Prisons . . . breaking the human spirit

Background dialogue for the Shenandoah Chronicles

© Richard L. Thornton, Architect & City Planner

The Shenandoah Chronicles began in November 2020 with an introduction to a beautiful, but formerly flawed French lady, whom we called Vivi the French Courtesan.  She wanted her story told as a lesson to teenage girls and young woman of what NOT to do with their life.  I fictionalized irrelevant details to disguise her identity, because when I met her, she was a celebrity in France.

Then, you met Susan the Eccentric FBI agent, who soon became close buddies with Vivi. I was close friends (with benefits) with Susan from the summer of 1991 to the summer of 2006.  Eventually,  you got glimpses of Juliana the Indonesian School Teacher.  She is happily married and living in the heart of the Georgia Reich . . . so I am certain she does not want her neighbors to know that she once kept company with a man, who has not accepted Adolf Hitler as his Lard and Saveyer.  You won’t hear too much more about her.  We will keep her secrets.

Actually, I am a chicken! Juliana is a subscriber to LinkedIn and The Americas Revealed. If I misbehave, I know that this lady will come after me with a Sumatran bolo knife! Furthermore, she won’t send me any more Christmas cards.

I had completely left out the fourth member of the Shenandoah Chevre Fan Club, because she had a horrific experience at the exact time that the two of us were moving toward marriage.  She was framed for a crime and spent time in prison, before being exonerated.  I did not know how her life turned out.  I suspected that she had committed suicide, because of what was done to her.  So, I completely left her out of our stories.

However, she contacted me late in the night before my birthday this month.  She STILL remembered the date.  I guess because she was also a Leo.  I did not know until we then communicated intensely on August 4, that she had substantial Saponi Indian ancestry through her mother.  We wondered if the “free spirit” she inherited from her mother is why both the satanic cults and Virginia criminal justice apparatus treated her so cruelly.

Cindy (her nom de plume) has asked me to be her knight in shining armor and champion to finally tell the world what was done to her.  It was covered up at the time.  There is very little fictionalization in this section of the Shenandoah Chronicles.  However, she does not remember the names of her tormentors and I never knew them.  Her story is in Chapters 18, 19 and 20.  She wants me to tell everything, so the public knows how our “criminal justice” system really works. She says that we live in a cruel, greedy society, masked as a Judeo-Christian democracy.

We first met in early January 1988, when she was a 20-year-old junior at Virginia Tech.  It was in my barn and I was petting a mother herd dog, who had delivered puppies two days earlier. She always claimed that was the moment, when she fell in love with me.   While her father and the other veterinary science professors were studying my goats,  I gave Cindy a tour of the restoration work in my 250-year-old house.  After I explained to her how homes in the 1700s were prefabricated, she suddenly rushed up to me, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me.  I was stunned . . . but never forgot that kiss. 

Five years later she explained that she kissed me because she was so excited to have a man discussing intellectual subjects with her.  The guys at Virginia Tech only wanted her as a trophy, so they could say that they had known a VT cheerleader in a Biblical way.

Sharing many experiences with Juliana,  Cindy has been in most of the homes I lived in during the 1990s.  However, she was in a federal prison, while I lived near Etowah Mounds and later in Pine Log, GA,   Cindy has also slept in my parent’s house, while they were in New York City vacationing.  She remembered sleeping in a twin bed,  but my sister has fact checked that to be a small full-sized bed. Like her Saponi mother, Cindy is very sensitive to spiritual things like good and evil.  She was very uncomfortable in my parents house.  She called her father to get his Virginia Tech motel discount number.   Instead, her father paid for us to stay at the luxurious Raddison Hotel in Dunwoody, GA for the rest of the Christmas holidays, except when we went cross-country skiing in Cherokee, NC.   Well, you will get the rest of the story later on.

General statistical information

The United States has the highest prison and jail population and the highest incarceration rate in the world.  Approximately, 25% of the total world prison and jail population is in the United States. While black inmates make up nearly 40% of the prison population, they only make up 13.40% of the total US population. Native Americans represent 2.30% of the incarcerated population and only 1.30% of the population. Latin Americans, most of whom are mostly of Native American ancestry, compose 19% of the prison population, while 39.70% of the prison population is non-Hispanic Caucasian.

What it’s like to be a captive

Numerous, depraved local and state cops in Georgia have desperately tried to find some crime to charge me with since 1997 . . . the year that Cindy was released from prison . . . but by the Grace of God, all they have accomplished is an eternity in hell. Actually, that is penalty called for in the Mosaic laws as listed in the Book of Leviticus.  Hebrew police or judges, who intentionally lied to harm an innocent civilian were castrated and burned at the stake.

Most recently, some Shenandoah County, GA deputies went to several of my neighbors, promising big cash rewards, if they could create a situation to look like I was a pervert.  They also offered rewards for stealing or killing my dogs. There would have been no rewards for either activity, but these people were too ignorant to know that.  

One family painted their lawn furniture gay rainbow colors then placed the chairs and tables in their front yard . . . thinking me to be a giant gay rat, who would come into the yard at night to nibble on their furniture.  They were going to capture me and become big heroes in their Southern Baptist church.  First of all, I am not gay, and secondly, being homosexual is not a crime and thirdly,   that’s just not how the real world works.

However, when my parents thought that they had me in the house, helpless and penniless, it was living hell.  They tried every way imaginable to destroy my human spirit and make me into a clone of themselves.  

Just copying the photo above and preparing it for this article, brought back such painful memories that I became very angry and had trouble sleeping last night.   I had no memory of being molested by my father as a child, but immediately when I was in the house in 1993, he began making homosexual passes at me, putting his hands on inappropriate parts of my body and repeatedly wanting me to suck straws, so he could watch.  Toward the end of the year in hell, he even started bringing me names of gay men and their telephone numbers, suggesting that I call them for a date.  He was totally delusional.

The Shenandoah Chronicles continue . . .