[this is to the insurance company of the trucker who ran into my
981 South Arapahoe Street
Los Angeles, CA 90006
March 31, 1981
To the Safety Department:
Enclosed is the Bill of Sale and Receipt for a C.B. radio, public
(P.A.) speaker, and antenna; and repair bill, for when I had to
put my Baby in the hospital, because she wasn't feeling good.
I don't know why you should want to read this, but I'm going to
say it, anyway. Mr. Jerry Lane Berk, and his witness, Walter
Proch were in a conspiracy to wipe me out, because they didn't
like what I said over the C.B. I have as much right to live, and
as much right to speak my peace as anyone else does. If a man
doesn't enjoy the peace I intend to perform, that's because he's
a violent man and he doesn't deserve the blessings in his life.
He'd better make peace with himself, and all his enemies, if he
intends to live.
I protest that Mr. Berk wiped my space ship off the air, in this
Close Encounter Of A Third Kind. I protest that he left me
stranded, broke, and with no wheels, in the middle of the desert.
I protest about the other three times I crossed the desert, too,
but this is the first time I had anything of value to put in a
claim for. I protest that Mr. Berk caused the partnership of my
sidekick and me to break up. I protest that Mr. Berk caused me
to ride a freight train in to Los Angeles, because the Greyhound
bus won't let me take a two-month-old female mongrel puppy named
"Baby," for which she caught distemper and I had to put her to
sleep. I really haven't lost anything because it's all in my
head, and I can put it together any time I want to. When I do,
Mr. Berk should've learned his lesson, that he can't sprinkle
salt on an eagle's tail, that when I come in, for a landing, I'm
not asking for a fight, that there's something here I want, that
I'm not leaving here until I get it, and that there's nothing he
can do about it. So, he'd better back off, and leave me alone.
You ain't never seen a rebel, or an outlaw, like me before,
because when those other guys broke the law, they lost. I defy
the law, and in the name of Jesus Christ, I win! Now, I ask you,
could Robin Hood fail to share his good fortune with his Merry
Men, and the townsfolk? Is not every raid against the Evil
Sheriff a profitable venture to further our enterprise? You
should have learned by now that we have no other way to advance,
or to make any changes for the better, except by taking what we
want from the Evil Sheriff and his men. How else would you
propose that the high being made low and the low being made high
should happen? I don't mind telling you that I'm getting a
little tired of people saying they want what I want, and then
taking pot shots at me when I try to get it.
All I can tell you is, rejoice in the blessings that have fallen
upon your heads, and give me a fair shake. Here in California, I
can't get myself back on the road again for less than $1500.
That's ten times what I had to pay back home, in my Hillbilly
Haven. Talk about inflation!