For over nine years, the State of Texas has been holding me hostage, torturing me, and
threatening to murder me, because I fatally shot and killed a Houston Police officer when he
attempted to murder me for being (in his and his partner’s words) “a f---ing DEA snitch” (a
voluntary undercover operative for the United States Drug Enforcement Administration
[DEA] since 1973, I’d sought their help because I was in imminent mortal danger from armed
drug dealers; as the City of Houston Police Department [HPD] had rescued me from mortal
danger, hours earlier, at the DEA’s request, I’d no reason to anticipate that these officers
would try to kill me, now, in response to my polite request for emergency assistance).
   I have compelling proof that I’m telling the truth.   ---  Craig Ogan

       
     TEXAS MURDERING CHILDREN AND FAMILIES
                                                    by Craig N. Ogan

For over nine years, the State of Texas has been holding me hostage, torturing me, and threatening to murder me, because I fatally shot a Houston Police officer when he attempted to murder me for being (in his and his partner’s words) “a f---ing DEA snitch” (a voluntary undercover operative for the United States Drug Enforcement Administration [DEA] since 1973, I’d sought their help because I was in imminent mortal danger from armed drug dealers; as the City of Houston Police Department [HPD] had rescued me from mortal danger, hours earlier, at the DEA’s request, I’d no reason to anticipate that these officers would try to kill me, now, in
response to my polite request for emergency assistance). I have compelling proof that I’m telling the truth.*

When and if the State of Texas executes me, however, they (Governor Bush, legislators, Texas Supreme Court justices, judges, jurors, citizens & voters who tolerate and support the death penalty,...) will not only be murdering me (and covering up the officers’ federal-felony attempts to murder this federal drug operative). They (with official approval of the President and Supreme Court of the United States) will, in effect, also be killing the children (and their children, and those children’s children,...) whom I might otherwise beget. I.e., Texas will be
killing and destroying a potential branch of my family’s bloodline, thereby committing, under color of law, what amounts to PREMEDITATED MASS MURDER of dozens (or hundreds, or thousands,...) of Ogans who might otherwise be born, during this era and who knows how many generations to come.
Those future Ogans (who might otherwise enter the world) have not been accused, much less convicted, of any crime, whereas one or more of them might, for all anyone knows, be blessed with the intellect of an Albert Einstein or George Washington Carver, or with other attributes and talents that could vastly benefit humanity and alter the course of history. Who (but God) can say with certainty that one of them would not be a medical researcher who develops a vaccine for some deadly disease(s), saving millions of lives; or an astrophysicist who enables humans to colonize other planets; or a brilliant diplomat who prevents a global nuclear war
and saves the human race? HAVEN’T THEY A RIGHT TO LIFE, REGARDLESS?

Capital punishment is thus also MASS ABORTION, before conception (before human conception, i.e.; we don’t know when God’s conception of a particular human occurs), forcibly carried out by the state, in a vicious vindictive attack on the entire (present and future) family of a condemned person.

As it is applied in a racially (and otherwise) discriminatory manner, capital punishment is also GENOCIDE, disproportionately destroying bloodlines of disadvantaged races, classes, etc.

Some may argue that life imprisonment, without conjugal visits, has the same effect, as this also prevents the prisoner from having any (more) children. I agree, and I submit that this is a powerful moral and legal argument for allowing conjugal visits in prisons. However, where there’s life there’s hope; so, capital punishment differs, in this regard, in that it is absolute and final. Either way, the state is playing God, at an incalculable cost to all humanity.

Craig N. Ogan, 25 December 1998
Texas Death Camp Hostage #000979
Polunsky Unit, Texas Death Camp
3872 FM 350, South
Livingston, Texas 77351
USA

* Reverend Steve Ackerman, referred to my case in 1992 by then-Treasurer of Missouri Mr. Wendell Bailey, has found irrefutable evidence (some of which in the original police report) of my veracity and innocence, and of extensive fabrication, perjury, and cover up by the police and prosecution. Rev. Ackerman can be reached by phone at 1-520-881-2650, or by writing to him at 2444 East 4th Street, Tucson, Arizona 85719 USA. We need your help,
PLEASE, before Texas murders me and my progeny. Thank you.

        STATEMENT OF FACTS RE JAMES BOSWELL
                 SHOOTING OF 9 DECEMBER 1989
                                                 by Craig N. Ogan, Accused

Please bear in mind, as you read this account, that I have offered, since just after the event, to submit to polygraphs, voice-stress tests, interrogation under truth serum or hypnosis, and/or any other reasonable truth-eliciting test, to prove that I was and am telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, about every detail I could possibly recall re the tragedy (and note that I offered at my “trial” to take Sodium Pentothal, e.g., to further enhance my
memory). Specifically, I have made this offer, voluntarily and on my own initiative, to the trial court, to the United States Drug Enforcement Administration (in phone calls I was pre-advised were being tape-recorded), and (in letters written in my hand and signed with my legal signature) to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the United States Naval Investigative Service, and the Central Intelligence Agency. Also, please keep in mind that I had been a federal operative/informant, voluntarily, since 1973; and the Houston Police Department (HPD) had just saved my life, about four hours earlier. Moreover, when this shooting occurred, I was just a few hours from a scheduled meeting with a CIA agent, to accept his offer (approximately three hours earlier) of “immediate employment”, helping rescue U.S. citizens illegally imprisoned
overseas (just as I am now, in the USA).

On 9 December 1989, at approximately 1:00 A.M., on South Main Street in Houston, Texas, I walked up to an HPD squad car on a convenience-store parking lot, tapped lightly on the passenger-side window, and entered “The Twilight Zone”....

-OFFICER [JAMES C. BOSWELL] (rolling his window down partway): “You got a problem?” (Note: Possibly not his exact words; I cannot recall, clearly or with certainty, his first sentence; but he seemed irritable, or even hostile and confrontational, making me anxious to quickly assure him, by word and manner, that I posed no threat, was respectful and had a serious request).

-ME: “Oh, I’m just a little upset with this (expletive) motel over here...” (Then, quickly and apologetically:) “Pardon my French, sir; I’m just a little upset with THEM. Anyway, I wonder if you could help me, sir; your HPD just removed me from a very precarious situation and escorted me to this area, a few hours ago, at the request of the DEA...”

-OFFICER BOSWELL (interrupting, loudly and belligerently): “What the fuck you talking about, ‘the DEA’?”

-ME (tentatively): “Yes, sir, I’m working as a C.I. [confidential informant] for the DEA.”

-OFFICER BOSWELL (leaning back against his partner and sneering sarcastically/contemptuously at me, and demanding loudly and hatefully): “You mean to tell me you’re a fuckin’ DEA snitch?!” (Then, even more loudly and menacingly) “You want me to tell everyone out here you’re a fuckin’ snitch for the DEA?!” (Note: The “everyone out here” whom he referred to included several small groups of rough-looking people loitering nearby, behind me. For a number of reasons, I suspected they might be selling drugs, most likely crack cocaine.)

-ME (startled, confused, and terrified by his hateful angry reaction to learning that I was a DEA informant, and by his threats to blow my cover [which I feared he might have already done], I suddenly felt trapped, as I was afraid to turn around and have my face seen by the drug dealers [?] behind me, but was also very afraid of this [heavily-armed] policeman [whom I’d perceived as an island of security, moments before] who’d suddenly revealed himself to be a threat to my life. So, I leaned forward slightly and asked, politely and softly): “Sir, is that really how you feel about what I do? I thought I was helping the police.” [Note: I was instinctively
trying to defuse and contain his (for me, life-threatening) outbursts.]

-OFFICER BOSWELL (screaming explosively, he appeared to be possibly on the verge of exiting the car): “You’re fuckin’ right that’s how I feel! Now get the fuck outa here!” (Note that his partner, Officer Clay Morgan Gainer, also called me a “fucking snitch”; I believe it was at this point in time.)

-ME (retreating quickly and speaking timidly/apologetically): “All right sir; I was only asking for help.”

-OFFICER BOSWELL: “WHAT did you say, motherfucker?!”

ME: “I said, ‘All right, sir; I was only asking for help.’ ”

-OFFICER BOSWELL (throwing his door open and bursting out of the car in an insane rage, running/lunging furiously right at me, like a football tackle gone berserk, and clawing frantically at his gun/holster): “I don’t give a fuck WHAT you’re asking for!”

-ME (paralyzed/hypnotized by terror, with nowhere to run, duck, or hide, as it sank in [through my shocked disbelief] that this police officer was violently attacking me and was about to shoot me, at point-blank range, I still did not react to defend myself; but in a desperate appeal for calm/reason, I dropped, instinctively, into a defensive stance, bracing myself for the imminent impact [of bullets or his body, or both], and yelled): “Sir!” (My right hand may have moved toward my gun, at this point; I’m not sure, as it all happened so fast. Again, I’ll gladly submit to
memory-enhancement efforts by the FBI, et al.)

He screamed, “You son-of-a-bitch!”; and I saw his gun clear the holster and/or come into view. Reflex took over. I heard an explosion and saw his body slam back against the side of the patrol car and crumple to the ground, lifeless (i.e., he appeared lifeless; I later learned that he had lived a few more hours, although he never regained consciousness). Then I saw the gun in my hand, as the horrible realization crept over me...; I had just shot a policeman in the head. I said something (“Oh, my God!” [?]), in horror and dismay. His partner was kneeling outside of his side of the car, frantically yelling into his radio, “My partner’s been hit!” He was an easy target, as he was right across the front seat from me (apparently, I’d run forward to the side of the car, after firing, because I know I had retreated quite a good distance, prior to Officer Boswell’s exit ó far enough for him to break into a furious run, and for me to overcome my shock and disbelief enough to react in time); and I considered for a moment that he would probably blow me in half with a 12-gauge (shotgun) if I didn’t shoot him first. But he wasn’t
reaching for a gun or pointing a gun at me, at that moment; he was in a panic, and I clearly recall looking into his eyes and seeing and feeling his fear. So, even though I expected him to kill me, I could not bring myself to shoot him, with even a few moments to think about it, and after 16 -17 years of voluntarily working on the side of law enforcement (also, I’d never even hunted or shot an animal before; so, I’m sure I was in a state of shock and confusion). Instead, I turned around and ran, in panic and horror, running being the only apparent option to shooting this officer, too (he’d just sat there agreeing with Officer Boswell that I was “a fucking DEA
snitch”, vs. encouraging him to stop threatening and endangering my life and find out who I was and what kind of help I needed; so, what else could I expect from him but gunfire, now that I’d been forced to shoot his partner?). I’m told that I ran about 200 feet before a .45 slug slammed into my back, about an inch left of my spine, at or just below the waist. Skidding to a halt, I threw my gun down, put my hands up, and yelled, “O.K.!” He ran up behind me, screaming, “Where’s the gun? Where’s the fucking gun?,” to which I responded cooperatively, telling him I had thrown it down in the grass, just in front and to the right of me. He threw me
face-down on the ground, cuffed my hands behind my back, and began beating and kicking me. Half of my back seemed to have been blown away, blood was gushing out of me, and I was sure I was dying (in fact, at one point I had a vision [?] in which I believed I had died, and that I was “going to God”, spinning/flying through a tunnel of kaleidoscopic colors, passing through doorways or gateways, always toward an intense white light which I believed was God. It may have been my subconscious mind recording images from a rushing ambulance, or as I was rushed through hospital corridors. I’ve since read about research on near-death
experiences, however; and many of the accounts I’ve read described something very similar to what I saw and experienced. Who knows?). Also, I was in shock, thoroughly terrified, and absolutely hysterical with grief that I had just shot a human being (a policeman!) in the head (& at gruesomely point-blank range, too). As Officer Gainer was beating and kicking me, I even asked him, “Why don’t you just go ahead and put a bullet in my head and get it over with, and go help your partner?,” to which he responded, “If there weren’t so many witnesses, I would kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!” A paramedic testified at my “trial” that, right after shooting Officer Boswell and being shot, I was saying, “Oh, please don’t let him die! Let it be me!” An HPD officer who saw me right after the shooting provided similar testimony (grudgingly).

Tragic though all of this was and is, I am not guilty of capital murder, as I reacted,
by reflex, in legally (and I pray, morally) justifiable self-defense, at the last possible
moment, after/while attempting to retreat in the face of Officer Boswell’s illegal
unprovoked attempt to murder me because (!!!) I was a DEA informant. It is easy
to understand why HPD, Officer Gainer, and the prosecution preferred to conceal
the truth, commit perjury, and execute an innocent man: HPD officers had shot
40 citizens to death, already, in 1989, including Ida Lee Delaney and Byron
Gillum (both of which shootings had attracted national and even international media
and public attention and condemnation, as had the sheer number of such shootings
[a 122% increase over the 18 fatal shootings by HPD in 1988], many of which
were highly controversial for their dubious justification, if any). Besides, Officers
Boswell and Gainer both committed federal felonies (VIOLENT INTIMIDATION
AND ATTEMPTED MURDER OF A FEDERAL WITNESS) against the United
States and me; thus, if the truth had been exposed, Officer Gainer most likely
would have been facing a long stay in a federal penitentiary; Officer Boswell would
no longer be a viable “HPD hero who died in the line of duty”; and HPD’s
already-scandalous reputation would have been burdened with yet another shocking
case of police brutality. (Note: the DEA had just arrested two HPD officers,
hours before my tragic encounter with Officers Boswell and Gainer, for
selling confidential information from HPD computers to drug dealers; but my
jurors were not told of this, even as they were not told that Officer Boswell
had been beaten severely with his own nightstick, seven months earlier, by a
drug suspect he was trying to arrest; Officer Boswell’s injuries included brain
contusions, 72 stitches in his head, and loosened teeth that required months
of treatment.) So, Officer Gainer, via his fabrication and perjury, has thus far
avoided imprisonment (and fraudulently passed himself off as “the hero cop who
shot his partner’s murderer, arrested him, and helped secure his imprisonment and
sentence of death”), and (as far as I know) has kept his job (and badge, 12 gauge,
and .45), at great risk to public safety, and at the cost of truth, justice, and my life,
freedom, and reputation (more than nine years of hell, already, for my family
and me).

God has not abandoned me, however. When I wrote to Mr. Wendell Bailey,
then-Treasurer of Missouri, about 6-7 years ago, pleading for his help in persuading
the FBI or some other agency (or private investigator, etc.) to investigate this
unlawfully and wrongfully imprisoned and condemned Missourian’s allegations, a
man of God responded.

Rev. Steve J. Ackerman, after being referred to my case by Mr. Bailey, has been
investigating ever since (1992), and has found compelling and abundant
evidence of my veracity and actual innocence, and of extensive fabrication,
perjury, and cover up by Officer Gainer, HPD, and the prosecution. But he is
working on a severely limited budget, and has not received much cooperation, so
far, from my Texas-appointed attorneys. Please contact him (Rev. Steve J.
Ackerman, (phone: 1-520-881-2650; address: 2444 East 4th Street, Tucson,
Arizona 85719 USA), to learn more about what his investigation has revealed; and

PLEASE TRY TO HELP US BEFORE TEXAS MURDERS ME.

                               Thank You !

                             Craig N. Ogan
                          TDCJ ID #000979
                          Polunsky Unit D.R.
                         3872 FM 350, South
                          Livingston, Texas
                               77351    USA
        

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