Guerilla Activism 101

johnnyrock

johnnyrock

Like most people, I was content with my life as it was. I was shacked up with a sugar momma who lived in a nice area of town. I know. Old habits die hard. I have always been a believer in hard work. "Honey, you work hard, so I don't have to!"

Little did I know that my life would soon be turned upside down. I would find something to believe in that was greater than my self. I know. Sad, but true!!

To my dismay, I would find that I really wasn't much different than my community. Most people are content with their station in life; if not content, at least too comfortable to change. Change is hard!! I know that too!

To fully understand how I ended up in this situation than would make my life uncomfortable, you would have to understand my upbringing.

When I was 12 years old, my Father was a member of the USAF. Up until that point, he worked in supply, served a year long tour in Vietnam (non combat, but he was close enough to the action to make life exhilirating). Most people would believe he was serving his country, but in reality - by his own admission - that was a poor kid's way of dodging the draft. If he had not volunteered for the Air Force, he would have probably been drafted and ended up in the infantry like most poor kids his age. Not everyone has the luxury to defend Alabama in a time of war!

My favorite show at the time was the Six Million Dollar Man. Steve Austin was an OSI Agent and a disabled astronaut. I didn't know it at the time, but my Father had applied to become an OSI Agent. If it wasn't for the show, I would have never heard of such a thing. My Father had a curious custom - handed down to him from his Father - of listening to the police scanner.

I can remember the day he told me he was accepted as a Special Agent in the USAF. My Father no longer wore a uniform and his ID did not indicate whether he was an Officer or an Enlisted man. However, you could tell by the suits that he wore that he was not a man of means. I can also remember what happened when I told my friends. They flat out told me I was lying. I am not against lying. I still believe that in the interest of a good story, exaggeration is paramount - creative license if you will - and especially in the interest of getting out of trouble, it's a necessary skill!

"Johnny, where were you last night? Out with your friends?"

"Sorry babe! I had to take my Mom to the hospital." I am still fond of a time without cell phones, pagers and the tether of technology.

My history teacher used to say, "One more time for slow learners!" No doubt he was referring to me. Its taking me a while to catch up with the Wizards of Technological Wonder. I can't even hope to compete. However, my hope - and goal - is that when I combine the path that they have set before us with the hustle of a High School huckster, I might be able to accomplish my goal(s): Guerilla Activism and teach it to others.
 
Once my Father was accepted into OSI we were immediately transferred to Bossier City, LA and he was stationed at Barksdale AFB. I knew better than to tell my friends what he did for a living. I would simply say he was a detective for the Air Force. They all knew that he drove the standard issue undercover cop car that was seen in almost every 70s cop show except Starskey and Hutch. My Father was not a man of flash. He only prided himself in being able to kick your ass! Police work suited him!!

In our house, you could say anything you wanted as long as you were able to back it up; or at the very least, take an ass whooping for saying it.

As most anyone with any experience in life knows, there are two kinds of trouble makers in High School: preachers, kids and cops' kids. The preacher's kid is probably more adept at askng for forgiveness. The cop's kid is more likely to be skilled at covering it up.

There are two things that I am extremely thankful for that my Father gave me: courage and the ability to talk to a police officer when the CHIPs were down on you. Being white - well, white enough - helps!!

Like Mr. Kaylor used to say, "One more time for slow learners." I really was late to the party. For the longest time, I simply believed that for the most part, the police were good people and the "suspect" must have done something to get that ass whoopin'. In my wildest dreams I would not have believed that any part of the movie training day was real. At least not until I got into some serious drugs in Tampa, FL. That's when I became aware of the Quad Squad - a so called elite force within the Tampa Police Department. They had a reputation of robibng drug dealers and stealing evidence befoer it was classified. I first learned of the Quad Squad from karl. Karl was a jack man, and we used to joke, the jack man ain't got nuthin on the Quad Squad!! Real life, my friends. Real life.

It was not something anyone would actually believe until a similar group made up of Miami Police Officers acted out the movie training day - and got caught - long before Training Day was a movie. So, when Denzel played the part of a crooked cop with his own agenda, I knew this to be true from my own first hand experience and that of my friends. It was a corrupt game we were involved in, so what could we do? Who ya gonna call? I know. Most people reading this will say that we deserved what we got, right? Maybe. But I would say that the police who were perpretrating their own criminal enterprise whould be held to a higher standard than the criminal, right?

That's where we part ways. That's also where you would part ways with my Dad. Perjury? Not him. The law was sacred; at least the court of law was. That and a strong desire for self-preservation that would not put him in a place that he might end up in prison. That's not a good place for cops!!

But for many in our society, they hold the police to a lower standard than the criminal. The huckster. The charlatan. The player.

That's all for now. I think that does justice to my background - both the good and the bad! However, if you follow this story (a true story in all its facets) you will see how one not so young man took on the CSPD and lost. But in a way, he won!

It all depends on what your goals are, right?

Stay tuned!!
 
Tools of the Trade:

The first time I ever knocked on a door to influence another person to make my goals come true was in grade school. Our family had recently moved from Italy to Eglin, AFB which is near Ft. Walton Beach, FL. I don't remember what the school function was, but the powers that be (and they be powerful) thought it best if they sent out their best sales force to do their dirty work.

"Here kiddos. Sell this candy and we have a prize for first place!"

To this day, I have no idea how long that contest lasted. What I do remember is that - as per my custom - I waited until the last day before I attempted to sell the first jar of assorted hard candy. Luckily for me, they armed us with an order form, and we would take down the names of our customers who signed a statement of intent to pay for the candy when it arrived. If I had to lug a box of hard candy jars around for the afternoon the project would have ended before it started.

My only motivation was to not get skunked! I was neither for, or against, the practice of child labor at that point, but it did seem like the school was putting pressure on all us kids - as a group - to get some sales. They didn't arm us with closing techniques, opening gambits, or the ability to ASSUME the sale. We were simply armed with cuteness and gumption!

So that last evening before class, with an empty sheet which I had not even presented to my parents for fear they would have only added to the pressure of knocking on doors instead of playing with my friends, I set out to fill out my list. I didn't have a particular goal in mind, but I did have a time limit. I will go out for two hours before dark and see what happens!! After all, it was a military base, and a different age, so coming home after dark was not out of the ordinary.

The next day I found out I had placed second in the competition. To this day, I am quite positive, that the fear of rejection is what caused the other kids to simply get a sale or two from their parents, grand parents or next door neighbor; most people of any age prefer to stay in their comfort zone.

It would be decades later that I would be involved with the Charlatan of all Charlatans (Pastor Randy White) who knew how to fill up a bus load of inner city kids, promise hope to those who were desperate, and most of all, fleece the flock. It was under that direct mentor ship that I learned the most valuable skills of all. How to influence a total stranger who was not expecting you that day. No doubt it certainly helped to have the illusion of God on your side; baby, with that backing your are 75% there. So I would continue on with my door to door training in a different light, spreading the light. Looking back, I would say I was faking the funk! Not that I wasn't sincere, but only that my needs still came first in life!! I still had the ability to do something other people could not do! Leave my comfort zone for a worth while goal.

I have never been the best speaker. Eloquent words are not within my grasp. Fear was never a factor. That was my skill! A skill that has served me well to get my needs met; time and time again.
 
After the crash of 2008, I found myself looking for a different career. I hated trucking and the demands it placed on my time. Without being backed by a union, as most OTR drivers are not, much of our work required us to not only be away from our families and the things we also loved, but it good bit of the burden was without pay. Both companies I worked for paid air travel miles, and not road miles. So even at 42 cents per mile, you were always getting short changed. If the trip was a straight shot down I-75 that's fine. But a trip from Atlanta to Jacksonville would rape you every time!

Taking inventory of the skills I possessed (garbage man, jail house preacher, OTR driver, hot tar roofer, and a Master of the Okey Doke) I decided to change careers. What if I landed a job in sales? Now, it wasn't just my lack of education that was a hindrance, but I am also painfully aware of the way that I speak. The way I come across to people. However, I was also armed with the attitude that because I did not possess fear, and it has never been a factor, I could influence others.

I just needed to find the right fit.

So, before I set out for my first interview, I had to ask myself. What is the hardest part of sales? From what I could gather, it was the fear of prospecting. Well, at least I could check that off the list. My first interview was with a pest control company and needless to say, I didn't get the job. Looking back I am thankful! From what I understand the sales people make a ton of dough knocking on doors, but you are required to WORK, WORK, WORK! My guess is the lady judged me correctly. That brings me to the next skill; judging people's intentions by the look in their eyes. I've never been able to get any woman I wanted, but I quickly learned which women wanted me!! That my friends is half the battle. If you are inclined to a life of leisure, its a skill that is not wasted. Unfortunately, my options have always been limited, so I often found myself hanging on the back of a garbage truck or tearing off a roof in the middle of summer. But when you got that look - the same look a bobcat gives its prey - well, its easy street.

To be perfectly honest, I also knew that I was woefully unprepared for that interview. The pest control company didn't have time to waste on someone with no experience of even the basics in the sales game. I decided my next step - and the only one available - was to start at not just the bottom - but start where even experienced sales people don't want to go; the neighborhood.

I ended up answering an ad for FAFCO. They installed solar panels and had a sales force of about 12. Unfortunately, only about two sales people produced. Neither were afraid of prospecting for their own accounts. However, for the rest, the sales manager started a division of appointment setters to deal directly with the community. This was in addition to the phone farce (ahem, phone force).

From reading up on the profession, I could see that certain things like assuming the sale were very similar to talking to girls. You talk to her like you expect her to talk back. When she turns her body away from you, gives you that uncomfortable smile or says she has a boyfriend, well, take the hint buddy! You are out of gas!! Another similar aspect to dealing with women was not talking yourself out of a sale. I always told my friend Jeff that I was a good closer - only speaking of women. I could tell when a woman liked me. Just like most of you. When she flipped her hair, touched me, looked deep into my eyes and laughed at my jokes, I knew I at least had a shot. Sure, sometimes I was wrong and that might have led to a #metoo situation, but luckily, that was what was expected back then. Unlike Donald Trump, I was not a bitch! (His words, not mine.) But I would move in on a chick giving me the signals. I lost a good friend that way!! However, it's not a crime to be wrong about signals and when your customer is engaged and ready to buy, move in for the kill.

So here I am. Fat. Pale. Unhealthy. (Truck driving is not healthy). But with the confidence of Ron Jeremy's nine inch stake with a six inch stroke.

"What makes you think you can sale?"

"It's just like talking to girls!"

I was hired. The agreement was $50 for every appointment and if the sales person closed the sale an extra $50 for each one of those. Call it beginners luck. Call it misplaced confidence. Call it what you will. But when fear is not a factor, luck comes your way. I set two appointments on the first two doors I knocked and each sale was closed. $200 in about 15 minutes. I spent the rest of the four hour shift shadowing one of the best door knockers they had. I know. That sounds like it should be the other way around, but that's how it happened. I knew I was guaranteed $100 that day, so instead of rotating with Kevin, I told him he could knock the rest of the doors. I believe he set three appointments, and I learned a ton about the industry listening to his rebuttals. What's weird is that I set both of my appointments asking questions. Why? Because I didn't have any answers! Now, if you are following along, that's your biggest secret right there in getting what you want. Ask the right questions. Besides, who wouldn't want to hear more about how someone could save 30% on their electric bill? Right?

Scams aside. I didn't realize that solar panels for hot water heaters was a losing proposition in most instances, but it sure sounded good. One great side effect of being gullible is the ability to buy into a dream. Buy in so hard, you sell it with enthusiasm. Getting the point, yet?!
 
It was that friendship with Nick that would lead me to Denver and being in the King's Court for the Mother of all SCAMS! Storm Chasing!

Stay tuned!!
 
The Donald:

I can remember the day that I first read about the story I have been talking about for a few years now. It was not the first or the last story I would read (in the Independent, the hippy paper) regarding police brutality in Colorado Springs. One story involved a crazed police officer who beat up a Father who was taking his daughter to soccer practice, because he questioned the officer's demeanor. Another story was about an elderly gentleman who was defenseless. Neither case went anywhere. This is a good 'ole boy town with the good 'ole boy network firmly in place. That's not to say that the "ladies" won't do everything to cover for their man!

In fact ask Jennifer Darby who is an assistant DA how I responded when she needed my help! Like a good citizen, I did the right thing to get a violent person off the street. That's neither here nor there, but it is a fact!! You can ask the ladies at First Bank about how they reacted to my Guerilla Activism. Well, I can just tell you. They closed my account. I can't blame them! The last thing we want people to do is draw attention to an out of control police force.

With video camera in hand I walked into the bank that I was doing business with (First Bank) and projected my voice, "My name is John Gregory (that's my real name folks. I don't hide!!) and I am an activist against police brutality in Colorado Springs! You may want to give them a call and let them know the White Advocacy Group is in town and we will get justice for the young female they brutalized."

Now, I know what you are thinking. This guy is a racist. I won't just say that I have black friends. My church, family, friends - everyone - will let you know for a fact that there is not a racist bone in my body.

....

The idea was first given to me in one of my classes at Pikes Peak Communiity College. A young black woman was decrying police brutality and I joined into the conversation. The problem was that this girl was White, so I asked her, "Who can help this girl?" You know what her answer was? You need your own group.

I know a great idea when I hear one. At that particular time The Donald was making the news on a regular basis with his budding Presidential campaign. At the time, I still don't think a lot of people believed he would actually be President, but he was causing a ruckus!!

If you remember, he was saying things that some people might interpret as racist. Is America First racist? I don't actually believe that, but if you understand history, you could see where some people might draw that conclusion. On top of that, he was making broad generalizations about Mexicans that certainly sound prejudiced. In my book, he was simply guaranteeing that he would dominate the news cycle.

Then it dawned on me. What if I create WAG (White Advocacy Group), but in reality, the acronym stands for what I was going to do; wag my tongue to anyone who would listen.

...

First Bank gave me a courtesy call that evening, "Johnny, if you don't stop flooding our drive thru chutes with business cards with that girl's picture on it (which also had a link to the cover up and denial of the FOIA by the police department) we will be forced to close your account.

To quote 2 Live Crew, "Do what you gotta do, FUCK Motherfuckers!!!" But I actually was polite about it. You do what you need to do and I will do what I need to do.

....

I was driving downtown and I see a news van, the cute reporter on the scene with mic in hand, and the cameraman ready to go live. For all I knew, they were live then. I parked right next to them (it was a bar), got out of my truck and shoulted, "Ma'am." Like most people who value their importance over that of the community, I guess she thought when she told me, "We're about to go live," that would dissuade me. That just made me certain I picked the right moment. I exclaimed, "My name is John Gregory and I am with the White Advocacy Group. Let the Colorado Springs police department know that we will get justice for the young lady they brutalized!" As I turned around I did a modified goose step combined with my own broad hand gestures that resembled The Donald. Nothing like playing on the fears that the news media was creating, right?

At this point I was quite certain I had their attention. Do I have yours?
 
Before we go any further, let me let everyone at ET know that I do not own a gun nor do I have any intention of causing physical harm to anyone with the CSPD, the Hospital or anyone else. I am a peaceful man!
 
King David and Biblical Warfare:

What the CSPD, my bank and the news crew were not aware of is the fact that I spent years in Church studying the Bible. You may be an expert on Zeus, but my mythology of choice was both the Old and New Testaments. In fact, long after I became more spiritual and less dogmatic about anyone's personal religion, or lack thereof, I got JESUS tattooed on my neck. For someone who believes in reincarnation, meditates, and does not believe in HELL, that may shock you. However, I love the myth of Jesus. Jesus caused such a ruckus they killed him. The difference between me and a fanatic is that I know when you truly have power, they kill you; not the other way around. Do I expect that to happen. Naw. I couldn't even get that guy fired! But, like Jesus, I did go right into the lion's den and cause a ruckus!!

...

In my younger days, my best friend at the time was just released from prision. My girl Sandee worked for the State Attorney, and while she was hard at work, slaving for the man, Marshall was teaching me how to box. He learned that craft from the FL State Penn. Back then three things were certain in FL prisions. They were ran by white supremacist gangs, everyone got thick, and they taught you a trade. Things have changed since then. In fact, my boy Marshall is an electrician with a family, dogs and the whole nine.

What has changed since then is that technology has allowed Marshall to get the swastika removed from his hand. It was a bit unnerving the first time I saw it, but Larry (a black dude he met at Lake Butler), Marhsall and I were thick as thieves. You can guess if we were actually thieves or not! I met Marshall through his Mother who I worked with and Larry was with him on that same day, so my guess was just that you do what you have to do to survive.

I would use the Donald, and my friendship with Marshall to ensure my safety. Marshall and I had not talked in years. He was a family man. I was not. We didn't have that much in common anymore. In fact, Marshall is pro police now. So before I actually made contact with my old friend, I found him on Twitter and Facebook. I figured there was a good chance that I had the right people watching me because I had made contact with the FBI, the Olympic Committee, the Air Force Academy and every local business downtown.

The big organizations I contacted via phone and email. The businesses downtown I contacted door to door. My message was the same. We will get justice for this young girl!

....

However, I will let the cat out of the proverbial bag. Now is the time. The CSPD has a record of committing brutality on the citizens of Colorado Springs: ladies, the elderly and a young girls Dad. Each of those incidents were reported in the paper. The abuse happened without cause. No action was taken in any of the cases.

What I wasn't sure about was if I was next. It wouldn't be the first time I received a beat down, but with this corrupt police department I was actually worried for my safety. So, I protected myself with the fictional White Advocacy Group.

...

What I did not foresee was something even better. As I ratcheted up Guerilla Activism I knew that I was becoming a problem in school. College has changed since the last time I was there, so now, in almost every class they require you to stand up before the class and do a presentation. So, I took it to them!

The CSPD Police Academy is at one of the classes; well, at least their gun range. I believe the Academy itself is located elsewhere. CSPD is posted at each campus.

In addition to the speeches I was required to give, I began to pass out flyers. I made up a special flyer with three pics on one page: (1) the girl's busted face, (2) the police officer slamming her to the ground, but he was in mid slam where I froze the video to grab the pic and (3) the YouTube search bar with CSPD Memorial Hospital high lighted.

....

Why you may ask? Well, there was an interesting article in the paper about how Colorado was handling school shootings at every level. What interested me most was what they were doing in the Universities. If someone was deemed to be unstable, they would send a team in to monitor the student, unbeknownst to the student they were watching. I could not guarantee they were watching yet, but that was my goal.

Then it happened!
 
King David and Biblical Warfare continued:

Out of all the Bible stories that I am aware of, one that is not taught that often, but is truly amazing is when King David was being chased by King Saul (while Saul was still King; David had not taken the thrown yet, nor was he the rightful heir. That was Jonathon, Saul's son.)

Knowing the government was out to get him, he joined forces with criminals and put on the act of a madman for his own protection. I began to cause a ruckus within that community, but I won't say what I did. It was designed to get the attention of CSPD and I am not sure if that worked or not!

However, I stumbled on two setups that guaranteed I receive the attention that I needed. This would be right before my last semester at PPCC. There was a parade coming up that was a pretty big deal. One of many in this city. As I was driving by a tire shop, I noticed several under cover police cars, but more importantly, police dogs. It was the K-9 units that made me know for sure what I saw. Instead of doing what any normal person would do and keep on driving, I circled them. I eyed them. I looked at them with the disdain of a modern day Dexter. I let them know. I pulled forward. Backed up. Slow rolled. Once I knew they were staring back, I moved on.

....

Over that summer there were two or three shootings that were perpetrated by what I would categorize a Modern Day Revolutionary in the Spirit of 1776. Standing up to a crooked state that was exercising unlawful authority over their citizens. Now remember, I am a peaceful man, but Ghandi I am not! So, I agree with what they did. Last I checked that is my right to say that. Do I feel sorry for the families of the police officers who were shot? Certainly. Just like any person should feel sorrow for the innocent people who were victimized by the police. I can't say it's Karma, because those individuals may have not deserved it. However, as a group, they do! They are part of an ongoing criminal enterprise located right within the city in which I live.

....

Now, when you are saying such things in a class full of military vets (Norad, Ft. Carson, an Air Force Base, the Academy are all here) with a sprinkling of students whose desire is to get a degree in criminal justice and go to the police academy, you can guarantee that the snow flakes on the right are not about free speech. But, that's okay! I had their attention!!

....

A few days after I noticed the K-9 units, I was going to the 7-11 on Powers Avenue. It's right across the street from the Wal Mart. However, it was about 3:00 am and I noticed something strange. In that same parking lot as the 7-11 there was an abandoned K-mart building. The light was on!

I grabbed about five or six of my Guerilla Activist business cards and walked over to the door. Through the crack in the old glass doors (think of the sliding doors in large stores), I saw what looked like a police convention. I pushed each of those cards through the glass and as I walked away (knowing this place was camera-ed up) I did my goose step and ridiculous hand gestures.

...

Now, I was certain I had their attention. If there was any doubt about the White Advocacy Group (WAG for short) getting justice, there shouldn't be.

However, my intention was never to get justice! That is what they don't understand. My intention was to get the City, Banking employees, Cops, K-9 units, Educators, neighbors, business owners to recognize something. On that part I probably failed. However, my mission was accomplished.

....

My final thought on this subject in this thread:

"I was kicked out of school. I lost a bank account which was easily replaced. I lost the place where I was riding on the gravy train. Jennifer Darby ignored my plea (the same DA who needed my help). Internal Affairs laughed at me knowing that there was nothing I could do. and you know what happened?

Two female cops that I interacted with thanked me! Most Millennials and Minorities expressed pain when I showed them the video. Almost every hippy expressed sorrow.

What did I accomplish? Something only God can do. I caused each one of those people to look within and decide for themselves. Who is a bigger danger to our community? A dude with a big mouth challenging the Police Captain to a charity boxing match, citing a fictional group that is reserved for the pages of a modern day movie, or an actual police officer who lost his shit so bad that he lost control and brutalized the most vulnerable of our citizens in Colorado - the State that I love!"

That my friends is why Jesus is tattooed on my neck. Not that I think I am Jesus. But I know for a fact, if he is real, he would be rooting for me! After all. According to the myth, Jesus spoke truth to power, turned over a few tables and chased a couple around with whips!

Carry on. Back to your regularly scheduled lives!!
 
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