One Of The First To Cut His Hair

The Dam

One of the last days of 2007 on Interstate 40 heading east. As the J. Percy Priest Dam came into view, I eased off the accelerator a tad, the Nissan pickup’s engine was quieter, the cab was warming fully, and the feeling of imminent danger was easing up. I was almost out of Davidson county.

Marriage decimated, house sold, career in shambles, nearly 20 years of friendships in disarray, and an uncertain future. Maybe there wouldn’t be another spate of deaths as the previous two years offered up. Siblings, childhood friends, and bandmates all seemed to be taken – each one a punch in the gut.

One week a couple of months back in October was particularly bad. On Monday my sister, Jennifer, died, on Wednesday news of Dean Johnson’s murder came through – his body discarded in the DC morgue for days being part of the plot, and on Saturday a good friend, David, married the wrong woman. To the trained eye, divorce was in the making at the wedding. They say they come in threes.

Philly seemed a natural destination. My brother Tom’s spirit was all over South Philly – in the homes he renovated and the art institutions where he left his mark. He taught me carpentry, dry walling, and painting as a 17 year old in 1980. Philly had been a destination on and off since that day long ago when my parents took me as a boy to visit him at college in 1974. Something seemed right. A place to mend and regroup.

Using the time well was not in the cards. Running for dear life and looking back. The nightmares were more familiar than the day. Reality obscured by a tortured mind. Finding one’s feet is not possible in this condition.

Philly was going to be a let down. I’d see the J Percy Priest Dam again by early Spring 2008 – heading into Nashville for another go. Hope would be reborn in July – after the divorce was final. A great adventure would be ahead.

I’d enroll in college and start in the Fall. By Spring of 2009 I would be accepted in a study abroad program and by June I’d be wandering Europe before starting my studies in Debrecen, Hungary.

After two years studying in Debrecen and a two-month bicycle trip through four countries – in August 2011, I’d come back from Hungary to finish my BA studies filled with confidence and hopefully heading toward a teaching career.

By Spring of 2012 I would be set up and assassinated again. By August 2012 the terror I felt as I got on a plane to leave America infinitely dwarfed what I felt on that winter day in the last days of 2007 as I left Nashville the first time. I nearly kissed the ground when I landed in Madrid for a layover on the way to Lisbon.

That day by the dam my mind went back. I had seen evil years before. I knew it from looking it in the eye. It offered me a handshake after it destroyed my hopes in 2003 in a dirty little conference room in the basement of the Howard School Building on 2^nd Ave South in Nashville. I pondered that hand as if deciding whether to chew it off or rip it from its socket. The hand was withdrawn and I saw the fear in evil’s eyes. The ‘I fucked you and got away with it – so let’s part amicably’ smirk left the building – chased by my laser glare.

The smirk belonged to Richard McKinney.

The Dog Man

Philly had been mostly a washout. Moved to the wrong neighborhood, drank a lot, and spun my wheels. No connection with my brother’s widow, Pat, although his ex-wife, Maria, was a good friend at times. My family still had close ties to her. As amicable as divorces get. But I was not functioning at all well. I could not get meaningful work. I had an IT contract job that revealed a problem with the FBI in my vetting. That was a strange nugget. Had to go to NYC and pay $150 to have it quelled. Piece of my past from 1984. Spent a lot of time in my brother’s neighborhood, buying handmade Italian sausage and pasta – and frequently going to Lorenzo’s for a cheesesteak. I bought a red Fender Stratocaster as my divorce guitar – even though we were only separated at that point. Lost my truck to a city bus and picked up a Subaru wagon. Along with the anxiety, boredom, pain, and drinking came a few unlikely lovers.

I was hanging out with a tall, Greek-blooded opera singer who looked and talked like a mafia wife out of central casting. After the last time I was with her and on my way to my hated flat, I talked with my separated wife, Catherine. I made a feeble attempt to win her back over the phone while driving down country roads. She informed me she was in a relationship with a friend of mine. I’d joke later that I lost a good drummer in the divorce. I packed up my Subaru wagon and headed back to Nashville in a bizarre attempt to gallantly take her back from my duplicitous ex-friend. In reality, I practically handed her over to him.

Went to a much closer friend’s house who had a room for me. Dan was the kind of person to take in someone in need – and a good listener. I loved his pack of good-natured mutts – and the dogs were central to the madness that was Dan’s large Victorian home. Sometimes pretty preachy with his 12-step talk. Funny thing for someone with a drawer full of prescription meds at his bedside to be doing. Vegetarian and a dirty old man. We told bawdy jokes all day. He also brought me to practice Buddhism with Grammy-winning singer/songwriter, Skip Ewing. Sometimes we went to a universalist church and some drum circles. Good distractions. No problem with me playing super loud to rehearse for a show that was going to happen in late May. It was a memorial show that was put together for my murdered friend, Dean Johnson, and it would take place in Manhattan on his birthday. It was suddenly a busy time.

While at Dan’s my divorce would become final. I was numb after the court date. I went to the large living room and fell into a trance in front of his giant TV. I watched movies non-stop for a week. Finally I had enough. The last movie that I sulked through finished. I turned off the TV, smiled, and said “I’m going to college.”

I prepared myself mentally and did some studying. There was a one-off test to get a GED. I passed in the top 2% of the country and did the paperwork to get into Tennessee State University. My first two semesters were completed while at Dan’s. But by October, the second month into the first semester, that uncomfortable feeling about Nashville was grating my nerves. I started looking at study abroad and applied. The staff at TSU was eager to have me get into a study abroad program. I was accepted into a State Department related student exchange program. I’d leave in June, 2009 and head to Europe, eventually winding up in Hungary.

There were more good times with Dan along the way. During football season we watched the Tennessee Titans – laughing at their perpetual losses in the second half. We went to parties. I cooked Thanksgiving dinner at a couple’s house whom we had met while we were out carousing. One thing that happened stood out from all the distractions and adventures at Dan’s. In early May, a month and a little after that pleading call with my soon-to-be ex-wife, there I was on a dating site. There was always someone available.

Everyone Tries

Someone genuinely attractive! Somewhat unexpected on a dating site. Through the cheesy electronic means she managed to shine. We hit it off instantly in our messages. This was someone I would like no matter the context. After a little bit of back and forth we agreed to meet. The place was her idea – and sounded great. A hike on the trails surrounding Radnor Lake.

I had only been there a few times and wasn’t familiar with the trails. She showed up in her older but immaculate Toyota. Wonderfully fit and excellent skin tone. She looked a bit Hispanic. One of those people I envy and admire for living well. Something that’s been elusive for me. The kind of person who stereotypes might call a vegan at first glance and be wrong. Kath looked like what they are supposed to – a nature girl.

We settled into talk quickly as Kath led the way. She was full of questions, and I was answering and asking as well. Her humor kept popping up along with wisdom, noticing things along the trail, and asking more questions.

Since childhood my large number of siblings always brought out surprise and people wondering what it’s like. Since my brother Tom died in 2006 in Philly, how I looked at the number changed. My whole life, the story was that I was the youngest of fifteen. In truth, there were two others who died before I was born that were never mentioned much. I was still getting my story straight. The youngest of seventeen – two of whom I never knew. Explained that, in a post-WWII economy, my father’s tool designer job at Pratt & Whitney was enough – along with the rental properties he owned and my mom occasionally working. Talking NYC, music, and more.

Kath is a healer working with Reiki and other more obscure Eastern methods. Having had some good and odd experiences with self proclaimed ‘healers’, I felt sure this was someone who was serious and dedicated. A pure spirit. She speaks with the ease of a knowledgeable person. Her thoughts on nutrition and using food as medicine were surprisingly close to in-line with my ideal – although she was more well-versed and much better at practicing what she preached. A hippy girl and not. She told of her upbringing on ‘The Farm’ in Summertown, TN.

She had a deep scar on her right leg and noticed me looking at it. She told me of how she was injured as a girl and nearly lost her leg. She healed herself with natural methods learned on The Farm. I learned a little about The Farm, her mom, and brother. The family were very close. Her brother, James, and her mom lived nearby. I’d meet them soon enough.

I vaguely recalled stories from two very different friends, both singers I worked with in NYC, about having visited The Farm in the 1980s – but there was something else I couldn’t quite recall about that place. Then Kath asked me about my work. I told her about how I worked in IT but wasn’t doing much at the moment. I covered my past – going from a computer store and then through corporate IT and how my last ‘real job’ was for Metro Nashville Government before opening my own computer business. Her eyes lit up and she asked in a cheerful voice “Do you know Richard McKinney?” All the beauty of the day and the conversation left me in that moment. My mood was black. I answered. “That’s the worst person I’ve ever met.” She countered “He used to tutor me in math at The Farm.”

I could not recover my good spirits. The darkness of my interactions with Richard couldn’t be shrugged off. We finished our walk and went to Baja Burrito and had lunch. Kath could see that invoking the name of her once helpful math tutor was an accidental poke into a raw wound. Kind person that she is, she did her best to soothe me. I don’t recall the entire conversation, but I know I must have been spewing bile – as if I could turn Kath against her once good tutor. The only thing I remember, other than not wanting my food, is Kath saying, in defense of Richard, “Everyone tries.” ‘Tries what and to what end?’ has been the thought about that conversation since that day.

Amazingly, Kath and I would hang out quite a bit. A typical person would have been put off by a tormented creature such as me. Kath isn’t typical. Such a lovely woman. We grew close. At one point Kath expressed we could possibly be partners. It was impossible for me. The anger I had needed to be resolved before I could be a suitable partner for anyone. I also despised Nashville too much to ever try to settle there again.

In the fall Kath took me to a party at a snazzy house in West Nashville. Kath was the only person I felt at home with among this crowd of predominantly Farm people. I recall an air of snobbery. Apparently the Farm experience was a trophy for them. A way to legitimize their bourgeois lives. I had seen the same with punk rock people. It was just an evening, and I was much more interested in Kath. There was some nice typical yuppie beer drinking in the back yard by a fire. A very Nashville scene. After a time we all gathered inside. I sat and watched them all reminisce about the Farm. Everyone was tipsy, the talk went to Richard and suddenly the mood of the room changed. Somehow I was able to observe and be a Buddhist. I set aside my normally triggered anger at the mention of that devil, maintained my neutrality, watched, and listened. At one point, a wavy-haired brunette took on a strange smile, shook her head, and said ‘Richard.’ Eyes went to the floor in an uncomfortable silence.

Metro – The Interview

I first met Richard in late August 2000. At the time I was a contract IT worker for the State of Tennessee for the Department of Children Services since January of that year. One of the strangest gigs I ever had. The money was decent but the environment was far less than desirable. In fact, I started sending out resumes from my work computer within minutes of having it set up on my first day. I was used to having good tools at my disposal and interesting projects to work on from my time at Hospital Corporation of America(HCA). The State was a dead end. All the good technical jobs were taken by predominantly Indian H1-B contractors. Why wasn’t local talent developed? I knew of qualified Americans looking for jobs in a competitive IT market. I was never called on to use any of the skills I picked up at HCA and other corporate environments. Any marginally trained idiot could have done the work assigned to me.

I was happy for my interview at the Howard School Building for the Metropolitan Nashville Government(Metro). It was another contract position but with a significant pay increase from what I had at the State. Better yet was the potential for it being a good gig. Richard and Doug Eckert were there. Doug had been at HCA when I was there. I didn’t know him, but knew his name. Doug didn’t seem very bright, but Richard was engaging and intelligent. The focus on me was my experience at HCA. HCA produced great IT workers. It was enterprise networking at its best. As much as I didn’t appreciate the fascism, it was a top-notch learning experience.

Although I don’t recall everyone in that meeting, people who would end up in my chain of command were there. David Lewis would be my direct supervisor in Desktop Support. His counterpart in Server Support was Lee Brooker. Jack Hudson was their supervisor. I’m quite sure some or all of them were in the meeting. They explained the situation at Metro. It was quite a challenge.

The Information Technology Department didn’t control all of the IT in Metro at that time – but they wanted to. Every department in the city had its own IT budget. Several of the smaller departments used their budget to tie themselves directly to the IT department. Most of the larger departments had their own IT departments. Large departments were wary of the IT department and didn’t want to relinquish control to them. I believe it was Jack who called it their fiefdoms. To the best of my recollection, in order for the Metro IT department to gain full control, a threshold of departments who relinquished control had to be met. There was a power struggle going on

Metro’s IT, including all departments, was a hot mess. A couple of examples of the challenges were laid out. If the Fire Department and Police Department were on the same call, they didn’t have the means to share documentation in a sensible way. Reports were emailed between them and sometimes data would have to be typed in again at both ends. Insane by today’s standards. Then there was the network infrastructure. The departments used different combinations of Novell’s network operating system, the old mainframe system, and Microsoft networks. Although there were ways to connect these systems, the solutions were tedious and problematic. There wasn’t even a central email system. The wiring was another issue. There was no fiber backbone and some departments had invested in technologies that were on their way out such as Token Ring – a ridiculous system that needed to go.

The IT department wanted everyone on Microsoft network and email systems with a fiber backbone. These were all challenges I had dealt with before in a support capacity at Calsonic – an auto parts manufacturer, Heidelberg Web Press, and HCA – a huge healthcare conglomerate. I was a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer(MCSE). Metro did not have any. I got the gig and was their first MCSE. It was a year contract. At the end of a year, I would either be offered a permanent position or let go. I started in early September 2000. I would be a useful tool in the power struggle.

One of the Good Ones

I was married to my wife, Catherine, a little more than a year at this point. We were living in a farmhouse in Nolensville, Tennessee that belonged to a fairly prominent Nashville family, the Turners. The patriarch of the family, Jim Turner, was a well-known baseball player and pitching coach from long ago. He was coaching with the Yankees in their peak years of the 1950s/1960s. When I met Jim Turner, he was part owner of the Nashville Sounds and in his mid-90s. I loved the Turners and helped bury two of them – Jim and his daughter, Dorothy. Catherine and I married at that house – their former home when the patriarch had been a baseball star. At one time a working dairy farm, it was on Nolensville Road, which eventually became 2^nd Avenue. I had a straight shot into work. Nearly twenty miles at rush hour. I did not enjoy the commute.

On the drive to work I would often listen to NPR. The notion of listening to that propaganda outlet is preposterous to me now. Back then, I leaned toward Democrats and shunned Republicans. Attitudes can change when new information is provided – especially when the delivery is a series of shocks. Back then, I was leaning nearly hard left. Not quite a loyalist – but too close. I didn’t know what I was into, but had some suspicions.

I only recall one broadcast from all of those long drives into town. It must have been on October 12^th or 13th, 2000. On October 12, the USS Cole was attacked while being refueled in Yemen. For some reason, that story cut through me. It was reported dramatically. Fingers pointed toward culprits at lightning speed. The ‘reporting’ had the desired effect. It planted a ‘message.’

Getting used to Metro was not so bad. It was clear that I was one of the more skilled workers, but most of the other techs, Dan, Al, Gwenda, Brad, and Sandy were solid enough. They were locals. Southerners – with the exception of Al. Not the level of shark I worked with at HCA, but overall pleasant and mostly competent. I enjoyed sharing information and helping the curious level up. Not long after I started, a few more sharks were added. There was a lot of work ahead and a team was being built for it.

Our tech room was rough, but there was enough room to work. My immediate supervisor, David Lewis, was the kind of boss I like. Smart enough to let me do my job. David was a big southern man with a boyish face. An intellectual – southern style. A good man with a good nature. He had a quality I would never possess – the ability to play the game.

The IT Department was moving rapidly – as if on a war footing. I was a top soldier. The game was ‘bringing the departments into the fold.’ What made me cut out for this work was my technical skill, ability to explain the advantages of centralizing IT, and ability to gain trust. I was given ‘difficult’ departments to deal with. The fact is, Jack and Lee were assholes and good at putting off those departments. They blew trust every chance they got. Jack was ex-military and viewed the departments as enemies to be defeated – and it was obvious.

I was a peacemaker and also naive. I didn’t understand how control was the object. I only looked at the technical side – and was good at pointing out the advantages of having coherent tech. One of the most ‘difficult’ departments, the Planning Commission, became my baby. There was a tough woman there who knew her job well and I admired her for it. Jennifer Higgs didn’t skip a beat and was very protective of her department. Her distrust, especially of Jack, was well-founded. I broke her down with logic and technical straight talk. I liked Higgs and befriended her, never tried to bullshit her, stood up for Planning, and gained trust. I didn’t realize what I was doing until later in the game – when it became clear that the IT department was, in fact, the enemy – there to crush departmental autonomy and blow up budgets with mandates. No more friendly small town stuff. Ice-cold authoritarianism was to be the way forward.

It had been announced within the department that an IT consultancy company, The Gartner Group, was going to audit Metro and come up with recommendations. Millions (Billions?) would be poured into the IT.

Meanwhile I performed service calls for many of the departments at Metro. I’m my father’s son. As a tool designer, he was technically capable. As a person, he loved talking with people and winning them over. My skills, friendly demeanor, and gift of gab made me an excellent choice for supporting computer users who were often in a state of desperation when I arrived at their desks to solve a problem.

Early on I had a service call with an older woman in one of the departments close to the tech room. I dealt with her professionally and personably. Obviously she had been subjected to meathead techs before. As I was getting ready to leave, she said something that sticks with me to this day. With her sweet southern accent she warned me. “You’re one of the good ones. They’re gonna run you off.” I took note, but didn’t take it seriously – yet.

The Finance Server

My first year at Metro was good overall. I could see the fruits of my labor and was making a difference. The team was getting better. The addition of Todd, Reginald, and Jason – three excellent techs – was turning us into a formidable Desktop Support team within the IT department. We were field technicians who were capable Network and Server Administrators. Our Administrators couldn’t do the field work. Most of them were not personable enough to treat the people in the field with respect. Most of them didn’t know their own jobs. One exception was Dean Wilson – and I can’t recall another. The rest – including their manager, Lee, were Novell admins and Mainframe guys lost in Microsoft land. It became apparent when there was a problem with the server for the Finance Department.

A point of pride for me as a tech was my ability to save data after a catastrophic failure. The Finance server went belly up and management was in horror. This went up to the mayor’s office. It was the main server for Nashville’s financial information. The server admins were at a loss, with the exception of Dean. Dean and I discussed it among ourselves and came up with a loose plan to use backup tapes and restore to different hardware. Dean had found a white paper about the process on the paid Microsoft support site. There was a method and I had the skills to pull it off. To me, this was the fun of my job. Taking the challenge with a cool, almost gleeful, approach. We took our ideas to management. Richard, Jack, and Lee didn’t have anything else. I took the lead and got into a process that would be an all-niter.

At about 9:30 pm, Richard came in to check on me. He was obviously nervous. I was cool as could be. I knew I had the problem licked. I showed him what I was doing and explained it in simple language. He obviously didn’t know what I was talking about. I took note. He was no less nervous when he left. Tech was not his thing. That much I knew in that moment.

Metro had a support contract with Microsoft. The contract allowed us to have exclusive support for an additional $175 per incident. In other words, Metro got into a contract with Microsoft for a fat fee and Microsoft double-dipped when there was an extraordinary problem. It gets worse. They would provide some information but no real solution. Their customer, in this case Metro, would have to figure out the solution. Then Microsoft wanted the information. I had been through this before at HCA. When I figured out the problem at Metro, I refused to give Microsoft the solution. I told them that if they wanted it they would have to return the incident fee. The same Microsoft guy begged me for months to tell them how I solved it. I joyfully refused and taunted the poor bastard. I wasn’t going to allow the grift to be so severe.

It was a difficult job and I got my part done. Dean knew what to do to finish it off the next day. Mostly it was a matter of correcting permissions. Tedious work. Dean likely doubled up on coffee and cigarettes. Those were the drugs of choice for many of us. David was happy that one of his guys pulled the server group out of the weeds. We liked to stick it to them – because they could be superior sons of bitches.

9/11

That attack on the USS Cole stuck with me. I was horrified when Bush junior got into office. My gut knew nothing good would come of it. Too much bad shit was happening. I had a sense of doom and wanted out of the US. Since my first trip to Europe in the mid-1980s, I wanted to live there. Anywhere would do. Only an English speaking country seemed plausible. Ireland was having a tech boom. I was sending resumes to recruiters.

Things hadn’t totally soured yet – but tension was building. My year of being a contractor was coming to a close. I was getting bites from the Irish recruiters. Fingers crossed. David pulled me aside for a talk and told me that Metro wanted to hire me on as a Civil Servant. I didn’t have a job in Ireland, so I agreed to become a Metro employee. David told me it would be announced at the next Desktop Support meeting. We met on Tuesday mornings.

That Tuesday was a beautiful day. Clear blue skies. It was cool and didn’t get too hot that day. As I recall, our meetings were at 8:00 am. David went through the usual stuff. Telling us things we needed to know. These meetings were friendly and more productive than most meetings I’d been saddled with in corporate environments.

At one point, someone came into the room and announced that one of the World Trade Center buildings had been hit by a plane. We chatted about it. Everyone was assuming it was a Cessna or similar small plane. The meeting got back into its groove. After a short time, another interruption came with the announcement that another plane had hit the other WTC building. The only television in the department was in Richard’s office. We all piled out of our meeting and went straight there to watch the horror unfold. There must have been fifteen or more of us packed in.

For me, it was a body blow. I used to work there. At another time I drove by there every morning – playing like I was running down the investment bankers – wearing a cowboy hat, honking my horn and watching them scatter. The first time in those buildings was my twentieth birthday – on my way to getting laid in New Jersey. The towers had been a landmark for me to find my bearings on hundreds of walks. All these thoughts and memories flashed through my mind. Nobody around me, except maybe Al Centonze, had these kinds of experiences. Me and Al weren’t exactly tight and didn’t share NY thoughts the same. New York was not a part of them like me. There I was, mesmerized by towers on fire. Although my colleagues didn’t have my experiences, we all knew this was really bad.

I recall Richard watching. There was something off about him – like a child dissecting a live frog and enjoying it too much.

David ushered us out of Richard’s office and we went back to the meeting. All of the business of the day was finished with one exception – the announcement of my hire. David put it to me as a question with his big smile. As I answered affirmatively, images of explosions and fire in my mind, I knew there wasn’t going to be a job in Ireland for me. In my life of strange incidents and bizarre coincidences – this one took the cake. I should have ran away from there and never looked back. Hindsight…

The day was eerie. No air traffic made Nashville quieter than I thought possible for business hours. I recall taking several smoke breaks and staring into the empty pure blue sky. My thoughts were in New York. I’m sure there was normal, propaganda-driven scuttlebutt from colleagues – I just don’t recall it.

That night Catherine and I watched television. I was panicky. A call came in from an ex-girlfriend, Laura, who had married a friend of mine, Marc. They lived in New York. Marc was an EMS worker and had been at the towers that day. The experience had torn through his psyche. He got in his car and drove. Laura called me to see if he had gotten in touch with me. Although we had a falling out years before, Laura thought he wanted to see me. Of course he was welcome, but he didn’t come. The next day we established that he made it to Denver. He returned home.

Marc couldn’t save lives at the tower that day other than his partner’s. Marc had grown up in Park Slope, a section of Brooklyn with a clear view of lower Manhattan. As a child he watched the towers go up. As a man they came down – nearly on his head. His partner wanted to go in to save lives. Marc instinctively knew those towers were coming down and wouldn’t let his partner go into the buildings. His career as an EMT was over. He became a veterinary technician.

Glowies

Within weeks of 9/11, Metro brought in an army of ‘consultants’ as part of the Gartner Group’s recommendations. Overpayed douchebags, all too common in IT. People who were high on themselves. The kind who liked their kaki trousers. The thing that bothered me was that I knew plenty of good local people who could do the work. These corporate hitmen didn’t give a damn about the city. There was an ominous, sinister feeling about it all. No camaraderie with these people. They were secretive and made many of us locals uncomfortable. Arrogant and off-putting.

I recall one loathsome prick in particular – a Jeffrey Epstein/Andrew Cuomo lookalike. He was working on internet security. One day, while working on a firewall he had just installed, he practically had an orgasm at finding ‘Chinese hackers’ attempting to ‘break in.’ I didn’t believe a word of it. He was a psycho, to put it mildly.

More than a decade later, I would find out that SAIC had been doing all the vetting of tech staff for Metro for at least part of the mid-2000s. I don’t know if that relationship still exists. I looked into SAIC. I have a joke about them. I tell people ‘spell it backwards’ and follow with ‘Google SAIC and CIA.’ The connections with intelligence agencies are obvious. Several accounts depicting SAIC as a sinister organization and Deep State cutout are out there.

Home Sweet Home – The Civil Servant

I settled into my new role. It was the old role with a pay cut and more job security. I warmed to the idea of being a lifer. I was in love and could finally settle down and maybe raise a family. Catherine wanted children. I never did before as I didn’t ever make the kind of living where I could properly raise a child. I was warming to the idea. We decided to buy a house.

East Nashville was where we looked. The neighborhood was ‘up and coming.’ Small businesses were popping up. Live entertainment was taking hold. East Nashville was becoming an area of arts for the entire mid-south. I still loved to drink and have a good time. East Nashville was arguably becoming the best place for hundreds of miles around to do that. The musician in me saw it as a place to dig in and have my fun. It wasn’t the Country Music tourist trap that lower Broadway was. East Nashville was trying to rival Austin, Texas.

We found a house at 1114 Forrest Ave – a one minute walk from the center of activity known as Five Points. We loved the house for its Victorian architecture. Tall ceilings, pocket doors, five tiled fireplaces, and wrap-around porch. Humble with touches of elegance. The yard was fenced and great for our dogs. My commute would be minutes rather than the better part of an hour. We closed on it on December 7, 2001 – a day that will live in infamy. I never read the signs.

After the paperwork was signed and the house was ours, we went there for our first moment alone in our new home. There were two bathrooms with a hall in-between. We decided to each have our own. We both needed to pee and sat on our own thrones, looked at each other across the hall, and laughed – enjoying our good fortune.

I started to know neighbors and make acquaintances, as is my nature. I enjoyed walking the dogs. I love a walking neighborhood full of beautiful houses and I had one. I didn’t miss the farm in Nolensville.

Work was humming along. I felt good about it. Sarcastic S.O.B. that I can be, I took on an attitude that was unfamiliar to me that fit like a glove. As a civil servant, I found myself. I became the embodiment of the sweet rhetoric of the US that is all too often a bitter lie. I was the real deal. As corny as it sounds, when I left my house each morning for work, I looked around at my neighbors’ houses, thought about their taxes paying my salary, and went to work to earn my keep.

That didn’t last long. I would find out that there is no room for ethics in Nashville government – especially in Richard McKinney’s IT department. The city didn’t own IT – it was Richard’s ‘project’, as I would learn.

The Unraveling

The first signs of an unraveling popped up at Metro soon after I moved to East Nashville. Richard had a meeting with all of the IT Department workers. He unveiled the new name for the department. From then on it would be Information Technology Services(ITS). He also unveiled his new title; Chief Information Officer(CIO). Obvious corporate dressing. He went on to tell the employees that being in the Civil Service would not protect them if they weren’t up to his standards. Corporate fascism was taking hold of the local government civil service.

Richard declared that Metro was going to become exclusively “a Microsoft shop.” The Apple computers were going to be pulled from the schools – although it was industry standard to use Apple in schools at that time. The Mainframe would be trashed – although some wanted to repurpose it. The Linux servers were going away. It didn’t matter if Unix, Linux, or Apple was the better solution to a problem. It was to be Microsoft or nothing.

The fiber backbone and all the wiring would be handled by Blackbox – another IT contractor with countless government contracts. The networking equipment would be exclusively supplied by Cisco. The servers, desktop computers and laptops would be exclusively Dell. There would be a three year turnaround on computers. If a perfectly good computer was more than 3 years old, it would be replaced. These were all no-bid contracts and sweetheart deals. Always added extras – often in the form of fat service contracts.

More than anything, it was Richard ‘establishing himself’ in a demoralizing power play. There was plenty of grumbling when Richard left and the meeting disbanded.

Question Authority

I was a computer professional who knew what worked and what didn’t. The ham-fisted approach of making Microsoft the exclusive operating system for an enterprise network flew in the face of everything I knew from endless reading and getting my hands dirty in the work. UNIX and Linux are more secure operating systems. Only fools and tools used Microsoft web servers. I can’t speak for now, but back then there was no security built into Microsoft operating systems at the kernel level. Frankly, Microsoft made(makes?) overpriced garbage. Arguably, the only Microsoft product an enterprise network could make a case for at that time was their Exchange email server.

The Planning Department used a mapping program, ESRI. ESRI ran best on Linux and that was the recommended environment from the manufacturer. Jennifer Higgs threw a fit when she was told she had to use the Microsoft compatible version. I was with her all the way. I’m not a company man. I operate on the notion that there are right ways to do things and other ways to do things. I couldn’t hide my disgust at what was going on.

All of this was on the heels of Microsoft fending off a slew of antitrust cases. I was definitely too cocky. I actually believed in rules and the open bid process. I believed in silly things like functioning oversight. I can be an argumentative S.O.B. when I believe I’m right about something. I didn’t recognize the level of the grift or the much more sinister aspects. I pinned it on stupidity and ham-fisted theft. I thought I could fight it, but only succeeded in making myself into a target.

Mental ‘Health’ a.k.a. The Victimhood Industrial Complex

I thrive in the stress of accomplishing tangible work. I fly apart and turn into a reactionary when under attack by enemies. In the Spring of 2002, enemies in Metro’s power structure, added aplenty, bought and paid for, blatantly revealed themselves.

Like many if not most people, I’m a well-trained addict. Caffeine and nicotine got me speedy – enabling me to deal with a high volume of tasks. When work was finished, booze slowed me down and allowed me to laugh at or shout out about the stupidity of the day. Weed sharpened my focus in tough times and revealed what was going on around me. They all had their drawbacks.

The worse drugs are pills. By and large I avoid them. In fact, the entire medical profession was something that I always had a sense of mistrust about. I recall two elderly men, the Wilson brothers, when I was growing up. One after another, they died soon after being admitted to the hospital. My mom had told me about their fear of hospitals. I only put it together after the ‘Covid’ debacle that they were young adults when the Spanish ‘Flu’ was the thing.

I had one good doctor in my life, Mark Jacokes. I found him when a problem with a herniated disc became an issue in 1994. I had gone to another doctor whose first response was surgery. That set off a red flag and I found Mark. When I went in for my appointment, he examined me and then started writing in a prescription pad. I started to get creeped out – thinking he’s just another pill-pusher. Then he handed me the paper with the titles of two books. He advised me to do the exercises recommended in the books. He won me over by gaining my trust.

My anxiety was through the roof. Richard became a master at sewing seeds of discontent. The days of going to work and feeling good about it were becoming a thing of the past all too fast. Good things never seem to last. Everything about the job was upside-down from the almost healthy work environment I had enjoyed before. Richard’s hatred for his managers was obvious. He shat on them and shit rolls downhill. The tension was palpable.

I turned to Dr Jacokes. Maybe all the Pharma advertisements had gotten to me. I should have known better. The last time I tried Pharma mind pills they drove me mad. A doctor in New York had prescribed Halcyon to me and it turned into a mini breakdown. But Doctor Jacokes was different. I called for an appointment. He was no longer seeing patients. He told me that the paperwork had gotten to him. He advised I see a colleague, Dr Mary Harbison.

Dr Harbison is no Mark Jacokes. A pill pusher isn’t what I needed but it’s what I got. In retrospect, she didn’t seem to have any knowledge or convictions. She was out of her depth with me. It ended up that I was doing my own research and letting her know what I thought I needed – a recipe for disaster. I was attempting to cut down on booze and smoking. I forget how we arrived on Adderall as being the drug of choice.

At first it seemed to work pretty well, but sleep was hard to come by. After awhile, the drug crept up and put me into disarray. Speed kills. The real damage of all of this would have repercussions that would last a lifetime. This was the beginnings of me shoehorning myself into the mental ‘health’ establishment.

A Wedding

Catherine and I hadn’t had many vacations. When a chance to get away came we seized it. My nephew, Sean, was getting married to his bride to be, Abby, in July, 2002. Catherine and I decided to drive to Northampton, Massachusetts to attend.

We stayed at a hotel in the center of town. I recall the theater marquee outside of our room with Tracy Chapman’s name in big letters. No surprise with Northampton having a reputation as a lesbian Mecca. There are several colleges in the area and my sister, Louise, worked at one of them, Amherst.

It was Catherine’s introduction to a full array of Becketts. My siblings overwhelmed her with charm and graciousness – which they are all capable of doing when at their best. A highlight was going for a visit to Louise’s house – a mid-19th century wooden structure that she was renovating. Among other tasks, Louise was digging out a basement. She proudly showed us the pile of rubble holding the house up until proper supports would be installed. Louise is a quick-witted, sharp-tonged, little woman that one should not tangle with. If you run into her, don’t let her size fool you. That runt will rip your head off if you cross her. She’s a hoot.

The wedding was one of the most beautiful I attended. It was good to connect with the family. That would be the last time we were almost all together under happy circumstances. The only other meetings with so many Becketts would be for the deaths of two of my brothers – Tom in 2006 and John in 2012.

False Arrest – A Setup

Returning to Nashville found me struggling with putting my chemistry into some semblance of functionality. The Adderall seemed like the right thing – and not. My self-diagnosis of adult Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) could not have been more off. In recent years I found out how the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Illnesses (DSM) was cooked up by lunatics at the behest of the Pharmaceutical Industry. Back then, I was letting all the chatter convince me that I was the problem.

For much of my life, I wished that I was one of the stupid idiots that ‘get along.’ I chastised myself for not ‘fitting in.’ Of all the stupid things I have done, nothing was dumber than this.

Thinking that weed was being problematic, I quit. Terrible decision at the time. My diet wasn’t great. Weed is good for problematic gut symptoms. I also would get terrible mouth ulcers from stress and diet. Weed fixed them right up. I decided to buy some weed and checked in with a friend who said he could meet me at The Basement, a downtown music venue.

I had time to eat dinner and went to Los Americas, a Central American place. Distinctive from Mexican food, their chicken burrito was my go-to. I had a Negro Modelo with dinner.

I took the back roads, driving fast, as I always did. As I was going uphill on Blackman Road, the blue lights came on behind me and I pulled over. Believing it was a simple speed trap, I handed over my license and registration to the cop. He asked me if I’ve been drinking or on any medication. I told him of the beer with dinner and that I was taking Adderall for ADHD but my last dose was more than 6 hours previous at 1:00pm. I was unaware of my own hand movements when he was calling in to check on my documentation. Apparently stretching is forbidden and I was so naive that I didn’t think of my movements as being ‘odd’ or ‘threatening’. I wasn’t drunk or holding any drugs. I felt safe and relaxed.

The cop comes back. He asks me to step out of the car. In a minute four more cops were there, each in their own vehicle. I get out and he asks me to do ‘field sobriety tests.’ I was passing all the finger to nose and counting backwards stuff easily. Then he asks me to walk a straight line on a crooked crack in the pavement that was on a curving sharp uphill looking into the low rays of the sun. From what I could see, I passed. I had been taking Tai Chi and was sure-footed. I was not given a Breathalyzer test and was placed under arrest.

The cop’s name was Scott Ivery Carter. The ride to the central police station was a misery for him. I wouldn’t shut up. He had an idiotic screen saver with ‘they’re’ when it should have been ‘their.’ I poked him for it. I was livid between cracks at the poor SOB. I slipped my arms under my legs and had the cuffs in front of me. I’ll give him credit that he didn’t get threatening with me on the ride, rather, he acknowledged the fact that he couldn’t take my verbal hammering. I wore him out.

The booking procedure had a ‘hepatitis poke.’ I regret that I didn’t refuse. In fact – I blundered all the way. I shouldn’t have answered any of the questions. I know that they only get you on what you give them. I had let my guard down. I was given a blood test. I only put it together later that it was because I had mentioned Adderall.

I was there roughly six hours and got out after 2:00am. Catherine was waiting for me. While outside of the station we were standing near the exit door for some reason. I forgot why. I was venting about the whole sinister incident. There was a big black cop nearby. I noticed him listening in – and taking it in. Maybe I’m reading more into it than was there. Seemed to me that he knew I was gamed. He looked ashamed.

The court case would take years to resolve. Many odd incidents along the way. I found out much later that Officer Carter was on a ‘special’ DUI detail. My immediate strategy, before I knew anything, was to go after them for violating the Americans with Disabilities Act(ADA) – claiming that the cop ‘got me’ for taking Adderall for my perceived ADHD. This is when things at work started to get really dark.

ADA Coordination

What a terrible position to be in. Nashville government was my employer and my adversary in a legal matter. By now I had worked in many departments of the city. I had even been assigned to the Mayor’s Office for a time. I hadn’t done much work with the Police Department, but I had been in several of the administrative offices. I knew my way around. Having been a legal proofreader in a previous life, I had some level of competence at reading legal documents and finding out about legal procedures.

As an American, I should have known the depths of Nashville’s corruption – especially being from a crooked town like Waterbury, CT. Especially being me – a person who had always been close enough to the corruption. Neighbors were the political crooks going to jail. Discussions of crooked American politics were served up with dinner every evening in my childhood home. I also had crazy stuff happen in NYC involving the NYPD working as agents for the ADL. I was now in the thick of it again in Nashville. A double dose. A DUI scam and abuse at work. I actually believed I could use the system to fight the system. After so many experiences, why so naive? I should know better. Even me, one often taken as a dark cynic, gets caught up in believing the government will do the right thing – only to be disappointed again.

I tried – knowing at some level that it’s designed to fail and can backfire and make things worse.

My search in finding my defense based on disability led to me reading the Americans with Disabilities Act(ADA). I found out that there was an ADA coordinator in Nashville. Her name was Dianna Stephens. I went to her office and filed a complaint against the Metro Nashville Police Department(MNPD). I wouldn’t hear back. I would check in and get nothing when inquiring about the status of my complaint.

Hiding

I liked the people in the Planning Commission and there was plenty to do there. A quick getaway when things got too hot in my own department. The old stone building that was their headquarters was rewired and new computers were deployed. Planning was saddled with problematic Epson Plotters – essentially huge printers for making maps. The staff and I commiserated at the problems that came with the Gartner audit and King Richard’s dictates. Their director, Rick Bernhardt, lived close to me in East Nashville. I liked speaking with him, but Jennifer Higgs was the more technical person. She had a temper, and I shared it. She’d vent, I’d acknowledge. I like people like that. There were plenty of workers that I enjoyed dealing with in Planning.

A short drive away was another department that I enjoyed taking care of – the State Fair. The State Fair was hosted by Metro. I never understood that relationship. There were only a few people there. Mainly Erin and her boss whose name slips my mind. The other workers there were grounds keepers and maintenance workers for tasks such as plumbing, carpentry, and electric.

I had great relations with the office staff and even managed to book a band I was in for the 2002 Tennessee State Fair. I got to see ‘The Time’ at the 2001 show. Carrot Top was supposed to play the 2001 show but was panicking from 9/11 and called it off. We laughed about it at the time.

I was being sent all over town – and was happy to go. Places other techs didn’t like because of the people were always fun for me. I liked the Historical Commission and Arts Commission. I found the people and their work interesting. I was always looking for an excuse to get far away from my own department. These other departments were an oasis from the thugs in ITS management.

Patterns of Abuse

Gradually over the Summer and Fall of 2002, I would get sucked deeper and deeper into patterns of abuse at work. Every day would seemingly be worse than the last.

My naivety was my own worst enemy. I actually believed that most of the people in management were decent people. My immediate supervisor, David Lewis, is the only one who stands out as decent still. David Lewis was the intellectual of the bunch. Jack was an ex-military dumbass. Not slamming the military. Jack was an authoritarian who would bring up things like ‘chain of command.’ I could talk sense with him – until he was given orders not to.

Doug Eckert was always untrustworthy and slimy. I found out recently that he was hired as Richard’s hatchet man. He gave off a bad vibe. I would never confide in him. It was intimated to me that Doug got his start in IT. Doug was singing at a bar when he was picked up by a woman who worked for the State of Tennessee. Banged him all weekend then gave him a job at the State.

David Friedlander was especially good at playing Mr. Friendly. I learned it was an act. In reality, he was a sinister S.O.B. Richard became the devil himself. Other than David Lewis, the rest would suck me in and play me. They knew they could push my buttons and they did so – sadistically and effectively. It was a mind control operation.

I would be picked on, toyed with, and annoyed to death. ‘Special treatment.’

The Spy

Not one to take things lying down, I bought a voice recorder. If these devils were going to fuck with me, I was going to have evidence of it. Every time Jack would do the drill sergeant act – demanding odd duties, or Richard and Doug would call me into Richard’s office to ‘corner’ me, or the new glowie, Carlen Grey, would call me to his office to mock me – I would record it.

Forced Medical Treatment

Richard demanded that I go to a counseling session with a psych firm of his/Metro’s choosing. I tried to get out of it. By this time all trust was broken. He wouldn’t let me not go under threat of suspension. I was sent to 3401 West End Avenue. A truly creepy experience. A room full of professional psych-rats were sitting in a circle – making it clear that I was being dissected for their amusement. Intimidation was the object. A humiliation ritual. It only served to infuriate me further. Perhaps that was the intended result. As I recall, there was only one visit.

Demotions

In the fall of 2002, there was a shakeup in management. One of the glowies, Carlen Grey, took on Jack Hudson’s position overlooking Desktop and Server support. Jack Hudson was demoted to Lee Brooker’s position as head of the Server Group. Lee Brooker was demoted to David Lewis’ position as head of Desktop Support. David Lewis was demoted to being an ordinary desktop support technician – the same position that I held. The moves, it seemed, were to demoralize the locals and put the ‘company men’ in charge.

A Christmas Party

Jack Hudson was a lifetime Nashvillian. As much as he could be and often was a dick, he had his charms. Although tensions were high in ITS in late 2002, Jack threw a Christmas party. There was a pretty good turnout. Wives were invited. I brought Catherine. I also brought a single malt scotch that Jack seemed to genuinely appreciate. Jack’s home was comfortable and had the feel of a place where a former military man would live. It was a strange evening. I still couldn’t fully appreciate where things were heading for me.

The Crusher

I noticed all kinds of ‘bad business practices’, but didn’t really get what I was witnessing until years later. There were computers that were working great. Hundreds of them. Perfect for people who had moderate demands from their equipment. They were going to the crusher. The way that standards were developed for how PC turnaround was handled was a gift to Dell – and a hit to taxpayers. It seemed sinister and wasteful.

A Lynching

Over the Winter I was busy filing a complaint with the EEOC – citing violations of the Americans with Disabilities Act – only now it was against Metro ITS, and not just the Police Department. The tension at work made it impossible for me to do my job.

One day Jack cornered me. He told me about how he was raised in the Cayce Homes – Nashville’s first public housing project. He went on about how there was a lynching and described the dead body hanging from a tree to me. Surely not a veiled threat, right? Right?!?

DUI Mike

I took my DUI case to Attorney V. Michael Fox, a.k.a., DUI Mike. Picked him because his picture was over every urinal in drunk bars and I found out he was head of a national DUI lawyer’s association. It seemed he knew his business. I wrote a legal question for his column in a local paper and won a DUI Mike T-shirt with his toothy, smiling mug on it. Went to his office, claimed my t-shirt and laid out my case. Mike had a beautiful jumbo Gibson acoustic guitar and he banged out a couple of chords and put it away – smiling the whole time. Seemed to really love his work. Like something out of central casting. At $3500, he was too expensive. I decided to represent myself. I showed up for my court date. When I appeared before the judge, he told me in a cartoonish drawl; “Git outta my kort rume n git yursef uh loi-ur.” I walked out of the court room and DUI Mike was waiting for me. With a shit-eating grin he boldly stated; “There ain’t no justice in Nashville.” and strutted off to his office.

Bullying

In the late winter/early spring of 2003, the bullying took on new dimensions and increased frequency. I was called into Richard’s office every morning. His stupid henchman, Doug, was usually there. It was a bizarre game of bad cop/worse cop. They would needle me and try to get in my head – insinuating that I was ‘crazy’ and ‘threatening.’ I frequently recorded these ‘sessions.’ One of Doug’s comments was particularly twisted. “Is Luther about to, like, whip out a knife and cut my throat now because I said I’m not gonna do something, ya know, or that, that I disagree with him or what, what’s going on with Luther?”

Irwin Venick

I hired Irwin because he was an experienced mediator. I didn’t know how to hire lawyers and be sure they, in fact, work for me. It never dawned on me that there are many who don’t work for their clients at all. Not so sure about Irwin. I have my doubts about how ‘good’ and ‘in my interests’ he was. He acted like I had solid complaints about my work environment. I had won a ‘right to sue’ from the Federal government for workplace harassment. But he folded like a cheap suit when I needed him. I don’t recall the outcome of the complaint about the Metro Nashville Police Department. Things would get twisted on all fronts.

No Action on ADA Complaint – Lying Harpy

Diana Stephens was being evasive. That makes it a challenge for me to make the bureaucrat do their job. It’s how I’m wired. So… I pushed her. Emailed, called, asked for status.

One day in early May, I saw that beasty in the Planning Commission. She made up a story that I gave her some kind of look. Most likely dismissive – like any time I run into a shit human. She said something else. Somehow my stare was ‘threatening.’ My God! I wanted her to do her job! How threatening! I didn’t realize it was a tactic and I was being set up.

Stomp A Mudhole

On Monday, May 12, 2003 I went to the State Fair to take care of a service call. On my way to the offices, I was stopped by a dumb looking brute. In a deep twang, this imbecile says something about stomping a mudhole in my ass. I turned on my recorder and asked him to repeat what he said. Very hard to tell exactly what he says, but it’s not a message of friendship. That low-life was Randy Stephens, the husband of Dianna Stephens – the ADA coordinator. I put in a complaint immediately to his supervisor – playing the recording for him.

Suspension

Somehow, this redneck threatening me led to my suspension. It was surreal. I was being framed-up as the bad guy. What had I done so wrong? Maybe noticing all the theft and duplicity had something to do with it.

Drunk Emailing

I got hammered all week. Something like fifteen bars in walking distance of my house. As I recall, Makers Mark whiskey and beers were my favorites at the time. I was fucked up on Thursday. I wrote a drunk email to Mayor Bill Purcell. Some kind of nonsense, yet touched onto something important that I wasn’t quite aware of. I mentioned it as ‘the white fucker plan’, but not in any kind of threatening way. My intuition was on the nose about there being a cabal. To label ‘them’ as ‘white’ was a misnomer. I didn’t send it. Drunk as I was, I knew not to. I woke up somewhere around 6:00 in the morning to hear Catherine dialing in – the squeaks of the modem going through it’s connection routine gave me a feeling of terror. I jumped out of bed, checked the email. It was too late. The drunk email was out of the barn. I was finished.

What Lawyer?

I called Irwin Venick, told him what happened and sent him a copy of the email. He said I no longer had a case. I never got that. My ‘wrong’ cancels all of theirs?!? One non-threatening, drunken email and suddenly all the shit I endured never happened. No more lawyer. No more job – almost for sure.

Called In – Pushed Out

I was called in for a firing. Bleak faces. Mean people. Set me up for a fall and were relishing it. Keeping the game going, I was a bump in the road to be smoothed out and paved over. I made no threats in my email to Purcell. They knew it. They lied. Of course there was the usual pageantry. Security on the ready. I wouldn’t be allowed into certain Metro buildings. It would prove a hassle when I went to get my last check. Then there was smirking Richard – holding out his hand for me to shake. That’s the sonofabitch I terrified with a stare. I was just a little ray of sunshine on a vampire – if only for a moment.

Finished With IT, Sort Of…

Carlen Grey had all but said I was blackballed from the IT industry a few weeks before the firing. As Metro was full-on authoritarian by this point, I had no reason to doubt him. I didn’t try too hard to get another office job. I found something terrible in all work environments I had been in with a few exceptions. I decided to open my own company in East Nashville. I would do computer repairs and small office networking. It was okay. I liked meeting my neighbors. I got a pretty good amount of work. I missed being around top-notch tech, but that faded over time. My passion for running that business subsided over a few years.

The DUI

The DUI case dragged on for months. I hired a lawyer for $1000. I told her when I took her on that the only acceptable plea was not guilty. I was fearless and ready to fight it out. I brought the lawyer everything she needed. We showed up for the court date. I saw Officer Scott Ivery Carter. My lawyer said she was going to talk to the Assistant District Attorney. She came back to me with a stupid smile and informed me that the Assistant DA was willing to accept a plea for a reduced charge of reckless driving. I told my lawyer that I was going to fire her but first she needed to go tell the opposition “Not no, but hell no – and she can kiss my ass.” I told my lawyer to be sure and face me so I could read her lips.

Gotta give her credit – she apparently did as I asked. There was pandemonium among the court personnel. Lots of running around. I could see ‘kiss my ass’ being mouthed several times. Different judge. An old guy who looked confused at what was unfolding before him. It took some minutes before I was asked to come before the judge. The judge didn’t properly dismiss the charge. No decorum. He just muttered for me to go. I could never get proper paperwork about the case being dismissed. The records disappeared.

East Nashville

I tried to integrate into my neighborhood. I joined a local business association, worked on the Tomato Art Festival, socialized quite a bit, met a lot of neighbors while fixing their stuff, went to plenty of shows and frequently walked my dogs. I shopped locally where it made sense to. The neighborhood was fun and it was easy to socialize. I just never felt good after that targeted firing. I knew how crooked the city was. It wasn’t just what happened to me. Something nagged at me. It came more and more clear how many were bought. I couldn’t unnotice the corruption around me. I had my bubble burst. The last of my faith in institutions was quickly withering away.

Watering

One day I was doing yard work in the evening. The sun was up past dinner. It was almost surely in June. I can’t say what year. Probably 2005 or 2006. I was watering plants in the front yard, near the corner of my property where Forrest Ave meets 12^th St. I caught Mayor Bill Purcell in the corner of my eye. He was with his family. Suddenly our eyes met. I looked at him. I looked at the hose. I looked at him and the hose quicker. He hastened his pace and cautiously walked past me. Would have loved to have soaked him down, but best I didn’t. He never walked past my house again while I was there.

Eventually Leaving

I wasn’t long for Nashville, as I laid out at the beginning of this tale. A lot happened between my firing from Metro and leaving Nashville. Too much to get into now. I’ll save that for another installment.

Guys Like Richard

I met several people as the neighborhood computer tech, consumer of services, and other roles in the Nashville area. Among the many whose paths I crossed with, several knew Richard McKinney. One contact, a genuine hippy, who claims he never knew Richard all that well, said that he was ‘one of the first to cut his hair’ when The Farm had its ‘Changeover’ of management in 1983. Not completely out of bounds to ask if Richard was some sort of COINTELPRO type. Richard enjoys ‘shaking things up’ from what I saw.

After ‘the Changeover’, Richard went into the steps that drove him into his career starting the following year. Straight from years at ‘The Farm’ to college at Tennessee State University and then to the Tennessee State Legislature. Really smart or had ‘guidance?’ I don’t know. However, Richard stayed around the Legislature from exiting college in the mid-1980s until he could take over Metro’s IT Department in 1999. By providence? He’s a good guy? A rising star?!? I don’t think so.

The dealings at Metro Nashville stunk. The demand of Microsoft Systems, Dell Computers, and Cisco Network Hardware had something sinister about it. It wasn’t the best set of solutions. Not from a security standpoint. Not from an efficiency standpoint. ‘Bad’ choices under Richard’s regime also included being against local people in the hiring process and an integration of the Federal government into local affairs. Expensive ‘solutions’ at the taxpayers’ expense – driving up budgets – fat contracts for Big Tech. Putting in place some of the building blocks for technocratic fascism. Was that Richard’s task? Him and many like him? I believe so. Take a good look around.

Richard left Metro Nashville and got a job for Microsoft in 2005. It was government sales. Selling the same shit he used to buy for Metro all around the US? Climbing the ladder, that’s for sure.

In other side activities, there was some scuttlebutt about Richard being in the middle of a religious scandal in 2007. It seems he was prominent in overthrowing the management of a megachurch. Keeping up the COINTELPRO chops? Maybe, maybe not.

Went on to be the CIO for the US Department of Transportation. Apparently, he liked that ‘CIO’ title. Imagine all the contracts he oversaw for his old employer – Microsoft. What else did he get into?

After the US Department of Transportation, Richard went on to several ‘consulting’ companies that ‘work with’ ‘intelligence agencies’ Eventually retiring from SAIC. Spell SAIC backwards.

How many like Richard are in local governments? How do they get into power? How much of that is due to enabling by a distracted population who has let the wolf in through neglect?

What do I know? I just notice things that happen in my life. A former ignorant idealist. “One of the good ones”, that ‘they’ ran off.

A Doug Nugget

From what I’ve heard through the grapevine, Doug Eckert would not last long around Metro without his master, Richard. Doug would leave Metro under a cloud and end up the ‘CIO’ of IT in Chattanooga, Tennessee where he would be removed for incompetence. He still managed to get put on Chattanooga’s Historical Zoning Commission.

Dianna Stephens was taken out of the position of ADA Coordinator and put in a management position at General Services. She was put in charge of used furniture and other equipment that went for sale to the public.

If At First…

What to do next? Forty years old. Forty jobs under my belt. Skilled but not excited by IT anymore. Trust in the system broken. Just limping along, going through the motions. Letting everything fall apart around me. Without inspiration, there’s no vitality to life. When the dark side reaches out and alters one’s belief system, finding a new light is a difficult task. I’d find it again and be robbed again. I’m an easy target. There was still much to be learned about the system. I’d soon get an ‘education.’