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I TOO FOUGHT AND LOST AT THE ALAMO



It was sometime in 1977 when the wife and I left California heading to Florida. Recuperating from cancer surgery the trip was going to be very difficult on me, nevertheless having been given less than six months to live made the trip urgent and very necessary.

It had always been a dream of mine to visit the Alamo, mainly because of something that happened while I was living in the Children’s Home Society Orphanage in Jacksonville, Florida.

I was eight or nine years old when the movie “The Alamo” was going to be shown on television. Every boy in the dormitory was excited, as the little Zenith black and white television was turned on. Every orphan boy now sitting straight in their chair, hands folded on their laps. No one was allowed to talk or make any noise, whatsoever.

The movie was about half over when one of the boys coughed. The matron got up from her chair, walked directly to the television and turned it off. We were then ordered to bed. As I lay in my single bed I swore that one day I would go and see the Alamo. That day had finally arrived.

I was rather surprised when we pulled into San Antonio, Texas. I looked at my wife and said “Gee, I always thought the Alamo would be way out in the open country. Not right in the middle of downtown.”

We parked the motor-home and began our walk to the one place I had always wanted to visit. Even to this day I am not sure if I visited the Alamo. I think I was there but when I looked at the buildings they all looked the same to me. I was not sure which one was really the Alamo.

As the wife and I entered this one building the sign read something like “No pictures and please remove your hat out of respect.”

I removed my hat and handed it to my wife so that she could place it in her purse. She and I walked around looking at several glass cases which housed many of the guns, knives and clothing worn by many of the men who fought and died during the battle.

Standing in front of me was a very large man with a baseball cap on.

“Excuse me sir, but would you pleased remove your hat out of respect?” I asked him.

Within an instant the large man had me around the throat and was squeezing with all his might. I reached up but could not release his large hands from around my neck.

“Look puss-face, you mind your own business,” he said, in a deep voice.

I stood there in a state of shock. The man was gigantic and looked as if he could be a tackle on some professional football team.

Almost unable to speak I started to explain that I did not mean any offense. Just as I opened my mouth to speak he slapped me across the face, as hard as he could, sending my glasses flying across the room. I looked around and saw that everyone in the room was also in shock. I remember every mouth was wide open and their eyes were as big as saucers. Feeling my nose start to drip I wiped it with the back of my hand and when pulled away it was covered in blood. The next thing I remember a woman was handing my wife a blue scarf, which she took and began wiping my nose.

“Damn idiot,” said the man, as he pushed his open hand into my face forcing my head backwards. He snickered and then he walked away.

Being a bit embarrassed, I told my wife that we should leave. We exited the building and made our way to the motor-home and left San Antonio.

As I look back at that incident I am now a bit proud of myself. I, little ole Roger Dean Kiser from the orphanage, along with Davy Crocket and Jim Bowie helped to defend the honor of the Alamo.



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