Shirleys News -- This and That

Road Angels

2008-04-27T19:18:00.002-05:00

The women of the nineties can still be professional women, doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers, accountants, clerks, cashiers, home-makers, mothers, grandmothers, and they can still step outside, throw a leg over a bike and take off cross country. Road Angels will take you across the country and takes a look at the women who ride motorcycles and why.

Some of the stories will make you laugh, and some will make you cry. Learn how to pick a bike for yourself, how to take care of it, tips on riding in hot weather and cold weather. Some of the women in this book share their dreams, and the love of the road. Some will tell their stories of embarrassing moments on the bike, some spills taken and much more.

“We all have the stereotype set in our minds when we think about motorcycles and those who ride them. The rebel without a cause with Tom Cruise racing off to join Top Gun, the rough and tough guys in black leather jackets looking to cause trouble. However, times are changing and now motorcycles appeal to men and women of all ages and backgrounds.

So, why exactly would a woman want to consider a mode of transport that makes her wear a helmet that will ruin any carefully arranged hairstyle? Why would she want to get around on a motorcycle that will have her wearing jeans and big boots, that has no heater or comfy seats, and will get her drenched if she happens to be away from home when the heavens open up?

“Motorcycling used to be known as only a man's sport, but today things are different. Women have taken to the road in large numbers, and for many different reasons. The old movies portrayed women with hardly any clothes on, standing in front of a motorcycle, following her boyfriends lead. With the wind whipping in their faces, and the pavement just a few inches away, it was a way of life for many. Women who ride say it's a freedom that you couldn't understand unless you’re on a bike.

“Who is out there riding? Hairstylists, waitresses, officer workers, nurses, doctors, attorneys, mothers, grandmothers, and women from all occupations ride motorcycles. It takes a certain type of woman to get on a motorcycle and ride it herself and a lot of women will shy away from even riding on the back of a bike, and some will be content to always be pillion without ever learning to ride themselves.

Because of this, you can usually assume a certain amount of common characteristics in a woman you meet that rides herself, particularly confidence, independence, and an inner strength to deal with all the adversities that can accompany such a pursuit.

“Riding a motorcycle is not a typical womanly trait, and women who ride know that they have entered a world that is male dominated. A woman on a motorcycle is seen as sexy by some, and just plain odd by others. To ride a bike requires the ability to be able to handle situations that plenty of women will traditionally not want to be exposed to such as riding along on a freeway without the enclosed casing that comes with a car. This is a concept which motorcycle riders think of as freedom, yet many car drivers just think of as downright perilous.

“There is a sense of freedom to riding along with no windows or metal between you and the outside world and there is a sense of being at one with the outdoors, and being more alert and aware of your surroundings. There's a certain feeling of power knowing that you have the potential to go faster than any of the cars you encounter, whether you use that power or not.

And there's the feeling of being in tune with your vehicle. When riding a bike, you don't just steer it and point it where you want to go, you lean with it, and you choose your lines around corners and lean just the right amount. The sensation of being leaned over at angles that are dependent purely on speed and gravity is one that grabs hold of every motorcyclist once they start to be confident to take corners at a reasonable speed.

“It's impossible to describe the feeling you have when you're on your bike riding down the highway, and feeling good about yourself and good about your bike. Every journey you make on a motorcycle is fun, it's not just a vehicle to get you from one place to another, it's an enjoyable experience and the novelty never wears off. It's something everyone could love if they’d open their minds to it and give it a try without being afraid or intimidated.

“Women don't have to take a back seat, or ride behind their men counterparts any longer like they did in years past. What they have in common is, they all love to ride. When people see a large group of bikers, they usually think of drunken gangsters, or some of the biker gangs, but most people actually join clubs to make friends with other riders, and for the safety of riding in numbers. You are much more likely to be seen in a group. Best of all, if you need help, there are many people around to give you a hand.

“When I started riding, I was amazed about how you instantly belong and found that bikers look out for one another and even wave and give peace signs to each other. They are signaling, hey buddy, keep on riding. In addition, as I have found out, they are there for you if you are broken down on the side of the road and need help. Bikers are much more likely to stop and help you than drivers in cars.”

One of the ladies in Tennessee who rides a motorcycle says, “it amuses me to know that guys find it sexy. I think that stems mostly because it takes some independence to ride up front, and if a woman is confident enough in her sexuality to ride what's long been a male symbol, then it opens up speculation that perhaps she’s confident enough to break other sexual taboos.

As with most fantasies, the fantasy role-playing aspect is much more sexy than the reality of motorcycle riding. There was a song that said, don’t call him a cowboy until you see him ride. The fantasy erotic lady motorcyclist is dressed in high heel boots, chaps, thong, halter-top with waist length hair blowing in the breeze.

This getup is not only unsuited for riding a motorcycle but down right dangerous. We're talking road rash, sunburn, butt burn, windburn and hair so tangled you'd have to shave it and start over, and for goodness sakes don't stop the bike cause those high heels will, at best slip, and most likely break off when you plant your feet at a stop.”

“In reality, guys don't get turned on by a woman wearing high top logger boots, full length abrasion resistant suit filled with body armor and sweaty hair tucked into a full face helmet. I repeat, as with most fantasies, the fantasy role-playing aspect is much more sexy than the reality of motorcycle riding. Women love riding motorcycles, and although it wasn't a popular thing to do in the beginning, they stood their ground and forged ahead as lady bikers. One of the first ladies who rode a motorcycle was Dot Robinson.

The Choice Is Yours

2007-09-22T08:12:00.000-05:00

The Choice Is Yours is a stark video containing stories from the five death row inmates. These men on TN death row talk about life, death and mistakes they've made. Their days as carefree youths have ended. They are facing death or, if they are lucky, a long period of isolation. They know it. Their families know it. They know why they are there and they want to help other youngsters from facing the same bleak future they face, day in and day out. On Sale Now It was filmed on Tennessee’s death row by Shirley Dicks, author, speaker and the mother of Jeff Dicks who was wrongly convicted and sentenced to die.

One of the chapters in the book by a prison inmate.

William Todd - Death Row Georgia

Hello, Future Of The World. That's exactly who you are.

Think about that for a minute. How do you like the shape the world is in today? Well, think about it. We need your help. Your younger brothers and sisters need your help. That's a pretty radical thought isn't it? What are you going to do about it? Without you...there is no future.

My name is William Todd. I'm sitting here on death row and I'm thinking about you. I'm afraid for you. Just look at the problems many of you are facing right now. Many of you have it worse than I do. I've got it made. I get fed regularly and I get clothes and shelter. I have all a man needs to survive. I even know when I'll die give or take a five years.

Of course my life has its downfalls, also. I've lost all my choices and rights as a citizen in your world. I don't choose what I eat. I don't choose what I wear, I don't even have any say as to how long or short my hair is and I'm not allowed to feel green grass beneath my feet. My world is concrete and iron bars. I'm not a career criminal. I have no long list of crimes. In fact I've never been in prison before. What has my being here got to do with you being here? What has my word got to do with you shaping the future of your world? Simple every day choices.

Choices
Monday May 15, 1989 I arrived on Georgia's death row. I didn't' think much about it. Three days later a man walked past me with all his personal belongings in a basket. I didn't know where he was going but I learned the next day he was executed in the electric chair. Then it hit me. I was told 2,000 volts of electricity does to a human body. All your internal organs sizzle like bacon in a skillet. Your lungs and brain disintegrate. You urinate and your bowls excrete in your clothing. Your eyes pop out and the jolt hits you so hard that your muscles contract and break many of your bones. You bleed from every organ in your body.

CHOICES
How did I end up here? Through many small choices that resulted in my leaving your world. Simple choices. I chose to be cocky and got thrown out of home at 15. No problem...I had a good job. I always had good jobs. I didn't have to steal. I chose to smoke refer. Hey, no problem.... I never worried about anything. I was always high. I got bored with pot so I chose to do speed and then cocaine. I was a junkie for there years. Hey, no problem...I beat it. I got straight and started my own remodeling business.

CHOICES

I chose to get married...three times. I had a son and daughter from two sets of wives. I survived two suicide attempts, and several attempts on my life by other junkies. I witnessed the death of my sister and I was still sane and in one piece. Hey, no problem.

I figured all my problems were behind me. All these wrong choices didn't seem to be hurting me now. I never got busted, I wasn't a crook. I made it through high school and I went to college. I worked hard and overcame heavy obstacles.

I could not see what I was doing to myself until one day the 17 year old woman I was in love with got hooked on crack cocaine. She fell apart right in front of my eyes. She got so strung out that she began trading sex for a piece of rock. Crack cocaine, I was totally devastated.

I tried talking to her, but that didn't work so I finally had to let her go. She completely fell apart. I was so broken hearted that I began to fall apart as well. One day she phoned and said, "William, I want to quit. I want to give up drugs."

I went to pick her up from a motel room. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was skinny, filthy and she had holes in her hands and arms from shooting drugs. I found her in bed with another junkie. All I care about was helping this once beautiful friend of mine to escape the grasp of drugs. After I picked her up she went into withdrawals that were so bad she cussed me up one side and down the other. She told me if I didn't do something quick she was going back to the motel and I would know what she would be doing.

UNCONSCIOUS CHOICES
Let me explain if I can. During the course of that particular day, I had been smoking pot and drinking. As the day grew longer, my girlfriend went further into withdrawal, caused by her drug addiction. I chose to believe that I could handle the situation. My desire for her was so strong that I lost my ability for rational thought. My mind was wrenched with pain. Marijuana, alcohol and fear added to my confusion.

My girlfriend gave me an ultimatum: get a car and drive her or allow her to walk back to the motel to join the junkies who were there. "Now. Now or I'll leave!" she screamed.

I pleaded with her to wait while I asked my friend if I could borrow his car. By the time I entered my friend's house, I was so frantic with fear and out of my mind on drugs that I lost all control. I walked around in circles for a few minutes, trying to collect my thoughts. I glanced out the window and saw her leave.

Her threats, the scenes at the motel, the drugs, and the fear all flashed through my mind. Everything I had hoped for was going with her. My mind exploded. The next thing I knew, my friend lay dead at my feet and I stood there with a bloody hammer in my hand. It took days before reality sunk in. Please don't wait until you get to my world to make a decision.

Help to make the world a better place with a brighter future. Set the example for others to follow. Make the right choices. Say NO to drugs. If you choose to drink and do drugs, I'll be waiting to welcome you...when you end up in my world.

The Injustice of The Death Penalty

2007-09-17T17:13:00.000-05:00

I first became aware of the death penalty when my oldest son Jeff Dicks was sentenced to die for a crime he didn't commit and wasn't even in the store when it happened. He'd been out with a friend of his and Jeff was driving him to the Salvation Army when Strouth asked him to pull over in front of a small used clothing store. Jeff pulled over and parked the car and it was then that Strouth told him he was going to rip the store off.

Jeff just laughed as he didn't believe his friend was really going to do that and thought he was only telling stories again like in the past. However this time it was true. STrouth went in and killed the shopkeeper and stole a couple of hundred dollars.

He asked Jeff if he wanted some of the money but Jeff refused, only wanting to get away from him. Jeff did that and called me. He turned himself in because he was not guilty but he'd given a statement without an attorney present and told the whole truth. That hed been in the car.

During the trials, they separated the two and each had a separate one. In that way the prosecution was able to change testimony in the way the victim had been killed. The jurors also weren't allowed to hear all the evidence at Jeff's trial which is the way the prosecutor planned it. It was called heresay evidence at Jeff's trial and the jurors weren't allowed to see Strouth or hear his girlfriends testimony that would have changed the outcome of the trial.

This is done all over the country. This is to ensure both of them went to death row even though they knew that Jeff hadn't taken part in the crime and they also knew he hadn't taken any of the money as they knew Strouth had bought a used car with the money taken.

They lied on the stand, changed testimony to murder an innocent person. And it's not the only case. In the Thin Blue Line it showed where the whole police department lied to convict Randal Adams when they knew who the murderer was. But because he was a good old Texas boy, and under age so he couldn't get the death penalty, they chose someone who was just passing through their town and arrested him.

After serving thirteen years on death row and almost being executed, a Movie producer came upon the evidence at the police department that showed who the real killer had been. And he'd gone on to murder someone else. Someone else who wouldn't have been murdered had the police not convicted an innocent person of the crime.

This is our justice in the US. This is why the death penalty doesn't work. It's only used for revenge, not justice. When a life without parole is a better, and a cheaper sentence for those who commit murder, they would then be alive when they were able to prove their innocence.

Over a hundred people now have been freed from death row after proven their innocence. People like to say they don't want to pay taxes for these killers to spend time in prison, but what they don't know is, it cost much more to go through a death penalty trial then to keep someone locked away for fifty years.

How is it right for the police department to lie to convict someone they know to be innocent and how is it right for a prosecutor to lie in order to convict someone he also knows is innocent. This amounts to murder. Plain and simple, they are guilty of murder when that innocent person is killed.

I have a letter from a minister in Nashville who says he knows Jeff is innocent because Strouth told him so. But he would not come forward with that information. He called it privilege information.

What is that? A person guilty of slitting the throat of an old man can tell a minister or his attorney what he did and they let someone else die rather than speaking out. This is Justice? This is the American Way?

Money talks. Poor innocent people will die because they can not afford a dream team. And I already know and have heard that it's all right to kill some innocent people in order to get the guilty. I hate to disagree but I will. When you can donate one of your family members to be one of those few innocent ones who can be killed in order to get a few guilty, then I will believe it. It's always all right when it's someone else who is paying the price.

The death penalty is wrong. Killing is wrong no matter who is doing the killing. You can't call one an act of murder and the other an act of justice. They are both murder. My son's story is A Mothers Torment. www.amotherstorment.com www.jeffdicks.net

Poison Foods and Toys

2007-08-15T08:45:00.000-05:00

Americans Are Being Poisoned

In the past two weeks we’ve seen millions of Mattel toys being recalled because of lead paint being used which is very dangerous to our children. It seems as if everything lately coming out of China is poisoned from the food we’re eating to the toys our children are playing with.

What is the answer? Perhaps the answer lies in our government testing and checking everything coming into our country and to stop buying products from China. They are trying to kill us while pretending they are all accidents. And we keep on buying these products. Another answer may lie in these multi billion dollar companies to open up factories in the United States, put our own people to work and make all toys right here and start to grow more of our own food.

Go back to what we did back in the fifties and that was we grew big gardens and our mothers canned the vegetables that would last us through the winter months. We picked berries and made our own jelly and jams and canned them along with the vegetables. Our mothers also made and canned apple sauce, fruits like peaches, cherries and other fruits that we liked. We grew enough potatoes to last many months in the cellar, and made our own donuts, breads, cakes and much more. Back then we didn’t have to buy all that much from the stores as we grew a lot of our own foods.

We were never poisoned or got sick from eating the foods we grew and made and perhaps it’s time we went back to a more civilized time. I know it would be safer for us and our pets. Back then our dogs and cats ate the leftovers and were perfectly healthy and lived long lives. I think people today are in such a hurry they don’t take the time to do some of these things, but perhaps it’s time we did.

When big companies cut corners by buying products out of China because the labor is so cheap, they put Americans at risk. They charge enough for the toys and products that they could pay higher prices to have them made right here in the US.. That way they could check all materials before any of them were ever used in making the toys. Seems to me the safety of our children should come before cheap labor and cheap materials being used in the products they use to make toys that will be sold to millions of our children from a country that is trying to poison us.

Not counting the many food products that have poisoned us sent from China, of the 152 product recalls announced by the commission since January, 104 have been for products made in China. Do we ever learn? Why are we still buying products from China knowing that they may be poison to us and to our children? The government doesn’t check most of the foods coming into this country and so it’s easy for them to ship poisoned foods to us. They know it won’t get checked.

We shouldn’t have to worry when we put peanut butter on our toast in the morning that we may die from eating it and yet we may die or get sick. Seems to me our government would care enough to check every food that comes into this country. Hire more checkers if there is too much food for the few people who do the checking. Stop buying so much of our food from these countries.

This is after China killed and made sick over 39,000 of our cats and dogs with poisoned pet foods and treats. I stopped buying pet food after that and I now make my two dogs food by cooking up rice, vegetables and then mix it with cooked chicken, chicken livers, beef livers, hamburgers and other meats along with a daily vitamin. They are both quite healthy. It doesn’t seem as if our government cares enough for our pets or us for that matter when they don’t regulate what comes into this country.

China, the leading exporter of seafood to the U.S., is raising most of its fish products in water contaminated with raw sewage and compensating by using dangerous drugs and chemicals, many of which are banned by the Food and Drug Administration. In China, 3.7 billion tons of sewage is discharged into rivers, lakes and coastal water – some of which are used by the industry. Only 45 percent of China has any sewage-treatment facilities, putting the country behind the rest of Asia. And we are buying and eating the seafood from this country?

Maine has fish and seafood so why aren’t we buying more from there instead of having it brought in from China? Dried apples preserved with a cancer-causing chemical and catfish laden with banned antibiotics, scallops and sardines coated with putrefying bacteria and mushrooms laced with illegal pesticides came in from China.
The US Inspections show that foods from China were unfit for humans to eat, and they just sent them back. But instead of going back the ships would go to another port and the food items would find it’s way to our tables.

FDA inspectors - who are able to check out less than 1 percent of regulated imports - refused 298 food shipments from China. By contrast, 56 shipments from Canada were rejected, even though Canada exports about $10 billion in FDA-regulated food and agricultural products to the United States - compared with about $2 billion from China.

Now it seems as if we’re going to have to worry about eating chickens as China is trying to get permission to send their poultry over. This has raised concerns because of salmonella but also Chinese chickens if not processed right could be a source of avian flu. This is in the works to be approved and is moving ahead because the USDA audits found China's poultry slaughterhouses to be equivalent to those here.

Tony Corbo, a lobbyist for Food and Water Watch, a Washington advocacy group, said that finding - which is not subject to outside review - is unbelievable, given repeated findings of unsanitary conditions at China's chicken slaughterhouses. Corbo said he has seen some of those audits. "Everyone who has seen them was grossed out," he said.

Vegetarians have the right idea and if we all cut out the meat in our diets, we’d be safer and probably healthier. Maybe alive. We need more regulation but I don’t see it coming. Money is where it’s at and no matter how many foods China sends to us that are poisoned, we’ll still be buying it.

Other than food items, some of the products that have hurt our children were the baby swings that entrapped the babies resulting in many reports of injuries, and then the swimming pool ladders that broke resulting in 127 reports of injuries of broken bones. We bought our baby carriers made in China that left our babies falling out and being hurt. The Easy Bake ovens for little girls were another toy that trapped the child’s fingers resulting in burns. Circular saws with faulty blade guards that result in cutting users, not wood and the list goes on.

Maybe if enough people complained to these companies and stopped buying the toys they’d take more of an interest in our safety. Perhaps if Americans started growing their own food items, or at least buying only products grown or made in the US, we'd stop a lot of these poisonings.

A Long Road Home

2007-08-09T13:30:00.000-05:00

A Long Road Home

By Trevor Dicks

"I was eleven years old when I heard the judge exclaim, "Jeffrey Dicks, you are to be executed by electrocution until you are pronounced
Dead, Dead, Dead!"

It was at that moment life as I knew it would never be the same..."
My first eleven years started in the peaceful New England village of Concord, NH in 1967. I am the youngest of four children. I have two older sisters, Tina and Laurie, and my older brother, Jeff. "Please Don't Pick the Daisies" was the TV show of the times with charming characters such as a big shaggy dog and two boys, Trevor and Tracy. Tracy was my father's first choice for my name, but my uncle's new baby girl was named Tracy so from that moment on I have been known as Trevor Dicks.

My father, Nelson, had recently taken an honorable discharge from the US Marine Corps where he served a tour in the Vietnam War (1965-1966). These years would prove to have been some of the most brutal and heaviest years of combat and violence throughout the whole ten-year police action. Dad came home to stay with the family because my mother had attempted suicide after seeing friend after friend return home from the war, only to be laid to rest (closed coffin).

While I was still in diapers, the family (including grandparents, aunts and uncles) relocated to Asheville, N.C. We set up house as Dad found work as a mechanic and Mom sold Fuller Brushes to make ends meet. We settled into the community and found a church where we enjoyed taking part in the weekly services and activities.

We were happy, really happy, at least temporarily. Dad was finding it harder and harder to adjust to family life after being exposed and subjected to the levels of violence in Nam. He turned to alcohol to deaden his inner turmoil. He experienced
flashbacks. These flashbacks often led to an eruption of violence from his own hand. It didn't happen overnight. But as the years progressed, so did my father's alcohol consumption, which went hand in hand with the flashbacks and emotional outbursts.

Looking back through the years, I can vividly picture what became a typical Saturday night in our family. Instead of packing all six of us in a car to take in a pizza and movie, which we couldn't afford, we would gather in the living room as Mom played the piano. Gospel music filled the air, and our souls. We would sing, hymn after hymn, with my voice, young and uninhibited, bellowing out the lyrics with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

Our voices exhausted, we would sit back, relax and wait for Mom and Dad to set up the projector. Now it was time for our movies, family movies. We'd watch and laugh at ourselves as the screen recounted past gatherings and holidays. There was no shortage of footage and my favorites were of Christmas.

At Christmas, I would be propped on Jeff's lap, smiling and eager to see what was hidden beneath the bows and ribbons. The only thing gleaming brighter than my expectant eyes, was the smile on Jeff's face as he helped me unwrap present after present, leaving his own to pile haphazardly in a corner.

Jeff and I were close, really close. We use to sit and talk about everything. I can remember, during one of our talks, when he was explaining to me that he was ready to leave home to make his own way in the world. He was going to marry his girlfriend and work and have his own place. Naturally I was sad, but he said I could come and stay with him anytime I wanted and that some day I would be moving out to start my own family, too. In the mean time, I got to stay in his old room downstairs. I loved hanging out with him there, because it was away from Mom and Dad's room and very private. Now the room was mine but it just wasn't the same without my big brother in it.

Looking back, as if watching one of our home movies, I see my brother standing at the door of my new room. "Hey, you little sh#t. What are you going to do, sleep all day?" he greeted me, with a twinkle in his eyes. I leapt from the bed to his arms
as my eyes filled with excitement and a smile burst from my face. I proceeded to interrogate him. "What are you doing here?" "I'm here to see you dummy."
There was a smile on his face, but his eyes clouded over. I was just eleven, but I knew something was up. Okay," I said, and enjoyed the hug. "Come on, little brother, we are going to have a party."

As we climbed to the top of the stairs, I saw my mother with tear-filled eyes, the sound of sniffles caught my attention and my head snapped around to find my oldest sister sitting at the front door. Tina sat with her head buried in her lap and I could see her body quiver. Instantly a feeling of dread encompassed my body and I knew something really bad had happened. My mind raced to figure it out. At first I thought our dog, Nicki, had died, or worse yet, my grandfather who had been sick for a long time.

With all the authority my voice could muster, I demanded to know what had happened. I sat tentatively, my soul in tune with the truth of the events that were now revealed to me. With every crackle of desperation in his voice and the helpless cries from his heart, my brother's every hope and fear became my own.

Jeff and his new bride, Betty, had been living in Kingsport, Tennessee, only sixty miles from Asheville. Jeff was selling Fuller Brushes as he had done back home. Kingsport was an area that had growth potential for sales and he worked very hard to obtain a regular customer base. As they were expecting their first child, Jeff poured an enormous effort into establishing himself in the business.

It was a realistic goal to be given the entire Kingsport area, with salesman working under him. The future was looking bright: a growing business, a growing family and making new friends. As they were just starting out, they lived poorly, in a one-room efficiency barely making ends meet. Jeff was used to this lifestyle, as money was never abundant at home. We were raised to believe that it wasn't money that mattered, but friends and family; helping one another as we were taught as Christians.
Jeff, caring and softhearted, befriended a boy, Donald, who was somewhat down on his luck. They had met when they were neighbors at a previous address. One day he showed up at Jeff's door with his girlfriend, Barbara. They had nowhere else to go and so Jeff and Betty opened their home to the couple.

Donald, who liked to be called Chief, was obviously a troubled young man. He had been in trouble with the police throughout his juvenile years and into his short adulthood. He had a great deal of anger and resentment built up inside of him and constantly told stories to project how tough he was. He'd tell of people he had assaulted and battered; how much pain he could inflict upon other people, all in an attempt to gain respect.

Chief told so many stories that Jeff hesitated to believe them all, but instead of
questioning him, Jeff let it go, not wanting to threaten his ego and anger him.
Chief and Barbara were without a car and Jeff took on the responsibility of chauffeur in the attempts to get the couple back on their feet. As Chief was finding it difficult to secure work, Jeff often found himself financing many of their personal needs, from doing their laundry to buying a six-pack of beer.

I remember going to visit and meeting Chief for the first time. There was something about him that I couldn't put a finger on it, except that he wasn't the same quality of friends that my brother had back home. I knew all Jeff's friends because they were my friends too. I can recall many happy times when Perry, Jeff's best friend, would come over and we'd all hang out and listen to music.

I was blessed with the privilege of being a little brother who was allowed to hang out with the big brother, even when he had his friends to the house. Perry, and Jeff's other friends were good people, even Mom considered them family. When my eyes first met Chief's cold black eyes staring back at me, I was instantly intimidated. The movie Jaws provoked the most fear I had ever encountered, until that moment. I stood there feeling as if I was the vulnerable prey to his great white shark and I was frozen to where I stood. It wasn't until he forced a smile that my feeling of dread started to subside.

It was evident to Jeff that Chief was starting to fl a certain degree of guilt for having to rely on Jeff's kindness in order to survive. He would boast continually of how one day he would pay Jeff back for looking out for him. While driving Chief to the store to pick up some clothes Chief wanted to stop at a second hand shop. Jeff waited in the car unaware of the events that would transpire.

Chief returned to the car and insisted that Jeff hurry up and drive. When Jeff questioned Chief, he stated that he had to hurt the old man, but he would be all right. A robbery had taken place, suddenly, all Chief's boasting took on a whole new meaning. Not wanting to be any part of this, but not knowing what else to do, Jeff drove as Chief pressured him to do. Jeff took none of the money when offered and once depositing Chief where he was told immediately severed all ties.

Jeff learned on the news what his heart dreaded, "shop keeper murdered." Not knowing what to do, he called Mom to come get him. Mom left right away and when they returned Jeff told us that he had decided on his own to turn himself in. This was why he was home. This was the reason for the tears and the party.

I sat in awe and joined in the worry and sadness. Jeff had already spoken to the chief investigator for the case. He told them everything he knew and this confirmed what they had expected. Chief had already been apprehended. With his prior record of violence and the blood soaked clothes, they knew they had their man. Jeff was told he would have to serve some time in jail as an accessory to robbery for not going straight to the police.

So, this party was going to have to last us all for a long time. At least a few months and maybe even a year! It seems like such a short time now, but back then, it seemed like an eternity.

Time that night neither lagged nor raced, but allowed for time to think and feel, to laugh and cry, to hope and to thank God for what we had: each other and each other's dreams. We listened to Mom's favorite Gospel song, Will the Circle be Unbroken and to Jeff's new favorite song, by Leonard Skynard, Free bird. We had time enough to pray, and we did. I prayed, selfishly, that God would return my brother to me swiftly and safely.

The next day I watched the detective's car carry my brother away until it was out of sight, a single tear rolling down his cheek and a simple way good-bye. Everything I had learned told me that he was doing the right thing, turning himself in, but I continued to sit on the front porch and stare down the road.

I already missed him and the only comfort I found were in words he'd spoken to me earlier, trying to reassure me and let me know everything was going to be all right.
"I'll be back before you know it, Trev. You'll see." Jeff lunged toward me with arms out, ready to snatch me up to wrestle with me, but I didn't feel like playing, especially a cat and mouse game.
I just wanted a hug. As Jeff drew closer I wrapped my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. Jeff stood up and I brought my knees up and locked my feet behind his back. I could feel Jeff's arms tighten around me and I knew he was feeling the same as I was...

By this time, I'd given up all pretense of playing the big boy and I gave into the child within me. I rested my head on his shoulder. The tears flooded my eyes and rolled down my face.

This was my first experience with the feelings of loss and helplessness.
A minute passed, maybe two, before Jeff bent down giving me the chance to plant my feet back on the ground. I was reluctant to let go, but I didn't want to act like a baby. I took a step back and wiped my eyes before focusing on Jeff. His eyes were glossy too, I knew he was holding back, probably for my benefit.
He lunged at me again, he was still going to whip my butt. I jumped back and a smile broke through the sadness, he always did know what to do to make me feel better, to make me laugh...

I sat there for hours trying to make some sense of it all. I don't know if it was an exceptionally spectacular sunset or if my mind was searching extra hard for the strength to get up, but it reminded me of the awesome power of God and nature.
I suddenly longed for church day to come, so I could talk to God. I knew he would make things right and make sense of all the things that were now baffling me.
I made a conscious decision to try and carry on as if everything was normal.

I grew up watching shows like Perry Mason. It was one of my mother's favorites. In every episode the bad guy ended up going to jail and the innocent were always set free. This is how I thought the justice system worked, I didn't know any different.
Mom and I had a standing date whenever Perry Mason or The Fugitive was on TV. We'd curl up next to each other on the couch and have some quality time, just the two of us. The Fugitive, Mom's other favorite show, and mine too, was about an innocent man, wrongly convicted, who had escaped from jail. He was trying to prove his innocence while being chased by the police. I can remember thinking that that could never happen in real life, especially if he'd had a lawyer like Perry Mason who would have proven him innocent before he went to jail.

When I was older, I found out that The Fugitive was based on a true story. I am a close friend with Sam Sheppard Jr., whose life was destroyed by violence and injustice when he was a child. His father was accused and found guilty by the court of murdering Sam's mother. Sam's father spent eleven years in prison before he was set free, his sentence overturned because of improper procedures. In addition, there were leads that were never perused in the investigation, and today Sam, whose life has already been irreversibly damaged by the incident, is still trying to prove his father's innocence.

I recently accompanied Sam in Ohio on a walk to promote alternatives to the Death Penalty. The event started with the exhumation of his father's casket in order to perform DNA testing that would prove his father's innocence of the crime for which he was prosecuted. Dr. Sheppard was finally laid to rest along side of his wife, Sam Mother, as he should have been many years ago.

I, like so many other Americans, was under the assumption, that if you tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth you would get proper justice. I woke up to find that it just isn't so. I learned that families are destroyed, for no other reason, but because of their skin color or lack of wealth. I quickly learned that truth and justice no longer played a role in the courts, but it had been replaced by politics and how many votes a death penalty conviction attracts.

With the help of gruesome headlines from the news, they set the stage to sell the public an act of vengeance; a guise to solve their ever growing fear of crime and violence problem with a quick fix. Even after twenty years, it's still being bought and sold like a commodity.

We were considered second class citizens - poor. But my family was just like millions of others; we went to church every week and watched fireworks on the Fourth of July. We never went without food or clothing because my Dad worked six days a week and our mother made most of our clothes.

I didn't understand what was happening inside of me at that time. I was being shunned by society and rapidly filling up with anger toward any and all authority. Everything I had been brought up to believe I found myself doubting. My mother tried desperately to hold my family together and save my brother's life, but the heavy strain was taking its toll on my father, who was drinking every day now. This became an even heavier burden to carry. He was out of work now and all their savings were exhausted, so they sold our house and divorced after seventeen years of marriage.

I could not find a single friend to express these feelings with because I was also condemned. Adults literally pulled my friends away from me, like I was some kind of a beast because I had a brother on death row. I could not understand why this was happening to our family. I thought even God had abandoned me, and it was many, many years before I found my way back to Him.
I tried to carry on with school but my teacher seemed to have it in for me also. I began to get into trouble for fighting because my classmates and teachers were saying these terrible lies about my big brother - being a murderer.

I remember one day I felt so bad. That was the day my neighbor and best friend of 6 years told me he wasn't allowed to play with me anymore. We shook hands and went our ways. I don't think he understood why either, but we never saw each other again.

I prayed daily and waited for an answer, but it seemed like there was one bad thing happening after another. My family was separating. By now my Dad and Laurie were in New York. Tina, now 16, stayed in Asheville, NC and found work to help with Jeff's attorney fees before going to trial. We were told by one attorney that he wanted $100,000 minimum to defend Jeff, and if not, he would die. I left the fourth grade behind and Mom and I set out on the road.

My new stepfather, Donald, gave up a lot to try to save my brother. He sold his land, his trailer; everything of value along with our house and cars, but it still wasn't enough. I remember being at the flea market in North Carolina, shortly before we set out on the road. We were selling every thing of value in our home, things we had accumulated as a family our entire lives. I remember seeing Mom crying and I asked her why, she told me she was just sad because she didn't know how she was going to come up with all the money for Jeff's attorney.

Without hesitating, I quickly surrendered the few dollars I had made selling some of my old toys and things, but this only made her cry harder.

After a few moments she pulled me to her for a hug and told me what a big helper I was. It felt pretty good to think I was helping my brother too, still I knew from overhearing conversations we were a long way away from raising that money.

My Mom did see the potential in the flea market and after exhausting every other option except robbing a bank, she decided she would write "hot" checks to purchase tools and things that we could sell at the markets. She knew this was illegal and so did I but it was either that or Jeff would surely die! So, we set out to the biggest markets we could find.

It felt great and I became quite the little salesman. We had two booths and Mom would let me sell by myself at one, while she and Donald sold at the other. I was pulling in 500-600 dollars a day and there seemed to be some hope. Mom raised thousands of dollars in the months that followed and sent nearly every cent of it to Jeff's attorney, Larry Smith.

I remember the trial well. My mother was upstairs in jail for contempt of court because she dared cry out to the jury when evidence was not allowed in my brother's behalf. "That's a filthy lie!" got my Mom ten days. Laurie and Tina were both kicked out for crying. My uncles were kicked out of the entire state, and my Dad, of course, was in no shape to be in a courtroom.

I'll never forget the look of terror on Jeff's face and the feeling of dread as the judge read the sentence. DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!!

I could see his whole body shaking as he turned around in the courtroom looking, searching desperately for someone to rescue him from this nightmare. The guards had a firm hold on his arms that were shackled to his waist. They immediately started to escort him from the courtroom, pulling and tugging vigorously. I could hear the sound of his leg irons as they dragged on the floor over the noise of the prosecutor’s celebration. I watched, helpless to save him, as they dragged him closer to the door. Everything in me told me they were taking him straight to the chair.

Nana and Pop could offer no words through their tears and we made our way out of the courthouse. My heart was racing and at the same time breaking. No one was telling me squat to put it bluntly.

That's when I heard my mother's screams coming from the bars over the courthouse. If there is an actual 'Moment of Terror', I was in it. Visions of my Mom watching my brother being executed from behind her bars overpowered my mind. Her screams were long and agonizing and I wasn't about to wait any longer for answers or actions.
I began pulling on my step dad desperately pleading with him to help me save my big brother and maybe even Mom too.

I was jumping up and down ready to burst into an all out run, an all out fight if necessary, back into the courthouse through all those policemen. I guess good sense told me to go get reinforcements as I pulled Larry and Donald. Mom's screams had stopped but mine were still going strong deep inside. I guess it was at that moment everyone realized that I didn't have a clue, and my Grandma and step dad began to educate me on the appeals process and that we still had some time.

The following days, weeks, months were a blur. I guess I went into shock and I don't know if I've ever really come out of it.
There were some 23 mistakes at Jeff's trial. Witnesses were told not to testify in Jeff's behalf. Please read the Jeff Dicks story for all the facts about Jeff's case. These facts come straight from trial transcripts. The police were hot and heavy after Mom in the days that followed the trial, and there was probably a truancy officer looking for me. We had some close calls but I guess we were lucky, they never did catch us. Every close call was kind of like a round won against the heavy weight champion, the world, the system that started this bout and was by no means playing by the rules.

Mom turned herself in to the FBI, as she wanted to be there for Jeff. Knowing Mom was desperately trying to save her son's life she received probation with restitution.

I couldn't find a single reason why all this was happening to our family and I thought even God had abandon me. I began to truly believe what almost every one else was saying about us. That we was "white trash!"

I had a talk with God and told him I wouldn't be talking or praying to him anymore. I felt as if he was punishing all of us for something that escaped me. But when I got older and could figure out just what it was we had done to be punished like this, I would speak to him again... When he wasn't mad at me anymore.. I said goodbye to my God that I loved so very much and the pain in my heart was unbearable. Now the only person in my life I could count on, was my mom.

I became very confused and angered and I searched for things to make me feel better. The things I found along the road that now laid before me, included drugs and alcohol. When just a little bit would no longer ease the pain it led to serious substance abuse. I traveled from state to state looking for something to change the way I was feeling inside, never staying more than a few months in any one place.
I settled back in Asheville, NC, and it was there I met Darlene. We married and started a family of our own, but my low self-esteem and lack of trust in society made it impossible to maintain any kind of relationship. We soon divorced.

I moved from NC back to Tennessee. My mother was there and I hoped to find some work. But what I found was myself in and out of jail, mostly for fighting or public drunkenness. My depression seemed incurable. I had tried everything but nothing seemed to change the hopeless outlook I now had on life.
All I wanted to do was go to sleep. Forever....

I found a field close to my trailer, and in the early morning hours I laid down beneath the stars. I waited and watched until those big bright stars slowly faded, until at last I found peace.

I remember hearing sniffles and a soft whimpering, I could feel a hand caressing my cheek and head. I struggled to focus my eyes, but there was still a haze. I felt a few more strokes to my face, and then from the darkness she began to appear. It was Mom, her eyes were swollen and her eyeliner stained her face. She cringed up and I saw the tears come streaming down her face. "Oh, Trevor," was all she could muster.

It had taken doctors 67 stitches to stop the life from pouring out of my wrists. I felt so ashamed, as if it was Mom and I against the world and I had left her there to fend for herself.

"Oh, Trevor," she said again, "I've fought so hard to save one son and I may loose him, I can't take losing you too." I could almost feel how hopeless she felt. I knew it was the same helplessness she felt as my brother's death sentence came down. I knew she would take away all my pain and put it on herself if she could.
I promised her I would never try that again.

I felt like a kid again as I entered my apartment to find my clothes washed and folded, dishes done and some macaroni salad on the counter with a note that read, "Love, Mom." I felt so guilty taking so much of Mom's time in her already full schedule. I tried to shy away some, but it didn't seem to work very well.
My Mom can be a very stubborn lady when she sets her mind to something. Mom tried desperately to find someone to help me with my depression, someone to help me sort through all the mixed up distorted feelings that were reeking havoc deep inside my soul.

Mom and I spent a lot of time together after that, but she would soon be by my bedside again.

I was a victim in a violent crime and was robbed, beaten, pistol-whipped and left to stare death in the face. The anger inside me manifested into hatred directed at almost everything. I found myself unleashing it at my car, beating it in a rage, or at anyone who dared try to tell me anything I didn't want to hear. I can still see the burning hatred in their eyes and hear the gunfire like it was yesterday.

I began to realize once again, just how precious life is. There was no more room for anger, my body simply could not harbor it. It was time for change. I was 22 years old, homeless and in trouble with the law again. I was searching for a bed at a rehab center to escape my problems for a short time, with out much luck. Another job, another home, another relationship down the tubes. With suicide no longer an option for me, I dropped to my knee's and cried out out to God, Why? Why? Why?... Why
do you hate me so? What's wrong with me?... Either let me die or help me! GOD PLEASE! Please help me! Forgive me...

I screamed and I cried, and then I felt it. I felt a bit of peace. Things began to happen fast for me. With in minutes the phone rang. It was a rehab, they had a bed for me. With in an hour I was on my way. I checked in and it was a bit late. All the counselors had gone home for the night. I was given some work sheets to fill out. It was the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and fourth step of the 12 step AA program. I took them to my room and filled them out, honestly.

I wrote down all the bad things I had ever done in my life. It all flowed through me so fast. The more I wrote the more I could see how many mistakes I had made in my life. And how many people I had hurt because of my anger and drug addiction. I truly felt sorry full in my heart and I asked God for forgiveness...
It was granted to me. I felt as if the empire state building was lifted from my shoulders. I cried and I laughed. I was filled with so much joy there is no words to describe the feeling.

Hatred no longer consumed my soul, instead I was given the gift of reconciliation. I no longer looked for vengeance or alcohol to ease and suppress my feelings of anger.
I began to understand that I was in fact a victim. I realized that God did not hate me. That it was me that shut him out of my life for so many years, and he had been waiting a long time for me to come home. I was re-united with my best friend, and my healing process began.

The burden I carried for so many years was lifted from me and words can not express to you how it came to be. I can however tell you, for the first time in many years, I feel alive again.

I was baptized for the first time a few weeks after that night and received the holy ghost. Again, the joy in my heart was overwhelming. Openly now, I could see the miracles God was working in my life. Everything from clothing when I was cold to money when I was in need.

Today I can truly enjoy watching my son, Riley Christian's, first steps and hearing those precious words, "I love you, Daddy." God has opened up these doors and many more that I thought had been locked forever.

Since 1994 I have taken an active part in The Journey of Hope, which has enabled me to share my personal experiences with other people and my goal is to continue to reach out to victims. I founded Journiers for Justice, Inc. in 1996 after becoming disabled from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, due to the levels of violence I have encountered in my life.

Take my word for it, there is a better way! It was a long hard struggle and has taken nearly two thirds of my life before I found my way back to God...the help I needed. With regenerated hope of a bright future, I am now free to pursue a better tomorrow for my son and newborn daughter, but never, ever losing sight of yesterday...
Today I have my best friend back in my life, God. If it is his will I will have my brother back in my life as well.

I don't know Gods purpose for me. I do know that Jeff's best friend is also God. God promises not to put onto any man a burden he could not handle. I know in my heart there is a reason for Jeff being on Death Row. If only to help one of Gods children there. I'm proud that God chose my brother. Don't get me wrong, I wish he had not. But seeing my brother through the years, all he's done for the guys on the row, I am proud to call him my big brother.

A better man never lived, except for Jesus. He too was sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit. He accepted his fate and did not ever complain to God for his lot in life. Jeff never lost faith in God. He never said a hated word or participated in a violent act. He teaches about God. He teaches to men who is commended, never judging them for their acts. I truly believe in my heart, their was not another man alive to fulfill Gods will except for Jeff.
So today I except my lot in life.

Changes take time! There are still times I want to strap on my six shooter and go take my brother home, or at least die fighting. I know today this is not an option and what scares me is there are millions of people out there whom still don't know this type of behavior is unhealthy to say the least. That Violence begets violence and like a virus it destroys everything that it comes in contact with.

I lost an uncle to the act of murder. I hate the "act" of murder and I can't help but love life today. The taking of a life creates victims regardless of what acts they committed. I know there are people who knew them before; as a child learning to walk, or a father who lovingly tucked them into bed at night. I would not wish upon those innocent children and mothers to have to experience, in the name of justice, the same needless pain and suffering as I did.

I've experienced violence in many different arenas, from the victim’s standpoint to the contributor. I am an avid believer that anyone can change their behavior, as I am proof of this fact.

Many people tend to forget that the family members of the condemned are victims. When they lose someone to the death penalty, they feel all the same pain and loss of their loved one, just as a murder victim’s family does. It was nineteen years ago that I heard those works, "dead, dead, dead!" and have lived with the knowledge that the state of Tennessee is going to kill my big brother for a crime he did not commit!
They call one an act of murder and another a mistake. Some even say the innocent are expendable, but I say no life is expendable...

We are teaching our kids that killing is the answer. We need to stop the violence cycle and look more to ways of prevention. Life without parole works! More policing works! We could use some counseling for our young people to help them deal properly with the many problems they face in the world today.

I am not saying I have all the answers, but I do know the death penalty is a primitive and barbaric method punishment. If we, as Americans, are going to continue to call ourselves a civilized nation, we need to abolish capital punishment.
On May 10,1999, My Big Brother, Jeff Dicks died of heart failure. Through improper diet, lack of exercise and medical neglect he was allowed to die by this so-called humane system. For three days Jeff begged to see a doctor because of his chest pains. It wasn't until he collapse did he get his request. By this time Jeff had suffered great damage to his heart and was told he would not survive another heart attack. This was last year. a few weeks ago they took him off his medication, he complained of chest pains, and collapsed again before seeing a doctor.

"FREE BIRD"
By Trevor Dicks
On your last night of freedom you played us a song, before turning yourself in, because you had done no wrong.
It said, " If I leave here tomorrow would you still remember me, for I am free as a bird now and there's to many places I've got to see.
Well the Answer is... Yes brother!
and all to clearly, every hour of every day since they took you away from me.
The only places you've seen have been from behind your steel bars, except for our letters, pictures and post cards.
Your heart was pure Gold and your strength won't be denied.
You're the bird they couldn't change no matter how hard they tried.
This long await day Is my living Hell...
This day all whom loved you must bid you farewell...
You've earned your wings brother, Its time, you must fly.
And I will be brave Jeff, I'll try not to cry.
And I will make you this promise, your story will be heard!
My voice will speak for you,
My dearest brother, "Free Bird"

I miss you brother, I love you, and this is my voice...
I hope, at least in your eyes, I have fulfilled my promise. And brother, as it's been said, "I have yet begun to fight"...
Trevor

** On June 7th 2005 Trevor was killed in a one car accident in NH. His memorial site is www.trevordicks.com

A Mothers torment

2007-05-01T09:34:00.000-05:00

How far would you go to save your child’s life? Would you write hot checks to pay attorney fees, sell your home, attempt a-jail break as a last resort and, - be on the run for a year with two young children? This mother did.

Fighting the system while running from the law, living on the lam with her eleven year old son, Trevor and baby granddaughter Maria, A MOTHER’S TORMENT is a testimony to family love; a system’s indifference; a mother’s desperation; and finally, an unjust death.

Jeffrey Dicks, who languished on death row for twenty three years for a robbery he didn't commit and a murder he didn't even see. A Mothers Torment, told by Shirley is the tense, personal and highly moving true story of the bloody crime of which eighteen year old Jeffrey was accused of.

At the trial, they watched in horror as VITAL evidence was never presented to the jury. Jeff, who had no history of violent or criminal behavior was convicted of a murder and sentenced to die in Tennessee's electric chair. Jeffrey Dicks is one of the many victims of our legal system who became trapped in the over burdened and insensitive cracks of our time. Without the weapons of MONEY, Savvy, or Connections, Jeff was defenselessly slaughtered by an obsessed detective and a judge who disallowed pertinent testimony that would have proven him innocent.

Read of this mother’s dramatic battle with the system to save her innocent son from the state’s execution. A family’s thrilling true-life adventure trying to save a son, and brother, on death row. A poor, but law-abiding family originally from Concord, NH, now living in the state of Tennessee, Shirley breaks the law to raise money for the defense of Jeffrey Dicks, a beloved son and cherished brother.

Strong bonds between mothers and their children, especially their sons, is the emotion that grabs the READER, and squeezes him in a stranglehold. Read on in a crescendo of heartbreaking pain until the bitter end And a bitter end it is for the author, fighting to save her innocent son in any way she can, as the legal clock ticks toward the final hour.

A dramatic page-turner written about a family running from the law, living on the lam, while, all the while, fighting the legal system. It’s an inspiring story of strength and determination of a woman, her eleven year old son, and baby granddaughter, trying to keep mind and family together.

Ms. Dick’s most gripping legacy in the book indeed arises from the contemplation that while Jeff sat in prison and his trial turned into an unbelievable travesty with only one possible outcome, it is a scenario that has no doubt played countless times throughout the United States, exacting as its toll the anguish of countless mothers and sons like Ms. Dicks and Jeff.

Fighting the system while running from the law, living on the lam, and trying to keep mind and family together, Shirley Dicks own story is as heart piercing as the one she tells of her son. Shirley continues to fight for her son's life and the abolishment of capital punishment. Her warning of petty crime and getting involved with the wrong people is something every young person should read.

Shirley spent the next twenty five years speaking out against the death penalty and talking to teens about the dangers of drugs, alcohol and hanging with the wrong person. Her youngest son Trevor also went to the colleges and schools speaking with her, warning kids how easy it was for him to get involved in drugs and alcohol himself over the years. He married and had three children himself, visiting his big brother Jeff who sat on death row. Their story is one crisis after another until the ending.

Shirley lost the battle to save her son and the death of Jeff Dicks due to medical neglect while on death row had a devastating effect upon Shirley and her family. Not just one son, but she lost three sons in all from this one battle to save Jeff. Yet from this devastation, she has risen to dedicate her life to helping others avoid this pain. She had the courage and strength to pen A MOTHER’S TORMENT, a tremendously candid and passionate account, in the hope of saving others. She has had ten books published, mostly on crime and the justice system.

Shirley Dicks now speaks at schools, colleges and churches to educate and inspire others. In addition, she has produced a video called, The Choice Is Yours, in which five men on TN death row talk about the mistakes they made and now find themselves waiting to die. Shirley uses the video to educate children. Through her wonderful book and dramatic video Shirley Dicks hopes to make a difference in the lives of people in danger of traveling down the wrong road

Jeff Dicks was killed in 1999 due to medical neglect and Trevor Dicks was killed in 2006 in a one car crash in NH.