High Water!

ARSOMO RR Bridge over the Middle Fork of the Little Blue River after the recent flooding in Van Halen County.

Happy Mother's Day

In 1950 my dad was 16 years old. He loved his mother so much he spent his first paycheck, from his first job, buying his mother a set of outdoor furniture. It consisted of two metal chairs and a glider. They were very, very red. They had a cut-out pattern of interlocking circles that looked like a big flower on the seats and backs.

Over the years of constant use by the family, numerous repairs and color changes were made. I remember, in my youth, rocking back and forth on the glider during family get-togethers and cookouts in my grandparents backyard. Hamburgers and hotdogs, Charles Chips, Kool-Aid and sitting on the churn while one cousin turned the crank and another added rock salt, so we could have home-made ice cream.

We'd never learn either. We'd wolf down the ice cream so fast we'd give ourselves a headache from the brain-freeze. Those really were the days.

I had so many cousins we had football and baseball games in the open lot next to my grandparent's house, without bringing in anyone outside the family. My Uncle Bill, only a couple of years older than me, usually kept it cut. (He was youngest of 7 kids and I was the oldest of his oldest brother.)

They had an old beat-up, faded yellow riding lawn mower. You had to start it using a handled rope with a knot on the end that wrapped around a pulley on the end of the crackshaft. It was a tough way to start an old mower. If you didn't get it going right away, it could wear you out.

We begged Bill to ride us around the yard on the little yard wagon behind the mower. He really didn't want too. He made up the excuse that it was too hard to start. I asked if I got it started, would he let me drive us around the yard. Bill figured that was a safe bet.

I figured I only had one shot at it. I'd tried this before and had to give up from exhausion. I wrapped the rope tight on the pulley. I put one foot up on the mower to give me something solid to brace myself against. Then I gave it everything I had.

It started the first time! Everyone was amazed. Even Bill jumped and adjusted the choke so it didn't die on us.

We had a great time riding around and around all afternoon. I was in the driver's seat with a big grin on my face. All the cousins took turns jumping on and off for rides. (There were too many to ride all at once.)

I was the topic all evening with the adults and the kids. Bill just smiled in minor defeat and shook his head. I rocked back and forth on the glider and ate my slightly burnt hambuger, all full of myself. That's when the color of the outdoor furniture was black.

Many years ago I told my grandmother I wanted that glider and chairs whenever she was through with them. I like to think of those happy days as a kid, the weekend visits to my grandparents and seeing all my cousins. There was the old house, the yard, the pine trees planted all around the yard as saplings that soon towered over the property and the yard furniture.

My grandmother gave me the furniture decades ago before she moved into an assisted living apartment complex that Bellvue Baptist runs next to the church. I've hauled them around the country as I moved with my job.

A couple of weeks ago I decided the furniture needed a major overhaul. Out came the grinder and sander. Off came layers of paint, different shades of green black and finally the base coat of bright red. The furniture had an interesting look, up to that point, because the paint had been worn down through the different layers. I had to do something before the rust completely took over.

It took a lot longer than I expected. I found a dozen spots where I took off the paint, that there were holes though the metal underneath. Out came the Bondo. No, its not a car but, it worked out great. About half the hardware, screws, bolts, pins and attachments were not original either. The family had made a lot of repairs.



I built a patio area in my front yard with that furniture in mind. I love sitting out there, like the old man that I am, rock on my glider, playing my dulcimer, listening to my little cherub water fountain and thinking about my childhood with my big ol' family.

The family is spread out all over the country with their own kids and families. I know they all remember fondly those days when the family was all close-by and got together, often for no particular reason. I know my kids would love to know their cousins better. It is a shame we don't get together the way we used to.

My sister, on a recent visit to Memphis, said grandmother asked her about that furniture. Well, I finished restoring it and painting it all. It's on my patio, now a two-tone green which I find pleasant among my little potted flowers and fountain. This Mother's Day will be 58 years to the day after my dad gave this furniture to his mother.

I am just sending her a Mother's Day card with a picture of her glider and chairs sitting on my patio. If only a couple of things go with us when we retire to FHH it will be my Grandmother's glider and chairs, and my dulcimer. That and my memories will be all I need.

(My boat is already there.)

We're Glad You're Home!

Matt made it in from school today, most of the 350 miles in driving rain.

My sister's little Nissan pickup she gave him held up pretty well. It was heavy with all the junk from his dorm room. Everything was in black plastic garbage bags against the weather and held down with a bungee web. His mom was relieved and glad to see him.

His sister, Ta'Molly, was even happier to see him than I thought. Almost as soon as he got here, she was doing a Happy Dance. Maybe a little too expressive for a 14 year old, but a good dance none-the-less.

I'm glad you're home too. Everythings a little more animated when you're in town.

Now, go get a job!

Comin' Home

The last week of school. My freshman year at The Boston Mountain Conservatory of Music is coming to a close. Finally, getting out of my 15x15 dorm room, and headed back home. This year has been an eye opening experience for me. Throwing a "City boy" out into the middle of no where alone, and helpless was probably the best thing for me. And this was evident in my last day of classes before finals.













My Trombusa (Pictured above) studio class was the most fun of all. My teacher Mr. Jarry (Ger bear) Xloan, led a very inspiring class. As usual the class begins with the Trombusa students goofing off in the classroom before Xloan makes his entrance.All of us were are sitting around, bringing up old memories that we all poke fun of each other for, when we hear the door slowly creek open (That being the que for us to jump to our chairs, and look like we've been doing something productive) Xloan enters, wearing a beaten professor's jacket (With the elbow patches) slowing lurches to the front of the room. A man of at least 62, lanky and pale, Xloan was a man that people would tend to avoid on their regular routine.As he peered into the room A look of utter disgust hangs up his face, as he scans the room taking his "Mental" attendance. We sit quietly and still as he darts to each one of our faces.

"Where in the hell is Zach Rupert?"

Zach not being know for his perfect attendance record had decided to miss the last day of class....We all expected less.

"I don't know Mr. Xloan, I heard he was out partying" Says one us

"Oh really, I guess he is a lucky one, then isn't he?"

We all look around, wondering what one liner Xloan was going to pull out of his sleeve to mock Zach not being present. He was well know for his infamous pep talks, and his memorable quotes..Some being

"Why don't you guys go ahead and change your diapers and try it again."

"I hate to insult an entire gender due to your poor playing."

"Is 4/4 too hard for you? Can you even count to four?...Good, now if you can learn to do it over and over again someone might actually pay you to play that thing some day."

To those in the know of music, These come as low blows in the music world. While making everyone watching you perform laugh uncontrollably.

But, Xloan instead took out a long, deep sigh, and said...

"Guys, This has been a year to remember. We've had many a rough patch and some how I always drag you all through it kicking and screaming.....And if there is one thing that my colleagues have told me about my studio as a whole is....That they hate each and everyone one of you"

He stood there and just looked at us, and we were in complete shock. As this was oblivious to us, that people actually thought of our studio in that way, and teacher none the less were the one that said it.

Now this does go to our studios rep as the more or less "Mutterers" or talking under our breaths about other studios. All of the remarks being negative, mostly a technique we picked up from Xloan.

He Continued....

"And guys, I just have to tell you.......I really think you did learn something from me this year. You tell someone when they stink, and you aren't shy about expressing your opinions of music to others.....And by god, I couldn't be more proud or confused at the same time."

"Out of all the things we've talked about this year, You took that away form this class"

And we all got a rising laugh out of that, and let out our remarks. We thought he was about to jump down our throats, and we'd have to hear an hour lecture and musical etiquette. Then Xloan coughed and said..

" Lets go celebrate, and take this last day to see off our seniors."

We were completely taken by surprise...

He took us to Dickson street, about the only street in the town that has some kind of value to society. There we ate some great BBQ, and listened to some jazz from a local band.

The thing I learned from Xloan this year was not how to improve my playing, which he did teach e that, But he taught me how the business of music works, and that when he voiced his opinions they were coming form a man that had been working the music business for more than 45 years. And this was a great lesson to learn, and I was glad to have had the experience.

It really was a great way to end yet another year of school.......And it really was enjoyable...

But, I can't wait to take my summer visit to FHH.

Got Shot? Why I'm Not Surprized

There used to be a huge beautiful old pine tree that held the slope of the hill below my house and spread majestically over my back deck. It wonderfully framed one side of my view of Freers Gerry Lake and Sugarbread Mountain. I loved the view and I loved the tree.

So, naturally, pine beetles got to it. Killed it and its dead branches held threatenly over my back deck and home. It had to go.

Enter into the story old Mr. Johnson. He was 85 years old if a day. A veteran of World War II, he was a wirey, proud, worn but still a useful spring of a man. An early riser and hard working man, he cut trees in FHH for a living.

I was leary of hiring him for this job because of his age. But, I enjoyed talking to him (for two hours the first time I met him) about his service and his life's experiences, which were many and actually very interesting.

My sister, Beth, who works at the FHH Utilities District, recommended him. Mr. Johnson assured me he left all the tree climbing and muscle work to a young man who worked for him. We agreed on $300 to take down the dead pine and culling out some saplings and a few smaller trees. They'd be there at 7:00 the next morning. I guessed I could get up that early on a vacation day. Oh well, I wanted to see this happen.

They got there at 6:00 am. Mr. Johnson was on my back deck admiring the locomotive bell I have mounted back there. Two young men noisily unloaded chainsaws, climbing gear and equipment out of the back of a beat-up old Ford pickup. It was difficult to tell what color the truck was. This was in driveway right outside my bedroom window.

I guess there had been no real need in having set the alarm clock. Since I'm at my home in FHH only on vacations I'd never actually used the alarm part of the clock before. It was an old used GE that I'd bought at the Share and Wear second-hand store. I didn't have the instructions. Most of the printed labels for knobs and switches were faded or worn off. I'd spend way too much time the night before figuring out how to set it. Even then, I wasn't sure it was going to go off the next morning. Is this what retirement is going to be like?

I dragged myself outside with a glass of OJ ,(breakfast) bedhead, unshaven and cloudy-eyed. Chain saws were being started up, ropes throw around and branches being man-handled. "Where'd you get that train bell?" said Mr. Johnson still studying it pretty closely. This was way too much activity that early in the morning.

"Ahh, I... One of my guys recovered it with some other stolen property. It wasn't ours and no other railroad claimed it. I cleaned it up to put on my pontoon boat."

"Could you might part with it?"

"I really hadn't thought about it. Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

"I'll give ya' fifty bucks or maybe trade a little work."

"I'll have to think about it. I really want to mount it on my boat."

We leaned over railing watching the two boys tackle some of the smaller trees. "Get the hell out of there! You don't know what the hell you're doing! You gonna get yauself hurt damnit!" Mr. Johnson was getting animated.

"Let me get down there. That boy don't work for me. He just wanted to watch. That other boy, Zipper, there with the saw, is supposed to be doing the work"

Jake "Zipper" Hammonds is a strapping young redneck punk. About 22 or 23 years old. He was very polite in a overt Eddie Haskell kind of way that makes you mistrust him and have a kid brother kind of affection for him at the same time. You know everything he says is a lie. His smile is fake but practiced. You should never turn you back on him but, you like him anyway. He is who he is. I never did find why everyone calls him Zipper.

They worked their butts off, including the old man. The other kid tried but, he kept getting in the way and yelled at by Mr, Johnson. They had that big ol'pine down, hauled off the hill and all the smaller trees cut up by 9:30.

I'd felt complelled to really get myself up for the day, with all the activity. I washed up, did a few choirs and brought some ice water down for the guys doing the real work.

Mr. Johnson, sweating and panting, was looking at the big tree stump. "I'm going to have to go get my big saw to get that stump cut down to the ground. I'll come back later."

We agreed he'd come back at 3:00 that after noon, finish off the stump and I'd have his cash ready for him.

Here's were it gets interesting (finally, huh?). I was wearing my vacation hat and not my cop hat. It's generally not healthy to be in suspicion mode all the time. Freers Gerry Lake is were I try to turn that off, for family unity and my own mental stability.

Zipper and Steve-oh (I assume his given name was Steve but, who knows) showed up again at the house at noon with the Big Saw. It took both of them to start it up. Zipper tackled the stump and Steve-oh had a stick poking at the stump, dangerously close to that whirling chain. I'm sure Mr. Johnson, were he there, would have been yelling."Get the hell out of there you idiot. You're going to get yourself killed." Mercifully it was over quickly and no one got hurt. OSHA was no where to be seen.

While they were gone I saw a few more things I wanted cut. Zipper took care of that in quick fashion. They packed up and met me on the deck.

"Where's Mr. Johnson?" I asked.

"He got hot and went home. You know how old fellows get. We told him we'd finish up here, pick up the money and go work on some other jobs.'

"Well, here's $300 for your boss. Ya'll figure out with him your pay but, here's an extra $20 for you. I appreciate that extra work you did."

Zipper genuinely thanked me, gave me his cellphone number in case I needed any yard work or trimming done, then left. I felt this twinge behind my left ear. I still had my vacation hat on which makes those twinges less noticable. However, it didn't surprize me that Zipper was trying to cut his boss out of future jobs.

I stood there and admired the changes to my backyard for a while but, still morned the loss of my familiar pine. It being the heat of the day, I went inside, fixed me a sandwich and flipped on the TV to watch Shadow of the Thin Man. I love Willian Powell and Myrna Loy movies.

At 3:00 pm sharp I saw Mr, Johnson walking around my back deck. My first thought was that he was still eyeing my bell. Sure enough, the first thing he said was, "You made up yourn mind if ya gonna sell me that bell yet?"

"I think I'm going to keep it, Mr. Johnson"

"I don't know what happened to that Zipper-boy. He was supposed to meet me here at 3:00 with the Big Saw. I saw him and that idiot that was with him a few minutes ago, up at the front entrance like they was leaving town. They hadda seen me."

"They were here at noon and cut out the stump. See," I pointed down to where the pine once stood. "They said you were hot and went home."

"I was Gaul-durn hot alright! That ungrateful snot-nose wanted me to pay him $200 and that other idiot expected me to pay him too! You didn't give him the money did you?" I should have been wearing my cop hat.

Mr. Johnson knew where Zipper lived so we jumped in his truck and drove over there. He lived in the low-rent section of FHH. Not the trailer park but, almost. Zipper was living off his girlfriend, Janette Bumpers. Her dad was a retired cop who now lived in FHH. He bought her a little house nearby and then the stomach-turning boyfriend moved in with his two pit bulls. Nice.

I saw Zipper's pickup parked out behind his back fence in the woods. It was hiden, I guess. We banged on the door and yelled out his name. All the blinds and curtains in the house were closed tight. The windows on the doors were covered with aluminum foil from the inside. I circled the house with the dogs going nuts in the backyard the whole time. I was hoping to see a little peek out of the window but, no.

Mr. Johnson was cussing like a Marine as I parked his truck behind some bushes at the end of street where I could see the intersection. "What the hell are you doing?"

"There's no other way out. We know they're in there. They're just waiting for us to leave. We'll catch them as they pull up to the stop sign and block them in."

"Well, I don't want any trouble."

"You want your $300?"

"Yeah, and those two son-sa's in jail too."

As mad as he was, Mr. Johnson wanted no part of this. We went back to the house and called the FHH Police to file a report. Officer Bennie showed up and I explained what happened. Well, wouldn't you know it, this was a major crime in FHH. Bennie had the rest of the department out loooking for Zipper and Steve-oh while I wrote out a statement.

I remembered that I had Zipper's cellphone number and called it. The ringtone on my end was some acid rock -punk-country song about drinking Jack. I left a message and Zipper called me right back. I asked him sweetly,"Did you forget something?"

"Uhh, what?"

"To give Mr. Johnson the $300?"

"That old son-of -a-," he continued on a tirade of foul langage and denunciation for 10 minutes. The gist was that they had not pre-arranged what Zipper's cut was to be. He felt that Mr. Johnson was going to short him despite the fact that they had not actually discussed it.

"Well, I gave that money to you to give to Mr. Johnson. Since you did not give it to him I'm going with Mr. Johnson to swear out an affidavit with the DA in Hilery in the morning."

This prompted another 10 minute explosion of accusatory nonsence from Zipper.

I responded, "Here's the deal. Bring the money back or go to jail. Money. (or) Jail. You decide."

Long story short (yeah, right) Zipper said he'd be right over. He was 5 minutes away. Twenty minutes later I called him, "Did you forget something?"

"What?" I thought I heard a little attitude in his voice.

"Did you forget to drive over here and give Mr. Johnson the money? Money? (or) Jail?"

"I'll be right over."

Zipper and Steve-oh showed up 20 minutes later. Maybe it did take longer than all of us thought.

What happened next was right out of an episode of Jerry Springer. Zipper went after Mr. Johnson, right in the middle of the street. Officer Bennie was trying to control the situation by dangling a pair of handcuffs. John-boy, a tall muscular 300 good-ol-boy and county lineman who works for Mr. Johnson, on the side, doing tree-triming, jumped in verbally to defend him. Beanpole that he was, Zipper threatened to whip his butt but, was held back by some phantom person. My next door neighbor (and FHH darts champion) was ready to jump in and Steve-oh was egging Zipper on, seated safely in the passenger side window of the truck.

Mr. Johnson politely explained that he didn't fight island to island in the Pacific killing Japs to have to put up with this crap. (This is, of course, the censored and condensed version.) Officer Bennie now had his hand on his gun and was looking at me like "What do I do now?"

I pulled Zipper aside,"Here's what Officer Bennie can't tell you, so let me make this easy for you one more time. It's give the money back or go to jail. Why don't you just give the money back to me, instead of Mr. Johnson, and this will all go away."

Zipper's Eddie Haskell impression kicked in, "You've been straight with me all along Mr. Gonzalas. I'll do it because you asked me to but, that's the only reason."

(Whatever)

Zipper handed me the $300. Withtout a break in movement, I handed it directly to Mr. Johnson. Steve-oh yelled something again about his cut and Mr. Johnson refered to him as a useless something or another. The Jerry Springer show had returned from commerical break.

I walked into my house. My job was done and I felt better about not having had my cop hat on earlier in the day. I figured it was time to take it off again. After all, I was on vacation and the lake was calling. Officer Bennie was calling too - for backup.

A couple of months later I was back home in Texas when my sister called. "You'll never guess. Zipper's been shot."

"Why am I not surprized?" I'm sarcastic like that.

"Turns out he had been extorting money from the old man who owns the hardware store over in Laverne for the last six months. Zipper hit him up for money one too many times and the old man shot him point blank with 00 buck. He's in intensive care and apparently paralized from the waist down."

"Oops"

"Oh. it gets better. The reason he he was able to squeeze money out of the old man? He didn't want his wife to find out he and Zipper had been together."

"Together. You mean...."

"Yes." The finality of how she said it told me all I needed to know. (Actually, more than I wanted to know.)

"That's going to be tough. Doing state time in a wheelchair with that rep."

"An opportunity to make new friends!" My sister is so sassy.

"Again, oops," was all I could think to say.

A nice little postscript to this is that Steve-oh was stopped by Arkansas State Troopers after a high-speed chase through Hillery and Cees Branch last week. On top of everything else, Steve-oh had a mini-Meth lab in the back of his truck. Maybe eventually he and Zipper can be cellmates.

FHH Lighting 12, Laverne Lady Colts 9

In one of the most exciting softball matches of the Spring, the FHH Lighting soundly defeated the Laverne Lady Colts in a slugfest 12 to 9. The Lightings' thirdbase and lead-off batter, Ta'Molly Gonzolas had 5 hits and 8 RBIs.

Miss Gonzolas, one of the team leaders, said, "We just took what they threw at us and moved ahead one base at a time." When asked what the key to their victory was, Miss Gonzolas again wasn't bashful, "We just taunted the pitcher and catcher the whole game with our base-running. We took big leads and they never knew when we were actually going to steal a base. The pitcher was more worried about looking over her shoulder than throwing a good pitch and the catcher knew if she didn't pull in the bad pitches we were going to steal home. We wanted it more than they did."

Ta'Molly and her buddy, Candice McFarlin (the other half of the Dynamic Duo) who plays shortstop, were seen laughing throughout the game. "We just laugh at nothing, stupid jokes, the umpire and our parents," said Miss McFarlin.

The 1st inning was all Number 9 as Miss Gonzolas threw out the all three batters at first on in-field grounders. "I guess they know better than to hit to third base now!" said one parent watching the game.

Miss McFarlin, who also pitches, gave the crowd a thrill with an unbelievable catch of a line-drive right in front of second base. She turned it into a double-play with a throw to first. It was so quick the Umpire had to tap the opposing player on the shoulder at second base to tell her she was out.

When asked if she really said,"Put on your big girl sliding pants or go home?" Gonzolas just shrugged and said,"Moi?" Miss McFarlin just laughed.

FHH Police Report

FHH Police responded to a fight last night at the Batter's Cage. Two nuts were engaged in heated arguement over the bar tab. One nut was a salted.

Getting Proper Feedback

One of the guys that works for me is a former Memphis cop. His name really is Ed Fedrick. I use his real name because there is no one else like him.

Ed is a Vietnam vet, two tours - because he enjoyed the first one so much. He is a legend in Memphis. Ed was already a veteran officer and had two Purple Hearts by the time I started as a rookie cop in Memphis. He has six Purple Hearts, 3 from Vietnam, 2 from Memphis PD and 1 from the UP Railroad Police. He is like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon II where he shows off his wounds and scars to his new girlfriend.

It is odd now that he works for me now as a Territory Special Agent for the railroad. Some of the rookie Special Agents are a little skeptical of his war stories and often ask gently, if he was exaggerating. The stories are so wild but, every one of them and every detail is true. I was there for a couple of them.

Ed is an eater too. How he can eat that much and not get fat is a scientific mystery. In Longview, Texas is a great BBQ place called Bodacious Barbeque. On the big board is the "Ed Fedrick Special," a quadruple order of ribs, a large tea and banana pudding.

Being his supervisor, considering his legendary status and experience, is a challange. Ed is all military. Big Red One! (First Infantry, U.S.Army.)

He went back to Vietnam on a soldier's tour a few years ago. On one of the plains where several large battles were fought, a group of American vets were met by a North Vietnamese Army general. The general mentioned that he had battled during the war on that very spot. So had Ed. The general said gravely that he had lost a great many men in this place.

The general later pulled Ed aside and told Ed in broken English, "I noticed you did two tours of service in Vietnam. Why?"

"Two things, sir. I was very good at my job and with all due respect, I loved doing my job."

The general did not talk to Ed again. Ed also didn't get one of the little gift baskets the rest of the vets got when they left two days later. "Oh, well." said Ed.

Its a little tough, with any effectiveness, supervising Ed when he pulls that, "With all due respect, sir. F__k you!" on me. What are you gonna do?

We do have pretty effective interpersonal communications.

Back when Ed and I were both on the Memphis Police Department, he knew my family. Most them were on the police force. My dad was a lieutenant and my uncle was undercover in Vice. Ed thought my dad was the best lieutenant in the world. He could do no wrong. My uncle was another story. Ed considered him an errogant, stuck-up, egotistical and a back-stabbing snake-in-the-grass. (and that's the short and censored version.)

"You know, Jim, you're the best Captain on the department." Ed will often tell me. He knows I know, he thinks every other Captain on the department is incompetent, ignorant political hack. (also short and censored) It ain't saying much.

I do know I'm doing okay when I hear Ed tell me, "You know, you're a lot like your dad today."

On the other hand, in addition to the With all due respects, if Ed says, "Jim, you're getting to be like your uncle lately," I know I'm not doing so hot in his eyes.

I like better knowing, without doubt, where I stand.

I have some sharp young guys working for me. Some really good cops, good tacticians, strong, stout guys that can handle themselves. However, if I had to pick one guy to walk down a dark alley with, knowing we were going to run into some really serious s--t, Ed is the guy I'd want with me.

No matter what, whatever happens, Ed would be there, period. We'd get out of it somehow and somebody, probably more than one and probably including us, is going to bleed.

I like better knowing where I stand.

How to Learn to Play Golf

A fairly new friend of mine invited me to play golf with him many years ago. I did not really know much about the game but, it was getting to be necessary for me start playing for politics at work. Will Doornail is a stout, outgoing very likable guy. He is a heck of a writer and I was just starting to do that for both work and my own pleasure.

I didn't like the pretentiousness of most of the "golfers" I'd met. I thought it would be fun to go golfing with Will. It was.

Will set us up at a nice public course on a Sunday afternoon. I remember thinking how nice it was outside and how beautiful the course was. I could get used to this. Two of his buddies from work joined us in the foursome. Ironically, one of them, Leland, works for me now as a security guard

I was the first one up on the first tee. Will was patient and great at explaining the rules. More important was the etiquette, of which I had no clue. After teeing up and hitting a lousy slice not very far down the fairway, I headed off walking down the right side.

"Whoo, whoo whoo!," Will yelled at me. "Where do you think you're going."

He was good natured about it but, explained that a golfer never leaves the tee box ahead of everyone else in his foursome. He said it just wasn't done and more importantly you could get hit by a 90 mph golf ball. I got it. Thanks for the info, brother.

We finished up the first hole, a par 4, which I made in about 12 strokes.

At the second hole, Will stepped up to the tee. He wiggled around for a while, adjusted his grip and made a couple of practice swings. I could see I knew nothing about golf yet. I could use some tips from "Tiger" Doornail!

Will had a beautful swing, a picture of grace and athleticism. The follow-through of the swing was perfect. He kept his head down as he had instructed me to and I was to spot his shot for him.

"Well, where did it go? Right down the middle, right?"

"Uhh, no. It went off to the right about 50 yards down, up against that pine tree."

Will uttered a couple of words I didn't quite understand. They did have a religious connotation. I did pick up that much.

Will started walking down the right side of the fairway.

"Whoo, whoo whoo! Where are you going? I thought you told me you weren't supposed to leave the tee box ahead of the group!"

Will keep on going and yelled over his shoulder, "Its okay. I'm just going to find my ball so I don't hold up the group behind us." I found that interesting because I hadn't given the first thought to the idiots behind us yelling, "Hurry up amatures! You're holding everybody up!"

I stepped up to the tee, now feeling a little pressure. I didn't think my swing was too hot but, the ball and club made a distintive "tink" when they made contact. I'm not too quick, so I didn't realize what was happening at first. It was headed in a long curve right for Will.

Everyone yelled, "Four!" I joined in.

Will turned just in time to see what was happening. He raised his right arm in a defensive move. If he'd had a catchers mitt, he'da caught it.

He caught it all right. He looked like he'd been hit with a shotgun slug. It was all in slow-motion. His feet came off the ground. His arms and legs felled out uselessly. He looked like he'd been jerked straight backwards at the end of a giant's lasso.

We all ran to his aid. The other guys wanted to call 9-1-1. I was just laughing as Will looked at me like I was crazy. He wasn't able to breath yet. His thumb and half of his right hand was black. Not blue, not purple. Black. We undid his shirt and there was a black bruse the size of a football. At least there were shades of blue and purple around the perimeter of the wound.

"Walk it off. Walk it off, you big baby! Didn't you just get through telling me to NOT walk out ahead of the group? I don't want to hear any excuses now!"

After he was finally able in inhale, Will got up and slowly walked to the next tee. Leland picked up his ball for him. I should have let him keep my ball. That would have been a keeper.

That's the day I learned to play golf. I am forever grateful to Will for his unforgettable object lesson. I have never again walked out in front of the rest of my group while golfing. Ever.

Rugburns Rule!

Many years ago driving between LA and San Diego I heard a song on the radio I loved and had never heard before. I listened intently, in 90 mph bumper-to bumper traffic, for the song title and the name of the group. (If you've never driven in Southern California traffic, the 90 mph bumper-to bumper thing makes no sense.) The song was Hitchhiker Joe and the group was the Rugburns. The DJ had apparently played it several times in a row and was begging the listening audience (as opposed to the non-listening audience) to stop the repeated request for Hitchhiker Joe. Actually, I wanted to hear it again too.

I was in LA to do some training for the local Special Agents and used the opportunity to run down and visit my buddy Johnny for the weekend. I was in charge of law enforcement training for Union Pacific Railroad Police. I lived in Oh My God! (Omaha) Nebraska, the headquarters of the Union Pacific. I traveled all over the country at least 30 weeks a year. Racked up them airline points.

I bought the two albums the Rugburns had put out by then. I loved almost every song they did. Most of the cuts were writen and sung by their lead singer, Steve Poltz. His song-writing, musical ability and performance ability are truly amazing. Almost everything he does is smart, irreverant and funny. I was an instant fan. If I could sing, it would be like Poltz. If you know me: that ain't ever gonna happen.

My buddy Johnny was a short guy. This is a fact that, despite being a "trained investigator" I did not notice until over a decade later when someone I introduced to him remarked on it later. Johnny just never carried himself that way. He was not "bigger than life" but, almost.

Nobody else I knew, or kinda forced to listen to the Rugburns (my car, your ride, my music) much appreciated them. Oh, Hitchhiker Joe was okay and they had heard it a couple times on the radio. The rest of their music got me odd looks and the occasional, earned, rude remark.

The first time I met Johnny was the day before he married. I was invited to the reception dinner by default. My first wife, Suzanne, was the bride's room-mate in nursing school. I now know she was palmed off on me to get me off Myra's (the bride) back. Myra (Betty) was my first love ever, back in high school. I dumped her unceremoniously (would a ceramony made things better? I doubt it.) for a cute little cheerleader who dumped me 3 days before the prom. (What goes around, comes around, don't it?) I was 16. Nuff said.

It was a big Italian dinner at a big Italian restaurant with a very big Italian Family. (Family witha' Capital F) When dinner was over, it was the guys on one side of the room and the ladies on the other. I had been introduced around, but I really didn't know anybody. After dinner wine, drinks, cigars and conversations, talk turned to having a Bachelor Party. Geez, the wedding was at noon the next day.

I told them, "Brother, its now or never!"

The Rugburns never got very big outside of Southern California. They produced one more album and it wasn't as good as the first two. I followed them, but their shows, for the most part were in places I wasn't close enough to get too. I was still a fan and wondered why they weren't making it big. I guess I always knew they weren't mainstream. Not by a long shot.

I took Johnny, his brother and their friends to a strip bar I knew well from work. I was a Memphis cop back then and the owner had been trying hard to win favor so we'd lay off enforcement in his joint. Needless to say we were welcomed. I told the owner I couldn't take anything but, my buddy was getting married the next day.

To make a long story short (if that's possible) Johnny had 3 girls in his lap, titty-slapping his face and round after round of Tequila shots. Sometimes with the lemon and salt retreved from silicone filled twin appendages. While this was happening I had an idea. I discreatly called my two partners who were working patrol in our ward that night.

In 1996 I was called in at the last minute to take over an assignment that was going bad. I ended up running the protective detail in San Diego. I volunteered because I knew I could spend the weekend visiting Johnny after the week on that assignment. It was worth it. It turned out the Rugburns were playing at a hippy bar in Ocean Beach, just North of San Diego. I talked Johnny into going with me. He was not thrilled about it but, like a good wingman, he was right there.

In Memphis, when two cops show up in a strip bar on Friday night, looking around, radios blaring, everyone in the place turns their head to look. For a second, everyone and everything just stopped. The jovial mood unintentionally dropped a notch or two. The owner pointed to our table and the two strapping cops walked with purpose right toward us. They snatched Johnny up from his chair and two naked gals, covered in salt, fell on their bare butts, "You been touching these girls!!?"

A lot more happened and it was difficult not to laugh out loud, much less not at least smile. His brother was talking about kicking their ass and they all had completely forgotten I was cop. They dragged Johnny out to the squad car and threw him in the back. Things had been going so well only minutes ago. They told him he couldn't make bail until Monday, when the judge showed up in court. I can still see Johnny rocking back and forth behind the cage in handcuffs crying, "I'm supposed to get married tomorrow!"

"No your not, buddy." they told him.

I visited Johnny once when he lived in Salt Lake City. He taught me to ski the fast and easy way. Down the little hill from the lodge, snow-plowing down and holding the rope on a pulley back up. "That's it, we'll try something a little harder." The lift was short and I could see the drop-off a little ways up a slight hill. All the kiddies were doing it!

Richard, Johnny's hoodlum brother still wanted to whip the cops asses. I calmed him down and said I'd talk to the cops. After all, I'm a cop! My partners, Joe and Russ, played along. "I don't care who you are. You saw this little asshole. He resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer!"

"You can release him to my custody. I'll take care of it and" I said, "I'll owe you."

Loud enough for Richard and the guys to hear, "Do you know what you're saying. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, I do."

They made a show shaking there heads, shouting and yelling at him and me. Making sure I knew what the obligation was. They uncuffed him and practically threw him at me. They burned rubber and threw up dirt and rocks leaving the parting lot. Richard and Johnny's buddies were drunk, impressed and thankful. They all wanted to know what I had to do, now that I owed them.

"Policeman's Code, I can't talk about it."

The next ski lift when up a long, long way. Johnny and another friend, Trey, who skied backwards giving me intructions, told me. "Oh, its almost a bunny trail, just longer." Here it is: I fell down 200 plus times, got caught in a drift up to my shoulders where I had to "ski" out of it and at the bottom third I was going 100 mph in a straight line, unable to turn or stop almost running over a young woman who must have been nine months pregnant.

"Now you can ski anywhere!"

This was apparently funny, "That was a quadruple black diamond trail!"

Johnny and I were almost the first ones at he Ocean Beach bar. I say bar, but no alcohol was searved, or permitted. There was a fine selection; however, of herbal teas and lemonades. Through the heavy incense you could still detect the distinctive order of marijuana. Soon, a nursing mother and couple small kids made their way in and spread out a blanket on the floor instad of taking a table. Several hippies and a couple punkers made their way in.

A man in a walker and his wife, who looked like she needed one, shuffled in. Before long the place was packed and they were still coming. The owner opened up the double doors on the front and side, the exit by the bathrooms and all the over-sized windows. People crowded up outside all these openings.

At the wedding the next morning, Johnny, the best man and Richard looked none too able. I wasn't sure Johnny could stand up by himself but. they were all dressed alike! As, Here Comes the Bride played Myra came down the aisle in her wedding gown. Her eyes locked on me like lasers (Good thing they weren't lasers, I'd be dead, dead, dead.) Her look said, "I know EXACTLY who is responsible for this and I've never been more pissed in my life." (or something like that...)

When the Rugburns came on and starting playing the intro chords to their first song, the crowd, inside and out, erupted. I mean erupted in cheer! Johnny was startled. It had been a quiet, sudate crowd to that point. Poltz started singing, "Sure as I was borne in Ireland, I was weaned on whiskey, but raised on gin. Drinkin' so long since I was born, never been so high as a kite in a storm."

Then the whole crowd together loudly, in chorus, "Hey ho, whataya know, when you're outta good whiskey, you're out on the road. Way to Kilkenny where liquor is plenty and people are friendly wherever you go!" Johnny almost fell out of his seat! He was the only one in the place that didn't know the words.

What's all this got to do with FHH? Nothing maybe. Johnny would love my blog. He'd repair a carburetor on a rocking boat in Freer's Gerry Lake as it was getting dark. Herman Dollar would try to sell him a "prime" lot in FHH between the sewer plant and the trailer park with a lake view, if you cut the trees and "angle your house just so." He'd go to a Rugburn concert with me even if I screwed up his wedding.

Molly, Matt, Steve Poltz and me possing at the bend (yoga during the day, intimate concerts at night and no shoes because the floor is bamboo.) March 15, 2008 in Dallas, Texas.

Got Meth?

The FHH Police Department is a small dedicated law enforcement agency which has too many officers in the winter and not enough in the summer.

The six officers are plenty in the quiet, almost abandoned town for half the year. Retirees and and a few younger residents all know each other or pretty much keep to themselves in the winter. There is the occassional speeding ticket or grandmother running into a deer. Maybe somebody at the Batter's Cage will get carried away at Larrioke and try to drive home with one too many under his belt. There was the murder one year but. but it took them 15 years to find it out.

Summer is a different matter all together. There are hundreds of families in for a weekend, a week or two or all summer to be out on Freers Gerry Lake. The marina is jam-packed with people and boats. The Ragburn County deputies and Fish Police (Game Wardens) are out on the lake. FHH Police are busy with drunks fighting, hot-rodding behind the condos, shoplifting and gangs of kids at the Blue Lagoon Putt-Putt Place. Reserve police officers and retired sheriff's deputies are kept hopping, especially between Forth of July and Memorial Day weekend.

One of the hang-outs for the local cops, since there are no donut shops in FHH, is Trixie's. The official name is Badman and Sons. It is a Citgo service station, convenience store, deli, coffee bar and town meeting hall. Everyone goes in there sooner or later and everyone knows everyone. Trixie McFarber and her husband Don are the current owners, cashiers, cooks and everything elses. (bad pluralization intended)

Badman and Sons remains the name of the place even though Josh Badman sold the place after his sons all went off to college and or work and their own lives somewhere else other than FHH.

Josh partnered up with a seedy character named Herman Dollar and opened up a real estate agency. They are doing quiet well, although because of Dollars questionable business dealings, other real estate agencies are cutting heavily into their, formally, near monopoly in FHH.

One old-school cop, Peter O'Toole (not the actor) was in Trixie's two or three times a day. "Tool" as he was effectionally known, would sit around, drink the coffee (offered at a police discount - free) and talk with locals and tourists. Tool was a character and a bit of a throw-back. He could say just about anything, if he whispered it, as if a secret, and smiled. Women would at first be shocked but Trixie would tell everyone he was "just kidding" and laugh it off. Political correctness and EEO had been heard-of, just not quiet arrived in FHH.

One rainy winter morning a Tennessee cop who had a house in FHH and planned to retire there, was having breakfast with his mom. Tool recognized them and without bothering to ask, sat down in the booth with them. "I saw that bright yellow 280-Z screaming down Dan Creek Highway yesterday," said Tool grinning, all his teeth showing, except the missing upper-right canine. Eve Gonzalas just smiled from behind her Diet Mountain Dew and said, "What did the license plate say?"

"SPEEDY! My squad car can't catch up to you!"

Her son, Himmie, asked what was going on in town. Tool told him the Rugburn Sheriff's Office was on their case. Apparently there was a lot of Methenamine coming somewhere out of FHH. They didn't know who or exactly where, just that their snitches kept hearing about a lab in FHH.

Himmie suddenly straightened up on his bench, "Oh, my God!"

Tool looked at him, surprised by the sudden attention. "What, what?"

"You know that run-down old trailer court on the other side of FHH?"

"Yeh, so. What about it?"

"That's where it is, the Meth lab."

"What do you mean? I mean how do you know?"

"You know the beat-up trailer in the very back? There's trash all around it and an old car up on cinder blocks."

"I think so... I, "

"The windows are covered on the inside with aluminum foil, it smells like fingernail polish remover or something."

"Yeah, I think I know th...."

"There are lots of square plastic jugs, kind-of like 5 gallon milk bottles."

"I've seen those..."

"That's it! The guy that lives there, when you do see him, which isn't often, he looks like a street bum and his teeth are bad."

"You could say that about a lot of people in Rugburn County."

"Worse than that.... That's it. That's where it is! You need to go get them!"

"Me, what?"

"Yeah, that would be pretty dangerous, them cooking that stuff. The least little spark will set the whole place off. It would be the biggest blast Rugburn County has seen since the Pilgram's Pride Chicken Feed silo explosion of 1972!"

"What should I do then? The Chief would't like that."

"Go to the county boys, the Narcotics guys and tell them exactly what I told you."

"What good will that do?"

"Trust me, that's enough. They will use that information to go get a warrant and raid the place."

"Are you sure? I don't know..."

"You'll be a hero. Go, Semba, go!"


As Tool ran out the door Mrs. Gonzales looked at her son, "What was that all about? You've been with me all this week. When did you have time to go over to the trailer park."

"May, 1973, when me and the guys took our high school graduation trip out here."

"What about that trailer? Did you make that up?"

"Not exactly, there's always a trailer that looks like that. Meth producers are always Meth users. Meth users get trashy, let everything go and the Meth messes up their teeth. They sleep alot during the day. They put foil on the windows to keep sunlight and snooping eyes out."

"What are the milk jugs?"

"That's the last peice. The chemical they use to cook the mix come in those pretty distintive jugs. It has a pretty intense smell that's hard to hide. They'll look at all that and be able to get a warrant."

The headline in the next week's FHH Harbinger and Highlights was "Meth Lab Busted in FHH! Local Cop's Heads-Up Caught Cookers." Tool was a hero and has pretty good job-security, unless he overloads his mouth.




Ken and Barbi Smith arrested outside their home in the FHH Trailer Park.