So I assumed they had the wrong address. But the moment I opened the door, twelve officers came barging past me.(1)

 “It was just a normal morning. Almost exactly five years ago. I was making tea in the kitchen. Bruce was still in bed. And we get this knock on the door. I opened it up slowly, and saw the police standing there. At first I wasn’t worried. We had this crazy lady that lived next door, and the police were always checking up on her. So I assumed they had the wrong address. But the moment I opened the door, twelve officers came barging past me. 

Some of them had ‘FBI’ written on their jackets. They went straight back to the bedroom, and walked up to Bruce. I heard them ask: ‘What’s your name?’ And he said, ‘Bruce.’ Then they said, ‘No. What’s your real name?’ And I heard him say something real low. And they responded: 'You've had a long run.' That’s when I tried to get into the room. But the officer kept saying: ‘Get back, get back. You don’t know who this man is.’ Then they started putting him in handcuffs. It didn’t make any sense. I’d been married to Bruce for forty years. He didn’t even have a criminal record. At this point I’m crying, and I screamed: ‘Bruce, what’s going on?’ Did you kill somebody?’ And he tells me: ‘This goes way back, Katy. Back before I met you. Way back to North Carolina.’”

“Back in the day my name was Patrick Sam It was a pretty normal childhood. We grew up poor, but nothing really dramatic happened until I went to a Robert's concert at the age of fourteen. I was excited to be at that concert, so I pushed my way to the front row—right near the stage. The crowd was really moving, because it was dance music. And Robert didn’t like that. He kept telling people to sit down. And after only two songs, he got so angry that he walked off the stage. So I screamed at the top of my lungs: ‘Robert ain’t shit!’ And in North Carolina, back in 1964, that was enough to get me arrested for disorderly conduct. Things went downhill pretty quick after that. My mother was raising eight kids on her own, so she couldn’t control me.

 I got into all sorts of trouble. I lifted purses from unlocked cars. I was stealing government checks out of mailboxes. I got bolder and bolder, until one day I got busted stealing from the band room at school. They shipped me off to a juvenile detention center called Morrison Training School. I hated everything about that place. The food was terrible. The kids were violent. I still have scars from all the times I got beat up. Every night, while I was falling asleep, I could hear the whistle of a freight train in the distance. And I always wanted to know where that train was going. So one night, when the guard turned his back to check the clock, I ran out the back door-- toward the sound of that whistle. And that was the first place I ever escaped from.”

To be continued..