-Caveat Lector- from: http://www.madcowprod.com/genesis.htm <A HREF="http://www.madcowprod.com/genesis.htm">Enterprise, Alabama</A> ----- a 1st person account of life under cartel occupation by John Burt Caylor ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The nightmare for America began back in the 60’s during the Vietnam War... in my hometown: Enterprise, Alabama, located 6 miles west of Fort Rucker, the U.S. Army’s Aviation Center, with merchants of death here in Enterprise laughing all the way to the bank with blood money taken from the poor soldier boys of America. Starting in the forties with World War II, the U.S. Army established Fort Rucker as the training spot and headquarters for army aviation. During the early 60’s along came Vietnam and a massive buildup of hundreds of remote airstrips, facilities and influx of thousands of soldiers and pilots. The area was a natural for the military. The climate is like Vietnam, hot and humid, the terrain is full of pine forests with rough hills and valleys. The inhabitants were firebrand rednecks, full of hate for commies, Jews and Niggers, blood thirsty for dollars of death and destruction that war brings. The Dixie Mafia Arrives First came the military retirees who overtook Enterprise--with its cheap land and low cost of living-- soon dominating all aspects of business and government. The area also suffered an influx of mobsters fleeing Phoenix City, Alabama in the wake of "crime fighter" district Attorney John Patterson Sr.’s, assassination. My father was the number one lawman and Chief of Police who welcomed all those folks with open arms. Everyone addressed him as "Chief"; he was a dead ringer for actor Carroll O’Conner, in the TV series "Heat of the Night." The Golden Triangle Boys Arrive I believe that my father’s power came from his new found associates, men who were retired Army Colonels and Defense Intelligence Agency, guys who made their fortunes smuggling opium in the Golden Triangle of Southeast Asia. Their dope smuggling skills were fine-tuned under the protective cover of the 4500 fixed-wing aircraft take-offs and landings each day at Army airfields extending over 150 miles in all directions, in South Alabama, Northwest Florida and Southwest Georgia. (Geographically, the area is not quite a gas tank away from Columbia and other hot spots of Central and South America. ) Cliff Wentworth In 1966 along came Army Captain Clifford Wentworth from Miami, Cliff was a tall handsome All-American type guy, smart as hell with his new law degree. Everyone liked Cliff. Daddy who by now had become a successful real estate developer operating his own construction company, built Cliff and his wife a new home on Dixie Drive in Enterprise. Cliff soon left for his tour of duty in Vietnam, and after a year or so he was back home with his wife Brenda. Upon leaving the Army, daddy encouraged Cliff to stay, and he joined a local law firm with retired Col. Charlie Reese, my father’s personal lawyer and good buddy. The Miami Connection Shortly thereafter, Cliff left to set up an additional law practice in South Florida, later calling for my dad to send me down to Miami, saying he would put me to work and take care of me. When I arrived Cliff looked at me and said: here’s the deal. I know you are a good photographer and I need one because I do lots of divorce cases and insurance claims. Every now and then I want you to go out a secretly photograph guys screwing around on their wives, because I represent the wives in court. A few weeks later, I’m making friends with Cubans who used to be somebody in Havana until Fidel came along. One of the guys who was a big-time lawyer in Havana tried to get me to join the Cuban Revolutionary Army, playing weekend soldier over in the Glades, compliments of our CIA. The Colombians Show One Tuesday night I arrived, with my cousin Neal, at an apartment. Neal knocks at the door and says "Hay Manny, It’s me Man, Neal". The door opens and there sits this ugly little Colombian guy with a sawed off shotgun pointed right in my face. I’m about to freak out, Neal tells him it’s okay, I’m his cousin Johnny from Enterprise. Inside the 2-bedroom apartment, the living room is empty except for a rocking chair, stereo, fish tank, small couch and a table with a cash box on it and the shotgun. Neal says, "John don’t worry about me, man, I'm doing fine at work, making lots of money, and he then takes me to bedroom one, cracks the door open and there from the floor to the ceiling were bricks of Colombian Gold. There wasn’t a foot or more of space left in the whole damn bedroom. Crap, the other one was filled the same from the floor to the ceiling. I couldn’t even take a piss in the bathroom because it was filled up too. Shocked and being a candy ass at the time, I couldn’t understand how any one could bring this much dope down the sidewalk without getting caught. Neal says, "Cops man, the cops." (Later on, I learned from Timmy, Neal’s younger brother, that Colombians just kill you on sight if they don’t like your looks. "It was an instant love or hate relationship that usually ended at first sight," says Timmy. In the early 80’s when Timmy was 15 years old, he was recruited from Enterprise as a cocaine runner.) According to Timmy, they would meet their Colombian buddies for weekend fishing trips starting off at the Flamingo Bar, mid-way down Alligator Alley in the Everglades. There they would take airboats out to staging areas and at the predetermined hour, money and cocaine fell from the sky in army duffel bags. This 15 year old kid was given a Smith and Wesson 45, a briefcase full on money, a new Cadillac filled to the brim with cocaine in the trunk and a map showing the route he must drive to Atlanta. Timmy worked that circuit for quite a few years--until he started sampling the merchandise. Later on Timmy was recruited locally, to load automatic weapons apparently stolen from Fort Rucker, onto airplanes, and to unload cocaine over at the Opp-Andalusia area some 45 miles to the west of Enterprise. Timmy refused to discuss that in detail, because he says the people involved owned the DEA and were more ruthless than the Colombians. My guess is that they were Defense Intelligence Agency guys. Miami Vice Gets Stung Back to 1974 in Miami I began to get occasional calls from Cliff. I’d then go out and shoot the pictures of those divorce case guys actually screwing around on their wives. Little did I know back then, that those guys were really Miami Vice cops working narcotics. Apparently, it must have worked because Cliff had it all figured out, after I gave him the photos and negatives these guys were invited to his office for a preview. After several months, I decided I was to young for prison, and left. Wise Men Say, "Sampling the Product Will Do Your Ass In!" Over the next few years I didn’t hear a word from daddy and frankly I was relieved to be left alone. I minded my own business and kept it that way until Cliff telephoned from Miami one day and suggested that he would like to meet the new wife and get together for old times sake. We decided to get together over that next weekend in Vero Beach at the Howard Johnson’s Oceanside. That weekend, Cheryl and I arrived shortly before they did. It was a different Cliff who wheeled in on a Harley Davidson motorcycle with Brenda attached, I didn’t know that Cliff was a bike rider, his favorite used to be a Mercedes. On the bike behind him was his brother Eddie with wife in tow. Eddie was the publisher for a Scripps Howard newspaper in Hollywood, Florida, the Sun Tattler. It was snort, snort and snort all weekend long. The Law Got Lucky It never really gripped me until October 1981, when a federal grand jury in Miami indicted Cliff and several others in operation "Sunburn", for importing a billion dollars worth of Colombian pot. Back home in Enterprise everyone was in shock and my dad ranted on about the indictment being pure horse shit. Cliff, being the lawyer and mastermind of the group, got word of the indictments from his federal buddies and he immediately fled the country, heading south to Columbia. There, from what I’ve been able to piece together from various DEA and intelligence sources, his business associates Pablo Escobar and Carlos Lehder put him up in a safe house. At that time there was no Cartel in Columbia, but there sure as hell was one in Enterprise. According to former DEA agents Bobby Spencer and John Kreppine, Cliff and the boys had set up a far-reaching network over the Southeast U.S. At one point, they even had a commercial airline flying into Columbia. Not only did they use army airstrips, one was set up at Cliff’s father-in-law’s farm at Cottondale, Florida, 40 miles south of Enterprise, with the Houston County Sheriff’s department flying cover in helicopters alerting them to snoopy DEA agents. They were so successful at smuggling dope, I believe that after the indictments, Cliff turned the whole operation over to Carlos Lehder, who was also a pilot. They weren’t going to let this shit end, the money was too easy, everything was in place,and I’m convinced that there was, also, a hidden force at play. Escobar, Lehder and Seal, Inc. Carlos Ledher was a good pilot, fresh from U.S. prison on car theft charges at Miami and Chicago, Lehder was pretty much an independent. During those years in the late 70’s and until 1981 cocaine smuggling was reserved for false bottom suitcases and condom swallowers. Minute amounts of the white powder would flow into the country and the price was sky high. Only the rich and famous could afford it. In the U.S. things had been put in place to change that, at their 1980 convention, the American Medical Association endorsed cocaine as the drug of choice to kick the cannabis habit. The good doctors of America decided that cocaine was not addictive, was less harmful than that evil cannabis weed, they thought that everyone trying to kick the habit should switch. In Columbia, Pablo Escobar, another criminal independent was also looking for ways to expand and with Cliff’s network already in place all they needed to do was get some new airplanes and fresh pilots. Now comes U.S. Intelligence operative Barry Seal, first cousin of the bird, who, along with Carlos Lehder, flies up to Enterprise shopping for new airplanes and pilots. At Ozark, Alabama less than 20 miles from Enterpise, CIA asset Bill Williams of Southern Aero, supplies the boys with all the all aircraft they need. Next the pilots are recruited from retired army aviators living locally at Enterprise, Ozark and Dothan. And so it was, cocaine began to fly into the area by the ton, "The Enterprise" began. Make' em an Offer They Can't Refuse. In September 1980, at the Ramada Inn of Dothan, I’m introduced to CIA Director and Vice Presidential candidate George Bush. Ramada Inn owner, Bob Miller, formerly from Houston makes the introduction. He then turns around, grabs me by the arm and says, "This is the man who is really going to be President, not that stupid son of a bitch Ronnie Ray Gun, you watch what I say, he’s going to make everyone rich." Thereafter, Vice-President Bush hob-knobbed and rubbed elbows in the Dothan-Enterprise area. After the November election, he even got Ronnie to show up there for a Presidential visit and banquet to reward the locals for their Contra support. Good Ole Ollie North, personally autographed his picture for my dad long before that "kiss my ass speech", to Congress. Both Barry Seal and Ollie loved to hang out there, they were brazen as hell about it, after all they were above the law. Two things I’ve always noted since that introduction to Bush: one, that cocaine lurks in the shadows of his associates. Several days after the introduction, someone goofed and two Colombian nationals were arrested by the DEA at Bob’s Ramada Inn with a couple of kilos of coke. But they just posted large bonds and were promptly taken to the airport for a flight back to Columbia. They apparently never responded to the letters requesting them to come back to the U.S., and be prosecuted for the big bad felony of importing cocaine? Everybody Lives Happily Ever After What about Cliff? Three years later, I ran into him, after the United States forced Columbia to make him leave. He was arrested shortly after stepping off a flight to meet Brenda and the kids on some Caribbean Island. On his sentencing for importing a billion dollars worth of dope, he said, I told that federal judge that I was a disgrace to my legal profession and my country and very much wanted to make amends to that and that I was ready to face it." That judge said "Mr. Wentworth, for your high crimes against the United States of America, I hereby sentence you to 6 years in a federal correctional institution, with 5 years and 6 months suspended for restitution in the amount of twenty five thousand dollars". Cliff dug deep into his pocket, pulled out a quarter and with that All-American grin, he flipped it to me, and he was off to serve his time on the golf courses at Elgin Air Force base. I never saw him again, he just vanished from the face of this earth, Brenda, the kids, Eddie and the whole family, gone! No shit – crime must really pay! In 1987, Lucy Morgan an investigative reporter for the St. Petersburg Times, who spent nights with Brenda and the kids when Cliff was on the lam, told me he was in the witness protection program. America's Worst Nightmare has Arrived Cliff and the boys set in motion the most powerful criminal organization the earth has ever known, one that employs over a million people, is worth billions, and has its own army, poised to shoot the shit out of anyone getting in their way. Today with the support and cover of former U.S. Intelligence officers, that same operation "The Enterprise", lives on, headquartered at Enterprise, Alabama, with countless outposts all across America. That network over the past 18 years has taken complete control over our so-called democracy. In the next installment you’ll learn: --How this gang (the boys) bankrupted the nations savings and loans and used money from Mena, Arkansas and Enterprise to do it. --Where they laundry their dirty money and how they waged war against the entire federal judicial system in 1989-90, murdering federal judges then stacking the courts with their own people using mail bombs from "The Enterprise". --How they bought whole state legislatures, governors, senators and even a sitting president. You’ll hear the real CIA names like "Tepper Aviation", and names of current and past players. We’ll even show you the corporate records. You’ll read the story of Beth Lyman a divorced wife of one of their pilots who testified to a federal grand jury last year. Then you’ll read about the 5.5 ft rattlesnake deposited in her mailbox. All these stories, courtesy those of us who talked, and today are trapped in this hell we call "The Enterprise". John Burt Caylor. January 17, 1999 ----- Aloha, He'Ping, Om, Shalom, Salaam. Em Hotep, Peace Be, Omnia Bona Bonis, All My Relations. Adieu, Adios, Aloha. Amen. Roads End Kris DECLARATION & DISCLAIMER ========== CTRL is a discussion and informational exchange list. Proselyzting propagandic screeds are not allowed. Substance—not soapboxing! These are sordid matters and 'conspiracy theory', with its many half-truths, misdirections and outright frauds is used politically by different groups with major and minor effects spread throughout the spectrum of time and thought. 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