Don Young was a ladies man.  He had been a ladies man for as long as I’d known him – since about third grade.  He was not a cad, not a heartbreaker, he did not kiss and tell.  He simply loved women and they loved him back.  Don was a year older than [...]]]>

Don Young was a ladies man.  He had been a ladies man for as long as I’d known him – since about third grade.  He was not a cad, not a heartbreaker, he did not kiss and tell.  He simply loved women and they loved him back.  Don was a year older than I, and had such alarming power with the opposite gender as to leave the rest of us standing in slack-jawed awe.  In fourth grade, a lifted eyebrow from Don caused the love of my life, Cindy Montero, to desert my side without a rearward glance, and then flee to his in spite of the cherry-centered tootsie roll pop I’d just presented to her.  I realized at that very moment that I would never be able to compete with him, but I couldn’t even be angry much less bitter about it.  I liked him too much.  Everybody did.

I’m sure many if not even most of you out there lay awake nights wondering why I choose to spend the vast majority of my time sequestered away from civilization in the company only of Digger the outstanding dog, Clancy the incredible dog, Grizz the irritating cat, and Laura the coveted wife.  What [...]]]>

I’m sure many if not even most of you out there lay awake nights wondering why I choose to spend the vast majority of my time sequestered away from civilization in the company only of Digger the outstanding dog, Clancy the incredible dog, Grizz the irritating cat, and Laura the coveted wife.  What could possibly have been so disconcerting, if not horrible, as to send me into voluntary exile?  You win.  I’ll tell you.

There was a time in my life when I wanted to change the world.  Really.  I didn’t want to carry placards, march in circles, and shout slogans – that’s not my style.  I didn’t aspire to go to India and work among the poor – the food’s too spicy.  The Peace Corps seemed to be a bit extreme – no television.  So, I became a cop.  My motives were pure.  They really were.  I wanted to crush bad guys to their knees and promote racial harmony in a world of difference.  After a few years of bruises and stitches, shootings and knifings, automatic weapons fire – at me, being spat upon and called names, mindless judges, soulless lawyers, and incredibly doltish juries, my lofty ideals were pretty much reduced to “Us against Them” – “Them” being the civilians of the world.  When I realized what I was becoming, I ran away and found myself in the grasp of almost Arkansas, Missouri, one of the true remaining bastions of “duh” on the planet.

Don Brook wore his time in the Marine Corps like a gold medallion around his neck.  Ten years after he left the armed services, Paris Island’s scent was still fresh in his nostrils.  While Brook had never actually seen combat and had been in “The Corps” only a few months, discharged because of [...]]]>

Don Brook wore his time in the Marine Corps like a gold medallion around his neck.  Ten years after he left the armed services, Paris Island’s scent was still fresh in his nostrils.  While Brook had never actually seen combat and had been in “The Corps” only a few months, discharged because of the sudden death of his father and health of his invalid mother, he remained a jar-headed life-taker, heart-breaker, and widow-maker.  Hoo-rah.  He was also a good guy.

When I was a young man, I attended official cop school.  Week after week, after week, after week, a select number of young valiants such as I were sequestered from the world, the victims of excessive indoctrination and instruction into the art and function of being police officers.  An [...]]]>

When I was a young man, I attended official cop school.  Week after week, after week, after week, a select number of young valiants such as I were sequestered from the world, the victims of excessive indoctrination and instruction into the art and function of being police officers.  An amazing amount of subjects were covered, from how to deliver a baby (don’t – run away) to the methods for defending oneself against a knife attack (don’t – run away) to public relations (run away…rapidly) to drug abuse (who and where, not how and when) to search and seizure, Miranda, racial or ethnic profiling, crime scene investigation, interviewing and questioning, firearms, radio procedure, traffic stops, domestic violence, polygraph examination, subject restraint and control, high speed driving technique, criminal psychology, choosing the correct doughnut – on and on and on.  The amount of subject matter was amazing.