A Combat Engineer's Tale

Today was another day of celebration, at least, for me and my family. Today marked the annual celebration of the birth of my Mother. She was not exactly thrilled about the prospect of becoming yet another year older. As a part of the "Celebration" my Mother and I went to see my Grandparents, which is always about as interesting as having your teeth pulled.

In recent years it has become increasingly apparent that age is taking a toll on my Grandparents. My Grandfather has become increasingly forgetful and exponentially more childlike. My Grandmother has a marked increase in pain and stiffness. She also claims that she can no longer see anything due to Macular Degeneration of her eyes. However, anytime we are all driving to go anywhere and she is riding Shotgun, if we come to a four way intersection, she will check in her direction and tell you whether or not it is clear to go. But that is neither here no there.

Over the years I have come to find out that my Grandfather was a Combat Engineer during World War II in the European Theater. In actual attempts to garner any further information is usually blocked by my Grandmother who does not want the discussion to go any further, with the excuse that, "It upsets him."

The few times that I have been able to catch my Grandfather alone and in a position to talk about such things as his military history, did not bear much fruit. The most he would ever say are the dates that he entered and exited the theater, where he entered and exited, and what he did. Stating, "I built bridges, that's it."

Over the past few weeks I have had a heavy heart in this matter. This may be due to a combination of things, probably mostly due to the fact that being in Law Enforcement I am Nosey. Also, probably because it is a time period that I am interested in. Lastly, it has to do with a piece of history not being told and may be forgotten.

Well today, being the nosey person that I am, during the festivities, I happen to see a rather large book on the Bookshelf. This book had no title on the spine which I thought to be odd. I pulled the book out to look at the cover and what should I find? "Pictorial History of the 75th Infantry Division, 1944-1945" If that is not a way to start a conversation then I do not know what is. To be honest I had never heard of the 75th Division. If I had ever heard of it before it was quickly dismissed as not being the 1st Infantry Division (The Big Red 1), the 3rd Armor Division (General George S. Patton's "Spearhead"), or the 82nd Airborne Division (All-American).

I pulled my Grandfather aside and asked him to join me on the back porch. I sat down in one of the chairs and laid the book in my lap. I asked looking at the cover, "Was this your Division?" The answer came sooner than I expected. "Yes...yes it was." He sat down beside me and took the book from my hands. He opened it and began flipping through the pages and stopped at a large group picture. "This was my company. The 275th Combat Engineers Battalion." He ran his hand over the faces of the men he must have once considered to be closer than brothers.

We talked for a couple of hours. My mother keeping her mother occupied while we talked in the fading light. The following is a compilation of the information garnered from the book, the Internet, and the few stories that he told me in this short amount of time.

The 75th Infantry Division was activated at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri in April 1943 with an authorized strength of 15,514 men. One of those men was my Grandfather at the age of 19. The Average of a man in the 75th was 21 years old. They would spend the next 18 months training for the battles to come.

In November 1944 they were shipped to England and from there to France on December 13th. On December 16th Operation Watch on the Rhine began (also know as The Battle of the Bulge). The 75th was ordered to help stop the quickly advancing German line. They were mainly assigned to aid the 3rd Armored Division. After 33 days of hard fighting the 75th had earned the name of "Diaper Division", due to their inexperience in combat. During this battle the 75th earned itself a Meritorious Unit Commendation. It also had the highest casualty rate of any Division during the battle.

My Grandfather would not speak about the actual fighting, nor would I ask him about it. When we came to the section of the book about the Ardennes, he only pointed at the pictures and said, "There was heavy fighting there." Later he told me that when they arrived at they assigned drop off point in the Ardennes, he noticed the mounds of bodies. One side German, the other American. The American bodies were put in wagons and started the long journey home. He did not mention what happened to the German bodies.

His first night in the Ardennes he and the other Engineers were ordered to lay mines at the front. He and his Platoon picked up arm loads of mines and headed for the front. He said, "We were boys. We did what we were told. Being boys we talked all the while. We didn't know any better. We cut up, laughed, sang Christmas Carols." All the while passing foxhole upon foxhole of Infantryman. Several of which yelled, "Hey! Shut the F&#% up or I'll kick your A#&!" Being boys they shouted back and continued on their way.

As they neared the front line, the need to be quite became apparent. The veterans knew the sound well, but the young boys in the platoon did not recognize the horribly distinct whistle of the 88mm shells as they hurtled toward Earth. At the first horrible note was heard the veterans all shouted, "Get down!" My Grandfather and his Platoon did not heed this warning, for the interest of new sound. That is until the first shells struck further down the line with a massive explosion.

Mines went in every which direction as the Green Engineers scrambled for Foxholes. My Grandfather dove into the nearest Foxhole with two of his friends right behind him. The two Infantrymen already occupying the hole made room and they huddled together and waited for the barrage to subside. My Grandfather said that he could not remember how long the shelling lasted, but seemed to last forever.

As the last shells impacted the silence was just as deafening as the exploding shells. Then the two Infantrymen scrambled to there feet and waited for a German attack that did not come. After another eternity of waiting, one of the Infantrymen turned and said, "I don't hear you boys goofing off now."

Before any words could be exchanged a Lieutenant arrived and started giving orders for the Engineers to have the Mines in place before the next barrage or attack. The next several minutes was spent trying to find the mines that had been thrown about and forgotten. Once the mines had been recollected my Grandfather and his platoon went to work placing the mines. The next morning was spent gathering the activated mines back up in preparation for an assault on the Germans.

My Grandfather said that this was pretty much how he spent his time in the Ardennes.

To Be Continued...

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Traditions

I just returned home from the house of my Mother and my Step-family. I had a splendid time with them, but I am glad for the current state of piece and quite (and a renewed vigor for my never have children policy). This is the first Christmas Eve in my life that I did not spend with the family of my Father. It was an emotional decision to make a choice between the two families. However, the choice was made easier by the fact that I only knew when and where one would be.

I am not sure that this is the start of a new tradition. To be honest, I hope it will not. My Step-family is a little more...lively than I am used to, especially the children. Also, with this family gathering came the opening of presents. My step-father said that it would be the only time that they would all be together. I am not used to opening presents on Christmas Eve and to me it kind of takes away some of the magic of Christmas Day.

However, with that part of Christmas out of the way, we can focus more on the actual reason that we celebrate Christmas. Christ. Now, I will go ahead and state for the record that I am not a scholar on this subject by any means, but this is what I know.

Some time around 2000 years ago a baby was born. Whether or not it was this night no one knows. That baby was born to a Virgin, Mary, and her husband, Joseph, in the City of David. Once born the baby was clothed with random strips of cloth found around the Stable and placed in a feeding trough to sleep.

Elsewhere, in the neighboring countryside, several Shepards where pulling the third shift. Suddenly, an Angel appeared and with him the light of Heaven. Due to the fact that these Shepards were in the countryside, the only light that would have been around would be the lights from the city, a camp fire, and mayhap the Moon, to suddenly more light than they have ever seen in their lives, their reaction was understandable. Fear. The Angel knowing that they were afraid said, "Don't be afraid. I'm bringing you great news that will be told to all people. In the City of David, Christ the Lord has been born for you. He is wrapped in swaddling clothes and is lying in a manger." Once the Angel delivered this message more Angels appeared and gave glory to God.

Once the Angels left, the Shepards decided to go see the Christ child. Being that the city probably only had a handful of Stables and being Shepards they knew where they all were. So, they headed off toward the City, leaving their Sheep unguarded. The Shepards found the Christ Child and new Mother and Father, just as the Angel had told them. They then began worshiping God and went throughout the City proclaiming what had happened. They then went back to their post and finished out their shift.

My Mother reading the above story (Luke chapter 2) is also a Christmas tradition that was kept tonight before we exchanged gifts. The two children practically had to be hog tied to keep them from tearing into the gifts during the reading. Then we took turns opening the gifts, during this the children actually needed to be hog tied, but were not. This lasted one round before everyone tore into their gifts. Thanks were then exchanged and everyone went their separate ways.

During the festivities, I had actually almost forgotten about the family member that were not there, most notably my Father. That was until I opened one of my gifts. It was a photo album. All of the pictures in it where of my Father, all before, at, or directly after my birth. One picture stood out though. A picture that was taken when I was five. It was a picture of me firing an MP-5 for the very first time. Directly behind me was my Father, steadying me and ready to take over if something were to go wrong. In the picture you can see the pride in his face that he boy was doing so well. Needless to say I burst into tears and everyone began to wonder what was the matter.

I excused myself and took a breather in the cool night air. My Mother followed me out and we had a long talk, mostly about the guilt that I felt for having forgotten my Father. She said things that only a Mother can and of course made me feel better.

Tomorrow, will be another day of new traditions. One that will be of spending time with family and worshipping the Lord on the day that we celebrate his birth. I will also be remembering the ones that will not be able to spend time with their families this Christmas season.

With that I want to wish a Merry Christmas to all the Military men and women who are spending this Christmas in war zones far away. Also, a Merry Christmas to my fellow Police, Fire Fighters, and Emergency Medical Personnel who will be working this Christmas.

And Finally a Merry Christmas to you and yorn.



Semper Fi Deus,

Goose

Gunslingers in Prison

You hear true. Every once in a while I and my fellow Gunslingers and Agents have to go to Prison. In the years working at my Agency I have gone to multiple Prisons in multiple States. Most of which have been right here in South Carolina.

Most of the time when I conduct an extradition to another State and pull one of our Offenders from a Prison or a County Jail, 9 out of 10 times, there will be no major issues (Long waits for Offenders, Paperwork late or not completed at all, or Correctional Officers in an unhelpful mood). However, whenever dealing with the South Carolina Department of Corrections (SCDC), the above happens more often than not.

No where is this more evident than at the Local "Maximum" Security Prison in my Jurisdiction. I am really not sure how this particular penitentiary received the designation of Maximum Security other than the fact that it has more Concertina wire than some of the others.

Now, I have been to this Prison 10 to 12 times since beginning me career. Once while I was a Deputy, the rest with this Agency. Of those times with this Agency, I have gone to this Prison twice in order to Transport Offenders from SCDC custody into our custody to begin the Violation process.

You may ask me why on Earth I would go to Prison if to not get a Prisoner. Well the answer is simple. I go because my job sometimes requires me to go. This particular facility is a satellite location for Parole Board Hearings. That means that offenders come from other SCDC facilities to this one to go before the Parole Board to get a chance at being placed on Parole. It is also a location for Parole Revocations. Hence, my being there.

I have only taken 4 Parolees before the Board for a Revocation, the other times I went in order to help another Agent transport an Offender to the facility. Without fail, every time I have gone the rules are staggeringly different.

Usually, this is due to whoever you meet at the gate. The only thing that remains constant is the fact that if its on your person it does not go through the gate. No Firearms (surprise), No ammunition, No knives, No cell phones, and No money. If you have any of those on your person while trying to drive through the gate, it has to be left in lock up at the gate.

Now, having to hand over my Firearm to anyone other than someone that I trust explicitly, is a major do not do. So, having to turn over my Firearm to some Guard in a booth, is absolutely nerve racking.

From here things go completely different from time to time. The car gets searched from stem to stern, completely overlooking the Offender for some reason. Myself and the other Agent can go from honor system that you gave up all contraband to too close to a strip search for comfort.

This last time I went before the Board I took my partner Casey. This was his first time coming to this facility or to any kind of Parole Board function since he went through training years ago. So, while we wait at the gate for the Gate Guard to finish with the vehicle in front of us, I gave him a rough overview of what he could expect. I told him what he needed to do once we got inside and I had to walk my Offender the rest of the way. Needless to say, the Gate Guard did everything completely different.

Once I was inside with the Offender, he was greeted warmly by everyone, convict and Correctional Officer alike. Then, once we got inside the cafeteria building, I was met with more random security changes that I did not expect, but it was best to try and go with the flow. We were then ushered into the Cafeteria where we would wait to be teleconferenced with the Parole Board. That is correct, the Cafeteria. On one side of the Cafeteria, convicts waiting to go before the board to try and re-enter society. On the opposite side of the room family members of said convicts. Being the odd folks out, we get the unprecedented honor of being in the very middle of the room with nothing but a pair of ball point pens for protection.

After taking our seats and beginning the long wait for the Hearings to begin, my Offender begins to tell me his life story. This being the second time that I have met the man, I listen with one ear and pay attention to my surroundings with everything else. After, a few minutes Casey manages to get into the cafeteria. He relays his story about meeting Correctional Officer aplenty that knew my Offender and how good a guy he is. I will admit, at first glance, he would seem to be a pretty good fellow. However, having seen to many want-to-be confidence artists, I automatically know that it is just an act to get on my good side. The violations that he has racked up show the real man.

After about an hour in what one would assume to be the most hostile environment for Law Enforcement ever, the hearings begin. Within thirty minutes we are called to go before the Board.

Now, if you are familiar with me, you would know that I do not like going to court...at all. Well the Parole Board is just below going to court in the hatred meter. Despite all the hassles, I actually think that doing the Parole Board is much easier than going to court. This is due to the fact that we are given a script (literally) to read from and we say nothing else. The Board will then hear from the Offender they then render their decision. Usually.

In my case, my Offender turned on the waterworks and pleaded for mercy. The head of the Board cut him off and told us to wait back in the Cafeteria for the verdict. A few seconds go by...then a few minutes. The Parole examiner came out and told us that the Board could not come to decision and we would have to schedule for the case to be heard again later.

I was dumb struck. The 4 previous cases that were brought before the Board had less violations than this Offender and none of them left the facility with me (they all left several hours later on a bus). I spoke with the Examiner for a few minutes to try and figure out what we needed to do and to kill time whilst Casey pulled the car around (having to go back through all the previous security again).

Once my Offender was back in the County jail and Casey and I back at the Office, we then recounted the tail to our fellow Agents. All of whom were also dumb struck, except Work Mom who said, "What the F#&%." While snatching the file out of my hands and looked over the violations. "D&%$ boy! That should have been a slam dunk! What did you do?!" I honestly do not know what comes over me sometimes, but I said, "Well that's apparently what happens when I follow your instructions." And again the conversation went down hill, and in a hurry. I really need to work on the Brain-mouth filter around her.

Not all hearings end like this. This last time I went to the Board, I spend 5 hours in the cafeteria waiting for an Offender to voluntarily come to prison (this was not my offender and was doing the case for a fellow agent). He never showed. But, I did get to watch another Offender get very upset about having his 6 month Parole revoked. When told that the he would be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas as a guest of the State he got very mouthy. When the Correctional Officer came over to escort him out of the Cafeteria (so he would not get the other Prisoners stirred up) he gave the Officer a flat "No". With out a word more, 6 other much larger Correctional Officers come out of no where and stand behind the Offender. All of whom were wearing the same "Please Fight. I'm Bored to tears" look on their faces. The Offender turned to see this show of force and immediately complied with every order given. I could not help but smile, and there were a few chuckles from some of the other Prisoners.

In the weeks to come I will hopefully get a reschedule date for the Parole Board and get a re-offending Offender back where he belongs.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Every once in a while...

Every once in a long while this lonely Gunslinger gets good tidings that all the hours spent in the Office (or out of the office as the case may be) are well spent. This week, I received two tidings of a job well done.

Bit of good job news #1. Two weeks ago I was asked to conduct a home visit by the Senior Agent on my team (aka Work Mom, story for another day). She told me that one of her offenders was being investigated by Child Protective Services (a branch of the Department of Social Services). She left out the part about why they were investigating, only stated that when the CPS caseworker went to the Offenders house the door was slammed in her face. The caseworker, knowing that the Offender is on probation, called us for help getting into the house. She stressed that it was strictly observe and report, get in, see what (who) is there and get out of Dodge.

I get the address and the information of the offender and head out. Upon arrival in the neighborhood I spot the obligatory harrier holding down the street corner texting his friends that the Police have arrived. I pull in front of the house and note that it looks a little more run down that some of the other houses. I perform the standard Police knock and within seconds the door opens. As the woman steps out onto the front porch (closing the door behind her) I give her the spiel of who I am, who I work for, and why I was there (Home visit on Offender So and So, not O and R mission for DSS).

She proceeded to give me story about the fact that the Subject in question was not at home and that he was doing some medical errands. I then asked if she resided at the house and she told me that she was only babysitting for the Offender. At this point I move to the matter at hand and start throwing my legal weight around. I tell her that as a part of my duties I have to check the premises for contraband, guns, drugs, meth labs...nuclear devices. She then told me that she did not feel comfortable letting me into the house. Really...badge, gun, handcuffs, big toothy grin that makes the lady folk swoon, Crown Victoria in the background, what is there not to feel comfortable about.

I eventually gain entry via another person in the home familiar with the rules of Probation and Home visits in general. During my walk through of the home I noted several things that, had my task oriented mind set not been solely focused on Observe and Report, would have warranted an immediate call to DSS. The list being, complete lack of food for the multiple Adults in the home and the three children, lack of proper bedding for the children, what I believe to be dog urine covering the kitchen floor, Drug paraphernalia in a bed room, and a floor heating vent with out a cover not five feet where a 1 1/2 year old had been bedded down in the floor and left unattended.

The floor vent cover issue was dealt with right then and there due to the safety of the children being at risk. The Drug Paraphernalia (being a 2 3/4 inch pipe of black and chrome color commonly used in the smoking of Marijuana) was left alone as a matter of Probation and Parole policy (and being out numbered).

When I left the home I went back to the office and reported what I observed. Work Mom then reported this to the caseworker for CPS and the next day I was asked to write a letter of everything that I observed. Just in case anyone missed it, I tend to be long winded in my writing (which is a complete contradiction to when I speak). The letter/affidavit was 2 pages long encompassing everything that I did, said, and saw. When I turned in the letter/affidavit to Work Mom, she proclaimed, "What the H#*& is this! All you needed to put was what you saw. Not everything you did from the second you left the Office! Jesus...did you mention how many breaths you took while you were there?!" "You wanted what I saw. That's what I saw and the context of what I saw." "Yeah...context. Did you proofread it?" "No, I just spell checked it and hoped the defense attorneys wouldn't notice (sarcasm)." The conversation went down hill from there. Eventually she got around to sending the letter/affidavit to the caseworker.

Moving forward to yesterday. I learned from Casey that the letter/affidavit was put to good use. The day after the caseworker got it, she went to the house with several Deputies and attempted to place the children in Emergency Protective Custody (EPC). However, by that time the Offender and his family had moved to a location unknown. But, they did show up to a family court hearing with the children. The caseworker was waiting and the children where promptly taken. I am not sure how well the state takes care of EPC children, but I am certain that they are in better care than the parents were giving them. They also might have a chance to not be career criminals.

Bit of good job news #2 is more my faith in the Judicial system is restored. Today I went to court. If you have kept up, you know that this is the worst part of the job for me. However, today was okay. We had a new General Sessions Judge, at least he was new to the Probation revocation aspect of General Sessions. His motto for the day, "Probation was your 2nd chance, you don't get a 3rd." He may have been slower than the usual Judges and a little more thorough, but of the sixty plus offenders that went before him, only a handful walked out of the courtroom without the aid of the Deputies. A few of those that walked out were due to the fact that they wanted a Defense Attorney and did not have one, so, he allowed them the chance to get council. The others, the Probation Agents (including myself) had to beg the Judge not to make them guests of the South Carolina Department of Corrections.

As an example, one of my cases was a warrant for purely money violation (failing to pay accounts balances before probation case ended). The Defense Attorney and I had to convince the Judge not to send the Offender to prison for 4 years due to the fact that he had paid all the money since the warrant was served.

It was an interesting feeling not having to fight hammer and tongs to send someone to SCDC for a year, when they are on Probation for 9th time for Assault and Battery and committed numerous other assaultive offenses while on Probation. Too bad this Judge was just here temporarily and will not be back until sometime next year. But, at least we know at least one Judge cares about Offenders keeping their end of the bargain.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

The Problem with Creepy Crawlies in the work place

To be clear I do not have a problem with insects, arachnids, lizards, snakes, or other Creepy Crawlies in general...as long as the spiders in the arachnid section stay out of my personal space.

With the onset of fall and colder weather the above creatures tend to move into the man made buildings. Most common in my home at the moment are the Carolina Scorpion and the "Harvestman". The Scorpion is usually about one inch long to about an inch and a half. The "Harvestman" other wise known as the "Daddy Long Legs" or as I call them the "Granddaddy Long Legs". If you do not know what this is, it is an arachnid (not a spider, because it does not have any fangs or venom glands) are basically a football with long spindly legs protruding from them, shrunk down to 1/4 inch body size.

At the office there is a plethora of insects, arachnids, and other Creepy Crawlies that make their home where I work. This becomes problematic with most of the female Agents, who in general HATE anything Creepy or Crawly. This does include some male Agents at the office as well.

With our office being in a Government facility, they generally do not fumigate for insects (etc.) unless someone of high importance is making a visit. So, the Creepy Crawlies generally have the run of the facility.

Most of the Creepy Crawlies have learned to stay hidden when the lights are on. However, every once in a while a spider, centipede, or what-have-you will be so overwhelmed with sex drive that he has to venture out to find a mate. Usually finding one of the female Agents. When this happens there is usually all kinds of excitement and high pitched screams of alarm. Everyone in the office comes to see what all the excitement is about and the offending creature is exterminated with extreme prejudice.

At least that is how it usually works. The exception to this was Halloween night after finishing the Sex Offender Checks. I was walking out through the back lobby and happened to see a large (2-3 inch long) Cockroach scurry across my path and stop right in front of me. He lifted up his head and his antenna twitched, as if to say, "Howdy". Knowing that this particular insect would cause havoc with some of our female Agents, I decided to put him out of our misery. I proceeded to take my size 11 hard sole boot and stomped on the Cockroach as hard and fast as was possible. There was a satisfying crunch, but a disheartening lack of squish. When I lifted my boot, the Cockroach pushed himself off the floor, shook himself, and fluttered his wings. He then looked back up at me flicked his right antenna upwards and scurried off.

Okay, I exaggerated the antennae flicking. But, he did move about his important business without so much as a look back. I have since named him "George" and I am certain that we will meet again.

Another such instance was today. Agent M, Casey, and myself were out in the Reporting area of the office. I was preparing to take over the reports for Agent M. This was her full day of reports and she can still only work half a day.

As of late I have had to Bird-dog her on this, due to the fact that she will stay longer than she is supposed to and ends up pushing herself to the breaking point.

So, while I was waiting for her to finish with one of her Offenders. I decided to wait in the cubicle adjacent to her cube and across from Casey. About a minute into the report I hear an odd banging sound that I recognize as a computer mouse being slammed on the desk. A common occurrence with our frustratingly slow computers. Then a slam/stomp sounds started accompanying the banging. This is not a recognized noise and was therefore classified as not good. The sounds began to intensify at a startling rate and Casey and I both reacted.

We sprung from our rolling computer chairs, hands reacting with muscle memory. Before I had gotten out of my Cubicle, my weapon was already half out of the holster. We were inches from barreling around the corner into the Cubicle that Agent M was in, when we hear, "Eeeek! Bug!!" Like an all clear signal, Casey and I slow our pace and reholster our weapons before we round the corner of the cubicle.

When we get into the cubicle the Offender is dying of laughter as Agent M begins to throw pens and papers at the wall closest to her. Casey and I look on as the "Bug" moves under the desk and apparently stops. Agent M turned to us and stated nonchalantly, "There's a bug under my desk." To which Casey replied, "Yeah, we gathered that." He then began to relay the tale of our attempted heroism, the fact that the still chuckling offender was almost thrown to the ground and handcuffed at gun point over a Bug.

At that the Offender stopped laughing.

Agent M finished the report under our watchful gaze to make sure that the offending bug did not return for a second assault. Once the Offender was out of the Reporting area, Casey went back to his desk to finish what he was working on, while I stayed to help Agent M find and exterminate the bug. After a few seconds Agent M located the bug (a common house centipede)between the desk and the wall.

After several unsuccessful assassination attempts, Agent M gave up and started packing up her reporting equipment, while I kept an eye on the bug. Once Agent M left the reporting area, the bug followed the wall to my cube. I sprung into action and crushed the little centipede that had caused such a commotion.

Once Agent M returned to the reporting area for the rest of her equipment, I relayed the announcement of a successful kill and we got back to the business at hand. Reports.

In my time working with my agency and specifically in my office, I have learned to kill the offending bug quickly and on sight. Do not give it time to run into a hiding spot or toward the alarmed female Agent. Thereby, letting the situation go from bad to worse.

If you work in a high Creepy Crawly environment with high strung, armed, women (or men) who are Entomophobic (very, very afraid of Insects and other Creepy Crawlies) and there is a commotion about a Creepy Crawly, just kill it.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose.

Rulings

The past week has been rather tough. Most of the week was spent in worry about one particular Hearing that occurred on Thursday. The hearing was what basically amounts to a preliminary hearing for folks that Violate their Parole or Probation. The subject of the hearing was an Offender that committed a murder back before I was born. He was Paroled and placed on Electronic Monitoring (EM). From day one you can tell the Offenders that are and are not going to complete the Electronic Monitoring program. Usually they call themselves out with, "I'll be the best EM participant you've ever seen."

Anyway this particular Offender made the above statement and I went ahead and gave him a stern warning about violating his schedule. A month later he was in jail for violating the schedule ten times. In the weeks leading up to the hearing on Thursday he vehemently denied any wrong doing.

I received phone calls from multiple family members, friends, and employers stating that the Offender would never do such a thing. All very standard tactics. Then he decided to go personal. On several occasions, this offender told me that he knew my father (also nothing new, my father being the High Sheriff lots of people knew him) and that if he was still here the warrant would never have been written, because my father would have vouched for him. I came about this close to losing it in a way that even I have not experienced. I quickly regained control and ushered him out the door. I spent the next twenty minutes trying to cool off before seeing the next offender.

The next day I received a call from the offender notifying me that he had a new additional phone line and that I needed to move the EM equipment to the new phone line. I promptly tell him no, because there was nothing wrong with the old line. Five minutes later my Supervisor stops by my desks and tells me to go out there and move the equipment, she having gotten a phone call from the offender.

The week leading up to the Hearing this Offender told me about the high priced attorney that his family hired for him, the sitting US Senator, and the twenty something witnesses that were going to vouch for him and explain the defaults in the equipment at the Hearing. Then he so graciously gave me the opportunity to call off the hearing and withdraw the warrant. This time it was hard for me not to laugh in his face. I gave him the list of reasons that that could not be done and told him that I would see him at the hearing.

Thursday finally came (as they usually do). The Hearing Officer arrived and the hearing began. I gave my thirty minute speech about the Offender, why he is on Parole, the particulars of the case, the violations, all the evidence in the case, and a detailed explanation of how the EM equipment was set up and how nothing was wrong with the equipment. I answer every question the Attorney and the Hearing Officer had and felt really good about how the Hearing was going. Then the Hearing Officer announces that he has enough information to make a ruling.

It was an interesting feeling, being thrown under a bus while on the record.

Basically, after hearing all the evidence and testimony the Hearing Officer ruled that the Electronic Monitoring equipment must have been faulty, that the Agent (me) should have know that the equipment was faulty, and that it was a good thing that the Agent corrected the problem (i.e. the day I went out there and moved the equipment to the new phone line). However, if any more violations occur that the offender is to go straight to the Parole Board. The Offender then asks to be transferred to a new agent. The Hearing Officer denies the request and ended the hearing.

I force myself to smile as the family members filed by and "thanked" me for being honest during the hearing and escort them out of the Hearing area. Upon my return the Offender stopped me before I got back into the hearing room to finish the paperwork and asked if he can come off of EM today. I tell him no, because he still had three weeks to go before he was scheduled to come off of EM. Then he started whining about everything that I had put him through. I pulled him back into the hearing room and tell him to repeat his request before his Attorney and the Hearing Officer. He does so and I explain why he cannot come off the EM program. The Hearing Officer then denies his request and then reinterated his "Stern Warning" from his ruling. The paperwork was completed and I ushered the Offender out the door advising him to report this week.

In relaying the story to Casey, it was brought to my attention that the "Stern Warning" was hollow. In the ruling given by the Hearing Officer the Offender was given free reign to violate his EM whenever he wants, because now all he has to say is the equipment was "faulty".

However, despite this I will act as if this is day one of his case. When he violates his schedule I will treat it as such and do my duty.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Hitchin'

It has been a long two weeks since the last post. Things have been hectic around the office to say the least. There has been good news, mixed news, and no news. Agent S is now engaged (Good News). Agent M has been hired on with the Federal Government (Mixed News, good for her, not so good for the rest of us). Not really sure what is going on with Agent L. Last I heard she was in the midst of consultations for reconstructive surgeries. All three still need prayer.

To be honest there is way to much going on to talk about it all. So, therefore, I will speak about what happened today.

Today, my step-sister got married. I have only known her for eight years and I am very happy for her. She married a man that I believe to be at least decent and hard working (I have only met him a handful of times).

The Venue was the "Acanthus". This American Colonial Style home was built by the owner himself and was even more impressive in person. And yes that is an actual working 1930 Model A. Which according to everyone at the Wedding, "Runs like a sowing machine". I am not sure what that is supposed to mean.

After a couple hour drive to get to the venue, I realized that my Mother is horrible at giving directions (hand written and verbal). I spent an extra 30 minutes driving in circles because she would switch from road names (Blah Blah Street) to road numbers (SC 297) when only the opposite was shown on the road signs. I wont go into the landmarks that she used.

Upon arrival I was greeted by my Step-family and the family of the Groom. Lots of hand shaking, back slapping, and polite smiles all around. My mother told me to have a seat in the Pavilion and wait. It was interesting that I was more interested in the surroundings than greeting the other guests. Especially watching the migrating Canadian Geese taking a much needed rest in Lake Lyman.

The Ceremony was nice, short, and to the point. At one point I did not believe my Step-father would let his little girl go. When the Pastor asked, "Who gives the woman in marriage?" He promptly answered, however, when it came time to actually conduct the handing, he hesitated. It was several long moments before he actually made himself hand her over.

After the Ceremony came the mandatory cover dish buffet and reception. After the initial shock of meeting so many people began to dissipate, I began to have a good time. A good time sitting, watching people dance and the DJ make fun of them do so.

My Step-family, specifically my Step-brothers and sister, are very....energetic and animated. I am not. In the past there have been issues with their belief that I am not having a good time because I am not acting as they are. To be clear, I was having a good time watching the Geese take off, land, and move about the lake. Any positive stimuli above and beyond this equals more fun.

Also, according to Southern Baptist tradition it is a "Sin" to dance, beyond this, I have the rhythm of an Armadillo. So, therefore, I do not Dance.

So, during the group dance portion of the reception, my Step-sister (Bride) sees me sitting at the table and came over to invite me to the floor. She begged, pleaded, and concluded with the patented "Puppy-dog face." I disappointed her. My Mother (who knows the above) then comes over and tells me to dance. I tell her no. She then moves on to the patented "The Look". Predictably I move to the dance floor.

Another interesting thing that I learned today, Ankle Holsters are not made with Dancing in mind. That is correct. I took the Glock 27 to a Wedding. I thought about taking my Duty Glock 22, but discounted it due to the fact that the Coat would have to come off eventually.

After a few songs I moved back to my table. Before I could really get comfortable in my chair, I saw my mother coming towards me again. This time with a woman (about my age) in tow. "The Look" already gleaming in her eyes. My mother introduced us and literally pushed us toward the dance floor.

While attempting to dance, I apologized to the woman for the actions of my mother (whom in her zealous to get me hooked up with a woman, failed to notice that this particular woman came with her boyfriend). After the song we went our separate ways, and instead of going back to the table this time, I stand on the side lines of the Dance floor (remaining mobile to avoid any further "Hook ups").

After the reception was the traditional Bouquet and Garter toss. Then a quick bow out before any more uncomfortable situations arose.

I hope and pray that my Step-Sister and new Step-Brother-in-Law have many, many happy years ahead of them.

For a side note, I did not catch the Garter.

Simper Fi Deus
Goose

Etiquette

Today is Sunday, and as such I will spend most of my day in my local Southern Baptist Church. This morning was hard to wake up due the melody of falling rain on the roof. I go to the early service at 0830 hrs, then to Sunday School, and to the usual 1100 hrs service. We get a break for lunch and a Sunday nap, then right back to church at 1600 hrs.

However, during the Sunday School lesson we had a small aside about how when you are a Christian people watch you. They watch your reaction in the good times, in the bad, and how they will compare the two and bring it to your attention. This brought to mind something that happened on Friday after Court. To be precise it actually occured after lunch.

One of my fellow Agents on my Team (Agent B) asked if I could conduct a Home Visit with her. She said that she had gotten a community complaint and that we had to check it out.

During the drive to the house in question, she asked if Agent S had thanked me for all the work that we did on her Case load while she was out (the answer to this question is "yes", but that is not the point of her inquiry). At first I really was not sure how to answer (Agent B is not exactly known for playing well with her fellow Agents). After a few seconds of thinking about it I simply told her that I did not help Agent S out for a "Thank you." I helped her because the work had to be done and she had other things to worry about, like getting healthy. Besides it is just another part of the job.

She then told me that she agreed with that, "But, would not etiquette say that knowing how much hard work we put into helping her out, on top of our already increasing work load, would that not support saying a simple, Thank You." She then turned the situation around on me and asked if I was in the same situation, would I not say, "Thank You."

I told her that anytime I ask someone to help me out I say that, before, during, and after the particular circumstance (I think the actual words I used was "Grovel with Appreciation"). She then said then how should Agent S get away with not saying thank you.

At this point I had two choices 1) Drop the subject by saying nothing or by changing the subject, and hope that Agent B would just let the issue drop, or 2) Tell her what I really think about her stupid inquiry.

Agent B basically trained me, mentored me into this job, and having gotten to know her since, I knew that she would not let the issue drop with out an answer. One side of my personality desperately just wanted to avoid the issue, but I knew that I was caught and I had to choose my words carefully.

I told her in a stern tone of voice (I am relatively certain it is the tone I use with my offenders), "Under normal circumstances, etiquette would tell us to say thank you. However, due to the fact that 95 days ago Agent S was in a life changing car wreck, in which she came this close......to dying. Not to mention the fact that she spent several weeks in the hospital and cannot remember an entire month after the wreck. The fact that when she is at work, for all of four hours due to the pain, she has to get the same amount of work done that we get done in eight. Taking all of this into account I believe we can cut Agent S some slack in the etiquette department."

Now it was her turn to be silent for a second. When the answer came it did not surprise me, "Well, I still think she should say thanks." At this point I change the subject to the Home Visit and what we needed to be concentrating on.

At the time the conversation took place, I believed this inquirey was simply to cause trouble. Now, I am not so sure. Coupled with the fact that Agent B has said on several different occasions that she "Loves" to see me fail and this mornings Sunday School lesson, I now believe this to have been a test. I am not sure if I passed or failed, but I know one thing, I get tested enough by my Offenders and do not need more tests coming from what I consider "Family."

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Lights, Camera...Action!

Today was a successful day of Home Visits with Casey. Successful because everyone went home and I get the privilege of writing a couple more warrants for people who do not live where they said the did.

Normally Casey and I have Home Visits down to a Science, offender pictures printed, maps printed, and routes mapped out see the most offenders in a single day.

However, the past three weeks have been so hectic for me that all of the above has been placed at the wayside. So, when I got to the office this morning I scrambled to get everything ready and the clock was ticking. In our office on a day where you have a car signed out and your still in the office, the longer your in the office the odds increase every second that you will be voluntold to do something that you had not planned.

Today, we missed the bullet and managed to start doing Home Visits only two hours late (as opposed to two hours before quiting time).

With out the proper planning we had to go on head knowledge of where our offenders were, where we were, and where we were going. Half the time I would remember that I had an offender where we were an hour before and half the county behind us.

The Home Visits that we did do on my caseload were new cases. I had never seen these people before or where they live.

The first of these that we arrive to an almost passable house. Three cars in the drive way, cut lawn, no clutter (always a plus), and two visible entry/exit points. I choose the front door even though it is the obviously the less used entrance, just because that is where most "visitors" would knock on the door.

While Casey watches the other entrance/exit, I conduct the standard "Police, let me in" knock. The knock that the neighbors two houses down hear. No answer. Only a living alarm system (small yapping dog). As I turn around to survey the landscape I happen to see a small black oddity in the upper left corner of the porch. When I look at it, I recognize it as a Video Surveillance Camera. I knock again and harder.

Usually when an offender does not answer the door it is no big deal, go to a neighbor and confirm the address. But now I have got to get in the house. Having one camera means there are others that I did not see. I have to know what they see and where the TV is that they go to. Pertinent information for any Warrant Team coming to arrest this offender if the need arises.

Still no answer. So now Casey and I start looking around the yard looking for any and everything (more cameras mostly). While we were looking around, a neighbor pulls in next door. She gets out of the car and goes into her house without ever having seen the two men, clad in black, skulking in her neighbors yard, and looking at her intently. I knock on her front door and another female comes to the door. I give the standard greeting and ask if they recognize their supposed neighbor in the picture. She tells me that she does not know the person in the photo, but that she did see someone cutting the grass there earlier. I thank her for her time and head back to my offenders house.

This time I go to the side door and pound on it (The US Geological Survey probably got a reading on some of the local earthquake instruments). As I step back from the door I hear more yapping dog and what sounded like a heavy foot shuffling across a hardwood floor. I pound again. Now, we hear someone talking inside. Casey goes to the front door and starts pounding. Lo and behold my offender comes to the front door.

We act casual as he gives us the story about being in the shower. Casey asks who he was talking to and like magic his mother comes out of the bed room. She of course was in bed asleep the entire time. We look through the house but do not find anything out of the ordinary. I ask about the camera. He tells me that it is just for show, that it is the only one, and it is to try and scare off would be burglars. As we leave Casey tugs on the wires on the camera and they are not attached to anything. I make a note of it and we move on the the next house.

A few houses later, we come to another of my offenders houses. As we get out of the car Casey points out the two very noticeable CCTV cameras. Here we go again. More pounding and no answers, this time there was a much bigger and angrier Alarm system (Pitt Bull in back). We walk around back and see a second building and a Recreational Vehicle. Casey takes the RV and I take the building with yet another CCTV camera.

As I knock I hear someone inside and the door opens. It is my offender. We converse as I step in side and take note of the two beds and the person still sleeping in the one. I ask about the camera and she states that they are all for show. Same story as before. Casey confirms this as the second person wakes up. Another female (thankfully clothed). She greets us and jumps into the conversation. She is way to calm to have just woke up to two strange men basically in her bedroom, at least she was a lot calmer than I would be given the same situation ("Who are you? What are you doing here? Get out! etc.") After talking with her we find that she is also on Probation. I get the name of her Agent and confirm that they both have report days and proceed to the next house on the list.

The rest of the houses did not have video surveillance and the Home Visit day was rapped up with out incident. Casey and I went back to our respective mountains of paperwork and I began to prepare for Court tomorrow. If you know anything about me, you know that I am just going to love that.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

The Guns of My Father

I come from a line of Gunslingers, on both sides of my family for at least three Generations. Both of my Grandfathers protected the people of my county. My Mother worked in the office of the High Sheriff. She did not patrol the streets, but she is a Female Gunslinger non the less. My Father, a Gunslinger of Gunslingers, worked his way from the lowest of positions to the High Sheriff.

My Father, in his day, was the Authority on S. W. A. T. team tactics in the Southeast. During his time as a S. W. A. T. team member he washed cars, cleaned guns, cleared buildings, and refined tactics for the team. As S. W. A. T. team commander he choreographed entry teams, sniper teams, negotiators, and perimeter teams. He even on occasion conducted the negotiations himself.

However, many long years ago at this time, my world changed forever. The Gunslinger of Gunslingers was taken in the blink of an eye and very unexpectedly. While driving home he had a massive heart attack. According to the coroner he never felt any pain. For that I am thankful. I do not remember much about the days that followed, they were a blur of tears, people, and flags.

What I took from those days was that my Father was well liked in the Law Enforcement community, as well as the community at large. People came out of the wood works telling story upon story how he helped them through a very difficult time. How he saved lives.

Several days later I received a message from the High Sheriff. He did not say what about, just that he wanted to see me. I found it hard walking the halls in the building that used to bring happy childhood memories. It became harder as I neared the Office where My Father did so much good.

The secretary let me into the Office. The High Sheriff was not there and she merely stated that he would be back shortly. I walked toward the desk and stared at the empty chair that my Father had once occupied. I fought the flurry of memories to keep my waining composure. After a few minutes by myself the High Sheriff came in. He did not sit in the chair as I thought he would.

He stood with me in the middle of his office and we talked like old friends. I had met him on several occasions prior to this, most while my Father was the High Sheriff. After a few minutes of talking, he told me to wait where I was and he left the room. Seconds later he returned with a small brown box. He handed it to me and told me to open it.

As I opened it and recognized what the box contained, I lost what little control I had over my emotions. Tears began streaming down my face as the High Sheriff confirmed what I already knew. "It's your father's service pistol. The Captains and I didn't think it right to give it to anyone else." I broke protocol and hugged him.

I say that I broke protocol, however, due to the fact that I was years away from working for the High Sheriff at that point, he did not mind. I only say that because I do not hug. I hug family, sometimes. And I certainly do not hug anyone of importance.

The pistol given to me that day was an average Glock 27, .40 caliber with a finger extension on the magazine. However, it holds more value to me than anything else that I own. Well, almost more.

The only other thing that hold the same value to me is a simple Glock 19. It was given to me by my Father on my birthday. This weapon has been fired only a hand full of times and kept meticulously cleaned. However, it is kept where it can be quickly retrieved in a time of need.

The Glock 27, the Gun that my Father used and relied upon for most of latter part of his career, is battle scarred. It is scratched, faded, and beat up. I do carry this weapon from time to time while on duty, mostly on days when I go to court. But, most of the time that I carry this weapon is off duty, for the obvious concealability in both cases.

These may not be the Big Guns of Deschain that were passed down from father to son for a millennia. In fact they may be the total opposite, but they are the Guns that my Father would want me to have, and when I carry them I remember the face of my father.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Two up, One to go

It has been a while since I last put out an update on three Agents that were hurt in the crash 74 days ago. Agent M is currently back on Full Duty! That means exactly what it sounds like, she has been given a full bill of health to return to work.

The same day we received that news, Agent S started coming back to work for 4 hours a day. A significant improvement over no hours a day. Her voice is still very weak compared to what it was before, but she sounds a lot better than the last few times I saw her. I am sure that as she returns to work she will become more frustrated with her healing larynx than ever before (with a job that is at least 90% vocal), but she is back.

I have not heard much about Agent L. All I know is that she is still recovering. She will require several reconstructive surgeries and a lot of dental work. As far as I know she is still in a lot of pain, but yearning to get back to work (she was never the stay at home type, if you ken). She and her family still need your prayers.

Not much else to speak of. The past two weeks I have been on 2 extraditions and 2 transports. I did get to see a good bit of scenery on one transport, however, nothing of note.

I believe that this is my shortest Chronicle to date.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

A View From 40 Feet Up

Despite the fact that I am a full grown man, I still find it necessary to omit certain details from my mother. My mother, like all mothers, is a worrier. My chosen profession does not help this fact. However, tonight when I told her this story (Having absolutely nothing to do with Law Enforcement, Guns, Ammunition, or Idiot Criminals) I still found myself omitting details.

Tonight, after Church, my mother asked me to give a package to a lady friend (Her and her Husband being lifelong friends of ours). While at church, I told this friend about this expected package. She told me that I would have to follow her home, due to the fact that she and her Husband rode the Harley to church. Their house is not that far from mine, so I agreed. Besides, I had not been to their house in quite a while and wanted to see what changes they had made to the 100 year old (roughly) house.

When I stepped into the living room, I immediately noted some badly needed structural changes and some pleasant cosmetic changes that had been made. As they were giving me the tour, I happened to look out one of the many side windows in the kitchen, and what should I see? An old rusty scissor lift truck (Boom lift, Bucket truck, or Cherry picker around here). I inquire as to why the thing is out there and how it came to be so.

The husband speaks up and tells me (while were heading outside to look at it) that he had looked into renting one in order do some repairs on the roof and chimney. Due to the fact that it would take several days for him to do the work by himself, and the rental fees being fairly high per day, he decided that he would look into buying one. He figured that he would find other reasons to have such a vehicle, so he promptly bought the truck I was looking at for a fairly good deal.

As we continue the discussion the wife comes out and hands him the keys to the truck. He cranks it up and gets in the bucket. He starts taking the bucket up to the maximum height. All the while relaying how smooth you have to be with it, what the maximum height is (40 ft), and what the range of motion is. Once he got to the top and started his way back down he started talking about his two sons (both my age and also lifelong friends) and how one managed to take it all the way to the maximum height. The other (being a Marine) only managed to get it 3/4 of the way to the top before he started to not like the ride (more like, how his father was standing ominously close to the ground controls for the lift).

At that time the little warning bell started going off in my head, He means for you to go up in that thing, the voice in my head said. I, having a small case of Acrophobia (vertigo or Fear of Heights) was starting to get a twinge in my spine. It did not look that high up from the ground, but from past experience, it would get a lot taller once I was up there.

Once he got the scissor lift back in the down position he hopped out of the bucket and said, "Why don't you give it a try?" I laugh and consider saying no, but stubborn male pride and young stupidity cries out for me to say yes.

I remembered such a moment a year and some months ago, while another friend and I were in Utah. More specifically in Zion National Park looking out over the trail leading to Angel's Landing. I said "yes" then with a much steeper drop than 40 ft. (More about this in the future)

I climbed into the bucket and received a quick tutorial about the controls and up I went. I am fairly certain that the snail climbing the tree beside me was going faster than I was letting the bucket rise. Every once in a while my bravery would get the best of me and the bucket would pick up speed. I would realize this and stop the bucket cold.

Bad Idea.

The bucket started swaying in all directions, only a few inches, but too much for me. I quickly realized that looking at the bottom of the bucket was a good focusing point whenever the bucket started swaying.

During the five minute climb there were a few disconcerting moments when the rusty machine would squall from the strain. I would yell down, "Is it supposed to do that?" and he would yell back, "What? That? I'm not sure what that was. But, I'm sure it's fine. Don't worry about it." Great.

However, when I got to the top and surveyed the surroundings (surroundings I had seen since I was a small boy) it was breath taking. Especially in the setting Sun light.

The trip down did not take quite as long and was quite thankful to be back on the ground where God made me to be. Once on the ground the Husband started relaying his plans for the little truck and lift. He asked if I wanted to help him with some of the projects. Having done it once, I believe I could do it again (but would not be at all comfortable), I said, "Sure. Anytime."

I am fairly certain that I will live to regret that.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

GPSyndrome

Today was one of those oh so special days. A day of Warrant Service. I could spend a lot of time on multiple aspects of the events that occurred today. But, I will keep it to the point of the title. First, I believe I have to explain a little about what generally happens during a warrant service day.

When I was a Local Deputy warrant service meant (for the most part) happening across a Crack Head with a couple of active warrants. It could also mean actively going to an address where a person with a warrant lives. Usually we would take one or two Deputies, unless we thought things could get unruly.

Where I work now, it is a whole different shooting match. When we do a warrant team, we have a lot more Agents and information about the Criminal in question. This last part would be due to our constant contact with them and the area in which they live. You would be surprised by the amount of times that a little bit of information about a person, their family, and the layout of the house can save lives and heart ache.

Now, the team I generally go out with was put out of commission as of June 15, 2009. The day of the wreck (see Blog #1). So, in order to go out on a warrant service I had to go in an empty slot on another team. A team I am less familiar with and thus put me a little out of sorts.

When we started off the day, we got our car seating assignments. Being the new guy on the team I was chosen to be the one to drive the lead car. I went to the car got in along with my navigator/side seat driver. He then puts this thing on the dash. I recognized it an older model GPS and he automatically turns it to where he can see it. That is perfectly okay (as long as he relays the information).

I hear over the radio that we are ready to go and the navigator pushes a few buttons on the GPS and I hear, "Drive to the highlighted route." I await further instructions from the human navigator (due to the fact that I cannot see the screen) and receive none. I then lean over enough to where I can see the screen. Still no help. All I see on the screen is a small green arrow in the midst of a brown field. Apparently, a GPS is only great when A) your moving, and B) your actually on a road. If you have a road map GPS in the middle of a giant parking lot (like were we work), not so great for getting you out of said lot.

I roll my eyes and get back on my side of the car. I ask, "So....where should I head?" Then as if in answer, "Drive to the highlighted route," comes from the GPS again. My navigator then chuckled, pointed straight ahead, and said, "That way." Once we got closer to the road (and moving) I could see the "Highlighted route."

The rest of the day went more smoothly (as far as the GPS is concerned). For the most part we reached our desired location with minimal interference. The only exceptions would be the odd road that the GPS would believe to be there, but when we would get near where the road should be, there would be nothing but a whole lot of forest.

However, as the day wore on and I listened to the little computer prattle on, something was happening to my brain. I was becoming dependent upon the GPS. I have lived in my jurisdiction my entire life. I learned to drive on these streets, and worked on these streets. I may get lost (a lot) with my little map book, but I generally know where I am going. With the GPS telling me where to go the entire day that part of my brain shut down. This is what I like to call GPS syndrome.

As an example from today, when we decided where we were to eat, my navigator punched in the address of the restaurant and off we went. Now, this restaurant is on a road that I can find from most anywhere....except from where we were. It was a part of the jurisdiction that I have never been. As we drove to more familiar territory I should have been able to pick up on the way to go. However, I found myself still hanging on every single, "Turn right/left in 500 feet." I did not realize this until we reached the Interstate (still on the highlighted and correct route) and I found myself asking how many miles we had to go until the desired exit.

This is a dumb question because A) I know what exit we were going to, and B) I knew what what exit we were at. Therefore, I should have known how many miles we had to go, but I had become dependent upon the GPS (in only a few short hours).

Now, the phenomenon is not an isolated incident. On March 22, 2009 a man in Yorkshire, England nearly drove off a cliff while simply following the directions of his GPS. October 25, 2008 a Polish man in Australia drove into a lake while following the directions given by his GPS. Here, recently a woman drove off an embankment and into a local pond, because her GPS told her to. I am sure that there are many, many more.

So, a word to my fellow Officers and Gunslingers out there, get your head out of the GPS every once in a while. Some computers might be able to calculate things faster, find routes faster, and bring up long lost information faster, but nothing out thinks the Human brain. Do not become so dependent upon your GPS that you cannot find your way out of a situation if the proverbial fecal matter hits the fan. I cannot imagine having to wait on that thing to find a satellite and calculate a route for me to get out of the line of fire.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Meet and Greet

A few weeks ago a received an e-mail from my AIC (Agent-In-Charge), it went something along the lines of, "On blah blah date (at the end of August) we will be attending a meet and greet session at blah blah Government run drug rehabilitation center. Be prepared with questions and to have a good time eating breakfast with folks from another agency. So, mark your calenders. We will be leaving at..."

I was a hairs breadth from pressing the delete button when I noticed something about the e-mail did not look right. After a few seconds I noted that in the "to" section it had not gone out to the entire office. So, I checked to see who all else received this e-mail. It was just myself, another agent, and a handful of Supervisors.

My heart sank. Does he really means to put me and another Agent in a room with a bunch of people that I do not know and have to talk too. For reference, I am a very practical person. I only ask question when I do not understand something, if I want to bring out a point, or if I want to annoy the person being queried.

For this particular Government run drug rehabilitation center, I have no questions. I refer my offenders to them, they go to classes, they take drug tests, I get information back about their progress. I do not care how that gets done or in what order, as long as it gets done.

So, for clarification about the e-mail, I went downstairs and spoke with the AIC. I honestly cannot remember what he said, because it was a fifteen minute answer. The basic principle was that he wanted me to get out more. He wanted me to see other parts of our job and how other agency work with us. What he really said was "I want to see how you handle this responsibility." I smile, nod, and say, "Thank you, sir." The Agent-In-Charge has spoken and I am going. Fantastic. I did not think anymore about it until today.

Another Agent (Agent T) came to my desk early this morning and asked me if I could go with him on an Extradition (a four hour one way trip in North Carolina) on the given day that I am supposed to be at the breakfast meet. I tell him that I cannot due to said prior engagement. He looks at me and can see the fact that I do not want any part of this and says, "If I can get you out of it, will you go?" Hallelujah. "I'll give you my first born if you get me out of it." "Done."

Again, I do not think anymore about it, because the AIC has spoken, surely there is no way he could get me out of this. Right?

During my lunch time, Agent T comes up to me and asks, "Were you serious about the deal?" I look up from my lunch and tell him yes. He turns and walks the way he came, when my Supervisor comes down the hallway toward him. Now, my Supervisor just so happens to be in charge of Extraditions in our office (She does all the logistical work). Agent T stops her and they speak for a few seconds. I then hear her say, "I'll get him out of it." It is a good thing that I do not have a first born child (or in any danger of having one). My Supervisor then goes back the way she came and Agent T turn and puts gives me a thumbs up. I stared at him blinking as he followed after my Supervisor.

I know that that is not proof positive that I am home free and going to randomville, NC. But, at least I have a hope and a prayer.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Katy Bar the Door!

The mist rose above the Nantahala river as we rode with the calm current. The trees and mountains flowed by in silence and the mountains provided ample shade from the warm sun. We watched in awe as the Smoky Mountain Railroad thundered by with its happy travelers. We could see the calm river start to white cap in the distance, when with out warning, "BEAVER!!" A paddle slams in to the water with a great Thwack, splashing everyone with in range. The water war ragged until we reached the next series of rapids and had to avoid multiple large rocks.



That is correct Ladies and Gentlemen, I had the personal pleasure of spending several hours on the Nantahala River today. Just to go ahead and clear the air, I have no idea who the folks in the picture are. Just a random picture of a group of Rafters on the Nantahala from the internet.

For my first experience on any kind of White Water Rafting, "The Nanny" (as the professionals call the Nantahala River) was a great tutor. No rapids over a class III in the eight mile section that we rafted today.

I went with my Sunday School Class. A trip like this allowed us to see each other in a place other than church. It also allowed others to see that Christians can have fun, and they did see us have fun. Considering we were crazier than most of the other rafters heading down stream.

We opted to start later in the day, around 1100 hrs, so that the the water would have a chance to raise (or so the guides told us). The river is controlled by a dam. Water is released from the dam every morning and the longer you wait the more water in the river. We were given the mandatory safety speeches (where to sit in the raft, how to hold the paddle, what to do when you fall out of the raft, and how to pull someone back in).

After the safety speeches we were bused to the drop off point and given a raft and seating arraignment. I drew the front left spot. As we put the raft into the river I went ahead jumped into the shallow water (might as well get acclimated), due to the fact that the water was in a side pool in the rare sections of sun at 1100 hrs, it was surprisingly warm.

The word Nantahala is Cherokee for "Land of the Noon Day Sun", very aptly named. The Appalachian Mountains tower above the River, obscuring the Sun until its almost directly overhead.

Being on the front of the raft allowed me an unobstructed view of the river and the beautiful scenery. However, I quickly learned that that spot is the first to get wet. The first splash of water went straight for my lap. "Oh Dear God!" exploded from my mouth as the 58 degree water soaked everything below the Navel. Before the first mile was traversed, I would be soaked from Head to Toe.

Most of the trip was rather smooth sailing and our three boats generally stayed together. Which provided ample opportunity for all out water wars. This was actually highly encouraged by our guides, as long as our attention went back to steering the boat come rapids. Although, there was no better place for a sneak attack than in the midst of class III rapids. When one of the guides saw one of our rafts coming within splashing distance, he yelled, "Katy bare the door!" It soon became our battle cry.

Most of the other rafters that we passed where completely dry and we tried to keep them out of the crossfire. However, every once in a while you would just see the right color raft, turn and prepare to splash, and notice that the wrong people were in the raft (Noticeably dry people). We would go back about our business of paddling and get soaked by a couple of gallons of river water from a 5 gallon bucket that was hidden in the raft. By the time the rafts separated to much for proper splashing, the people in the other raft would be completely soaked as well.

Thankfully, we only had two casualties. One of the new members in the class was the only passenger to actually get into the river at the behest of the Nantahala. Of course the other was the lead guide, whom in the 9 years of rafting the Nantahala has never answered her call until today. We then began joking with him for the rest of the day that it was a sign that he was not right with the Lord and needed to get back on the right path.

All in all it was a great one day trip for a low price of $20. For those that do not know, the Nantahala River is located about 48 miles South East of Knoxville, Tennessee and about 59 miles west of Asheville, North Carolina. The rafting company that we used was Carolina Outfitters. In speaking with the owners of the Carolina Outfitters Shop. I found out that parts of the two lane road that follows the Nantahala (Highway 19/Highway 74) is actually a part of the infamous Trail of Tears. An interesting bit of information that played in my mind between rapids and water wars.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

I am a Gunslinger, not a Lawyer!

I love my job, just to clear the air. However, there are some parts of my job that I like better than others. Warrant Service, by far, considered the most dangerous part of the job. However, I consider this to be a rare treat. A paid day of fun and adventure. The only thing that tops this is the paid day at the local shooting competition (which is coming soon!).

Second, in the line up of fun parts of the job is Home Visits. Considered the second most dangerous part of the job. This would be where Agents go to the den of the wolf to see what is there. 7 times out of 10, nothing. You go in chat with the resident or neighbor, move on. But, the other 3 are the ones that you end up spending a little more time.

Third is Extraditions/Transports of Prisoners. I consider this to be fun. Time consuming and sometimes exasperating when it comes on a day when important case load stuff needs to get done, but fun. You may ask, "Why?" Because I get to go somewhere new. Whether it be a Backwoods County Jail or a High Tech Supermax Prison, it is somewhere in the world that I have yet to be.

From here we slip from the fun part of the scale to the not so much fun part. Fourth, comes the average day. Paperwork, computers, copiers, and phone calls. Not much to say here.

Fifth, in the line up is Report days. In the beginning it was fun. Something new to do and definitely different from patrol work. However, now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair for 9 hours talking to an average of 60 criminals a day, gets old...fast. Thankfully, these only occur once a week.

Sixth, is Office Duty. I am not sure if this is something that is only done in our office, but it is definitely for the Harriers. Like Report days, you are stuck in the office for the entire day. In actuality it is not much different from the average day. Most of the time we do not leave the office, but the prospect of not being allowed to leave, just brings the spirit down. For the Agent picked to be the Office Duty Agent of the Day they have to field random phone calls for Agent that are out. Deal with prisoners fresh out of Prison and reporting for the first time, and any other randomness that happens along.

Seventh, and final in this list is the name sake of this blog. Court. Just as Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy (DeForest Kelly, 1966-1969 and Karl Urban 2009), would say in some given situation, "Bleep it Jim! I'm a Doctor, not a (insert job title of choice here)!" I am not a Lawyer. This is the only aspect of my job that actually makes me want to curl up in a corner somewhere and cry for my mother.

Again you may ask, "Why?"

Why, I would have such a phobic reaction to a situation where I should have nothing to fear. It is not I who stands to lose my freedom and possibly everything I hold dear. I am just standing before a General Sessions Court Judge presenting the Case for the State. So, why am I so often just as afraid as the criminal standing beside me?

The only answer I can come up with, is that I am a Gunslinger, not a Lawyer.

I am not comfortable wearing a Dress shirt, dress pants, dress shoes, sport coat and noose, I mean...tie.

I am not comfortable going up against paid and trained Lawyers. Whom with every other word I want to say, "I object your Honor! I don't know what they're saying!"

Finally, I am not comfortable standing before a person in a black rope basically playing God. The focus of their wrath or not.

I would rather be in the deepest, darkest, rankest, rain soaked armpit of my jurisdiction arresting the Incredible Hulk with his 6 Gamma irradiated friends beside him.

But the real reason I am so phobic about court is...Control. In the before stated armpit I am in control. In the courtroom I have zero control over anything. The Judge is in complete Control over everything that goes on. Good, Bad, or indifferent. In the courtroom he/she is God.

I have learned in this job that being uncomfortable is a part of life. In the years since beginning this job I have arrested countless criminals, been in countless armpits of the jurisdiction, and gone to court countless times. I know that I conquer the Phobia every time I go to court, stand before the Judge and present my case. Whether or not I feel like curling up in the furthest corner and crying for my mother becomes irrelevant to finishing the job at hand.

Semper Fi Deus,
Goose

Playground or Road

While out conducting routine residence verifications, I came within 5 feet of destroying multiple lives.

As a part of my duties, I have to go out into the field and verify that the offenders on my caseload are living where they say that they are living. At one apartment complex where an offender reports to be living, I had become lost. Lost really is not the word...unable to locate with accuracy the building in which I was searching for.

I pulled into a parking lot that slowly looped around, back the way I come. In the center of this loop were a picnic area and a volleyball court. Across the road from the volleyball court was a fenced in playground. In my peripheral vision I noticed that a group of women were sitting at a picnic table next to the volleyball court.

As I continued around the loop searching for the particular apartment number in question, I heard a woman asking for someone to come to her. I discounted it as one of the workers in the playground calling a child. As I neared the playground on my way out of the parking lot the voice grows more urgent.

I looked out the left window, following the voice, and saw that it was one of the women at the picnic table. I noted that she was looking in the direction of the playground and turned in that direction. I thought she might be calling to her child in the playground. Not seeing any of the children near the fence, I again discounted her voice and went back to the task at hand, while she continued to call.

When I neared the entrance/exit intersection of the loop, I leaned forward in my seat to see around the left windshield post. To my horror I see two small children (no more than 2 years old) stepping off the curb and into my path. They were no more than ten feet from the front bumper when I saw them. I put all of my weight into the brake and managed to stop in time.

Here is where I steer away from the main point. Today, I was driving one of the newer fleet vehicles, in this case a 2008 Chevrolet Impala (unmarked, no marking showing that it is a Police vehicle). To be clear, I hate the Impala line. However, today the fact that I was driving it, instead of my preferred vehicle (Ford Crown Victoria) saved the lives of two infants. The Impala I was driving did not have a driver side spot light so evident on all police vehicles. Normally this annoys me to no end, but the fact that it was not there (this being the only vehicle in our fleet without it) gave me the extra sight line to see the children in time.

As the adrenaline high began to wear off, I saw the children continue to play as if nothing in the world was wrong. What continues to amaze me is the complete lack of screams of terror, not just from the mother of the children, but anyone in the playground. I yelled out the window in the direction of the women at the picnic table, "Ma'am! Get your kid's out of the road!" The women turned in my direction and only one called for the children. Do you kennit? She called after them. She did not get up from the picnic table and GET the children.

Now I was livid. Not only did she, and the others, not care about the children enough to watch them. But, she and they did not care enough to get up and get the children out of the road, mere feet from a running vehicle.

I stepped from the vehicle. Badge and gun plainly visible in the sun light. I walked to the front quarter panel of the car and leaned against it. I crossed my arms in an unconscious motion to bottle up the rage and motion for someone to come over. Two of the women respond. The one that was calling to the children and a new one. They approached timidly.

When they were ten feet from me I let loose, "Ma'am, what on God's green earth are your children doing playing in the middle of the street?!" The two women scoop up the children without ever taking their eyes of me. Neither of the women utter an answer. "Do you realize how close they came to dying?!" The caller reacted defensively, "Well you should..." I did not let her finish. "NO! You should have been watching your kids! If I hadn't been paying attention, if I had been going faster, or if my window hadn't been down, they would be DEAD!!" I am relatively certain that most of the people in the complex heard the last part.

"If you and your friends are to freakin' lazy to watch your kids then there is a fenced in playground for them to play in right there. With people willing to watch them." I somehow managed to keep my composure enough not to start cursing at them. I continued to explain that I could call DSS (the Department of Social Services, a State run Child and indigent Adult protection agency) to take the children away, etc. As I go on I noticed that I might as well have been talking to the fence or the volleyball net. I ended the tirade with a simple question, "What are you going to do from now on?" The caller huffs and says, "We'll be more careful next time, sir." I stepped forward to invade her personal space and tell her that there had better not be a next time.

I turned and got back in my car. Slamming the door. When I looked around, I noticed that there was a rather large gathering of people. Dangerous, considering my tirade had taken up all of my focus. However, the closest people were the workers in the playground the people at the picnic table. I drove off slowly to continue my search for the apartment I was originally looking for and I try to put the events aside. This is hard considering the people I was driving past who had come out to see what was going on.

No one was on the phone or had come to the defense of the two women. Apparently the on lookers managed to see more than the Caller, actually seeing the badge, gun and blue lights in the car.

I am not sure if I handled the situation correctly, considering I have never gone off on a tirade of such ferocity before. Nor have I lost such control that I became unaware of my surroundings. But I do know that if I had it to do all over again, I would not change a thing.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose