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Biloxi Stabbing
From Jeff Forester & Jeremy Lerman | 15:28
Biloxi, Mississippi, 3 a.m. The attackers advanced from the dark.
The violence was sudden, intense. Forester's cheek, nose and two ribs were broken. A fourteen-inch knife gash exposed kidney and lung.
Then they were gone into the night.
Swaying, bloody foam bubbling from his back, he struggled to breathe--at that moment Forester was transformed from victim to master of his life.
- Playing
- Biloxi Stabbing
- From
- Jeff Forester & Jeremy Lerman
Biloxi, Mississippi. October, 1995. Minneapolis artists Wayne and Jeff were in Biloxi painting tromp l'oeil murals and frescos on a casino barge.
After a night of partying, as they were leaving the Hurricane nightclub, a neo-Nazi said to Wayne--a white guy with dreadlocks--"If you're going to look like a nigger, then we'll treat you like a nigger." The swastika-tattooed skinhead slammed his fist into Wayne’s face. Another blow came in from the side to Jeff's face. Nine others (all of them white) joined in against the two.
Wayne fell. The crowd began to kick and stomp him. As Jeff tried to pull Wayne up, he felt a searing pain in his back, turned to see the neo-Nazi holding the handle of a buck knife. He held only the handle; no blade. The blade's full length had broken off in Jeff's back. With blows careening in from all angles, no room to maneuver, Jeff fought for his life, head-butting the Nazi’s face until the Nazi dropped to the ground, jumped up and ran. The others followed. And just like that, it was over.
Jeff said to the bouncer: "I just got stabbed." The bouncer, who had not left his stool during the fight, replied: "I know you did. I know you did, buddy." He grinned at Forester, but offered no help. Jeff rolled up his shirt and stuffed it in his back so he could breathe.
Jeff woke up in a dilapidated Hospital. Miraculously, the knife had missed all vital organs, only having nicked a lung.
Jeff and Wayne would only get the sum of their payment upon completion of the painting job--and Hurricane Opal was heading towards Biloxi, heading towards their riverboat jobsite. They needed that pay to make it home. After a day of rest in a motel bed, Jeff resumed work--except he couldn't bend over. The solution: Jeff taped a paintbrush to the end of a yardstick, dipped the brush without bending his body, painted a few strokes, then dipped again, never bending, and painted on.
They drove to the airport in torrential rain. (Opal did not ultimately make landfall in Biloxi, although Katrina would throw the "Grand Casino" riverboat six blocks inland.)
Back in Minneapolis, Jeff's body began to heal, but emotionally he fell apart. Post-traumatic stress took hold. He grew increasingly isolated and depressed. His drinking escalated to clinical proportions. Anger replaced all other emotions. His relationships, business and life unraveled. He considered ending the life he had just fought so hard to preserve--his own.
It was a Vietnam vet that led him back, and by the end of the journey, Forester would view the stabbing as a moment of grace, a gift. This is the story of how one man emerged from senseless, hate-fueled violence to a place of redemption. "I am not the person I was," says Forester, "and I am grateful for that."
In a time of ethnic and racial tensions being played out on a global scale, with scores of Afghan and Iraq veterans succumbing to post-traumatic stress, Forester's story serves as a roadmap to others. Jeff Forester, father and award-winning writer, tells survivors, "You are not alone; you are not a victim; you have an opportunity at greater happiness and serenity than ever before."Biloxi Stabbing
From Jeff Forester & Jeremy Lerman | 15:28
Biloxi, Mississippi, 3 a.m. The attackers advanced from the dark.
The violence was sudden, intense. Forester's cheek, nose and two ribs were broken. A fourteen-inch knife gash exposed kidney and lung.
Then they were gone into the night.
Swaying, bloody foam bubbling from his back, he struggled to breathe--at that moment Forester was transformed from victim to master of his life.
- Playing
- Biloxi Stabbing
- From
- Jeff Forester & Jeremy Lerman
Biloxi, Mississippi. October, 1995. Minneapolis artists Wayne and Jeff were in Biloxi painting tromp l'oeil murals and frescos on a casino barge.
After a night of partying, as they were leaving the Hurricane nightclub, a neo-Nazi said to Wayne--a white guy with dreadlocks--"If you're going to look like a nigger, then we'll treat you like a nigger." The swastika-tattooed skinhead slammed his fist into Wayne’s face. Another blow came in from the side to Jeff's face. Nine others (all of them white) joined in against the two.
Wayne fell. The crowd began to kick and stomp him. As Jeff tried to pull Wayne up, he felt a searing pain in his back, turned to see the neo-Nazi holding the handle of a buck knife. He held only the handle; no blade. The blade's full length had broken off in Jeff's back. With blows careening in from all angles, no room to maneuver, Jeff fought for his life, head-butting the Nazi’s face until the Nazi dropped to the ground, jumped up and ran. The others followed. And just like that, it was over.
Jeff said to the bouncer: "I just got stabbed." The bouncer, who had not left his stool during the fight, replied: "I know you did. I know you did, buddy." He grinned at Forester, but offered no help. Jeff rolled up his shirt and stuffed it in his back so he could breathe.
Jeff woke up in a dilapidated Hospital. Miraculously, the knife had missed all vital organs, only having nicked a lung.
Jeff and Wayne would only get the sum of their payment upon completion of the painting job--and Hurricane Opal was heading towards Biloxi, heading towards their riverboat jobsite. They needed that pay to make it home. After a day of rest in a motel bed, Jeff resumed work--except he couldn't bend over. The solution: Jeff taped a paintbrush to the end of a yardstick, dipped the brush without bending his body, painted a few strokes, then dipped again, never bending, and painted on.
They drove to the airport in torrential rain. (Opal did not ultimately make landfall in Biloxi, although Katrina would throw the "Grand Casino" riverboat six blocks inland.)
Back in Minneapolis, Jeff's body began to heal, but emotionally he fell apart. Post-traumatic stress took hold. He grew increasingly isolated and depressed. His drinking escalated to clinical proportions. Anger replaced all other emotions. His relationships, business and life unraveled. He considered ending the life he had just fought so hard to preserve--his own.
It was a Vietnam vet that led him back, and by the end of the journey, Forester would view the stabbing as a moment of grace, a gift. This is the story of how one man emerged from senseless, hate-fueled violence to a place of redemption. "I am not the person I was," says Forester, "and I am grateful for that."
In a time of ethnic and racial tensions being played out on a global scale, with scores of Afghan and Iraq veterans succumbing to post-traumatic stress, Forester's story serves as a roadmap to others. Jeff Forester, father and award-winning writer, tells survivors, "You are not alone; you are not a victim; you have an opportunity at greater happiness and serenity than ever before."