Poor Banished Children of Eve


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A Historically Documented Work of Fiction










          River Cottage Studio

          415 N/W 9th Street

          Richmond, Indiana 47374



River Cottage Studio

Copyright of record

Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

aka Thomas Welby Cox

Poor Banished Children of Eve

Authors Note:


This is a work of fiction, based upon a historical event, except for certain historical figures which the readers may well identify; names, places, dates and incidents pivotal to the writing of this book have been developed solely in the mind of a quirky author, Welby Thomas Cox, Jr. and he takes full legal responsibility for the content of the book. It would be purely a matter of coincidence if someone might be recognized as a character in Poor Banished Children of Eve.






          To My Beloved Mother and Son


Mary Catherine Simpson Cox

April 15, 1922-November 7, 1988


Though you passed on November 7, 1988 and it is now thirty years, I still hold you close to my heart as Mother and dearest friend and, it is your love, which precludes me from suffering the world’s greatest tragedy for a human…not to have been loved at all!


Thomas Welby Cox II

May 12, 1970-February 11, 2007


Served honorably in the Gulf War as a USMC, was wounded and came home to join the Louisville Metro Police and gave his life in the line of duty. A wonderful, kind, giving man who knew a rainbow is only a reflexsion and not a promise! The pot-of-gold is in family and work.



Books by Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.:

A Place Out of the Rain

A Sordid Prosecution

And In Time

And When I Die

Apologies for Trespassing

A Confraternity for Change

But for a Penis…She Would Be King

Fang Song…Never So Few

Genesis…A Farewell to Reason

I’ll Love You Tomorrow

Mea Coffee, Mea Coffee, Mea Maxima Coffee

Poor Banished Children of Eve

Portrait of Mass Murder

The Bank Deal

The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past

The Ladies in Waiting

The Little Bighorn, a sequel to: Portrait of Mass Murder

The Other Side of Lincoln

The Man Late for Thursday

The Miracle of the Images

The Mockingbird Repeats No Wrong

The Women

The Wild Riders

They Called Him Friday

View From a River Cottage


Screenplays by Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

A Confraternity for Change

A Matter of Interest

Do Thou

Hunter’s Mist

Pro Se

The Bank Deal

The Miracle of the Images

There Are No Criminals Here…Only Prisoners of the Heart












About the Author


Table of Contents


Chapter I                     Hunting Birds in British Columbia

                                                       Chapter II                        What is a Command                                                                

Chapter III                   The General Officers Club                                                       

            Chapter IV                   Something Fishy                                                         

Chapter V                    Justice Is Blind and Corrupt                                                                Chapter VI                        He Had Shared Women Before                                    

Chapter VII                  The Colonel Goes To Jail                                             

Chapter VIII                 Whale Pass                                                                 

Chapter IX                   Austria…were even food taste great                             

Chapter X                    She Liked Best to Be Mistreated                                 

Chapter XI                   Just another Pescecani                                                 

Chapter XII                  The Village Gets A New Organ                                     

Chapter XIII                 There is no Chapter Here                                           

Chapter XIV                 The Perfect Circle                                                       

Chapter XV                  The Dinner Hour Comes Late In Venice                      

Chapter XVI                 How Many Degrees in Murder                                     

Chapter XVII                Old Habits Don’t Change                                             

Chapter XVIII              The Depth of Sadness                                                  

Chapter XIX                 Glitter Is What You Make It                                        

Chapter XX                  There Are No Quackadoodles in Kingscome Bay         

Chapter XXI                 What is Original Sin                                                    

Chapter XXII                The Time Draws Nigh, Nearly                                     

Chapter XXIII               The House Call                                                                       

Chapter XXIV               Just Say Good-Bye                                                      

Chapter XXIV               The Kings Must Die                                                    



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This book, Poor Banished Children of Eve and five others would not have been written were it not for this fact; in 2007 the United States Government illegally prosecuted me, sending me to prison at Leavenworth where I served a seventy-five-month sentence. I was placed on “diesel therapy” as punishment because I was forced to file a Habeas Corpus against the prison warden  because I was dying, at the hands of the prison…  A Cambodian nurse prescribed medication, to which I had an allergy. She did so because she said I had killed her family. I was never in Vietnam. This medication poisoned me, causing me to lose 55 pounds in six weeks. I was bleeding from my kidneys, had sores in my mouth and throat, could not eat or drink and was vomiting pure poison.


A Jail House Lawyer and dear friend advised me to file the habeas action because he knew I was in a serious condition.  With his help, I developed the lawsuit, filed in Richmond, Kentucky District Court. Because of this suit, I was sent to the University of Kentucky Hospital at Hazard, Kentucky were a wonderful Indian doctor saved my life by operating on my kidneys.


However, within two weeks of the surgery, a man-hating warden placed me on “diesel therapy” shuttled me first to Atlanta in a bus with no windows, chained hand and feet to the floor. We did not have water, food or toilet usage during the ten hour trip to the most draconian prison in the United States where rust leaks from the pipes, the windows are broken out. The TV in an open atrium on several floors blares 24/7 with BET or the non-redeemable Jerry Springer. Nevertheless, it was there, I met an important connection to write the book, The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past.  Even though it was destroyed three times by the BOP, because each time they moved me, everything I had written was destroyed. They did so because they said it had nothing to do with my case. Wrong…it was about the constitution and Freedom of Speech. The inmate in question had been buried in various prisons for over forty years, never convicted, but held as a political prisoner because he had worked for the CIA and had the keys to all the hidden facts about the assassination of Kennedy. And, this is called the land of the free!


Next, I flew on the dreaded Conair, after standing on the tarmac in the blazing sun for two hours while the United States Marshall's strutted about in riot gear admiring each other’s big gun while guarding these monster criminals, chained to each other, standing in the blazing sun with no water. From Atlanta, they flew us to an upstate New York military base to drop off two women while we sat on the tarmac for three hours in a plane with the power shut down and no air except the front door was open. Again, the United States Marshall's pranced about, googling each other,  with bottles of water and fruit for themselves while watching us sweat and piss on the floor.


From New York, we flew to Illinois and took a bus to Marion Federal Prison, another archaic prison with a notorious past, but I was able to start the Kennedy novel from information gained while in Atlanta. In addition, I won an appeal of my sentence after three years and was remanded to Kentucky for a new hearing. The appeals court said part of my sentence was illegal. Once again, Judge Heyburn corrupted the law.


At the new trial Judge John J. Heyburn II (deceased and burning in hell) denied a reduction in my sentence granted by the Court of Appeals which would have set me free, instead the ‘fair and honest’ federal judge said:


“I know you think this ruling is an order to set you free, but it gives this court wide latitude on remand. You will complete the original sentence and will be paid fifty-three cents per day for the time served.


I responded acting pro se, “Your honor, I object to your being here in contravention of the law which says a judge who ordered the original sentence may not hear the remand.”


Heyburn responded, “I am the chief judge of the Western District of Kentucky, I make the law here.”


“Sir, it is clear that you and this system are corrupt, but there is a place you are going where you will be judged for this insane act.”


From there I went to Leavenworth, Kansas Federal Prison, which was rotting at the seams, hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. Finally, I went to Pekin Federal Prison where I served out my term leaving on July 2, 2012 for a half/way house in Indianapolis. While at Pekin, I completed the Kennedy novel as well as drafts of this novel as well as, The Miracle of the Images and The Women.


I must say with the exception of one incident, which got me an extra thirty days in prison, Pekin Federal Prison was a very decent place. It had previously been an all women’s facility, looked like any college campus, was clean and well run by a strict disciplinarian. Because I was the oldest man on campus, my counselor put me on scholarship, which permitted me to complete The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past, complete the research for this book, which led me to British Columbia for hunting and fishing background, and this little book grew from there.


So, to the rogue prosecutor, James Lesousky in Louisville and the Chief Judge of the Western District of Kentucky, John Heyburn II, the warden at Manchester, the United States Marshalls, the counselor at Leavenworth who fucked all the female staff, impregnating at least one, twice…this book is for you. Not about you, mind you, but if it had not been for the collective and careless disregard for your fellow human being, the hatred I feel for you would not have driven me to write the four books I completed in prison. It was the research; the writing and the typing on a manual typewriter, which drove me and kept me from going mad. Thank you for NOTHING you dirty bastards. Justice is very corrupt, it is no wonder they convict at 97%. When a prosecutor feigns forgetting an elementary rule of law, the delivery of exculpatory evidence showing a bank deposit of $25,000,000 and the judge does not grant a call for a Mistrial or grant an evidentiary hearing to be presented to the jury…this is the only way you convict a businessperson for fraud. Hide the facts; stack the jury with eleven women who believed arbitrage was a sexual perversion and an old black man who slept through the trial. This was the jury of my peers, accepted by my concerned defense team at voir dire. Why, you might ask did I not object, it was because I was not present in a psychological sense…my son, a police officer had died only months before and my mind was preoccupied with a depression so compelling I cared not what would happen to me.


Mr. Lesousky was, and no doubt still is a lying bastard with a little man complex; a corrupt prosecutor who would stop at nothing to get another notch on his belt. Heyburn was simply lazy, worshiping at his own altar. An empty suit who had outlived his usefulness and was the classic example of what is wrong with a system which appoints federal judges to lifetime positions at inflated salaries, pensions and participation in a corporation (Unicor) which utilizes inmates as slaves for the production of government contracts producing profits as dividends to federal stockholders.


 Finally to my defense counsel team who took my money and threw me to the wolves; Bart Adams, Steve Romines and Brian Butler, the who’s on first crew… may you rot in hell. Adams who lied about the meeting with the feds, told me they had a few questions about the reasons why I had gone missing for four years when there were no questions from the four feds, just and orange jump suit. Steve Romines is an empty suit prancing around admiring his news clippings over accidental triumphs, Butler was on his first case, the only member who actually tried to do the job but who made many judgmental errors… just a bunch of thieves, as guilty as I was illegally charged. 


These men practicing a job which feeds on the poor in the perfection of a profession which permits the surgical removal of the heart by 9 to 5 interns on the down side of society. Stripping them of a life of credibility; family and the useful production of meaningful income to keep children from poverty, hunger and subjecting them to abuse in foster care and in educational systems unprepared to deal with the anger of those who suffer as prisoners of the heart while their parents die slowly from guilt and despair. The children of the 225,000 federal inmates, primarily poor blacks and Hispanics, serving time on a deal made in hell by judge, prosecutor and public defenders. 


These inmates do the time and leave to discover, because they are felons, that the federal government precludes them from gaining decent housing in federally subsidized projects like the Lugar Towers in Indianapolis. Dick Lugar should be proud that his name is associated with such blatant bias. Additionally the felons are ineligible for food stamps and have little or no chance at gainful employment because they have only been taught to steal or peddle misery of one sort or the other, on each other. Meanwhile the cities where these inmates are sent after prison wonder why there are so many crimes committed in the inner city. Here sits a bunch of hypocrite bureaucrats; lawmakers, administrators, intake counselors and wizards all…fat from the public tit, judging men and women who have been unjustly treated by society, primarily the corrupt justice system which gets its budget approved with incremental increases based on the number of…you guessed it...convictions!


This, then my dear readers is a Portfolio of Promise for the poor and disenfranchised who seldom get a bone thrown their way because Barabbas Obama, Eric Holder and Mitch McConnell’s of the world recycle the bones and feed them to the hogs. They are paid to create a meaningless charade of ineffective programs meant to impress the public… spoon fed this bullshit by fake news occupied with ratings.  Occasionally the congress gets off their lazy asses and passes meaningful legislation to help the inmate assimilate in the form of what was lamely called, a Second Chance Act in 2007 which was funded with a sixty-four-million-dollar budget, all wasted by the BOP for doing absolutely nothing but paying for over sized egos and overtime for federal employees.


Obama has proven these problems will not be solved with ill-advised distribution of loans and tax generated income from citizens who hide from the disease-infected societies and the real issues, which plague our country, while the rich get richer and the poor and innocent go to prison.


Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.













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