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The Police Adventures of a Small Southern Town..

Started by Roscoe, July 02, 2012, 06:25:42 PM

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Roscoe

 You guys can thank Mel for this..... I was texting and this story was a little long to text so I figured I'd p.m. it. Then I decided I would inflict everyone with the pain and see what the reaction would be. It is all true....I actually thought about posting some of these stories, but have never gotten around to it, with the exception of an occasional reference in a post....I ain't Mini, so my writing is not as polished.. :smirk2:


"The arrest of the ancient one"

It was a dark and stormy night.... no, really, it was dark.... :laughhard: It was January 1st, 2006, at about 2 am in the morning. A short little police corporal in a small southern town was working the late shift, from 10 pm to 6 am, and wondering who he'd made mad to draw New Year's Eve duty for the third straight year. I'd, er, the corporal, had been running from one end of town to the other on calls  of "shots fired" which were invariably fireworks. ( "shots fired" calls get priority over pretty much every call, and gets ALL the Po-Po excited). 
  There was a lull in the action, and the policeman was beginning to think that he might have time to eat the remains of the burger he'd bought an hour earlier, before the idiot driver he'd wound up arresting for DWI stumbled in front of him. But, nay, it was not to be....

The radio crackled with the dispatcher's voice. "Dispatch, 113?". The officer noticed a little note of apology in her voice. "Go ahead". " 113, I need you to 10-96 to an address on South Brill. Complainant advises his wife is suicidal."  "Ten-four".

Great. Just what I wanted. A suicidal woman, a cold burger, and a four page report. Sometimes, every cop wishes they could just tell the suicidal individual to stop being dramatic, just end it. Less paperwork. But, no, most all officers are compassionate and will try to talk the morons from ending it all, even though often times it'd clear up criminal cases by the dozens.

The officer couldn't help but notice that this address was a little different. In a quiet area of town where mainly elderly retired folks lived, most of the calls they received in that neighborhood were that of the nature of a loose dog. How was he to know that the call he'd just taken would live for years in the court system and was just the beginning salvo in a war? A war that the young cop was now a figure in, unwillingly or not, and would be nicknamed "Days of our Lives, the Geriatric Version" by local cops....
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Roscoe

#1
 The young officer pulled to a stop in the driveway of a well kept two story home. A newer home he'd watched being built over the past couple of years, it was somewhat styled after a 1830's plantation home, with a detached garage. Very nice, and not the normal surroundings for him to be called to.
Being apprehensive about the idea of being at the wrong address at 2 in the morning, he radioed Dispatch. "Dispatch, just verifiying the address was _____ South Brill, 10-4?" The answer came back immediatly, with just a note of testiness in the Dispatcher's voice. "That's correct". How dare the officer question the Goddess of Dispatch?!?
  The officer advised he was on scene, and exited his patrol car. As he approached the house, he was met by a feeble little man of 75 years of age, who resembled for all the world the man who was the fake Wizard in "The Wizard of Oz". This little man was nowhere NEAR as innocent and unassuming as he first appeared.... :nono:
The Wizard proceeded to tell the officer that his wife, aged 70, was suicidal and sobbing. He said she was in the kitchen, and then offhandedly stated something that should've let the officer know that this was NOT an ordinary situation. "Officer, you need to know my wife is a BlackBelt in Karate, and shoots competion .45's. "  :o 

As Dave Barry says- I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Later the officer would discover, yes, the lady was a blackbelt- in three different styles of hand to hand combat- and shot Match Grade .45's, 1911 Kimbers to be exact. And apparently from the trophies on display that the officer would later see, she did these hobbies very, very, well.....

The officer entered the house and was confronted by the sight of a small built elderly lady, around 110 lbs, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sobbing her eyes out. Having always had a soft spot for the elderly, the officer's heart instantly went out to her. The burger forgotten, the officer approached the lady to try to help her get her life back together....
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Roscoe

#2
" Ma'am, I am Cpl______ with the ____Police Department. I'd like to talk with you, and see if there's something we can do to help."  The lady sobbed a little louder, then sat up. "Okay. But really, I just want to die.......". The last words of that sentence were just drawn out into a kinda wail.
The officer looked at the husband, who appeared helpless and at a loss. The officer would summerize that this home was probably one that was ran by the lady of the house in normal times. These were not normal times. The officer grabbed his professionalism and begain to talk to the lady. "Can you tell me what happened?" The story he got was the following:

The lady, who we will call Mrs. Jones, had been married to Mr Jones for fifty years. Theirs had been a happy life- she was employed by the state, he an independant contractor- lived mainly in a town about 55 miles from the town they were presently domiciled in.

According to her, they had made a trip through our little town and had fallen in love with it. They purchased a beautiful spot of land overlooking the river, and decided to build a home. They began immediately, working on weekends and after work. As Mr Jones had already retired,and Mrs. Jones had two more years to go, it was decided that when the house was far enough along, Mr. Jones would move in and live in it while working and Mrs Jones would come down of an evening and on weekends. This would ease the burden of travel on Mr. Jones and he could work at his own pace.
This worked swimmingly for a time. The neighborhood was nice, the views lovely, and the Jones' pictured themselves retiring peacefully and living happily ever after. I am sure they never dreamed what was about to take place....
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Roscoe

   It became apparent that  the main problems for Mrs. Jones came from a direction she never imagined. Her husband, who had always been faithful to a fault, made a new friend. It started as a casual thing- Mr Jones busily working on the house,no one around  - then an active widow lady of 80 years of age began walking by the house.
   The lady- Mrs Smith- (and I know the names aren't creative, but I can keep track of them) had observed the progress on the house with much interest. She'd lived in the neighborhood for over 40 years, and didn't want any more issues in the area.
  There had already been an unfortunant time in which the nursing home down the street had closed. The closing did not bother Mrs Smith, but before she could find out what was going on, the building was sold and became a halfway house for addicts and mental patients. It had taken some time to straighten that out, and the halfway house was still there.

Mrs. Smith was not happy about it, and was determined that before anyone else came into HER neighborhood, they would be properly vetted. Therefore, she had began "exercising" by walking past the house numerous times a day, and had noticed that the house was apparently going to fit in. It had her tentative approval.
  After a couple of well timed walks, Mrs. Smith managed to meet both the Wizard and the lady of the house, whom she would later, in documents read to an open court and with photographic proof, she would call a female dog. This would be done in no where near the calm manner I typed and would rhyme with a female who rides a broom. Apt, really, since Mrs. Smith would later prove that she was quite the broom jockey herself....
Mrs Smith decided that to be neighborly, she would be pleased to have the Jones' to her home for dinner and drinks. This took place and it appeared to all involved that this was going to be a good retirement with good friends. As time passed, Mrs. Smith, who had been widowed for many, many years, formed the opinion that Mr. Jones was quite the witty, intellegent man. While the officer never really knew whether she had decided to take him from his wife or not, it became apparent that Mrs. Smith did not feel that Mrs. Jones was "Dear Freddy's" equal or perfect match. Presumably, she felt she and he were a much better fit....
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

MelodyB

:popcorn:


This is great. Real life is much better than fiction sometimes!
Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today?
 

The Purple Fuzzy


Roscoe

#6
 The friendship of Mr Jones and Mrs. Smith could have went on for years....or at least as long as two folks of their advanced years could reasonably plan to live, were it not for one fly in the ointment. Mrs. Jones. After a couple years of Mr. Jones finishing up work on his new home and wandering down the street to partake of evening drinks, the house was deemed finished and Mrs. Jones decided the time was ripe for her well deserved retirement. With her retirement, came a move to her new home. And with that move, came an end to the nightcaps at the neighbors.

Mrs. Smith, however, reasoned that "they were just friends" and didn't seem to care that Mrs Jones had met the Green Eyed Monster and invited him to live with her. She made it clear that she saw no need for Mr Jones to confine himself "in a loveless relationship with that old bag". And thus the war started.
 
The night that the poor innocent police corporal got drug into this, Mrs. Jones had discovered that Mr Jones and Mrs. Smith had been carrying on in the aforementioned manner for quite some time. Her first instinct, she told the officer, was to go to Mrs. Smith's house and "snatch that floozy bald." Fortunately for the floozie, it appeared she was out on the town- probably with another wife's husband, reasoned Mrs. Jones.
   
She returned to her home and had quite the discussion with her husband, then left in tears, driving aimlessly around. She told the officer that she had decided she wanted to die, but wanted it to look like an accident. She had lined up her car with a bridge pillar and punched the gas, but "chickened out". She then returned home, and collapsed sobbing, at which point Mr. Jones decided the odds were good that she might harm herself, or, more concerning from his point of view, him, and called the police.

After the officer heard this tale of woe, then heard Mrs. Jones declare emphatically that she was going to die this night, he felt he had no choice but to place the sobbing grandmother in handcuffs and transport her to the police department for her safety. Policy said that the officer was to do so, and call a counseler. The officer, not wanting to hear the next morning that the lady had killed three people, did so.

Mrs. Jones became somewhat animated to discover that she was under arrest, then submitted meekly. The counselor arrived, screened Mrs Jones, and privately told the officer that the odds were good that this lady was going to hurt someone. He admittted he felt it more likely that the floozy would be harmed, but stated that he would seek a bed at a mental health facilty. A short time later, panic broke out. No hospital would take Mrs. Jones because of her age. Elderly mental patients are to be segregated from younger and no one had a bed available.
  The corporal, feeling overwhelmed, called his sergeant. The sergeant and corporal talked with Mr. Jones, who, in a wise move, had taken advantage of Mrs Jones' absence to hide her favorite weapons. After Mrs. Jones solomely promised to not harm anyone, she was released for the night.
The corporal felt that this was over if they didn't get anymore calls the next morning reporting bodies....
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Roscoe

#7
 Boy, was the corporal wrong......time rocked on, and nothing was heard of the small drama taking place on Brill Street. That did not mean nothing was happening. Finally, officers started getting calls that there was harrassment in the neighborhood. The next time the corporal took the call, the report was that Mrs. Jones had ridden by Mrs Smith's house on a bicycle and yelled out at Mrs. Smith. When Mrs. Smith turned to look, Mrs. Jones " threw sign language at her". After recieving a rough imitation of the sign language, the officer, whose former girlfriend taught sign language and had taught him enough to flirt across the church with, verified that indeed the sign language was unkind and rude. A report was made.

This became a weekly event. Every officer had a Jones-Smith tale to tell. Finally Mrs. Jones got a warrant swore out for Mrs. Smith. This went through the court system until the judge issued a decree ordering them to literally drive the opposite directions from each others' house. Problem solved.

Then Mrs. Smith observed that Mrs. Jones was a creature of habit who went to Walmart every Sunday at approximately 7 am. Nothing would do, but that became HER time to shop at Walmart as well. Several skimirshes later, Walmart requested that the ladies either pick different times to shop, or find a new store. They did neither. Mrs. Smith decided that she would step up the battle a notch. After all, she had lived here for FORTY YEARS.

Remember the halfway house/ mental facility? Mrs. Smith befriended a resident. This resident had a fondness for alcohol, which was strictly forbidden. The administrator of the facility, who knew nothing of the drama two doors down, saw no harm in her patient sitting on the front porch with the "nice old lady" and drinking tea. The tea turned out to be rather heavily spiked. The administrator would later remark that the patient slept rather soundly after visiting with sweet Mrs. Smith....

After a few visits with Mrs. Smith, the patient learned that Mrs Jones drove a small car, the color and location of said car, and that Mrs. Jones was a female dog. With just a little persuasion, this word was carved in the side of said car in one foot tall letters. With what appeared to be battery acid.

Mrs. Smith denied any involvement, yet cackled when interveiwed, saying, "Well it's true, she is." After a little detective work, the patient was tracked down and admitted that Mrs Smith had paid him to do this and had given him alcohol as well. Charges were filed. Orders were issued, and in the midst of all the drama, Mr and Mrs Jones filed for divorce, which was granted.
It was all over. NOT. Mrs Jones, you see, was also an accomplished artist, and Mr Jones had built her an apartment studio over the garage. On the same side of the house  that Mrs. Smith's house was on. That is where Mrs. Jones moved.  :o It continued to flare up weekly.

It all came to a head that fateful sunday morning when both ladies went to Walmart. Mr Jones, who had somewhat reconciled with Mrs Jones and decided that Mrs Smith was "fruit bat crazy", had gone with Mrs. Jones. While in the dairy aisle, Mrs. Smith began yelling at Mrs. Jones, who, according to the camera system of the store attempted to walk by Mrs. Smith. Having been told by her lawyer to film anything that was done by Mrs. Smith, she snuck her phone out of her pocket and began filming. This enraged Mrs. Smith, who in an episode of "aisle rage" rammed Mrs. Jones' buggy, causing her phone to fall. Then, Mrs. Smith decided to slap Mrs. Jones in the face.

This, friends, was the wrong thing to do. Of the three types of hand to hand combat Mrs. Jones knew, she used 47. She whupped that "floozy" like a red headed stepchild, and managed to leave not a single mark. The officer later commented to other officers that he wish Mrs. Jones gave lessons.... the store personnel called the police, and pulled them apart.
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Roscoe

 When the corporal, who by this time had became a Sergeant, arrived at Walmart, he was totally unprepared to find the Jones-Smith feud. He quickly dispatched an officer to deal with Mrs. Smith, who had decided that the Sergeant saw her as a huge problem. She was completely right. The Sergeant then approached Mrs. Jones and discovered clear as day, a handprint on her left cheek. The Sergeant took statements, and made a decision that later proved popular with everyone involved except Mrs. Smith.
He placed her under arrest for violation of Arkansas law, namely, 3rd degree battery. Out of respect for her advanced age, the Sergeant had one of his patrolmen park his police car and ride back to the police department with Mrs. Smith. Mrs Smith immediately took this as a sign of weakness.
Upon arrival at the police department, the book in process was started. The Sergeant had already decided that it would be counter productive to actually jail Mrs. Smith, and his intention was to book her in, cite her, and release her. Mrs. Smith became downright irritable and combative with the "whippersnapper" sergeant, and refused to have her picture taken, stating that she " had not had her picture in a jail in 81 years and it wasn't gonna happen now."

The sergeant lost it. Completely. Very loudly, he informed Mrs Smith that he had went out of his way to show respect and kindness to an elder. He informed her that it was kindness, not weakness she had been seeing, and it was over. She had two choices. Take the picture as requested or he would "throw her decrepit old butt so deep into the jail they would have to pump sunshine to her old butt."
Mrs. Smith, who observed that the sergeant was serious when he grabbed the jail keys, and that all other officers had vacated the area, decided she would take the picture after all. The rest of the incident was rather uneventful, with the exception of the judge calling the sergeant personally and asking what in the blazes was going on....

At the last report, both parties have mutually agreed to not look at each other and it has been peaceful for a couple of years. After all the drama, the officer had opportunity to ask Mr. Jones if he was indeed "seeing" Mrs. Smith. Mr Jones told me "Son, some things don't work like they usta, so no.....thirty years ago, though...." He concluded by saying he had no idea Mrs. Smith was that crazy, and Mrs. Jones was that jealous. At last report, the jones had remarried and are now an active part of the community's high society. Mrs. Smith sulks with her dog named Bob- I'm not sure if that was his name or it was changed in honor of the sergeant.

The officer still gets a twinge when he drives down that street, remembering the 70 year old blackbelt who loves guns...... And that is how the Sergeant became a legend for arresting the oldest person the police department had ever booked in.... :thumbsup2:
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

MelodyB

Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today?
 

Lynx

As one with experience dealing with elders (my aunt is activities director in a nursing home, and I have taken part in a fair number of their activities) I can testify that age does not in any way temper some people's tempers.   :-\
"Do you sing at church?"
"Yes I sing at church, I sing at home, at work, in the car, at the supermarket, at Wal-Mart..."
:sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing:

Melody

 :laughhard:

That's pure gold right there.  Readers Digest worthy!  Loved it, thank you for sharing.

SippinTea

"Not everything that is of God is easy." -Elona

"When you're wildly in love with someone, it changes everything." -F. Chan

"A real live hug anytime you want it is priceless." -Rachel

sunlight

  :attackhug: Be full of hugs!

Roscoe

 Not near as funny, but an incident that really touched me and proved that God can use anyone, even a half-backslidden cop, to reach someone.


  A few years ago while working patrol, there was a time that I was all but backslidden. Due to my work schedule, I had to miss alot of church. That, coupled with a stressful job that would drive a saint to sin, had caused me to get cold and all but backslid. I say this not to brag, other than on my God, who was merciful enough to give me, and another person, a second chance. I would try to live right, but as anyone who has been forced to miss chuch knows, the longer you are away from nourishment and fellowship, the further you slide.

On the particular night in question, I was working third shift- again- and was burned out. To explain a little better- in Arkansas, we have "wet" counties and "dry" counties. In the dry counties it is illegal to sell any kind of alcoholic beverage, unless the business is a "supper club" and these are strictly limited to a few drinks with dinner. In a wet county, there's a beer joint or liquor store on every corner. Every county surrounding the one I worked in were dry. Bone dry. My county, however, was gloriously soaking sopping, wet. Drenched even. Heck, a person could nearly buy a beer at the bank.

Needless to say, we were a popular place of a evening or a weekend, and I thrived on handing out DWI (Driving While Intoxicated or Impaired) tickets. Truthfully, there's nothing as funny as a happy drunk.

   Back to the story....There was in my city, located across from a liquor store AND a nightclub, a KOA campground. Not only did the campground rent camping spots they rented spaces for mobile homes as well. From time to time, officers had reason to go into this place, usually to retrieve some wayward soul. This night would be no different.

It was in the early hours of the morning when the call came out. There was an altercation at one of the mobile homes. A man was threatening his exgirlfriend, and was trying to kick down the door. Dispatch advised the caller to stay inside her bedroom , and got us (the police) rolling at a high rate of speed. While enroute Dispatch advised officers that the man was unarmed, had been drinking, and was probably driving an older model Ford truck.

  As luck- and God- would have it, I was the first officer on scene. As there was only one way into and out of the park, I met the suspect. I flipped around on him, hit my blue lights and made the traffic stop. Sure enough, it was the man we were going to remove from the front porch of the trailer. And he was definately soused. As usual, I had him perform the stupid human tricks, scored him, and "hooked him up". I put him in my police car and waited patiently for the tow truck, while my other officers went to talk with the complainant.

Now, drunks talk and say funny things in a police car.  As Music soothes the savage beast,  I'd been listening to the "Hinson's LIVE" album.  Even when I was away from God, Kenny Hinson singing "Two Winning Hands" made my night better. I turned down the music and listened to my catch.

"Please don't tell my Mama." OOOOOKKKKAAAAY. Dude, you are 45 years old. I've never met you, and I don't even know your Mama. Why would I tell your Mama? I said as much, and Mr Young began to sob. Genuine, gut wrenching sobs.

"You don't understand, Officer. My Mama is a One God Holy Rolling, Tongue Talking Pentecostal. I was raised that way. I know better than this." I felt like I'd been goosed with a cattle prod. God began screaming at me to say something. No matter how cold I was, I'd never failed to hear God speak to me and never outran the calling He'd laid on me at twelve years old. "Mr. Young, you had no way of knowing this, but you have been arrested by the only On God, Jesus Name Pentecostal in law enforcement in this area."

The sobs really picked up then. To this day, I couldn't tell you what all was said that night. He and I talked until the wrecker arrived, then I transported him to the jail. After all the paperwork was done, I locked Mr Young down for the night. Before leaving his cell, when it was just he and I, I told him I'd be praying for him and told him it was time to stop running from God and turn back to Him. I seem to recall Mr. Young telling me God wouldn't forgive him, but God gave me the words to say.  I spent a good portion of the remainder of that night driving around dark neighborhoods, crying from my own conviction, listening to the Hinsons sing. The whole time, I was praying for a man I'd just arrested. A man who needed God- but then again so did I. Feelings that I'd been a hypocrite crept in to keep me company....

The next day, Mr Young was out of jail before I came in. When the court date arrived, he came in and pled guilty without me ever seeing him. I forgot Mr Young. Just another chance encounter with someone I would never see again.

Several months later I was working day shift when dispatch called me on the radio. They told me that there was someone there needing to speak to me. I sent one of the officers working with me, but Dispatch cancelled that and advised me that they had asked for me personally.

When I arrived at the police department, I saw an elderly lady with a "Pentecostal hive" Hairdo and obviously Godly dress.This little lady looked like a dear old saint of God that flat knew how to pray. You could tell by looking at her that her knees had saw many hours of a rough old floor while she communed with God. I was intimidated just looking at her.

At her side stood an tall clean shaven man. "Officer, you don't remember me do you?" I thought carefully- "No sir, I don't. I'm sorry. Should I?". " You arrested me a few months back. I'm John Young."

Wait- what?!? You had a pony tail to your waist and a beard to match. You cussed every other word. Not like this- you look like a preacher. That was what I thought. I concealed my surprise. "Man, you look great!" I said.

"I just had to come tell you sir. After you arrested me that night, God kept working on me. I called my Mama and began going to church with her. I prayed back through and God filled me with the Holy Ghost. I've been in church for three months now and it is because of you. What you said hit home when no one else's words did." Mr Young wiped a tear, then shook my hand.

The saintly little lady walked over and bearhugged me, crying, telling me thank you for listening to God. This made me more than a little uncomfortable, as I was no where near where I needed to be. I thanked her, and she assured me that she would be in much prayer for me. I excused myself to keep from bawling.

   A couple of years later, I happened to read an obituary in the state paper. There was Mr. Young's picture. He had passed away. He was listed as a member of the local apostolic church. Now, I don't know his spiritual condition at his passing, but I would hope that he made it, in part because of God using me. God had given him one last chance before calling his number.

This incident worked on me heavily, with me feeling that God was showing me that he could use me, regardless of my faults, if I'd let Him. Moral of the story- you never know who God will send to you, and you may never know what an impact you make. I was fortunant. I got to see what God did with my loaves and fishes...
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Heather

Such an awesome, powerful story Roscoe!! Thank you for sharing
Keep it simple. Just love Jesus. -Sister Ali

mini

DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

SippinTea

"Not everything that is of God is easy." -Elona

"When you're wildly in love with someone, it changes everything." -F. Chan

"A real live hug anytime you want it is priceless." -Rachel

sunlight

  :attackhug: Be full of hugs!

Roscoe

 Along the same lines as the last story,except this one hasn't had the end written yet. If you read this, pray for the man in this story. Mini has met him, I believe, and I can tell you that he is still being worked on by God.


      I was about as far out of church as I could be and still attend (occasionally) , and was working third shift.  As you can see from the last stories, most of the best things happen in those wee hours of the morning...."Bill" was the cook at the local Waffle House. He was a big guy, about 6'6" and well over 400 lbs. Looked kinda like Shrek. Well, what Shrek would've looked like if he was a lumberjack.
Bald on top, he had a beard and mustache.... He was friendly and talked with the cops alot. I'd made no secret about my beliefs to my fellow cops, and didn't call attention to it, since I was cussing and carrying on with the rest of them. After several months of this, talk turned to church one night at about 3 am.

One of the cops, a Baptist, asked me what the pentecostals would think about some hypothetical situation. I saw the big man's head whipped around and he listened kinda close. I gave the answer and changed the subject away from church and God..

  After the conversation moved on, we ate our dinner and soon it was time to return to work. As we all walked out, Bill followed me outside to smoke. In just a few, when it was just me and him, he began to talk to me about pentecost. He asked if I was oneness, then asked some more questions. I began to suspect he knew more than he was letting on.

Finally, he looked at me with tears streaming and said " Bobby, I was a United Pentecostal evangelist for five years. I've been raised in church my whole life. I came here to get away from God and church, and here you are."  He told me that he'd came to my town soley because he didn't see a Pentecostal church to bother him.  Conviction hit ME, and I began to cry, thinking of all of the ways I'd acted and things I'd said in front of him. I pleaded with him, "Please don't judge my church by me. I'm not where I should be." He assured me that he knew the feeling. He agreed to go to church with me. Somehow, he managed to put it off, but every time I came in to the Waffle House, Bill would manage to bring up church.

As time went on, I got back closer with God and closer with Bill and we became close friends. I admitted to Bill that I was running from a call to preach and he told me that he'd known that since he had met me. Bill finally came to church with me several times. The first time he stepped into the church, he was crying before the first song ended. He continued to come sporadically, always feeling God, always crying and praying, but never pushing through.  The first message I preached, he sat in the back pew and cried all the way through it.

One night, he asked my pastor, who he loved the minute he met him, if he could sing in church one night. Bro. Wilson, sensing something, allowed him to, the first time I've ever saw someone out of church take the platform. He sang an old Hinson family song, "Two Winning Hands". The church exploded and you could see God's annointing pouring off of him. He just held onto the pulpit, shaking and crying.

For some reason, though, he couldn't get past the hurt that had taken him out. He won't to this day tell me the complete story, but from what I gathered, he was jilted at the altar by a minister's daughter, and some hurtful things were said. He simply walked away.
In the ensuing years, bill told me he'd done "a bit of it all" from selling cars to cooking as a short order cook, always careful to stay away from anything that resembled church. Now, though, he comes to church occasionally, if rarely. He works weekends as a local bouncer at a bar and through the week for a trucking company in the gas field. There but for the grace of God, go I.

I preach to Bill nearly every time we meet. I  pour my heart out, he crys, we go on our ways. I vow to not let him be a Trophy of Hell.  He's became quite the crusade for me. I know if he ever gets back where he needs to be, God will use him again. He has a huge network of people that he could influence mightily. He is one of those people that never makes an enemy and never meets a stranger..
Ninety percent of the time, if you get in Bill's truck, he's listening to the hinsons or the like, or good apostolic preaching. I'm still believing that someday, I'll see him back where he should be, in the house of God.
If you get a chance, mention him in your prayers.  God will know who he is...There but for the grace of God, go I.


I wonder how many "Bill"' s exist, that we meet every day without knowing their past? How many of them know us and what we should be, and are we showing them the light that we are supposed to?
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

mini

I remember meeting Bill.  If I remember right, Roscoe introduced me as "...that preacher I've been telling you about."  Bill said "I knew that as soon as I saw him get out of the truck."  Still sends shivers down my spine...

Quote from: Roscoe on July 08, 2012, 01:35:25 PM
I wonder how many "Bill"' s exist, that we meet every day without knowing their past? How many of them know us and what we should be, and are we showing them the light that we are supposed to?

Amen, and amen.
DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

Roscoe

#21
 Another quick story..

The Case of the Clobbered Cobbler

    It was a pleasant Friday evening in my little town, and I was working my favorite shift, from 2pm to 10 pm. I loved this shift because there was always something interesting going on, and I still got home early enough to get to bed at a decent hour and have all morning to do whatever I wished. Perfect. My perfect day had became even more so when my sergeant, with whom I was good friends off the clock, informed me that his wife had made me a present.

Now, his wife was a paramedic that worked for our local ambulance service, and I had recently helped her with a less than ideal medical call. She was a sweetheart who loved to bake almost as much as I loved to eat- a little fact that was well known. Mrs. Sergeant, then, had whipped up one of her super-duper homemade peach cobblers and sent the whole thing to me. She had told Sergeant the rest of the guys could fend for themselves.  :lol:

Sergeant had presented me with the cobbler in front of the entire shift, who all looked like a bunch of begging puppies trying to get a piece of MY cobbler. Not gonna happen. If I let those wolfhounds get a whiff of it, they'd hog the whole thing. Besides, where were they when I was sweating my heavy little self down a flight of stairs, holding up one side of a cot on which a lady that weighed approximately 500 lbs lay moaning on?   Well, I'll tell you, they weren't there helping, that's for sure. And they weren't gonna be eating my cobbler, either.  I said as much, and pranced out the door with my cobbler.

  This little bit of greed would later be my undoing. As I got into my sleek police cruiser and set the cobbler down in the passenger seat, I couldn't help but tastes just a bit of the crust- golden, flakey, liberally sprinkled with cinnamon....MMMM. I decided I would lock it up in my personal vehicle where the vultures would be unable to get to it, and enjoy it after work, with a tall glass of milk...

Unfortunately for me, that little taste was the only sample I would get of that cobbler. Fate conspired with my coworkers to deprive me of my rightful reward...
As I pulled to the parking lot, Dispatch radioed me. "113, I need you to go to Walmart and make contact with the service manager. She advises the sooner the better."  "Ten-four". Crud. That means they need an officer now. Probably a shoplifter. But, the service manager in question was likely my wife, so away I go, a knight in shining armour... no time to put the cobbler in the car. Besides, one of the greedy dogs had been watching me, no doubt trying to see what I'd done with the baked goodie. Mrs. Sergeant's cobblers were a rare commodity that were not to be missed, even if one had to appropriate it from its rightful owner... :noo: And those clowns were accomplished, by reason of their job, in unlocking locked cars. They even had the tools for doing so...

As I headed for Walmart with my cobbler riding shotgun, my dispatcher called me on the phone. She advised that the call I was headed to was a local well known crackhead/shoplifter, who'd been banned fom Walmart, trying to return stolen goods. In addition, Lady Crackhead had approximately $6,000 worth of warrants. As my monthly activity sheet was looking kind sparse, being able to claim an arrest and all those warrants served sounded good. It'd look good to the Lt, who judged how well a job you were doing by the number of arrests you made. I quickened the pace, never thinking there might be a reason all of the rest of the shift had suddenly found important police business to attend to..

When I arrived, there indeed, was my catch. A black lady of around thirty who looked sixty, "Rose" was well known in the department. She knew us by name. Rose enjoyed dressing ghetto fabulous. Sequined shirts in loud colors, skintight jeans, usually neon green or red, always stained- ick-  and her fingernails. Oh lord, the fingernails....She would grow her own nails out, then would glue garishly painted and sequined fake nails on top of them. This day, they were red, and approximately nine inches long.

" Now, Rose, you know you ain't supposed to be here", I said. "Yes, sir, I knows, but I had to return this stuff..." She looked around. Having dealt with her before, I knew what she was thinking. She was getting ready to move out, without me... I moved to intercept her. Her way of escape cut off, she looked over at the small child, a boy of around 6, that was with her. " Let me step out to the front of the store and get his sister to watch him. She's in a car there by the door."

Not wanting to arrest her in front of her child, I walked with her to the front of the store, where suddenly the car came up missing. Surprise, surprise. At this, Rose decided to go back inside. As we walked back into the store, I took hold of her arm, explaining she was going to have to go with me. We'd deal with the child at the police department. Evidently, I touched the "Run like Hades" button on her arm, and she took off like a rocket bound for Mars.

I wasn't about to let this happen. I took it kinda personal when someone didn't like talking to me to the point of running from me. Not only that, wasn't no way I was gonna let it get back to the police department that I'd been outran by Rose. I took off after her, blasting through a crowded Walmart, in front of half the town. Did I mention it was Friday? You know, the day EVERYBODY gets paid and goes to Walmart?

I caught her by the jewelry rack. Over the countertop we went, taking a display stand of watches and earring with us. Rose had suddenly decided to use her claws, literally, and was scratching the fire out of me. After a brief skirmish, myself and two store employees got her cuffed. Out the door we marched, with the customers cheering. Cheering for me, I assumed, although they may have been for her. At any rate, I was boiling. (I have quite the temper that I struggle with)

I threw her into the back of my car with her cussing loudly and slammed the door. I told the store employees I'd be back to gather information in a bit, and climbed into my patrol car with Rose, who was NOT going into that dark night quietly. After loudly declaring that I was an illegitimate son of a dog, among other things, Rose emphasized her statement by kicking the back of the car seat in front of her, with a kick that would've made a Missouri mule envious.

This kick was the worst possible thing that she could've done, from my standpoint. It caused my beloved, deserved and as yet virign cobbler to do a swan's dive into the floorboard. The dive it took would've made an Olympic swimmer proud. It did somersaults and triple twists. Unfortunantly, it blew the landing. Suddenly there was cobbler from one end of my cruiser to the other, and I was so mad I was nearly speechless. I roared like an angry grizzly and my blood pressure went through the roof. Into the station we went, with Rose in a full head of steam and me matching her, bellow for bellow.

My sergeant came out of the dispatch center to see what was going on. Taking in the sight- 1) Long nailed crackhead with torn clothes cursing 2) one short cop boiling mad and nearly cursing, with a huge scratch on his neck and what appeared to be cobbler on his uniform.

Sarge correctly deduced this was not a good thing, since his officer, who he'd bragged on for not loosing his cool in most any situation, was screaming at the top of his voice that this stupid crackhead had spilt his cobbler..... Sarge calmly took the suspect from me and locked her in a holding cell...then turned around, laughing so hard he was crying.

The trustee cleaned up the cobbler. Rose was charged with every charge I could locate in the law book and locked down. The entire shift sympathized to my face over my lost cobbler, but amongst themselves considered it poetic justice. As for me- everytime I saw Rose, I tried to find a reason to arrest her legitimately. Years later, she asked me why I hated her. I explained I didn't. She thought for a moment and said- "I'm sorry about the cobbler." I nearly lost it all over again.......... :laughhard:
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

SippinTea

"Not everything that is of God is easy." -Elona

"When you're wildly in love with someone, it changes everything." -F. Chan

"A real live hug anytime you want it is priceless." -Rachel

mini

DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

MelodyB

Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today?