My sons were 19 and 17 when I was convicted. It was very turbulent and
traumatic for them. They each handled it in their own way. Both of my
sons have good jobs, and have families of their own in a town not close
to Jefferson or Pittsburg. They made their own way, and prayers from
many friends and family members were answered. God is so good. I love
them so much.

In my book, "Lou's Place", the lives we shared when I was free is
shown. My job, the reason I purchased the private club, and the events
leading up to the time Tim Rice killed Eddie Wardlow and Cedric Baker.
What transpired following that tragedy through my coming to prison and
appeals, denials, ending with Walter Reaves, Jr., getting me time-barred
from Federal Court. So many people ask me, "What happened", that I
decided to write it all down and expain in detail the events. At first,
I began writing as a memoir for my family and grandchildren, so that in
future generations there would be an account of what actually
occurred. I also thought that the men who lost their lives families
would want to know what happened. News media and attorneys seeking
elections, being paid off, and other reasons distorts the law and
justice. My attorney told me not to testify though I wanted desperately
to. By not testifying, I was not only convicted of a crime I didn't
commit, but the truth of what occurred was never told. The book reveals
the truth.

I am currently seeking a publisher for my book, "Lou's Place", and have it available in CD format.

My portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book is to be divided
equally between my mother. who is a widow, to help her get a new air
conditioning unit, and pay her bills, and Barry Scheck, at his innocence
project to help in the exoneration of other innocent people.

Proceeds from the sale of the book, I would like divided equally between my mom,

to help pay her bills and the Innocence Project that helps me be freed.

Excerpts from "Lou's Place"

If anyone had told me 16 years ago that men would be killed in a
business that I owned and I would narrowly escape death myself, that I
would be shot at, beaten, terrorized, and continually threatened by drug
dealers, that I would be so hurt, humiliated, and had lost everything
that meant anything to me, to the point that all I wanted to do was die
so that the ordeal would end, I wouldn't have believed them. I mean,
someone would help me, wouldn't they?

If anyone had told me that being a police officer was going to cause me
to lose all of life as I had known it, I wouldn't have believed them. I
mean, I'm honest, dependable, and worked hard to serve and protect the
community I live and work in as well as other communities too, to the
best of my ability.

If anyone had told me that the Texas Rangers do not thoroughly
investigate crimes and the people who commit them, but are conceited,
arrogant, self-serving hypocrites, I wouldn't have believed them. I
mean, I adored the Texas Rangers and believed in the ideals that I was
under the impression that they stood for.

If anyone had told me that a prosecuting attorney could be so eager to
have pats on the back for all the convictions that he could get that he
would lie to a judge, a jury and allow an innocent person to go to
prison for life, I wouldn't have believed them. I mean, aren't
prosecuting attorneys elected or appointed to uphold justice, to right
wrongs, be hones, investigate crimes and punish the person that
committed them, to serve and protect-just like I was as a police
officer?

If anyone would have told me that a defense attorney will take
everything a person has, lie to his client, take money on the side from
an insurance company to see that his client is convicted, and not even
enter evidence fav0rable to his client, nor call character witnesses,
nor defend his client in any way, I wouldn't have believed them. I
mean, aren't attorneys sworn to uphold the law, defend their clients to
the best of their ability and refuse bribes?

THIS IS THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH......SO HELP ME GOD.

My name is Louanne Larson, I was the first woman police officer ever in
the southern town of Pittsburg, Texas. I was the only woman in the
county as a constable deputy, too. Being a certified hostage
negotiator, honorary customs agent, and certified in liftin gand reading
fingerprints as well, didn't hurt anything either.

Chief Weldon T. Reynolds was my boss and he had me training Harry T.
Washington, a new officer fresh out of the academy. Harry is well over 6
feet tall, lean in build, brown eyes the color of a Hershey bar. There
were a lot of salt and pepper jokes told when he became my work
partner. We took it all in stride.

Seeing a lot of cars in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen at 1am in the
morning is cause to check it out. The Dairy Queen closes at 10pm. The
owner was tired of his parking lot having trash on it int he morning and
asked us to see what we could do to stop it. Pulling into the lot in
the big Ford squad car the city provides with the light bar on top
caused the teenagers to holler... "It's Ladyblue!" and start getting
into their cars and pickups. I was quick and was out of the car in a
flash yelling, "Stop right now!" at the top of my lungs, which can sound
kind of funny coming from a girl with a southern drawl and a Smith and
Wesson .357 on her hip. They all froze. Harry, my partner in training,
looks at me and says, "Ladyblue?..."

Teenagers on a Saturday night and alcohol seem to go hand in hand.
Unfortunately, also comes county drag races, auto accidents that cut
short their young lives or maim them for life.

My job was to serve and protect and I took it seriously. I didn't just
make them leave the lot and go somewhere else. I talked with them to
see if any had been drinking, and if so, I'd take them to the police
department and call their parents to come get them. I believed everyone
deserved one chance. The next time they got a hefty fine, and a period
of waiting in the drunk tank at the jail. If I found alcohol in the
cars or trucks I would ask them to pour it out. Again, one chance, the
next time it'd be a Minor in Possession of Alcohol. I kept a notepad
and would check to see if they'd been told before. "Ladyblue, please
don't make us pour it out, the beer stores are all closed," the young
man complained. "Ok, hey, I don't mind confiscating it, taking you to
the P.D., writing you a citation and calling your parents. Nope, don't
mind at all." They'd pour it out.

Then I took Harry down a dark street (the lights had been shot out by
the residents was my guess), in a bad part of town. After pulling to
the curb I said, "Take the binoculars out and keep an eye on the white
house with the porch." Sure enough, here came one of the teenagers that
had just poured his beer out. "What's up?" Harry asked. "Bootlegger's
house,", I grinned. I let the guy get on the porch ready to knock and I
hit the overhead lights on the patrol car. He ran off the porch like
he'd been hit by lightening and was gone. "Sometimes I just love this
job..."

"So how'd you come to be called "Ladyblue?" Harry asked. "I really
don't know, unless the teenagers associate me with the woman cop on
T.V. Maybe because my uniform is blue, it just started one day and
nearly all the teenagers call me that now. They may seem like they
don't like me, but a lot of times they come by the P.D. and want to talk
about problems they are having and asking for advice. The future of
the country depends on these teenagers." I must be getting old, I
realized. I had started sounding like my dad.

"Ok, Harry, you take the wheel awhile since you gotta learn these streets."

"Camp County...101" the dispatcher said on the radio.

"101 go ahead."

"101 a disturbance on Victory Street."

"Received, in route," I responded.

I directed Harry to the location and we pulled up to the curb and got
out. There was a huge, immensely muscled man standing on a porch
yelling at a woman. Before I could say, "Sir, please come into the yard
off the porch..." Harry was bounding up the stairs. I'm thinking, is
he crazy or what? Doesn't he see how big this guy is? I bravely
followed him up the stairs onto the porch. (Now was I even dumber or
what?) Harry is trying to talk some sense into the man when suddenly
the huge man body slams Harry into me, slamming me into the wall behind
them. My breath whooshed out of my lungs like I'd been hit by a freight
truck. It seemed like Harry wasn't moving and I thought my ribs were
gonna break, so...I reached my chemical mace can holder, withdrew the
can, reached around Harry and sprayed. Instantly, and I mean instantly,
both the man and Harry were off the porch rolling on the ground. Guess
they lost their breath too. Harry was the first to recover and managed
to get the man into the patrol car. We found out at the jail that the
huge man was a well-known football player who was in town visiting, and
he had drunk just enough Colt .45 to feel mean.

Anytime an officer is called to a scene, it seems like spectators come
out in droves, this was no exception. When the officers at the P.D.
heard about it they kidded Harry mercilessly for weeks. He wsa glad
when the Chief deemed he was ready to drive the other patrol car so two
units could be out patrolling at night.

The air is hot and still. Even at 6:30 in the morning. Whoever said
Texas was a blast must have meant blast of heat! Sir Major Winchester is
my registered quarter horse; I call him "Major" for short. He's 16
hands high and weighs 1300 lbs. and is 4 years old. I loaded him in the
horse trailer and drove to town to the Pilgrim's Pride truck shop and
drove the trailer up on the scales, and then I unloaded Major and
checked the weight of the trailer without my horse. He stands waiting
for me at the gate. There's a tack room building just to the left, as I
walk toward him he knickers. Gosh I love that horse. He was patiently
listened as I poured out my heart to him.

At the P.D. is Doyle McClung. He works second shift 3 PM to 11 PM. I
work 6 PM to 2 AM; Doyle likes to hang out in the Sheriff's office to
bullcrap with the deputies and dispatcher. I feel I need to be on
patrol. We get a call, "101-103, there's a disturbance at Hardees," and
off we go. We each have a patrol car so we arrive at Hardees as the
man causing the disturbance sees us and takes off running. He runs and
runs, we're almost to him, he looks back at Doyle and runs slap-dab into
a big tree. I was so winded from running I stopped, thinking he would
give up, but no... he jumps up and the chase is on again. There's a
black top street on the other side of the woods, so I went back to the
patrol car and drove over there. He ran into an apartment as I drove
up. Doyle is right behind him. I followed Doyle into the apartment.
Doyle says, "You're under arrest," and steps toward the guy. The man is
about 25 years old, a slim, wiry type with shaggy, dirty blonde hair.
He says, "Yeah, well I'm not going anywhere!" Doyle nods at me and I
put my hand on the trusty mace can and before I can get it out, the guy
throws himself through a plate glass window and takes off again. Doyle
catches him by the shirt and wrestles him to the ground and cuffs him.

At the jail the dispatcher said he had a big knot on the side of his
head from the tree. The charges include public intoxication, causing a
disturbance, and evading arrest and kept him in jail until he could come
down off of whatever drugs he was on. Later, when I was typing the
offense report and got to the point where he ran into the tree and went
through the window, I couldn't help but bust out laughing. I look at
Doyle, his face still red, his blood pressure probably sky high from the
chase and he says, "What?" in all seriousness. "I just have one
question...why didn't he just run out the apartment door instead of
busting out the window?" I asked. Doyle laughs and says, "He must have
been watching too many movies."

I was in the P.D. when Doyle and I got a call that there was an erratic
driver running over the traffic cones on the detour portion of the
highway that was under repair. We stopped the car and the man driving
was definitely drunk. He could barely stand up and the longer he tried
to talk to us the madder he got. I noticed that he was digging into his
gums in his mouth with his fingernails, but stupid me, I didn't have a
clue until he started spitting blood at us. He rushed at Doyle and they
were soon rolling on the ground. The man was in his late 20's or early
30's, and he was scratching and fighting Doyle. Doyle is about 6' tall
in his 50's, with graying hair and seems to be managing okay without
me. He finally gets him up, cuffed and in the back seat of my patrol
car. Doyle is winded. On the way to the jail, the man is behind me on
the ohter side of a metal grill. He kept spitting blood on me. It
wasn't until he said, "I have AIDS and I'm taking everyone with me I
can," that I understood.

The Department of Health in Tyler came and got him to isolate him. He
did have full-blown AIDS and had been having sex with as many people as
he could intending to infect them. Doyle and I had to be tested every
few months because of him scratching Doyle and spitting blood on us. We
were negative each time we were tested. Attempted murder charges were
filed on him by the state. I don't know whatever happened to him.

By September of 1990, I had worked myself nearly to death, and I was
burned out. I was tired, unhappy at home, and depressed. I should have
taken a vacation, but instead I quit the P.D. and began just breaking
and selling horses at home. I painted canvases, t-shirts, sweatshirts,
and made cool-looking western shirts for my sons. I made Christmas
gifts months ahead of time. Going to the library and checking out
romance novels didn't help any, it only depressed me more.