"I must go first to pave the way"
CoCo said to himself
"Taterbug is fast approaching her Forever Day
and I have to cross over to help"
She puts on a brave face for others
But I know she's scared, frail and gray
I'm tough and strong so I can help her
Journey on her Forever Day
I'll be there waiting so she can see
That I'm healthy, strong and free
When she takes her last earthly breath
And steps into Eternity
I will show her the wonders of Heaven
Through meadow and fields we roam
And we will watch over Momma and Daddy
Till our good Lord calls them home
It could be tomorrow, maybe even today,
or 50 years from now
But the time is known only to one
Only our loving Father can say
But we will wait forever
Side by side, Paw in paw
Until that beautiful day
When Momma and Daddy hear God's call
And as they cross over into the Heavenly light
We will run to them, tails wagging,
And say, "Welcome, Momma and Daddy"
"What took you so long?"
To everyone we've been bragging
Of the love you gave and the tears shed
After we were gone
We wanted to stay-we tried to say
You were never, ever alone
We saw the countless tears you weeped
And knew that inside you were hurting
But the tears were a witness, the angels said
Of your devotion, longing, and loving
So now you are with us again
For Eternity, never to be parted
The moment that you arrived here
Our true lives just got started
My views on dogs, life, mountainbiking, and whatever else I want to talk about.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I wonder
I wonder, are my little dogs, Taterbug and Coco, sitting in the lap of Jesus? I wonder, do they know how loved they truly were? I wonder do they know that I thought of them as more than "just dogs", but as friends, companions and family members? I wonder, do they watch over us with love beaming down from Heaven? I wonder do they know that their passing has left a void in my heart that will never get better? I wonder if they are younger, healthy, vibrant and awake everyday with a new found sense of wonder in Paradise? I wonder, if when I looked into their beautiful eyes was I really looking into the face of God? I wonder if I was worthy of the undying love that a beautiful dog is capable of giving? I wonder if they have forgiven me for any of the faults and short-comings I had as a human and as their Daddy? I wonder, if when my Forever day happens, will they be at the gates of Paradise to meet me with kisses, licks, tail wags and happy barks? I wonder these things often but know that they are indeed CoCo and Taterbug's reality. The only pain ever caused by a beloved pet is with their passing. Rest easy my babies. Daddy and Momma love and miss you and talk about you all the time. You two cut out huge portions of real estate in our hearts.
THE SPIRIT OF A DOG
I was standing on a hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
And the spirit of a dog
Was lying at my feet.
He looked at me with kind dark eyes,
Ancient wisdom shining through.
In the essence of his being,
I saw the love there too.
His mind did lock upon my heart
As I stood there on that day,
And he told me of this story
About a place so far away.
As I stood upon that hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
In a twinkling of a second
His spirit left my feet.
His tale did put my heart at ease,
All my fears did fade away
About what lay ahead of me
On another distant day:
I live among God's creatures now
In the heavens of your mind,
So do not grieve for me, my friend,
As I am with my kind.
My collar is a rainbow's hue,
My leash is a shooting star.
My boundaries are the Milky Way
Where I sparkle from afar.
There are no pens or kennels here
For I am not confined,
But I'm free to roam God's heavens
Among the Doggie kind.
I nap the day on a snowy cloud
Gentle breezes rocking me,
And dream the dreams of earthlings,
And how it used to be.
The trees are full of liver treats,
And tennis balls abound,
And milk bones line the walkways
Just waiting to be found.
There even is a ring set up,
The grass all lush and green;
And everyone who gaits around
Becomes the Best of Breed.
For we're all winners in this place;
We have no faults, you see.
And God passes out those ribbons
To each one, even me.
I drink from waters laced with gold,
My world a beauty to behold;
And wise old dogs do form my pride
To amble at my very side.
At night I sleep in angel's arms,
Her wings protecting me,
And moonbeams dance about us
As stardust falls on thee.
So when your life on Earth is spent
And you stand at Heaven's gate,
Have no fear of loneliness —
For here, you know, I wait.
We love you so much Taterbug and CoCo. We miss you until we meet again
THE SPIRIT OF A DOG
I was standing on a hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
And the spirit of a dog
Was lying at my feet.
He looked at me with kind dark eyes,
Ancient wisdom shining through.
In the essence of his being,
I saw the love there too.
His mind did lock upon my heart
As I stood there on that day,
And he told me of this story
About a place so far away.
As I stood upon that hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
In a twinkling of a second
His spirit left my feet.
His tale did put my heart at ease,
All my fears did fade away
About what lay ahead of me
On another distant day:
I live among God's creatures now
In the heavens of your mind,
So do not grieve for me, my friend,
As I am with my kind.
My collar is a rainbow's hue,
My leash is a shooting star.
My boundaries are the Milky Way
Where I sparkle from afar.
There are no pens or kennels here
For I am not confined,
But I'm free to roam God's heavens
Among the Doggie kind.
I nap the day on a snowy cloud
Gentle breezes rocking me,
And dream the dreams of earthlings,
And how it used to be.
The trees are full of liver treats,
And tennis balls abound,
And milk bones line the walkways
Just waiting to be found.
There even is a ring set up,
The grass all lush and green;
And everyone who gaits around
Becomes the Best of Breed.
For we're all winners in this place;
We have no faults, you see.
And God passes out those ribbons
To each one, even me.
I drink from waters laced with gold,
My world a beauty to behold;
And wise old dogs do form my pride
To amble at my very side.
At night I sleep in angel's arms,
Her wings protecting me,
And moonbeams dance about us
As stardust falls on thee.
So when your life on Earth is spent
And you stand at Heaven's gate,
Have no fear of loneliness —
For here, you know, I wait.
We love you so much Taterbug and CoCo. We miss you until we meet again
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Taterbug, my beautiful baby girl
It is with great sadness and a grief stricken heart that I write this. My beautiful, 15 year old brindle chihuahua, Taterbug, passed away in my arms, from congestive heart failure. Appropriately, she chose D-Day, June 6, 2010 to leave this world. She picked her own day and time. It was just like her to go out on a memorable day.
I got Taterbug as a 4 week old puppy. She was the runt of the litter and looked just like a tiger kitten when she was young. She was so tiny when I picked her up from the breeder that I put her in my shirt pocket and you couldn't even tell she was there. But as she grew up, my God but her personality was huge. And she was beautiful. And she knew it. She literally grew up with my children. As she got older, she was a little ornery and would bite just because chihuahua's do that. She would wag her tail, bite you, and look at me as if to say, "Father, you dear kind man, I love you to death, but I love biting you too. Please, dear man, do not take it personally, it is just what I do.".
We loved her as much as we loved our own children. My kids thought of her as their sister. I called her many nicknames over the years. Taterbutt, Little Fatness, Little Mean, and finally when the hair on her face started graying, I called her, "my gray faced old girl". Our love for her was huge and intense. And she loved us so much. She would literally holler for me when I came in from work. She would prance around to get my attention, as well.
The years passed. We got other little dogs. Lexi, CoCo and Spot. We loved them dearly but Taterbug was the "Queen" of the household. Anyway, we lost CoCo on April 3, 2010 to Cushings disease. It caught me off guard. While grieving the loss of CoCo, who by the way, would put a diabetic into a coma because of his insane level of sweetness, I started thinking about what would happen if one of the others got sick. Then it happened.
I came in from work one Saturday night, Taterbug, did exactly as she had done so many other times. She yelled for me, tail wagging, and squinting her eyes, making what I called her little "beautiful eyes" at me. After the dogs calmed down from the excitement of my arrival, I said to my wife, "You know, Taters getting old now. I hope she stays with us for a while". My wife told me not to talk that way. Anyway, I was sitting on the couch, Taterbug came to my side, screamed in distress, fell over and I thought she died right then. She had what I thought was a siezure. Eyes rolled back, she went limp, legs straightened and she quit breathing. After I panicked for a minute, she opened her eyes, licked her lips, and seemed to recover. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as she immediately started acting normal. We later went to bed, her with us as always. Things seemed okay. I was so wrong.
Sunday, Taterbug woke up but was having trouble breathing. She was walking as though she was drunk. Had another episode, not as bad but I freaked out again, called the Emergency Clinic. The guy that answered immediately started talking about euthanasia because of her age. I hung up on him. She had difficulty breathing all day that Sunday. I asked God to let her live so I could get her to her regular vet. He did and we took her to him Monday morning. He told us she had just fainted because of fluid around her heart and in her lungs from congestive heart failure. He also said he could treat it and she should be okay. I was ecstatic. My beautiful baby was coming home.
She did return home and we gave her medicine exactly as perscribed. She did better the first day home but started having breathing problems again. I took her back to her vet. He said she was just having a reaction to her meds and to give her a few days but she would get better. So, we did. She had lost her appetite, was very weak, could barely stand. We hydrated her with syringes of water because she would not drink on her own. She never got better. She finally quit eating and drinking one Friday, almost two weeks after the fainting incident. I took her back to her vet. He said "clinically" she is okay. I asked him specifically if her death was imminent. He said emphatically, "NO", and said give her a little more time to get adjusted to the meds.
Saturday, still no appetite, still not drinking, still having breathing problems. But she made it to Sunday but it was much worse. She could not stand as she was so weak. Her body was heaving with every breath. I told my wife we had to take her to the Emergency Clinic and have her put to sleep. My wife almost got hysterical. I was crying my eyes out and I made a bargain with God. I told him if he was not going to save her, then take her quickly. I then picked her up and told her, "Baby, if you need to go to Heaven, then just go. Don't worry about us."
Now in her later years, she had gotten hard of hearing, but in my last words, she was looking me straight in my eyes, and she understood. She stood up in my lap, started barking her "happy" bark. Her bark of recognition. Her eyes focused on something or someone in the distance. She barked for a good 20-30 seconds. Then she lay down in my lap, buried her beautiful little face in my left arm pit, took two deep breaths, and died. I know that when she started barking right before she died, CoCo had come from Paradise to escort her home. She recognized him and was happy. CoCo was a tough little boy and she was frail and small. He just had to make sure she made it without being scared. I know they are in Heaven together now. I just know it. I buried her right beside CoCo in a waterproof container, with patterned brick on top and lattice railing around the perimeter. I made two crosses for them. It is a beautiful spot to rest.
I loved both of them so much. I can hardly wait until I am reunited with them. They wait on me together, with no sickness or sadness. I would have gladly taken their illnesses upon myself to spare them but, alas, God had other plans. Now, I did get mad at God. I thought He was punishing me for something. I railed, cursed and swore at him for days. Then the realization hit me, He was not punishing me, He was rewarding them. My mind is more at ease now but the emptiness is still mind boggling. One last thought, these two perfect beings were loved by me, more than I love most humans. They never,lied, cheated, stole anything or said any hurtful words. The only pain they ever caused was with their passing. How many humans could honestly say that? They were perfection realized here on Earth. I miss them terribly and just hope to God that I was worthy of their love.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Rest in Peace CoCo
I have not posted in a while. But, it is with heavy heart that I report the passing of my littlest boy, my black, bow-legged shih tzu, CoCo. He passed away on 4/3/2010 from the effects of Cushings disease. We had CoCo and his little companion, Lexi, about 5 years. He and Lexi actually belonged to my next door neighbor for the first year of his life. She neglected them terribly. Their life consisted of living on a 5x10 back deck with no cover in all types of weather. Their hair was matted and when it rained, it was heartbreaking as they ran to and fro on the back deck trying to get shelter. When it was too hot or cold, they suffered.
My wife could not take the neglect anymore and went over to my neighbor's house and talked her into giving us CoCo and Lexi. When we got them their hair was matted up horribly and they smelled so bad. It was hard to believe that these two little bundles of energy were allowed to suffer like this but, they were. Anyway we had their hair cut, health checked, and they then worked their way into our hearts. We already had two dogs, a chihuahua named Taterbug and an old hound-dog, Spot. We had plenty of love for more dogs. As time went on CoCo became the alpha male and dominated the household, even though he was small. His personality was comical and his eyes held an intelligence and understanding that let you know that he knew everything going on in our house. He and Lexi along with the others were treated as full members of our family. For 5 years, he and the others brought a lot of love, loyalty and happiness to our household. He was difficult to housetrain, so we used diapers on him. He eventually got it, and we quit with the diapers but when he had them on he was adorable. I grew to love them as you would love a child. And I know he loved me but in reality, I was number two in his life. My wife was number one.
Last summer, I noticed he was panting a lot, drinking a lot, peeing a lot, and his belly had started to swell. He also was developing little cysts under his skin. We took him to the vet and got the diagnosis...Cushings Disease. It is a little tumor that develops on their pituitary gland and makes them secrete too much of a hormone called cortisol. Anyway, we were treating it and he was doing okay, not great but he still had that fire in his eyes and mischief in his heart. His energy was waning. One day he would be okay, the next he would sleep a lot. Our lives revolved around this little boy and his sickness. We never left him alone, never let him go hungry, never let him get dirty. We would clean him when incontinence struck, clean his little butt when he was passing blood. We tucked him in at night, and basically treated him as one would a human that was sick. He had good days and bad days. My wife fussed over him so much that he grew to love her more than anybody. He was a Momma's boy. She kept his hair cut, fed him well, talked to him constantly, and woke up with him at night to use the bathroom. But, he never acted sick. Sure, he would sleep and be a little tired, but the disease was really messing with him, yet he never really showed it. In my blissful ignorance, I did not know how very sick he was. Even when he was feeling his worst, he would always greet me after work with his tail wagging and his whole body shaking with glee. At night, I would try to read and he would have to lick my face for as long as I let him. He would get on one side and Lexi would get on the other and lick my face until I could not take it anymore. I told my wife they were "kissing me in stereo".
Sadly, he lost his battle on 4/3/2010. We woke up to find him, barely alive in the hallway. My wife and son rushed him to the vet's. He died in her arms and the last thing he saw was my wife's face, crying, telling him how much she loved him and what a good boy he was, and begging him to wake up. I buried him in the back yard and made a beautiful little plot for him, covered with red brick and lattice railing. The grief was staggering. I have cried a million tears for that little dog. He brought so much happiness into our lives. I have had a long stretch of bad things happening in my life but this one took the wind right out of me. My wife and I loved this little perfect creature so much that it actually affected me more than when my Mom died in 2007. I think it is because he was a huge part of our lives everyday. With a dog, there is no guile, no deceit, no lying, no cheating. They are perfect examples of God's love towards us and we are only allowed to borrow them for a short while. We loved CoCo but God loved him first. People I know tell me, "It is just a dog". Well, that dog meant more to me and my family than most humans do. To us he was so much more. He is loved and will be missed. He holds a spot in my heart until the day I die. I know life goes on, but I think flowers will be a little duller, music will not be as pretty, colors will not be as bright, for a long time to come for us.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
April 10, 1988
A day that I will never forget. It started out like any other day on patrol in the small little town of Graysville, AL. I was on patrol and it was a normal boring Sunday. Nothing ever happened on Sunday. I could go a whole shift and never receive a call. Sunday was the only day that I worked 2pm-10:30pm. The normal evening shift guy was off on Sunday and Monday so I filled in. At about 5pm, I was driving down this long stretch of road called Brookville School Road. It ran from, surprise, Brookville School down a hill to Cherry Avenue. Off to the side of Brookville School Road were short little illegal access roads where locals would dump garbage and shoot guns and drink and do drugs. Well, as I was going down the hill, I saw a 78 Ford Fairmont kinda halfway up one of these roads with it's hood raised, the universal sign for car trouble. I pulled in behind the car and noticed two occupants in the car that I could see. A driver and a front seat passenger.
I thought they were broke down and pulled behind them to see if they needed help. Standard procedure was to call in the tag number and ask for information on the vehicle. I turned on my police lights and proceeded to call dispatch to run the tag number when all of a sudden, a nickel plated revolver was tossed out of the vehicle from the driver's side window. I immediately got out of my car and drew my weapon. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy running through the woods away from the scene. (Later found out this guy was suspect #3 and was in the woods taking a piss when I drove up. That was why I only saw the two in the car) Anyway, I ordered the driver out of the car and placed him face first on the ground. I then went to the passenger side and as I was coming from the rear, I could see that the passenger had the glove compartment open and had his "works" laid out on it so that he could "fire up" (inject dope).
As I told him to get out of the vehicle, he opened the door about 8 inches and said, "Fuck you", and backhanded an object towards me. I recognized it after a moment but was shocked to be seeing one in a civilian setting. What he had thrown towards me was a WWII pineapple hand grenade. As a former Marine, I recognized it and started to hit the deck. Someone had dumped a huge roll of old carpeting on the side of this little access road and that was the cover I dove for. But, it was too late. It exploded as I was halfway to the ground and blew dirt, rocks, and shrapnel into my face and upper body. I hit the ground hard and my adrenaline was going about 1000mph. I knew I was hurt but did not know how bad as I could feel no pain. However, there was a steady stream of blood running down from my chest into my pants, from my elbow to my gun hand, and from my forehead into my eyes.
I popped right back up off the ground and the guy in the passenger side started to throw another one. I saw the pin fly across the interior of the car. At the time I was carrying a Colt Gold Cup .45 ACP National Match pistol that had been accurized with the Bar-sto barrel throated and polished to fire one round super accurately. The CCI-Speer 200 grain jacketed hollow-point bullet. I could shoot one inch groups off-hand all day long with this gun and that bullet. I had practiced enough that I could empty a clip in less than 2 seconds. At the time, I was a competition shooter involved in IPSC type shooting which simulated combat shooting and I never missed. Anyway, I reverted back to instinct and I shot. I never will forget the sound of the impact. I swear the thud of the bullet hitting him in the face was distinctly audible. The bullet entered his face slightly inward of his eyesocket almost on the upper bridge of his nose. It was like turning off a light switch. All motion ceased. Well, he dropped the second grenade inside the car and it went off, destroying the interior of the car as well as the guy that dropped it.
I then got back on the radio and dropped a "double ought" (10-00) which is kinda like a police emergency call telling the dispatcher to send all available help my way. My dispatcher asked me was I okay, and I had to look at my "front" to see because again, with the adrenaline pumping like crazy, I could not feel anything. I told the dispatcher that I was bleeding pretty badly and to send me some medical help. The driver of the car never moved and I proceeded to place him in the rear of my car after kicking the shit out of him.
My car was severely damaged from the blast of the first one, as was the offenders car. Also the offenders car was pretty much destroyed from the interior blast of the second grenade. Within 5 minutes, the place was crawling with police officers from everywhere. News reporters were also on the scene as they had been in the area scanning for stories on their police scanners. Inside what was left of the car we found a LAW anti-tank weapon, a sub-caliber device for a LAW rocket, a MAC10 sub-machine pistol with full auto capabilities, 2000 rounds of ammunition, and some assorted pistols and revolvers.
The hand grenades were real enough but had been constructed with old WWII hand grenade bodies that people use as paperweights and can be bought at any Army-Navy store. The bodies were real but the explosive material was taken out. They had put black powder back in the bodies and put training fuses on them, essentially recreating what they originally were. According to the driver, they planned to rob a local crack house and were doing dope in order to get the nerve up to complete the robbery.
The guy I shot was well known as he had killed a 15 year old kid at West Jefferson Lake the previous summer. The kid had stood up to a group of drunks that were giving his 12 year old sister a hard time. The bad guy went to his vehicle and pulled out an AR15 and shot the kid through the neck.
Believe it or not, he was out on unsupervised probation because of an extremely crooked Judge, Jack Montgomery, when he and I crossed paths. The newspaper at the time reported that I was killed. I called them and told them I was not. They cleared that up but reported that I had shot the guy with a rifle. I had to call and correct them on that as well. I had sustained blast injuries to my face, upper torso, and arms that still plague me to this day. From time to time a little grain of sand or dirt will work it's way to the surface of my skin and be painful as hell until it gets taken out. At first I had to go back to the Doctor fairly regularly to get the pieces taken out, but as the years progressed, I had to go back less and less.
Anyway, the driver and the guy that ran went to trial in Federal Court (possession of the weapons they had was a federal crime). The driver's Mom actually caught me during the proceedings and begged me to testify that her son did nothing and knew nothing about what was going down. I told her that I would tell the truth but would not lessen nor add to his actions
After the trial was over and I had been raked through the coals for my actions, the other two guys were found guilty and sentenced to 43 years in the Federal lockup for "Attempted Murder of a Police Officer". I was walking to the elevator afterwards, lost in my own thoughts when I heard a commotion going on behind me. As I turned around, the girlfriend of the guy I shot jumped on me and literally beat the shit out of me before I could react or the court bailiffs could get her off. She was arrested and taken away. Every year I get notifications in the mail that the other two are coming up for parole. Every year they get denied that parole. I wonder how I would react if they got out and I ran into them? (I purposefully left most names out of this story as the families of those involved still live in one of the local communities)
I thought they were broke down and pulled behind them to see if they needed help. Standard procedure was to call in the tag number and ask for information on the vehicle. I turned on my police lights and proceeded to call dispatch to run the tag number when all of a sudden, a nickel plated revolver was tossed out of the vehicle from the driver's side window. I immediately got out of my car and drew my weapon. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy running through the woods away from the scene. (Later found out this guy was suspect #3 and was in the woods taking a piss when I drove up. That was why I only saw the two in the car) Anyway, I ordered the driver out of the car and placed him face first on the ground. I then went to the passenger side and as I was coming from the rear, I could see that the passenger had the glove compartment open and had his "works" laid out on it so that he could "fire up" (inject dope).
As I told him to get out of the vehicle, he opened the door about 8 inches and said, "Fuck you", and backhanded an object towards me. I recognized it after a moment but was shocked to be seeing one in a civilian setting. What he had thrown towards me was a WWII pineapple hand grenade. As a former Marine, I recognized it and started to hit the deck. Someone had dumped a huge roll of old carpeting on the side of this little access road and that was the cover I dove for. But, it was too late. It exploded as I was halfway to the ground and blew dirt, rocks, and shrapnel into my face and upper body. I hit the ground hard and my adrenaline was going about 1000mph. I knew I was hurt but did not know how bad as I could feel no pain. However, there was a steady stream of blood running down from my chest into my pants, from my elbow to my gun hand, and from my forehead into my eyes.
I popped right back up off the ground and the guy in the passenger side started to throw another one. I saw the pin fly across the interior of the car. At the time I was carrying a Colt Gold Cup .45 ACP National Match pistol that had been accurized with the Bar-sto barrel throated and polished to fire one round super accurately. The CCI-Speer 200 grain jacketed hollow-point bullet. I could shoot one inch groups off-hand all day long with this gun and that bullet. I had practiced enough that I could empty a clip in less than 2 seconds. At the time, I was a competition shooter involved in IPSC type shooting which simulated combat shooting and I never missed. Anyway, I reverted back to instinct and I shot. I never will forget the sound of the impact. I swear the thud of the bullet hitting him in the face was distinctly audible. The bullet entered his face slightly inward of his eyesocket almost on the upper bridge of his nose. It was like turning off a light switch. All motion ceased. Well, he dropped the second grenade inside the car and it went off, destroying the interior of the car as well as the guy that dropped it.
I then got back on the radio and dropped a "double ought" (10-00) which is kinda like a police emergency call telling the dispatcher to send all available help my way. My dispatcher asked me was I okay, and I had to look at my "front" to see because again, with the adrenaline pumping like crazy, I could not feel anything. I told the dispatcher that I was bleeding pretty badly and to send me some medical help. The driver of the car never moved and I proceeded to place him in the rear of my car after kicking the shit out of him.
My car was severely damaged from the blast of the first one, as was the offenders car. Also the offenders car was pretty much destroyed from the interior blast of the second grenade. Within 5 minutes, the place was crawling with police officers from everywhere. News reporters were also on the scene as they had been in the area scanning for stories on their police scanners. Inside what was left of the car we found a LAW anti-tank weapon, a sub-caliber device for a LAW rocket, a MAC10 sub-machine pistol with full auto capabilities, 2000 rounds of ammunition, and some assorted pistols and revolvers.
The hand grenades were real enough but had been constructed with old WWII hand grenade bodies that people use as paperweights and can be bought at any Army-Navy store. The bodies were real but the explosive material was taken out. They had put black powder back in the bodies and put training fuses on them, essentially recreating what they originally were. According to the driver, they planned to rob a local crack house and were doing dope in order to get the nerve up to complete the robbery.
The guy I shot was well known as he had killed a 15 year old kid at West Jefferson Lake the previous summer. The kid had stood up to a group of drunks that were giving his 12 year old sister a hard time. The bad guy went to his vehicle and pulled out an AR15 and shot the kid through the neck.
Believe it or not, he was out on unsupervised probation because of an extremely crooked Judge, Jack Montgomery, when he and I crossed paths. The newspaper at the time reported that I was killed. I called them and told them I was not. They cleared that up but reported that I had shot the guy with a rifle. I had to call and correct them on that as well. I had sustained blast injuries to my face, upper torso, and arms that still plague me to this day. From time to time a little grain of sand or dirt will work it's way to the surface of my skin and be painful as hell until it gets taken out. At first I had to go back to the Doctor fairly regularly to get the pieces taken out, but as the years progressed, I had to go back less and less.
Anyway, the driver and the guy that ran went to trial in Federal Court (possession of the weapons they had was a federal crime). The driver's Mom actually caught me during the proceedings and begged me to testify that her son did nothing and knew nothing about what was going down. I told her that I would tell the truth but would not lessen nor add to his actions
After the trial was over and I had been raked through the coals for my actions, the other two guys were found guilty and sentenced to 43 years in the Federal lockup for "Attempted Murder of a Police Officer". I was walking to the elevator afterwards, lost in my own thoughts when I heard a commotion going on behind me. As I turned around, the girlfriend of the guy I shot jumped on me and literally beat the shit out of me before I could react or the court bailiffs could get her off. She was arrested and taken away. Every year I get notifications in the mail that the other two are coming up for parole. Every year they get denied that parole. I wonder how I would react if they got out and I ran into them? (I purposefully left most names out of this story as the families of those involved still live in one of the local communities)
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Reverse Drug Buy
My unit (MADET-Multi-Agency Drug Enforcement Team) was a unit that was comprised of officers from surrounding municipalities around Birmingham. We had several cities represented within the unit. I was from Hueytown and we had officers from Fairfield, Midfield, Bessemer and Pleasant Grove. The Federal Government paid the cities our salary, which enabled them to hire another officer to replace our absence from that cities Police Department. We wore normal clothes, drove normal cars, (mine was a 1984 Red Dodge Ram 4x4). and rarely reported back to our respective police agencies. For all intents and purposes, not many people even knew what we did.
I will tell you what we did. We busted drug traffickers. We went after them both large and small. We had various ways of doing it. We would buy and sell drugs. One of the ways that had the most success (but also huge penalties for failure) was the "reverse buy". Basically, the "reverse buy" was when we would take seized drugs, and attempt to sell them to another trafficker. This was high risk as hell because you had to gain their trust, in order to get them to try and buy dope from you. It was considered entrapment if you initiated the transaction. Sometimes a "reverse buy" deal would take months. You had to check with the DA all along to make sure that what you were doing could not lead to entrapment charges. So, we were extremely careful. Everything was either voice recorded or video recorded.
Our voice recorders were called Unitels and looked just like a beeper that the criminals were using. It was actually a transmitter and we always had a unit close by recording what was being said. We really tried to cover our asses.
It was early Sepember 1989 and we were setting up to video a "reverrse buy" at the Red Roof Inn in Homewood AL. It was a hotel that had been the scene of a lot of drug activity and was situated on the side of Red Mountain. We were supposed to be selling $75,000.00 of high grade sensimilla weed that we had confiscated earlier in the summer. There were about 10 officers working on this case. The buyer was supposed to be a really fat guy from Panama City named "Big John". The plan was for us to get a room at the Inn, he would beep us, the undercover officer would go to the parking lot with the weed, get the cash and leave. "Big John" would then be arrested as he left the Inn's parking lot. It was a fool proof plan....or so we thought.
We had set up video surveillance of the parking lot and had officers in different rooms and cars in order to prevent "Big John" from getting out of our grasp. It was HOT. I am talking humidity levels matching the temperatures. And the temp was in the mid 90's. Walking outside for any legth of time brought about profuse sweating and just a general dampness. Uncomfortable as hell. Anyway, all of the other officers were dressed in summer type clothes, t-shirts, shorts, sandals, whatever. Except for me. I had on jeans and a golf shirt. They laughed because I was absolutely baking in those jeans.
At about 5pm, "Big John" pulls into the parking lot of the Inn and beeps the undercover officer. The undercover officer leaves his room with this big bag of weed. It was fucking huge and it stunk like shit (good shit though). As the undercover gets into the parking lot, almost to "Big John's" car, "Big John" gets out of his car with a suitcase with the $75,000.00 in it. As the two start to approach each other for the exchange, a Birmingham Police unit, on routine patrol, pulls right into the parking lot that the undercover officer and "Big John" were in. "Big John" panics and slings the suitcase towards the undercover. When it hits the ground, it opens and all of that cash starts being blown around the lot. We later accounted for every dollar. Anyway, "Big John" takes off running up the hill. Now remember, this is Alabama, heat and humidity off the charts. All of the other officers break cover and start chasing "Big John" up that fucking hill. But they hit the side of the hill and are stopped. You know what stopped them? Big ass thorn bushes all the way up the side of the hill. It was impenetrable for anyone wearing shorts. And kudzu, everywhere. Their legs were being cut to shreds from those thorns. And with the sweat and dirt, it hurt like hell. I, on the other hand had no problem getting through these thorn bushes because I was wearing blue jeans.
Now, "Big John" could not run very fast but in his adrenaline rush and the other officers inability to get up the hill because of those damn bushes and kudzu, he was actually close to getting away. I charged through those bushes ignoring the pricks from the thorns and caught up to him, just as he reached the top of the hill. I had my gun out, an H&K P7 M13 squeeze cocker. It was the best gun I had ever carried. 9mm German made precision. It was set up so that squeezing the grip cocked the pistol. Once it was cocked very little force was required to keep it cocked. The trigger then only required 4 lbs of force to fire. Also at the top of the hill was a ground level electrical transformer that looked like a big, green metal box.
Well, "Big John" and I got into a fight at the top of the hill. As were were fighting, he managed to grab my pistol while I was gripping it, which cocked it. As I wrestled to get it away from him it discharged and I could see where it struck the ground and ricocheted into the transformer box. "Big John" screamed, "You motherfucker, you shot me" I said, "No I didn't you fat son of a bitch". After the gun went off "Big John" no longer wanted to fight. I did ask him, "Where did you get hit?". We could not find anywhere that appeared to be bleeding. We were both covered in red clay dirt (That is why they call Red Mountain by it's name) and sweat. Anyway, I handcuffed "Big John" and we ambled on down the hill to the waiting officers and he was arrested.
We had to meet at Fairfield Police Dept to book "Big John" and all of the other officers met us there. Whlel taking John's info we found out his name was John David Bilbro. He asked if before we put him in a cell, if he could take a shower because he was still covered in sweat, grime, and that red clay dirt from fighting with me. He was allowed to do that. I had to watch him while he showered. Well, after a minute or so he screamed and started yelling. I asked him, "What the hell is wrong with you?" It seems he had been hit with a bullet, right through the fat hanging off of his side. (remember, he was really fat) Hit no organs or anything, just fat, through and through. It did not bleed because fat sealed the hole, I guess, and with the adrenaline pumping through him, he didn't really feel it. But as soon as the hot water and soap hit it while he was taking a shower, he felt it. He started crying, talking about suing us and shit like that. We got a paramedic to come in, look at the hole, treat it and call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. He got sentenced to 10 years for trafficking.
I almost got into trouble on that one because we did not report the incident to my police chief at Hueytown. They had rules that stated anytime a firearm was discharged, there had to be an investigation. As it was, the leader of MADET, John Taylor, stood up for me and told my chief that since I really wasn't working for Hueytown, he did not think I should have to be investigated by Hueytown.
Now, John Taylor was about 6'8" and towered over most other officers. He was a Lieutenant with the City of Fairfield and also was a saxaphone player in the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and would often show up at drug busts wearing a black tuxedo with a red cummerbund, having just finished a concert or musical performance. Anyway, the chief at Hueytown did not want to get on John Taylor's bad side, so he dropped it.
I know this one does not have blood and guts but I thought it was rather humorous.
I will tell you what we did. We busted drug traffickers. We went after them both large and small. We had various ways of doing it. We would buy and sell drugs. One of the ways that had the most success (but also huge penalties for failure) was the "reverse buy". Basically, the "reverse buy" was when we would take seized drugs, and attempt to sell them to another trafficker. This was high risk as hell because you had to gain their trust, in order to get them to try and buy dope from you. It was considered entrapment if you initiated the transaction. Sometimes a "reverse buy" deal would take months. You had to check with the DA all along to make sure that what you were doing could not lead to entrapment charges. So, we were extremely careful. Everything was either voice recorded or video recorded.
Our voice recorders were called Unitels and looked just like a beeper that the criminals were using. It was actually a transmitter and we always had a unit close by recording what was being said. We really tried to cover our asses.
It was early Sepember 1989 and we were setting up to video a "reverrse buy" at the Red Roof Inn in Homewood AL. It was a hotel that had been the scene of a lot of drug activity and was situated on the side of Red Mountain. We were supposed to be selling $75,000.00 of high grade sensimilla weed that we had confiscated earlier in the summer. There were about 10 officers working on this case. The buyer was supposed to be a really fat guy from Panama City named "Big John". The plan was for us to get a room at the Inn, he would beep us, the undercover officer would go to the parking lot with the weed, get the cash and leave. "Big John" would then be arrested as he left the Inn's parking lot. It was a fool proof plan....or so we thought.
We had set up video surveillance of the parking lot and had officers in different rooms and cars in order to prevent "Big John" from getting out of our grasp. It was HOT. I am talking humidity levels matching the temperatures. And the temp was in the mid 90's. Walking outside for any legth of time brought about profuse sweating and just a general dampness. Uncomfortable as hell. Anyway, all of the other officers were dressed in summer type clothes, t-shirts, shorts, sandals, whatever. Except for me. I had on jeans and a golf shirt. They laughed because I was absolutely baking in those jeans.
At about 5pm, "Big John" pulls into the parking lot of the Inn and beeps the undercover officer. The undercover officer leaves his room with this big bag of weed. It was fucking huge and it stunk like shit (good shit though). As the undercover gets into the parking lot, almost to "Big John's" car, "Big John" gets out of his car with a suitcase with the $75,000.00 in it. As the two start to approach each other for the exchange, a Birmingham Police unit, on routine patrol, pulls right into the parking lot that the undercover officer and "Big John" were in. "Big John" panics and slings the suitcase towards the undercover. When it hits the ground, it opens and all of that cash starts being blown around the lot. We later accounted for every dollar. Anyway, "Big John" takes off running up the hill. Now remember, this is Alabama, heat and humidity off the charts. All of the other officers break cover and start chasing "Big John" up that fucking hill. But they hit the side of the hill and are stopped. You know what stopped them? Big ass thorn bushes all the way up the side of the hill. It was impenetrable for anyone wearing shorts. And kudzu, everywhere. Their legs were being cut to shreds from those thorns. And with the sweat and dirt, it hurt like hell. I, on the other hand had no problem getting through these thorn bushes because I was wearing blue jeans.
Now, "Big John" could not run very fast but in his adrenaline rush and the other officers inability to get up the hill because of those damn bushes and kudzu, he was actually close to getting away. I charged through those bushes ignoring the pricks from the thorns and caught up to him, just as he reached the top of the hill. I had my gun out, an H&K P7 M13 squeeze cocker. It was the best gun I had ever carried. 9mm German made precision. It was set up so that squeezing the grip cocked the pistol. Once it was cocked very little force was required to keep it cocked. The trigger then only required 4 lbs of force to fire. Also at the top of the hill was a ground level electrical transformer that looked like a big, green metal box.
Well, "Big John" and I got into a fight at the top of the hill. As were were fighting, he managed to grab my pistol while I was gripping it, which cocked it. As I wrestled to get it away from him it discharged and I could see where it struck the ground and ricocheted into the transformer box. "Big John" screamed, "You motherfucker, you shot me" I said, "No I didn't you fat son of a bitch". After the gun went off "Big John" no longer wanted to fight. I did ask him, "Where did you get hit?". We could not find anywhere that appeared to be bleeding. We were both covered in red clay dirt (That is why they call Red Mountain by it's name) and sweat. Anyway, I handcuffed "Big John" and we ambled on down the hill to the waiting officers and he was arrested.
We had to meet at Fairfield Police Dept to book "Big John" and all of the other officers met us there. Whlel taking John's info we found out his name was John David Bilbro. He asked if before we put him in a cell, if he could take a shower because he was still covered in sweat, grime, and that red clay dirt from fighting with me. He was allowed to do that. I had to watch him while he showered. Well, after a minute or so he screamed and started yelling. I asked him, "What the hell is wrong with you?" It seems he had been hit with a bullet, right through the fat hanging off of his side. (remember, he was really fat) Hit no organs or anything, just fat, through and through. It did not bleed because fat sealed the hole, I guess, and with the adrenaline pumping through him, he didn't really feel it. But as soon as the hot water and soap hit it while he was taking a shower, he felt it. He started crying, talking about suing us and shit like that. We got a paramedic to come in, look at the hole, treat it and call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. He got sentenced to 10 years for trafficking.
I almost got into trouble on that one because we did not report the incident to my police chief at Hueytown. They had rules that stated anytime a firearm was discharged, there had to be an investigation. As it was, the leader of MADET, John Taylor, stood up for me and told my chief that since I really wasn't working for Hueytown, he did not think I should have to be investigated by Hueytown.
Now, John Taylor was about 6'8" and towered over most other officers. He was a Lieutenant with the City of Fairfield and also was a saxaphone player in the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and would often show up at drug busts wearing a black tuxedo with a red cummerbund, having just finished a concert or musical performance. Anyway, the chief at Hueytown did not want to get on John Taylor's bad side, so he dropped it.
I know this one does not have blood and guts but I thought it was rather humorous.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
How to age ten years in a single night
I will try to tell this story as accurately and detailed as I can. This happened in 1988. I aged about 10 years overnight as a result of this incident and is one of the big reasons why the excitement of patrol duty faded. Here goes:
On the weekends, I worked a shift that split the evening shift and the night shift. 7pm-3:30am. It ensured that, in what was our busiest time, there was always two officers on duty during peak hours. I loved working that shift and generally would stay over and ride in the car of the night shift officer, Carl Butler. Now Carl was a huge man, about 6'6" and close to 300 lbs. He also had a head as large as a watermelon, but it was in proportion to his size. His hands were the size of dinner plates. They needed to be as he carried a Smith and Wesson 25-5 .45 Long Colt with a 6" barrel. He used to make fun of the fact that I preferred semi-automatics, as he told me, "A revolver never jams". As big as he was made him an imposing figure to criminals but a comforting figure to those he worked with. Just his sheer size would often be enough to defuse a bad situation. He worked nights for well over 20 years and absolutely loved it. He did have some annoying traits and habits. He smoke AC Grenadier cigars and they absolutely reeked as did his car. And, he would fart in the police car and lock the windows so that they could not be rolled down, laughing like hell the whole time as you were gagging. These, as well as drowning himself in Old Spice cologne really had to be experienced if you rode with him. But, he was one helluva good officer and turned out to be a great friend.
It was late in the summer of 1988. I was working in the little town in western Jefferson County called Graysville. It was a really small, country community of about 1500 people. It was also one of the most segregated cities in Alabama. The white people and the black people lived in totally different communities and they never, and I mean never, ventured out of them except to go the grocey store, post office, or leave the city. The city is cut in half by US Hwy 78. It, at the time, was the quickest way to get to Memphis from Birmingham and was always busy. Now, on the weekends, all we had to do was cruise Hwy 78 and we would be bound to either run into a DUI, an accident, or some kind of criminal activity that was taking place at the little convenience stores that were on it. Bad thing was, that almost every weekend, we had a fatal car accident along this highway.
The county west of Jefferson along Hwy 78 was Walker County. And it was a dry county meaning that no alcohol could be sold within the county limits. It was a haven for some of the most gap toothed red necks you have ever seen. Every sterotypical red neck that has been portrayed on TV was probably based on a Walker county red neck. At one time, 20/20 did a story about Walker County. The story was about where was the cheapest place that you could have a person murdered. The answer was Walker County, Alabama. The people that lived there were actually proud of that story. As a matter of fact, a few years ago, there was a man cutting grass on a riding lawn mower in Walker County. ([url]http://articles.latimes.com/1999/jul/29/news/mn-60726[/url]) Someone had placed a bomb on the friggin lawn mower, which exploded, killing him and his dog. They also tried to get his wife by placing an explosive in the front wheel well of her Ford Expedition. When she went to get it serviced for a front end noise, the service tech discovered it. It had failed to explode. No one was ever arrested for that. And they had a lot of murders that went unsolved. This is just one of many.[url]http://www.charleyproject.org/cases/l/lawson_carrie.html[/url]
If you google Walker County Alabama or Jasper Alabama, you will know the area that I am talking about. So, all the Walker County red necks that wanted to party with alcohol would drive to Birmingham to go to the night clubs and bars there. After they were shit-faced drunk, they would then drive back home to Walker County. And that is the reason we had so many fatalities on that 10 mile stretch of road between Graysville and Walker County. So, I was working this shift one Saturday night. For some reason, it had been fairly quiet all night. At around 2:30am I went to the station to start my nightly reports. We had to report nightly on stuff like, "how many miles driven per shift", "what type calls we answered", "weather conditions", and any prisoners that we had placed into custody. So, I was sitting at my desk filling out my reports, thinking my shift was just about done. Carl was sitting in the dispatchers office smoking one of those damn cigars, stinking the whole damn office up. At around 3:00am we got a call to assist the State Troopers. They had received a call that a drunk driver had gotten on Hwy 78 going the wrong way in the west bound lane. They were about 25 miles away and since we were only about 10 miles away, they asked us if we could head up the highway and try to stop the drunk driver.
Now, I was a junior officer at this time with only 2 years so I had the worst car. It was a 1973 Ford LTD. It looked just like one of those old LTD's on those movies that you had to watch in school with titles like "Blood on the Highway", even down to the red and blue "bubble" lights that were on top. But, it had the biggest engine. We had a mechanic that had put a 460 cu inch motor in it when it turned 300k on the original motor. He also set it up with Holley carbeurators. It was a turd of a car, but it was fast as hell. (In a straight line) Carl was driving a 1986 Crown Victoria that the department had only had for a short time. So. off we went, Carl in his nice police car and me in the turd mobile.
The area that the wreck happened at was known as Lynns Crossing at the crest of a fairly long hill. It really is just a bump in the road on the way to Memphis. You cannot see what is on the other side until you are right on top. Because of that, neither driver had a chance to avoid the other car. This was in the same area the guy in the truck that I told y'all about in "The Most Heinous Vomit ever" wrecked at. We got to the scene about thirty seconds after the incident happened. What happened was the drunk driver, driving a 1976 Malibu had hit a car head-on, a 1977-78 Buick Station wagon. Inside the station wagon was a family, 6 kids and two adults. The carnage was absolutely mind-blowing. It literally took your breath away. I have never scene such devastation inflicted on humans. Anyway, the drunk driver was dead. He had hit them so hard his entire body was forced under his steering wheel and he had bones jutting from his legs, and his back from the force of the collision. There was no helping him. We tried to see if he was alive but his body was kinda like a bag filled with lumpy jelly. He must have broken most of the bones in his upper torso when he hit the steering wheel. When we tried to move him, it was like trying to pick up a big water balloon. I think only his skin was holding him together. He had empty beer cans scattered all over his car and we estimated that he hit the Buick at about 70 mph. The Buick, we estimated, was travelling at about 60mph.
We then turned our attention to the other vehicle. The glare of the spotlights and the smoke from the destroyed vehicles made the scene nightmarish, almost like an explosive had been in one of the cars. Some of the children's bodies were literally torn into pieces. Most of it was just unrecognizable. It was hard to tell what they were and that they were human. None of them were wearing seatbelts as most people back in that time did not. The effect of the two cars colliding at those speeds was horrific and for me, unforgettable. I remember, the driver was absolutely destroyed. She had hit the steering wheel with such force that internal organs had been forced out from within her body. There were bits and pieces of her hanging all over the inside of the car. We could tell it was a person, but only later were we able to call the body "her". I can tell you, I was shaking and had tears running down my face. Anyway , there were two or three still moving and moaning, that were sitting in other seats in the car. I recall, there were three front seat passengers, all dead at the scene. There were three second row passenger with two dead and one alive, but we didn't know that yet. There were two people in the back row, one of them was dead and the other was still, somehow alive. Now, when the Buick was hit the front seat raised up, shearing the bolts that hold it to the floor.
During that small amount of time, one of the mid row passengers, that had been holding a 6 month old child in their lap, lost the child from his grasp and the child went under the front row seat. As the front row seat slammed back down, it pinned the 6 month old underneath it and it's passengers, literally crushing the child. When we found the child it was still alive, not crying at all, but struggling mightily to breathe. It struggled for a few minutes as the EMT's tried to keep him alive, but he lost the battle and died before being able to be loaded for transport. You could tell, even through all the blood, that he would have been a handsome young man one day. He, even then, was a beautiful baby boy. That was the first and only time I had ever seen Carl Butler cry. But he stood there watching as the paramedics and EMT's were scurrying around and he cried. He cried hard and long. I know he tried not to cry, but couldn't stop. I think he was embarrassed, as police officers aren't supposed to cry. The thinking at the time was that we were supposed to maintain a straight face and demeanor regardless of circumstances. Me being new, and not having been exposed to death this close and personal, well, I couldn't help but cry. I was surrounded by death and I cried. But, I was not embarrassed. Carl later asked me not to tell anyone that he cried. I told him that he appeared "human" and no one could fault him for that.
After that, I never saw him show emotion while on scene again. I, on the other hand, had nightmares for years after this one. I have goosebumps on my arms right now. Ambulances had taken a couple of the children to the local hospital but they were all dead or died on the way. A six year old boy, that we thought was going to live was taken to the local hospital, which was not far away. As Doctors were working on him in the parking lot of the hospital, internal matter started hemorrhaging from his mouth and brain matter was leaking from his ears. I felt totally helpless as I am sure the Doctors did as well. They pushed him aside and placed a sheet over him and started working on the only survivor, a 32 year old lady that had been sitting in the third row with the driver's son. She survived, probably because she was asleep and the force of the collision was buffered from the second row seat. Anyway, she was all messed up with broken arms and legs, and she had blood all over her. But it was from the little boy that had been sitting with her in the back, not her own. She did survive.
The cars were destroyed, but unlike in the movies wherein the slightest wreck makes them either explode or catch on fire, they did neither. It was hard to make out what type cars they were though. The force of the impact made identification really hard. We found out from the survivor, the 32 year old, that they were coming back from Birmingham, after going to see wrestling matches, then they went to an all night roller rink and the kids roller-skated until about 2:30am. The 32 year old was a cousin that had went along to help watch the other kids. That was what they were doing on the road at that hour. The drunk driver had left a county line strip club called, "Wesleys Booby Trap" to head back to his home. His blood alcohol level was determined later to have been about .28%. Out of nine people in the two vehicles, 8 of them died that night and I aged about 10 years overnight. I still remember the names. Their last name was Morgan. The 6 month old boy under the front seat, his name was Cody. They were the family of a man that we knew as police officers. He was the Deputy DA of Walker County. I won't state his first name just in case someone reads this and decides to get pissy about it. Anyway, he had just separated from his wife, (the driver of the Buick), to run off with some little drug addled, crack whore, dancer (from the club I mentioned earlier, "Wesleys Booby Trap").
He later committed suicide by shooting himself in the head, because he was convinced that God had punished him for leaving his family and cheating on his wife. He left a note saying words to that effect. After this, my zeal for patrol work diminished. I stayed in for a couple of years longer, but really, I got tired of seeing carnage every weekend on that damn highway. I eventually ended up transferring to another city where I ended up volunteering for narcotics duty. But those early days of working wrecks just showed me what drunk driving can do. The havoc it can create and the death it leaves in it's wake. Even today, I rarely drink alcohol of any type.
On the weekends, I worked a shift that split the evening shift and the night shift. 7pm-3:30am. It ensured that, in what was our busiest time, there was always two officers on duty during peak hours. I loved working that shift and generally would stay over and ride in the car of the night shift officer, Carl Butler. Now Carl was a huge man, about 6'6" and close to 300 lbs. He also had a head as large as a watermelon, but it was in proportion to his size. His hands were the size of dinner plates. They needed to be as he carried a Smith and Wesson 25-5 .45 Long Colt with a 6" barrel. He used to make fun of the fact that I preferred semi-automatics, as he told me, "A revolver never jams". As big as he was made him an imposing figure to criminals but a comforting figure to those he worked with. Just his sheer size would often be enough to defuse a bad situation. He worked nights for well over 20 years and absolutely loved it. He did have some annoying traits and habits. He smoke AC Grenadier cigars and they absolutely reeked as did his car. And, he would fart in the police car and lock the windows so that they could not be rolled down, laughing like hell the whole time as you were gagging. These, as well as drowning himself in Old Spice cologne really had to be experienced if you rode with him. But, he was one helluva good officer and turned out to be a great friend.
It was late in the summer of 1988. I was working in the little town in western Jefferson County called Graysville. It was a really small, country community of about 1500 people. It was also one of the most segregated cities in Alabama. The white people and the black people lived in totally different communities and they never, and I mean never, ventured out of them except to go the grocey store, post office, or leave the city. The city is cut in half by US Hwy 78. It, at the time, was the quickest way to get to Memphis from Birmingham and was always busy. Now, on the weekends, all we had to do was cruise Hwy 78 and we would be bound to either run into a DUI, an accident, or some kind of criminal activity that was taking place at the little convenience stores that were on it. Bad thing was, that almost every weekend, we had a fatal car accident along this highway.
The county west of Jefferson along Hwy 78 was Walker County. And it was a dry county meaning that no alcohol could be sold within the county limits. It was a haven for some of the most gap toothed red necks you have ever seen. Every sterotypical red neck that has been portrayed on TV was probably based on a Walker county red neck. At one time, 20/20 did a story about Walker County. The story was about where was the cheapest place that you could have a person murdered. The answer was Walker County, Alabama. The people that lived there were actually proud of that story. As a matter of fact, a few years ago, there was a man cutting grass on a riding lawn mower in Walker County. ([url]http://articles.latimes.com/1999/jul/29/news/mn-60726[/url]) Someone had placed a bomb on the friggin lawn mower, which exploded, killing him and his dog. They also tried to get his wife by placing an explosive in the front wheel well of her Ford Expedition. When she went to get it serviced for a front end noise, the service tech discovered it. It had failed to explode. No one was ever arrested for that. And they had a lot of murders that went unsolved. This is just one of many.[url]http://www.charleyproject.org/cases/l/lawson_carrie.html[/url]
If you google Walker County Alabama or Jasper Alabama, you will know the area that I am talking about. So, all the Walker County red necks that wanted to party with alcohol would drive to Birmingham to go to the night clubs and bars there. After they were shit-faced drunk, they would then drive back home to Walker County. And that is the reason we had so many fatalities on that 10 mile stretch of road between Graysville and Walker County. So, I was working this shift one Saturday night. For some reason, it had been fairly quiet all night. At around 2:30am I went to the station to start my nightly reports. We had to report nightly on stuff like, "how many miles driven per shift", "what type calls we answered", "weather conditions", and any prisoners that we had placed into custody. So, I was sitting at my desk filling out my reports, thinking my shift was just about done. Carl was sitting in the dispatchers office smoking one of those damn cigars, stinking the whole damn office up. At around 3:00am we got a call to assist the State Troopers. They had received a call that a drunk driver had gotten on Hwy 78 going the wrong way in the west bound lane. They were about 25 miles away and since we were only about 10 miles away, they asked us if we could head up the highway and try to stop the drunk driver.
Now, I was a junior officer at this time with only 2 years so I had the worst car. It was a 1973 Ford LTD. It looked just like one of those old LTD's on those movies that you had to watch in school with titles like "Blood on the Highway", even down to the red and blue "bubble" lights that were on top. But, it had the biggest engine. We had a mechanic that had put a 460 cu inch motor in it when it turned 300k on the original motor. He also set it up with Holley carbeurators. It was a turd of a car, but it was fast as hell. (In a straight line) Carl was driving a 1986 Crown Victoria that the department had only had for a short time. So. off we went, Carl in his nice police car and me in the turd mobile.
The area that the wreck happened at was known as Lynns Crossing at the crest of a fairly long hill. It really is just a bump in the road on the way to Memphis. You cannot see what is on the other side until you are right on top. Because of that, neither driver had a chance to avoid the other car. This was in the same area the guy in the truck that I told y'all about in "The Most Heinous Vomit ever" wrecked at. We got to the scene about thirty seconds after the incident happened. What happened was the drunk driver, driving a 1976 Malibu had hit a car head-on, a 1977-78 Buick Station wagon. Inside the station wagon was a family, 6 kids and two adults. The carnage was absolutely mind-blowing. It literally took your breath away. I have never scene such devastation inflicted on humans. Anyway, the drunk driver was dead. He had hit them so hard his entire body was forced under his steering wheel and he had bones jutting from his legs, and his back from the force of the collision. There was no helping him. We tried to see if he was alive but his body was kinda like a bag filled with lumpy jelly. He must have broken most of the bones in his upper torso when he hit the steering wheel. When we tried to move him, it was like trying to pick up a big water balloon. I think only his skin was holding him together. He had empty beer cans scattered all over his car and we estimated that he hit the Buick at about 70 mph. The Buick, we estimated, was travelling at about 60mph.
We then turned our attention to the other vehicle. The glare of the spotlights and the smoke from the destroyed vehicles made the scene nightmarish, almost like an explosive had been in one of the cars. Some of the children's bodies were literally torn into pieces. Most of it was just unrecognizable. It was hard to tell what they were and that they were human. None of them were wearing seatbelts as most people back in that time did not. The effect of the two cars colliding at those speeds was horrific and for me, unforgettable. I remember, the driver was absolutely destroyed. She had hit the steering wheel with such force that internal organs had been forced out from within her body. There were bits and pieces of her hanging all over the inside of the car. We could tell it was a person, but only later were we able to call the body "her". I can tell you, I was shaking and had tears running down my face. Anyway , there were two or three still moving and moaning, that were sitting in other seats in the car. I recall, there were three front seat passengers, all dead at the scene. There were three second row passenger with two dead and one alive, but we didn't know that yet. There were two people in the back row, one of them was dead and the other was still, somehow alive. Now, when the Buick was hit the front seat raised up, shearing the bolts that hold it to the floor.
During that small amount of time, one of the mid row passengers, that had been holding a 6 month old child in their lap, lost the child from his grasp and the child went under the front row seat. As the front row seat slammed back down, it pinned the 6 month old underneath it and it's passengers, literally crushing the child. When we found the child it was still alive, not crying at all, but struggling mightily to breathe. It struggled for a few minutes as the EMT's tried to keep him alive, but he lost the battle and died before being able to be loaded for transport. You could tell, even through all the blood, that he would have been a handsome young man one day. He, even then, was a beautiful baby boy. That was the first and only time I had ever seen Carl Butler cry. But he stood there watching as the paramedics and EMT's were scurrying around and he cried. He cried hard and long. I know he tried not to cry, but couldn't stop. I think he was embarrassed, as police officers aren't supposed to cry. The thinking at the time was that we were supposed to maintain a straight face and demeanor regardless of circumstances. Me being new, and not having been exposed to death this close and personal, well, I couldn't help but cry. I was surrounded by death and I cried. But, I was not embarrassed. Carl later asked me not to tell anyone that he cried. I told him that he appeared "human" and no one could fault him for that.
After that, I never saw him show emotion while on scene again. I, on the other hand, had nightmares for years after this one. I have goosebumps on my arms right now. Ambulances had taken a couple of the children to the local hospital but they were all dead or died on the way. A six year old boy, that we thought was going to live was taken to the local hospital, which was not far away. As Doctors were working on him in the parking lot of the hospital, internal matter started hemorrhaging from his mouth and brain matter was leaking from his ears. I felt totally helpless as I am sure the Doctors did as well. They pushed him aside and placed a sheet over him and started working on the only survivor, a 32 year old lady that had been sitting in the third row with the driver's son. She survived, probably because she was asleep and the force of the collision was buffered from the second row seat. Anyway, she was all messed up with broken arms and legs, and she had blood all over her. But it was from the little boy that had been sitting with her in the back, not her own. She did survive.
The cars were destroyed, but unlike in the movies wherein the slightest wreck makes them either explode or catch on fire, they did neither. It was hard to make out what type cars they were though. The force of the impact made identification really hard. We found out from the survivor, the 32 year old, that they were coming back from Birmingham, after going to see wrestling matches, then they went to an all night roller rink and the kids roller-skated until about 2:30am. The 32 year old was a cousin that had went along to help watch the other kids. That was what they were doing on the road at that hour. The drunk driver had left a county line strip club called, "Wesleys Booby Trap" to head back to his home. His blood alcohol level was determined later to have been about .28%. Out of nine people in the two vehicles, 8 of them died that night and I aged about 10 years overnight. I still remember the names. Their last name was Morgan. The 6 month old boy under the front seat, his name was Cody. They were the family of a man that we knew as police officers. He was the Deputy DA of Walker County. I won't state his first name just in case someone reads this and decides to get pissy about it. Anyway, he had just separated from his wife, (the driver of the Buick), to run off with some little drug addled, crack whore, dancer (from the club I mentioned earlier, "Wesleys Booby Trap").
He later committed suicide by shooting himself in the head, because he was convinced that God had punished him for leaving his family and cheating on his wife. He left a note saying words to that effect. After this, my zeal for patrol work diminished. I stayed in for a couple of years longer, but really, I got tired of seeing carnage every weekend on that damn highway. I eventually ended up transferring to another city where I ended up volunteering for narcotics duty. But those early days of working wrecks just showed me what drunk driving can do. The havoc it can create and the death it leaves in it's wake. Even today, I rarely drink alcohol of any type.
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