What Did He Say?

 As I mentioned in an earlier post, I attended Kilgore Junior College and was quite well known at the student union building. While I was very satisfied with hustling young men for their money on the pool tables I also took an interest in the action on the dominoe tables. I became far more interested in the language of the game than the matching of dots. I watched. I learned. Then one day I was invited to sit in on a game as the others were one player short. I had been studying the art of the game for awhile and felt pretty comfortable as a participant. To put it mildly, I wowed the regulars. I was one of only two white guys to be seen playing the games with the black players. Competition was tough! 

The thing that intrigued me most was the colorful terms used for calling count when someone scored. Examples would be: "Fido was a biting dog!" Used when some one scored five points. Other terms for five points were "Nick Willie!" "Nick Bouniconti!" and of course "Nic him, don't cut him!" Should a player score ten points you might hear, "Tenderloin beef steak ketsup and gravy!" or, "Tin top roof don't leak when it rains!" Should one be on his game and score fifteen points you were sure to hear "Ella, Della, and Luella!" Another favorite for fifteen was "Three sisters!" (Probably based on Ella and friends.) When someone repeated the person's count that had just scored they would holler "Don't get excited. Just rewrite it!" Twenty, you ask? That would be cause for a loud shout of "Boats!" or "Bow Ties!" Twenty-five? That was "Quarterhorse!" or "Quarter mule!" There were times that folks scored the elusive 30 and 35, but those were usually followed by the phrase "Get up! You don't play good no way!" 

I believe I enjoyed the banter more than the game itself. 

The players themselves were so colorful I couldn't wait to get a game going daily! There was Cuba. Cuba was a light skinned young guy with two gold teeth who loved talking trash. Then there was Himby. Himby was the other white guy allowed to play at the main tables. I credit Himby with the creation of the phrase "tenderloin beefsteak ketsup and gravy." There were so many it is hard to remember them all. One young man who played a pretty mean hand was named Darryl. If I told you Darryl could sing like a bird I'd be understating his talent. The old heads came to play as well. "Preacher" was well...a preacher at a nearby church who played "inspired" you might call it. Then there was Coach Johnny Rossum. He ran the SUB for the college and coached as an assistant on the football team. Johnny Rossum could play some dominoes! 

I still miss those days and the smack talk at the dominoe tables. I miss my frind Johnny Rossum too. He died a few years ago, I heard. I bet he went and organized a game in heaven.

Step Right Up! School's In Session!

 

From August of 1978 until December of 1980 I attended one of those places intended for "higher learning". I was 18 and figured I would continue my education. It seemed better than going to work in the East Texas oil fields. Kilgore Junior College... It had many names: "Harvard On The Highway!" "The University Of Southern Kilgore!" You get the picture. 

At first I was a good student. I went to class and was doing decent, grade wise. Then one day I stumbled upon a magical place right there on campus. I was headed to the campus book store and, as fate would have it, I turned right instead of left. A quick ancent up a flight of stairs and BAM! I had discovered a whole new world! The SUB. Short for Student Union Building. It consisted of a fully functioning snack bar, people playing cards, people playing dominoes, and to my delight...people playing pool! You see, I was a pretty fair hand at pool. I had been playing since I was about five years old and had become quite fond of the game. My dad taught me to play while attending the festivities at a local tavern on a regular basis. Back then noone thought anything of a little kid and his dad being in such an establishment. There were no Karens in those days to call CPS on you. People minded their own business and stayed out of that of other folks. Before long, dad baught us a regulation sized pool table for our house. So you can understand my delight at seeing multiple tables in this new found haven of rest for the weary student.

I watched as young men played, and then I noticed something. Money seemed to be changing hands at the end of the game. I was intrigued. I calmly watched and learned which players played for money. To challenge the table you simply placed a quarter on the rail to signify that you had the winner. We played for an amount determined at the start of the game. It had to be kept "on the down low", as they say, because gambling was expressly discouraged. There were actually signs saying just that hanging above the tables!

My normal fee for "lessons" was $1 payable in cash immediately upon conclusion of the game. No credit. No cards. Cash only. I was in heaven! So many suckers...er...young men in need of a pool lesson. I would soon find myself spending every morning at the SUB handing out grades, usually a "D"...for defeated! I could easily leave with about $50-$60 in my pocket after arriving with only a couple of bucks that morning. So easy. Sooooo easy. Remember, this was 1978 when $50 was worth what today would be about $300! Who needed a job?! 

Then reality set in. My time at the SUB had eaten into my classroom time. My grades were horrible because I rarely went to class. I was making too much money to be bothered. But that all finally caught up to me. I had a 0.84 GPA and was put on academic probation. I dropped out of school and went to work at a machine shop for six bucks an hour. Forty hours a week pulled in about two thirds what I was making having fun in about 20 hours a week. That's life I suppose. 

Here I am forty-four years later and I haven't seriously picked up a stick in all that time.What a waste. Oh, but what a time I had for those two years?! Separating those young men from their money was great fun! Especially those cocky fellas who talked a big game but fell short when it did not translate to their sticks! I sometimes think it would be fun to get back into practice, but the reality is I just don't have the heart to take folk's money in these hard times! Besides... Folks will shoot you these days for taking their money! 

But PT Barnum was right ya know?

Hey! That's My Finger!

 

Yet another incident that happened just minutes before quitting time at the jail. 

There was just 30 minutes left in my day. I was finishing up paperwork from a transport, when a call came over the radio that Greenville PD needed assistance with a combative customer at the back door. Since I was only about fifty feet from there I figured I should respond. Right? Wrong.  I should have let somebody else do it! I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I headed out of the book-in department and approached the area in question. Greenville PD and their substance addled friend came through the door into the holding area. He clearly wasn't interested inbeing a guest at the Hunt County Hilton! The control room opperator, watching on camera, saw that I was there and popped the electronic lock on the inner door for me to enter the area and help. I was just about to slide sideways through the door when the fine, upstanding citizen in question decided to jerk away from the Greenville officer. When he did this he stumbled into the door I was about to go through causing it to slam shut. My left hand was still on the door frame at that time which caused a party I'd just as soon not have been invited to! You see, these doors weigh hundreds of pounds and they slam with an unforgiving force. 

In the heat of the moment I yanked my hand back out of instinct. I did not notice the door was already shut on my finger. I was running on adrenaline and as quickly as the door was reopened I went after the inmate. That's when I had one of those odd feelings that something wasn't right. I looked at my right glove and saw that the tip of the pinky finger part was ripped. I peered inside and...let's just say my first thought was "It ain't ever looked like THAT before! I must have been in shock because all I remember was telling the cops, "He cut my freaking finger off!" It wasn't hurting. It was just mangled.

About that point another transport officer came and saw my hand and all the blood. She grabbed me by the arm and said, "We need to get you to the ER." Off we went! All along the way I kept stopping and showing people my hand and repeating "He cut my freaking finger off!" It was just the end of the finger, but it was MY end of MY finger and I had grown quite attached to it over the years!

The trip to the hospital was "interesting" to say the least. My partner was driving like a 1970's  Meatloaf  song, you know...A Bat Out Of...well you understand I'm sure. I was laughing and telling her I can live without the end of my finger. Don't get us killed!" 

When we arrived the ER folks asked what we were there fore. I just held up my bloody hand and they jumped up and took me to the trauma room. Soon the feeling was coming back to my hand and it was not a good thing! The nice nurses hooked me up to a morphine drip and I was once again feeling no pain! We had a great time taking selfies with my jacked up hand and my morphine bag! I liked my morphine bag! Before long the doctor came in and did his thing. He was actually able to save the end of the finger and reattach it! Once the morphine wore off the pain came back, but I had a perscription for something or other and my wife, who had been called by my partner, took me to the pharmacy where I regaled them with my story while waiting on my meds.

After two or three months of rehab and other such fun I was able to return to work. I did not, however, make it a habit to offer my assistance with combative newcomers to the jail after this incident! 

By the way, the guy who caused this ruckus got 5 years for assault causing serious bodily injury. 

Big City Traffic Fun!

There's nothing more "fun" than driving in a major area, right? Not hardly. During my days with the Sheriff's Department I was often called upon to drive prisoners to big cities. With that lovely duty came big city traffic. Yay... 

I have noticed that people in the city have a particularly interesting way of showing their love to other drivers! Often they wave. Sometimes they don't use all five fingers.

One day I was driving to the courthouse in Dallas and an old lady pulled along side my van and was staring at me. I was afraid she was going to have a wreck not watching the road! I waved at her thinking she was just curious because of the Sheriff;s decal on the side of the van. She waved back...sort of. The old battleaxe flipped us the bird! My partner and I were so blown away by her "gesture" that we couldn't stop laughing! I am surprised we didn't wreck! 

Another transport I did was to a big city down I-35. Now...I-35 has just a tad bit of construction going on. But I was doing my best. All of a sudden I got a call from the Jail Administrator that some clown had called the Chief Deputy and complained that I was driving too slow in the left hand lane. I was doing 80! IN CONSTRUCTION! I could not get into the other lane because traffic was just nuts! The chief threatened to demote me if he got any more calls like that. What a clown. The guy who called in, too! 

Do you have stories like these from your travel?? Drop them in the comments! 

Missed Opportunity

It was a bright Wednesday morning in June of 2008. I had gotten to work early to prepare for the day's activities at the jail. My partner and I were to transport nine prisoners to  a transfer facility in Oklahoma City, four and a half hours away. It was 7:30 in the morning and we were almost ready to leave. My phone rang. Without question the worst call of my life. My mother had passed out and was being rushed by ambulance to a hospital. Ten minutes later she flat lined for the first of three times in the ER. Before I realized it, I was on my way home to prepare for a far different trip than I had thought I would be taking that day. Jellico, Tennessee, was about 15 hours away and I was headed there. 

The whole way there I kept thinking about something that has bothered me ever since: Why did I put off calling? On Monday I had said I was going to call mama...but I didn't. I got busy. On Tuesday I was going to call for sure...but I got busy again and didn't call. I was absolutely going to call mama on Wednesday. During the transport would be a great time to call. But you know how that went. 

Mom died on Saturday morning without ever regaining consciousness. I never got to make that call. I was "too busy". I was too freaking busy. I missed my last opportunity to hear my mama's voice one more time. Now...now I would give anything to hear it one more time, but it is too late. That haunts me. It sometimes consumes my mind until I just have to force it out. 

Do you have a mama? A daddy? A close friend? Anyone? Do you need to stop being "too busy" and call someone who means the world to you? Do it NOW! You never know when "too busy" will pass into "too late". 

I missed my opportunity. Don't miss yours.

The Preacher And The Kid

 

 It all started in 1969. A school accident put a nine year old in the hospital with a broken leg. This broken leg was special...because it was mine!  My femur was snapped in half and it would take some real magic and a whole lot of luck to fix it where it would be right again.  Back then there was no such thing as a titanium rod or a pin or screw to fix broken bones.  We had what was called "traction". A series of ropes and pullies and weights rigged together to keep just enough pull on the leg to allow the bone to knit back together properly. It closely resembled a midevil torture rack! It meant staying in the hospital for nine weeks and doing so entirely on my back! Have you ever tried to keep a nine year old in one spot for nine weeks? You see my point. 

One day, while I was laying there talking to my grandmother, (who was kind enough to sit with me every day), a man stopped by my room. He was a tall, young, nice man. He introduced himself to me and gramma. He said he was the preacher at a local church. We had been to church a few times but mostly out at a small country congregation several miles away. He noticed a checker board on the table and asked if I was up to a game! You bet! ANYTHING to break the monotony. I don't recall who won, but if it was me I am sure he let me win. He said goodbye and was gone, but the next day he was back. More checkers. This continued for a long time. Eventually his visits were timed where my mom and brother would be in my room. He always invited them to come to church when they got the chance. They did and so did I when I finally got out! 

It wasn't a big curch but it was bigger than where we had gone before. All the people were friendly and spoke to mom and my brother and I. That young preacher had three kids of his own and we became friends. That was fifty-five years ago. To this day I love that young preacher and his family. He made a huge difference in my life. He also made a huge difference in the world and had no idea he was doing so. My brother became a missionary and because that young preacher took a few minutes out of his day to play checkers with a broken nine year old kid, there are thousands of Christian converts in many parts of the world. There are also two special angels in heaven I can't wait to rejoin... My Mama and Daddy.

You never know what impact you might have on others just by giving a smile, a kind word, or a minute of your time to listen and make them feel special. 

To this day I am friends with all three of that preacher's kids. The oldest is probably my best friend. Fifty-five years is a long time, but true friendship can make that seem like no time. I can not imagine how different my life would have been had that tall young preacher not stopped in that day. I'm just thankful he did. 

Retirement. A real heart stopper

I decided that 15 plus years was long enough to deal with the dark side of humanity and made my decision to retire on March 2, 2020. The day finally arrived and excitement filled the air! The gang at the jail had put together a special lunch for me and we enjoyed a good time together around noon. By 1:15 I was out of my uniform and had all papers signed and turned in to the proper people. I decided to make my last trip through the secured area of the jail as my path to the parking lot. As I passed through the last set of doors I met an incoming officer with a new prisoner. I was not surprised by who it was. Let's call him "Mike." Mike was a frequent flyer and a mental patient. He also liked to fight. I had dealt with him for 15 years and had had my fill of him and his desire to mix it up with us officers. I just smiled and kept walking, knowing I didn't have to mess with him ever again. I heard he died a couple years after that.

Being retired was great! ...For a week. I am not cut out for sitting around doing nothing, even though that is what I am doing these days. After a week I went looking for a job and found one. I was going back into the auto sales business! I had done this for about ten years prior to joining the Sherrif's Depaartment so it was nothing new to me. However... In fifteen years the auto sales industry had changed dramatically. The dealership I joined didn't even use the tried and proven "Four Square" method! (IYKYK) They used some kinda mess I had never seen or heard of before! They were also heavy on the tech side of things when it came to the sales people. I hated that!

Then one night it happened. I was checking door locks to make sure the inventory was secure when a young man and his wife drove in. It was almost time to lock the gates and go home...of course. Lucky me! So I worked with the customer and we drove about six different trucks. I had his trade in appraised. We sat down and worked numbers like usual. He agreed to the payment and even signed beside the spot where I had written the figures. Time to go to the finance man and get signed up for that new truck! When the customer entered the finance office I took the opportunity to go put away all the trucks he had not chosen. Five minutes later I look up and see him driving off in his old truck. I went in to ask what happened and was met with a lot of anger. When I say "a lot" I mean A LOT! The finance guy, being the horses butt he was, flat lied to me. I then went to the manager's office where the rage continued. At that point let's just say, words were spoken, issues were discussed and the air got dark green!

I was accused of not doing my job. I accused them of being full of mule buscuits. Hey,,,If the finance man is too weak to get the job done that ain't my fault! I'm still not sure why they were mad at me. I was the one who just lost a $500 commission!

I left. Mad. VERY MAD! I drove the twenty minutes home and went straight to the bedroom and laid down. I didn't feel well and just wanted to relax. Thirty minutes later I walked to the living room where my wife was. She took one look at me and said, "Do I need to get you to the ER?" I mentioned that there were two days left until my insurance took effect so that was a no go. I sat down at my desk. Three minutes later she came back into the room and took another look at me. "Put your shoes on. We are going to the ER!",she said. I was not arguing this time. My chest and arm were hurting and I was a little nervous for obvious reasons!

We left and it was very quickly apparent to me that I might not make it the twenty miles to the ER. We detoured to the local fire station. No one was around that I could see, Fortunately the police station was next door and it just happened that two officers were there. It was after hours, so I knocked on the outter door. An officer i knew appeared and immediately said "You don't look good, man! I'm calling AMR!" AMR was the ambulance service and they were also twenty miles away. By this time the fire guys were running across the parking lot. A second officer had called them. They started taking vitals and the like. Turned out my blood pressure was 216 over 165. In case anyone is wondering, that isn't good at all!

The ambulance arrived and they also took my vitals. Same reading. By now I didn't know what to think. What I DID think was not helping. Off we went in a major rush toward The ER. The ride took a total of about ten minutes! We were flying. The AMR guy had given me a shot of some kind and I was feeling better. I mentioned to him that I felt normal now so this was probably an expensive wasted trip. That was when he rocked my world with a comment I was not expecting. "This is not a wasted trip Mr. Meeks. At some point tonight you have either HAD or you are NOW in the middle of a heart attack!" ...Say what, now???

I was admitted to the hospital after a couple hours in the ER. I should mention that this was the beginning of the whole Covid epidemic, so my wife was not allowed to come in or even see me from this point until the ordeal was over. I had also left my cell phone in my wife's car, so I had to communication with my family. The next morning I had a heart cathertization. Lots of damage. Great. Then the doctor said, "They'll be transferring you to Baylor Hospital later today. You will be having a triple bypass."

Holy cats. I never should have let those two at the dealership get me so mad. Too late now. Time passed and I had the proceedure and finally healed enough to go home. I called my best friend Keith to come get me and take me home. He lived just a little ways from the hospital.

I am now nearly five years past this event and unfortunately on disability. If I told you this thing screwed up life as I knew it it would be an understatement. No more working ever. Sounds good don't it?! It isn't. But I am alive and doing pretty good, so that works out. I enjoy most days. That works, too. I write this post to let people know that the old saying is true: Don't sweat the small stuff, and it's ALL small stuff. Nothing is worth getting as upset as I was that night. Nothing. The two who caused it still have no idea I hold them responsible and likely have no clue they even played a part in my almost dying. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

Breaker! Breaker!

 

Citizens band radios. The CB. They were the cell phones of the 70's. You could talk to your friends all over the place with no monthly bill! Just install one under the dash of your car, add an antenae, and BAM! You were on the air! 

CBers had their own language back then. Everyone was your "good buddy" and "10-4" was not fourteen and "3's and 8's" meant "have a great day!" You never said "is ... on air." You said "You got your ears on?" Ahhh the life we lived in the 70's! 

In our family we had several cars and therefore several radios. In addition, I owned a Navaho base station from a mystical place called "Radio Shack" where you could buy all types of radio equipment! Mom ("Cactus Flower") had one in her car, which surprised me to no end, because she never struck me as the type person who would talk on the cb. I believe she had it to keep track of me and my brother ("Card King"). I was known across the airwaves as "Saddle Tramp". I have no idea how I came up with that handle. That's what you called your self on air. Kinda like a vocalized avitar or user name.

We spent our nights breaking 1-9 and checking to see who had their ears on. We talked to each other while the world listened in. There was a group of us in our little town. Red Rider, Green Machine, Baby Blue Eyes. (We were nothing if not "colorful"!) Card King, Little Wet Back, and Little Biscuit Burner, Chocolate Chip... and me. There were many more but time and chance, as it does with all men according to the bible, has happened to me and I cannot recall the rest. 

Later in my life I discovered the joys of the "SSB", the single side band. This was a whole new world for me! I purchased a new ssb from a customer of mine who had "modified" it, shall we say. I installed it in the bobtail delivery truck I drove for a local propane company and suddenly going to work became great fun! I was a kid again! I talked to all 50 states and 8 foreign countries on that radio using the side band. I really enjoyed talking to the guys in Jamaica. There was a taxi driver there who had a big time set-up in his car. I talked to him quite a bit. 

But... as with all good things, the days of me talking on the cb and ssb had to end. It had been a blast. 

Then,,, I discovered HAM radio! 

The story goes on...

Chinese Food To Go...

 

As a member of the Jail Transport Team we could be required to go in a thousand different directions on any given day and there was no saying "no". The jobs had to be done and it was up to us to find a way to make it happen. Since the Judges had never had to deal with what we had to deal with they were not concerned with our scheduling, only that what they wanted happened on their terms and their schedule. 

We had had a particularly hectic month but somehow we made it happen. The Judges were happy (and clueless as to the hoops we jumped through to satisfy them). So...the sargent decided to take us all out to eat lunch at the Chinese buffett! A good time was had by all...for a while, anyway. About an hour after we returned to the jail I got a radio call that the Jail Administrator wanted to see me in his office. No problem. So I thought. 

When I entered the office I was greeted by him, the Sargent, and another officer. Odd, but not unheard of for several people to be there at times. "Have a seat," the Administrator said. I sat down a bit less at ease than I had been before. It seemed that an inmate had filed a grievence on me on some bogus charge that I had "threatened to kill him." They should have known it was a lie because if I threatened to kill him I would not have simply said "I'm going to kill you." Had I threatened his life it would have sounded more like, "I'm about to beat your sorry behind until you bleed profusly from the mouth and nose and your skull is mush!" That was not what he told them. The offender in question had sent the grievence directly to the brand new Chief Deputy, fresh off of retirement from an unrelated job and new to dealing with inmates. Apparently he didn't realize that they were not known for their honesty. 

It went beore the Internal Affairs officer to be checked out. Apparently not wanting to have a problem to deal with the Chief Deputy sided with the inmate and suspended me from Transport for six months minimum. It would be "revisited at that time." Normally I would have just appealed it to the Sherrif  but he was out on medical leave for a few months. I was caught in a bogus situation with no way out for the forseeable future.

I decided to take an unorthodox step. I wrote a letter of appeal to the Sherrif and mailed it to his home address. Time passed with no response. It was about a month and a half later that I was passing the office of the Sherrif and saw him sitting at his desk. I immediately knocked on his door and was invited in. We sat and talked for a few minutes and I finally brought the subject up of my being railroaded. The Sherrif was a huge proponent of loyalty to him and the department. I told him it was time I was shown some loyalty for ten years of dedicated service. 

The Sherrif pointed to the corner of his desk where I saw my personel file. 

"I've already been looking into it for you and I think it was simply an overreaction." Overreaction? That was an understatement! "Give me until I can speak with the Chief Deputy Monday and I'll see what we can do." This was a Thursday and I was going nuts already! I told him I would be waiting for his answer.

Tuesday of the following week I was working the control room when I saw the Admin and the Sargent at the exterior door. I allowed them in and waited. Soon the Sargent came to the control room door with a piece of paper in his hand. I popped the door and let him in. "I got you back in Transport!", he said. "Sign this paper and be back in the office tomorrow!" I was very very happy, to say the least. But from that day on it was a running joke that if someone (especially me!) was in any way out of line someone would say "Y'all don't wanna go eat Chinese food!" I've been retired nearly five years and the joke lives on. 

Whatever, Bobby...

 

It was a fairly normal Friday afternoon at the Hunt County Crossbar Hotel when the phone rang in the Transport department office. Of course it would be almost quitting time when we got the call. The decision had been made to transport a prisoner to the mental facility in Dallas. It was now our job to deal with the inmate... Did I mention it was quitting time on a Friday? 

Bobby was a frequent flyer with us and it came as no real shock, really, that he needed some professional help. He often got off his meds and ended up in our care. So, after counting heads of those still around, I was chosen to assist my Sargent in transporting Bobby on the 60 mile (one way) trip. I should mention that Bobby was really "out there" this time. He was talking quite a bit of trash and threatening staff. 

We cuffed, shackled, and belly-chained our guest and off we went in the Sherrif's van. I was driving so I needed the prisoner to sit and cooperate with us. He was thinking a little differently. He constantly got up and came to the front of the vehicle where a cage wall separated the back of the van from the officer's area. After telling him and warning him he better sit back on the seat and stop getting up, I hit my brakes sending him forward into the cage. I then hit the gas and he was jerked backward toward the afore mentioned seat. No more getting up after that. I might need to add here that the whole trip Bobby had been threatening to "kill" me! Practically every other sentence out of his mouth was "I'm gonna kill you Meeks! I'm gonna kill you!" I simply replied, "Whatever Bobby." Bobby and I normally got along great when he came to jail, but this time he was different. He was far more aggressive. He called my partner in the van every derogatory name he could think of. We quickly grew tired of the bull and decided to speed up the trip. I stood on it, to borrow a term from NASCAR. When I looked down we were doing 95 across the Lake Ray Hubbard bridge! We still had a ways to go before we could unload the lovely and talented Mr. Bobby, so I was glad we were in a marked vehicle. 

When we finally arrived at the mental facility we walked Bobby into the waiting area. Too many people were in the outter area so we made our way into a seperated room. 

The constant barrage of threats continued  with the new addition of "Are ya scared Meeks? Are ya scared?" until I had had enough. I turned to our prisoner and calmly said, "Bobby! You are chained down at the waist and feet! You can not free yourself! I have a gun, a taser, and a rather big partner who you have been insulting since we left Greenville! Why in the name of all thing holy would I be scared of you?!" No real effect on his thinking but I felt better.

Before long the hospital staff arrived and took him from us. I am sure he received a "cocktail shot" within minutes of that. I needed a drink... a strong drink. Coca Cola. Full strength. None of that caffine free crap. I was burned out for the night and it was already three hours after quitting time! 

The trip home was much easier than the trip over. I left the jail and put all the mess behind me. 

Monday came and as I entered the jail I saw Bobby sitting in an observation cell. I walked straight past him without a word. That is until I heard him call my name. I went around to the front of the cell and Bobby calmly appologized for the trouble he had caused and the way he had treated me and my prtner. I was glad to see he was back on his meds. I assured him there were no hard feelings and he sat down and drifted off to wherever it is he would go when he was like this. He was a perfect inmate for the duration. 

I've not seen Bobby since he left. It's been about 10 years. I hope he is OK.

Heads Need To Roll...

That's twice. Twice some left wing whacko has attempted to assassinate former President Donald Trump. Someone please tell me how a crazed gunman gets that close to a man who SHOULD HAVE been surrounded by highly trained secret service officers. Instead, here we are today, once again, talking about a botched attempt on President Trump's life! Who are these people in the secret service detail? Why did they not catch a man who almost assuredly had to walk across an open area carrying a rifle and a scope. Not suspicious at all, right? I say he walked across an open area because he was on a golf course. Not much more than sand traps and water hazards to hide behind. I hear the guy was shooting from a bush. Apparently a secret service agent noticed the barrel of a gun sticking out of the bush. Glad that guy was trained enough to know you ALWAYS keep your head on a swivel. I still can't get over how the guy got to that point, though.

I do not want this blog to be a bunch of political opinion (even though I am a fairly political person). But I had to blow off steam on this one. We still have 6 weeks left of the campaign, so anything is possible. I hope and pray that we do not see more of this type of news, but with the lefties and libs out there it is conceivable.

If I were President Trump I would hire my own protection since the clowns "protecting" him now seem completely inept at the job!

Boys And Girls...

 

I was born way back in the "dark ages," circa 1960. Back when science had settled the question of, "How many sexes/genders are there?" It was determined by people with much larger brains than I had that God, in His infinite widom, had created men and women. "Men and women created He them." No one challenged the science. No one gave it a second thought. There were two and only two.

If there was any question whatsoever it was easily answered by the good folks over at Schwinn Bicycle company. They made a product that was fool proof in determining whether you were a boy or a girl. It was a unique little product called a "bike" and it was absolutely fool proof in the matter. A girl's bike had a low area in front of the seat, whereas a boy's bike had a steel bar about two inches under the seat that extended from the seat to the frame of the afore mentioned apparatus. This bar, in it's genious design, could instantly bring forth the answer of which sex a child was, simply by being where it was designed to be, when a child slipped off the seat and landed astraddle of it! If the child said nothing and had no reaction, the child was a girl. If, however, the child fell face first to the pavement, writhing in agony, with tears streaming from their orbital sockets, they were a boy! Thus life as we knew it strode merrily along toward current times, not knowing that some idiot would someday question the birds and the bees and which one was which! 

Today we have people who want to tell our children that there are hundreds of sexes/genders. They want little boys and girls to question which sex they are. I can not for the life of me understand where these people are coming from! These morons actually believe the nonsense they are teaching and want to teach it in our schools! I say we buy them a boy's bike and let nature take it's course!

Never tackle a naked man...

It was an ordinary day working in the county jail. I was just finishing my paperwork on a project I had done for the Classification department. As I neared the book-in area I heard a bunch of commotion and figured some idiot was acting up. What happened next did not disappoint. 

The book-in area consisted of a caged room where the officers were stationed, two rubber padded cells for violent offenders, two observation rooms, and four holding cells. When I arrived in the area I observed several officers standing in front of an observation cell with an inmate who was clearly uninterested in being with them and what they had to say. Oh right...He was naked, or as we say in Texas..."Nekid". 

It was about this time he broke and ran...my way.

 I figured to sweep his legs out from under him when he reached my position. We then would tackle him and cuff him.  No problem, Right? Wrong. As I dropped to sweep his legs the guy decided it was time to drop me! He was hopped up on drugs so he didn't know his own strength. Well I found out about it! He hit me on the right side of my head full strength. I tell you folks, it was like I got hit with a Louisville Slugger! I went down hard. Later I was sent to the ER for concussion protocol. But back to our story...

Our naked friend continued down the main hall with nowhere to go and a short time left to get there. It was on this hall that two guards intercepted our hero and tackled him full force. By now I had come around a bit and I was hot! The Captain saw me head toward the scene on the hall and ordered a few other guards to keep me away from the guy. Like I said, I was hot! He had seen the guy clock me and decided to intervine and keep me from breaking my foot off in a most unfortunate place!

All's well that ends well, I suppose. Ol' "Naked And Afraid" was cuffed and stuffed back in his cell. He caught an additional charge of assault of a public servant and I got a couple hours pay for sitting in the emergency room. I made a vow that day to never tackle another naked inmate. Too many jokes at my expence and a major headache to show for my troubles. Im going to pretend they are horses and "Let 'em run!"