Body Hunter (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

George Wardrip, six-foot, one-inch tall with dark, deep-set eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair, stood before the Hamilton Street Church of Christ in Olney, Texas, as an impressive figure. He was not there to direct worship, but to humbly address his fellow worshipers. His hands were moist as he adjusted his glasses. His wife, Diana, a short, petite woman, often quiet but full of spunk, sat in the pew beside him. George took a long deep breath, then spoke in a soft, timid voice.

“My son's been in prison. He was convicted of a crime and spent eleven years behind bars. He's going to be out on parole soon. This is our church family and he needs a lot of love and support getting connected to the community,” Wardrip said.

Members of the Hamilton Street Church of Christ loved the Wardrip family, which was active in the life of the church. Without hesitation, the congregation overwhelmingly responded to Wardrip's plea. In the spirit of their pioneering ancestors who gathered in Olney in the 1880s for forming trail outfits and branding cattle, the members of the church not only provided their love and prayers to the Wardrips, but guaranteed that clothes, money, and a job awaited their son upon release.

In the meantime, Faryion's mother began preparations for her son's return home, fussing over where he would sleep in their small, rent-subsidized apartment.

“Mom, he's been locked up for eleven years. He doesn't care if he sleeps in the corner,” Bryce, her youngest child, told her.

 

 

Faryion Wardrip breathed in the fresh air of freedom. Eleven years of confinement in TDCJ facilities had made the thirty-nine-year-old parolee anxious for open fields and the love of his family. Under the Texas parole system he had to have a sponsor who agreed to help him in his efforts to rebuild his life. Wardrip's father had gladly accepted that role, determined to help his eldest son follow a path of redemption.

As elated as George Wardrip was to have his son freed from prison, Robert Kimbrew was equally angered.

“I fought the parole board before they finally gave it to him,” Kimbrew told reporters when he heard the news of Wardrip's release. “It never ends, does it? I was hoping he'd get life, but he didn't. The biggest insult I'd ever been paid was the day I found out he was gonna get out after eleven years.”

Local authorities had the same gnawing frustration.

“It's a shame that someone gets thirty-five years and gets out in eleven,” Sheriff Callahan said. Callahan, a deputy at the time of the murders, had been elevated to sheriff of Wichita County.

“When we prosecute people, it's frustrating to know they don't serve a complete sentence,” Archer County Prosecutor Tim Cole commented.

George Wardrip knew in his heart that there would be animosity from some, but it didn't dampen his jubilation that Faryion was on his way home.

With his son beside him, George drove past the green-and-white city limits sign of Olney, Texas.

Faryion Wardrip smiled to himself. He had heard his family talk about the one-arm dove hunt, but he had never seen the sight of more than one hundred one-armed amputee hunters take to the fields in a competition of shooting expertise.

The big-time annual event was first begun by two “One Arm Jacks,” as the two men, both from Olney and both named Jack, liked to call themselves. They wouldn't let their own adversity keep them down and wanted to share their enthusiasm for life with other upper-extremity amputees. The event was supported by locals who donated their time, talents, and money. One-armed hunters from all over the country took part in a glove swap, the one-arm talent show, a cow chip chunkin', a one-arm skeet shoot, golf tournament, pool tournament, horseshoes, a dove hunt, and a ten-cents-a-finger breakfast over the two-day event.

Wardrip saw the dove hunt as a symbol of the kind of townspeople residing in Olney. Annually, for more than twenty-five years, they had offered their hospitality to the disabled. Wardrip felt certain Olney would give him a fresh start. The sleepy little town, nearly forty miles south of Wichita Falls, would be a haven from the memories of his prior crimes. There remained only one problem: an electronic surveillance monitor attached to his leg. As part of his parole, Wardrip was required to wear the monitor at all times. He could only travel from his residence at his parents' apartment to work, or to church and back again. To attend anger-management classes, or any event that might require him to travel outside the Olney city limits, he had to obtain special permission from his parole officer.

Wardrip didn't mind the travel restrictions. His greatest fear was that he would not be accepted by the small community if they knew about his prison time for the savage murder of Tina Kimbrew. He wanted more than anything to be accepted by the people of Olney. He believed that in Olney he could attain his idea of a perfect life.

Wardrip had thought long and hard about what to tell people. He knew the story he told about why he was imprisoned and why he wore a leg monitor had to be believable. He couldn't chance their rejection by telling them the truth about Tina Kimbrew.

Faryion Wardrip walked across the redbrick street, under the porte-cochere, and then through the glass doors of the Hamilton Street Church of Christ. Reverend Scott Clark, a youthful-looking minister who worked part-time at the local nursing home, waited for him inside.

“Welcome, Faryion,” Clark said with an outstretched hand.

Wardrip's tall frame was slumped, his head bowed. He wore pants that were far too short for his lanky frame.

He looks like a kid on the playground, anxious about being picked for the game,
Scott thought to himself.

Scott led Wardrip into the church sanctuary, where he was introduced to members of the small church community.

“I was convicted of vehicular manslaughter,” Wardrip told the people at the Church of Christ. “I got drunk, wrecked my truck, and my fiancée was killed.”

The story not only provided a believable cover for his parole status, but moved the congregation to expressions of sympathy. Wardrip's massaging of the truth had won the people over immediately.

In the ensuing weeks, Reverend Clark and Faryion Wardrip had many long talks. The enthusiastic and dedicated Clark found Wardrip to be a man in search of a place to call home. He appeared lonely, disenfranchised. After a wasted youth and eleven years in prison, Wardrip had nothing to call his own. He wore the charity clothing provided by the parishioners, often with the pants legs rolled up because they were too long, and sometimes the hems of his jeans reached only to the tops of his socks. Clark was impressed that his lack of clothing failed to deter Wardrip from church. Clark believed his new friend was a soul in search of God's acceptance.

In less than a month, Wardrip had transformed from a frightened outsider to a confident member of the church brotherhood. He was at the Hamilton Street church nearly every time the doors were open and was baptized by Reverend Clark within weeks of arriving at the Olney parish.

“Olney and this church are truly places of second chances,” Wardrip told Clark. “This is home. I feel like I've always been here.”

Clark believed in Faryion Wardrip and his professed confession of his sins. On bent knees, the two men bowed their heads as the new convert prayed for redemption.

Wardrip became familiar with scripture. He had studied and participated in prison Bible studies. He also took correspondence courses that taught him more about the book. His obsessive-compulsive personality was directed toward learning more about God and he soon became knowledgeable and articulate concerning the Bible.

“I want to take my turn at helping with the Wednesday night service,” Wardrip told Clark.

“You'll have to speak to the elders,” Clark said, explaining that it was the church dignitaries who would make the final decision as to whether he would be allowed to participate.

Wardrip went before the elders of the church.

“I want an opportunity to express my acceptance of God's grace to the congregation in worship,” he told them.

“You want to lead a prayer, sure, lead a prayer,” the elders said.

In their conversation with Wardrip, the leaders of the Hamilton Street Church of Christ learned that not only was the man knowledgeable about Bible facts, but expressive as well. He could handle himself in front of a crowd. He wasn't afraid. But what the church members saw as confidence, his younger brother Bryce saw as arrogance. Bryce had been watching Faryion closely. Because of his failure to confess his true sins, Bryce believed his brother's baptism and church teaching were a farce. Bryce had his doubts that his brother's Christian transformation was real.

Clark, on the other hand, was convinced. “In a small town, people like that don't come along every day,” Clark told the elders. “Especially people who seem to understand what it's like to be forgiven.”

Clark knew that a lot of people in the religious world had a problem with understanding forgiveness because they hadn't done anything really bad. Clark thought of Jesus at Simon's house where he said,
“This woman washed my feet with her tears and then you, Simon, haven't even given me any water. The one who has been forgiven much, loves much.”

From what Clark heard in Faryion Wardrip's prayers and the stories he wanted to tell of his past, the new parolee wanted God to know he was sorry for his sins. Clark and the elders decided to ask Wardrip if he wanted to teach one of the Wednesday night lessons.

Wardrip was given an outline and a text. He did a good job and was put in the regular teaching rotation, which meant he spoke about every thirteen or fourteen weeks. Then Clark asked Wardrip for a favor.

“I have to be gone for a couple of Wednesday nights,” Clark said. “Will you give your testimony to the teenagers?”

“Sure,” Wardrip said enthusiastically.

The next Wednesday night, Faryion Wardrip, former drug user and paroled killer, stood before the junior- and senior-high youth of the Hamilton Street Church of Christ.

“You don't want to mess with drugs. You don't want to get messed up with bad friends, because look what happened to my life. You don't want to do that,” Wardrip said with emotion.

The overpowering figure of the reformed killer loomed over the young teens. His words of warning about addiction, bad choices, and regrets filled their heads. Wardrip emotionally poured out his heart, revealing his fears for the teens who might follow his path to a life of broken dreams.

The teens were frightened by his strong testimony. Seemingly overnight Wardrip became the Nicky Cruz of Olney. His message was as powerful in the small Texas town as New York's Nicky Cruz's had been in the popular book,
The Cross and the Switchblade.

Clark and the elders agreed, Wardrip had something important to say to the youth. He became a regular speaker, telling horror stories about his misspent youth. He was plugged into the kids, and they listened with fascination and determination not to follow his self-proclaimed pattern of self-destruction. But in all his testimonies Wardrip always held something back—the truth about Tina Kimbrew.

 

 

By the late summer of 1998, Wardrip had adjusted to life in Olney. He had a good job and was active in the Church of Christ, but something was missing. He hadn't put a name to it, but he knew that his life wasn't whole. Then fate took an unexpected emotional turn.

“Faryion, we have a friend who is coming to visit from Oklahoma. We would like for you to meet her,” friends told Wardrip.

“Sure, why not?” Wardrip said. His last two romances had ended badly. He had been engaged briefly to a younger woman in the church. He had wined and dined her at his parents' apartment in their absence. Soft music and candlelight set the mood for their romantic interludes. Then there had been Beverly, a young mother of two. He had bought the engagement ring and they were picking a date for their wedding when, for unknown reasons, Reverend Clark suggested they needed a cooling-off period. Beverly broke off the engagement and Wardrip had again been left with a feeling of emptiness.

From what his friends told him, Glenda Kelley was a strong Christian. Someone who would accept him for who he was now, not what he had been in the past.

Glenda Diane Kelley was five years Wardrip's senior. At forty-five years of age, Glenda had led a distraught life. She had been trapped in an emotionally abusive twenty-year marriage. When her husband committed adultery, Glenda walked away from the jewels, the Mercedes, the big home, and followed God. Glenda Kelley and Faryion Wardrip were both lost souls searching for the meaning of life. When they met, it was as if their kindred spirits united.

Wardrip's attraction to Glenda amazed Wardrip's brother Bryce, and even somewhat surprised Wardrip himself. She was not the type of woman he had traditionally been drawn to. At about five-foot-four, with a slim to medium build, Glenda was plain by most standards. Her mousy brown hair was blunt cut in a shoulder-length bob. She wore glasses, little or no makeup, and conservative clothing. Glenda certainly didn't possess the outward beauty or style Wardrip normally found attractive. But Faryion saw more than Glenda's outward appearance.

“She's a flower compared to the cactuses I've dated. She is beautiful. Intelligent. She's perfect. How's a country boy like me going to have a snowball's chance on a hot sidewalk with her?” Wardrip asked a friend.

The attraction was mutual. Glenda Kelley and Wardrip began a long-distance romance.