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.