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It's Not Funny

by Chuck Blake Stiles

91 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0342; ISBN 1-55212-940-3; US$16.00, C$22.00, EUR14.30, £10.00

The life and times of a university activist who writes songs, does drugs, travels on the road, and ends up spending time in prison.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book In Chuck Blake Stiles' memoir It's Not Funny, a university student activist gets divorced and spends six years on the road writing and performing songs. Back home, the police assault his house on drugs-related charges. Sentenced to prison for 4-8 years, Stiles studies the "set-free" ministry. After parole he opens a barbeque bar and plays music nightly. Review What's amazing about this book is that a man with drug and mental problems seems to have total recall. He gives you every detail, the number of times he "tripped", who got him the drugs, who he partied with, who he "jammed" with during rock events. You'd think a blur would have settled over it all, but, no. Stiles remembers. -Erie Daily Times

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About the Author Chuck Blake Stiles has had a life of adventure, grounded in his accomplishments: high school honor roll, Eagle Scout, church acolyte, karate student, manager of his college wrestling team, and a member of the swim team. He was the 1000th member of Phi Sigma Kappa (Kappa Chapter) and was on the ballot for State College Boro Council. He graduated from a five-year program in architectural engineering, and his music career has seen him copyright 108 songs. Chuck Stiles is currently being considered for inclusion in the new edition of Who's Who in America® (November 2002 edition)

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Excerpt

    January 4th came and went while I waited for my appellate paperwork. On the 14th of January a Sheriff's car pulled into my driveway. A deputy came to the door and said that he had a warrant for my arrest. I immediately realized that they were taking me to prison without an appeal. So I yelled "This whole thing is TNT... it could go sky-high. Now back away from my house." They ran out to the road and asked "What do you want us to do?"
    Within an hour the phone rang. The Deputy wanted to know what he should do with the warrant. I said, "Return it to the Judge and tell him that I am supposed to have an appeal. Call the Public Defender and find out what happened to that appeal. If the Judge has any questions have him call me."
    A week passed with no phone call. I figured out that they found my appeal. On the night of January 21st at 10:00 a bullhorn sounded, "Come out with your hands up." I believed that it was too late for the Police and any punk could lure me to the road. So I ignored the bullhorn. The phone rang and an officer said he had a warrant for my arrest. Again I said, "This is a powderkeg and I'm 'wired to the walls'. I want to speak to the Congressman. The officer said he would call the Congressman. Moments later he called me back and said that the Congressman is not in this evening. I said, "Have the Congressman call me in the morning at 8:00 a.m. and send out a cruiser at 8:15 and I will be taken into custody. I am not going to answer this phone again tonight. Goodnight." The bullhorn continued and so did the telephone.
    At approximately 11:00 a helicopter appeared above the house. They began dropping dynamite on and around my house. By midnight officers around the dwelling were shooting bullets. Each bullet "Sledge-hammered" the walls. I continued to lay in one corner with the closest bullet "Sledge-hammering" within two feet of me. I was afraid for my life, especially if I opened the door.
    At 3:00 a.m. the entire house filled up with smoke. The wood-heater had died down and the only electric heater was accidentally unplugged when I crawled under the sub-floor. I was breathing out of the skirting as the entire dwelling was filled up with smoke. At 5:00 a.m. a fire tanker poured 2,500 gallons of water into the house. I was laying in a pool of cold water on a cold January night. However, the bullets and gas discontinued. And now I knew that there were civilians out at the fire-tanker.
    At 5:30 a.m. I yelled "I'm experiencing hypothermia; I want an ambulance." Soon an ambulance came up the hill. There were camera lights and police lights as I ripped through the skirting and began to talk to the road. When I was about fifty feet from the road several officers tackled me and handcuffed me. I was taken to the ambulance. News crews followed the ambulance and caught me being taken into the hospital. I had an IV in my arm and they had cut off my clothes and wrapped me in a blanket. They kept me in the hospital for two hours. Then the police took me to the jail house.

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Catalogue Information

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