I was born in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and raised by my Grandmother, Ester Crain. My mom and dad were divorced and married to each other three different times. That is how I came to be raised by my grandmother.

I remember Momma Crain taking me to church a few times when I was little, but nothing steady. Years later, after My Uncle James came home from Vietnam and became a Baptist preacher, he started telling me things about this man named "Jesus".

One Sunday, while Momma Crain and I were over in Jacksonville, Arkansas, visiting my uncle and his wife Onita, she took me to church, because Uncle James wasn't feeling well. I can't remember what was preached that day, or who preached it, but even at the early age of nine or ten, it stirred me so much. I don't believe a team of wild horses could have kept me from answering that alter call for salvation. There's no way of denying that God placed His hand upon my life that day.

But sadly ...

After that, Grandma and I went back to Hot Springs, and back to our old routine. The struggles of everyday life, and little to no Church - I had no discipleship and no training. Grandma did the best she could to raise me right, but I grew wilder as I got older and it was easy to get around Grandma on anything I wanted to do.

Somewhere about this time period, I would guess around 10 or 11 years old, I snuck in and saw my first "Hells Angels" movie. You talk about planting seeds of rebellion in a young boy's heart and mind. Those "Hell's Angels" didn't have people that lied to them and got away with it. They didn't have people who messed them over and get away with it and they didn't have people who ran off and left them.

By the age of eleven or twelve, I was riding motorcycles. It was a passion planted in my heart by stories I had heard of my dad and mom riding in their younger days. With my new found freedom of going wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted - it didn't take long before I found all the wrong people and things (as in drugs and alcohol) to keep me occupied. By age thirteen I was a regular user of drugs and alcohol. Mostly pot and beer, but it wasn't long before things got worse. I started drinking whiskey and I started experimenting with much more dangerous drugs.

I dropped out of school in the ninth grade, and by age seventeen I was a member of my first motorcycle gang. I was a little too wild for their taste, and by age nineteen I had progressed to a little more hardcore group, but the same became true with them also. These guys told me that if I wanted to be a real, genuine, bad-to-the-bone outlaw, then I needed to go join up with the outlaw motorcycle gang.

I moved to a town where they had a chapter. I met them; hung around them and found the family I had desired all my life. By age twenty three I was a full patched-out "outlaw member," - the worst of the worst. By age twenty four or twenty five I was an officer -- a Sargent-At- Arms. My job included "taking care" of people who became a threat to our people or the club as a whole. It also included taking care of club members who disobeyed directions from the chapter President. I took care of security issues and was put into the position of bodyguard on numerous occasions. By this time I was also a drug dealer-addict, a womanizer, alcoholic, and an extremely violent person to be around. I always had a pocket full of speed and one if not two pistols stuck in my belt -- always ready to "take care " of anyone or anything that challenged our (the club's) way of life.

By 1985 I had been a patched-out member for five years and an officer for three or four years. I had been involved in so much drug activity and violence that I had drawn the attention of the Federal Government - namely the F.B.I.

In March or April of 1985, an indictment was handed down for 100 members of our "club". Coast to coast 97 of them were served by a visit, while by a stroke of chance two of my partners and I were not home that day. We ended up running and hiding for two weeks before we finally gave ourselves up.

I was charged with multiple felonies, including: Continual criminal enterprise; three counts of conspiracy; four counts of using federal communications to further a conspiracy; and the overt act of torture of a federal witness.

After paying a lawyer tens of thousands of dollars, I ended up with a 13 year federal sentence. I ended up serving five of those 13 years before they released me in 1990, on federal parole. In the five years I spent locked up, I didn't learn anything except how to be more corrupt.

Upon my release, I returned to Little Rock and picked right up where I left off. But things were different. I don't know how to explain it, other than to tell you that it seemed that prison made some of the other members a little wiser and a little more cautious, but not me! I went back to the old life style like I had a torch lit under me. By now, prison and my attitude had driven my first wife and step-daughter away. I was foot loose and fancy free. I denied myself nothing. I did whatever I wanted to and with whomever I wanted.

I married a woman whose father was well off, thinking I'd be in the middle of all that money. I went back in heavy drug dealing and weapons collecting. No one was safe around me, and I really started hating myself and everything I was involved with.

Through a series of events, (with my new parole officer), I eventually left my second wife, and my chapter, and I moved to Oklahoma. Somehow I knew I had to change my life, or I was going to die a very violent death. And I knew that when it happened, I would go alone. As much as I wanted to change, I didn't have a clue as to how. My move to Oklahoma was a simple move to new places and faces with no changes otherwise in character.