Bobby Wilson - Bobbys Trials

Bobbys Trials

by

Bobby Wilson, J.D.

A gripping true story about a poor Oklahoma farm boy who was charged with murdering his mother and sister in cold blood and then burning down the family home in a supposed attempt to cover up his crimesand his ten-year court battle to clear his name.

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Published by:

Apache Publishing Company

www.apachepublishingcompany.com

Apache Junction, AZ

Bobbys Trials

Copyright 2010 by Bobby Wilson, JD

ISBN: 9781617929168

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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"An absolutely spellbinding true-life drama"

Amazon.com

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Dedication

To my beloved wife, for her commitment to me and her tenacity in bringing this book to completion.

I dedicate this book to the handful of noble gentlemen mentioned herein who stepped forward on my behalf during this ordeal to help a poor and naive teenage boy, who was caught up in a maelstrom that nearly overwhelmed him.

I also express my gratitude to the brave and open-minded jurors who served during my trials and closely followed the evidence introduced at those trials and disregarded the mostly false and misleading newspaper accounts of these events in their local media.

And to Earl Warren, the fourteenth chief justice of the United States Supreme Court, who, even though he was a district attorney and attorney general for almost twenty years himself, knew from experience that Constitutional Safeguards needed to be established to protect the young and innocent from the widespread law enforcement abuse taking place in the United States during the sixties. This story is an excellent example of such abuse.

Table of Contents

Introduction

I reached the age of sixty-five this year and suddenly realized that if I did not tell my story, no one ever would.

And what a story it is. Someone once said truth is stranger that fiction, and that certainly applies to what happened to me.

I had planned to take the witness stand in court in 1973, during what would have been my third and final murder trial.

Fate intervened, and I was never given the opportunity to tell my story in court. I am not sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

If you have ever wondered what life was like in 1963 in a small town in Oklahoma for an indigent teenager accused of murdering his own mother and sister, then just read this book.

And then, afterward, thank your lucky stars you were never in my shoes.

Chapter 1: Confusion

The hellhole of a jail smelled of urine and rotting mattresses as usual. Tonight, there was an additional scent in the air. It was the smell of fear and impending violence.

I was familiar with that odor, having sensed it often in this place. Caged men give off the same odor as frightened livestock in a corral when they smell a slaughterhouse.

I knew earlier in the day that as soon as darkness arrived and the downstairs jailer and his wife had gone to bed that it would not be a peaceful night, at least not for me.

My evening plans were made earlier that day when the deputies opened the cellblock doors into the main bullpen and they ushered Jimmy and Johnny, the twins, into the large bullpen main cell. The twins had glanced over at me seated in my usual window perch in the far corner of the bullpen. They had quickly looked away, showing no signs of recognition, never making eye contact with me. It had been years since our last violent encounter, and now I was easy prey, with no one to come to my rescue. What was it the Indian said in that old Western movie? Today is a good day to die. Somehow, that thought did not seem very comforting. Eighteen is too young an age to die.

I correctly surmised what Jimmy and Johnny would spend the remainder of their day doing. They would recruit some helpers from this septic tank of human refuse since two-to-one odds were not good enough for them. Then they would come after me. No school-ground teacher would save me this time, and I would not be fighting to protect my sisters chastity. This time, I would be fighting for my life. There would be no quarter give, none asked.

It was not a long wait. I could hear the twins moving from cell to cell, making conversation with each prisoner, sizing them up as an ally or a rat. By the end of the day, the twins had found the thief and his two cellmates. Their conversations became muted and confidential, not a good sign. Birds of a feather seemed an accurate description of the group of plotters.

I had caught the thief the night before stealing out of the paper sack of personal items under my cell bunk. I had grabbed his hair with my left hand and pulled his head from under my bunk and hissed, You are a dead man.

Then I slammed my right fist into his chest, knocking him backward, out of my cell. He scrambled back to his feet, dropping or throwing my two candy bars on the floor. He avoided me all day, unsure if I was finished with him.

I had not seen Jimmy or Johnny in several years. I heard they had been expelled from junior high school. That had not surprised me. My last face-to-face meeting with the twins was the last day my sister and I attended the country school. I had refused to return to that school for fear of what they might do to my sister.

Reality suddenly appeared in front of me in the form of the twins and their new allies.

Lets hang the bastard! Jimmy shouted.

Yeah, joined in his twin brother.

We will make it look like a suicide; everyone will think the sorry-ass hung himself.

Bobby, we are going to do you a favor and put you out of your misery, the thief chimed in, careful to stay out of my reach.

The three of them started moving toward me. I stood up from my perch and backed into the corner of the bullpen so no one could get behind me.

Johnny removed his leather belt and fashioned a noose and began looking for an adequate ceiling water pipe support. Two more of their buddies joined in behind them.

Another quiet evening at home, I thought to myself. As strange as it sounds, you can get accustomed to almost anything, even fighting for your life on a daily basis. I guess combat soldiers understand that feeling.

My whole being became focused on the twins hands and feet. If I had learned anything while rotting away in jail, it was never take your eyes off your attackers hands and feet. To do so would mean you could not react fast enough to the attack, and the first person to land a solid fist or boot to a vital part of anothers body was probably going to prevail. You never see the second or third blows coming, and by then you are on the ground, to be kicked into submission or death, whichever comes first. A torn kidney is not a pleasant way to bleed to death.

I had not said a word yetafter all, what was there to say? The twins knew I would put up a fight. The only question was, how much of a fight? They had not forgotten the country school episode years earlier, and neither had I. It was unfinished business, left to fester all these years.