FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR’S LOG: 29 MAY 2009, 0829 HOURS ECONOMICS WORDS OF AUTHORITY!!!
I say this with authority! And I’m speaking with great authority! By whose authority you speak, mine, my very own.
Who gave you any authority, except, maybe being a nut case? Anyway, the fact remains, anyone that reads enough of my writing will know that I have super natural wisdom, case closed.
The government still doesn’t get it. And ninety five percent of the nation’s population still doesn’t get it. The days of our welfare state as a super social and nuclear family provider is over.
They were over twenty five years ago but the mostly liberal government policy chose instead to sell our soul and bankrupt the nation.
Starting with the “New Deal” baby, now our monster size welfare state beast has destroyed our culture, our almost completely free market place, and is now taking over our private businesses. Like what went down around ten years ago.
When masses of people surrender their independency to anything or anybody they have no authority left.
The federal government seized the social and nuclear family provider role for itself and we accepted and saw no threat at the time, now, it is almost too late.
The government created the masses of poor welfare and other dependents. Now, it has a survival responsibility at all cost to provide community shelters, kitchens, and medical clinics for these folks.
In closing, I’m going to lay out the cold steel facts with authority! Nothing! And I mean nothing, is going to save the California or the United States economy except mass across the board tax cuts to the bone.
That is it in a nutshell. No one is forced to believe me or take me serious; still, I speak with authority. Glory be to God, Amen.
Signed Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr.
PS:
One thing is for sure, I may be neurotic and screwed up for life, but my wisdom and deep thinking is definite not common or ordinary by any means; it is a gift from God.
FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR’S LOG: 14 MAY 2009, 1215 HOURS
As I have said before a “Welfare State” is the most dangerous and destructive form of government to ever exist in the history of civilization.
No other form of government exist that will completely rip the nuclear family system apart and make it impossible for that society to survive long term.
It destroys the sense of self-responsibility and accountability in people; it kills a strong survival instinct and lulls people into a love, love false sense of security.
And then drives the final nail in by breeding people that is asleep and don’t have the character or judgment to recognize a moral or any other threat until the wolf is at the door.
The following are the things every society must have to survive and it destroys every last one of them. There is very little left of our once strong nuclear and extended family system, especially among African Americans.
You can now wipe the floor with our once strong morals and values code, and our once breadbasket Midwest small farmers along with the rest of the nation’s small farmers and home gardeners that got us through the great depression is long gone.
We have almost no emergency fallback bartering capacity to keep this nation alive during a calamity. We as a people are at freedoms death door and it is so sad that still far too many people are more concerned about who is starring in Hollywood.
I believe the government need to snap out of its denial, face reality and start planning how to survive through an inevitable collapse.
The nation needs to start planning masses of food kitchens, masses of food shelter programs, masses of medical clinics, and when that is completed cut all taxes to the bone across the board.
Then, the free market place will save itself and the country, too, if the government as designed will stays with protecting the country and let the economy sinks or swims on its own. No one wants this solution, but reality is reality.
This way, at least we will be in control, and even then we will have only a fighting chance to save our nation and freedom. Folks, I’m a writer and I write what I think and believe, no one has to believed me or take me serious. In truth, I, myself, hope I’m wrong on what I think.
Of course, I don’t expect the powers that be to even consider a hard decision like this; they will continue to take the liberal course of least resistance. I expect the powers that be to make deals around the world and finish selling off what little is left of the soul of America.
FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR'S LOG: 13 MAY 2009, 1530 HOURS
FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR’S LOG: 14 MAY 2009, 1215 HOURS
As I have said before a “Welfare State” is the most dangerous and destructive form of government to ever exist in the history of civilization.
No other form of government exist that will completely rip the nuclear family system apart and make it impossible for that society to survive long term.
It destroys the sense of self-responsibility and accountability in people; it kills a strong survival instinct and lulls people into a love, love false sense of security.
And then drives the final nail in by breeding people that is asleep and don’t have the character or judgment to recognize a moral or any other threat until the wolf is at the door.
The following are the things every society must have to survive and it destroys every last one of them. There is very little left of our once strong nuclear and extended family system, especially among African Americans.
You can now wipe the floor with our once strong morals and values code, and our once breadbasket Midwest small farmers along with the rest of the nation’s small farmers and home gardeners that got us through the great depression is long gone.
We have almost no emergency fallback bartering capacity to keep this nation alive during a calamity. We as a people are at freedoms death door and it is so sad that still far too many people are more concerned about who is starring in Hollywood.
I believe the government need to snap out of its denial, face reality and start planning how to survive through an inevitable collapse.
The nation needs to start planning masses of food kitchens, masses of food shelter programs, masses of medical clinics, and when that is completed cut all taxes to the bone across the board.
Then, the free market place will save itself and the country, too, if the government as designed will stays with protecting the country and let the economy sinks or swims on its own. No one wants this solution, but reality is reality.
This way, at least we will be in control, and even then we will have only a fighting chance to save our nation and freedom. Folks, I’m a writer and I write what I think and believe, no one has to believed me or take me serious. In truth, I, myself, hope I’m wrong on what I think.
Of course, I don’t expect the powers that be to even consider a hard decision like this; they will continue to take the liberal course of least resistance. I expect the powers that be to make deals around the world and finish selling off what little is left of the soul of America.
FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR'S LOG: 13 MAY 2009, 1530 HOURS
A lot of good citizens look at the condition of America and wonder when and where did we go wrong.
I, Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr. will tell you when we the citizens lost control of this great country. It was around eighty years ago when we allowed the government to seize the traditional nuclear family provider role for itself.
The arch-evil 1938 socialist federal minimum wage law is what blocked the USA free market place's full purging power discipline, thereby allowing the liberals to inflate the currency and create social programs galore.
You see, whoever is in the provider role is the boss and calls the shots. Instead of going into a lot of elaborating I will just get to the point. What started off initially as a small “New Deal” provider baby has over time grown into this huge monster size welfare state beast.
Now the appetite of this ferocious beast is gobbling up every tax dollar or any other dollar that it can seize. I believe it is futile and we are deluding ourselves to think we can save our economy and freedom as long as this beast is in the social and family provider role.
This beast favors low values and loose morals and sees self-sufficiency, as a threat to its power and that will not be tolerated. We have this beast loose upon the land with unlimited taxing power, and that means no one in this country is safe from unreasonable taxes.
Unless this beast is neutered and downsized out of its super provider role I think trying to save the economy and the country is a waste of time and resources. God save America.
The only way this beast can be controlled or taken down is to repeal the arch-evil 1938 socialist federal minimum wage law, which will untie the full purging muscle power discipline in the USA economy.
And after around 80 years of the USA economy being hog tied and bound by a dumb and evil minimum wage law to once again have full awesome purging power only give the USA a fighting chance of survival.
There is a buildup of 80 years of moral decay and culture rot and almost no foundation left to rebuild upon, the nuclear and extended family system is in almost total ruins and hardly any small farmers and home gardeners to give emergency backup bartering capacity.
The cold hard fact is it will take a miracle to save the USA as a free nation, but there is no other force on earth that can pull this off except a genuine true free market place economy, which will never fail.
All that is necessary is for the politician's to just give it a chance to work, because there is no pain free way to rescue a free USA, period.
BOOK WORLD SHUNS FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR'S BOOKS
I, Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr. will tell you when we the citizens lost control of this great country. It was around eighty years ago when we allowed the government to seize the traditional nuclear family provider role for itself.
The arch-evil 1938 socialist federal minimum wage law is what blocked the USA free market place's full purging power discipline, thereby allowing the liberals to inflate the currency and create social programs galore.
You see, whoever is in the provider role is the boss and calls the shots. Instead of going into a lot of elaborating I will just get to the point. What started off initially as a small “New Deal” provider baby has over time grown into this huge monster size welfare state beast.
Now the appetite of this ferocious beast is gobbling up every tax dollar or any other dollar that it can seize. I believe it is futile and we are deluding ourselves to think we can save our economy and freedom as long as this beast is in the social and family provider role.
This beast favors low values and loose morals and sees self-sufficiency, as a threat to its power and that will not be tolerated. We have this beast loose upon the land with unlimited taxing power, and that means no one in this country is safe from unreasonable taxes.
Unless this beast is neutered and downsized out of its super provider role I think trying to save the economy and the country is a waste of time and resources. God save America.
The only way this beast can be controlled or taken down is to repeal the arch-evil 1938 socialist federal minimum wage law, which will untie the full purging muscle power discipline in the USA economy.
And after around 80 years of the USA economy being hog tied and bound by a dumb and evil minimum wage law to once again have full awesome purging power only give the USA a fighting chance of survival.
There is a buildup of 80 years of moral decay and culture rot and almost no foundation left to rebuild upon, the nuclear and extended family system is in almost total ruins and hardly any small farmers and home gardeners to give emergency backup bartering capacity.
The cold hard fact is it will take a miracle to save the USA as a free nation, but there is no other force on earth that can pull this off except a genuine true free market place economy, which will never fail.
All that is necessary is for the politician's to just give it a chance to work, because there is no pain free way to rescue a free USA, period.
BOOK WORLD SHUNS FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR'S BOOKS
I don’t know how it is done, but, I believe the book selling world has an unwritten rule that prevents books by an extreme conservative neurotic like me from being sold. I can’t prove it but I feel there may be a hidden hand somewhere preventing me from selling more books.
Sure, some of the grammar is crude and incorrect to some degree; still the people should make that choice.
I believe a super great thinker and writer like me deserve to be selling books in the thousands. Now! Take that unwritten rule! Invisible hand! The name Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr. is out there, it is all over the Internet.
Sure, some of the grammar is crude and incorrect to some degree; still the people should make that choice.
I believe a super great thinker and writer like me deserve to be selling books in the thousands. Now! Take that unwritten rule! Invisible hand! The name Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr. is out there, it is all over the Internet.
No one can convince me that there is not an opposing force that doesn’t want it known what is in Freddie L. Sirmans’ Books. If nothing else, someone is going to buy just to see what is going on.
Just because I’m saying it doesn’t mean nothing is there. Just because someone is paranoid doesn’t mean they are not in danger. Believe it or not, paranoid people live longer.
There is no one alive today that better articulates in simple terms the inner working of how an economy should work.
There is no one alive today that better articulates in simple terms the inner working of how an economy should work.
It is laid out so simple that even an idiot can understand it. However, history has proven that one of the hardest things there is, is to keep a genuine good man down.
There is a destiny reason why a poor neurotic uneducated South Georgia USA country boy can reach out and grab the imaginary reins of the U.S. Economy, yank back and yell “Whoa” before it goes over the cliff. Praise be to God. Amen.
A word of knowledge to any conservative with his head above the crowd, the liberals may come after you with extra venom because of misplaced aggression.
I’m the wanted target but that is out of the question. No liberal is going to make famous in his or her minds a nobody neurotic nut case.
I have no hate or dislike for liberals in fact I think they are great Americans, but shallow and shouldn’t control our destiny. I consider myself a realist not a conservative.
I love my country and as long as I have the freedom to write my views I’m going to say what I believe to be best for the long term survival of my country.
I believe great character and good judgment goes hand in hand. And I believe great or good character can only come from some form of real or imposed struggle in life.
It is not just the liberals that lack the character to make sound judgment; we can’t put all of the blame for the destruction of our culture and nuclear family system on them.
I may be screwed up and unknown, but the liberals know I’m a deadly threat because I am striking at the heart of their false God, the "Welfare State."
And in their eyes anyone that does that with a wallop is a mortal enemy. I keep pounding body blows to their soft underbelly and sooner or later it’s going to tally.
The liberals know this and are counter punching by going after any high profile conservative they can sink their teeth in. This misdirected aggression is only going to increase. They won’t dare focus attention on me because they feel the less people know what I’m writing the better.
My writing is based on logic and common sense and just like the saying goes, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating. And in this case the proof of the writing is in the reading."
Throughout nature and survival there will always be an exception to everything. Having said that, anyone with genuine sound character and judgment will by instinct know that abortions and gay marriages are a threat to long-term survival.
Exceptions are part of nature and those that are affected should be loved and respected, but a spade is a spade no matter what political correction says.
I’m an example, I’m screwed up for life, but, do that make me less of a human being, no, am I losing any sleep over it, no, but I do bleed, feel pain, and have feeling just like anyone else.
I will say that less than five percent of the entire U.S. Population has the judgment today to even believe how close this nation is to total destruction as a free people.
I have no need or desire to try to scare anyone, but as a writer I have a duty to share my wisdom and knowledge if it will help save this great nation.
I see a dire future, but the future is never set in stone, man always has the ability to determine his own future by his own actions.
PS: We have here high drama, stay tuned. You don't want to miss anything.
There is a destiny reason why a poor neurotic uneducated South Georgia USA country boy can reach out and grab the imaginary reins of the U.S. Economy, yank back and yell “Whoa” before it goes over the cliff. Praise be to God. Amen.
A word of knowledge to any conservative with his head above the crowd, the liberals may come after you with extra venom because of misplaced aggression.
I’m the wanted target but that is out of the question. No liberal is going to make famous in his or her minds a nobody neurotic nut case.
I have no hate or dislike for liberals in fact I think they are great Americans, but shallow and shouldn’t control our destiny. I consider myself a realist not a conservative.
I love my country and as long as I have the freedom to write my views I’m going to say what I believe to be best for the long term survival of my country.
I believe great character and good judgment goes hand in hand. And I believe great or good character can only come from some form of real or imposed struggle in life.
It is not just the liberals that lack the character to make sound judgment; we can’t put all of the blame for the destruction of our culture and nuclear family system on them.
I may be screwed up and unknown, but the liberals know I’m a deadly threat because I am striking at the heart of their false God, the "Welfare State."
And in their eyes anyone that does that with a wallop is a mortal enemy. I keep pounding body blows to their soft underbelly and sooner or later it’s going to tally.
The liberals know this and are counter punching by going after any high profile conservative they can sink their teeth in. This misdirected aggression is only going to increase. They won’t dare focus attention on me because they feel the less people know what I’m writing the better.
My writing is based on logic and common sense and just like the saying goes, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating. And in this case the proof of the writing is in the reading."
Throughout nature and survival there will always be an exception to everything. Having said that, anyone with genuine sound character and judgment will by instinct know that abortions and gay marriages are a threat to long-term survival.
Exceptions are part of nature and those that are affected should be loved and respected, but a spade is a spade no matter what political correction says.
I’m an example, I’m screwed up for life, but, do that make me less of a human being, no, am I losing any sleep over it, no, but I do bleed, feel pain, and have feeling just like anyone else.
I will say that less than five percent of the entire U.S. Population has the judgment today to even believe how close this nation is to total destruction as a free people.
I have no need or desire to try to scare anyone, but as a writer I have a duty to share my wisdom and knowledge if it will help save this great nation.
I see a dire future, but the future is never set in stone, man always has the ability to determine his own future by his own actions.
PS: We have here high drama, stay tuned. You don't want to miss anything.
THE THREE LECTURES BELOW BY THE SUPER GREAT THINKER FREDDIE L. SIRMANS, SR. MAY GO DOWN IN HISTORY FOR SAVING THE U.S. ECONOMY.
LECTURE # 1 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
LECTURE # 2 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
LECTURE # 3 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
BIO of the super Great thinker and writer Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr.
I was born during the war years in a little Georgia town right off the intersecting of highways U.S. 129 and U.S. 84 not far from the North Florida border. It was in the winter of 1942, three days before Christmas, Dec. 22, 1942, in Stockton, Georgia.
I was the forth of seven surviving children in a group of fourteen. Unfortunately seven of those children died before I was born. My early years were spent playing and enjoying life.
I remember vividly a little lake right beside Highway U.S. 84 that we used to play in as young kids. None of us could swim. We used to call it the clay hole.
At the time I guess I was about ten or eleven years old. We didn't have any swimming trunks so we would all swim naked. The water was sort of dark, but we all felt safe once we were in the lake. The challenge was to watch for cars passing on the road or anybody walking by.
The regular gang included my brothers Buie C. and Bernard "Rip", my cousin J.E. Burgess, neighboring kids Spencer Bines and sometimes Bo Bo Brown and I.
My older brother Marvin Elder and a few other older neighboring boys, Joe Louis Glover, Ellis Williams, Johnny Lee "Sweet Pee" Dorsey were much too mature for our group. I can't remember if my younger brother, Jimmy, four years younger than I, would ever come along.
We would take off all of our clothes, hide in the nearby bushes, and as soon as the coast was clear we would run and dive into the lake. The deepest spot was not over three and a half feet.
And one of our biggest fears was that some grownup would come down to the lake and stay, because we would be ashamed to come out of the lake naked. I can't remember who the lady was, but I remember she walked down from New Prospect Baptist Church about a quarter of a mile down the road.
She walked right to the edge of the lake and started chewing us all out. I guess she had some kind of insight into our fears and shames, because she would not leave; she was determined to wait us out.
We were all cornered and ashamed to come out of the lake. So after what seemed like an hour, it was getting late in the evening. Lady or no lady, we decided to make a run for the bushes where our clothes were hidden.
Everyone was embarrassed, but we knew we couldn't stay in the lake till dark. My father was a domineering, unyielding type of individual. One of my first experiences with his unyielding stance was my bed-wetting.
I was a bed-wetter until I was approximately six or seven years old. My father's way of dealing with a bed-wetter was an automatic whipping, with no exceptions.
That's just the way it was. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop wetting the bed. I kept getting older and kept getting whippings, and the gladdest day in my life was when I quit wetting the bed.
That meant I would not be getting whipped almost every morning over something I could not avoid. It left emotional scars that are still with me to this day. It saddled me with a pitiful look that I hated, and caused me to harbor a secret inferiority complex all through childhood.
I felt I could not let anyone get too close because something was wrong with me, and if people saw how pitiful I could look they would reject me, laugh at me, or feel sorry for me. Each reaction was unacceptable.
I just wanted to be normal and accepted, no more or no less. I guess I was around nine or ten when my family moved about four miles to my grandmother's farm.
There again I felt the effects of a completely domineering and unyielding father. My father didn't give any warning like, "Don't do that again."
As a young aggressive kid, I was expected to act good, but I was branded a bad boy and I guess I acted the part, because over a two year span, it seemed like I would get a whipping almost every day for something or other. Then all of a sudden it stopped.
I guess my spirit was broken. To me it didn't seem like I was doing anything differently. All I knew was I was glad I was not getting whipped almost every day.
All of my young life was not miserable; in fact overall I was a very happy kid. Then and now I never held anything against my dad or took it personally.
Sure, my dad may have been somewhat too strict, but we are all human and no one is perfect, I can earnestly say that overall I knew him to be a good and decent man.
I thank God he taught us seven kids how to survive with pride and dignity. Not a one of us has ever spent time in jail, and we are all over fifty. We all work to earn our keep, and we don't want or expect handouts from the government or anybody.
It was mainly a matter of ignorance. My father raised me like his father raised him, and his father before him. Besides, the older I get the more I appreciate a strict raising, but not one without love.
If I had to choose between a raising of over-permissiveness or over strictness, I would choose the latter.
It assures the best chance of survival under all conditions, but a balance between the two is always the most productive. I'd never be too hard on misfortunes, because they may save one from a more disastrous or fatal end. Just remember the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Sometime when one is rushing to get some place and nothing seems to work right, who knows that delay may have saved one from a fatal accident.
Life is all about timing. Maybe not all, but some of us have a destiny, and must be prepared for the mission. I feel it is something bigger than an individual; even bigger than life itself. Like an idea whose time has come, it can't be held back, but so long, it has to happen.
In 1955 they closed the two-classroom schoolhouse in Stockton, Ga., and I attended the seventh grade over in Lakeland, Ga., the county seat.
We sharecropped the farm one more year with Isben Livingston that my grandmother's heirs had sold him the year before. Then in the summer of `56, the Charlie Sirmans' family moved from Stockton, Ga. to Valdosta, Ga.
There my father became a taxi driver. Mother dear, Alberta, a lovely, non-complaining, passive woman was in frail health. She had suffered the first of her many strokes.
I attended the segregated Pinevale High School. I excelled in basketball and football. I was a member of the Pinevale Tigers basketball team.
I can still cock my head and imagine hearing the basketball cheerleaders chanting, "Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! He's our man, if he can't do it nobody can.
I finished high school in 1961 and turned down a basketball scholarship to attend Fort Valley State College in Georgia. It was the Alma mater of my late high school basketball and football coach, Edward Jones of Quitman, Ga.
He believed in me and thought very highly of me. I will always remember how he walked to my house in the rain to bring me the news of my basketball scholarship.
The only other member on the basketball team to get a scholarship that year was Oswell Jones, who went into the U.S. Army.
I later went into the U.S. Air Force. I worked a while at South Ga. Pecan factory in Valdosta, Ga., and then about the middle of 1962 I decided to move to Tallahassee, Florida, to attend a trade school.
The name of the school was Consolidated Electronics. I went to the school about two hours a day, and got a job in a little delicatessen and donut shop on Adams Street near the old capitol building.
I rented a room from a lady named Mrs. Ford who lived right in front of the funeral home on Carolina St. I stayed there for about six months until the school ended.
After returning to Valdosta in late 1962, I decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force. Being a young man, I spent some of my leisure time cruising North 24th Street in Omaha, Nebraska. At that time there were two nightclubs we used to hang out in, the M and M Lounge and the Off Beat Lounge.
Then I moved on to Puerto Rico for my last two years in the military. While there, I bought an old 1952 Studebaker. I still have fond memories of the Caribbean and the tropical climate.
Still young and enjoying life sometimes we would check out Isabela, but mostly we would hang out in the little coastal town named Aguadilla. At that time in Aguadilla they had a nightclub called the Black Stallion where most of the airmen hung-out.
I distinctly remember they had one famous patron called Casa Boo Boo (house ghost). She was as black as the ace of spades and very ugly, but she must have made up for it in other ways because she always got her share of dates.
In 1966, after four years in the U.S. Air Force I got out and returned to Valdosta. I had turned down my basketball scholarship, so my goal was to get a college education.
At that time they had a four-year, fully paid GI Bill that would pay you while you attended school. Then I missed my ship again. I got a job, got married and started a family. I don't regret anything.
Now more than twenty-five years later, and over age fifty, I feel maybe I have something worthwhile to say. I wrote a few letters to the editor that gave me some courage. Now here I am after writing four books and reprinting my first book.
I'm no intellectual; I am a high school graduate with one semester of college while in service. But I have done a fair amount of reading along the way. My writing should be raw, crude, and pure, so hang on for a ride.
Version #2
I was born in the early forties in a quiet little Georgia town near the Florida border. It is located at the intersection of U.S. Highway 84 east to west and U.S. Highway 129 north to south.
A midwife delivered me three days before Christmas, December 22, 1942 in Stockton, Georgia. I was somewhat puny and was not expected to live. I was the eleventh child in a group that would eventually reach fourteen children.
Unfortunately seven of those fourteen children died before I was born. I was a very sensitive kid, always snotty nosed, but I survived. The old frame house that we lived in was like many houses built around the turn of the century.
The kitchen was separated from the living quarters of the main house. In our house, in order to get to the kitchen, you had to go outside and walk down a long porch to reach the kitchen.
We didn't have electric lights, and I remember at night someone older had to carry a kerosene lamp down that seemingly long, long porch, and I would be so afraid. One of my earliest memories in that old house was that I would get a whipping almost every morning for wetting the bed.
Also, I remember we had a fireplace, and one morning I was standing with my back to it warming up. I had on some ragged bib overalls. All of a sudden I felt something hot on my leg, and when I looked down, I saw that my pant's leg was on fire.
I took off like a bat out of hell not thinking to smother the fire. I could have easily sustained third degree burns all over my body or lost my life because I would never have stopped running.
Fortunately, there was a bed in the room and I ran into it, thereby allowing enough time for my sister Betty and brother Buie to reach me and smother the fire. A large burn mark still covers most of my left leg today. I hated short pants.
It seems as if I was fifteen years old before my mother would let me wear long pants. Most kids my age were wearing long pants, and I felt only little kids wore short pants.
I wanted to be mature and grown up, not a little kid in short pants. Most of my earlier years were spent playing and going to the clay hole in the summer.
The clay hole was a little man-made lake right beside U.S. Highway 84. Also about one quarter of a mile down the road was New Prospect Baptist Church.
It was at the church where I had to wear short pants and say an Easter speech every Easter. The regular members of the swimming gang were my brothers Buie and Bernard (Rip), my cousin J.E. Burgess, the neighbor kid Spencer Bines, sometimes BoBo Brown, and I.
My older brother Marvin was much too mature for us. Our house was the old Corbin home. My grandfather Henry Corbin had moved to Waycross to work for the railroad years ago.
I guess I was around nine or ten when the family left the old Corbin home and moved about four miles to my grandmother's farm. It was the Sirmans' home place that my great-grandfather Steve "Buck", a slave, settled on when he became a free man.
My grandmother, Alice Roberts Sirmans, who was born about 15 miles away in Mayday, Georgia was half Cherokee Indian and half white.
She had been living at the farm when we moved in but moved shortly thereafter to a house in Valdosta, Georgia that my father Charlie and my uncle Freddie had recently built.
There on the farm I was expected to do my share of the work. I remember very clearly that complaining did very little good. I remember we had to pick up sweet potatoes after they had been plowed from under the ground.
You had to stay bent over for long periods of time. I would tell my mom or dad that my back was hurting, and they would say, "Boy! What do you mean your back is hurting?
You don't even have a back at your age. All you got is gristle." I cropped tobacco and hung it in the barn, but the most hated job was gathering corn in beggar weeds. The corn and the beggar weeds would cause your skin to sting.
Then around 1954 the Sirmans' heirs got together and sold 100 acres of our farm land to Isben Livingston. My dad bought the other 100 acres of the woodland that our house was on which he sold a few years later.
In 1955 they closed the two-classroom schoolhouse in Stockton, Georgia and I attended the seventh grade over in Lakeland, Georgia the county seat. Then in 1956 the Charlie Sirmans' family moved to Valdosta, Georgia.
My dad became a taxi driver. That year I was in the eighth grade, and I started the school year in the old Dasher High School that had been downgraded to a junior high school. At that time a strong disciplinarian, highly moral, and spiritual man, patrolled the halls.
That man was Professor J.L. Lomax, the principal, whom the school was later named after. I, like the other students, was terrified and scared to death of being caught in the hall unauthorized.
The new school, Pinedale High, had just been completed. For some reason, I can't remember exactly why, they had added two eighth grade classes to the new high school that first year.
Thereafter it was only grades ninth through twelfth. I was in one of the two eighth grade classes attending that first year in 1956. I believe my homeroom teacher was Ms. Carrie Lissimore.
The principal, Mr. C.C. Hall, the late band director, Mr. C.D Marshall, the chorus and others agreed that the school's new anthem did not rhyme properly with the word Pinedale.
Everyone agreed that Pinevale rhymed almost perfectly with the new anthem, so the school was thereafter known as Pinevale High. "Good old Pinevale High we will live and die for you, for you."
I was very insecure and shy in high school and will probably be somewhat shy and insecure all my life. I remember very vividly an incident that happened to me in Ms. Sarah Jones' class. I guess I was in the eleventh or twelfth grade.
I had my shoes leaned on their side under my desk, and when I shifted their position on the tile floor it sounded just like someone passing gas. All eyes focused on me, but I never looked up, I just kept my head hung and bowed.
After what seemed like a slow motion minute, Ms. Jones casually and quietly walked over and opened some windows near where I was sitting.
After the class was over a small lad that sat right next to me, I can't remember his name, but he walked up and told me, "I know that was your shoe that made that noise" and I told him that it truly was.
The reason I mention this incident is that because of my shyness and insecurity at the time I failed to set the record straight.
Even if I didn't have the courage to speak up then, I should have at least went to Ms. Jones later and set the record straight. But instead I remained mute, and to this day as far as I know only that young lad in that whole class knows that I was innocent.
Unlike most of today's young men, I was a late bloomer. I had come close, but when I finished high school I had not had a consummated relationship. In fact, my first consummated relationship came around the age of twenty.
In high school I was a jock. I was crazy about girls, but I was afraid to go after them. I excelled in sports, so that became my primary interest. When I graduated in 1961, only two members on the basketball team received scholarships, Oswell Jones and I.
We each received basketball scholarships to Fort Valley State. We used to call Oswell the Big "O". To this day I can honestly say Oswell was one of the best basketball shooters I have ever seen.
Even in high school if he got hot he could consistently hit 25-foot jumpers. I am sad to say that he was a victim in a fatal car accident while returning to Atlanta from the "92" Valdosta High School Wildcats State AAAA Championship football game, which Valdosta won.
I can still remember one of the chants that the Pinevale High basketball cheerleaders would yell out. "Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! He's is our man, if he can't do it nobody can!"
I finished high school in 1961 and then worked a while at South Georgia Pecan Factory in Valdosta before moving on to Tallahassee, Florida to attend a little trade school. The name of the trade school was Consolidated Electronics.
I went to the school about two hours a day. I managed to get a job in a little bakery and delicatessen shop on Adams Street right around the corner from the old capital building.
I got a room with Mrs. Ford who lived right in front of a funeral home in French Town on Carolina Street. I stayed in Tallahassee for six months until the little trade school ended. After I returned to Valdosta in late 1962, I decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force.
Like most new recruits in basic training, I visited the Alamo in San Antonio. From there I spent two years in Omaha, Nebraska. At that time, GI's didn't make as much money as they do today, but we knew how to party on what we had.
They had a barbecue shack at that time on North 24th Street. They sold a whole slab of rib for about $4.95. Today it would cost a lot more. We would buy a fifth or two of white port or red port wine for about $2.00 a fifth, get fired up, then each of us would get a slab of rib and party into the wee hours.
But the downside on duty the next morning I would feel like I had been shot at and missed but S... at and hit. About five months before I left Omaha, I met Janet. That is all I care to say, but she was special and I will never forget her.
I was young and not very responsible in that department. Even when young I tended to talk as a philosopher when someone would listen, and that she certainly would do. I would try to figure out her problems and the why of things. When I left I gave her my home phone number in Valdosta.
LECTURE # 1 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
LECTURE # 2 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
LECTURE # 3 ON THE U.S. ECONOMY
BIO of the super Great thinker and writer Freddie L. Sirmans, Sr.
I was born during the war years in a little Georgia town right off the intersecting of highways U.S. 129 and U.S. 84 not far from the North Florida border. It was in the winter of 1942, three days before Christmas, Dec. 22, 1942, in Stockton, Georgia.
I was the forth of seven surviving children in a group of fourteen. Unfortunately seven of those children died before I was born. My early years were spent playing and enjoying life.
I remember vividly a little lake right beside Highway U.S. 84 that we used to play in as young kids. None of us could swim. We used to call it the clay hole.
At the time I guess I was about ten or eleven years old. We didn't have any swimming trunks so we would all swim naked. The water was sort of dark, but we all felt safe once we were in the lake. The challenge was to watch for cars passing on the road or anybody walking by.
The regular gang included my brothers Buie C. and Bernard "Rip", my cousin J.E. Burgess, neighboring kids Spencer Bines and sometimes Bo Bo Brown and I.
My older brother Marvin Elder and a few other older neighboring boys, Joe Louis Glover, Ellis Williams, Johnny Lee "Sweet Pee" Dorsey were much too mature for our group. I can't remember if my younger brother, Jimmy, four years younger than I, would ever come along.
We would take off all of our clothes, hide in the nearby bushes, and as soon as the coast was clear we would run and dive into the lake. The deepest spot was not over three and a half feet.
And one of our biggest fears was that some grownup would come down to the lake and stay, because we would be ashamed to come out of the lake naked. I can't remember who the lady was, but I remember she walked down from New Prospect Baptist Church about a quarter of a mile down the road.
She walked right to the edge of the lake and started chewing us all out. I guess she had some kind of insight into our fears and shames, because she would not leave; she was determined to wait us out.
We were all cornered and ashamed to come out of the lake. So after what seemed like an hour, it was getting late in the evening. Lady or no lady, we decided to make a run for the bushes where our clothes were hidden.
Everyone was embarrassed, but we knew we couldn't stay in the lake till dark. My father was a domineering, unyielding type of individual. One of my first experiences with his unyielding stance was my bed-wetting.
I was a bed-wetter until I was approximately six or seven years old. My father's way of dealing with a bed-wetter was an automatic whipping, with no exceptions.
That's just the way it was. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop wetting the bed. I kept getting older and kept getting whippings, and the gladdest day in my life was when I quit wetting the bed.
That meant I would not be getting whipped almost every morning over something I could not avoid. It left emotional scars that are still with me to this day. It saddled me with a pitiful look that I hated, and caused me to harbor a secret inferiority complex all through childhood.
I felt I could not let anyone get too close because something was wrong with me, and if people saw how pitiful I could look they would reject me, laugh at me, or feel sorry for me. Each reaction was unacceptable.
I just wanted to be normal and accepted, no more or no less. I guess I was around nine or ten when my family moved about four miles to my grandmother's farm.
There again I felt the effects of a completely domineering and unyielding father. My father didn't give any warning like, "Don't do that again."
As a young aggressive kid, I was expected to act good, but I was branded a bad boy and I guess I acted the part, because over a two year span, it seemed like I would get a whipping almost every day for something or other. Then all of a sudden it stopped.
I guess my spirit was broken. To me it didn't seem like I was doing anything differently. All I knew was I was glad I was not getting whipped almost every day.
All of my young life was not miserable; in fact overall I was a very happy kid. Then and now I never held anything against my dad or took it personally.
Sure, my dad may have been somewhat too strict, but we are all human and no one is perfect, I can earnestly say that overall I knew him to be a good and decent man.
I thank God he taught us seven kids how to survive with pride and dignity. Not a one of us has ever spent time in jail, and we are all over fifty. We all work to earn our keep, and we don't want or expect handouts from the government or anybody.
It was mainly a matter of ignorance. My father raised me like his father raised him, and his father before him. Besides, the older I get the more I appreciate a strict raising, but not one without love.
If I had to choose between a raising of over-permissiveness or over strictness, I would choose the latter.
It assures the best chance of survival under all conditions, but a balance between the two is always the most productive. I'd never be too hard on misfortunes, because they may save one from a more disastrous or fatal end. Just remember the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Sometime when one is rushing to get some place and nothing seems to work right, who knows that delay may have saved one from a fatal accident.
Life is all about timing. Maybe not all, but some of us have a destiny, and must be prepared for the mission. I feel it is something bigger than an individual; even bigger than life itself. Like an idea whose time has come, it can't be held back, but so long, it has to happen.
In 1955 they closed the two-classroom schoolhouse in Stockton, Ga., and I attended the seventh grade over in Lakeland, Ga., the county seat.
We sharecropped the farm one more year with Isben Livingston that my grandmother's heirs had sold him the year before. Then in the summer of `56, the Charlie Sirmans' family moved from Stockton, Ga. to Valdosta, Ga.
There my father became a taxi driver. Mother dear, Alberta, a lovely, non-complaining, passive woman was in frail health. She had suffered the first of her many strokes.
I attended the segregated Pinevale High School. I excelled in basketball and football. I was a member of the Pinevale Tigers basketball team.
I can still cock my head and imagine hearing the basketball cheerleaders chanting, "Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! He's our man, if he can't do it nobody can.
I finished high school in 1961 and turned down a basketball scholarship to attend Fort Valley State College in Georgia. It was the Alma mater of my late high school basketball and football coach, Edward Jones of Quitman, Ga.
He believed in me and thought very highly of me. I will always remember how he walked to my house in the rain to bring me the news of my basketball scholarship.
The only other member on the basketball team to get a scholarship that year was Oswell Jones, who went into the U.S. Army.
I later went into the U.S. Air Force. I worked a while at South Ga. Pecan factory in Valdosta, Ga., and then about the middle of 1962 I decided to move to Tallahassee, Florida, to attend a trade school.
The name of the school was Consolidated Electronics. I went to the school about two hours a day, and got a job in a little delicatessen and donut shop on Adams Street near the old capitol building.
I rented a room from a lady named Mrs. Ford who lived right in front of the funeral home on Carolina St. I stayed there for about six months until the school ended.
After returning to Valdosta in late 1962, I decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force. Being a young man, I spent some of my leisure time cruising North 24th Street in Omaha, Nebraska. At that time there were two nightclubs we used to hang out in, the M and M Lounge and the Off Beat Lounge.
Then I moved on to Puerto Rico for my last two years in the military. While there, I bought an old 1952 Studebaker. I still have fond memories of the Caribbean and the tropical climate.
Still young and enjoying life sometimes we would check out Isabela, but mostly we would hang out in the little coastal town named Aguadilla. At that time in Aguadilla they had a nightclub called the Black Stallion where most of the airmen hung-out.
I distinctly remember they had one famous patron called Casa Boo Boo (house ghost). She was as black as the ace of spades and very ugly, but she must have made up for it in other ways because she always got her share of dates.
In 1966, after four years in the U.S. Air Force I got out and returned to Valdosta. I had turned down my basketball scholarship, so my goal was to get a college education.
At that time they had a four-year, fully paid GI Bill that would pay you while you attended school. Then I missed my ship again. I got a job, got married and started a family. I don't regret anything.
Now more than twenty-five years later, and over age fifty, I feel maybe I have something worthwhile to say. I wrote a few letters to the editor that gave me some courage. Now here I am after writing four books and reprinting my first book.
I'm no intellectual; I am a high school graduate with one semester of college while in service. But I have done a fair amount of reading along the way. My writing should be raw, crude, and pure, so hang on for a ride.
Version #2
I was born in the early forties in a quiet little Georgia town near the Florida border. It is located at the intersection of U.S. Highway 84 east to west and U.S. Highway 129 north to south.
A midwife delivered me three days before Christmas, December 22, 1942 in Stockton, Georgia. I was somewhat puny and was not expected to live. I was the eleventh child in a group that would eventually reach fourteen children.
Unfortunately seven of those fourteen children died before I was born. I was a very sensitive kid, always snotty nosed, but I survived. The old frame house that we lived in was like many houses built around the turn of the century.
The kitchen was separated from the living quarters of the main house. In our house, in order to get to the kitchen, you had to go outside and walk down a long porch to reach the kitchen.
We didn't have electric lights, and I remember at night someone older had to carry a kerosene lamp down that seemingly long, long porch, and I would be so afraid. One of my earliest memories in that old house was that I would get a whipping almost every morning for wetting the bed.
Also, I remember we had a fireplace, and one morning I was standing with my back to it warming up. I had on some ragged bib overalls. All of a sudden I felt something hot on my leg, and when I looked down, I saw that my pant's leg was on fire.
I took off like a bat out of hell not thinking to smother the fire. I could have easily sustained third degree burns all over my body or lost my life because I would never have stopped running.
Fortunately, there was a bed in the room and I ran into it, thereby allowing enough time for my sister Betty and brother Buie to reach me and smother the fire. A large burn mark still covers most of my left leg today. I hated short pants.
It seems as if I was fifteen years old before my mother would let me wear long pants. Most kids my age were wearing long pants, and I felt only little kids wore short pants.
I wanted to be mature and grown up, not a little kid in short pants. Most of my earlier years were spent playing and going to the clay hole in the summer.
The clay hole was a little man-made lake right beside U.S. Highway 84. Also about one quarter of a mile down the road was New Prospect Baptist Church.
It was at the church where I had to wear short pants and say an Easter speech every Easter. The regular members of the swimming gang were my brothers Buie and Bernard (Rip), my cousin J.E. Burgess, the neighbor kid Spencer Bines, sometimes BoBo Brown, and I.
My older brother Marvin was much too mature for us. Our house was the old Corbin home. My grandfather Henry Corbin had moved to Waycross to work for the railroad years ago.
I guess I was around nine or ten when the family left the old Corbin home and moved about four miles to my grandmother's farm. It was the Sirmans' home place that my great-grandfather Steve "Buck", a slave, settled on when he became a free man.
My grandmother, Alice Roberts Sirmans, who was born about 15 miles away in Mayday, Georgia was half Cherokee Indian and half white.
She had been living at the farm when we moved in but moved shortly thereafter to a house in Valdosta, Georgia that my father Charlie and my uncle Freddie had recently built.
There on the farm I was expected to do my share of the work. I remember very clearly that complaining did very little good. I remember we had to pick up sweet potatoes after they had been plowed from under the ground.
You had to stay bent over for long periods of time. I would tell my mom or dad that my back was hurting, and they would say, "Boy! What do you mean your back is hurting?
You don't even have a back at your age. All you got is gristle." I cropped tobacco and hung it in the barn, but the most hated job was gathering corn in beggar weeds. The corn and the beggar weeds would cause your skin to sting.
Then around 1954 the Sirmans' heirs got together and sold 100 acres of our farm land to Isben Livingston. My dad bought the other 100 acres of the woodland that our house was on which he sold a few years later.
In 1955 they closed the two-classroom schoolhouse in Stockton, Georgia and I attended the seventh grade over in Lakeland, Georgia the county seat. Then in 1956 the Charlie Sirmans' family moved to Valdosta, Georgia.
My dad became a taxi driver. That year I was in the eighth grade, and I started the school year in the old Dasher High School that had been downgraded to a junior high school. At that time a strong disciplinarian, highly moral, and spiritual man, patrolled the halls.
That man was Professor J.L. Lomax, the principal, whom the school was later named after. I, like the other students, was terrified and scared to death of being caught in the hall unauthorized.
The new school, Pinedale High, had just been completed. For some reason, I can't remember exactly why, they had added two eighth grade classes to the new high school that first year.
Thereafter it was only grades ninth through twelfth. I was in one of the two eighth grade classes attending that first year in 1956. I believe my homeroom teacher was Ms. Carrie Lissimore.
The principal, Mr. C.C. Hall, the late band director, Mr. C.D Marshall, the chorus and others agreed that the school's new anthem did not rhyme properly with the word Pinedale.
Everyone agreed that Pinevale rhymed almost perfectly with the new anthem, so the school was thereafter known as Pinevale High. "Good old Pinevale High we will live and die for you, for you."
I was very insecure and shy in high school and will probably be somewhat shy and insecure all my life. I remember very vividly an incident that happened to me in Ms. Sarah Jones' class. I guess I was in the eleventh or twelfth grade.
I had my shoes leaned on their side under my desk, and when I shifted their position on the tile floor it sounded just like someone passing gas. All eyes focused on me, but I never looked up, I just kept my head hung and bowed.
After what seemed like a slow motion minute, Ms. Jones casually and quietly walked over and opened some windows near where I was sitting.
After the class was over a small lad that sat right next to me, I can't remember his name, but he walked up and told me, "I know that was your shoe that made that noise" and I told him that it truly was.
The reason I mention this incident is that because of my shyness and insecurity at the time I failed to set the record straight.
Even if I didn't have the courage to speak up then, I should have at least went to Ms. Jones later and set the record straight. But instead I remained mute, and to this day as far as I know only that young lad in that whole class knows that I was innocent.
Unlike most of today's young men, I was a late bloomer. I had come close, but when I finished high school I had not had a consummated relationship. In fact, my first consummated relationship came around the age of twenty.
In high school I was a jock. I was crazy about girls, but I was afraid to go after them. I excelled in sports, so that became my primary interest. When I graduated in 1961, only two members on the basketball team received scholarships, Oswell Jones and I.
We each received basketball scholarships to Fort Valley State. We used to call Oswell the Big "O". To this day I can honestly say Oswell was one of the best basketball shooters I have ever seen.
Even in high school if he got hot he could consistently hit 25-foot jumpers. I am sad to say that he was a victim in a fatal car accident while returning to Atlanta from the "92" Valdosta High School Wildcats State AAAA Championship football game, which Valdosta won.
I can still remember one of the chants that the Pinevale High basketball cheerleaders would yell out. "Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! He's is our man, if he can't do it nobody can!"
I finished high school in 1961 and then worked a while at South Georgia Pecan Factory in Valdosta before moving on to Tallahassee, Florida to attend a little trade school. The name of the trade school was Consolidated Electronics.
I went to the school about two hours a day. I managed to get a job in a little bakery and delicatessen shop on Adams Street right around the corner from the old capital building.
I got a room with Mrs. Ford who lived right in front of a funeral home in French Town on Carolina Street. I stayed in Tallahassee for six months until the little trade school ended. After I returned to Valdosta in late 1962, I decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force.
Like most new recruits in basic training, I visited the Alamo in San Antonio. From there I spent two years in Omaha, Nebraska. At that time, GI's didn't make as much money as they do today, but we knew how to party on what we had.
They had a barbecue shack at that time on North 24th Street. They sold a whole slab of rib for about $4.95. Today it would cost a lot more. We would buy a fifth or two of white port or red port wine for about $2.00 a fifth, get fired up, then each of us would get a slab of rib and party into the wee hours.
But the downside on duty the next morning I would feel like I had been shot at and missed but S... at and hit. About five months before I left Omaha, I met Janet. That is all I care to say, but she was special and I will never forget her.
I was young and not very responsible in that department. Even when young I tended to talk as a philosopher when someone would listen, and that she certainly would do. I would try to figure out her problems and the why of things. When I left I gave her my home phone number in Valdosta.
When she called me while I was on leave, I acted like I didn't want to talk to her. That was the last I ever heard of her. I don't know why, but maybe something in my childhood caused me to feel ill at ease talking to the opposite sex in the presence of my parents.
That is what happened to me when Janet called. When she called I guess I seemed like a different person, like I didn't care. But I really did care. Even today it saddens me how it ended.
When I got out on my own and got married that type of behavior didn't occur any more. My last two years in the military were spent in Puerto Rico. I bought a 1952 Studebaker and enjoyed the Caribbean and tropical climate.
I also enjoyed some red beans and rice, the islands' staple, plus some fresh roasted pig. The little coastal town of Aquadilla is where we did most of our partying.
The Air Force no longer has a base in Puerto Rico, but at that time in Aquadilla there was a nightclub called "The Black Stallion" where most of the airmen hung out. I clearly remember one famous patron.
She was as black as the ace of spades, and they called her Casa Boo Boo. She also was very ugly and had a face only a mother could love.
But, she must have made up for it in other ways because she was never lacking. She always got her share of dates. My enlistment was up in September 1966. I got out of the military and returned to Valdosta.
My goal was to get a college education. There was no excuse not to because I had a four year fully paid GI Bill at that time. I also would receive pay while going to school. But I guess it was not to be because I found a job and a girlfriend. I got married and started a family.
I do enjoy reading and doing crossword puzzles, two hobbies I think would be good for anyone planning to write a book one day. I grew up with an inferiority complex and was a very insecure person.
I still am not out of the woods, but I have made a lot of progress. I have greatly increased my self-esteem and learned how to do for myself. Sure, I wanted a college education and could still complete a degree at my present age.
But, I decided to sacrifice the prestige and overcompensate in some other area of achievement.
I have operated several small businesses over the years, including the Super "S" Restaurant for over a year and a janitorial service for more than fifteen years. Also, this is my second book. The title of my first book was, "The Black Psyche In America".
So overall I don't regret anything. My formal education is limited to a high school diploma and two college courses for one semester while in the service.
My writing should be raw, crude and pure, so hang on for a ride. I know everyone can't agree with a lot of what I write, but that is what's so great about this great country. Everyone has the right to express his own beliefs.
I have chosen to express some very strong views on social issues. I expect some very strong disagreements. So I wish only one thing to those disagreeing. Please disagree without becoming disagreeable.
TO CONTINUE SCROLL TO THE VERY BOTTOM AND CLICK ON” OLDER POST"
That is what happened to me when Janet called. When she called I guess I seemed like a different person, like I didn't care. But I really did care. Even today it saddens me how it ended.
When I got out on my own and got married that type of behavior didn't occur any more. My last two years in the military were spent in Puerto Rico. I bought a 1952 Studebaker and enjoyed the Caribbean and tropical climate.
I also enjoyed some red beans and rice, the islands' staple, plus some fresh roasted pig. The little coastal town of Aquadilla is where we did most of our partying.
The Air Force no longer has a base in Puerto Rico, but at that time in Aquadilla there was a nightclub called "The Black Stallion" where most of the airmen hung out. I clearly remember one famous patron.
She was as black as the ace of spades, and they called her Casa Boo Boo. She also was very ugly and had a face only a mother could love.
But, she must have made up for it in other ways because she was never lacking. She always got her share of dates. My enlistment was up in September 1966. I got out of the military and returned to Valdosta.
My goal was to get a college education. There was no excuse not to because I had a four year fully paid GI Bill at that time. I also would receive pay while going to school. But I guess it was not to be because I found a job and a girlfriend. I got married and started a family.
I do enjoy reading and doing crossword puzzles, two hobbies I think would be good for anyone planning to write a book one day. I grew up with an inferiority complex and was a very insecure person.
I still am not out of the woods, but I have made a lot of progress. I have greatly increased my self-esteem and learned how to do for myself. Sure, I wanted a college education and could still complete a degree at my present age.
But, I decided to sacrifice the prestige and overcompensate in some other area of achievement.
I have operated several small businesses over the years, including the Super "S" Restaurant for over a year and a janitorial service for more than fifteen years. Also, this is my second book. The title of my first book was, "The Black Psyche In America".
So overall I don't regret anything. My formal education is limited to a high school diploma and two college courses for one semester while in the service.
My writing should be raw, crude and pure, so hang on for a ride. I know everyone can't agree with a lot of what I write, but that is what's so great about this great country. Everyone has the right to express his own beliefs.
I have chosen to express some very strong views on social issues. I expect some very strong disagreements. So I wish only one thing to those disagreeing. Please disagree without becoming disagreeable.
TO CONTINUE SCROLL TO THE VERY BOTTOM AND CLICK ON” OLDER POST"
