I was riding in a car being driven by Pruitt (a law student) and we pulled up to the front of the House in South Shore, Kentucky (across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, the four room cottage where I lived for about a year when I was in the fifth and sixth grade). Pruitt and I had been engaged in a marijuana transaction; we were expecting some trouble at the House and we thought some police might be there to arrest us. Firm in our commitment not to say anything to the police, we shook hands firmly and said, "No matter what happens, don't tell them anything."

We looked at each other and said, "You can trust us."

As we pulled up, we saw a man standing in the window of the house. I was able to see his identification and realized he was a narcotics officer. Pruitt said, "Look, he doesn't even have enough sense ...."

We pulled on around to the garage and found a fellow whom we were expecting to find standing in the garage. He opened the garage door and stepped out. We stepped out of the car. Apparently he thought we had ripped someone off and he asked about someone having been killed due to the rip-off.

A black fellow walked out of the house. He was wearing a holster with a gun in it. Five or six more people followed him and gathered around me. After I asked them what they wanted me to do, I realized they were going to try to beat me up. One fellow stood behind me while another placed himself in front of me.

The fellow in front of me looked as if he were going to try to hit me, so I put my hand in front of my face. Suddenly he began slugging me on different parts of my body. Two more fellows joined in and began hitting me. I held my arms in front of my face and I didn't strike back. The situation was becoming quite serious. I was also alarmed to see one of them carrying a cigarette.

Musser (a burly Portsmouth acquaintance whom I knew briefly in 1970) then walked out of the House and sat down on the hood of the car. I looked at Musser and asked him what was going on. I was unsure whether he was on my side or their side.

Meanwhile the men continued beating me, although I was still able to protect my face. One suddenly grabbed my foot. I wasn't wearing shoes and I was afraid they would try to burn my foot with the cigarette. That frightened me. I thought I might need to start thrashing back to escape, but I was afraid that would just make them hit me more.

Someone said something about my getting 5 years in prison. I responded, "Well, first you gotta prove I did something. I haven't done anything."

I started to say I was a law student, but I decided that wouldn't help at that point.