Prison Stories & Issues and Horror

PLEASE NEVER FORGET THAT EVEN THE GOOD CRIMINALS ARE BAD

I was discharged from the United States Army and was finally leaving

Alaska to return to Jacksonville, Florida, where I had originally

enlisted into the military service, at 16 years of age, by a juvenile

court order. But this was not a happy day for me. I was leaving behind a

sweet, kind, wonderful woman whom I had impregnated and she was with

child. This disturbed me greatly as I was an orphan, raised in an

abusive orphanage and had always been known as, and called a "bastard".

I suppose it was not a pretty sight for all those Americans sitting on

that airplane with me to see one of the protectors of their great

country, sitting in full dress uniform, with tears streaming down his

face, like a baby. If I had ever done any one thing in my life to

destroy what little heart I may have had. Leaving this woman with child

had to be that act.

I returned to Jacksonville, and as I was an orphan, I had no where to go

and no one to turn to. I did manage to find a job scraping shingles off

roof-tops but as I was only being paid about $2.00 per hour I knew that

I would never raise enough money to ever get back to Alaska and marry

Maggie before the baby was born. This wore very heavy on my heart,

mainly because I was about to be the fault of another child being born

into this world that would be called a "bastard". I had already decided

that I would do almost anything necessary to stop this from happening to

another human being.

As I sat alone one afternoon in a local coffee shop I happen to meet and

began to talk with several young men from Windsor Ontario, Canada. They

agreed that I could ride with them as far as Canada and that I should be

able to make my way back to Alaska from there. This really lifted my

spirits and I was ready to head back out into the world and try to make

"right" the "wrong" that I had committed. Come to find out these two

guys did not have any money to make the trip and asked me if I knew

where we could raise some fast cash. As I had only about twenty dollars,

it was decided that we would make it as far as we could, and then figure

out what to do from that point. As we entered the red and white Ford

Fairlane Convertible I noticed two hand guns laying on the front seat.

Bill picked up the two guns and put them into the glove box, telling me

that they were not real, but starter pistols (blank guns). As we left

Jacksonville, heading towards a little town known as Dinsmore, I began

to tell them that I once had a girl friend in that area and that I had a

friend who owned a small country market, and that I would like to stop

and tell him bye. When we reached the store I saw Bill reach into the

glove box, take out the two guns, and hand one to his friend. "What are

you going to do", I asked? "Get some damn money, what do you think", he

told me. "I really don't want any part of this", I said. "Then get your

bastard ass down the road", said his friend. Why I did not leave right

then, I do not know, and maybe I will never know. I think it was when he

called me a "bastard". That one word always did hurt me to the core.

We walked into that old man's life that day and I shall never forget him

looking at me, with his sad old eyes, shaking his head, back and forth,

as he saw the guns, saying "Roger, what are you doing, young man. You

are a good boy, why are you doing this"? "I'm sorry, Mr. Pfister", I

said, as I looked down at the floor. Bill walked up to him and pointed

his gun right in Mr. Pfister's face and ordered the old man to put all

the money into a paper bag. The old man filled the bag and handed it to

Bill's friend. Then Bill pushed Mr. Pfister, as hard as he could against

the wall where the poor old man fell down, hitting his head. I ran as

fast as I could towards Bill and shoved him through the screen door,

knocking him onto the porch outside. "YOU DAMN SON-OF-A-BITCH", I

yelled, as loud as I could. Mr. Pfister got to his feet and said,

"Roger, all you had to do was ask me son, and I would have helped you.

"SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP, "I yelled at all three of them. "How am I going

to run my store without any money?", said Mr. Pfister. I was so scared

and I felt so ashamed of myself at that moment, but it was to late to

back out now, and I was in just to deep. I marched over to Bill's

friend, stomping my feet as I walked, snatched the paper sack from his

hand and dumped all the money onto the counter, divided it into two

equal piles. With with one penny left, I turned quickly towards Bill,

who was standing at the door, not believing how furious I had become,

and I threw the penny as hard as I could at his head, which hit

against the wall and bounced away. I turned back around, picked up one

half of the money and walked out the door, shoving the thirty-one

dollars and fifty cents into Bills chest and I never looked back at Mr.

Pfister.

Not a word was spoken by anyone in the car for more than a hundred miles

and the incident was never mentioned by any of us ever again. Within

three months I had made it back to Fairbanks, Alaska and in January

married Maggie, just a matter of days before my wonderful son James

Brian Kiser was born. However, about two hours after the wedding

ceremony, and before James was born, the F.B.I. knocked on my front

door, handcuffed me and took me to jail, where I received five years in

prison, suspended, and five years probation. I guess because I had given

Mr. Pfiser half of the money back.

After several years had passed, I finally did got over that robbery and

what I had done that day. But even to this day, thirty something years

later, I still have never gotten over the look of disappointment that I

saw in Mr. Pfister's eyes.

I AM SO SORRY, Mr. Pfister.

Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.

STORIES THAT TOUCH THE HEART

ROGER DEAN KISER, SR.

Orphan's, what a waste of life.

CHARLES NICHOLS

Orphan Boy, a true story.

LARRY EUGENE PATTERSON

I cried for a little boy.

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