NOTE: I have re-posted this article because it is so relevent to the impending  crises with Obama insisting it will be safe to bring terrorists into the United States. There are many valid arguments being made in opposition to the inept Obama policy, but no one is talking about the groupies and fanatics that follow prisoners just to be near them. It’s an old article, but feel free to comment. Thanks, Neo

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Except for a few good neighbors who called our little corner of the world home, but worked in town, we were mostly farmers, or farm related workers of one sort or another, or offspring of all of these. Of course, there were also a few retirees in the community, retired only because they had spent their bodies in the backbreaking work of farming and animal husbandry. We also had a parsonage there, occupied by the preacher and his family, and we were blessed to have sweet old Mr. & Mrs. Dawkins, who owned and operated the local grocery and branch post office, and lived in the house attached to the back of the store.

To me, time seemed to stand still in our community. Even though generations passed into the dust, an endless procession of offspring stepped up to take the helm, without so much as a missed furrow or the moo from a concerned cow. The new young generation seemed to have values and habits, not unlike those of their parents and grandparents. We went to the same school our parents went to, worshiped and married in the same church our parents were married in, and we bought groceries from Mr. and Mrs. Dawkins who seemed immortal.

Then one day, awhile after Mr. Dawkins died of a heart attack, Mrs. Dawkins sold the store. A few strangers also began to move into the community, as it became vogue to own a few acres out in the country, and make a home there even if you were a city slicker. We accepted just about everyone into our little community, with open arms… that is until “THEY” showed up.

They drove a van with Oregon plates, blacked out back windows, and what seemed like a quarter inch of permanent road dirt. They moved into a rental house sitting on five acres just a half mile from my house. They were white, or might have been if they had bathed just a little more often. I would call them white trash actually, because they sure were trashy. He had long and unkempt black hair that looked as if it were cut with garden sheers, and though she was a brunette, they made a good matched set.

They had several children who appeared to be malnourished and small for their ages, but you could not tell for sure, because the children were seldom seen, and did not attend school. The many attempts by school officials to contact the parents about the children’s schooling were unsuccessful. They were experts at flying under the radar, and would simply not answer the door, or would disappear for weeks at a time when the heat was on. Eventually two more vans showed up that looked a lot like the first, and since they arrived an departed mostly under cover of darkness, no one knew what the newcomers looked like, or how many there were.

Then one day, I was helping my son with his homework when my wife said, “Oh my God!” I rushed into the living room in time to catch words I would never forget. The evening news was featuring a special report, and a reporter was interviewing a woman …yes, our mysterious neighbors had made the evening news. The woman was proclaiming angrily that it was not fair, and “Charlie got a raw deal.” The woman was nearly in tears, and part of a larger contingent that had assembled in the nearby town to protest the life sentence of Charles Manson.

You see, a federal penitentiary had been built adjacent to the small town near our farm community, and Manson had been moved there to live out the remainder of his disgusting life under lock and key. The mystery of our odd neighbors was now solved. They were Manson groupies who admire such degenerate scumbags, and follow them from prison to prison so they can be in close proximity to their idols. They were very scary people, and seemed to be inclined to radical behavior if not violent. Once they were exposed, the owners inspected the house they occupied, and found it in a state of disrepair, which thankfully provided a good reason for their eviction.

I always suspected they were a satanic cult, but whether they were or not, that was the last I saw or thought of the Manson groupies. That is until I heard that Obama plans to bring the Guantanamo Bay terrorists to a city near you. When I heard that, I flashed immediately back the bizarre experience our community endured because domestic terrorist, Charles Manson was kept nearby. What then shall we look forward too, when we bring murdering Islamic radicals into prisons near American cities? They think they are on a mission from God, and their ticket to Heaven is killing any American.

Obama to America: “But, They Got a Raw Deal!”

Usually, if the kids were included in an excursion to town, it was to visit relatives, or get haircuts for one of us boys. I don’t remember ever visiting a doctor or dentist before, perhaps the eighth grade. Church and school were both attended at two of the scant public facilities in our small community. Besides the church and school, there was a small grocery with a gas pump, and we did eventually get a one-stall garage, so the volunteer fire department would have a place to park their fire truck, and gather to train, visit, and drink beer on Saturday nights.

Grant it, growing up in a rural community near a small California farm town, my view of the world at age six was a narrow one. In those days, even though it was a mere five mile drive to town, we only went there as a family on rare occasions. We approached town from the East, meaning we had to drive through “nigger-town” and over the tracks to get to “town.” There really were not two towns, but one single small town divided by railroad tracks, and a cultural divide just as interminable as the steel rails that ran infinitely from view in either direction.

Crossing the tracks into the main part of town, you still saw Blacks, along with Whites, and Hispanics, and Asians, and a few Jews. The local shoe store was called the Jew Store, perhaps in ignorance, but without malice, and the Rio Grande market was owned by a very well respected Hispanic family. There were no Whites to be found on the East side, nor Hispanics, or Asians, or anyone who was not black, AND bearing a certain look about them. The people in nigger-town were a frightful oddity to my six-year-old mind, and never to the best of my recollection, were ever referred to as anything but “niggers.”

Two things about Black people stand out in my childhood memories of that era. Their teeth, and their cars. I somehow made a connection between gold teeth, and the men from nigger-town. It seemed, in my child’s mind, they all sported huge and evil grins, exaggerated to display the shiny gold crowns on one or more of their front teeth. I thought I could always spot blacks from nigger-town in this way, and I was scared to death of them. Those without the garish gold teeth seemed to me, to be just people. We worked with them in the cotton, went to school with them, and they were among the butchers and junk collectors who frequented our family farm in the course of business.

I can still close my eyes and conjure the vision of nigger-town folks congregated, not inside the buildings, but outside, around automobiles that lined the South side of Whitley Avenue. I remember my folks repeatedly talking about the predominance of Cadillacs always present in the lineup. There were, new Cadillacs, old beat up Cadillacs, and Cadillacs at seemingly every stage of decomposition between showroom and junkyard.

The occasional detour to exit town on the North side, took us through the black residential area, which I did not consider a part of nigger-town. However, I was always amused at the number of elaborate cars on blocks in the front yards, where they were apparently erected on cinder blocks as some sort of monument to the fact their owners had, at least for a fleeting moment, risen to Cadillac status.

The East side of that small town is long gone, replaced by vacant lots, industrial buildings, a small park, and a few very tidy little houses. Nevertheless, every time I see a black pimp on television, or a rapper of any color, clad in garish gold jewelry or fur, or sporting outlandish tattoos, with or without a wide brimmed Panama, or anyone displaying outlandish hubris, I am taken back to the piquant view of nigger-town from the side-rear window of our family car.

I am glad such language, in American society, has mostly gone the way of the dinosaur, but I have a great fear. Barack Hussein Obama is nothing more than a nobody, who is without benefit of experience or merit. He has been vaulted far above his earned status by a naïve and idealistic class of socialist leaning liberals, aided and abetted by an opportunistic MSM. Hopeful blacks have been coddled and lied to for so long, that they believe something is owed to them whether they earn it or not, and have become useful idiots and the final straw that has broken the back of our system of Republican self-governance.

The final insult to all of America, including the blacks who voted for him, is that Obama, with his garish display of hubris and unconscionable waste of money to honor himself in inauguration regalia for achieving Cadillac status, has set all of America back fifty years. I am so dismayed that I can’t help but wonder if we will soon see a couple of Cadillacs on blocks in front of the Whitehouse, and the glimmer of sparkling gold when he smiles for the press. While there is some hyperbole in all of this, I will never see an image, or hear the voice of Obama without thinking of the niggers of nigger-town who frightened me so as a child. That was an era of history I had hoped to never see again. I guess it does qualify as change though, doesn’t it? ~Neo