Radical Rob » West Texas Boys Ranch….Beat ‘Em if You Got ‘Em

West Texas Boys Ranch….Beat ‘Em if You Got ‘Em

Posted by Administrator on December 12th, 2013 filed in General, Politics, Rant

Their moto is supposed to be “Don’t brand a boy, Build a Man”, however, that is NOT what actually happens at this god-forsaken shithole of a place.

It should be “Send Your Little Shitheads to US, We’ll Brand the Shit out of Them FOR You, So You Don’t Have To…Beatings Are OUR Way of Life.”

Located 2 miles from Tankersley Texas, and just a few miles down the road from Goodfellow Air Force Base (in one direction) and 3 miles(maybe 2 miles)  from 3-river’s dam (in the other direction), this shit hole is in the middle of nowhere, and sits along Spring Creek. It is also 2 miles (up stream, down spring creek), from Foster Park, which is on the road (take FM 2335, from Highway 67 and then to highway277) from San Angelo, towards Christoval, a well known swimming hole. The road to the ranch has been renamed Boys Ranch Road, but I would name it the Highway To Boys Ranch Hell.

Circa 1967, 1968 ,and part of 1969, I was at this shithole of a place, and beating was part of the game, as was intimidation, and fighting.

I had my share of being bullied, pushed around, and made to fight, and then have the shit beat out of me, for it. One of the  biggest bullies, died of some sort of horrible death, in a shithole house for the decrepid and dying, and I hope this jerk off pigfucker is rotting on hell, getting back what he gave, in spades. His name was Doug Vandiver, shitass, fucking bully, extraordinaire. His brother Johnny, was just as bad, but I got bigger than he did, and he couldn’t whup my dick, if he has a threshing machine. Doug’s partner in crime was Haley Heildelberg (otherswise known as Elmer Heimnerberger at  the ranch), who is now a supposed builder in this town, these days. I wouldn’t trust this asshole if he was the last builder on the planet, knowing his reputation, from his earlier life (stabbing, fighting, and bullying anyone he could). The thing I remember about Elmer is, he always started flexing his jaw muscles when he got pissed, trying to intimidate all he could with this bullshit. He couldn’t intimidate my dick these days. I know better, and know how to stop this jerk off pigfucker.

When I first arrived at this hell hole, Ol’ Doug and Elmer, were not the big boys on the block and were shown they weren’t,  several times, by the like of Bobby Diaz, a golden gloves boxer, and Ol’ “Stubby”, who later joined the marines. (note: Stubby, came back to the ranch ,after being a marine, and tried to pull his “Marine shit” on us. Him being 20 years old or so, and we were just 14 year  olds. This shows you what a bully place this is, by reputation and fact.  And yes, I can name names, and times, and dates. They left an indellible impression on me. One I’ll never forget. Most, if not all,  of my Marine Buddies, are very laid back, when they come back from war and very humble. Not Stubby, he was a shit ass.

The man in charge was a man by the name or Charlie Price, who was well known for kicking any boy in the shins, and bruising them (even 8 year old boys), to show his authority, and that he was the undisputed  king of punishment. He was in charge, and kicked, I would say, every one of us 83 (in number) boys, at one time or another. All the time making sure HIS boys, never got picked on, or never got in a fight with one of us, because we would have loved dearly, to kick one of THEIR asses, and he knew it. He also, knew we would beat the holy shit out of one, if given the chance. Charlie’s claim to fame was that he had a “Cushman Eagle” , motorcycle, he would race around our 1/4 mile circle, and run over your ass if you got in the way, or kick you out of his way, either.  I remember one night he made us all get out of bed at 1 a.m. and run  around the circle, for hours, because he said someone had stolen a “bowling ball” from one of the other boys. This meant even the 8-12  year olds, who weren’t even close to our dorm  Well, it turns out, no one at  the ranch even HAD a bowling ball, much less someone stealing it, and he just wanted us to do this for his pleasure, and to excersize his control over us. We weren’t allowed to go bowlong or so anything else, unless the entire staff and boys went, too. And in 2-1/2 years I never saw anyone go to ANY bowling alley, much less own a fucking bowling ball. We weren’t actually allowed to own jack shit, much less something like a fucking bowling ball, unless we built it. And no one built a fucking bowling ball, bowling alley, or anything similar.

After ol’  Charlie, either got tired of the ranch, or got canned (I don’t remember), this fella named Kenneth Howell, who used to be supervisor, came  back, and he was the worst of the worst.

This was the motherfucker who at age 40, beat the shit out of me and several others, and we were  just 14 years old.

Here’s the REAL story. I know, I was the one who got the beating of my life.

In spring 1968, we were on the bus to go to school in San Angelo, Texas, when one meskin boy named “Juan Morales”, decidee to attack me on the bus. He simply got up, came back to where I was sitting, on the bus, and knocked the shit out me in the mouth, making my mouth bleed. Back to his seat he went, like he was king dick, thinking I would do anything, because he had 2 older brothers on the bus, also. So I got up, went to his seat and kicked him in the mouth, as hard as I could, telling him, he was a dumb fuck. Well, all shit broke loose and he came back to my seat, bleeding and started taking blood from his mouth and slinging it all over me and the 2 bully boys Doug and “Elmer”. Well, oh shit, now he did it, and the bus driver pulled over, and made me, the only one, get off the bus , 17 miles from the ranch (remember I am only 14), and start walking back to the ranch. That was 17 fucking miles and I was only fucking 14 fucking years old. When the bus driver got to town ,he called the ranch and told them to be expecting me, like I was going to get there any time soon. Doug and Elmer were pissed, to say the least, and started plotting their revenge then and there. Poor little assholes had to have blood spots on their shirts …which by the away I ironed every fucking day for them, along with their levi’s, with a startched crease, every fucking day, for 2 fucking years, so I wouldn’t get my ass beat by someone bigger.

When I got back to the ranch, there was the mighty asswipe Kenneth Fucking Howell ,and our dorm supervsor SY Hester (and his wife Alvie), waiting on me, and the bus driver had told them it was all MY fault…I started it, and other bullshit. Right then and there he told me he was going to leave it up to the boys for my punishment, especially Doug and “Elmer”. I kind of doubt this, but that is what I was told would  happen. So I thought, since I had “paid” for protection, not much would happen, but that was dead wrong.

A few days later, one of Morales’ older brothers challenged me, out back of the kitchen, after breakfast, and when the fight started, here came his 2 brothers. Jumping in to see if they could whup my ass too. They were pulled off by Gene and Bill Turner, (2 older brothers at the ranch) and had their ass beat, for trying to gang up on me. I beat the shit out of Morales’s big brother, but that wasn’t the end of it. They were determined to beat my ass, so the very next sunday, before church, the oldest and fattest Morales brother, decided he was going to attack me after I was already dressed for church, in the dorm living room. He started his stupid assed bobbing and weaving like a stupid meskin will, trying t ointimidate me, and I told him to take the first punch, holding my hands to my side. He rared back, and when he did, I let loose with one punch that sent him backwards, and through the living room couch, and it broke the couch. I tolds him to “get up”, by the chickenshit stayed down, until we were broken up by other boys, and eventually the dorm parents. At least everyone who saw it told them I didn’t start this shit, but I damned sure finished it. That punch, also, ripped the back of my Dress Coat, and it had to be replaced.

Again, after about a week, here came Kenneth Howell, telling me to meet him in his office, as they had decided what my punishment was going to be. As a second note, the Colonel of Goodfellow Airforce Base’s daughter was our secretary at the time and witnessed this next part.

After calling me to his office, he then told me I was going to have to take “licks” as my punishment, and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me 24 licks with a paddle, made from a sawn baseball bat, with 3 holes down the middle, the one hole in the middle bigger than the other 2. THAT’S 24 LICKS WITH HALF A BASEBALL BAT, UNTIL MY ASS WAS BLEEDING NOT ONLY THROUGH MY UNDERWEAR, BUT THROUGH MY LEVI’S, which had to be peeled from my ass, as the blood was making it stick to my ass.

Yes, I was crying my eyes out. How would YOU like to get this kind of a beating at age 14, by a 40 years old man, swinging as hard as he could, to drive home his “lesson”. The dorm parents, SY and ALVIE, took me inside their house at the end of the dorm and she rubbed some kind of horse liniment on my ass, to try and not only stop the bleeding, but make it heal , or heal faster. It burned like shit, and I had to sit on this ass for weeks until it healed. As a suide note to our so-called dorm parents, Sy and Alvie, they were well known for making you sit under a trash can and smoke a pack of cigarettes, or worse, smoke some cigars, with your hands tied behind your back, if they caught you smoking. Not only did I have that done to me more than several times, but I witnessed it happen to  many boys,  and all the time they were laughing. Your eyes are burning, you’re caughing like hell, you can’t breath, you have drool dripping from your  mouth, and you’re soaking wet from it, and you can’t stop it, until THEY say so. Nice people huh?

How would you like it if this even came CLOSE to happening to YOUR child. Funny how they never told my mother about this punishment and she only found out, years later, when I told her about it. My uncle Marvin (Rest in peace), came to see me, a few months later, and when I told him about it, he had words with our dorm parents, and Mr. Howell, and a few months later I was let out, to go home. I am sure my uncle Marvin had much to do with it. At least I hope so, and have thought so, all these years. He was a good christian man. I , also had told one of my benefactors Harvey Hartgrove, and I think he may have had somethig to do with my release, too. Harvey was not only a good man, but he was a GREAT man, who taught me many things, I remember to this day. He lived on west Twohig street in San Angelo, and had a large ranch in Paintrock, Texas. He used to take me to his house, for weekend visits and gave me a pair of his sons, white and brown shoes, called oxfords. I wore them out, I liked them so much. I have never gotten to meet his son, who I would dearly love to tell him about the great man that was his dad, who would take me to church, and to Howard Johnson’s, on some sundays, to eat. We used to take them bucket fulls of sheep dip (sheep nuts), taken from that weeks marking and branding sessions at the ranch, not to mention “Mountain Oysters, otherwise known as bull balls. They actually had many customers who liked to eat those, but I never did. I thought eating them was gross.

I found out later (before I left the ranch) that Kenneth Howell had done this before, when he was supervisor, the first time he worked at the ranch. Beating the shit out of another 13 year old, with the same paddle, the same number of licks, years before. Apparently Mr Howell liked to beat kids. Maybe this kept him from beating his own kids, who knows. I only know he deserved the same thing being done to him or one of his kids. Now days, it is called child beating and is against the law, no matter who does it. Maybe one of Doug’s kids or Haley’s (Elmer’s) kids should have it done to them. Not by me, but someone who finds them breaking a law or 2. Doug is dead, thankfully, and Haley/Elmer would shit in his pants.

I, also, found out that the ranch’s corporate supervisor Morris Craig, had sanctioned this, because he had been told I was a fighter. Funny how they never mentioned him finding out the other 83 boys were fighters, too, and I only defended myself. He had told someone that I had fired a 22 rifle towards the dorm, and almost hit him from the pasture, as he stood near a cedar upright in from of one of the dorms. And it is funnier still, how those fucking idiots didn’t question this, as the front of the dorm faces AWAY from the pasture(s) we were allowed to hunt in, and there were several walls of cinderblock seperating the pasture from the front of the dorm. Funnier still is the fact that the pasture was more than 200 yards from the dorms, making him needing super keen eyesight in order to tell it was me, or anyone else, even IF a shot had occurred. The motherfucker wore cokebottle thick glasses, too. He thought he was god, when he was just another child beating jerk off pigfucker.

Oh, how I would like to find his kids and give them a taste of their own fucking medicine. No apology can make up for what I have had to live with, especially those memories.

So, let your kids go to West Texas Boys Ranch, and have their ass beat, too, like I did.

Don’t brand a boy build a man, my ass. The only thing they taught me, is not only to hate, but that I wanted desperatly to beat the shit out of one of their kids, to show them how it felt. I stil ldo, to this day.  I lived all my years with animosity towards almost every single one of those jerk off pigfuckers. If I could find their graves, I would piss on them. If I could find them, I would look them in the face and ask them if they remember the one they beat the shit out of, when he was just 14 fucking years old, and they were 40, and see if they live through the heart attack.

Those motherfuckers, to this fucking day, have never offered an apology of any kind, even though they have been told about it, and can look it up, which tells you something about how they are, and what they are about. They are all full of shit, and about themselves and what they can gain by it. All the pictures they show you are full of shit, and staged. Those kids writing stories about how nice it is, are staged, and written by kiss-ass motherfuckers, often called “brown nosers”, because they have their nose so far up someone’s ass it has brown shit on it.

I listed enough names in this article, that they would have to be stupid as shit, not to be able to look up, when this all occurred, and the  fact that it DID occur.

You read their website ,and it is full of shit, I gaurantee you. I’ve  been there……I know.

I hope each and every one of those fuckers are either rotting in hell, or about to. You know damned well, when they DO die, they will surely rot in fucking hell, right beside old DEAD DOUG.

As a last note, I heard Gene and Bill Turner did good for themselves, and I wish them all the best one could offer up. If they ever, in this lifetime read this, remember ol’ Sugar, Spice, and Honey, our pet squirels. Without you guys, they would not have had the life they did. I appreciate what you did for me, and always will.

There were several others, such as Billy Mauldin (my blood brother), Cyril Clay, and his younger brother, ol’ Little Stubby, Gilbert Uregas and several others I would like to say thanks to, for helping me along the way.

I will always remember Shorty Prendez, the best indian teacher, ever to live, and he ran our laundry, and taught me many lessons, on hunting, and how to treat animals with respect.

To RIO B. DAY (the best chef ever), who not only taught me how to cook, but to be good at it. Rio could cook anything and make it a gourmet meal. Former navy chef, chef for the governor of Colorado and owner of one of the best diners around Lubbock, ever in this life time.

A special thanks to Danny Branum (old peg leg), I hope you made it along for a while, at least. He showed us what it was all about, by just surviving, during a time when we were all thinking about ourselves, and not people who really had it hard,  like him.

To the Morales Brothers, I would like to say “fuck you“, you stupid fucking motherfuckers.  I hope you died early, and went to hell long with old Doug.

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