1%’er EMT Resisted When Cops Tried To Turn Him

1% Cossack Mark White with Bandido Mannie “Candyman” Rodriguez,  who was murdered in an ambush at Twin Peaks on May 17, 2015

WACO – Former Cossack Mark White crouched under a table, pinned down by nearly silent suppressed assault rifle fire from SWAT officers.

He turned to a fellow biker as they listened to rounds smacking into the walls and tables around them, and said, “We’re fixing to get hit, and it’s gonna hurt.”

Moments earlier, he stood at the apex of the L-shaped ambush pattern and watched as the verbal argument began between Bandidos arriving on their bikes and Cossacks resisting their being able to park in a convenient location.

Punches flew and the cops started firing immediately, according to White.

After he made it to safety, he recalls giving CPR to one dying Cossack for an extended period before Waco Police Officer Vrail George pressed the muzzle of his rifle into the back of his head, and said, “Eat pavement m………er, or I’ll blow your brains out.”

In remarks off mic, he further revealed that police used the fact that he and another EMT who were only minutes before attending a political meeting of the Confederation of Clubs were used by on-scene commanders to justify keeping ambulances out of the area and providing emergency medical care to wounded and dying men.

Their claim – that there were Emergency Medical personnel on-scene – prevented the prompt care of the wounded and dying, he says.

Because the two EMT’s were there, the police prevented ambulances from entering the area because they claimed is was an “active shooter” scene.

“Yeah, I’m an EMT, but you’ve got to have the stuff there to care for the injuries. You can’t just do it with – nothing!

In this first-ever interview, former Red and Gold Nation member and 1%’er Cossack Mark White reveals what is on the recording of the jail interview “motorcycle gang experts” made after his arrest at a “bike night” in March at Twin Peaks Restaurant.

DPS Agents, a McLennan County Sheriff’s Office Jail Gang Investigator, Waco Police, and other government types who identified themselves only with their initials attempted to “turn” him as a fellow government employee, a medical technician employed by the Fire Department, saying, “We firemen have to stick together.”

OWEN REEVES, NATIONAL PRESIDENT OF THE WACO 1% COSSACKS

He refused. For some reason that still baffles him, he became a Cossack at the demands of Owen Reeves, who persuaded his men to sew on the diamond 1% patch in defiance of the National Club of the “ugly man” Cossacks MC with the express intent of “stealing” that club’s colors.

The jailhouse tape generated much controversy when first Waco Police Gang Detective Mike Rogers suppressed it in defiance of a discovery order in the prosecution of North Dallas Bandido Chapter Jake Carrizal, then the prosecution objected so vehemently the judge disallowed its being made of record in the presence of the jury.

In this account, White reveals the fact that the cops set up the ambush and encouraged the conditions that led to a violent confrontation between the Red and Gold and Black and Gold antagonists on that Bloody Sunday that claimed 9 lives, wounded twenty, and ended with 177 persons held on $1 million bond for the first degree felony of engaging in organized criminal activity.

YVONNE “SPIKE” REEVES, DEPICTED MOMENTS AFTER SHE LEARNED IN A PHONE CALL FROM HER HUSBAND HER SON HAD LOST HIS LIFE IN THE HAIL OF GUNFIRE AT TWIN PEAKS

An eyewitness to the events that led up to the bloody police ambush from an L-shaped bracket, White gives a background account of the development of the attack through the encouragement of law enforcement officials.

Dozens of e-mails from Elected Criminal District Attorney Abel Reyna to Yvonne Reeves establishes the connection between the prosecution and the Reeves family during the Twin Peaks prosecutions. Mrs. Reeves sought information as a crime victim. Reyna kept per posted of each evolution of the defense effort to recuse a hostile District Judge Ralph T. Strother, and to hand pick a jury panel.

CLICK IMAGE FOR FULL SIZE

This letter from a Killeen Police victims rights coordinator, reveals the intelligence that a relative of a Cossack who died at Twin Peaks had been involved in an altercation and was seeking compensation as a crime victim.

According to a source close to the investigation, “This is paper work of Kris Rhyne, the new president of Waco 1% Cossacks under Big O. He was supposed to take a 25 year prison deal, then took a 5 year plea deal; but now, somehow, he is out completely and on probation for all his drug charges leading up to Twin Peaks. Owen is using him now to run the mother chapter.”

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Out There – Good, Bad, 1%

WHAT, IT IS – WHO, IT AIN’T – SPEAKING  WITH JOHNNY KASH

SHOCK CULTURE OF RETURNING VETS BLEEDS INTO BODY POLITIC

OWEN’S RAT PACK

Waco – When the 1% Cossacks contacted their former Sgt at Arms Johnny Kash to take back their colors and diamond, he said, “Come get them; I will be here.”

The man arrived, expecting to be handed the items, but he didn’t get them. Kash told him he would have to take them.

At that point, the combat soldier, who does not wish to give his right name or be depicted, recalls that the man abandoned his errand, and left his home peacefully.

“I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my future,” said Kash.

“I know how I want to live my life, in the brotherhood of fellow 1%er bikers. I will not do anything to mess up my chances.”

He was born and raised in El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora Reina de Los Angeles, the “old town” of LA’s Olvera Street. The family relocated to the neighborhood of Western and Normandy, where he lived until he “busted out” to join the Army. At the age of 27, he is a veteran of one overseas tours in combat, rated with a service-connected disability.

 


POLICE SNIPERS ON THE ROOFTOP OF TWIN PEAKS MAY 17, 2015

His story is a revelation of the culture of motorcycle clubmen in the old Aztec region of Aztlan – the area seized by Sharp Knife and Koloneh, the Generals who commanded the Texas Revolution – a series of events that led to the acquisition of all the land from the Sabine River at the western border of President Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase, to the Russian lands in Northern California known as New Albion, north of the Mendocino, including Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada – and parts of Utah.

Demographic studies prove that by the year 2050, Hispanic people will compose 75% of the population of the United States.

Video image of DPS Agent “Red Boots” Cody Ledbetter firing from ambush at Don Carlos’ Restaurant on May 17, 2015 – Twin Peaks

We sat down with Johnny Kash and Mark White, the former President of his Chapter of Cossacks. What we learned from these men is startling, to say the least.

In this first conversation, Johnny Kash revealed the true motives of Owen Reeves and his rat pack.

In the second of the series, White reveals the attempt by “motorcycle gang” experts of the McLennan County Sheriff’s Office, Texas DPS, and the Waco Police to turn him into a witness against fellow 1% bikers by appealing to his career status as a public servant providing emergency services in Fire Department emergency services.

“It ended my career as an EMT,” he recalls. “My wife lost her career, too.”

The battle lines could not be more starkly drawn with indelible ink or laser beams.

What is to be heard herein is a true and accurate representation of a deep state operation in full frontal assault on WE THE PEOPLE.

This video has no visual content due to an agreement with Mr. Kash

NEXT: A CONVERSATION WITH MARK WHITE, WHOSE POLICE INTERVIEW WAS BLOCKED FROM DISCOVERY BY THE DEFENSE 

 

Profilin’ – The Metromess

BLUFF GAZE OF A SCOTSMAN AT COMMERCE IN HIS SHOP… JEFF WILSON OF HELL’S HALF ACRE STANDS UP TO COWTOWN COPS

FT. WORTH – T-E-X-A-S – Popeye stood up on a table top at Strokers on Harry Hines Boulevard in Big D and told the Sons of Liberty to keep a cool, cool melon on their shoulders.

“You see a club you don’t much like, just stay cool,” he said.

Their destination: Hell’s Half Acre, Cowtown’s North Main, the Stockyards, the Rodeo, Swift’s, the gateway to Chicago, KC, Omaha, and New York, N’Yawk – where a piece of the beef is de rigeur – that is, pre-cigars and brandy for the gents and idle chit chat for the ladies.

The Cowtown Cops told members of Los Vagos – a Southern California club long strange to the Lone Star State, now sporting a Texas rocker, that they own the Stockyards of Ft. Worth.

They said so when they busted in on the trade at Jeff Wilson’s Leathers in the midst of a busy Saturday – 38 years in the location at 2225 N. Main, and the site of many a patch party and Sabbatical for two-wheeling clubmen en cavalle, errant, vacillando.

Held guns at their backs, searched their bikes, damaged their saddle bags, knocked the machines over at the berm, charged them for carrying pistols – of all the cockeyed, well, never mind – against the peace and dignity of the People Of The State Of Texas. All that and a bag of chips, as it were.

Wrong.

Wilson reacted with alacrity, to say the least. The Sons of Liberty chimed in with harmonic overdrive.

Thus: The Stockyards Stampede from the Valley of the Trinity to the Western-most valley of the Same Holy Triad, meandering across the prairie to the Salt Grass, far and away.

Arriving on the bloody grounds, the cavalcade made a victory lap after a cruise down Belknap Street on the Bluffs of the city, on up Main, around the tourist trappings and the fancy old commission arena, past Swift’s front gate, and back down Main for the traditionally loud and rudenik episode of the obligatory Hog-Riding U-turn drama, to angle park on the curb across the street.

Funny how a bevy of wheels mounting video cameras will temper and dampen even the boldest tush hog cop dead in his boots, forcing a certain – ah, well – reticence.

We in the Sons’ cavalcade were but amazed at their mild-mannered, unobtrusive presence, including the dozen or so poised to swoop at the rodeo arena, the glittering black Suburbans lurking in the side streets.

Nothing doing.

Unmolested, our – ah – GANG wheeled on up to the front door and lingered awhile, that is, long enough to blow the foam off a short beer and have a doughnut or two – and thence into the concrete canyons skirting the runways of the sky chariots.

We gone.

However, this much is established.

There is no known due process of law whereby an extemporaneous decision by a peace officer will empower We The People Of The State Of Texas to just haul off and declare a person “out law,” thus enabling the People, in all their majestic peace and dignity, to intrude upon the person, papers, and property, etc. And other well-known words so well modulated by the DUE PROCESS of – well, whatever.

I am sincere.

I have spoken.

So mote it be.

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2200 Block of North Main – Hog Heaven – Hell Bent For Leather – Ahem

Tushes v. Monoculture

Hog trap surveilled by game camera, sprung by phone’s send button

Meridian, Tx – Farm Road 1991 meanders from fording point to point along this ancient stream bed in the Edwards Plateau breaks above the backland prairie – to the alluvial plains of the Gulf Coast.

El Bosque is Spanish for – literally – the sticks, and it joins Los Brazos De Christo at Waco in a mad confluence of porous rock strata, water and the black lands sloping to the salt grass – an ancient reef that extends from the Dallas-Ft. Worth Metroplex to Carlsbad with its caverns – and beyond.

It doesn’t matter what men build and develop, when the flood moves, it’s coming through, around, over, under. Whatever is in the way won’t be, not for long.

THE GREENSKEEPER at Bosque Valley Golf Club has the diamond hard look of a man who copes with conditions and their myriad requirements. Battling the foraging hogs of the hardwood forests of scrub live oak and native pecans is just part of the job he does to keep the hackers happy on this 9-hole layout of three gamblers’ loops, each of which ends back at the clubhouse, where the suds and whiskey await their requirements.

The monoculture of the golf course is unnatural in the scrub country

At this time of year, the fogs linger, the mist abounds, and driving rains pound the creatures out of their lowland redoubts to the higher banks, where you can hear the plash and patter of the water in its onrushing progress downslope. Waterfalls are really outflows from caverns and unknown underground rivers headed for yet another inlet to another underground web in the rock.

One might imagine the skirling of pipes, heard far and wee on the vagaries of the wind.

Here the cow pokes of the Chisholm Trail drove their long horns to the rail head at Cowtown, and all points in between Old Mexico and the Windy City. The old pastures still exist, and the old road that follow the river just happen to run right by everyone’s front door.

The Santa Fe tracks run through it, too. Everybody got to be somewhere, as it turns out. And when the levee breaks, mama, you got to move. True story.

Feral hogs, some native javelina, and the rest permutations of prize boar stock from the steppes of Russia to the prairies of the midwest mingle and mix and dig with their tushes in the easiest ground they can find for acorns and seeds.

Damage of swine foraging for acorns under spreading oaks a hazard

They play hell with the finely cultivated turf, mowed and weeded and maintained for the purpose of cow pasture pool.

They multiply as fast as any furry creature on the planet, rivaling even rodents for their legendary fecundity.

Did the breeders fail to make their market? One is tempted to think they may have released at least a portion of their produce into the wilds.

That’s why it’s always open season on feral hogs, no hunting license required, no questions asked when traffic in swine is the topic.

That’s why the game cameras are surveilled by cell phone transmissions and the trap doors may be sprung by remote control with the press of a “send” radio button when the moment of greatest concentration inside the corrals may occur.

A less elaborate method of triggering the hog traps by propping the gate

There is definitely something to be said for that now aging sentiment that when one looks to the sky, it’s nice to know it’s a capitalist moon, and not a planetary satellite controlled by communist hands.

The year 2018 has proven to be a wet one, precipitation having kept its pace with other record years without letting the rivers and creeks out of their banks in disastrous torrents.

Nevertheless, Mr. and Mrs. Hog have taken to the higher ground and the barbecue smoke fills the sodden air of late autumn in the Texas Hill Country.

Onwards, in orbit of our Star – El Sol.

Here’s to ribs, chili, and the odd stew, as it were.

Bon appetit!

So mote it be.

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El Rio Bosque  – The water courses through the rock to the stream