Message to Ben Herron

I’ve kept quiet 35 years. For 35 years I’ve waited on the truth to come out. I guess it falls to me to tell it.


I don’t know whether its the nonsense you were told that you are the product of a date rape, or the liberal inculcation of lies by your leftist upbringing that hates the right, but at some point you wrote me a letter and later you called me - and I was very glad about both. I had kids playing in the bath tub when you called. I thought “wow, my kids are all here.” You wondered aloud that had I raised you - you’d be laughing and enjoying life. You were correct. At some point right after the phone call you seemed to change, though you continued to peer into my business websites from time to time. I saw the hits from IP addresses in Lawrence and Overton Park over the years.

May 27, 2019 - Here is another reason I don’t date rape. Beware, this may prove hazardous to your victimization. In 1975 at age 13 the youth leader at Socastee Baptist Church in Myrtle Beach SC molested, sodomized, and otherwise contributed to the delinquency of about 7 kids in his care. I didn’t mention it to anyone until later. I tried to conceal it. Moreover, I tried to be the perfect student, the illustrious Student Body Prez, US Senate Page, Most Like To Succeed. To speak of my involvement as a victim would have cost me big time in high school. I dated a few times, but nothing hot and heavy. Yvette’s sister, Renee’, was my 2nd sexual encounter, and Yvette, the 3rd. It was natural to be hugged and loved and kissed by women.

When the Catholic scandal of priests abusing young altar boys hit the news in about 2000 I tried to tell the local media about what happened at my baptist church. The first time I mentioned it to family was on the way home from the movie “Prince Of Tides” down in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla where mom and I drove down to see my sister Karen. That was Christmas 1991. When I told my brother, Randy (11 mos older), he cried and thought he was the only one. His story is pretty bad, ya know.

So, in 2003 you call me at my home in Cherry Grove, SC. The kids are staying with me. And you tell me that the scuttlebutt is that I date raped Yvette, and YOU are the product of that action. Yea, right - I think. Everybody wants to be a victim these days. Of course, my first thought was that Yvette got that story from one of the ladies at her unwed-mothers commune in Brownwood, Texas before you were born. Perhaps she thought it made her sound more chaste if she played a victim. My second thought was that I know what it is like to be violated by someone I trusted, and I didn’t do it. That is why she dated me and even engaged me. Mom had us kids in church for a good reason and recreation with a child molester wasn’t it. And my third thought(s) were the memories of her sitting in my car nude.

Charles Rodgers was later arrested near Valdosta, Ga. after he adopted some kids and so forth and has been in jail since I looked him up in 2000 and found him. One of Charles previous conquests came forth by the name of Tim Swilley. His grandfather owned Swilley Farms in Valdosta, Ga. and Charles worked there before getting stationed at MBAFB in 1975. I have been waiting a long time to speak at his parole hearing, but Georgia doesn’t do that, but they have been attentive. Let me see if I can find a letter about that.

CR-Parole.jpg

I want to say this to you - regardless of how much hurt a woman has intended my way - I still like women to this very second. Love them. And even though Charles Rodgers liked touching young boys in a screwed up selfish way, somehow God will mean it for good. Ever read the story of Joseph? His brothers sold him into slavery. In Genesis 50:20 (NIV) he said “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” I will tell you that God fights my fights, and the win is completely as He intends.

So, you see? Charles Rodgers was a sexual deviate like you who liked other males. He was too much of a wus to like women.

May 26, 2019 - After 1984 a woman knew how to hurt me. One of the first private details I shared was having a child in Houston. I returned to college in 1988 and married the Guidance and Placement secretary. I had been in and out of that office so much CLEPing 18 hours of studies that I knew Pamela pretty good. Saw her at the convenience store one day and we hung out. A child on the way, we got married. Stayed married for 2 and half years or so until she claimed she was taking evening classes at the local Tech. That was determined to be a lie. The resulting divorce ruined the relationship with Christopher Larkin Hill.

The 90’s were a mess. I had worked full time and gone to college full time - did all the right things - and then my 2nd child was gone. Haven’t seen him since 1992. I named him after Christ. Years later I met Becky in Myrtle Beach, and Patrick Jr. was born July ‘98. She already had 2 boys - one of whom was in the bathtub when you called. I was a father to her kids. Took all of them camping, etc… She managed to turn them all against me, including my Patrick. He used to go to work with me. I haven’t seen him since 2015, when they stopped by after I spent 51 days in the hospital (much of it in a coma). Went back to work 2 months later. When it comes to kids I let the women do their thing at discrediting the father. It takes too much wasted energy to try. If the mothers want the kids for themselves - have at it.

Patrick, Me, and Andy

Patrick, Me, and Andy

Me and Patrick

Me and Patrick

Shawn, Patrick, and Andy

Shawn, Patrick, and Andy

Several years ago a local young girl named Heather Elvis vanished and everyone felt sorry for the parents. She is still missing. But, few people know how it feels to have 3 “missing” kids, and hateful mothers don’t give a damn; they just want to hurt the father how ever they can. Becky has run off 2 fathers now. In the minds of these women the father = bad and mother = good. Simple as that. She has a bad attitude. One day I told her to count her blessings. “Look at how God has blessed?” Her response was “God didn’t do that - I did it.” Just a bad attitude. That - and an extra 100 pounds.

Christopher.

Christopher.

How does a man deal with grief? He works his butt off doing 4000 moving jobs. I’ve done over a 1000 since having an aortic dissection. One evening February 12, 2015 I took a nap, got up to shower, and upon exiting the shower and getting dressed high blood pressure separated the walls of my aorta. I cracked open the door and dailed 911. Ambulance took me in. ER doc prescribed Valium and sent me home. Took a taxi home. Sure he had missed something, I drove myself back there at 6am. They must have induced a coma, because I was out for the next several weeks. Family moved me out of my apartment while they waited on death. So, now I take a BP pill twice a day and do 320 jobs a year. Happy customers bring me happiness, and God gives joy. I can’t control what other people do or say.

May 25, 2019 - Hajj is an annual Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, the holiest city for Muslims, and a mandatory religious duty for Muslims that must be carried out at least once in their lifetime by all. Of course they’re going to hell. I see, Ben, that you’ve made you own pilgrimage - to San Francisco. We did too. My family went to Disneyland in 1968 while dad was stationed in Las Vegas with USAF. Perhaps it is a status symbol in our own two different ways.

May 23, 2019 - During 1983 my brother Randy and I lived in Houston, Texas on Gessner Boulevard working for United Teacher Associates in Austin, Texas. We served the Texas Retired Teachers Association (TRTA) and Texas State Teachers Association (TSTA) members by marketing their endorsed Medicare Supplement and Nursing Home Facility insurance plans.

Here is the true account of this beautiful love story. I’ll start with the ending.

The last time I saw beautiful Yvette Hand was as we mouthed the words ‘I love you” to each other, and then she disappeared into a loading chute at Love Field airport in Dallas, Texas during early spring 1984. She had flown up to Fort Worth and stayed the weekend with me at my father’s house, Roger Lee Hill. I made her miss her intended return flight because I tried to make the clock stand still, plus it was too painful to say goodbye. We sat in Denny’s somewhere off the highway for a while, but ultimately she had to go back home.

Later on my father guessed correctly that she was pregnant, although not showing much after one trimester or so. Perhaps he saw my regard for her. Perhaps he sensed that she had come up to Ft. Worth to say goodbye to me before she went to Brownwood, Texas for 6 months. I guess it was obvious. It was a very sad time to say the least. Within a matter of weeks I, too, was leaving Texas; heading back to Carolina with my life’s teeth kicked in and looking for a new career. I was burned out on sales anyway.

My RX-7 looked just like this except it had better alloy wheels.

My RX-7 looked just like this except it had better alloy wheels.

During the late summer or early fall of 1983 my car got repossessed. The payments were about $360/mo and I was a couple months behind. The loving Yvette, hopeful and helping as ever, loaned me her car. She hated that I smoked in it, and she really hated that someone ran into the back of me one afternoon. I tried everything I could do to get the party to fix it but things just weren’t going as well as they did in the beginning of our relationship.

Car got repossessed. Loaner car was wrecked. My commission-only income was suffering. Girlfriend was pregnant, and marriage wasn’t a Balm of Gilead. Why? Because we spent so much time oogling and ogling at each other and playing around with this new thing called sex. Wrestling. Staying home from work, but then going out to eat at King Bo chinese restaurants. We liked the Moo Goo Gai Pan.

One evening we went to the Hotel Galvez in Galveston one night. I remember I took my t-top off and slid it into the vinyl envelope thing and placed it flat in the back. Yvette was saying something about Billy Joel’s 1983 “Tell Her About It” song as it played out the car’s roof top. And I’m like “♫la, la, la, la, la, la, la♪.” Perhaps I was a little too care free, and she wanted to have a serious conversation. If you follow the lyrics it sure seems that way.

During other times Yvette was the frisky kitten in the car as much as anywhere. On two occasions, first on the way back from Fort Worth staying a weekend at my brother, Michael’s, I am driving intensely back down I-45 and look over at her. Perhaps, she cleared her throat and caused my glance. But wowie!!! She was just like God made her in her birthday suit, so of course - I pulled over. A girl just needs a little attention, ya know. Another time we headed out to Beaumont for Mexican dinner and a similar thing happened. Bro and I had lived in Beaumont for 6 months beginning June ‘82 and I always enjoyed going back. East Texas is a wonderful place.

Ben Herron - University of Kansas - Ben, over the last 15 years or more I’ve seen you visit my websites fairly often. Why is that? You’ve easily visited hundreds of times. What’s up with that? Just window watching and making judgments? The way I see it, Ben - who wouldn’t want to know the beautiful path that led to their birth? Half the bible is a prelude to the greatest birth story ever told, and what a love story THAT is. Who wouldn’t want to know about the flowers I took to Yvette’s mother as she sat in a beauty shop chair? Or the bliss and happiness of a blinded young insurance salesman and a young HBU student? We spent sooo much time together that Yvette dropped out of classes and I stayed home too many days.