. I didn’t have enough hose to reach. “Goddammit”, I thought. I was shy by just a few yards. In reality, I knew I would have to back out in heavy traffic, circle the block, and enter from the other side. I realized this was going to cost me a great deal of time that I could not afford. I then attempted to force my oil truck for several yards in between two concrete corner barriers. I now had just enough hose to reach the tank. I thought, “Yeah!!! Good move, Bradley.” As I was walking back to the truck to roll the hose up, I noticed that my truck had put tremendous stress cracks in these concrete barriers. They were the part of the stabilizing foundation for their block walls. I thought, “Let’s get this hose rolled up and get the hell out of here!” As I was getting inside of my truck, the owner of the row house that I had just delivered oil to came out back and was yelling, “What the hell do you think you are doing?! What have you done to my wall?!” I ignored him. I put the truck in low range reverse. I thought, “Oh, shit! The truck is wedged! It won’t move!” The owner of the house continued to scream at me. I gunned the engine and popped the clutch. It worked. My truck broke free!!! Was I relieved. That was until I noticed that I had virtually collapsed the entire block wall.
It was not even ten minutes later that the Enterprise dispatcher was calling me on the two-way radio. “KDY9683 Truck 242, come in.” I did not answer. I knew I was in big-time trouble. Then a scream came over the radio, “KDY9683, Truck 242!!! Bradley, you answer this goddamned radio right now!!!” I answered softly. The dispatcher told me, “You report back to the yard right now! This is management’s orders. If you don’t, the police will be called and you’ll be arrested.” The dispatcher then added, “Christ sake, Bradley, management just found out also that you don’t even have a driver’s license! You better get in here right now!”
I arrived back at the yard in approximately twenty minutes. As I drove into the yard it appeared to me as if there was a “lynch mob’’ waiting for me. One of the company vice presidents with whom my dad had been very close to while he was alive confronted me. He said, “Bradley, you are a total disgrace to the reputation your family has built within this company for years.” He further said, “You are not only fired, you are fucking fired! Get off this property right now and never come back or I’ll have you arrested.” I attempted to apologize to this gentleman because he was always a good friend to my father. He then told me, “Bradley, besides not having a driver’s license, in two days you managed to crush a car, tore down a block wall, and delivered well over 100 gallons of oil to the wrong residence.” I questioned, “Sir, what do you mean I delivered oil to the wrong house?” He explained, “The people’s wall you knocked down, where you pumped 112 gallons of oil into their tank. They were not even customers of ours. So just get your ass off our property right now!” I then somberly walked away.
I was now quite anxious for my paperwork to come back from Headquarters Marine Corps approving me to reenlist. I was now out of money and I had no place to stay. I then decided to go to my old apartment in Essex to get what few belongings I had accumulated there. At least I had a full tank of gas left in my Mercury. The evening
before when the night watchman allowed me in to the lot of Enterprise Fuel, I stole a tank of gas from the pump when the security guard fell asleep.
Debbie was home with Michael when I walked into the apartment. I told Debbie that I didn’t want any more fights. I just wanted to get my things and leave for good. I looked at my stepson, Michael, and my heart just sank. I was really glad he had fully recovered from his concussion. I was going to miss him very much. I really did love Michael. I was back in the bedroom closet packing up my clothes and tools. Debbie’s father, Walcott, walked into the bedroom. He says, “Bradley, I’m gonna kill you right now for what you did to Michael.” I told Walcott, “Look, Debbie is lying to you about how this happened to Michael.” Walcott comes directly towards me. I grabbed a large pipe wrench out of my tool box and hit Walcott on the side of his head. Walcott went down to the floor, the right side of his head bleeding profusely. I then ran out of the apartment with Debbie screaming at me. I quickly got into my Mercury and left this side of town.
While driving away I remembered a girl named Kathy Oldaker who I had gotten along with quite well when I went to high school. She lived in Perry Hall. I recalled meeting her parents on several occasions at their home. I liked her parents. They were quite liberal with their daughter. I had previously, while in high school, had sex with Kathy in her bedroom while her parents were home. They did not mind. I figured I would ask if I could stay there until my paperwork came through to reenter the Corps.