A Week in the Picaresque Life of Tone Dogg

by AVA News Service, September 13, 2017

This is a continuation of a letter I wrote a couple of weeks ago.

After a few short miles we got to my truck, Sally. Sally the suburban drinks the 5 gallons of gas that my pops brought with him. He wanted me to go home and lick my wounds but as I told you I'm stubborn. He got in my ’burb and left his truck where mine was. I lost a day somewhere. It's Saturday night by the time we made it back to Reggae on the River. I drove right in to storm the bridge to get in. The punk security guys blocked the bridge and surrounded me. They say I'm kicked off the property and can't get my stuff to make a civil lawsuit. I'm trying to talk to my night hog people but since I was talking shit to their fearless leader, some lame with a paint job we will call “Timbo,” they didn't want to lose their jobs with the Mateel. I get it.

After telling the CHP and overnight security how I really felt I turned around and went across the street to the gas station. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. I got the CHP officer’s badge number who made me out to be a fool the day previous. Get this, my birthday, in the same right order is his badge number. I did what any person who is high on mescaline and thinks he is Rainman would do: I bought Powerball tickets. I got tickets and my dad bought me a 24 ounce bottle of Sierra Nevada. He was driving my truck home.

The hell with this. I'm going home, or so I thought. My pops and I are contemplating on getting tacos from the roachcoach next to the gas station when out of nowhere “Timbo” comes running at me. He threw his walkie-talkie at me. Maybe he was mad because his old ludie looks like Skelator from He-man. The walkie-talkie broke on the ground. We started to jump them. Next thing I know I'm surrounded by the same people from two days before. I called my brothers. But no help at the moment. They hit me with mag lights, punched and kicked me on the ground, handcuffed me and beat me senseless. The CHP and Humboldt sheriffs let these lames jump the hell out of me. I talked shit a lot but I also back it up. I was bleeding from my head to my shoulder. I sat up in handcuffs and proceeded to talk shit to Timbo and his punk lames who were baptized in sucka sauce for at least an hour while being recorded. I said some pretty heinous and horrible things.

I was shoved into the back of the cop car after the ambulance took an hour to come from Garberville. The EMT’s name was Tonya and she was smoking hot. Anyway, they say I'm going to jail for assault and battery on some security lame I don't even know. My head was bleeding, my nose was broken. My lip was re-split and I had bruising all over me and I was arrested. Oh, yes.

So since we were two miles past the Mendocino County line I got a ride to the Humboldt Hilton in Eureka which by the way feeds convicts way better than here in Mendocino. I was denied medical attention at the hospital in Eureka. Why? I don't know. Then I was transported to the jail where I saw the mother of my son the first time in a year.

She was whacked out of her mind, so sucked up she look like a Safeway chicken. She saw me and wigged out, so they put her in a cell across the way. I tried to bail out but the lady at Alladin bail bonds refused because I'm a big guy. So I was housed in 529. I saw some brothers I was in San Quentin with and chilled for a few days.

If you don't go to court on your third business day you get released with another court date. So now I was free. I got my phone that was shut off, a half a pack of smokes and $30. I put $10 on the brothers’ books when I left.

I called my pops to come get me and he told me about four hours he’d be there. So I bought more smokes and some shades, a couple of ice-teas, then I went to the boardwalk by the ocean. I saw a local on Humbee on a bench and I asked him if he had some herb. He did, of course. He had a glass blower and busted out his torch and blew me a chilling right there on the street. We walked around and chilled and buzzed and ate some tacos until my pops showed up well past sundown when we talked and laughed and smoked some more joints. Finally we made it to my house. I watched Netflix for about two hours then I passed out on my couch. I left in the morning. I took my recycling in to get some gas money.

Upon leaving I got pulled over because I have a warrant for criminal threats and vandalism. I was at Reggae on the River when those crimes were alleged. They left my truck, rolled up the windows, and took it up on my way to the Mendocino craptank that they call a jail.

I got $51. Sweet. I'll get some zoozoos and and then I'll be fine. I've been coming to jail for 11 years. That's nothing to brag about, but I have become pretty smart in jailhouse lawyering. I called my people as we all do. Nobody can help but they all cared. Yeah, right. I've got thousands of friends but no one visits. People owe you money but not on your books. I see it time and time again. I tried to bail out for ten hours then I found a phone number I had forgotten that I had in the catacombs of my brain. I called my buddy “Stayle Phresh.” I told him I should have called him ten hours earlier. I asked him if he could go to Alladin and bail me out. My Pops would be my cosignner, I just need $140. He said he’d be there in ten minutes, a true homie. Sweet. I’m out. I get my truck, pick up a girl I’ve been seeing and drive home.

I woke up and grabbed some smoke and took her back home. My power steering was out because my line got cut on the flywheel. So I went to O’Reilly’s. I got a hose but I had no money left for fluid. So I headed to Walmart to see my buddy we will call “John.” I aksed him if he wantd to go to Santa Rosa. He said, Yeah. We went on Orchard and I saw my other homie. I pulled over and picked him up at Chipotle. He asked where I was going. I said Walmart. He agreed to come along. I drove through Lucky’s parking lot then hit Orchard and headed to Walmart. I parked and went inside to get power steering fluid for my truck.

But that didn’t work out well. Next thing I knew we were stranded on the side of 101 going south. I put on my shoes. I changed out of flip flops. While gathering my small duffle bag with my essential nitrous with my bubbler and some geenery, a CHP SUV flipped around. Oh great, I’m thinking.

The officer told me to get in my truck and put it in neutral and he’d push me to the turnout about 500 feet up the road. After parking my truck I asked him for gas. He told me they do not carry gas any more. He left me and my new amigos on the side of 101. We started hitchhiking. Five seconds later we got picked up and dropped off at Jack in the Box in Willits. My homie ordered some food for us. I got a strawberry shake and I asked the manager to call an ambulance. We ate. But it’s very hard for me to eat considering my hole through my lip. They came and got me and my friend and I parted ways. Thank you hippie hitchhiker.

Upon my arrival I was swiftly seen by medical staff. They stabbed my lip with a big needle and I promptly passed out. I came to outside with a cigarette and the Willits cops threatening to taze me if I did not leave the premises. I told them I had no idea how I made it outside, much less with a lit cigarette before I woke up. They called for backup while I was stumbling to the road maybe because I kept calling the cop “Karate Kid.”

Then Mendocino’s finest showed up. Great, again. It’s ok though because to anyone who’s done time in Motel Mendo I knew these two former correctional officers, Big Logan and Robertson. They hopped out of their cop cars. I started laughing. Logan said, “What’s up, Dogg? How you been?” I said, Good, I guess. Karate Kid there is trying to taze me. But I just wanted to know where Highway 101 was. He gave me directions. I laughed and bid by adieus.

I went to Brown’s market. I hit some nitrous while I walked. Finally I made it to Brown’s after a short but colorful walk. I sat on the bench out front, tired, hurt and with the worst case of cottonmouth. I looked in my bag for some money. Oh wait. Guess what? My wallet was stolen, I remembered. I asked this gentleman going into the store if he could spare a dollar for an ice tea. A couple minutes later he came out and gave me one. Before I opened it the dill weed behind the counter came outside and said he’s calling the cops for my panhandling.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m very hot-headed. So then after a few choice words and some hand gestures I waited on the curb hitting the nitrous, smoking from my bubbler until the Karate Kid, Big Logan and Robertson showed up. My dad was on his way from Ukiah with gas for my truck. I had called him at the hospital, I guess. The cops showed up. It’s kinda like a party now. The former correctional officers know that I am an f-’d up person. But they were still respectful. So am I until or unless pushed. Then Boom!

My pops showed up. Perfect timing. I got in his truck and drove to my truck to put gas into it and I convinced him to go back to Piercy and try to get my stuff back. My lip was fixed and I was ready to ride on some fools.

But I drove back to Ukiah first. When I got there I was rolling a joint when a cop pulled up. He asked me to step out. I did so. I have a big problem with Ukiah Police and cops in general. Probably because I just got off 30 months of felony probation on August 1st. Anyway the cop told me I was being detained until another officer talked to me. Officer Douchebag, I mean Officer Donahue then talked to me for about two minutes and placed me under arrest for criminal threats and dissuading a witness. I freaked out and called him some choice words because he said he was towing my truck.

I went to jail again. I just had bailed out the night before. I tried to bail again. Nope. They doubled my bail and Aladdin doesn't want to do it. So now I'm in B-Mod locked down being denied mental health medications and medical attention. I had to go to the emergency room after five days of being here. I put in medical slips to see a doctor. I felt as if I had the worst cold or flu ever. My body ached. I was cold and in cold sweats and I was ignored for three days. Finally correctional Officer Williams pulled me out to see the nurse. She took my temperature and it was 103.7! I almost died in this craptank.

She got on the phone. 20 minutes later I was in the emergency room. The two nurses I had were bad asses. One of them hooked me up to an IV and took some blood. My fever was still high. I was sweating like someone who is lactose intolerant eating ice cream. I asked for a soda and something to eat and he hooked me up. I stayed for a good five hours. They told me the problem. I had some wierd blood infection probably from how dirty this jail is and the fact that I have multiple wounds still to this day open and untreated.

Now to contradict what Lieutenant Bednar said in last week's AVA. I have been denied mental-health, medical care and shoes for the past 22 days. My headaches are unbearable and my night terrors are very vivid and real. All the staff here knows about the neglect. And I have people like the mental health doctor and sergeants who I will sue in civil court which I am currently doing. Overcrowding, inadequate mental and medical treatment is a daily occurrence here in the Mendocino County Jail. Think about it: if they spent the dollars they stole from marijuana crops that they raided on a new jail or even if they let someone privatize the jail, B-mod would not be filled with boats and C-Mod would not have four people to a cell that is only supposed to house two people. It is not only inhumane but unconstitutional and is considered by many as cruel and unusual punishment. Our first, eighth, and 14th amendment constitutional rights have been and currently are being violated. The lieutenant or Captain or Sheriff Thomas Allman himself can say what they want to say about this place but they are denying our basic needs for hygiene and sanitation which are not being addressed. Treatment by certain correctional officers is not professional or humane.

I'm just one voice, but I challenge the current population to write their experiences to the AVA. Soon you will have 300 or more stories that contradict what that mental health dude in the fishing vest says or what Lt. Bednar or Captain Pearce or Sheriff Tom Allman say. The medical and mental health treatment is not only inadequate, but it intereferes with the prescribed treatment from our outside doctors. They try to say we don’t get three hots because of budget cuts when really they buy tazers with such a high voltage it kills people. Not only that but I am filing a civil suit tort law against Humboldt County, the CHP and Mendocino Couty jail, also the Ukiah Police Department. Even if they go nowhere, I’m not letting them crap on us and doing nothing about it.

If anyone can help us get lawyers from the ACLU to help this journey it would be much appreciated. Like I said, I need family love sent and they want me to do 21 years for vandalism and criminal threats that I did not do. I’m so mad that they are not helping us, but kicking us while we are down. They treat us like we are guilty. The cops lie on the police report then on the stand they say, “I don’t recall,” or “I don’t know,” just like classification says here when you put in a request slip to be moved or reclassified they say your housing is “appropirate” or “sometime in the future.” Those are not proper answers.

My name is Anthony “Tone Dogg” Gonzales. Thank you for your time.

Give us Justice or let us go free.

ON-LINE RESPONSE: I feel very sorry for your Pops, Tone Dogg. Apparently he’s still cleaning up after your grown-ass-man mistakes. Perhaps the next time you find yourself free of the confines of either county-hotel, you may consider that the problems of your life reside with you, rather than law enforcement, Reggae staffers or just the public, in general. Get a job. Quit your whining!

ED NOTE: I, too, marveled at the martydom of Pops, and agree that Tone Dogg, if he’s still at least occasionally in touch with reality, should grow up and take care of himself. I am also fascinated by the picaresques-ness, I guess you can call it, of Tone Dogg’s life. I’ve never read anything like it. I think of him as Mendocino County's very own Odysseus!

2 Responses to A Week in the Picaresque Life of Tone Dogg

  1. Anonomous Reply

    September 15, 2017 at 1:17 am

    I’m so happy with all people ‘s reply’s on this man’s story he has a job and has lived in mendo half his life he’s a father and good dude

  2. Sonya Blade Reply

    September 28, 2017 at 3:39 pm

    How about an apology to a woman you call ‘sister’. I have always shown you love. The way you spoke to me was horrible. I tried to help you several times. You ignored me. Super sad about the whole situation and now have nightmares. Love you TD but not fuckin cool….. 😐

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