Kingpin/chapter 1: They Couldn’t Make It Stick

Kingpin

I got on their radar back in the early ‘70s. Long hair, scraggly beard, Nam raging. It was a Friday evening, full moon, emotions were high, coming up through Crawford Notch from downeast Maine. We, the three of us, just out of college, (two females) in a VW bug. We all had the same length hair (medium) as we didn’t quite come to a complete stop at the intersection of 302 + Rt.3, Twin Mountain (NH). A mile down Rt.3 they pulled us over @ “Little River” bridge, and the party began. Sally (fake name), driver, fumbling around in the glove compartment, exposes a film canister. “What’s in that film canister”? barks the cop. Things start to escalate! We retract, rollup window, ordered out, as the two local cops breathing down our necks, called in reinforcements, two Statees (State Troopers) Olson + Tholl. They finally got us out of the vehicle and split us up. (Things were heating up) I quickly got the “pat-down”, but instead of finding a gun, he comes across a nearly empty baggie with the remnants of me stash, few roaches, (way more dangerous than a gun, ya know) in my breast pocket under a turtle neck sweater. Cop bark again: what’s that! Before I answer, I bolt! It is starting to get dark out and the moon was coming up. Loud shouts as I plunge into the pucker brush! Stop! I’ll shoot, and a big bull of a trooper tackles while I get rid of the pesky baggie, and the cuffs go on, really tight. (To this day I have poor circulation to my hands) Say goodbye to my girlfriends, and so starts my journey north, on the plastic seat in the back of a “cruiser”, booking at Lancaster, where I got the cuffs off. Then on up north Coos county, Groveton, Colebrook, Canada, just across the river. (maybe I could make a run for it) Heading for the County slammer in N. Stratford, very noisy (pipes?) + harsh lighting, few occupants, about all I could remember. Got bailed out next morning by our homie. Big trial date set middle o the summer. Sally (fake name) comes down from Maine summer camp job 4 hours one way only to be told to come back later – Judge backed off, (very lucky for us) conflict o Interest, was acting on a case against our family, thank God (was a real redneck, rumored) The next Judge was just the opposite. He scolded/reprimanded those Troopers good, for infringing on our inalienable rights! The take away from this event: the trooper riding passenger, the first chance he got, volunteered his/their position in regards to me and my kind – “pukes”. I counter that with calling them: evil NHAGOs! I really got intimate with pathological psychosis. And I vow to crush them once and for all! 

The next clash with the evil NAHGOs happened  a couple years later, inevitable, being the dedicated committed grower of the humble weed that I/we (Davy) is/are, late September, ’75, to be exact. Frosty nights, as usual, shutting down the growing season, I was just pulling in a modest “harvest”, selling oz. to all buyers on the open black market. Now understand, we are dealing with chump change. The growing season was too short to grow flower, so no bud. It was a Friday night my middle-man/informer (rat!) comes over and we set up a deal/time to unload me my crop, 1-2 pounds. On Saturday evening Fred (deus ex machina/concerned citizen/tipster) just happens by, pick up an ounce. He informed me my middle-man was a rat! I cleaned house, ready for a botched bust, and met them unarmed the next evening, L.M., the informer, and L.P., team leader, (eventually became head of the NH State Police) come by just after dark. We sit down and quickly get things straight, which quickly brought us to our feet, as L.P. calls out in a loud voice, “Butch”, and in comes some burley thugs! At the same time pulling out his side-arm, grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, throwing me up against the wall, putting said fire-arm to me head, but before he pulled the trigger, he came to his senses. He knew I beat them. (10 days instead o 10 years in the crow-bar hotel) They didn’t even cuff me, (unlike previous encounter/see above) they quickly sensed I was a peaceful person. As soon as I arrived at the local jail (Littleton NH, Chief Nockey, now deceased) young stoners started showing up at the bloody place. What’s that all about? Dragnet! Cover blown. There was W—sy, and his cousin, and C. The janitors son, from back in high-school. Next day I worked out the real deal: I give up my precious weed (stashed in a bear cave up un the mountain in a burlap bag) and get the same “time” as the rest of them (ten days) The take away: newly created certified felon (do the police have quotas they have to fill/just doing their job? Or just Government slowly taking away people’s guns?)  “Sale of a controlled drug”! Marijuana is not a drug and there is no way in the world to control it! All of a sudden I have no weed and I have to report to probation officer every month, and on top o that, winter coming and no weed/no firewood! (Sentenced to ten weekends late spring early summer ’76, note: July 4, 1776 I woke up in jail, by 7-8a.m. I was free! Direct descendent o William Kenney fired the shot heard ‘round the world. I arranged my jail time around my games – Easton Aliens FC Sunday P.M.)  Time to go on the lam! (Left early December, headed up through Willouby Gap. Made it as far as Davy’s place, Puka Lani, Kona Coast) Limp back into the valley (Gallundesping contest mishap) in March to a struggling maple sugar operation. I’m starting to go off topic_ anyway the police are not my friend, going around ruining people’s life. This is the lead-up to/background for the assassination o Liko Kenney, May 11, 2007 

William Kenney

Easton, NH

603 991-0789