Don Lewis, Mystery Writer

Great Holiday Gift Idea for the Reader on Your List -- Buy Four of My Mystery Novels!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sat, 16 Nov 2013 16:35:00 +0000

"Mystery Books Holiday Gifts Idea, 4 Book Set"
The perfect holiday gifts for the reader on your list!
Only $39.95! (plus $5.00 shipping)
Can be personalized upon request.

Review My Books on Amazon and Barnes & Noble for a Chance to Win $100!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Wed, 16 Oct 2013 18:45:00 +0000

The contest winners are:

Phyllis Dusman - $100

Carol Crumling, Bege Martin and Samantha Paskorz - receive one free book of their choice.

Thanks to all who participated.

Friends,
Competing in the book market, especially in my genre—crime/mystery— is probably the most difficult. The key to success is "exposure" and one of the best ways to get that exposure is to have a high rating on Amazon for the Kindle and Barnes & Noble for the Nook. The ratings range from 1 star to 5 stars and each book must be reviewed and rated separately. More reviews/ratings equal higher visibility on search engines. That, of course, results in higher book sales.
I have decided to offer an incentive to entice readers to rate my books. From October 16 until November 15, anyone who submits a review will be entered in a drawing for $100! I will also offer a choice of a hardcopy of any of my books to three other lucky winners. If you review/rate all four books on Amazon for the Kindle and Barnes & Noble for the Nook, you would have 12 chances to win!
Those who have already rated my books on any of those websites will automatically be entered for each book they have reviewed/rated. If you would rather not use your full name, once you have submitted your review(s), please email me at donlewis@sccoast.net so I can identify your review and enter you in the drawing.
For those of you who have sent me reviews via email, please review and rate my books on Amazon for the Kindle and/or Barnes & Noble for the Nook to be entered to win! If you haven't read any of my novels, it's not too late. As mentioned above, they are available on Amazon for the Kindle and Barnes & Noble for the Nook or by emailing me to purchase an autographed hardcopy.
The drawing will be on Nov. 16th and the winners will be notified on Facebook or by email.
Please note: There are links on my website at www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com to the books for Amazon (logo with the "a") and Barnes & Noble ("BN" logo) where you can review and rate them as well as purchase them.
Thank you! -- Don Lewis

Let Freedom Ring

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Fri, 11 Oct 2013 11:11:00 +0000

(Reposted from Oct 16, 2011)

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

Our great nation was born through the Declaration of Independence, to be governed by Constitutional guarantees that the freedoms listed therein would endure forever.

In the 230 plus years since then it was the exercise of those freedoms that molded our country into the greatest on earth. It’s true that “Freedom isn’t Free,” and from the time of America’s beginnings until the present day, it’s citizens have been called upon to make sacrifices, and in many cases, to risk their lives so that those freedoms could be preserved. Over those centuries thousands of American men and women have given their lives for our liberty. Today our freedom is endangered; not so much from the wars we fight, but from concerted efforts to destroy America from within.

Since the early 20^th Century there have been those who would radically change our way of life. Seldom have they identified their plans as an attempt to subvert our Constitution. Nor have they identified themselves with their revolutionary scheme. They work privately and anonymously in a most insidious manner.

Over the years we have paid little attention to those who embraced the weakening and eventual destruction of American ideals, either misunderstanding their intentions or believing that eventually they would simply go away. They haven’t. They are in fact growing in numbers and in boldness.

Those of us who grew up in the 40's and 50's find the country very different from the one we knew in our youth. Almost everything has changed; many believe for the worse. We are being converted from a society dominated by doers and givers, to one of watchers and takers.

As a child growing up in Pittsburgh I learned from my mother about how to confront and deal with problems and about the difference between right and wrong. My mom was my strength and the person I turned to every day for answers to life’s problems. She sacrificed her teaching career to spend her days tending to the needs of her children and always took the time to guide us along the road to maturity. She taught us that there are no free rides, and that we must earn our way through life.

As a youth I took it all for granted. I didn’t realize the extent of her sacrifice and wisdom until I was grown and raising my own family. It was from her and my dad that I learned to cling to traditional values, and how important they were to our freedom. Bless her heart, mom lived for 99 years. I miss her a lot, and think of her every day. In all of my novels I highlight the values I learned from both of my parents.

There are those who say that to draw attention to the growing attacks on our liberties is an attempt to instill false panic. They say America is too intelligent a nation to fall into that kind of trap. That’s what the German people thought in the early 1930s and who would argue that they were not intelligent? Here in America the decline into disastrous social change has been taking its toll. While each generation’s opportunity to grow academically has increased, our educational standards have decreased. To disagree with a “politically correct” idea labels one a trouble-maker, a Nazi, a sexist or a racist. The growing inclination of the public to accept these standards is like a cancer; eventually we will simply go and do, where and what we’re told.

We are “progressively” turning from a nation of leaders to one of followers; from an independent society into one dependent upon the government. In the end the goal of the “progressives” is that we be governed without our input or consent.

We’re told now that our nation’s flag, the proud symbol of our country is something that shouldn’t be worn on our lapels, or displayed publicly. In schools we no longer recite the Pledge of Allegiance, because it might offend someone. Might offend someone? Who the hell would have dared to spew such a shameful lack of respect for our flag and our values fifty, or even twenty years ago?

Our government was created to guarantee checks and balances, so that no one political group could force their agenda on society, yet today that is exactly what is happening.What used to matter was the will of the people; now it seems that the only thing that counts is the will of the government and now their agenda seems to be to “fundamentally transform America.” The question many now ask is “Into what?”

Our strength as a nation is our Constitution and the freedoms set forth in that document. It is the foundation of this great country. Tear the pages from the Constitution, lose the freedoms it guarantees, and we will lose our Republic.

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

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If You’re Going to Fight the Damn Thing … Win It!

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Mon, 26 Aug 2013 12:55:00 +0000

Web: www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

E-mail: donlewis@sccoast.net

I was in Charleston, South Carolina, the other day and decided to stop on the way home to visit the Aircraft Carrier Yorktown CV10, a World War II combat vessel. Walking on its decks and looking at some of the actual planes flown during the war was a strange feeling, like walking back into the past, seeing things I had only heard about. I saw rows of names of Navy airmen and sailors who died for their country. I read the stories of some of them, of their bravery and commitment to defending the rest of us. They and the hundreds of thousands of other service men and women who died did so defending OUR country.

I’ve been to the Arizona in Pearl Harbor several times and it is impressive, but being on the Yorktown and seeing the old fighter planes and the bronzed faces of those pilots on the walls of the hanger-deck staring back at me gave me an increased respect for that war and for the reasons those men and women who fought it were so willing to sacrifice their lives. I realized that WWII was the last time an armed struggle was worthy of being called a “War,” and was worth that kind of sacrifice.

I’m a veteran of the Vietnam War. I wasn’t drafted; I entered the service voluntarily because of the war. I was partly motivated by the fact that I’ve been pretty much of a thrill seeker all my life; those who know me well will verify that. In 1963 I wanted to be part of the war, part of something exciting and important. I was young, and as they say, full of piss and vinegar. I wanted to be a warrior. That’s why I became a paratrooper and a Green Beret. I thought that because my government said so, fighting in Vietnam was somehow important to protecting my own country. I was wrong.

Please don’t misunderstand; I’m very proud of my service and of the men I served with in Vietnam. I believed then and now that South Vietnam was under siege from the North and that if we didn’t go to help them, they would fall to the Communists. I was one of those who thought we were there to save the world from communism, a worthwhile goal. So, my frustration, and even anger, isn’t based on our reason for entering the war; it’s founded on our refusal to win it.

We who served in Vietnam are told we lost the war. We did not lose; we were kickin’ ass the whole time. We never lost a battle during that war. We left in disgrace because those peckerwoods back in Washington, for whatever reason, decided it wasn’t a good idea to win. If the Vietnam War had been fought during WWII, it would have amounted to little more than a three-month operation. We would have shelled the North; dropped bombs on their military installations, sent in the Marines, the Paratroopers and the Infantry, and it would have been “Katy bar the door.”

What happened to America? Have we lost our stones? In World War II we faced two enemies who wanted to take over the world and if we hadn’t entered the war, probably would have. But American soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen came to the rescue. The number of Americans killed and wounded in WWII was 1,076,245, but America’s determination to win saved the world. Those losses and their sacrifices counted for something.

The loss of more than 213, 000 American men and women who were killed, wounded and missing as the result of the Vietnam War counted for nothing. Not because we chose to fight there, but because we refused to win there.

The same thing is happening now in Iraq and Afghanistan. Today’s American warriors are better than when I was in. They’re better trained, better equipped, and well… just plain better, but they’re not going to win those wars. We know it, they know it. Yet, we lose brave young American lives every day there because our government doesn’t have the will or the moxie to do what it takes to win.

Why did all this start in the first place? Was it because of 9-11? 9-11 wasn’t just a terrorist attack, it was an act of War, and we should have gone to the country that knowingly trained and supported those killers and said, “We’ll give you three days to get everyone out of your capital city, then we’re going to bomb it into the stone age.” I know it sounds radical, but if we had done that, a lot of American lives would have been saved, and believe me, there would have been no more “terrorists” actions taken against us. Hell, Truman did it and we haven’t heard an aggressive peep out of Japan or Germany since. As it is, no American is safe in any other part of the world, and even our safety in the U.S. is only marginal. It looks to me like we’re as much at risk from our own government as we are from any foreign armies who dream about triumphantly marching through the streets of New York, Chicago and San Francisco.

History has shown us that there are three elements that will always guarantee defeat; Complacency, Concession, and a lack of Courage. Today our government is riddled with all three, and those of them who aren’t traitors are cowards.

What’s the use in being the strongest military might in the world if you’re not willing to use that strength when it becomes necessary? Wake up, boys and girls; it’s necessary NOW!

Tell your government to either crap or get off the pot!

If you agree please forward this message to those on your social media list.

Web: www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

E-mail: donlewis@sccoast.net

Special Forces Detachment A-214

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sun, 28 Jul 2013 10:02:00 +0000

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

On the 7^th of August I’ll be in Salt Lake City for a reunion with the surviving members of Detachment A-214, 5^th Special Forces Group Airborne, who served together in

Vietnam

in 1964-65. Let me tell you a little about those men with whom I spent that time and with whom I share a bond that has tied us together for life.

Special Forces A-Team 214, was a group of 12 men who had trained together for several months at Fort Bragg, NC, for their mission deployment to Vietnam.

Upon their arrival in Vietnam in September of 1964 they were transported to Camp Ban Don, in Vietnam’s Central Highlands which was an abandoned French Fort close to the Cambodian border. Their mission was to interdict infiltration from North Vietnam of enemy personnel and supplies. The team’s primary job as force-multipliers was to organize and train a group of Montagnyards – hill tribesmen of the Central Highlands – into a fighting force of about 400 and lead them in combat operations. Supplies, clothing, and weapons for the Montagnyards were supplied by the U.S. Government.

Each 12 man team consists of a Captain, a Lieutenant, two Intelligence and Operations Sergeants, two medics, two demolitions specialists, two weapons specialists, and two communication specialists.

There was, at almost all times, a patrol out searching for the enemy operating in their area of operation. Those patrols typically consisted of two or three Special Forces Soldiers and between 30 and 50 Montagnyards. They were to engage the enemy when found.

I arrived in Vietnam on December 12, 1964 not knowing where I would be assigned, but figuring that being a “rookie”, having just graduated from Special Forces Training Group, I would be assigned to a support team and be sending and receiving messages all day long from and to A-Team radio operators. It was rare for a rookie to be assigned to an A-Team.

When I arrived at Special Forces HQ in Nha Trang, I ran into Sgt. Anderson, a classmate from Training Group. Andy, as we called him, asked me, “Where are you assigned?” I told him I hadn’t received my orders yet. He asked me if I would like to be assigned to an A-Team. I said that they wouldn’t send me to an A-Team on my first deployment. He said, “Follow me.”

We went to the office of a Lt. Colonel – I can’t remember his name, and Andy said to him, “Sir, Ban Don lost a radio operator and need a replacement immediately. This man (pointing to me) has a black belt in karate (I never took a single lesson in karate) and graduated first in his commo class (they didn’t rank those in the commo class; you either graduated or you didn’t). Basically he talked the Colonel into assigning me to Det. A-214 and the next day I was on a helicopter flying to my new assignment.

When I arrived at the camp I was very nervous; not because of the prospect of being in combat, I had trained for that, but about being accepted by this group of professionals. My reception was cool but polite. They weren’t happy to learn that this was my first tour in Vietnam, but they worked me into the team, and after several patrols accepted me as a team member.

It’s difficult to describe how I felt about these men. They were real live combat-tested and seasoned Green Berets, all serious men. I kept my mouth shut most of the time and did what I was told. Sgt. Pete Garner, a demolitions specialist was the first to reach out to me. Most of the patrols I went on were with Pete. I always felt confident about things when I was with him. We got along well and he was my favorite on the team. Unfortunately he’s gone now, having passed away at the young age of 61, but neither I nor anyone else who knew and worked with him will ever forget him. There is a watering hole at Fort Bragg named the Pete Garner Lounge.

Captain Mike Mireau (pronounced Mirrow) was the team leader and his leadership abilities were solidified while we were at Camp Soui Doi, in Pleiku Province during an operation in which our team sent a motorized patrol into a place called the Mang Yang Pass where an ambush by a North Vietnamese Battalion was sprung. During the ensuing battle three Green Berets were wounded, one mortally, and the other two seriously. More than 60 Montagnyards were killed.

The man who was killed was 23-year-old Sgt. Gerry Rose from Huntington, West Virginia, a demolitions specialist. He was posthumously awarded a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. Lieutenant Les Griggs the team XO was shot through the neck and never returned to the team. For his actions in the Pass, he received a Purple Heart and the Distinguished Service Cross, second only to the Medal of Honor in recognition of valorous acts. The Lieutenant will be with us in SLC. The third man was Sgt. Ken “Huey” Long, one of the team’s medics. His wounds were severe and were the result of being hit four times with small-arms fire in the leg, shoulder, and chest. Ken received a Purple Heart and a Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with a Silver Star. Ken also will be able to join us in SLC.

Captain Mireau’s calm reaction to what was going on and his immediate organization of a relief force showed the kind of leadership needed in that situation. That he was the real leader of our team was never in question and I’m happy to say that we will see our leader at the reunion.

The reunion will take place in Salt Lake City because the oldest member of our team, now in his 80s, lives there and is restricted in his travel. That man, the best soldier I ever met and our team sergeant, was Don “Hook” Strieber, a Master Sergeant and one of our two O&I operators. I haven’t seen him since March of 1965 and I can’t wait to see him again. It would take a whole new blog to list his awards and accomplishments during his career of service to this country.

Staff Sergeant Herman Adams was the Chief Radio Operator on the team, and I was the Junior Radio Operator. Herman was a pleasantly cocky, confident, and courageous man. Qualifications? This guy could build a radio out of sea shells, and was one of the most gregarious guys on the team. Though I graduated from the SFTG as a qualified communicator, S/Sgt. Adams taught me how to really be a Special Forces Radio Operator, and for that I’m very grateful.

I’m actually flying out to Arizona where he now lives and we’re driving from there up to SLC together. I’m looking forward to that also. As an aside, S/Sgt. Adams later became a Delta Force Operator and was on the aborted mission in Iran to rescue the American hostages taken and held for over a year at our Embassy there.

Lt. Griggs, S/Sgt. Adams, and I buried George Townsend, our other O&I Sergeant last year in the Sand Hills Veterans Cemetery at Fort Bragg. It was a beautiful military ceremony for a man everyone on the team loved. After four tours in Vietnam and at the end of his career he retired as a highly decorated Sergeant Major.

Sergeant First Class Charlie Scearce was a medic of the very first order and was the chief medic on the team. We were also on several operations together. A real special guy, Charlie, as did Pete, passed away at the age of 61. I never again saw either of those men after they left Vietnam.

Sgt. Gene McCann was one of our weapons specialists. He was a fairly quiet but very efficient professional. He also passed away several years ago.

Staff Sergeant Larry Manes was the senior weapons sergeant. Prior to my arrival at Ban Don, S/Sgt Manes was chosen to transfer to Project Delta, which was created to perform very hazardous cross-border operations. It was the precursor to Delta Force. Larry lives in Hawaii but a physical condition restricts his travel. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Larry, but I do communicate with him by email. Guess I’ll just have to take a trip to Hawaii. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

The character and courage of these men will remain with me for the rest of my life. I feel privileged to have served with them and to have been made to feel one of them. They were my heroes and remain that today.

This is the first reunion we’ve had as a team, and I’m certain it will be the last time we will all be together. I expect there will be emotional moments but I also expect it to be one of the highlights of my life.

If you believe this blog is interesting and worthy of sharing with your friends, please forward it to those on your social media lists.

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

Let Freedom Ring!

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Wed, 15 May 2013 12:27:00 +0000

(Reposted from October 16, 2011)

Our great nation was born through the Declaration of Independence, to be governed by Constitutional guarantees that the freedoms listed therein would endure forever.

Those of us who grew up in the 40s and 50s find the country very different from the one we knew in our youth. Almost everything has changed; many believe for the worse. We are being converted from a society dominated by doers and givers, to one of watchers and takers.

Our government was created to guarantee checks and balances, so that no one political group could force their agenda on society, yet today that is exactly what is happening.What used to matter was the will of the people; now it seems that the only thing that counts is the will of the government and now their agenda seems to be to “fundamentally transform America.” The question many now ask is “Into what?”

donlewis@sccoast.net http://www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

Please pass this message on to everyone on your email & FB list.

Your Mom; The Gold We Take For Granted

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Wed, 01 May 2013 09:56:00 +0000

Mother’s Day is just around the corner, but what does that really mean to us? Oh, we buy the cards, and say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” It’s become pretty much of a ritual; “Oh, don’t forget Mother’s Day. Be sure you get your mother a card,” Dad tells the kids. We dutifully obey and it goes on almost automatically the same way, year after year. Maybe we take mom out to dinner or even buy her some flowers, and all of that is nice, and she appreciates it. But when was the last time you really thought about what your mother does, and how much she means to you?

Do you have a magic drawer at home; one that is always full of clean clothes? You never even consider how they got there; the clothes were always there, as if by magic. Have you ever really thanked your mom for making sure you always had clean clothes ready to wear? Probably not; I mean that’s mom’s job, isn’t it?

Remember when you came down to breakfast before going off to school in the morning? There was your lunch box, already packed with a sandwich and maybe bag of chips, and often a little surprise, some goodie that you weren’t expecting. When you returned home after school on those days did you ever remember to thank your mom for putting that little surprise in your lunch box? Probably not; you’ve already forgotten about it.

Was your mom always there to tend to your scraped up knee or elbow when you came home after falling off your bike or sliding into home plate? Chances are she probably was.

She defended you when your name was under attack; she supported you in every fruitful endeavor you ever attempted. She was always your biggest cheerleader, and when the whole world seemed against you, she was there to encourage you.

How about the working mom? When I was a kid in the 40s and 50s, most moms stayed at home; they were called housewives. Over the years, things have changed and mothers have had to leave the home to go to work to help support the family, and usually did so of their own volition.

Even though she may not have been at home all day, she wasn’t forgiven the duties she had as a mother. She still had to wash and iron the clothes; clean the house, make the beds, prepare the evening meals and clean up afterwards. She’d go to the store to shop for food and other household necessities. She took time to attend periodic meetings at school to meet with your teachers, and performed a million other tasks around the house that moms do without complaint. They do it because they love you so much that they would give up their own lives without hesitation to protect yours. Don’t take my word for it; pick up the newspaper, it happens every day.

Make this a special Mother’s Day. Go ahead and give her that card she looks for every year, and even some flowers if you can afford it. But sometime on that day pull her aside and don’t be embarrassed to tell her exactly what’s in your heart and not just that you love her, but how much you love her and why. Then watch her reaction; it’s one you’ll never forget

If you haven’t done it yet, do it this Mother’s Day. You will not only make her day, you’ll make her whole life. Mark my words; if you don’t ever do it, you’ll regret it forever.

My mom died in 2006 and, God love her, she lived to be 99 years old. I told her fairly often that I loved her, and I did, but I never really sat her down and told her how very much she meant to me, how her support and encouragement over the years were so important to my success in life. I regret not telling her that she was my strength throughout my life. Maybe it’s not too late for you. Nothing, NOTHING is more important to a parent, especially a mother, than knowing that her children love, honor and respect her and are truly grateful for all she has done for them, and how much it has meant to them to have her never-ending support and love.

Mom, if you can hear me now, you know how much you meant to me. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the thrill of hearing that while you were with me.

Please pass this along to everyone you know so that they never have to say “I’m sorry …”

www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

The Police Officer and Criminal Jury Trials

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 16:00:00 +0000

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

Criminal jury trials--you know what they are. The defendant and his attorney try to fight off the allegations made by the prosecutor, and the focus of the trial is always on the defendant. Well, anyway, that’s the way they play it on TV and in the movies. But, that’s not really an accurate portrayal of what happens in a courtroom. In a criminal jury trial, generally the most important person in the courtroom is the investigating officer, and the most important evidence is his testimony and the evidence he has collected.

So, what makes the police investigator’s presence and testimony so important? The best way to answer that is to tell you a little bit about “proof beyond a reasonable doubt.”

If the defendant elects to exercise his right to a jury trial, jurors will be selected and the trial will begin. The criminal complaint infers that the trial pits the prosecution against the defendant. That would lead one to believe the defendant is the one on trial. That’s not true because it’s not the accused who is on trial, it’s the evidence against him that is on trial.

You’re saying to yourself, that’s crazy, the defendant is the one accused, so he’s the one on trial, and if he loses, he may go to jail. While it’s true that if the defendant is convicted he could very well go to jail, it would be more accurate to say that the evidence is what is on trial, and that it must be of sufficient weight to convince a jury of the guilt of the accused beyond a reasonable doubt. So then, who carries the burden of such proof?

The burden of proof is always on the prosecution to prove the defendant’s guilt, and it must be done with competent evidence. The court will advise the jury that they must make their decision based solely on the evidence admitted during the trial.

With very few exceptions, the defendant has no burden of proving his innocence; he need not present any evidence or testimony, and the jury will be instructed by the court that no adverse inference may be drawn from the failure of the defendant to testify or present evidence on his behalf.

So, the next time you hear someone complain that the defense attorney is shielding his client by putting the officer on trial, you’ll now know that is more true than false, and that’s the way it is supposed to be. That fact often presents more than a minor problem for the prosecution. There is a reason for that.

It is true that law enforcement officers today receive excellent and very thorough training, both in colleges and at police academies, on all of the skills needed to be competent and prepared to go onto the streets of their cities and towns to protect and serve the public, and they do so in a very remarkable and courageous manner.

However, on the other hand, they receive almost no training which prepares them to go into a courtroom to present their evidence. As a result, many police officers believe that once they make the arrest, the job of getting a conviction is on the prosecutor. The prosecutor is the one who must ride into court on his great white stallion, and through his brilliance, sway the jury into believing the allegations against the defendant.

Actually, it is the officer who is the key player in the production that is a criminal trial. Not to minimize the need for competent lawyers on both sides, but the case will almost always rest upon the preparation and testimony of the investigating officer. If he is ill-prepared to take the witness stand and defend his work by providing proper and competent testimony, the case, no matter how compelling the evidence might have been, will most often fail.

If the officer/witness is confronted with his written report, and if it is weak and incomplete, then his testimony will also be weak and insufficient. In court, a police officer’s written report is his partner, and any weaknesses in it will be exploited by a competent defense attorney. Yet, almost none of the police academies provide training for their students on the proper manner of including into their reports all of the relevant and important information, statements and evidence gathered during the investigation. Neither are they provided information on how to combat the many pitfalls that await the officer on cross examination.

Having spent 32 years as a criminal trial lawyer, 17 of them as a prosecutor in both state and federal courts, and 15 as a criminal defense attorney, I can tell you through experience that I found most local, state, and even federal law enforcement officers to be woefully unprepared to go into court to testify adequately. I spent a lot of time searching for instructive text on that subject and found no complete works had been done on those subjects. I decided to write one myself and did so. The Police Officer in the Courtroom, published by Charles C. Thomas of Springfield, IL, has been picked up and used by an increasing number of police officers, and I hear from many of them telling me how helpful it has been for them. In fact, several colleges have incorporated my book into their criminal justice curriculum. More information on that text may be found on my website at mysterywriterdonlewis.com.

I am retired from the courtroom now and am using my experience to write crime novels. In almost all of them there is an occasion to see illustrations of how competent investigations can fall short because of an ineffective presentation by the police officer.

This is in no way an indictment of the police. Over the years, I have come to know many police officers and agents, and I have a great deal of respect for the dedication, perseverance, and courage they display in the performance of their duties. They aren’t the ones to blame for their predicament; they aren’t the ones who make up the curriculum at the schools and academies. The organizations they are joining are the ones who should recognize the need for such training.

If you thought this blog to be important or interesting and informative, please pass it along to your friends.

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

The Amish Murder Case

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 15:58:00 +0000

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

In March of 1993, a man named Edward Gingerich became the first Amish person in American history to be charged with murder. The incident occurred in an Amish community in Crawford County, Northwestern Pennsylvania. The case went to trial in March of 1994 and the defendant was represented by an attorney appointed by the court. I was that attorney.

On the night of his arrest Ed Gingerich was housed in the Crawford County Jail. The next day I received a call from one of Ed’s “English” friends asking if he and others could hire me to represent Ed. Since they were unable to meet my fee, I declined. Murder cases take a lot of time in preparation, pre-trial matters, and trial.

Several days later I was approached by Crawford County President Judge P. Richard Thomas who asked if I would be willing to take the case as court-appointed counsel. It would pay less than what the prior caller offered, but when a favor is asked of you by the president judge of the county it’s a good idea to comply.

On Monday, March 21^st, 1994, the case of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania vs. Edward Gingerich went to trial in the Crawford County Courthouse.

Relying on the “Insanity Defense,” an affirmative defense, I had the burden of proving by a preponderance of evidence that at the time of the commission of the homicide, my client was unable to understand the nature and quality of his actions or could not distinguish between right and wrong. Therefore, the sole issue in the case was Ed’s mental condition at the time of the killing. The fact that Ed had caused the death of his wife was not at issue. He killed her. The only question to be decided at the trial was Ed’s mental condition at the time.

As the trial proceeded, a total of 21 witnesses took the stand, only seven of whom were prosecution witnesses. As the attorney for the defendant, among other witnesses, I called to the stand two psychiatrists, a toxicologist, and a psychologist. The prosecution offered no witnesses to contradict the defense.

Following the jury’s deliberation, Gingerich was found “Not Guilty” of murder in the first and third degree, and voluntary manslaughter, all felonies. He was found “Guilty” of involuntary manslaughter, a misdemeanor and was sentenced to the maximum sentence allowed by law, 2 ½ to 5 years confinement.

In late January 2013, I received a call from a woman representing a production company which had contracted with the Identification Discovery Network (ID network) to do a program on the Gingerich case. I was asked to go to New York City for an on-camera interview regarding my participation in that trial. I agreed, and on Sunday, February 3^rd, the interview took place in an office in Manhattan.

I asked what the interviewer would expect of me and was told that she had prepared a number of questions and that I should answer them as well as I was able.

I found myself in a strange situation; not because of the subject matter or the questions, but rather the manner in which the interview was to be conducted. I sat in a chair across from the interviewer, Ruth, but we weren’t facing each other.

Between us and to the side there was a monitor about the size of a 30” TV screen. The two of us and the screen formed a triangle. Looking into it I could see only Ruth, and she could see only me. I still don’t know how that works. It was strange hearing the questions come from one direction and seeing the speaker in another.

There were times during the interview when I turned toward Ruth rather than her image on the screen. Oops.

“Mr. Lewis,” the technician said on those occasions, “please face the monitor and not Ruth when you answer.”

“Yes sir,” I replied, each time.

Although the program will be only an hour long, my interview lasted for 2 ½ hours, so I don’t know what will be edited out. When it was over, Ruth asked me if there was anything I wanted to see in New York. I had been to New York on other occasions and had seen all of the main attractions, so I said, “Yes, I’d like to go to Lombardi’s Pizza,” supposedly the number one pizza shop in the whole country. Ruth laughed and said she thought that could be arranged, and thirty minutes later I was there eating pizza. It was okay but, “the best pizza shop” in the US? I don’t think so. We have several shops right here in Myrtle Beach I think are a lot better. But I am glad I had the chance to go there. I would always have wondered.

The production company was first class all the way. They flew me up on direct flights from Myrtle Beach to LaGuardia and back, picked me up in a limousine, took me to a nice hotel, and paid for my food. They didn’t offer to pay a fee and I didn’t ask. I requested only that they ask me what I have been doing since I retired from my criminal law practice. They did and my response was that I have been writing crime/mystery novels with four published to date. If your name isn’t James Patterson or John Grisham you need every bump you can get.

They told me that the show would be aired on the ID network sometime in late spring or early summer. If you happen to watch it and haven’t seen me for some time, don’t be alarmed by my appearance. They made me gain 50 pounds and dye my hair white for the interview.

donlewis@sccoast.net www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com

Do You Have a Story to Tell?

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 13:56:00 +0000

www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

Writing provides a wonderful outlet for the expression of thoughts and ideas, and I recommend it to anyone who would enjoy sharing their creativity with others.

Telling a story can stir a variety of emotions within the writer, and depending upon the genre, can take the writer from the heights of the emotional spectrum to its depths. Fictional novels and works of non-fiction that report on the action and dramatic episodes of real people probably create the greatest array of emotions. If there is a basic rule for writers it would be that they should write about subjects they know and understand.

Most writers, no matter the gender, will admit that they become immersed in the characters they create, and are to some degree at least temporarily embedded in the trials and tribulations experienced by those characters. In a way, the writer becomes the character. He can feel the anger, the sympathy, the passion, the elation or depression experienced by his characters.

To the writer, the story sometimes seems to take on a life of its own, often causing him to feel as though he is being pulled along by the story, a passenger on it, if you will, rather than the creator of it. There have been times when I felt as though I was writing as fast as I could just to keep up with the story. It was as though the story was creating itself and all I was trying to do was to capture it on paper. For example, by the end of my first novel, Satan’s Boots Don’t Creak, my fictional character, J.D. Banks, a criminal defense attorney, felt like a real person to me. I felt I could pick up the phone and call him. The only problem there is that I forgot to give him a phone number.

The best part of this is that you don’t have to be a John Grisham or James Patterson to enjoy the experience of creating life-like characters. We may not be able to do it as well as they do, but we all can do it.

As each story evolves, I feel the emotive of the scenes. I feel the tension, concern, melancholy, pride, and remorse experienced by my characters. The writer must be aware however, that the tension and realism he has created can carry over into his real life. While the reader is capable of a mood-changing experience by being carried into the story, the writer feels responsible for it. It’s his creation, and aware of it or not, in many ways part of his inner self is revealed.

If a writer feels the humor in a scene he is about to construct and develop, he should show, and sometimes even highlight, that humor in his story. Even in the most serious and dark novels, a spot of humor here and there is most welcomed by the reader. A powerful mental state, good or bad, set into motion by the writer can influence the minds of writer and reader; another reason why the writer should be aware of the mood he is likely to create in the minds of his readers. Injected humor can help to lessen the impact of a negative mood the writer may generate.

There are many reasons why people decide to sit down at a keyboard and begin to write. Some feel a need to satisfy their creative juices, some need to get their feelings out, to express themselves in a story. For others, the sole incentive to write is to gain commercial success; to make money. Having been a criminal trial lawyer for over 30 years, I began to write to relieve the stress of constant courtroom activity. I soon realized that I really enjoyed putting “pen to paper” as they used to say. Now that I’m retired, I do it because it gives me pleasure and satisfaction to finish a well crafted story.

No matter your choice of subjects, if you have a little patience and try your hand at writing, you will find it an exciting pastime, if nothing else. And with today’s e-book explosion, anyone can be published.

So, what the hell, why not give it a shot? It may take you a little time, but it won’t cost you a dime. Good luck.

If you find this blog entertaining or relevantly informative, please pass it on to those in your email, Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn lists, and ask them to do the same.

www.mysterywriterdonlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

Knowing Mickey Spillane

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 12:58:00 +0000

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While most young people won’t recognize the name, Mickey Spillane, many will know of his famous character, Mike Hammer, private eye.

Mickey was an American icon and, contrary to his rough, tough image, a modest, pleasant, kind, and generous man.

He lived to be 88 years old and died in 2006. He grew up in Brooklyn, New York, and New Jersey. He was a fighter pilot during WWII, but never had the opportunity to serve in a combat zone. He was a flight instructor for young upcoming fighter pilots.

I met and came to know Mickey several months before his death in July of ’06. A mutual friend approached him and told him that one of the women he worked with was married to a former criminal prosecutor and was now a writer of crime novels. Mickey said he always enjoyed talking with former law enforcement types, especially writers. Subsequently, we met at a restaurant in Murrells Inlet, about six miles from my home.

Mickey and I spent over three hours sitting there talking about all the things we had in common. We both had played a little football. He was a pilot; I had been a student pilot, though was never licensed. He was a parachutist, as was I. He was a writer, and though not in his class, so am I.

At the end of our meeting he invited me to visit him at his home at any time. I visited him several times and we talked about writing and the things we liked. He was a fierce patriot.

We often sat in the office in his house. It was a medium sized room with floor to ceiling bookshelves all around. On his desk sat an old Corona typewriter, the one he used to write all of his novels. No computer, no word processor, just that old Corona.

He lived in the same place, in Murrells Inlet for 54 years. His house was on stilts near the water. I noticed that under his house sat a car covered with a tarp. I asked him about it and he told me that while he was in Hollywood consulting on a film being made of one of his novels, he was approached by John Wayne, who was dissatisfied with a screenplay he was working on. He asked Mickey if he would be willing to tweak it some and Mickey readily agreed. Giving the finished product back to Wayne several days later, he was offered pay for his work. Mickey refused.

Walking out of his home one morning shortly after his return, he saw a brand new white Jaguar ragtop with a red ribbon wrapped around it with a note attached from John Wayne thanking him for the help he gave on the screenplay. He told me he drove it one time and then parked it under his house.

Mickey told me that he had sold over 147 million books and didn’t really enjoy writing all that much. I recently read on the Internet that the number was actually 225 million. I can’t explain the difference, but he told me 147. Either way, that’s a lot of books … and a lot of money.

I asked him one day, “Mickey, what was the shortest time it ever took you to write a book?” He replied that it was nine days and he did that several times. Nine days? Hell, it takes me that long to come up with a title.

Very near the date of his death he learned that he had pancreatic cancer. He spent some time in the hospital and when he came home, I went to see him. He was lying on a divan in his office covered with a blanket. He looked bad. He actually apologized to me for not being able to go out to sit on the porch. Here’s a guy dying of cancer and apologizing to me. After about half an hour I realized that he was tired, so I excused myself saying that I’d be back when he was feeling better.

The following week my wife and I were down at the Inlet Square Mall. I bought a get well card, and a small gift--one of those porcelain figurines with an eagle flying over a mountain draped with the American flag.

When I met up with my wife to leave, she was wearing a long face. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I have bad news. Mickey died this morning.” It was a sad day for me, as I’m sure it was for everyone who knew him.

I kept the gift and it still sits on top of one of my bookcases. One other possession I hold dear is the photo taken of the two of us sitting at a table in the restaurant where we first met. I put it on my website. He looks old, but almost anyone who knows how he looked in his earlier years would recognize him.

He was a terrific guy. We were friends, and I believe given more time, we would have become good friends. I won’t forget him.

www.etlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

Criminal Defense Lawyers: Good Guys or Bad Guys?

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Mon, 14 May 2012 10:56:00 +0000

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The most asked question posed to criminal defense attorneys is, “How can you represent a person you know is guilty?” At one time or another you’ve either asked that question to or about a lawyer, or have at least wondered about it.

Some lawyers take the question as an insult, but I never looked at it that way; I think it’s a legitimate question. So, having been both a prosecutor (17 years) and a defense attorney (14 years), let me take a shot at answering it.

Assuming you understand that the Sixth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution guarantees every person charged with a criminal offense the right to the “Assistance of Counsel for his defense,” you’ll understand the right of the criminal defense attorney to exist.

Obviously, the decision to represent the accused is a choice made by the attorney, and some choose not to do that; that’s their right. But before you condemn lawyers who do represent the criminally charged, stop and think for a minute about how our Criminal Justice system works. Criminal trials aren’t shows put on for the public’s amusement. They are very serious efforts to resolve the question of whether or not sufficient admissible evidence has been presented during a trial to prove the defendant guilty Beyond a Reasonable Doubt.

Once he has taken the case, what are the defense attorney’s responsibilities to his client? The uninformed say the attorney’s job is to get his client off. That’s not true. His or her job is not to protect the client from the consequences of a wrongdoing, but rather to protect his right to a fair trial. In other words, it is to insure that if the client is found guilty, it is the result of the presentation of legally admissible evidence accepted by a jury beyond a reasonable doubt. So, you see, it’s not the defense attorney’s job to seek justice; that’s the job of the prosecutor.

What would motivate an attorney to take on the stressful task of representing those charged with a crime? The first thought most have is that money is the forbidden fruit that draws the interest, and that belief has some merit; after all, defense attorneys generally make significantly more money than do prosecutors. But usually there is more to it. When you accept a case, your client has put his future in your hands and if you fail, he doesn’t lose money as in a civil case, he loses time out of his life.

Though we’ve already said that the job of seeking justice is entirely in the hands of the prosecutor, it actually works both ways. Justice doesn’t always require a conviction. Many people charged are not guilty, and in those cases justice demands an acquittal. Often that takes the considerable efforts of a competent attorney. That’s one compelling reason why some go into the field. Few feelings are greater than seeing an innocent client vindicated.

Still wonder why they do it? Have you ever been, or had a friend or family member, accused of a crime? Your first inclination is not to wonder where your friend or brother will serve his time. No, guilty or not, your first inclination is to get or recommend him to the best Criminal Defense Attorney in town. You know it’s true. If you were charged with a crime, wouldn’t you want the best attorney you could hire to defend you? Don’t say no – it’s not nice to lie.

Some ask if it isn’t the antics of defense attorneys that contribute to putting criminals back on the street and add to the growing crime problem. No, the “antics” of the defense attorneys are both created and limited by court rulings. Much of the guilt for the growth in violent crime falls on the TV and movie-going public. It is we who support the increase in violence and gore on our small and large screens. I’ve been to more murder scenes than I care to count and have been to almost as many autopsies, but I’m at a point where I can’t even watch much of what I see on CSI and other similar shows. The casual way in which murder is treated, and the graphic manner in which wounds are portrayed are, to me, very disturbing.

Under our system of justice the defendant really isn’t on trial; it’s the evidence against him that’s on trial. The Court instructs the jury that the defendant has no responsibility to offer any evidence or testimony on his own behalf, and that, if the defendant chooses not to offer any evidence or testimony, the jury may not draw any adverse inference from that against the defendant. It’s what separates us from most other systems in the world.

Does the law sometimes allow the guilty to slip through the system without punishment? Absolutely, and that’s the down side of our system. In a perfect world the guilty would be found so, and the innocent, vindicated. But we don’t live in a perfect world. So that must mean that our Criminal Justice System isn’t perfect either. Of course it isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough to make our system the best in the world, and if you can think of a better one, let’s hear it.

Since retiring from my law practice, I’ve been writing crime novels and illustrating the strengths and weaknesses in our system of justice. I find it not only fun to do but it also gives me a great deal of satisfaction.

Please pass the link to this blog on to others in your social media world.

www.etlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

Your Mom; The Gold We Take For Granted

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 13:38:00 +0000

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Was your mom always there to tend to your scraped up knee or elbow when you came home after falling off your bike or sliding into home plate? Chances are she probably was.

If you haven’t done it yet, do it this Mother’s Day. You will not only make her day, you’ll make her whole life. Mark my words; if you don’t ever do it, you’ll regret it forever.

Mom, if you can hear me now, you know how much you meant to me. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the thrill of hearing that while you were with me.

Please pass this along to everyone you know so that they never have to say “I’m sorry …”

www.etlewis.com donlewis@sccoast.net

Wrinkled Old Man

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 14:29:00 +0000

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He was a wrinkled old man, bent slightly forward at the waist, his face wearing years of trying experiences. I guessed him to be in his eighties. His face, narrow and long, carried upon it a nose broken and twisted by life’s challenges. That his weary eyes had seen much sorrow was readily apparent by the look of their downward squint. It was a kind face, windowing a heart full of caring and burden.

With the knobbed head of his crooked wooden cane held firmly in his hand, he meandered slowly through the Millcreek Mall, stopping here and there to ponder the contents of a store window, or to rest, or both. Every movement of the man’s gait was slow and deliberate, as if to make certain that each step he took was upon firm ground, and his stooped shoulders held his arms close to his side, as though passing through a narrow doorway. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

The sound of hasty footsteps approaching from his rear brought him to a stop. As I moved in his direction to help in case of a collision, the young man rushed by and the old man was safe. As he raised his gaze to continue, his steel gray eyes, the one feature that bespoke of a handsome youth, caught mine. I had been watching him, wondering if I would live as long as he, and if so, whether I would have the courage to be walking alone in a busy mall. He smiled, knowingly, and nodded his head, as he continued his stroll. I had never seen him before, but when I noticed a screaming eagle pin on his lapel representing the shoulder patch of the storied 101^st Airborne Division, the Heroes of Bastogne, I felt a bond with him. I was never a member of the 101^st, but I was a paratrooper and I wanted to speak with him about … well about anything; I just wanted to talk with him.

On one hand I was hesitant to interrupt the old gentleman’s labored saunter, but on the other hand his smile invited conversation.

“Excuse me, sir,” I finally said, “Are you from Erie?”

“No,” he said, “I’m from Pittsburgh. I’m up here visiting my daughter and grandsons.”

“Are you alone here?” I asked.

“No, my daughter and the kids are around somewhere shopping. I’m not a shopper so I told her I’d be out here somewhere.”

“If I’m interrupting sir, I apologize, but I noticed your lapel pin and …” I hesitated to say more.

“Not at all young man,” he said to me, a man of 59. “In fact I could use a rest,” he said, pointing to mid-mall benches. He led me to them and we sat side-by-side.

“Were you in the 101?” he asked.

“No sir, but I was a paratrooper.” When I asked him if he was in World War II he replied in the affirmative. My heart was in my mouth.

I asked, “Were you in on the D-Day Jump into Normandy?” He nodded his head and said that he was. But he said it in a way that conveyed he had done nothing special; he was just doing his job.

“Were you involved in the Battle of the Bulge?” I asked, my chest heaving with every word.

“Yes,” was his simple answer. I wanted to ask about his combat awards, but I decided not to risk embarrassing the man with that question, but neither was I going to let this conversation pass without asking him if he had been at the Siege of Bastogne. He said he was there the whole time. “In fact, if I’m still alive six years from now,” he said, with a hopeful glint in his eye, “I’ll be going back to Bastogne for our 50^th reunion.”

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him about those experiences; oddly enough, one of them was how it felt to march down Broadway in a tickertape parade; to feel the pride of being an American, to hold one’s head high, to have fought and given everything and receive such a glorious reception.

All too soon his daughter and grandsons came by to pick up grandpa. I didn’t get to ask those questions, but I wish I had. He gave me his name, but I didn’t write it down and I have long since forgotten it.

I have met a number of outstanding people in my life, but I have always held a special respect for my dad and all of the veterans of World War II; the boys who became men when they parachuted into hell in Europe; the Army Infantry and US Marines who signed blank checks on their lives when they stormed the beaches of Europe and the Pacific; the sailors and airmen who swept the seas and skies of the enemy; the tank drivers who slugged their way through Europe in metal boxes.

There were a million men and women like the wrinkled old man who put their lives on the line for us; you and me, and were humble enough to say that they were just doing their job. They were the ones who SAVED THE WORLD.

God Bless them all. I always thank every WWII veteran I meet. Soon they will all be gone. Honor them with a simple, “Thank you.”

I’m a writer of mystery novels now; no longer the lean mean fighting machine I once was, but I will always treasure the honor and inspiration it was for me to meet someone as brave and patriotic as was the wrinkled old man, and I will never forget him. I hope he made it to his reunion and I hope he’s still alive and making more old vets feel good.

If this blog made you feel good please pass it on to your friends. It’s a true story.

donlewis@sccoast.net www.etlewis.com

Let Freedom Ring!

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 14:26:00 +0000

donlewis@sccoast.net www.etlewis.com

Let Freedom Ring

Our great nation was born through the Declaration of Independence, to be governed by Constitutional guarantees that the freedoms listed therein would endure forever.

Our government was created to guarantee checks and balances, so that no one political group could force their agenda on society, yet today that is exactly what is happening. What used to matter was the will of the people; now it seems that the only thing that counts is the will of the government and now their agenda seems to be to “fundamentally transform America.” The question many now ask is “Into what?”

donlewis@sccoast.net www.etlewis.com

Please pass this message on to everyone on your email & FB list.

Amazon Kindle Books – Dark Covenant, Satan’s Boots Don’t Creak, Kalup’s Crossroads – Don Lewis, author – $2.99

The Day That Changed My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 11:34:00 +0000

At some time or another, most of us have faced and overcome obstacles through tenacity and patience. This blog is meant to encourage those of you who have not yet faced the fire-spewing dragon to do so with determination, courage, hard work and the resilience to bounce back from disappointment and fight on. Though it’s my story it’s not meant to be about me, but about facing our fears and setbacks.I enjoyed a very successful career as a criminal trial lawyer and now as a published author of mystery/crime novels, and I owe much of that success to the day that changed my life.

It was early in the fall semester of my sophomore year in high school. My friend Gary and I were working our way through the crowded hall near the trophy case when I was stopped by a classmate; we’ll just call him Bob. He was a football player, somewhat bigger than I and known as a pretty tough guy who felt a need to remind everyone of that from time to time. He made a comment about the hat I was wearing, grabbed it off my head, went to the water cooler, filled the hat, came back and dumped it over my head. I raised my hands to fight and he hit me on the jaw. I went down and slid across the wet floor to the water cooler. It felt like every kid in school was standing there watching. Bob merely turned and walked away. Gary helped me up and stopped me from going after him. I wasn’t a fighter; not nearly big enough for that, but neither was I a coward. It was a good thing that Gary stopped me; otherwise I might have been badly hurt.

Something changed in me that day. I had never been humiliated like that before. I wanted to do something about it. With encouragement from my mom and help from my dad, I decided to take up boxing. My dad had a friend named Fritzie Zivic who had been a World Welterweight Boxing Champion. He spent the next seven months training me for the spring boxing tournament. I gained weight and learned how to fight.

When tournament time came in the spring of 1955, I was a middleweight at a little over 160 pounds. As it happened, Bob was in the same weight division but in the other bracket, so the only way we would fight each other was if we both won our three preliminary bouts. We both did and were scheduled to face off for the championship. Everyone in school knew about the incident in the hall, and the auditorium was packed.

I had watched Bob’s preliminary fights and he was a bulldog. He didn’t have very good skills but he was fearless and kept charging his opponents, pressuring and simply overpowering them. Most of Bob’s weight was in his upper body and he was strong. His shoulders were thick and his arms powerful.

Before the fight Fritzie told me to stay away from him and let him tire himself out; he wouldn’t be in as good a shape as I. When he tired, I would take control of the fight and begin inflicting punishment.

That’s exactly how it went. Bob pushed and I backed up. He kept coming and throwing punches; I kept withdrawing and dodging punches. He tired quickly and after two minutes of the first round I saw my opportunity and took it. Bob went down, got back up and a moment later the referee called it a TKO. I had won! I was the Middleweight Champion. What a feeling!
In retrospect, I wasn’t as tough as Bob, but I was patient and used what I had and that’s what won the fight.

So many things changed that day. Up until then I had always been kind of a background figure in school without any real athletic success, but from the day I beat Bob everything changed. All of a sudden I was very popular at school. Even the football players treated me differently. In my junior year I was elected my home-room president and in my last year I was elected as one of the top four officers of the senior class.

All of the changes in me that my parents encouraged; my confidence, my motivation to make something of myself, and my improved social skills, all began that day. I give a lot of the credit for that to Bob for popping me in the jaw right in front of the trophy case on that fall day of my sophomore year in high school. Bob transferred to another school at the end of the year.

Almost thirty years later I ran into him in Meadville, PA. He looked at me and said, “Don Lewis.” I glanced at him and then he said, “Bob,” and his last name. Immediately the incident in the hall flashed into my mind and I said, “The last time I saw you I was looking up.” Through a tight smile he replied, “Huh uh, counselor, the last time you saw me I was looking up.” We both laughed. He’s a totally different guy now, and even though I’ve only seen him a couple of times since, it was a pleasant reunion.

http://www.etlewis.com/

The Day I Met John Wayne

noreply@blogger.com (Don Lewis) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 15:26:00 +0000

Please share this with everyone you believe will enjoy and appreciate it.

Other than my father, I’ve had only one hero in my life, and that was John Wayne. When I was about nine or ten, my dad took me to see my first John Wayne movie, The Sands of Iwo Jima. I loved the movie and John Wayne. He epitomized rugged masculinity and honesty and everything good in a man. To this day, 32 years after his death, he remains an American Icon. He was the guy every boy of my generation wanted to be when they grew up.

Not many ever get the chance to meet their heroes. I actually met John Wayne in the spring of 1966 at Fort Bragg, North Carolina and I remember it like it was yesterday.

I had just gotten back from Vietnam after a year as a radio operator on Special Forces A-Team 214. Upon my return I was assigned as part of a demonstration team that was put together to showcase the capabilities of the Green Berets. The locations of these demonstrations were on sites along a trail that wound through the woods. At my site, two of us were performing our jobs in a foxhole.

As I watched for the next group to come into view, my gaze froze. Is that John Wayne I see there? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’m sure I blinked before taking a second look. It was him; it was the Duke. There was no mistaking the well-known gait of the 6’5” John Wayne. With him was an entourage of people, including Col. Hale.

The Duke had purchased the rights to Robin Moore’s book, The Green Berets, and was planning to make a movie based on it. He watched us while getting an explanation of what we were doing from one of the officers with him and even now, 45 years later, I can close my eyes and still see him standing there.

After a couple of minutes, the Colonel began leading the group away. My hero was leaving and I hadn’t said a word to him. That wasn’t going to happen. I climbed out of the hole, and as I walked toward Mr. Wayne I felt like I was moving in slow motion. It was like an out-of-body experience; as though I was watching myself from a distance; like the feeling you had the first time you jumped off the 10 foot diving board. It was both surreal and too late to turn back.

I walked over to Mr. Wayne, offered my hand and said, “Put 'er there, Duke.” Immediately I asked myself, “Did I really say that? Do I go to jail now without passing Go?” Even though I knew there would be a penalty to pay, I didn’t stop to consider any of that before I did it. I’m not sure what my dad, a Captain in the Naval Reserves, would have said, but I think Mom, a wonderfully supportive and strong-willed woman, would have shaken her head and said, “What are you going to do, that’s my son.”

John Wayne not only shook my hand but took it with both of his and smiled broadly. Then, his tone turned to one of serious sincerity when he said, “Thanks for what you’re doing, Sergeant.” It’s difficult to describe how much that meant to me. I was stunned. Not since I had arrived back in the United States had anyone said that to me. I don’t remember what my response was; hell, I don’t even remember if I made one. Then, he walked over to the hole, reached down and pulled my friend up and out, then shook his hand and said something to him. All the while Col. Hale was giving me the evil-eye.

When it was all over and the group had left, I expected my punishment would come later that day; maybe being strung up by my thumbs, something like that. I never heard another word about it from anyone, except from the guys in the barracks when the word got around. I believe I would have been in serious trouble had it not been for the gracious way in which John Wayne responded to my impulsiveness. I was impressed by his subtle sense of humor and a degree of humility that doesn’t normally come out in his on-screen, kick-ass persona. But, somehow I'd like to think that after they left, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and said to Colonel Hale, “Ya better leave that kid alone, Pilgrim.”

I’m a writer of crime/ mystery novels now and I try to put a little John Wayne into every main character I create, especially the John Wayne I met back in the spring of 1966.