The Chronicles of a South Carolina Gunslinger

Dreams

2011-09-16T14:54:00.004-04:00

Dreams mean many things to many different people. To some, they are just nonsensical wanderings of a mind trying to rest and recharge. To others, it can be a window into your subconscious. To still others, it can be a way for the untapped portions of the human mind to awaken with E. S. P. and precognition.

I tend to have leanings toward the first school of thought, that dreams mean nothing in the same way a screen saver on a computer means nothing. That if you had a bad dream it just means you ate some bad chili before you went to bed or something similar.

I have had good dreams and bad. I usually do not remember dreaming at all. The dreams that I remember are usually startling in their clarity or just shocking. I have dreamed of being one of the few survivors of a Zombie Apocalypse struggling against the horde. I have dreamed of being a stock car driver, a dragon slayer, and of being married with a Wife and Children. I have even dreamed of my own death at the hands of Conan the Barbarian. I was fairly certain that it was impossible to die in a dream, but have since found that it is actually common to do so.

I have even had a couple of dreams of spending time with my Father, who as of September 4th died 9 years ago. As nice as these dreams are, I still believe that they are nothing more than an Idea manifested into a visualization so the brain can rest in some weird way. That is until last night.

Last night I dreamed of him again. The dream was rather strange and detailed in its entirety and will skip most of it here.

I was out conducting Home Visits, a routine part of my Job, when a rather non-routine situation arose at a particular house and I had to call 911 for assistance. As Deputies arrived and began handling the situation, two uniforms approached me. One was my Father in his best Class A High Sheriff Uniform. The other was also my Father, but twenty years younger, skinnier, a head full of hair, and wearing a regular Deputy Uniform.

I noticed that the Deputy version was looking me up and down, sizing me up, and what he saw...he only has contempt for. The Sheriff asked me how I am holding up, and I gave him what was my usual answer, "Fine" along with a rundown of what happened in the situation.

As I finished my tale, the Deputy version scoffed and said "I could have handled that without crying for help." But, the voice was not that of my Father, but my own. The Deputy continued with his speech, "I'm not a quitter. I'm a member of the Greatest SWAT team in the Country. I'm an accomplished marksman, you should see all the 1st place trophies in my case. I'm married and have a Child on the way. What do you have? You've accomplished nothing but failure!"

I was brought almost to tears by that comments and was about to throw a retort back when the Sheriff said, "Don't pay him any attention, he's my shadow. He is who you believe you should be. But, he isn't real. He isn't the man I raised. I didn't raise you to be just another me. You have blazed your own path in life and stepped out of my shadow to become the man that you are. And for that I am proud of you." As he took me in his arms, the alarm clock went off.

I have never hated that alarm clock any more than in those moments after waking up and was this || close to shooting it.

Now, I do not know if God allows the Dead to truly come to us in our dreams to speak to us. Or more likely just my subconscious mind, knowing of my inner struggles and demons, providing a visualization of those darkest fears and most cherished hopes. But, I do know that this dream is one that I hope to always remember.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

CYA: Cover Your Agency

2011-06-23T18:13:00.005-04:00

A slogan preached and harped on at the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy and perfected at my Agency. Over two years after the wreck Agent S and I receive an email from my Assistant Agent In Charge advising that we are going to the Post-Critical Incident Seminar (PCIS) at Headquarters.

After receiving the Email I talked with Agent S about it, trying to figure out why I was going. With her it made since (two years too late, but still) nearly dying tends have an effect on someone. It comes down to C. Y. A., at least according to my Supervisor and Casey from Sandyland.

To me, it makes absolutely no since and that is apparently the exact reason why I am going. With State Government, if it does not make any since that is what will happen.

First off, it has been two long years. The issues that I had and have are safely compartmentalized somewhere deep in my head...and I guess that is the real issue is it not. I know deep down in that locked off and barricaded compartment that I am still standing on that median watching events unfold before me. Fighting the urges that I know will only hinder rescue. Doing what has to be done as I stop the EMTs and remove their gun belts (hindering rescue anyway) and gather their belongings. The issue is I do not want to go through it again. It is locked off and barricaded, leave it be...but that is not to be the way of it.

Now, I have to drag it out piece by piece. This time before fellow Gunslingers, not random Sheeple or those that were there, but Gunslingers. Those who have gone through much worse, and that makes me afraid of looking like a fool.

I voiced this to Agent S (not the whole thing, just the looking like a fool part), who dashed my seemingly logical argument to pieces with a single statement, "You can be there for me." Not only does this make me look stupidly selfish for putting my wants before the needs of another, but also appealed to my ego. What Gunslinger can resist rescuing the girl.

Second, after Agent S set me straight on the reason that I was going, I begged the question, "Was Agent L going as well?" As it turns out, the answer is no. In the AAICs divine wisdom, he has determined that it would be best for a Chaplin from the Department to speak with her and decide whether or not it would be proper for her to attend this or another PCIS...I had to stop myself from responding to this seemingly idiotic reply.

Luckily Agent S did so for me. Her argument, "Proper! She is the most physically and emotionally scared of us all! If anyone needs this it's her!" The AAIC stopped her, "I'm not prepared to have a discussion about this. This is the way things are going to be." The discussion continued and down graded to a point that I needed to tell Agent S that it was time to go.

Looking back on it now, with a clear head, he was right. He just did not explain his position in any shape, form, or fashion. It now makes since to have a professional speak with Agent L and discuss what her needs are. Whether it be a one on one with the Chaplin or going to a PCIS or doing nothing at all at this time. To have them determine what would be best for her...and the Agency. Because in the end, it is all about Covering the Agency.

As a side note, Agent L has made little progress in the past two years. She still has a long road ahead of her and there is much blocking her path.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

The Gunslinger's guide to Hitchhikers

2011-04-09T17:56:00.004-04:00

Today as I was leaving my home on the hill, heading out to do some typical grocery shopping in my personal vehicle. In order to avoid traffic I was traveling down a rural two lane road. This particular road has more homes on it and traffic than some of the rural roads that I have been on, but this day was a sleepy one.

As I was approaching a particularly sharp turn, that I normally take at speed, something told me to slow down. As I was coming out of the turn, I was met by a dirty man with a Grizzly Adams look to him in the middle of my lane. I slammed on the brakes, cut the wheel hard to the left and missed the man by inches. I got off the brakes to regain control just before plunging into the embankment on the left side of the road and managed to get back into my lane. Thank God for Emergency Vehicle Training.

I hit my emergency flashers and stopped my vehicle a little ways down the road, just before entering the next turn. I quickly exited my vehicle and turned the way I had just come. But, the guy was nowhere to be seen. I then heard a tapping on my passenger window. I wheeled around and before I knew what was going on, I was looking down the sights of my Glock 22 at Mr Grizzly Adams.

His hands shot high above his head and he started yelling, "Don't Shoot! Don't Shoot!" I ordered him to the front of my vehicle. As he cautiously moved, my gun followed him. He started to try and explain what he was doing and I told him to shut up. He did so. Once he was in front of my vehicle a though hit me, He may have friends. I glanced around quickly and did not see anyone else around. Nothing but woods and road.

After my look around I told Mr Adams to put both hands on the hood of the vehicle. As he did so he started trying to explain himself again, "Man I was just looking for..." "Shut Up And Put Your Hands On The Hood!" He did as ordered. I slowly made my way behind the man, still keeping my gun trained on him. Once I was behind Mr. Adams by a few feet, I told him to take a step back with both feet, put his chest on the hood, and place his hands behind his back...slowly. Once he did so, almost falling in the process, I took control of his hands and holstered my weapon.

I did a quick pat down of Mr Adams, while he started his explanation again, "Man, I'm sorry! I was just lookin' for a ride. I didn't mean to scare you or nothin' like that. I was just lookin' for a ride." While conducting the pat down I thought I smelled Alcohol, but could not be sure with the overwhelming body odor.

When I finished my pat down and did not find any weapons on Mr Adams, I released his hands and stepped back several feet. I then told Mr Adams to get off of my hood and have a seat on the side of the road. He started apologizing again and again, I told him to shut up. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. After a few rings the Operator picked up. I explained who I was (Plain Clothes Officer), where I was, and told them what was going on. Basically, a suspicious person trying to hitchhike while standing in the middle of the road, that I was out with this person, and that a Deputy need to be here yesterday.

Once the guy understood what I was doing he started yelling, "He pulled a F&%$ing gun on me!" and started to get up. "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!" I bellowed. Mr Adams did so. I then heard the 911 Operator ask, "Sir, did you pull a gun on him?" "Yes, but he is no longer being held at gun point and before you ask, yes, the weapon is holstered on my person." "Okay, sir, Deputy's are on their way. Do you need me to stay on the line while they are coming?" I paused at the question, thinking You just learned that a gun is involved in this and you don't want to stay on the line? "No, I believe I need to call my Supervisor and let her know what going on. I'll call back if the situation changes." "Okay, sir. Good luck."

I hung up the phone and dialed my Supervisor at home. Mr Adams started shifting and I glared at him, he stopped. My Supervisor picked up the phone, "Yes, Goose?" "Before you hear it on the news..." "Oh Jesus!" I admit probably not the best way to start a serious conversation, "It's not as bad as all that, but getting pretty close."

I explained what happened thus far...short version. "Do you have your badge on you?" She asked. I replied, "Am I awake? As a matter of fact I think I sleep with..." "Goose!" "Yes, I have it, credentials too." "Good, I'll call the AIC (Agent In Charge) and fill him in. Make sure that your badge is the first thing the Deputy sees." I started to hear the faint sound of a single unmistakable Police siren, "I hear them coming, got to go." "Good luck."

As I heard the siren get closer, I pulled out my badge wallet. Mr Adams shied away until he saw what I had. I started to crack a smile until the Deputy rounded the turn and slammed on his brakes. He stopped a few yards from me. I opened and raised my badge wallet. I put my right hand well above my head. The Deputy quickly got out of his car and asked, "Where's the gun?!" "It's holstered on my right hip,"

I then explained to the Deputy who I was. He ordered me to show him the gun and I turned towards him, while slowly lifting my outer shirt and exposing the holstered gun. The Deputy approached cautiously and with his gun half out of the holster. As the Deputy approached, Mr Adams started talking and started to get it up, "This guy if F&%$ing nuts man!". In tandem the Deputy and I both yelled, "SIT DOWN!" After hearing me order the guy, he relaxed a little, but his hand stayed on his gun.

He took my badge wallet and examined the credentials and badge, "I need to see your Driver's license." "It's in my wallet, in my back Right pants pocket." He ordered me to get it. Just in case I pulled out my Concealed Weapons Permit as well. He examined them and then gave the badge wallet back, he clipped my Licenses under his pens on the front of his shirt. He talked into his radio, "Cancel emergency assistance, I just need one extra unit." A chorus of call signs advised that they were canceling their run and going back to their regular patrols, except one unit.

He advised that he was canceling lights and sirens, but was still enroute. The Deputy then turned his attention to me. "What's going on?" "Can I put my hands down?" He nodded and I explained everything that happened. I was finishing up as the other unit arrived. This second Deputy was a K9 unit and when he got out, I immediately recognized him. We have been friends since before either of us joined the Sheriffs Office.

He walked up and greeted me and told the first Deputy, "He's good man. He's one of us," as he pulled my License from the pen clip and gave them back to me. "Who's this guy?" Deputy 2 asked. Mr Adams by this time turned sulky. "We don't know yet, but he almost got creamed by Mr Goose here, before he almost got shot for his trouble." Deputy 1 said. Deputy 2 walked over to Mr Adams asked him to stand up and for some ID.

At first Mr Adams was unsure about standing up, but eventually did it. Once up he stated that he did not have any ID, but gave his name. Deputy 1 ran the name while Deputy 2 questioned him. Mr Adams said that he was trying to get to a city in an adjoining jurisdiction and would not say from where he had come. After talking with Mr Adams for a few minutes, Deputy 2 asked if he had been drinking. Mr. Adams grew sulky again and said, "What's that got to do with anything?" "The fact is you did something pretty stupid and almost got killed twice in less than a minute. I can also smell alcohol on your breath. Now, have you been drinking?" Mr Adams sighed and said, "Not really." With out skipping a beat, Deputy 2 said, "Well then you shouldn't have any problem passing a few tests."

Deputy 2 then did several field sobriety tests on Mr Adams, which he failed. Mr Adams was then handcuffed, searched, and placed in the back on the patrol car. The one without the K9. Deputy 2 then got a form out of the back of his car while Deputy 1 took Mr Adams to the County jail for Disorderly Conduct and to confirm his name. The name that he gave could not be confirmed. I then wrote out a statement of which I was given a copy. We then said our farewells and went our separate ways.

I then started heading back toward the store and called my Supervisor back. I told her what happened and she said that she would call the AIC back and let him know how it turned out. She hung up letting me know that there is a meeting in my future. Great.

Just as a side note. The entire time this was going on, not one car passed by, nor was seen until I got to the main road. That will teach me to try and avoid traffic.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Chuckles

2011-02-02T19:05:00.004-05:00

It has been long in coming, but I have finally found something worth writing about that does not involve gripping about work.

I am not sure what is going on with the local population of offenders, but they have apparently all gathered together and decided to get arrested for as much as possible as of late. The past week has been spent either sitting in my Supervisors office writing warrants or in the local Jail serving them.

One particular incident involves an Offender that Casey once supervised. Casey even wrote a post about this offender, Chuckles, in Once you're hooked, you're hooked. I was approached several days ago about this case, by the now Supervising Agent and agreed to help take him back to Jail. I was then reminded of this promise when the fateful time came when Chuckles arrived today.

Chuckles went into the handcuffs easily enough and we went through the routine of searching and reading the violations without issue. It was not until we sat him in the car that he decided that he was done being good. Agent S was about to put the seat belt on Chuckles when he said, "You ain't puttin' no Seat belt on me." There was no argument from either Agent S or myself.

Agent S, who has more years in Law Enforcement than I have been on Earth, closed the door and told me to give him my gun. I begrudgingly did so and he told me that I would be riding in the back seat with Chuckles. I slid into the backseat and belted myself in before buckling Chuckles in. Chuckles promptly unbuckled himself and I promptly rebuckled him before the buckle left the catch fully (try saying that five times fast). Chuckles got the idea the seat belt was going to stay on for the duration of the trip.

However, a few minutes later, Chuckles decided to go into a tirade about the evils of the United States Criminal Justice System and the South Carolina System in particular. The tirade included all the usual material, The purpose of our Agency is only to milk money out of the unjustly convicted, how Criminals are allowed to roam the streets while he is arrested on money violations (despite the fact that warrant was two pages long for new convictions), etcetera, etcetera. Agent S and myself, being horribly sarcastic, nodded in all the right places and agreed at the end of every sentence.

Once at the Jail, Chuckles was fine all the way through the first door of the Sally port. However, as the door was beginning to close, Chuckles made a move toward the exit. Agent S grabbed a hold of his arms and turned him back in the direction we were supposed to go.

This set Chuckles off into a new tirade of the usual fighting mantra, "Don't touch me!" "Take these cuffs off and I'll kick your @#%" etcetera, etcetera. Still, Agent S and I did not say a word. Agent S escorted Chuckles to a holding cell that was unoccupied, while I opened the door. Chuckles went in, and the door was closed just as Chuckles turned and slammed himself into the now locked door. Chuckles then began yelling insults and curses culminating in kicking the Steel door 15 to 20 times as hard as he could.

While Agent S completed the booking paperwork, I went to the Booking Officers and advised that we had an offender that would likely fight once uncuffed. To be honest I have never seen these Officers work with such efficiency. Since, Chuckles was kicking the door hard enough to be heard throughout the entire building, they were already set to go.

As we were heading back to the holding cells I saw that chuckles was nose to glass at a local Police Officer who was standing by to help. This Police Officer, who had already placed his prisoner in Jail custody and was on his way out, stopped to give Chuckles a little wisdom, "You need to calm down or they're goin' to &^%# you up." Which of course sent Chuckles into another tirade.

I stopped in front of the cell door with the Police Officer, Agent S, and four large booking officers at my back. With Chuckles still yelling, I said calmly, "This is how this is gonna go." Chuckles ended his rant and listened for a change. "If you're calm and don't try to fight in any way, these gentlemen behind me are going to do the regular booking proceedure without any undue fuss. But, if you start fighting or cursing or are unruly in any way, this is goin' to go sideways for you in a hurry...Cool?"

Without a seconds pause he responded, "I'm not afraid of being $^%#ed up! And I don't appreciate this guy," pointing at the Police Officer, "saying that I should be!" I interrupted with, "Hey, that's not being cool and will send this thing sideways!"

Chuckles stopped and actually thought for a second or two before responding, "Okay, I'll be cool. I'm Cool." I then stepped out of the way as the Booking Officers opened the door. Chuckles stepped out and the Booking Officers escorted him the rest of the way into the Jail and booked in without further incident.

I figured at that point our adventures with Chuckles would be over for a while, but a couple of hours later, the Agent in charge of Chuckles came and got Agent S and I. The local Magistrate had apparently called to inform her of what happened at the bond hearing.

Even though we are on fairly good terms with most of the Local Magistrates, we hardly ever hear from them unless we do something wrong with the paperwork. This Magistrate, I will call Magistrate H, is in my opinion one of the best in this Jurisdiction. He is always calm, cool, collected, and best of all...Fair, with even the most hardened criminal. He does not take sides and always decides on a fair bond based on the violations, likely hood of fleeing from court, and danger to the community.

Anyway Magistrate H, called to advise that Chuckles had earned himself a temporary No Bond due to receiving a 15 day contempt of Court charge. Temporary, due to the fact that unlike most of the Magistrates that I know, who would leave it at No Bond and let a Circuit Court Judge hash out bond reduction in a month or two. Magistrate H, wanted to revisit the Bond issue after Chuckles has had 15 days to cool off.

So, I guess I will be revisiting this issue in 15 days or so. Hopefully this will the maximum limit of excitement for while.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Different Level of Eww

2010-11-29T21:06:00.003-05:00

Apparently I am in the mood for remakes. So, I cry pardon for the slightly skewed content.

The past few months have been trying. Most days I come home and just about crawl right into bed. With that comes flashbacks of when I quit previous jobs. Most notably when I quit my position as Deputy Sheriff.

I have been trying to avoid blogging with a whining undertone, but I find it impossible to avoid any longer.

Caseloads are rising to impossible levels. Days are spent either typing warrants, serving warrants, fighting with Supervisors as why a warrant has to be issued, or taking 70 - 80 reports on any given report day.

The silver lining is that our agency managed to scrap together enough money to hire a replacement for the 20 plus people that have left since I have been at this office. That is correct they hired one person. A person that will have to complete the Criminal Justice Academy before they are ready to take on a caseload. Our Agency track record within the CJA is not exactly stellar and we do not hold much hope for the new hire.

Most of the Women that are stationed in Cubicles around the New Hire give the cold shoulder. A defence mechanism derived from years of disappointment. Everyone wants to welcome the New Hire in, but we all know that it is a 50/50 shot that they will make it back from the Academy. If they do, Hazzah, everyone rejoices. If they do not, they are sent west to look for other employment.

Meanwhile, the office scuttlebutt is in full swing. Every thing is talked about, from the State wide possibilities that our Agency might be forced into the same money grubbing sink hole that is the South Carolina Department of Corrections, to lay offs, to furloughs. Then there are the Office wide possibilities of pooling caseloads. Casey, you got out just in time.

At the moment these are only rumors. If they become more, I will discuss them in further detail.

With so much going on it was interesting that Work Mom chose now to bring up the subject of my love life. In an office dominated by Women it is hard to avoid the Subject. Most of the Women in my office, I would imagine, either view me as a Son or Brother. Most notably Work Mom, hence the name. I have known for some time that these particular Women had taken it upon themselves to find me that perfect woman.

Work Mom has always toyed with the idea of me hooking up with her younger Sister, who apparently has taken a similar interest in not dating. I am not entirely sure why Work Mom has this fascination, since I have always managed to get under her skin in one way or another. But, obviously this a top level requirement in a Brother-in-Law.

She even managed to get us to meet. Having her sister drop her off at the office for the Sex Offender checks Halloween night. It was a brief conversation of, "Hi, Nice to meet you, heard a lot about you, I'm going to go ruin a Pedophile's night now, bye." Obviously that made quite the impression.

A month later and another Holiday behind us, Work Mom comes to my desk with a sticky note. This sticky note has a name and phone number on it. That of her Sister. She hands me the note and says, "I think my sister would like for you to give her a call sometime." The only thought to come to my mind is a question, "You think or she said?" She rolled her eyes and replied, "She said." Before I could reply she was called away.

Now, here is where my mind went somewhere it should not have. Considering the fact that I view this lady as my Work Mom and she basically told me to go on a date with her Sister...do I really have to spell it out. Oedipus Rex it is not (Praise God, finding the Acid for an Acid bath these days is hard), but why my mind would go there is a little disturbing. It probably went into that gutter as some measure of stress relief, but how that is possible by causing more stress is beyond me.

At this point I am weighing my options (procrastination by any other name), but more information is needed. But, again as things develop you all will be among those to know.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Invasion

2010-09-24T12:39:00.002-04:00

Anyone who has read this blog about a year ago has seen this issue come up before. The issue, Creepy Crawlies and Female Agents who do not like them.

As of late our Government building has been inundated with a not so small arthropod called the millipede. Given the alternative I would rather have the millipede than his not so friendly cousin the centipede. Since, centipedes are carnivorous and (depending on the species) can have a nasty bite. The millipede on the other hand is herbivorous and would like nothing more than to be left alone.

So far this week, I know I have come running to the sound of shrieks, squeals, and the caterwaul of my name, at least two to three times a day, because of this "bug".

At first I thought it was funny and tried to simple explain that it is not dangerous or gross unless you scare them (some species have a...smelly defense), therefore unnecessary to squeal or scream. This done while wrangling the little fellow into an empty trash can and whisking him away to the outside world.

However, I soon realized that the speeches were not doing any good, when I found one of the Female Agents in question, crouching in her $300 office chair. The offending millipede was taken out on one of the files that the Female Agent had thrown at him.

In another instance, I was taking reports when I heard my named bellowed by Agent M (who never bellows). I ran out of the reporting area to where she was and for my trouble was met with laughter. "Wow, I didn't expect you to come running" was her explanation. I then asked what the issue was and she pointed at the wall behind me. At first I did not see anything until a speck moved.

It was in fact a 1/4 inch cockroach. I grabbed a nearby magazine and smote it. I apparently hit the little guy with more force than I needed to, since his insides (and the ink from the cover of the magazine) are now permanently emblazoned on the wall. A few seconds later Casey came rushing around the corner, having mistaken the loud Whap for something more sinister.

Finally, there was also another incident involving George the cockroach. Unfortunately, for George I was out on Home Visits with Casey at the time. According to Work Mom (and everyone else in the reporting area) she was taking a report, when out of nowhere George appears on her desk. Work Mom (and the offender) freaked out and began screaming.

Agent W, who has a clear line of sight from her report day cube to that of Work Mom, rushed over and saw George and also freaked. However, Agent W is not exactly like the other women in the office. While the other women were freaking out, Agent W went and got a broom several rooms away and went back.

The ensuing battle was apparently epic, resulting in a victorious Agent W, a destroyed broom, and the death of George. Agent W later told me after everyone left, "I broke the F%&#er in six pieces and he was still crawin' away! But, I got'em!" I then recounted my previous experience with George and she said, "Well F%&#! If you had takin' care of business then, we wouldn't have had to deal this S%&# today! What the F%&# is the matter with you?!" She then stomped away.

Moving from work to home, my attic has apparently been invaded by an unknown rodent. Having been woken last night to a scratching noise that I later found to be coming from the attic door in the ceiling. Having just finished watching Signs by M. Night Shyamalan a few hours earlier and being half asleep, I was not taking any chances. I grabbed my Glock and sprang from my bed. It was easy to find where the noise was coming from since the house cats were all in the hallway staring intently at the attic door.

After clearing the rest of the house (keeping an eye on the attic door) I cleared the attic. However, there is so much stuff up there, that a family of raccoons could be up there and I would not know it. I guess I will have to procure and or build some traps to capture these interlopers.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Coming to a middle

2010-08-26T22:43:00.005-04:00

I cry your pardon for this taking so long, however, I have been attempting to finish "The Wedding" post. It for some reason has become a saga that I cannot finish. At this point it will just have to wait until a later time.

There is much to post about. Since June 15th I have done much. Since my last post I have become one of the hundreds of thousands of people to learn how to breath underwater. Unfortunately or fortunately (however you may want to view it) I was not a part of a Mad Scientists experiment to give humans gills. I took several classes and became certified as a Open Water Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus (SCUBA) Diver.

Just for the record, I have always loved the water. I cannot remember a Summer (and sometimes a winter) when I have not gone swimming. I am no Olympic Swimmer by any stretch of the imagination, but I am more than just comfortable in the water. So, SCUBA was not that far of a stretch for me. I have always wanted to do it and it only took a slight nudge in the right direction for it to become a reality.

If some of you will recall there was another Wedding post last year were my Step-sister got hitched. During her honeymoon, her husband went SCUBA diving. Only a couple of dives but enough to get hooked on it. Upon their return, he started recalling the experience and said that he would like to get certified. However, he did not want to do so alone. Not even a heartbeats wait and I told him that I would more than happy to go with him. And that is how the journey began.

So, far I only have 8 dives outside the training dives, but, they were awesome. Nothing more than a few hours in a local lake, with a visibility of a little over 8 feet (for South Carolina anything over your hand in front of your face is epic), a few trout, a snapping turtle, a forest, and a sunken boat. But it was enough to get me hooked. And I would suggest it to anyone.

I also went on my first date. I will wait a minute and let that sink in.......You heard true, my first date. It was nothing spectacular or anything, but I learned (again) that woman will not rip your heart out and eat it if you ask them out. And every once in a while, they say yes. Also, for the record there was no second date. There was a mutual agreement of zero chemistry.

And now to the point of this post. We went to trial today. When I say we, I mean the woman that caused the wreck and the Ladies (Officer M, Agent L, and Agent S). I was not subpoenaed as a witness or anything, I was just there for moral support.

A couple of months after the wreck, they received notification that the case was going to a Jury Trial. A month or two ago the case was supposed to be heard, but the defence attorney conveniently had a General Sessions case that took precedence over this meager Magistrate level case.

Today it went forward. It was interesting to watch such a simple case get muddied with emotions (mine included). It was also interesting to see the difference between Law Enforcement in court and the average Joe in court.

The Trial started at 1600 hrs sharp. However, the Ladies (and families), Marshall #2, and myself were there well ahead of time, and dressed for court (suits and nooses for the men and conservative dresses for the Ladies). The defendant, her family, and her "witness" arrived about 5 minutes early. The defendant was the only one dressed for court. The rest of her entourage arrived in street clothes.

After the ladies had their necessary pretrial talk with the Assistant Solicitor (Assistant District Attorney for you all not in South Carolina), we were all asked to find a seat in the Court Room. Again, as stated earlier the jury trail began at 1600 hrs sharp.

Opening arguments were uninteresting compared to those that are generally heard during a General Sessions hearing, but both Attorneys got their point across. The first witness called was the Investigating Highway Patrolman. He looked about Twelve, but spoke with the authority and knowledge of any experienced Law Officer. He laid out the facts in a simple and plain manor. Considering those involved, i.e. Officers, I found the investigation...lacking (Not because they are my friends, but because of all the civil issues that could arise from such a collision), but not to the fault of the Patrolman.

Evidently, his Superiors made a judgement call as to whether or not to bring out all the fancy CSI gear that everyone was so expecting. Upon hearing that the only charges were going to be "Failure to Yield Right of Way" with no fatalities involved, the Superior advised that the given statements (from those involved and witnesses) would be enough to make the charge.

Upon hearing this, the Defense jumped all over the Patrolman, trying to get him to admit that the investigation was done improperly. Bait attempt after bait attempt failed to the point of actually helping the State.

After the Patrolman my friends were paraded up onto the stand and all spoke of what they saw that day. The Defence did not cross examine any of the Ladies, I do not know why exactly. Perhaps it was because he knew that any attempt to trip them up would fail horribly, due to past experience or out of respect for what they went through. But, I was impressed that he did not question them.

With the State resting, the true Circus began. If I had not been there I would not believe that what I saw happened, but it did.

The first witness for the Defense was the Son of the Defendant. His only purpose was to enter evidence, multiple pictures of the car that the Defendant was driving and a printed map of the intersection from Google Maps with street view. The State objected, mostly at the adamant behest of the Ladies. The grounds...the State did not provide any pictures during their case. I will not go into why this is just stupid, only that half an hour passed before the objection was overruled. And know that most of the argument from the State was from the Ladies, not from the Solicitor. Half the time the Judge was practically begging the Solicitor to give him a sound argument. But none came and the pictures were allowed.

The next witness was called and he told what he saw. He was on a side street looking the intersection and red light, saw the Defendant pull out cautiously to turn, tires squealed, and cars collided. Simple right...wrong. By the time the Solicitor got done cross-examining him, he did not know up from down, and they were simple clarification questions using the very map the Defense provided.

Here I really must credit the Judge for his patience, because at this point everyone in the audience (myself included) was trying to correct this "witness", and not quietly. In any other courtroom, every single one of us would have been held in contempt and bared from the court...forever. This Judge only looked at us and we became quiet.

Next, was the Defendant, whose testimony was straight forward, "I had the arrow." She did not move on that statement.

Then there was the closing arguments, more objections from both sides during both arguments, before the Jury was charged with what they were to find and they were sent to deliberate. After what felt like an hour or more the Jury came back with a Guilty verdict. The sentence for all the heartache and trouble caused by such an emotionally charged trial...$155 fine.

Not unexpected, it was only a Failure to Yield Right of Way charge and the Judge took into consideration the fact that the Defendant had a squeaky clean driving record (maximum fine is $250 something I believe). Court was then adjourned.

We walked slowly to our vehicles. The Ladies were emotionally drained. Little was spoken. What conversation there was, centered around our actions in court. We all know better than to speak out in court, but for a group of people not used to giving up control it was understandable...not justifiable by any means.

The Ladies thanked me for being there. Before we went our seperate ways, I made the statement that I was glad that it was finally over and done. Agent L reminded me that this was only the middle for her. That many years still lay ahead in her road to recovery and mayhap a civil suit or two.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Year

2010-06-15T22:43:00.004-04:00

Hard to believe I know, but one year ago, I began Chronicling my "adventures". A lot has changed in the past year, but mostly, things have just stayed the same. As they always seem to do.

After 35 posts and a lot of heart felt words put in an open forum for all to see, not much has changed. Sure, I am a little heavier, a little more scarred (both mentally and physically), and hopefully a little wiser.

10 things that I have learned in the past year:

1) Always wear a seat belt. Seat belts saved the lives of 4 of my colleagues. Before the wreck, if I was in a Crown Victoria or on a warrant team, it would be a rare occasion that I would actually wear this important piece of safety equipment. Due to the fact that it hampered my ability to "jump out". Now, I realize that getting to the location is half the battle.

2) Judges are not as scary as I once thought. Just because they hold sway over the lives of a lot of people. Does not mean they are out to get me. There are a lot of other things to be concerned with.

3) Friends are hard to come by. As Agent L learned the hard way, just because people work with you does not mean they are your friends. People who say they will go to the ends of the Earth for you during the good times, often find better things to do when you actually need their help. Even if all that is, is an encouraging word or a visit when one is lonely.

4) Do not waist a chance to get out of Dodge. Some opportunities only come around once in a life time. Just because things might get better, does not mean that they will, and does not mean that you should stick around just to see what happens. If the chance for something better comes a long, take it. You might not get another chance.

5) Women...despite the fact that I work closely with a multitude of Women (and have done so for most of my working life) I still know more about Particle Physics and what happens to stuff that gets sucked into a Black Hole, than I know about Women. Despite this, they are not as scary as I thought. Just like with Judges, what is the worst that can happen.

6) Always assume the dog has more chain. I believe this is self explanatory.

7) If I find myself in a position where a part of my body is involuntarily in the mouth of an unfamiliar Animal, hence forth, said Animal shall be rendered harmless by any means necessary. Questions, will be reserved for a later time.

8) Rabies and Rabies shots. Thankfully, I already knew a lot about the Rabies Virus. This is mostly due to a research project in College. However, I learned that the Rabies shots are not as bad as they used to be. They are by no means a picnic, especially for somone who does not like the sharp pointy things. Also, if you are in South Carolina, and in need of the first set of shots in a hurry, call your local Emergency Rooms. They are the most likely to have a stock of the First Series of shots on hand. Anyone else, including DHEC, will have to order them.

9) Do not trust a Government Agency to have your best interests in mind. Unless you watch them closely they will try and do as little as possible. You would think that I would know this, having worked in the Executive Branch most of my life. But, I am told that I can be quite stubborn.

10) God is good..all the time.

Agent L is still going through a rough time, a year after the accident and they are just now starting to work on her teeth. She will have months of Orthodontics, before they start working on the rest her.

Agent S is two weeks away from returning to work after having a healthy baby boy. However, her recovery had to be halted due to her pregnancy, and should resume if it has not already.

I am back to full duty. Extraditions from Maximum Security Institutions are already in the works. I receive my final Rabies vaccination this Friday and the real battle begins.

I pray that I am here next year and still typing on this blog, and I pray that more progress has been made.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Wedding Tale: Reaction

2010-06-06T18:06:00.003-04:00

After nineteen minutes of driving, I arrived at the church. Of course the Rehearsal was already over, but the Rehearsal dinner was still going on. I attempted to slip in quietly. However, my best friend, the Groom, is not one to let that happen.

As soon as he saw me coming through the door, he started barking and howling, and every other male there followed suit. After making my bows, the Groom came up to greet me. "How's my Best Man feeling? I hear those shots are rough." He said as he slaped my left shoulder, finding the exact spot where the RIG was injected. I grimaced and tried to reply, "Not much pain, unless you slap my shoulders and hips. Other than the sudden craving for some raw meat, I'm good." "Glad to hear it. The Maid of Honor looked rather lonely walking herself down the Isle." He said as his soon to be Wife found her way to me. "Here," she said as she handed me her Wedding band. "Do Not loose this." I held out my hand and said, "I shall protect it until my dying breath." And before I knew it she had wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug, "I'm glad you're okay."

After she finished hugging me and I thwarted an attempt from the Groom at poking the RIG injection site (which would continue through out the night), I said, "Now, where's this lonely Maid of Honor I've heard so much about?" I was quickly ushered to a young and attractive lady who shook my hand, "You are okay to walk me down the Isle tomorrow, right?" I replied, "I believe I can manage to walk a beautiful lady down the Isle." "Good. But if you try to bite me I'll have to put you down." "You promise?" "Promise."

More introductions were made. Eventually I was allowed time to eat and tell everyone what happened. Once I was finished we had to clean up and make sure the room was as it was before everyone arrived.

While I was putting up chairs, I noticed that my left eye was starting to itch, a lot. At first I just dismissed it as something in my eye. But, before we finished putting the tables and chairs up, I could tell that my eye was starting to swell. It quickly swelled to the usual level.

Unfortunately, once all the tables and chairs were put away, we had to go set up the area where the reception would be. More unfortunate still, I was assigned to help the Maid of Honor. About half way through she finally asked, "So...what's the matter with your eye?" "Oh that? I'm just trying to imitate Will Smith in Hitch." She only shook her head and kept going.

Once we finished the Groom and the rest of the Groomsmen came over to find out what we were going to do for the rest of the evening. While the Maid of Honor went back to the female flock on the other side of the reception hall. Once the Groom saw my eye he shouted, "Jesus! What is that?!" I heard the Bride ask, "What!? What is it?" He quickly recovered and shouted back, "Nothing Honey. Nothing to worry about." The said to me, "Dude, what's wrong with your eye?" I told him that it had to be an allergic reaction to the shots. "We can't let her see you like that. We have to fix it...and in less than sixteen hours." One of the Groomsmen said, "All he needs is some Benadryl. It'll be down before tomorrow morning." "Great, we need to get it now. Honey, we're gone."

After they got finished saying their goodbyes we were off to find the nearest Grocery Store. Once there I found the Benadryl Liquigels and went ahead and took four. Of course when we got to the register the Cashier pointed out that the box was open. When I did not respond he looked up at me and saw my eye. "Ah...I guess you opened it then." I shook my head and paid. Over the course of the night my eye eventually returned to an almost normal size.

I am not sure if it was luck or divine intervention that I stayed awake longer than the Groom after taking four pills. Of course it could have been the non stop caffeine intake at the pool hall. Just so you all know my job since the start of the dinner was to make sure that the Groom did not get too drunk, the other Groomsmen as well. So, it was not just that I needed to stay awake, my survival depended on it. If I fell asleep on the job and they got plastered, I am fairly certain that the Bride would have put me down herself. She is half my size and weight, but when she says something, she means business. So, the limit on beers from the start was two.

She also said that I was to make sure that we all went to sleep at a reasonable hour. She should have told us to go to bed early. With us not having to wake up until around 0900 hrs, I took a reasonable hours as somewhere around 0300 hrs.

So, at 0200 hrs I told everyone to head home and to get some much needed sleep. The Groom slept at my place due to the fact that he now lives in a different county.

At this point I was just thankful to be going to sleep after a stupidly long day and another one to come.

To Be Continued.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Wedding Tale

2010-06-05T20:02:00.005-04:00

Okay, it has been 30 days since the incident and a lot has happened in that time period. As you all know 30 days ago I was bitten by a one to two year old Pitt Bull. Well at the time of the incident, I was told by Animal Control that the Animal in question would be quarantined for 10 days. Silly me believed that since Animal Control placed the quarantine, that they would be the ones that checked the animal to make sure that it did not have Rabies. No one ever stated any different.

Anyway, weeks go by and I see the Animal Control officer often in the mornings at the canteen. He never mentioned anything about the animal having Rabies, so I believed everything was fine. Then I asked him how the hearing went and he simply stated that the owner paid the $185 fine for not having the vaccination tags on the animal. He further stated that she said at the hearing that she did not believe that the animal needed the Rabies vaccine until it became a year old.

So, now I start getting that weird feeling down in my gut and asked if the animal showed any signs of Rabies after the quarantine. He said, "Oh, we don't check the animal. We just place them in quarantine and DHEC (Department of Health and Environmental Control)actually does the check." I then told him that I never heard anything from DHEC and wanted their number to contact them. He obliged.

Once back in the office I call the number that the officer gave me and get a Voice mail for Rabies Control Center for this jurisdiction. I left my contact information and why I was calling as per the instructions. I then called my Claim Representative to see what my options were to get the Rabies Vaccine and found that she would be out of the office until the 10th. I asked to speak with another Representative and was transferred to the first Representative available. We will call her Susan.

I spoke with Susan for several minutes about what we needed to do and she seemed very eager to help me with my problem. Also, a new thing that I was not used to, she wanted the contact information for DHEC. She though they would be a little more forthcoming with the information we needed if we both called. Well after several phone calls and still no answer at the DHEC RCC, I called Susan back and asked her if she had heard anything. She told me that she had no luck with DHEC and called Animal Control to see if there was a different number or any other way to contact them. That was a dead end. At that point it was the end of the day and I went home.

Early the next morning I got a phone call from "Bob" at DHEC RCC. Bob and I spoke for about 20 minutes. The gist of the conversation was that DHEC had no record of the incident and started off by saying that the animal would have to quarantined and we would wait 10 days and check the animal. I told him that it was a little late for that because it has been 28 days since the incident. I told him that I would just go and do their check for them and see if the animal was still there. If he was, there was no threat of Rabies, if he is not there then we have issues. I then asked why there was no record of the bite when Animal control and the ER had to turn in the reports. He said that he did not know the answer to that and would have to get back to me after I did the check.

Once I got off the phone I informed my Supervisor of what was going on and was told to take "Work mom" and Agent A along for the check. I drove to the location of the Incident and soon as I got there, I noticed that the Animal that bit me was not there. This time I stayed with the car and blew the Air Horn until I got a response from the house. In the mean time Agent A pointed out that all the Animals are now on chains and that one of them is foaming at the mouth. I took a look see and noted that it was the little six month old that A) tried to eat my leg, and B) was so ecstatic about company that it tried to jump through the fence.

This little puppy was laying in the grass and would only raise her head enough to wipe the foam from her mouth. Every other dog in the yard was going nuts, barking, running back and forth on their chains, but not this girl. Agent A and Work Mom did their best to get the puppy to at least get up, but could get nothing more than a disoriented glance between wipes.

We immediately called Animal Control and informed them of what was going on and they told us that they would be out there in one to two hours. Mean while the owner came out (in her pajamas again) and promptly asked what I was doing there. That she paid her ticket and the case was done. I advised her that I was out doing the check that DHEC should have done and asked where the animal that bit me was. She promptly pointed at the puppy that was foaming at the mouth, "That's her right there." I called her out on her lie and asked her again where the animal was that bit me, this time describing the animal. She told me that I was mistaken that she had never had such a pit bull and that the only animal that bit me was the one she had already pointed out.

I then asked her what was wrong with the puppy and she said, "Nothings wrong with her. She has allergies. She gets them every year." I said, "Really, and how many years has she seen?" "She's just shy of a year." Then Work Mom pipes in, "Then how the F*&% do you know if it seasonal allergies?! Lady you need to cut the Bull S%&# and tell us what happened to the other dog. Cause if that dog had Rabies then this man needs to get the medicine!" "Lady, if I were him and some strange dog bit me, I would have already gotten the medicine instead of waiting this long."

"Okay," I said, "I don't have time for this. Animal Control is coming out here to take a look at that puppy that obviously has Rabies. I suggest you come up with a better story than Allergies before they get here."

We then left and headed back to the office, where I updated DHEC (well left another message on their machine) and Susan. Susan said that she would get the paperwork started to get the Rabies series done before the close of business. Half an hour later I got a call from Bob at DHEC and relayed what happened. He advised that even though all that was going on, that I had a very low probability of actually having Rabies. But, seeings how we cannot prove one way or the other that the Animal that bit me had Rabies, and the one that she claims bit me now has Rabies, it was best that I go ahead and get the shots.

I then asked Bob what happened to the original report and he said that they ripped that office apart looking for that report, but did not find it. He said that they never received it. That Animal control nor the ER sent the report, and must have thought that that the other sent it. He said that that tends to happen, but if they do not get the report that there is nothing that they can do. Other than remind those agencies, again, that they have to send the reports reguardless of what they believe the other agency is doing.

So, to hurry this story along, while Susan was working through the Red tape of making sure that I did not end up with a $7,000 bill for these shots. I spent my work day trying to find a hospital or doctor office that kept the first series of shots in stock. In the end, only one hospital within my jurisdiction keeps the first series of shots in stock. Apparently, the shots are so expensive and rarely used now that they have to be ordered. Even DHEC RCC does not keep them in stock. Besides, there is usually no Emergency rush to have it now. So, in order to get the shots, I would have to go through the ER, again.

I went to the ER, this time the ER that was not my first choice, and spoke with a security guard who was manning the metal detector (a security measure that I was not expecting). I pulled out my ID and badge and told him I have weapons on me. Yes, plural. Since my supervisor took my service weapon due to me being on light duty, I carry my concealable weapons. He told me to leave all weapons in my vehicle since I was being admitted.

I was surprised at the fact that I barely got through the Triage before they pulled me back. The nice Nurse put me in a 6 by 8 room with no bed. At first she seemed confused as to why no one was in the room and triple checked the fact that no one was supposed to be there. Once she got it straightened out that the room had been reserved for me, she tried to usher me in. But before I stepped in I asked innocently, "But, what happened to other guy that was in here?" She caught my drift and replied, "I don't know. I think he got eaten by the walls or something." That got a nice laugh out of everyone.

Since the Triage Nurse said (over the phone and during Triage) that I would get the shots sometime within the next 8 hours, I pulled out my IPod and kicked back as best I could. I also sent my friend a text telling him that I was going to be late to the wedding rehearsal. While I waited, every 5 to 10 minutes a nurse would come by and make sure I was still in there.

Eventually I spoke with the ER Doctor, who had an attitude about him that I was wasting his time, money, and valuable resources. He explained to me that Rabies travels up the nerves at a rate of 1 inch per day. Since it has been 30 days and there is not 30 inches between the bite and my brain that I could not have Rabies. Even if I did have Rabies and some how by some miracle it had not made it to my brain yet, that taking the series now would not do any good. And that he had never given the Rabies series "just because someone wanted it".

I informed him of the circumstances, and that I did not want to be there any more than he wanted me there, because I hate needles and I had a Wedding rehearsal to be at. But, depending on how much of the virus I might have received and the strength of the virus, it can take up to 2 years to reach the Brain. I got an angry look for that comment. Besides all that, Workman Comp, my Supervisors, the liaison for Workman Comp, and DHEC all told me to get the shots. At that the Doctor started walking out of the room and said, "Well, I'm only an ER Doctor. If DHEC is telling you get it then, you'll get it."

An hour later a Nurse comes in with a handful syringes and says, "Okay, after this, me and you aren't going to be friends." "Wow," I said, "that's a lot on needles." Out in the hall I heard the Doctor say, "That's what he wanted." before the door shut. In the next 5 minutes I received 7 shots, none in the abdomen. The first was the Rabies Immune Globulin. The most expensive of the bunch in the left shoulder. Usually it is administered at the bite site, but since it has been a month the Doctor advised to give it in the shoulder. I guess I should be thankful that he did not want to try and administer it right to my brain. Anyway, the other shots went into my other arm and hips.

Once the Nurse was done, she had me wait to make sure there was no serious reaction to the meds. After the wait, she gave me some Advil and three year old Graham Crackers (I just found it odd that they would have that much of a back stock).

When the paperwork was printed up, the Nurse told me where I would be going for the next series of shots and pointed me to the exit. I promptly got lost in the maze and found myself in a Hispanic waiting area. They all noticed the confused look and pointed me to the nearest exit. It was not the exit that I was looking for, but I knew where I was. When I got back to my car I strapped my guns back on under the watchful glare of an unarmed security guard at the end of the row of cars.

Seconds later I was off to the Wedding rehearsal that I was an hour late to.

To be continued...

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

My Left Hand

2010-05-16T19:10:00.006-04:00

To start, an update. My hand still has a nasty hole in it, however, I have managed to give it enough air to stop clotting on the bandages and reopening the wound every time I change them. I am still fortunate enough to not have any severe pain in the wounded area. Unless I move it or touch it in a way that it does not like. Hopefully it will not take to long to heal from this point.

Now for an update on Agent L. She got some really depressing news this week. After a month of the Doctors telling her that she could have surgery next month to start the road to recovery, they instead told her that she would have to have orthodontic work first. So, now she will have to have braces for 9 months to a year before she can have her first surgery. Beyond telling us that sliver of news, she has effectively shut us out. She will be needing prayers.

On to the point of the post. I am sure that many of you right handed people out there have a lot of scars on your left hand, at least I do. From play to work, my left hand takes the brunt of any punishment coming my way.

I have always used my left hand to catch me when I fall or a fly ball heading my way during a baseball game. It is also the hand that is put forward to ward off any attacks. It was also unfortunate enough to be to close to a Pitt Bull on a chain.

Just looking at the palm of my left hand, I see two scars that have a common denominator, injury with no pain.

The first scar is in the Thumb area. To look at it, it does not look all that special. To most people it would look more like a wart than a scar. I received this scar, like the ones that are forming now, in the line of duty.

I was a Reserve Deputy at the time. I was riding with a Deputy on the west side, one of the rougher parts of town, and we were trying to locate a pack of Car thieves. They had just stolen a car from a local gas station. We were about a mile away, and heading toward the scene, when we saw the vehicle.

Unfortunately, they saw us as well. They ducked down a side street and into a residential area. As we were preparing to give chase the vehicle stopped and the driver "Bush Bonded". As soon as my car stopped I gave chase.

In an attempt to elude me and the deputy that was behind me, the driver ran behind a near by house and started fence hopping. Unfortunately for us, all of the chain link fences that we were hopping had a twisted selvage ("V" shaped barbs on the top of the fence). I believe we jumped about 5 or 6 fences before we were clear of the back yards.

I did rather well dodging the barbs on all the fences except the last. I felt the barb puncture the skin and felt as I rotated on it while I was clearing the fence. There was no pain, just pressure. The chase continued for another 100 yards when the Driver hit the woods. We soon lost the driver in the underbrush.

Once he was out of sight we stopped. We could hear him crashing though the underbrush for a good five seconds. Then it stopped with a loud splash. We moved up cautiously weapons ready. We came to a creek about 10 yards across. The driver was lying right in the middle of it spread eagle, face up in three inches of water. We quickly got him into custody and out of the woods as back up arrived.

We secured the Driver in the car of one of the arriving Deputies who pointed out that we were all bleeding. I just had the one puncture wound. The driver was cut and punctured in several places, not just his hands. EMS was called out and transported the Driver and myself to the ER (I volunteered to ride down with the Driver).

After several hours in the ER getting x-rayed, poked, and prodded we were all released and the Driver was taken to Jail.

I was really lucky that the puncture did not cause any damage other than to the tissue. Considering where the puncture was, it could have done a lot of damage to my hand. But, in a few weeks it was good as it ever was.

The other scar on my left hand is a upside down V on the Middle finger, proximal phalanges, palm side (the tuft of meat between the second knuckle and palm). This injury came about in a little less...grand way. In fact it was down right stupid (funny how that keeps happing).

It was just before Christmas a few years back. I was helping the Float crew finish up the Christmas Float for the Church. Our church builds a float every year and enters in several local Christmas Parades to spread the true meaning of Christmas to the masses.

This was my second year helping. I was cutting strips of velcro into smaller more manageable one inch squares. Well, I am not really sure at what point my brain shut down. But, at some point I decided that the best way to cut these strips was to hold one end between my middle and index finger and the other with my ring finger and thumb.

The next thing I notice is a fully closed pair of scissors and a flap of skin over them. I quickly put down the scissors and started applying pressure. That is after taking a good long look at the fatty tissue in my finger. I called out to one of the other workers who just so happened to be a Registered Nurse. I just asked her to take a look at my hand. She obliged and did not react a lot when she saw the wound. She merely took hold of my hand and held it to where she could see better. She then lifted the flap with a fingernail and attempted to place it back where it should have been.

After examining it she stated, "It's a clean cut. It'll need stitches though. Go wash it out good before you head to the ER." I did as I was told while she went and told my mother to take me to the closest ER.

A few seconds after I started washing my hand in warm tap water, the husband of the RN came into the washroom and wanted to take a look at my hand. He said, "She's a good Nurse, but if you got a paper cut she'll tell ya' it needs stitches...Holy crap! You really did a number on your finger. Yeah, you need stitches." He then took a paper towel and tore it in half. One half he gave to me, the other he kept. The half he kept he rolled up and tied it around my finger at the wound. The other he wrapped around my finger and ushered me out the door to the waiting car.

A couple hours in the ER and 6 stitches later I was back home.

Out of the three times I have been to the ER the highest pain score given (o is no pain and 10 being Oh my God someone kill me) was a 2, which got some odd looks from the Nurses.

Just to go ahead and clarify something, this post is not meant to brag about how tough and calm I am. I am actually allergic to pain. I do not like it, it does not like me, and I avoid it as much as possible. So, I will be sure and keep a close look out for my left hand until it gets healed.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Gunslinger on the Bench

2010-05-07T13:14:00.005-04:00

Okay, I'm going to have drop my Mid-world persona for the day. Why you ask. Well due to a combination of really good medicine and the fact that my left hand looks like it was attacked by a funnel web spider, kind of hampers my ability to type and think enough to keep up the facade.

So, as of yesterday I'm on medical leave, at least until Tuesday. All this stems from me going against my gut. I put myself in a situation I knew was stupid and I went anyway.

Yesterday, I was out conducting Home Visits by myself, Casey opted to stay at the office and finish filling out paperwork for court. So, I went out solo. Nothing unusual, I've done it before. I did it a lot when I was a Deputy in fact. At around 1145 hours I pulled up in front of an Offender's reported address. I recognized the house from the first time this Offender got out on Probation. The first time there were less dogs though. I stepped out of the car and closed the door. Four medium to small dogs all come running out of their hidey holes and start barking enough to wake the dead. I was thankful of the fenced in yard.

I walk over to the front gate and waited to see what happened. I figured that if anyone was in the house, that they would at least walk to a window and see me standing there and come to investigate. Well, after five minutes of barking, I decided that there was no way anyone was home and I would have to leave a note on the door.

During the five minutes of waiting I was checking out the dogs. Three Pit Bulls and one chow mix. The chow and one of the Pit Bulls (the oldest and about 1 - 2 years old) were chained to the house. The two younger (one 6 months and the other barely old enough to be away from momma) Pits were running lose in the yard.

I toyed with the 6 month old pit, trying to gauge how he would react to me coming into his home. He was very interested at getting to me. I placed my hand near enough to the fence to stop any bites, but close enough for him to smell and or lick at me. He did the latter. I then checked out the oldest pit. He was giving out the body language of being playful and happy to see me, but my gut was telling me that he was chained for a reason and that body language was misleading.

As I started to open the front gate the 6 month old lunged at me. Coming halfway through the opening in the gate. Luckily all he was interested in doing was licking. I whacked him on the nose to get him back inside the gate and remembered that I needed to get a note for the door. I retrieved it and began my journey of stupidity.

As I started walking toward the door I was better able to see the trail that the two chained dogs had made. Both dogs had been positioned to guard the front door. But, from the trails their maximum chain length allowed plenty of room to get to the front door.

The rest is kind of jumbled. I remember almost getting to the front porch, when I felt something pull my left hand. Surely all of you know the feeling of a small child tugging your hand for whatever reason. That's all I felt. I looked down and saw my hand in the oldest pits mouth. My middle, ring, and pinkie fingers all the way up to mid-hand, to be exact.

I then did the most natural and dumbest thing anyone can do, I tried to pull my hand out. When I did that he clamped down and started shaking. All I felt was pressure, no pain. My brain flooded with thoughts as to what to do. I knew this was bad. The attack mode that the oldest was in could easily send the little 6 month old the message to do the same. If the 6 month old hit me in the right spot, I could go down and that would be really bad. It had to be ended now.

The thought process went as follows: Punch it! Punch it in the nose! No, what if he grabs a hold of your other hand, and if grabs a hold of it you can't shoot him. Shoot him? That's right shoot him! Crap! I can't, he's shaking my arm to much and I might shoot myself in the process. Well, do something!...The dog whisperer! If a dog he's working with needs a little extra distracting, he gives them a little kick between the ribs and back legs!

I then kick with everything I can put behind it, right in the sweet spot. The dog yelped, giving me enough time to get my hand out of his mouth. From bite to release, maybe five seconds.

I then took a few steps back toward the gate and stopped to check out the damage. I noted a few places where I was starting to bleed. I then noticed a hole in the webbing between the middle and ring finger. It wasn't bleeding, but when I spread those two fingers, all I saw was white. My thought was that I really hope that that's just fatty tissue and not bone and ligaments.

At some point I remember the dogs and noticed that something was trying to eat my ankle. Unable to find purchase to get a hold of my ankle because of my boot, it started going to town on my pants leg. Since it was just the pants leg I just started walking toward the gate. I'm not sure how I managed to get the gate closed, but I did. I then went back to the car for the phone and was so shaken that I couldn't dial 911 the first couple of tries.

Once I actually got a hold of the emergency operator, I advised her of who I was, who I worked for, and where I was. I told her that I was attacked by a dog and needed a Deputy and and ambulance. Her response was, "Is it your dog?" "No. It's not my dog. I'm at at an offender's house doing a home visit." "Is the dog still attacking you?" Really, "No! The dog isn't attacking me!" "Okay sir, I'm going to transfer you to the EMS operator."

Once a hold of the EMS operator, I had to go through the same exact line of questions with the added bonus of medical advise. That consisted of keep the wounded hand elevated and wipe the wounded area down with a damp cloth. During the conversation with the EMS operator, I started looking through the car for the first aid kit and of course, no luck.

Once I was done with the operators I had to call the office and give the bad news. After a few seconds with the Admin at the front desk I was transferred to our Assistant Agent In Charge. After five minutes of explaining the situation, he then told me that I would have to talk to my Supervisor to get the paperwork going. Really, we couldn't have done that a few minutes earlier.

After a few minutes on the phone with my Supervisor, I noticed a woman standing on the front porch of the house. She was standing there holding the new born pit with nothing more than a night gown and a bath robe on. Once I saw her, I told her to come over and speak with me, "YOU! GET OVER HERE! NOW!" was the gist of it. She calmly walked over, giving the chained pit a kick when it tried to start playing with her.

Once she came over, I went into full police mode, getting her name, age, date of birth, contact information, whether the dog had it's Rabies shot (she claimed it does, but couldn't find the information or the tags), I even managed to find out that my offender was not living at this address. Once I got all that, I told her that she needed to go back inside and get dressed for when the Deputies came and see if she could fine the Rabies shot info. She obliged.

After three minutes of waiting, EMS arrived. They cleaned and bandaged the wounds and let me sit in the back of the ambulance while we waited for the deputies. After ten minutes the county Animal Control arrived. He told me the Deputies were not coming and that he was going to take care of it. Which meant giving the owner a ticket for not having the Rabies tags and quarantining the dog at the house (since it was already chained up and what not) for the next ten days, to make sure that it didn't exhibit any signs of Rabies. Animal control told me when the hearing date would be, but that if the owner provided the tags and/or information for the Rabies shots that the charges would be dropped. It was only going to be $185 ticket anyway.

Once I got the EMS crews information and the information from Animal control, I signed the waiver to not be transported to the Hospital and drove myself to, in my opinion, the best ER in the County. One of the perks of being in Law Enforcement, you tend to go to a lot of ER's, and learn quick which is the best to go to in the event of an Emergency.

After a short drive and an even shorter wait in the ER lobby, I was taken to triage. While trying to answer the barrage of questions, I got a text message from Casey, "Call me when you get a sec." Thinking this was just to get a heckle, I told him that it would be a while before I could do that. A few seconds later I got another text from him asking if I could run by the jail and help him to serve a warrant. I just told him that I wouldn't be able to due to paperwork that I would be doing later.

While I was going through Triage, one of the Supervisors came in to make sure that everything was going smoothly and to keep me company. Interesting that my Supervisor didn't do that.

Anyway, after four hours in the ER, being poked, prodded, x-rayed, and IVed to my limit, they let me go.

The Supervisor insisted on driving me back to the office, where I was immediately inundated with questions and of course made fun of, mostly by Casey for not telling him I was in the ER. Of all the people in my office that have had the privilege of being called "milkbone", I am the only one that has the moniker of "Chain".

Once, I answered everyone's questions, mostly my Supervisor's, I was allowed to go home for the weekend. Since I had Court scheduled for today (and y'all know how much I hate that) it's not such a bad trade. Although, I will be chained to a desk for the foreseeable future, that part will suck.

For now, I get to discuss things with my workman's comp representative and get that paperwork going. On Monday (which is a holiday for us South Carolina state employees) I get to go see a hand specialist to make sure that everything is okay with my hand. Of course the ER doctor did mention words such as surgery, but I don't think that will be necessary unless the wound gets infected to a point that antibiotics aren't working.

Since, I have a lot more free time, I might just have a post about past injuries ;)

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

The Gunslinger vs. The "Bug"

2010-04-11T22:47:00.003-04:00

For the past two days I have been battling some form of an Ailment that I have never seen before. Luckily it is easily treated. However, this is not my first bout with this "Bug."

The first time occurred some time in early March, I believe it to be March 8th. It was 2000 hrs and I noticed that my joints started aching. Normally, this would not be that strange, if I was older. Or, if it was not every single joint below my heart. I dismissed it as the joints stiffening after a different type of workout.

After about half an hour I noticed that the pain was steadily becoming more...noticeable. Then the headache started. This I just dismissed as a caffeine detox from not having any kind of carbonated drinks that day.

As the night wore on the joint pain went from slight ache to red hot pokers jabbed into every joint below the chest. I was completely unaware of how many joints I had below the heart. Now I know.

I am not much for taking any sorts of medicine unless it is absolutely necessary. In this case I decided it was time for an exception and began searching the house for some Advil, Tylenol, Aleve, anything to stop the pain.

Not one single pill in the entire house. What a time not to have a wife, she would have made sure that kind of thing was kept in stock. However, due to the fact that it was now late in the evening, I decided that it would have to wait until later.

With the "Bug" in full swing, I slept through the first couple of Snoozes. When I finally reached consciousness it was 0630. So much for the morning routine.

I zipped through the morning routine in double time fashion and headed off for work. Yeah you heard true, work. Actually, I had to make a quick pit stop first at the car shop to drop off my car and meet Casey.

This was the 3rd or 4th time my car had been to the car shop for different things. Let us just say that it was a necessary thing that needed doing and would take all day, therefore I might as well go to work. Yet, another good reason to have a wife around.

Once the car was dropped off, Casey pulled up and told me of his wonderful night. That was the night that his daughter nearly plucked out his right eye. On the way to the office I told him about my night. Once there it was business as usual, except for the pain.

As the day wore on the "Bug" decided it would try something different. Now, it added hot to cold flashes and the pain would come in waves. The pain in my joints would go from red hot pokers to flaming hot poker of Death, then back again. After a while I just forgot about the headache.

To limit any possible infections to my fellow co-workers and in particular Agent S (who was still expecting at this time) I stayed to myself. Which apparently in in of itself raised suspicion. All through the day everyone was asking if I was okay, to which I gave the obligatory, "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little busy." Which they understood.

That is until about 1500 hours. Agent S came to me (one of the last male Agents in our office) to arrest a mail offender for her. I thought it over and told her that I did not believe it to be a good Idea, again not normal behavior. She asked me why and I was about to answer, when a wave of flaming hot pokers of Death hit. It apparently showed on my face. She then asked if I was okay to which I could only reply no. Once the pain subsided to what had become normal I explained what was going on.

She then went and told everyone else in the office and by the time everyone came to check on me, I was dying of Swine Flu. Funny how even among Law Enforcement details get distorted.

After a very long question and answer series about the illness and why I was at work, the session was ended by Work Mom, who simply stated, "If I get sick, I will shoot you." I thanked everyone for their concern and they went about the business of arresting the Offender.

At around 1650 hrs I received notification that my car was ready to be picked up. Casey dropped me off at the car shop and I promptly drove home. On the way, I called my Mother and told her what was going on and what I should do. She told me to pick up a pack of Advil Liqui-gels and a pack of Mucinex-DM.

Once home I took the "prescibed" medicine and waited. About two hours later I noticed an odd sensation. I felt as though the finger of God was sliding down my back cooling (and removing) the pokers.

This apparently torked the "Bug" off and he switched to a different Modus Operandi all together. About an hour later my left eye began to itch like crazy. Thinking nothing of it, I did my best to relieve the itch. That is until I noticed that I was becoming increasingly difficult to reopen each time it closed. I hopped up and went to the nearest mirror.

To my horror, my eye had swollen to the size of a golf ball. I immediately iced it down and called my mother and chalked it up to an allergic reaction to the Mucinex (the only one of the two drugs I had never taken before). After a while my eye returned to a normal-ish size and life returned to normal. I continued taking the Advil doses for a couple of days just to make sure the "Bug" did not come back.

I did not have any more problems with the "Bug" until this past Friday night. The "Bug" apparently did not take to kindly to being whooped. This time he brought a friend. Pollen Allergy. With my sinuses acting up it was hard to discern the headache from the sinus pain. But once the joint stuff started up, I immediately took a dose of Advil. Same all most immediate response. Except this time my right eye swole up. Thankfully I had an entire weekend to get over this thing because I needed it. I do not think I have ever slept so much in my life.

Anyway, it is now Sunday night and as far as I can tell the "Bug" is gone, at least for now. The symptoms are as follows: Severe pain in lower joints, mild headache, mild fever and slight chills late in the onset, the swollen eye thing could be the "Bug" reacting to the Advil Liqui-gels, I am not sure. But, if anyone out there has experienced this or is an actual Doctor with knowledge in how for me not to go through this crap again, please let me know. Thank you.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Our Mrs Goose

2010-03-15T22:39:00.002-04:00

No, it is not what you think. For the past several weeks things have been interesting at work. So, much so that I do not want to touch a computer, much less sit and type out anything. Some of which was my own creation. Some, the creation of law makers in Columbia, SC.

As of late those of us at work have been watching the news very attentively. Mostly to see how the South Carolina Legislature will fix the current financial bind that South Carolina is in. So far, their big brainstorm is to lay off 100 agents, add 5 more furlough days for a total of 10, and increase the workload of the agents left, by releasing 3,000 inmates from the South Carolina Department of Corrections.

By my math (which is weak) that leaves me looking for work come the next fiscal year.

However, there is a bright side to all of this. So far this is only a proposal brought by the SC House. The Senate still has to make their own and they will have to come to terms. Yeah, I will not be holding my breath for a bunch of Politicians to decide my fate. Applications are already on their way out.

This is done with great sadness. I have invested a lot of time and energy in my job. Yes, to the exclusion of all else. Mayhap, that is why it is being taken away. For mine is a jealous God, and he does not take kindly to second place.

Be that as it may, I love my job and pray that I can stay. I do view the fact that I am putting out applications as a betrayal. Not to my bosses, they could care less if I stay or go, and certainly not to the pack of wolves that I over see, but to my co-workers.

If you have read any of this blog, then you should already know some of my feelings in this matter. My co-workers are more than just co-workers, they are my family. Some parts are dysfunctional, and some of them I do not like, but family none the less.

Okay, with that part out of the way, we come to the point. I am a fan of the Science Fiction Television Series Firefly. If you have not seen this show you need to. But, I am sure that any fan will recognize the title and have a glimpse as to what may follow. What does follow are two incidents that I found funny enough to share.

First, over the past several weeks I have been overloaded when it comes to my full report days. Having 60 + Offenders come in at the same time tends to cause issues. So, much so that my supervisor had to call me to her office and tell me the policy for reporting. Then she told me, for the next couple of weeks my entire team would be helping me straighten out my mess. No, that is not at all embarrassing.

So, with Agent S, still on the mends (and expecting), myself and Work Mom had to help her on her full report days. With the mandate that my Supervisor handed down, they had to help me on my full report days. And for pay back, Work Mom had me helping her on her full report days. All of which occurred on the same two weeks of the month. These quickly became known as "Hell Week".

With that in mind, Work Mom has taken a considerable amount of my reports in the past couple of weeks. Which did not go unnoticed by my Offenders, some of which are new to probation.
On one of the days that was not my report day, at this point I cannot remember whose report day it was. I was out taking reports with my team. Work Mom went to the door and called a name off of the list. Then, I heard something odd, "Mrs. Goose! Mrs. Goose!"

At the time I was taking a report, but hearing my name with an honorific that I had not heard since my mother got remarried, was enough to bring me to a halt. It apparently took Work Mom a second or two for her to figure out that the Offender was calling her.

"Mrs. Goose, when is my report day?" the hapless offender asked. "Excuse me? That is not my name." Work Mom told the offender in a hurt tone. "But, your my Agent right? Goose?" the offender continued. "No, I'm not your Agent. That is not my name. I did take your report, but that doesn't make me your Agent." Work Mom stated in an increasing louder voice. "But." "No 'buts'! I am not your Agent!" Before the Offender could say another word she stormed back into the reporting area. She then stormed to my cubicle with what I can only describe as fury in her eyes. I on the other hand was trying not to burst into laughter. The offender whose report I was taking was attempting to get as far into the corner as he possibly could.

"One of your idiots is out in the lobby!" She bellowed. I could not speak, if I did I would only start something that I would regret (brain-mouth filter finally installed). I stood up and walked to the lobby. My Offender still standing in front of the door with a bewildered look on his face. He began to say something, but I motioned for him to be quite and to follow me outside. I quickly straightened him out and he apologized at least 19 times, to me and Work Mom. After giving him my next report day, I sent him about his business.

I let things simmer down on this subject for the rest of the day. However, the next dayI began to rag Work Mom incessantly about this whole ordeal. Which, she blamed on me anyway. This is due to the whole mess being mine to begin with.

The second incident happened today. Recently a cafeteria opened in the building where I work. As a part of the service, they offer really cheap refills on a cup that they do not provide. Bring your own cup or previously used cup and get a drink on the cheap. Needless to say I frequent the cafeteria a lot.

With Agent S expecting her baby to come due any day now, she likes for someone to accompany her to the cafeteria. Since I am usually on the way there myself, I tind to walk with her.

Well, today I decided that I needed an early refill and noticed that Work Mom was already in the office. I asked her if she needed anything from the cafeteria. She stated that she needed a drink and would go with me to get it. So, we walked to the cafeteria and got our drinks. While I am paying for my drink the lady at the register asked me, "So, did your wife make it through the weekend?" This with Work Mom standing right beside me.

The first thought that shot through my head was, What in God's name is she talking about? Then, How drunk did I get over the weekend? Remembering the line from Firefly. Then I realized that I do not drink and discarded that notion. I then asked the woman for clarification.

She said, "Your Wife's pregnant right? Did she make it through the weekend or did she have the baby?" It then dawned on me to whom she was speaking of. Apparently Work Mom got it at the same time I did and started laughing. Work Mom then said, "What am I chopped liver?" emphasizing the point with a slap to the shoulder. The woman at the register then had to pick her jaw off the counter, "Oh my God. I am so sorry. Are you his wife?" Before it could go any further I jumped in, "No, no she's not. I'm not married. They are both just my co-workers."

Now, the woman just turned bright red. "I am SO sorry," the woman started, "I didn't mean anything by it. I just saw you two coming in here together so often and thought..." I stopped her before she could finish, "It's okay. It actually happens to me a lot." I paid for my refill and headed for the hallway. At least this time, I did not feel the need to bathe in acid.

Once we were back in the office, we checked to see if Agent S was at her desk. She was. We then began to recount what happened. She laughed and said, "We'll only be in trouble if he comes out looking like you." More laughter as my supervisor walked in and asked what was so funny. Again the tale was told. She did not seem to appreciate the story as much until I told her that we would have to change the team name to Team Goose, since most of the team now had my name. She chuckled at that.

These are but a few of the reasons that I would hate to leave this job. I guess we will have to see if the world moves on again.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Karma

2010-02-04T21:53:00.003-05:00

This is a word that my partner, Casey, loves to bring up a lot, and I do mean a lot. Specific examples do not come to mind at the moment, only faint flashes of Casey talking crazy talk about near death experiences due to my driving technique.

The reason I bring the word up is due to my current situation. As of an hour ago I was sitting on my couch watching "Surviving Survivor" and wondering why it was so ever loving cold in my home. At the time I thought it was because I was situated under a fan and discounted it until after the show. When I looked at the thermostat I noticed that it was 59 degrees inside. I checked the thermostat to make sure that the settings were correct and found everything to be in working order. I then went to the gas logs and attempted to turn them on. It was a no go. There was no distinctive hissing noise made when the gas was turned to on. I concluded that I am out of gas.

I called the gas company and left them a very...urgent message. Especially when I am supposed to be in the midst of another "winter event" by morning. As much fun as last weekend was, I do not want the same thing this weekend with out the insta-fire or heat in general. Hopefully, the company will find time in their busy schedule to provide a paying customer what he asked for.

Now, for the possible reasons for the karma attack. Lord, where to begin...well...there is the myriad of times that I have "almost" personally delivered Casey to Purgatory, whilst I move on to the Pearly Gates. Then there is the 1...2...3...75 Offenders that I had to...encourage back to the straight and narrow.

However, out of all that, one face sticks out. He was one of my better Offenders. Always paid his money, and on time. He stayed out of trouble, but there was one issue. He was illegal. Three months ago, I called I.C.E. (Immigration and Customs Enforcement), namely an old co-worker of mine (lets call him Special Agent A), and told him about my Offender (lets call him Mitch). Upon hearing about the charges that Mitch had (somehow getting arrested, indicted, and sentenced without Immigration ever catching wind of it) Special Agent A told me that he would look into it and get back with me. Three months later he calls me and asks when Mitch would next report. The call just so happened to be the day before the report day that I had given Mitch. Special Agent A told me that they had something they had to do on the scheduled day for Mitch to report and asked me to have him come in today. I agreed and called Mitch.

I was kind of truthful in that I told Mitch that I had a scheduling conflict and I needed him to report today. Being one of my better Offenders he agreed happily.

Well, today arrived and thankfully I was taking reports for another Agent, because I had completely forgotten about the entire episode. At the beginning of another fun filled day of reports I got paged by one of the Administrative Assistants downstairs. Being rather upset at the interruption, I kind of grunted at her over the phone. She cheerily relayed the fact that I.C.E. was here to see me and my jaw hit the floor with the realization of what I had forgotten. After picking up my jaw, I told her to send them up, and after a few minutes wait they were sitting in my office.

I told them the could wait there for Mitch and were immediately inundated with questions from my fellow Agents. Mostly trying to get their immigrants, Illegal and otherwise, off their caseloads as well.

After a few minutes, I checked the lobby and found Mitch dutifully waiting for me to call him back. Once Mitch sat down in the reporting area Special Agent A and his partner were there taking him into custody. Through the flurry of Spanish words going back and forth Casey managed to pick out a few words. "No, I'm Legal." But, the thing that I noticed most, was the fear in his eyes.

When I relayed the horrible feeling in my gut to Casey, he mentioned the fact that most offenders that we arrest only go to jail or prison after I lie to get them in my office. Mitch, would go to a Federal dentention facility somewhere in Texas, before they put him on a plane bound for his 3rd world home country of origin.

Now, with my luck, Mitch was a leader for a local sect of Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) or a drug runner, black market gun smuggler, or just a Harrier of the worst kind that acted nice when I was around.

In any event, the Angel that goes around bestowing Karmic events has come to visit and hopefully will be gone sometime tomorrow. Hopefully, before my pipes freeze, and all the living things in my home freeze to death.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

Camping at home

2010-01-30T16:10:00.003-05:00

Well here I am again, just coming back from a camping trip. Nothing like having your house for a tent. By that I mean the power has been out for the past eleven hours. The last time my power was out for any length of time was December 2005. The power was out for four days. Luckily I had some church members near by that had a generator and an extra bed for those cold nights. I learned some lessons from that experience. Obviously, not enough.

The meteorologists have been predicting this snow storm since last week. Unlike most Southerners and South Carolinians especially, I do not immediately run to the Grocery Store every time the weather man or woman says the word "Snow". So far this winter the Meteorologists have predicted "Winter Weather" three times, including this go round. The first time most of the jurisdiction got a lot of snow, mostly were Casey lives, whilst I received nothing. Second time same situation. Third time I get a big snow ball in my face.

On the way home last night Casey called me and let me know that it was in fact snowing in the northern part of the jurisdiction, where we live. By the time I actually got home the snow was sticking to the ground, but not the concrete, so...no worries. By the time I went to bed after midnight there was two and a half inches on the ground, still a no go on the concrete.

Now for you all up North, two and a half inches is a great snow for us. However, unlike the snow up North, this stuff is still wet. When it hits the ground it does not move for anyone. When they congregate together, it makes a mound of Ice that happens to look like snow.

Everyone always makes fun of us because when it snows, everything shuts down. No schools, no business, no government. Even with the South Carolina Department of Transportation plowing and dumping sand like we are at the beach, the roads are still treacherous. Unless you have the skills to drive on solid ice for an extended period of time, you keep yourself at home or walk. My Father could tell you stories about Folks from up North that move to the South and think that they can drive just because it is snowing and subsequently end up in the nearest ditch or in the rear of his Patrol Car.

Also, if you live around trees, expect to have limbs or the whole tree come down. Our trees are not used to the extra weight of the ice. They only get it once maybe twice a year. Once the snow becomes ice the trees start shedding the extra pounds. I usually take a walk to see the sights and to see if the SCDOT has gotten around to clearing the nearest road. It is usually very peaceful and soothing to see everything coated in white. Then, you hear a load crack from up above. Next thing I know I am running and tactical rolling out of the way of icicles and a huge limb.

Anyway, this morning I woke up to this unknown chirping noise that was not my bird. After my brain woke up enough to realize that it was the alarm system letting me know that the power was out. I grabbed my phone and looked at the time. It was 0535 hours...great, nothing like starting my Saturday morning at the same time I start every other day. So, I stumble out of bed, using the phone for a light (where my mag light that I kept for just such instances went I still do not know), to go tell the Alarm to shut up. Once done I called the power company to let them know that I would like their services back. After a few minutes of navigating the automated answering services I get the acknowledgment, "We know the power is out in your area due to a Winter Weather event. At this time we don't know when we will have your services back on." Awesome.

I decided that with the power possibly off for days, I figured I might as well get going.

Priority one: Move Frozen and cold essentials to a cooler. One thing I learned from the 2005 Ice Storm, even if the house is 35 degrees, it does not mean that the Cold box will keep anything. Lets just say that it was a mess.

So, I got the cooler out of the garage after procuring a proper flashlight. I opened the freezer and grabbed the bag of Ice that I now keep for just such occasions and what the Ice make made before it died. I then began moving the essentials to the cooler. I now realize that I need to work on my shopping skills. My cooler only had to hold a pint of Ice Cream, a gallon of Milk, and three packages of lunch meats. At least I did not have to worry about fitting it all in there.

Priority two: Heat. This one was easy, all I had to do was turn on the gas logs and wait for day light.

With nothing better to do, I grabbed a notepad and pen and started taking notes for this entry.

Once the Sun decided to get up, I took a look outside. As usual, at some point during the night the snow turned from snow, to a two inch layer of snow and one inch coating of ice. At least for the time being I would not be needing any more ice for the cooler. However, I figured at some point the snow/ice would melt and I would need ice. So, I grabbed a few extra water bottles and stuck them outside to freeze. So, far they have yet to freeze, even though it has been twenty degrees all day.

I then proceeded to take a walk down the hill and see the sights (and dodge the falling ice and limbs). Nothing like free tactical training. On the way back I took this picture:

With the exercises done I went back home and started reading. A few hours later I had a heart attack when the power came back on and the Alarm clock in the guest bedroom decided to play a random radio station at full volume.

I then called the Power Company to thank them for their speedy response.

Now, I am off for some more tactical exercises and to check on the neighbors.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Combat Engineer's Tale: Give Me Five Years And You Will Not Recognize Germany Again

2010-01-24T21:09:00.004-05:00

Bridges. A piece of architecture that most of us hardly even notice...unless of course, your traveling through Charleston, SC and are afraid of heights. I am speaking of the Silas N. Pearman and John P. Grace Memorial Bridges (if you ever went over the Cooper River prior to 2005 you know what I am talking about). You also might take note when one is missing and need to cross a river, railroad tracks, or a big hole in the ground.

You would also take note of the bridges if you ever had to build one quick, fast, and in a hurry, while under intense shelling and sniper fire. My Grandfather has a picture marked of him during one such instance, helping to piece together a Baily bridge over the river Salm in Belgium. The exact place was the town of Vielsalm, Belgium. The date was the morning of January 17, 1945. The Allies had just begun their push into Vielsalm. The first infantryman used boats, any boats, to get across the river. However, to get more men and materials across temporary bridges had to be erected.

Shortly after dawn on the 17th the battle had already begun and the opposite bank of the river already captured. All the Engineers had to do was get the bridges up. My Grandfather said that he was glad that his Lieutenant and Captain, both had an extensive knowledge of how to build bridges. Usually the Bailey bridges were mostly pieced together ahead of time, behind the front line. The work made all the more import, my Grandfather said, as one of the Pontoons ferrying soldiers was hit by an 88 (88mm Anti-Aircraft Gun, often used as an Artillery piece). He said that they never actually came under sniper fire, but every once in a while you would hear the crack of a bullet wizzing over their heads.

As the Germans withdrew back into Germany they destroyed every bridge they left behind. They also destroyed buildings, left dead horses, trucks, tanks and mines in the roadways. Anything to try and slow down the Allied push into Germany. Almost, every river crossing had to be rebuilt before the Allies could forge ahead. My Grandfather recalled working with a British Company when building several bridges over the Maas and her canals in Holland.

Holland presented my Grandfather and the Company with several other new problems that also had to be overcome beside building bridges on the skeletons of the previous bridge. Usually if the Germans had time they would blow up the dikes and dams in order to flood entire areas. Not only would the Combat Engineers have to build the bridges but they would have to repair the dikes and the dams. My Grandfather said that the British crews were top notch when it came to fixing a dam and getting the water back out of a particular area. He said that he personally only had to work on one dam, but he heard about a lot of others.

After Holland came Germany. Everything that the 75th had been through up until this point had been a cake walk compared to what was coming. There would be no more happy civilians to give them shelter in the freezing nights. No more liberations. From here on it was German territory, the mother land, their land, their homes, their families. The Germans would make the Allies pay for every inch of German dirt taken.

The Rhine crossing must have been one of the worst for my Grandfather, because when that page came up he did not say anything, even when I asked him a question. I decided it was time to take a break from memory lane and we went back inside. It was getting dark out on the porch anyway. Upon entering the house my Grandfather went into the kitchen for a glass of water and I received "the Look" from my Grandmother. I know now that my Mother gets "the Look" honestly. I paid my Grandmother no heed and sat down in the TV room.

A few minutes later my Grandfather came in and joined me. I opened the book back up and we continued. He chose to skip right to post-war Europe and his time in Cologne, Germany and Paris, France. Germany would never be the same. Hundreds of years worth of history lost to American and British bombs. Entire Neighborhoods, Cities really, flattened. My Grandfather and the Engineers were tasked with helping to of course get the infrastructure back up. Every once in a while he would also take up guard duty at a gate to temporary American camp in Cologne.

He recounted one time late in the day when he and one of his buddies were standing out at the gate on a busy street. They were down the street from a bakery and it was well past lunch. My Grandfather noticed a man come out of the bakery with a fresh loaf of bread and put it in the basket of his bicycle. The man started peddling feverishly up the hill towards them. As the man got in front of the gate, my Grandfather decided to stop him. Something to the effect of "Stop! You need to be searched!" Yet in German. A simple phrase that my Grandfather picked up.

However, he failed to mention who should stop as he did not point anyone out. Well everyone on the street stopped, small children being walked home by their mothers, construction workers, a dump truck hauling rubble, and several people on bicycles. They all stopped and they all turned and looked at him. Even his buddy. Several seconds went by as he tried to figure out what he needed to do now. The people on the street began to wonder what was going on as the seconds ticked by.

Eventually he pointed to the man that just came from the bakery and motioned him over. He waved everyone else about their business. The man got off his bike and came over as the rest of the street slowly returned to the original pace. The man started asking questions in German. My Grandfather looks around and saw that the street had returned to normal and told the man to move along. The man looked at him questioningly, before my Grandfather told him to move along again. This time the man got back on his bike and started peddling. He also started yelling something in German. My Grandfather could on assume that he was being cursed at. The man continued well out of earshot. My Grandfather and his friend burst out laughing, drawing more looks from the bystanders.

During the war the 75th division had one of the highest casualty rates during their time in the war. They would go from being called "The Diaper Division" due to their complete lack of combat experience, to "The Bulge Busters".

During that time I can only assume that my Grandfather lost many, many friends. Once home he would learn of more losses. He found out that his wife of three years, left him for another man and that she took his house and sold it. He had to move back home with his Mom and Dad. That is until he met my Grandmother a year later. The rest is history.

If I happen to get more stories from my Grandfather I will be sure to recount them here, so that hopefully the memories will not be lost to time.

Also, for clarification, the title quote is from a sign that was hung on a building in Cologne, Germany. The sign proclaims that it is a quote from Hitler, however, I cannot find any evidence that Hitler did or did not say it. Either way, the sign reads true. The Germany left behind after the rule of Hitler was very different, far more different than even Hitler might have wanted.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Combat Engineer's Tale Continued: I didn't know the Thermometer could do that.

2010-01-07T19:15:00.003-05:00

Jack Frost has apparently found his way to South Carolina. For the past week it has been hovering around freezing during the day and dipping into the low teens at night (Fahrenheit). For South Carolina this is cold, and for an entire week of it is just down right not natural. However, it does make one take appreciation for the fact that no matter where I am, I can have heat. Casey and I were out conducting Home Visits today in this coldness (again, this is cold for us) and it really brought home one the stories my Grandfather told me.

Back in 1944, in Belgium, the temperatures that I am seeing would have been a God send to the Soldiers. My Grandfather did not know the exact temperature, but he assured me that it was cold. He said that he had never been so cold in his life. To make matters worse it snowed almost constantly. With the cold came an inability to dig proper fighting holes...fox holes, sorry. Marines dig fighting holes, Army digs fox holes. Moving on. However, this did give my Grandfather something to do other than make bridges and plant mines. He and the rest of his platoon systematically checked and repaired any earthworks between the lines. Every once in a while they would help with the "fox holes" if need be.

With the issue of the cold I asked how they stayed warm. He said simply that it was difficult. After a little time to think, he continued. He said that while the were on the front lines, they were not allowed to start or make a fire. Smoking a cigarette was out as well. With no fires they had to bundle up. With the limited supplies in the department of clothing, when ever they had the chance to go to town, they stocked up. Pickings were slim there as well, with the German occupation having ground any type of commerce to a halt and the Allies not conducting themselves much better, lets just say demand exceeded supply.

He then went on to say that it got so cold at night that he could not sleep for shivering, even when the shelling did not keep them awake. To stay alive they huddled together. The odd job did not hurt either. Digging a hole, making earthworks, and planting mines meant moving, which kept you warm, to a point. However, clearing a minefield under sniper fire and shelling would also help to get the blood going.

But usually the only times they would ever actually thaw out was when they were pulled back from the front lines. There they could build a small fire. This was made difficult with the wet tinder and fuel. But, this was easily rectified by prying open a rifle casing or two to get things started. Once or twice, he said, a local would take pity on them and invite them into there home, give them food and lodging for the night. This practice was highly discouraged by the brass, but when your cold, who cares.

Here, I make it seem as if the battle raged in one spot for weeks at a time. But, this was not the case. The battle lines were always moving. For the Allies it was mostly forward, once the 75th and the rest of the reinforcement showed up to the fight.

With this ever changing battle line my Grandfather and his platoon were often called on to fix a tank that slipped into a ditch after having first pulled it out of the road to clear up traffic. Keeping the roadways clear was an ever present hurdle. Sometimes, they were not pulling a Sherman out of the way, but a Panzer or Tiger tank that the Germans had to leave behind. If the Allies advanced quick enough to keep the Germans from flipping those monstrosities, the engineers got lucky. Flipping through the pages of the book I saw a picture of a Tiger Tank upside down.

For those of you that do not know a Tiger tank weighs around 55 tons, only ten tons less than a modern M1A2 Abrams.

I looked closely at the picture to see a crater or some other kind of evidence as to how the feat was accomplished. Seeing none, I turned to my Grandfather. He said sometimes they used explosives, if they were in a hurry. Explosives being expensive and harder to come by at this time for the Germans. But, usually they would use another tank, and pulleys if they had them. I asked if he ever saw it done and he said no. That he only suspected. Because that is how they usually righted the Tigers or dragged them out of the way.

Then came a little picture of a contraption that looked an awful lot like a still. My Grandfather was quick to point out that despite the fact that they would have enjoyed a good swig of shine, water was more important. With that came a rather important job, maintaining, guarding, cooking, and purifying water. Funny how he always side stepped the questions about guarding or where those rifle shells came from.

To be continued...

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

A Combat Engineer's Tale

2009-12-27T21:51:00.003-05:00

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

2009-12-24T23:15:00.007-05:00

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

2009-12-03T23:11:00.004-05:00

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...

2009-11-13T22:49:00.002-05:00

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

2009-11-03T18:58:00.005-05:00

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

2009-10-26T17:45:00.003-04:00

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'

2009-10-10T20:05:00.004-04:00

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

2009-09-20T12:13:00.003-04:00

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!

2009-09-17T22:08:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-04T19:46:00.003-04:00

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

2009-08-28T17:57:00.002-04:00

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

2009-08-23T21:12:00.004-04:00

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

2009-08-20T21:43:00.002-04:00

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

2009-08-17T21:53:00.003-04:00

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!

2009-08-15T19:08:00.005-04:00

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!

2009-08-13T19:33:00.003-04:00

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

2009-07-28T21:20:00.003-04:00

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

Eeeeeeewwwwww!!!!!!

2009-07-26T20:07:00.006-04:00

(Insert long drawn out sigh)....I know I will get made fun of later for posting this (Casey). However, it is the only thing that has been on note for the past week.

To set the scene, I must first introduce the characters: 1) Myself (W/M yoa: Not that old), 2) My Mother (W/F yoa: older than me, obviously, but does not look her age nor does she act it), 3) weird cash register lady at Lowe's (W/F yoa: unknown). Setting: Lowe's (Super Hardware store).

Okay, my mother is back in town for the weekend. She and my Step-Father drive a Transfer Truck for a living and they stay out on the road for months at a time. So, when she is in town it is a big deal to get a chance to see her. Even for a short amount of time.

While she was in, she decided that she wanted to go by Lowe's and grab some supplies. While on the way to the check out lines she happens to see a small sticker in the Mail box and house numbers section of the store. This sticker states in large, deep red lettering, "BEWARE OF DOG" with a red stencil of a Doberman Pinscher beside it. She instantly snatched it up and said, "Awwww. This will be perfect for the truck!" I look at the sticker and then at her.

To provide a little background, my mother owns a Miniature Dachshund. This Dachshund goes with my mother and step-father on their paid trips around the country and is completely spoiled rotten. I will admit that he is cute....at times...and in small doses.

Knowing this I try and explain to my mother that if she posts that on the truck and the Dog were to happen to bite someone (not that it would and even IF he did it would not break the first layer of skin) that they could be sued for having foreknowledge of the Dog being "Dangerous". She promptly tells me that it is only a joke and that it will still be cute.

Her mind may change when she is paying rent to live in her own home and she is working for some nimrod who managed to get him/herself bit.

We then move on to the check out and meet the weird cash register lady. WCR lady inquires as to the nature of the Dog upon scanning the sticker and my mother states, "My husband thinks it will be funny. We have a Dachsund." WCR then turns to me and says, "Well aren't you just the little practical joker!" I look at WCR lady inquisitively for a second and then catch her meaning. I subdue the urge to shudder and vomit and proceed to the nearest exit with out looking back. Thinking all the while about Oedipus and curtailing more gag reflexes.

A few minutes of waiting outside and I am joined by my mother. On the way to the car she asks me why I walked away for the register like that. I glance at her and try to see if she was making fun of me and could only see concern. I explain what happened in a conspiratorial voice as we load the car. Before I finish, she begins to bellow with laughter. Which continued most of the way home. Once she was able to, for more than two seconds without laughing, she called her husband and began to tell the story, which brought another fit of laughter (from both sides of the phone).

To make this even worse, is the fact that this is the second time that this "mistake" has occured and I still want to bathe in Acid or something to make the dirty feeling go away. God I hope this does not happen anymore, I do not think my fragile psyche can handle it.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

Dramatized

2009-07-16T22:33:00.003-04:00

Alright, alright....I will admit....that I may be....dramatized. There. I said it. It is out for the entire world to see.

Sigh....it was a lot less therapeutic than I thought it would be, oh well.

It has been 31 whole days since the Traffic collision. A lot of progress has been made during that time. Agent M is back at work as of Tuesday, only 2 hours a day and extraordinarily stiff. This being due to the fact that she absorbed a few tons of metal and fiberglass at a high rate of speed. Agent S visited the Office Monday, she is able to talk, but not very loud and for not very long. Agent L is now recovering at home. She still has the Traque, and will for at least a few more weeks. Her jaw will be wire shut for a little longer, and we still do not know if she will need further surgery.

However, mentally all three are still having a rough time. Since Agent M came back on Tuesday I have had several conversations with her about the collision. Mostly about what happened to the cars (where the two cars hit, where they ended up, etc.), how did she get out of the car, and how did we get her (and the other Agents) stuff.

Apparently, Agent M was fading in and out of consciousness the entire time after the collision. She had no idea the EMTs had to practically rip the door off the hinges to get her out and had absolutely no memory of the ambulance ride.

Surprisingly, it was hard to explain to her that while the EMTs were pulling them out of the car, Agent A and I were having to stop the EMTs and get their vests, guns, and gun belts. Hence, where the dramatazation comes in. Since Agent M has returned, I have not really been able to concentrate. The events of that day repeatedly play in my head over and over. Most would simply call this Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or at least a mild case. I would not.

Unlike the 5 people involved in the collision who suffered physical, mental, and emotional scars, or actual Trauma. I was a mere on looker. Yes, I did have to interact and do things that I did not want to do. I even had a stupid moment where I was trying to figure out if it was dried blood or lipstick on a gun belt buckle.

Currently, I am asking myself why. Why is this collision different? I have worked many collisions when I was a Deputy. I have seen blood, guts, and gore at multiple crime scenes. I know that there is an emotional connection with the 3 co-workers that were involved. However, my Grandmother has had open heart surgery and a Pulmonary artery catheter operation done in the 31 days since the collision.

Should I not be showing more concern for my Grandmother, whom I should have a much stronger emotional bond with. As opposed to 3 women that I did not know until 2 1/2 years ago. I do not know. For some reason I know my Grandmother will be fine, one way or the other.

Mayhap that is the solution.

I know my Grandmother will be fine if she pulls through or does not pull through. I did not and do not know the spiritual state of my 3 co-workers. For a day, I did not know what would happen with 3 of my friends and was worried that Lucifer would have his way. But he did not, they are ALIVE! Their injuries will heal with time and normalcy will return. As far as their spiritual state is concerned, I can only pray, and do what I know how to do. Be an example.

Mayhap as each returns I will have to relive the events of that day. If that be the case, it will be a small price to pay. And I relish the opportunity to continue to face that Demon.

Semper FI Deus

Goose

Back to Basics

2009-07-10T21:38:00.002-04:00

Late this afternoon I had a quick, yet thought provoking, conversation with one of the Interns at work. About an hour before we are slated to go home for the weekend the Information Technology people flood our office with brand spanking new laptops. With an IT guy sitting in my work space, I had nothing better to do than walk about the office, poking my nose in everyone else's business.

As I was making my rounds, I happened to see one of the Interns sitting at a desk looking at a 3" three ring binder full of papers. I asked her what she was reading, thinking that mayhap she had found a long lost treasure of a long gone Agent. The intern tipped the cover up, still reading the page, and I see that it was a training manual.

I asked her if she found it interesting. She looked up and stated simply that it was slow. It is a training manual, not Stephen King. I then decided to pry further and asked her how far she had gotten. She said that she was reading several scenarios. Upon hearing this, I could not help but laugh as memories flooded my mind.

My second semester in the local community college, I was taking some Criminal Justice class with an instructor, whom I would have many classes with in the years to come. In this particular class, one of the required books to read was Verbal Judo: The Gentle Art of Persuasion, by George J. Thompson and Jerry B. Jenkins. From what I remember the book basically tried to teach people how to use their most powerful weapons, their Mind and their Mouth.

Later, when I went to the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy, the book came up again. It was not required reading, but the basics of the book where discussed in class. Both times I wanted to soak up every word. I wanted to have the ability to bring stability to an unstable situation without having to resort to violence.

As I moved into my career, I found that the lessons learned from Verbal Judo were sound in theory. However, when attempting to implement these lessons, I found, in an unstable situation tended to present weakness. Weakness that the predators in my neck of the woods smelled from a league away. Who knows, mayhap I just was not and still am not doing it correctly.

As the world moved on, I began employment at my current Agency and went through training. I read the obligatory Training Manual and the same scenarios that the Intern was reading before I interrupted. If memory serves, there are two or three different scenarios. Each begins with a wrong way to handle a situation (becoming angry, snapping, cursing, etc.) and a right way to handle it (being calm, empathetic, nice, etc.). Implementing the Art of Verbal Judo.

After my laughing fit, I asked her what she thought about the depicted scenes. She said that she had seen many of the first part of the scenes in our office. Another fit of laughter. I asked her why she thought this was, everyone in the office has read the same scenarios, and apparently do not employ the teachings. She could not answer. I said simply that it does not work. The people we deal with confuse empathy with sympathy. Sympathy is weakness and weakness is to be exploited.

I left her to finish her reading and continued to ponder the conversation. I thought about many of the situations that I have been in as a Deputy and as an Agent. I can only think of one that was defused with Verbal Judo. It was actually before my career even started, while I was in College.

I was a Reserve Deputy (think of it as a ride along with a gun and badge), and we were called out to a Domestic dispute. The female victim allowed us to enter the house and we started taking with her. She stated that her husband had been verbally and physically abusive when she called us. I went to the husband and got his name and information. A few seconds later the other Deputy came into the room and pulled out his handcuffs. The husband jumped back to the far wall, took up a fighting stance, and began yelling at the top of his lungs.

His basic complaint was that we had not gotten his side of the story and we were going to take him to jail anyway. The deputy immediately began issuing commands, which went unfollowed, as the husband continued to scream about how we had not gotten his side of the story. Our batons out and ready to strike, something finally clicked in my head. All he wanted was someone to listen to his side. After finally gaining his attention I asked him for his side of the story. As he started relaying his side, he began to lower his voice and his defensive stance. Once his story was told, he went to jail, but without a fight.

Thinking about it now I realize that I had used the most basic principal of Verbal Judo. Empathy. Mayhap, as the world moved on and I became more and more jaded in this world, I lost sight of principals learned. Or, mayhap I learned that empathy and being nice will only get you so far, and the way to go, was to be nice only when others allow.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

It's a Recession

2009-07-01T23:24:00.007-04:00

A simple statement that has been repeated many a time over the past months. From local News casters to Presidents, these words have been the talk all over the United States and the World. Unlike what most would think, I will not speak to the current state of the economy. This was a statement made earlier today by one of my multitude of Offenders that made it to my Office.

Two weeks ago, during a drug class that our department conducts in house, I was asked to help with the drug tests. Two offenders were cut from the herd and told that it was their lucky night. They get the distinct honor of going with me into a small bathroom and urinating into a small plastic cup while I watch. One of the these offenders was on my caseload.

After two of the longest minutes of my life, this offender places a half full cup of urine down on the table. I conduct the drug test and find out that he has been smoking Marijuana very recently. Several minutes go by as we go back and forth as to exactly when the last time he used was. Eventually, he admits to using the night before. This only after I tell him that he will no longer be going to our free drug class, but to a rather expensive alternative. The longer he is untruthful with me the more expensive the alternative becomes.

Once he came clean (so to speak), I told him that he would be going to the cheaper alternative and he would be referred on his next report day. I pay him no attention as he storms out the door.

A few minutes later I walk out to my car and I hear my name called. Wonder of wonders it is my offender. I merely turn and face him. Once he caught up to me he asks how much the alternative drug class would cost. I inform him it would be around $200 for the entire series of classes, depending on how much Marijuana he uses while going to these classes. I hear a long drawn out sigh escape from him and he says, "It's a recession, man!" As if I had been living under a rock for the past several months. I cock my head, look him in the eye with an eye brow raised and ask how the state of the economy gives him permission to break the law. How should this also allow him to escape the consequences of his actions. He did not answer. Only turned and walked away.
Two weeks later he uttered these three words again as I was filling out the paper work to send him to the class. I continued with my task as he continued to state these words like a mantra. I assume in hopes that repetition would out weigh reason. I paid him no attention. I explain the date that he was show for his new orientation and how much money he had to have in order to attend. He told me that he would not be able to get that much money together in the time frame set.

I leaned back in my chair and looked down thoughtfully for a second. After a few seconds of thought I said, "You know, you're right. It is a recession." I looked up and saw how bright and hopeful his eyes got. "Due to the fact that it's a Global recession, you can explain to the Judge why you couldn't get $25 together in a week." It was his turn to look down in thought. "Here is your choice," I continued. "You can keep blaming the economy and go see a Judge, or, you can get your act together and go to a few drug classes. Who knows you may actually learn something." I held the paperwork out to him and he said nothing as he took it and walked out the door.

I do not know if he will actually learn anything in the area about how drugs are bad and why they should not be used. The only thing I do know, is that he learned that throwing current events around will not help him escape the consequences of his actions. If he did not learn it that day then he shortly will. I set my watch and warrant on it.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose

News and Gunslingers

2009-06-24T21:08:00.003-04:00

Today we finally got some long awaited good news about Agent L. We knew yesterday that she went into surgery, but we found out today that it went well. At this point all we are getting is second and third hand information as to what all took place and what her prognosis is. Agent S is off the heavy medication and is taking the over the counter stuff to quell the pain. I have not heard anything recent about Agent M and therefore will not comment on her current condition. Even amongst all this good news, all three still need our prayers.

Now, on to other business. I believe it is time for me to explain some things. First, the title. "The Chronicles of a South Carolina Gunslinger.” As far as I can tell everything in the title is self-explanatory except for the last word in the sentence. If you need help with "Chronicles" and "South Carolina" let me know and I will explain further. Let us move on to Gunslinger. As the Merriam-Webster Dictionary definition is posted in the Profile, I will skip ahead to my definition of a Gunslinger. This comes a great deal from Stephen King's The Dark Tower series and the main character, Roland Deschain. To put it simply a Gunslinger is a romanticized knight with pistols or revolvers (minus the cumbersome shiny steel plating) and is proficient with these weapons and the weapons they are.

Taking this further a Gunslinger needs to be able to handle any situation that is set before them (within human capability). Most of these situations would send most crying off. These select few stand boldly (but not stupidly) in the face of danger. The use of the tools on their hips is used only as a last resort, but will be used without hesitation.

What most call weapons or guns, in the hands of these few are tools, tools that are designed to do a job. That job, despite popular belief, is not to kill. The job is to move a projectile from point A to point B. Like any tool it can kill, injure, or destroy anything that is either between Point and A and B or is point B.

This brings us to the second point I would like to discuss. I have placed the Litany of the Gunslinger on this page. This is straight from the mind of Stephen King. The idea of it is first used in the first book of The Dark Tower series and is actually stated in the second book. The Litany is a mindset that is ingrained into every Gunslinger apprentice in the books written by Stephen King. This mind set shows the apprentices that their revolvers are not just tools or inanimate objects but an extension of themselves. It also serves to focus the mind.

Moving away for Stephen King for the moment, we arrive at the third point. "Semper Fi Deus." To put it bluntly this is obviously an addition to the United States Marine Corp slogan, "Semper Fidelis" or translated to "Always Faithful." Semper Fi is the shortened form of Semper Fidelis. Now, in a witty play on words I added the Latin word for God or "Deus." Thus, creating "Semper Fi Deus" or "Always Faithful to God." I know this is not a literal translation, but it sounds good to me.

I realize that this may have been done by someone else out in this massive world, however, I have yet to hear it or see it come from anyone else but me. Therefore, I claim it.

Long days and pleasant nights.

Goose
Semper Fi Deus

Of Updates and Statistics

2009-06-19T14:09:00.005-04:00

Okay, it has been a long week, but even more so for three of my co-workers. Here is an update on how they are doing:

Agent M as you all know was treated and released the day of the collision. However, since then she was taken back to the Emergency Room due to chronic pain related to the collision. She was diagnosed with severe whiplash, and is in short, really hurting.

Agent S has been moved out of the Intensive Care Unit and been placed in a room. She has a cracked Larynx, a bruised Trachea, bruised vocal cords, and some bruising on the brain (I am unsure as to which part). Since the last I heard she was actually able to swallow a little bit of liquids and some food and is in general doing better.

Agent L is still not doing very well. She is still in the Neural Intensive Care Unit due to some bleeding on the brain. She has multiple broken bones in her face. I do not know if this is good or bad news, but she is no longer in a Chemical induced coma. The concoction apparently reacted badly with her heart. However, she is able to communicate now with her family (via hand signals and writing). So, I am going to go with good, despite the pain she must now be feeling.

The driver of the other vehicle is also in the hospital. I am unsure as to her status, but she is still in the hospital.

All four women need fervant prayer. They and their families need the peace of that only the Lord Jesus can bring.

Since this collision I have thought a great deal about the most dangerous aspects of my job and Law Enforcement as a whole. According to the National Law Enforcement Memorial Home Page, 133 Law Enforcement Personnel died in the line of duty in 2008. Of that number 71 were killed in some sort of traffic related incident and only 39 were killed by firearms. This is apparently down significatly from 2007, where 83 Officers were killed by TRI's and 68 to firearms. According to the Fatality Analysis Reporting System (FARS) 41,059 died in 2007 in traffic "accidents". Of those Fatal "accidents" Law Enforcement made up 0.002%.

So, what do I hope you all take away from these Statistics and the after affects of one crash? Do you need to ask? I want you to SLOW DOWN! I want you to wear a seat belt! I want you to call your friends to come pick you up when you have had to many alcoholic beverages! I want you to stop talking on your cell phone, for the love of all things sacred, DO NOT TEXT AND DRIVE!! It takes far to much conscentration away from the road, no matter how good you think you are. Five more minutes stuck behind the wheel of your car, is favorable to spending a week or months in the hospital.

This Public Service Anouncement is brought to you by...
Goose
Semper Fi Deus

Five Minutes

2009-06-15T18:56:00.003-04:00

In most of the blogs that I have read (which is not that many) they generally start with an explanation of the title of the Blog, or begin with a background of who they are. In the days that I was contemplating posting a Blog, I thought of many ways to begin, of what to write, and even whether or not I should. However, the events of today have solidified my decision to many of these questions.

Today started out just like any other day. The sharp blair of the alarm clock before sun even decides to awake. A long warm shower, and as of late, a bible study. After that, on certain days, I go through the ritual (Iwill go into this in a later blog).

As I arrived at my office I met up with my friend and fellow Gunslinger, whom some of you may know as Law Officer Casey. We chatted as we walked into the door and as I awaited the arrival of the rest of the team. Today, the team would be comprised of Agent M, Agent S, Agent L, Agent A, and myself. (Names have been changed for Privacy)

On these oh so special days a team of Agents volunteer to go out and serve warrants. Today would be a little different from the normal routine of just going out and serving warrants in that we would be going out with the US Marshall's taskforce.

As we received our instructions for the day, I steeled myself to the possibilities of what might happen at these houses. I started running through scenarios. The thought never crossed my mind to steel myself for what could happen between them.

As we headed out my fellow Agents and I received our car assignment. I would be the driver of the first car. Riding with me would be a Agent A and a member of the Marshall's taskforce (Marshall #1). The driver of the second car would be the other member of the Marshall's taskforce (the only other member working with us that is, Marshall #2) and the other three Agents.

As we were getting into the cars Marshall #2 decided that he needed to get something from inside that he forgot. The Marshall that I was driving decided not to wait for him. He informed his co-worker that we would drive on to the house and case the joint. It was a long twenty minute drive to find the address where we were going. Once we found it I drove the car back to the nearest Handee Mart parking lot and waited for the other car to catch up.

As we waited, Marshall #1 turned up the volume on his walkie talkie and muttered under his breath, "That's not good." Upon hearing this, my mind is suddenly jerked from my mental preparations to the real world. I asked him what was up and he simply replied, "That was my partner on the radio." As he was answering I heard the call from Marshall #2 to the dispatcher once again. As I listened, I did not detect any signs of stress or urgency in his voice. As I heard the dispatcher answer the Marshall's call. Nothing from Marshall #2 though. I then heard a second call the Marshall #2 time, and then again a third time, I put the car in drive. Something had happened.

Just before I moved my foot from the brake to the gas I heard a Taskforce Supervisor come over the radio in the Marshall's place. He basically stated that the Marshall had been in a traffic accident and there was injuries. My heart sank. I did not hear the rest of the transmission over the roar of the Crown Victoria's V8 engine.

What had taken five minutes one way only took two the other. But, it was a very long two minutes. Despite no lights or siren. I looked in the back and told Agent A to call one of our Supervisors and advise them of the situation.

As I pulled up to a red light, we saw a local Police department patrol car scream into the intersection and turn the way we were heading. We watched as he slowed to a stop at the crest of the next hill. As the light turned green, I willed the cars in front to move aside, but to no avail.

As our car neared the crest of the hill, we saw more flashing lights of Patrol cars and arriving Fire Trucks surround the scene of the collision. When I pulled along side the collision, Agent A and myself noted that all of our fellow agents were still in the vehicle, but the Marshall was not. I pulled on the side of the road and parked, already steeling myself to the carnage that would met us in the other vehicle.

As Agent A and myself neared the vehicle, I saw with glee that the others where awake and moving, kind of, but moving. I looked for the Marshall #2 as Agent A went to check on our co-workers. I found the other Marshall checking on the other Driver. Come to find out that he was checking on the person who had caused the collision. Marshall #2 had a nasty laceration on the back of his head that was still bleeding.

The next few minutes melted into an hour. When I attempted to check on my fellow Agents, I quickly decided against it, as a swarm of Emergency personnel descended upon the vehicles. Agent A was quickly pushed aside and came over to me as he called our Supervisor back to give him an update. I stood in the median feeling two feet tall. As a Gunslinger I am always in control of a situation. You lose control people die. Here was a situation that I could not control, I had to stop myself from rushing into the midst and demanding answers. I had honestly never been so helpless in my career. I just repeated to myself over and over, "Let the Professionals do their job."

As time wore on I was informed that the injured Agents and Marshall #2 would have to be transported to the hospital. They would live, but we would not learn the extent of their injuries here. I found out from Agent A that we were tasked with gathering and inventorying the injured Agents equipment. We did as we was told. While Agents where being loaded onto stretchers and carted to awaiting Ambulances, we coaxed EMT's to allow us to gather gun belts, Vests, flashlights, and paperwork.

After everything was gathered one of our supervisors would arrive on scene and ask for an update. As the Ambulance doors where being closed, Agent A was told to ride with them. He jumped into the back and off he went. I asked the Supervisor what he wanted me to do and was told to go back to office and make sure the equipment was accounted for then secure them.

What?! My friends where not at the office, they were at the hospital! They're equipment was accounted for, inventoried, and very secure in the truck of my car. But, I did as I was told. I made sure Marshall #1 had another ride and had another long ride back to the office.

Once at the office, I inventoried the gear, the weapons, and the ammo. I went as far as to label the piles for each agent. I then called the on scene supervisor and updated him and asked for further instructions. He told me I was done for the day, "Go Home." Go home? Another series of things to say ran through my head, but in the end I would do as I was told. But first, I went to my upstairs office and was greeted by some very worried Agents. I relayed what I saw and was told. Fears releaved I went home and began to pray.

Hours later I would get an update. Agent M was treated and released. Agent S apparently hit her neck on the lowered cage (The cage seperating the front seat from the back). She has a bruised laranyx, trachea, and lots of swelling in her throat. She will be spending the night in ICU to make sure she's okay.

Agent L took it the worst. She caught the lowered cage with her cheek and jaw. I don't know the full extent of the damage, but from what I know, several bones in her face are broken, with bone fragments floating around in the swelling. She is currently in a chemically induced coma until next monday. Hopefully by then the swelling will have gone down enough to allow the doctors to do surgery.

During the events of this day I realize that the differece is only Five Minutes. Five Minutes differed between my car and their car. Through this day I have wished, nay, pleaded that It should have been me, not them in the hospital.

If Marshall #2 had not gone back for what ever, then none of this would have happened. If the other drive had not decided that their Five Minutes was too important to wait, then none of this would have happened.

But, let's stop and think. What did this prevent. Sure, four of my friends went to the hospital today, two of which are still there as I type. One may not wake. But for now all are alive. What could have happened if we got to the house and attempted the warrant. The guy could have seen us drive by, gotten his guns and laid in ambush. The place my have been rigged to blow. It may not have been at that house. Maybe, through this someone else's life was saved in the Five minutes that it took them to get through traffic. I do not know.

However, I know who does know. The Lord Jesus Christ. Through this day I have begged, pleaded, ranted, raved, and gotten on my knees. In this I have found that Jesus Christ knows the difference in Five Minutes. I don't know how this incident will turn out. But he knows and that is all I need.

I only ask from those of you who might read this to pray for the two Agents in the Hospital tonight. Pray for the one who is at home, and Pray for Marshall #2. God only knows what he is going through at the moment. I know he must be blaming himself for what happened.

Semper Fi Deus
Goose

PS- I know you must be tired of seeing me type, but I don't want anyone getting me wrong. I write this only to set the record straight and to get my thoughts out there. As I watched the news tonight I found the true incompetence of the local news media revolting. The media got there in time to see one of the Agents pulled from the car and went from there (even managed to get the Agency wrong). The two more seriously injured Agents aren't even mentioned.