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Alan N. Sexton


Even if I were to live to 100, I will never forget the sheer horror of the white house, the stench, the fear, the eerie sounds, the blood, all as though in a nightmare dream. I was 14 the year was 1957.

I had heard about the white house from a boy in my cottage, “you don’t want to go there man”!

Not very long after that, I managed to get in a fistfight and subsequently found out first hand about that evil place and its evil players, Bob Hatton and the man who beat me, Tidwell the one-armed person. I was told to get on the bed, a military style cot with a bar across the top, hold onto that bar, bite the pillow, and do not count or look around and shut up. I did just that, and then I waited, it was like a motion picture slowly allowing individual frames, they had fans on making a lot of noise so no one would hear your cries for mercy. The sound of that god-awful flogging strap was that of a shot gun going off over your head, then the first strike. I looked directly back at that contorted, evil face of Tidwell, and said, “Oh my God”, the pain was excruciating, and it spread over your entire body, surreal.

Bob Hatton answered with, “Don’t call for God now you little red headed son of a bitch, he didn’t send you down here.”

I thought both of these guys were nuts and my very survival depended on doing what they said, so I bit the fowl, bloodied pillow and grabbed the bar and asked God to help me through, with his mercy I did make it.

These people knew the art of torture, 37 licks, I could walk, but just barely, my thoughts were that there would be a day of reckoning. My entire buttock was black, lots of bleeding, lots of bewilderment, lots of soul searching. How in God’s name were they allowed to beat so many others and me in this revolting fashion?

In the hospital, where I worked, I found Novocain and I administered many shots to boys going down, also years later 1987, I returned to the place and sold them a vocational education program. Mr. Pate showed me the Big Red Book where I signed in to the place in early 1957; he gave me a set of boxing gloves, since I was on the boxing team.

While in town, from the hotel I called Bob Hatton and then Tidwell, and asked if they remembered me, Alan Sexton, both said, “no I can’t say that I do.” I told them both, that if I lived to be 100 I would never forget either one of them, and hung up. By doing this it helped restore my dignity, they had so savagely taken from me all those years ago.

© Copyright 1986, 2008

Alan N. Sexton sisam@mindspring.com