As with several other blood-brother individuals, Jackson’s personality had not been used in the TALES FROM THE TEXAS GANG fiction. I used the characters of old friends I was crazy with in the sixties, for this existential work, Rattlesnake Dan, Seib, Old Dave, Bix, Black Hatch, Packy, Tom Treefrog Bowman, Kelly Boy, Miguel, Tiddle, the Brownrats.
Once a couple years past printing in 1978, 2000 copies of TG, that got distributed primarily by sale, got the money back very easily, a book about New Mexico 1800s outlaws was cast my way, I forget it now, though William Bonney was alive in it past his official death, and there was within scattered tales of miscreants a "Rattlesnake somebody, a "Treefrog somebody. Give me some acid I might wax mystical. But not to overly digress already.
I met Jackson when I was five, this infant, who had Carole his sister two years older, and she was two years younger than I, as our fathers worked together. In several more years we were living next door and fussed or got along. By then he had three siblings and I did. In my high school sad years we lived apart and I did not see much of him. Around 1960 our fathers who had been doing semi-skilled manual labor for Standard Oil got transferred 200 miles to stinking Baytown, Texas, to be refinery lab workers. I had small contact with Jackson till was it 1963 or 1964. He was secretly (from patriotic parents) kicked out of the Air force for insubordination. He and I and Rattlesnake Dan (Ah, no, wrong again, we needed Dan, but that night he was sidetracked with an early hippy girl, he always hustled females, damn, we had needed him) and blood brother Tommy Atkins whose father was Standard Oil transfer like ours, and Atkins a crazed drunk had been in Air Force Intelligence in Japan, I believe it was, we fought five fellows, who were also in the Air Force, we were later informed, when shaking hands with the other team, on the Galveston sea wall, though at that point the drop was maybe but six feet, where Tommy in cowboy boots had slipped on over and broken his cheekbone in two or I think three places. On some rock, chunk of cement. Tommy was next day very unhappy he had never got in a lick.
It was funny pulling Atkins up out of the weeds, by time we had understood he was missing. He said, like in a movie: Where am I? What happened?
Two others of their five had jumped back into their car to take it off the highway and down to the flats, and 2 fellows of ours (one who had done the major screaming to begin) (The one who started the shit was a redneck acquaintance of Atkins’, Atkins the noisy drinker would associate with these jerks but Atkins was fully one of us….This poor bastard had grumbled about some black guys pissing in a restroom we had gone into, in Galveston in about 1964, and he got no encouragement about this inanity from any of us and we were on this other jolly level and he was just lost, a sad loser forever) never got out of our car, just drove ours beyond cops around down to flats of the beach . The other guy in our crowd who never got out was a nice friend of Jackson’s from the Air Force, no fighter, no aggressive guy, but a stuttering thinker, and he was in his individuality altogether excused for not jumping out to fight for macho fun on the Galveston sea wall.
Jackson and I riding back to Baytown in backseat (I forget who drove, perhaps the non-violent friend of Jackson’s, probably his car) (No, it was Atkins car, but Atkins would not have been driving, maybe his loser buddy drove) voiced disappointment we had been left to fight outnumbered. I had jumped out first, when in their screaming challenge they had parked their car. Before our car quit rolling, Jackson said to me, said I hit somebody. I recall backhanding a fist into an assailant on my right flank. Next with maybe all five following to hit me I had jumped defensively off the wall. There they grabbed and punched and stomped me, and I got up and followed them back up the wall. I selected their heavier fellow and stuck my head between his legs and hoisted him and dumped him to cement behind me and turned and kicked his head. He too got up, to participate in my being stomped some more, I forget how I went down that time, against the right front tire of their car - they rather must have let me back up after a good shot in my temple and I leaning one arm on car flashed a wide palm and smile - before the two of theirs got back into their car and drove it down to the Galveston flats - and I went trying to get the larger one to box a bit - hey, common man let’s box. Meanwhile a scampering little guy then broke his hand on my back of head. Jackson was loudly thrashing a little guy who had kicked him in the nuts. You kicked me in the nuts! But my little guy was telling me he wished I had busted him in the mouth rather than his getting this broken hand.
Shaking hands and jabbering, everybody remaining, Jackson the Leo hearing these fellows were also Air Force shouted: YAY AIR FORCE!…It is a truth, male bonding and ever hoopla too.
1970 or so I met with Jackson in our Aransas Pass area, when he was married and needed a job, before he got into the Baytown area and decent employment with Standard Oil - I helped him in that move. He had married a Sharon Dingler I never met, a local beauty queen. He had a marvelous story, he did not think it amusing, he told it gravely. I broke out laughing and when I told it to Dan McConchie (Danny, Ratlesnake Dan) he burst into a laugh - it delighted us: Jackson had bitten off his father-in-law’s finger at a Xmas dinner.
Jackson loved to pick shit. He could do so with more wit and imagination than herein presented. But this story he said to me he had been drunk, at the Xmas dinner, and attending was this old lady who had inherited some wealth. He asked her had the Dinglers found out yet how much money she had. Seated on his other side was his brother-in-law, Bill, a small fellow, and Bill stood to hit Jackson and Jackson pummeled little Bill.
Mr. Dingler was a large man, and he came upon Jackson’s back and locked his forearms across Jackson’s throat.
Jackson got one finger in his jaws and broke it. He said to me if you break the finger it is easy to bite through the skin. Said Mr. Dingler was leading him around on the living room rug and he snipped through the skin and spat the finger on the rug. Sharon that time left with Jackson, and Jackson says what hurt howling Mr. Dingler most was when Jackson on departure told him he was just mad because he was the last of the Dinglers. But besides that, Mr. Dingler carried grudge because the finger never got re-attached well, it grew back on crooked.
Three decades went and next I came down stairs and met with Jackson and his mother and sister. I hugged him, could feel his strength in his back, he looked quite well. We went out to this local and very popular Big Fisherman place Lyla likes, cheap, big servings, where Lyla likes to treat.
With Vicki his second wife whom he told me is "biker ethnicity, he was coming back around, we would go to see the Port Aransas nightly old amigos, drinker/stoners. He and Vicki nearly bought a house in Port Aransas, something went wrong at the last. But next they bought a piece of property in the Texas Big Thicket, settled in there, grew a garden and Jackson a big handed six footer claimed he was down to one-eightyfive, and he did the TG site while he began revealing to me he was anti liberal. Or, he was Libertarian. Or Darwinian, survival of the fit crowd. I did not firstly know what is Libertarian, re. LL. He had heard from me I am Anarchist. He learned how to do a website, he put up the Texasgang.com. I did not at that point realize what study and work he had performed, or the money required.
There was 911, I laughed the US just is not used to getting hit. I was given by my sister this computer and was disagreeing email with Jackson about this or that - he wanted to nuke all the Muslim countries. Forget the fallout. Uh.
In a few years there I was caught on to the 911 cover-up, and Jackson argued there is no cover-up. In his older age the guy kicked out of the Air Force was patriotic, deaf to the larger world. Oh, he was resisting my information, but he could have changed, in a laugh. I know this. He could laugh at self, he was a born hell raiser.
He had pancreatic cancer and died suddenly. When he understood he was going to next dimension I emailed him to tell me about it when he got there and he said he would try to.
It interested me he could even scan two anti authority novels, TEXAS GANG, EMERYVILLE WAR, this troublemaker kicked out of the U.S. Air Force, after learning to do a website for me, this Darwinian guy who once got beat up and jailed for fighting cops, a never subdued guy next week, a guy naturally never religious, then to say nuke all Muslim nations. Wow, like the fall-out, such death on the planet…. I think "Troublemaker covers him. There are individuals on Earth whose purpose is this. They are necessary, ah, without their destroying species on Earth, eh.
His spirit lives in this site. Next Jackson’s TG rent ran out but my son-in-law Eli-who-can-do-anything, revamped it, then procrastinated.
Eli had it to be TG.net. Eli had built an even more attractive site than had Jackson, and Jackson said this. But that rent ran out, and I got busted and so forth. Madrea and Eli cannot now locate a CD they had of the TG.net by Eli. They did find their CD of Jackson’s original, the TG.com. There were no "Texas Gang businesses when Jackson did TG.com. Now there are many. I don’t know how they stole my musical title. But that is not important. TG.net was being used by some commercial types, when Eli and my daughter had rent money from my brother Kelly and went at it again, having to use historically TEXAS GANG.com. I told Alan Miller of Patriotsquestion911 to please change the Blackolive site address of Texas Gang.net to Texas Gang.com, and Alan did this promptly.