Serve and Protect

“Is that all you have to do? I need to have your job!”

           

She quickly walked past while dropping her verbal payload. It was sarcastic, condescending, and void of scrutiny. I smiled, not because it was funny but out of obligation.

I could have said, “Where were you when I was picking up the pieces of a car wreck that killed three women and a baby? or where were you when I was waiting on the fire department to bring a ladder to cut down a man hanging by his neck in an oak tree? or where were you when I listened to the confessions of murderers, robbers, rapists, and thieves?” but I didn’t. I knew what to expect when I pinned on the badge 25 years ago, and I, like many others, took the motto “To Serve and Protect” to be more than a cliché. Some of us really believe we are called by God to do mankind's difficult chores.

           

Historically, lawmen in the United States have been pretty good at protecting. They are eager to respond to danger, right wrongs, stop violence, and risk personal safety for the sake of others. Unique among public servants, they proactively seek to stop danger, abuse, and violence before it occurs. They search for unsafe motorists, drunk drivers, suspicious persons wandering in the night, and thieves who wish to steal your possessions. Of course police sometimes make disastrous decisions, overreact, or stretch the limits of their authority, but protecting people and their property remains the most important duty of government. Without protection, civilization cannot exist; however, protection alone can be indiscriminate, brutal, and out of balance. Law enforcement protection must be more than brute force to be effective, and the thing that tempers it for maximum affect is service.

Many people think service is simply seeking justice for victims, and that is partially true, but an attitude of service changes the way we protect law violators as well as victims. It reminds police officers that humanity is vulnerable and fragile. It helps protect police officers from themselves. It keeps protection objective rather than subjective, and it reminds cops that they represent something bigger than themselves. Protection and service are two sides of the same coin. To be done correctly, protection cannot be separated from service. So, what does law enforcement service look like?

1)      It is non-judgmental. This is hard because law enforcement requires discretion and judgment. Cops must make a determination on many things like if a crime actually took place, how serious was it, who did it and where are they, and is there probable cause for arrest. These are daily chores for cops, and to make matters more difficult, experience teaches them that people are deceptive on various levels. Cops must make judgments, but they must not be judgmental. They must refrain from applying moral standards on victims, witnesses, and even suspects.

2)      It listens for the purpose of understanding. This is the art of empathy. Empathy invokes sensitivity in the hearer and causes him to vicariously feel the experiences, thoughts, and feelings of the person he is listening to. Empathy has been described as walking in another person’s shoes or looking deep into a person’s soul. True service includes listening and understanding with empathy.

3)      It brings reason to people at the most difficult moments of their lives. Most people cops come into contact with are distracted from reality due to a number of factors including drugs, alcohol, anger, depression, anguish, envy, greed, mental illness, etc. Serving people means changing their perspective by reminding them of what is true, important, and best. Changing perspectives takes time and care.

4)      It doesn’t take things personally. Wise cops recognize verbal attacks as merely attacks on what they represent which is the authority of the state under God. Police officers do not subjectively enforce laws of their own making; they enforce the objective laws of the state, country, and ultimately God. An attitude of service saves cops hours of misery by giving them the ability to deflect the verbal smut thrown at them by distracted people. In this country, self-expression is deemed a right, and cops cannot justify use of force to protect themselves from words. Service teaches cops to compartmentalize insults, criticism, and hatred. Service understands that it doesn’t matter what a person says as long as they obey the law.    

The service of properly responding to people is law enforcement’s greatest asset in protecting the public and results in people feeling truly protected. It also helps cops respond properly to unsolicited insinuations they are lazy and could be replaced by self-righteous busybodies.

My service to the woman who made the accusation was refusing to be offended by her. My protection was hiding her from the horrors of my occupation which are very real.

The Woman on the Sidewalk

As I write this I am looking out on Las Vegas Strip from my hotel room balcony on the 36th floor of MGM Signature Hotel, Tower 3. It is an incredible view on a beautiful day in March. It is cool (low 60s), and the morning sun is shining on the brown and burgundy mountains in the distance. There are a few low clouds on some of the mountains and snow is visible on the highest peaks. More importantly, for the three days I have been here, I have not seen a mosquito, fly, or biting insect.

There is excitement in the air in Vegas, always excitement. It is the town that has learned to feed our lust for contentment, that counterfeit impulse that tells us we can be happy if we just strike it rich. There are lights, beautiful buildings, towers, ceilings with blue skies and clouds over head, fountains, pirate ships, palaces, pyramids, and lots of people. Everything in this city is designed to attract and distract, to appeal to our base desires, to remove our inhibitions and ultimately to make us happy, but it’s a lie, a Hollywood lie…or more correctly, a Garden of Eden lie.

Just yesterday afternoon my son Levi and I braved the crowds on Las Vegas Strip to see some of the attractions. We were on the side walk walking away from the Bellagio fountains toward the Strip. I looked in front of us toward the six lanes of traffic and saw a woman lying on the sidewalk about ten feet from the curb. It was apparent that she had just fallen down and was possibly injured. A man was standing on one side of her, looking back and forth, and a young woman was on her other side. The three of them looked like an island in a river of moving people. The young woman was consoling her while the man stood over her to restrain the stampede.

I picked up the pace and mumbled something about the woman to Levi, but I don’t think he heard me. He stayed right behind me as we maneuvered through the throng. I wanted to go over and check to see if she was alright, but the crowd was thick and full of highly motivated people. We were going nowhere fast. Distances, like everything else in Vegas, are very deceptive, and they were further away from us than it appeared.

As we got closer, Levi and I were swarmed by men trying to hand us cards with almost naked women on them. They were like baseball cards for prostitutes. I walked straight through the flesh peddlers with Levi in my wake and ignored them. We were almost in reach of the woman laying on the sidewalk, when a young man threw himself in front us and stuck a home-made CD in my face. It happened so quickly that I blocked his hand holding the CD and almost pushed him on top of his fellow pan handlers. He yelled to anyone who would listen, that I was a racist who didn’t appreciate Rap music. What I didn’t appreciate was that he was a few feet away from a person in need, and he was oblivious to her and stood in the way of someone who wanted to help.  He had a real opportunity to help but he didn’t.

By the time we waded through pornographers, musicians, and gamblers, the woman was on her feet and being led away by the younger woman. She seemed disoriented, but they moved away from us as if they were caught in a riptide of people. Meanwhile the man who was with her was still standing there. I asked him, “Are you all OK?” He looked at me with a blank stare, and then walked away, appearing as if he was overwhelmed.

Apparently the woman was alright or at least good enough to be led out of the fray. Fortunately she was not alone that day because if she was, the crowd would have walked on her as if she was concrete or asphalt.

What I saw on Las Vegas Strip on that sunny day was a picture of what happens all around us every day. There are vulnerable people who fall down emotionally on the sidewalks of our lives, and if we aren’t paying attention, we will pass them by. We are often too busy with our own pursuits to even notice them. We are fully capable of rendering aid, but we have our own goals in mind: goals of happiness, desire, and financial gain. Meanwhile, the vulnerable crumple under our feet, and if they don’t move, we might just trample them.

But Christ is rich in mercy, and he says, “Come to me all that are weary and heavy laden…” And we are Christ’s. If we will strive to be like him we must seek the hurting. O that God would give us eyes to see those in need, ears to listen to them and wisdom to lead them to the throne of grace.

The Wedding Day: Of Daddies, Daughters, and Marriage...

           

            A man shouldn't dread the fact that his daughter is getting married, but I do. I tried to put it off, but the inevitable will happen on Saturday...barring divine intervention. You might say I am being selfish, and you would be right because I am going to miss my little girl so much it hurts.
            I will miss the spontaneity, the endless energy, the smiles, and even the impatience and frustrations. I will miss knowing that my little girl is sound asleep at night in her white four poster bed with a pink quilt on top, just down the hall from her mother and me. I will miss the frantic efforts to get ready for school and work, the times when she is at home relaxing, the impromptu meals, and the late night marathons of studying, but it is inevitable. The time of parting has come, and it looms like a dark cloud.

            I have regrets of things I should have done, didn't do, or messed up on, but my sorrow has nothing to do with those things. My pain is the result of the things that went right in our home, the days and moments when there were no bad decisions, misunderstandings, or hurtful words. Those days when I hugged my little girl, looked in her eyes and heard the words, "I love you daddy." Those days when she was in my arms safe and sound or up on my shoulders as we walked miles, and it was no burden. There were many days I watched my little girl, and I wondered why God blessed me with my own little angel. 
            I remember her second birthday when she waited on the stairs by the front door with her blond curls shining golden in the sunlight waiting for grandparents and aunts and uncles to arrive to surround her with love they couldn't hide. She was so excited to see them, and yet shy about the attention she was receiving. 
            There was a bad time not so long ago when I was away from home for a few days, picking up the pieces of other peoples violence. I came home at 3 am and walked in the door quietly because it was too late for women and children to be awake. I tiptoed to my children's room just to look at them and know that they were there: safe and warm. Hours earlier, I listened to the confessions of savage men who had done unspeakable things, and as I looked on those three, beautiful children I was overcome. I knelt beside the bed and thanked God for his protection and kindness to me and my family, and I heard a little voice whisper, "Daddy." It was my girl. She smiled at me, and I held her hand until she went back to sleep.
            There were struggles at school from a little girl who could not stand to leave her momma, but somehow she learned to make it through the day. But learning it seemed, at least the school book kind, did not come so easy. We held our breath at every test and meandered through grade school until one day in middle school, on her own, my little girl determined to learn the secret of how to excel, and she did! I dare say her brilliance does not originate from natural born intelligence (after all she is my child), but instead, in striving with diligence, in refusing to give up, and in hard work. From these, she has learned to succeed and now determines to teach others her secret that they may succeed as well.

            On this mid-summer afternoon just hours away from her wedding, I can honestly, albeit regretfully say that she is no longer a little girl, she is a woman. A woman with a beauty like unto her mother's; a woman of depth and charm. Though I thought it would never be, my little girl is a woman, setting out for a life of her own. A woman who does not need to be carried on her daddy's shoulders anymore or told what is right and wrong.

            Olivia, my little "Sissy"... I no longer carry you on my shoulders, but I will always, always carry you in my heart, for you are my heart and the best part of me. Go my love, go! Go with God, go with John-Michael, and just as in our time together you've made me a better man, do the same for him, but never forget that you will always be your daddy's little girl...

With love,

Dad

Everything I Need in Law Enforcement I Learned in Sunday School

Law enforcement has always been a thankless job. It has become the most scrutinized occupation in the country. Everyone has an opinion on how police should do their job and anything short of flowers, good manners, and a happy ending is quickly and relentlessly criticized. This leaves little room for error, and every cop knows error can be deadly in more ways than one.

There are many academic requirements for police. Cadets are taught about the Constitution, state laws, local laws, and policy and procedure. When they go on full duty, they are expected to know each revised statue pertaining to everything from bear wrestling and loud mufflers to first degree murder, and yet intelligence is not the only qualification necessary for police. They must also train their fine motor skills to the point where they can direct a high powered projectile from the barrel of a pistol at a distance of 25 yards into the circumference of a garbage can lid. In addition, police go through annual training in defensive tactics, down fighting, baton techniques, and less than lethal force.

But skill and intelligence are not enough. Every law enforcement officer is expected to use their knowledge and skills perfectly in dire situations when they are exhausted, distracted, and fooled into believing that a desperate person that has broken the law is going to be cooperative, polite and reasonable. The result is stress, danger, and constant scrutiny by supervisors, upper management, victims, offenders, the media, the court system, and the general public. It is a thankless job.

Police training is good and necessary. After twenty five years in law enforcement, I have had thousands of hours in training; however, I have found the best training I ever received was what I learned as a child in Sunday School. It is those lessons that have endured and helped me survive. Here are a few:

1.     "There is no good, no not one..." This verse is found in Psalm 14:3 and restated by Paul in Romans 3:11. Contrary to popular culture, this verse says no one is good. Mankind is self-seeking, and we look to our own devices for guidance and comfort. Simply put, this biblical truth relates to original sin and the nature of all human beings. It does not mean people are incapable of doing good things, or that they are as bad as they could possibly be. It means all people in their natural state are incapable of being perfectly righteous or holy. It means our life goal at birth is to please ourselves rather than God. We claim self-ownership rather than submit to the ownership of God. We want contentment and will go to extremes  to get it: drugs, drunkenness, wrongful sex, and even violence. This fact about our human nature is a good thing to know when you have the task of serving and protecting the public. It explains why people break traffic laws, steal, become violent, tell lies, commit sex crimes, murder, and everything else imaginable. This lesson also reminds us about ourselves as law enforcement officers. Knowing the deficiencies of our natural character should caution us when we exercise authority over others.
2.     "God resists the proud and gives grace to the humble." Though there are many aspects of pride, perhaps the most prevalent is an attitude of independence. A proud person insists on doing things his own way. He refuses to be taught, corrected or led. On the other hand, humble people place themselves under the authority of God or more specifically, Christ. Law enforcement officers must remember we are under the authority of local government, the state, the nation, and God.
3.     "Beware he who thinks he stands, lest he fall..." 1 Corinthians 10:12. In Sunday School, I learned I was not always right. This is an important fact for police officers to remember. Our subjective feelings are of little importance. We must only act on objective facts and control our hunches and biases.
4.     "The eyes of The Lord are everywhere beholding the evil and good," Proverbs 15:3. The lesson here is that God knows everything, but we do not. There are times in law enforcement when it appears someone committed a crime, but there is too little or no evidence to prove it. We must do all we can in the pursuit of justice, but we can't do everything. Sometimes we have to leave the mysteries and the unexplained with God and hope there is new information in the future.
5.     "Vengeance is mine saith the Lord, I will repay." This lesson from Hebrews 10:30 is important to remember when those of us in law enforcement experience the deficiencies of the criminal justice system. It often seems criminals get away with crime and no one cares, but we must not have a vigilante attitude. We should never take matters into our own hands because God has clearly told us he holds everyone accountable for their actions, and He is the ultimate judge and avenger.
6.     "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," is the Golden Rule from Matthew 7:12. All training in human relations and communication comes down to this simple sentence given to us by Jesus two thousand years ago. We should ask ourselves how we want police officers to treat our children, spouses, and parents, and we should treat people we come in contact with the same way.
7.     "Love your neighbor as yourself." This is the second great commandment found in Mark 12:31. Though it is similar to the Golden Rule, it is different in attitude. Whereas the Golden Rule deals with actions, the second great commandment goes further. This Sunday School lesson emphasizes a continual good will toward others as Christ exhibited to people when He was here on earth. Jesus was very good at putting himself in other people’s shoes. He humbled himself and became a man, so he could experience firsthand the pain, temptation, and difficulties you and I experience. This ability to emotionally and mentally place ourselves in another person's life is called empathy, and it is an essential skill for all cops.
8.     "Judge not that you be not judged," is from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 7:1. Of all the passages in the New Testament, this one is perhaps the most misunderstood. It is not a prohibition against discretion or evaluating people and situations; instead, the context shows it is a warning against hypocrisy, the kind that condemns others and excuses ourselves. As a cop and a Christian, I must not condemn or despise anyone.
9.     "There is one who speaks rashly like the thrusts of a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing," Proverbs 12:18. The Bible is full of warnings about controlling our tongues. This Sunday School lesson reminds us we all have the capacity for verbal violence, or we can bring emotional and spiritual healing with our words. Provocative words can easily start a fight, but wise words can change people’s perspective.
10.  “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” This lesson from 1 Corinthians 10:31 brings us to the bottom line because it reveals our purpose in life. Knowing God created me to please him helps me recognize the difference between right and wrong, and it removes the pressure of imagining there are worldly pursuits that will give me fulfillment. Since my purpose for living is to please God, I strive to do so regardless of my circumstances, and the result is contentment.

These lessons are helpful, but they are not fully effective without the gospel. The gospel of Jesus Christ did not become personal to me until I was 21 years old. The lessons I learned in Sunday School helped me understand the gospel, and understanding is the first step of faith. The second step of faith is to affirm the objective truth of the gospel and our own personal sinfulness. These first two steps are essential, but faith is not complete until it is accomplished through Christ alone in the third step: assimilation. Assimilation is the great exchange. It is trusting Christ to take the punishment for our sin on himself while he gives us his righteousness in return. For us, God exchanged the punishment of sin with the righteousness of Christ, so that when God sees us, he sees Jesus. Here is how the Apostle Paul described it in 2 Corinthians 5:21: “For our sake God made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

Why Christmas?

Why Christmas? 

The lights? Food? Baby in a manger? 

If you spent time in Sunday School, you know the answer to every question is Jesus, and that is true here. No Jesus…no Christmas. No Jesus…no Christianity, but it doesn’t explain the why of Christmas. For the answer, we have to go beyond the dazzling lights in our neighborhood, the carols on the radio, and even a manager surrounded by shepherds. The why goes back to the start.

In the beginning… 

Mankind is God’s own handiwork, created in his image to do one thing: glorify him. Glorify means to please. It’s the reason people have children. We want our children to glorify or please us, and it’s no different with God. He wants his children to please him, but there’s a problem we cannot ignore. Sin entered the human race through the head of our family, Adam, and now, every child of Adam is born with the same affliction: we want to please ourselves rather than the God who created us. This is sin, and it explains why we are selfish and self-determined. We see it in our children the moment they are born, and if we’re honest, we see it in ourselves, but why does it matter? It matters because the ultimate result of sin is death; ten out of ten people die.

The only way to defeat the effect of sin/death is righteousness which is perfect moral character. The Bible tells us, “Without holiness, no one will see God.” Since we weren’t born righteous, and we can’t earn or win it, we must have righteousness from somewhere else. The proud person sets his will to the work of being good and doing good. He believes he can be good by what he accomplishes.

God resists the proud…but he gives grace to the humble.

A humble person fears God and can do nothing except receive righteousness from somewhere else because he has no righteousness of his own. Only the humble will admit their goodness is like giving their dirty laundry to a holy God. They are desperately needy for goodness they don’t have and cannot produce.

Humble sinners are the only ones qualified to be Christians. They are the only ones who can receive God’s righteousness in Jesus Christ. The proud, self-righteous can never receive Christ’s righteousness because God resists them, but those who humble themselves, repent, and believe on Christ as their only hope are those who receive salvation through Christ...not by works of righteousness that they have done, but because of God’s mercy in Christ alone.

Christianity is the righteousness of Jesus Christ received by a sinner, and that is why Christmas is a special day to those who bear the name Christian. It is the day when we remember there is no greater gift than the gift of righteousness. It is the time we remember Christ is our righteousness, and we have peace with God through him. The Apostle Paul describes why those who wear the name of Christ have peace on earth and good will to men: "Jesus saves us from the wrath to come." (1 Thessalonians 1:10) The humble, repentant sinner spends the rest of his life in gratitude to the one who took his punishment upon himself on the cross. Thus even the name of Jesus, the day of his birth, the essence of his life, and the blood he spilled is precious. "Unto you therefore which believe He is precious..." (1 Peter 2:7)

Merry Christmas...merry because Jesus died in the place of helpless sinners.
Peace on Earth...peaceful...because we have peace with God since Jesus experienced God's wrath for our sin upon himself.
Good Will Toward Men...because there is hope for humanity because Jesus was born, died on the cross, and rose again the third day.

The Showdown

On March 1, 1988, I stood before Caddo Parish Sheriff Don Hathaway with my right hand held high and swore to uphold the laws of the state and parish. I left the courthouse and went to my assignment at Caddo Detention Center in Springridge, 8 miles from my house. Caddo Detention Center, or CDC, was the parish lock-up housing over 500 inmates. 

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I got my paycheck early due to the long holiday weekend. I folded it in half and tucked it in the right pocket of my uniform shirt. I was working West Max, the maximum security part of the jail located on the west side of the compound. West Max housed over 80 inmates with a high bond for serious crimes or a history of repeated offenses. Like all jails, CDC had a laundry list of rules, and deputies were expected to enforce them. One of those rules was inmates could not wear hats or anything on their heads when they came out of their cells. I never considered whether any of the rules made sense, I just believed my effectiveness as a law enforcement officer depended on my ability to enforce them, and I would be effective or die.

Inmate recreation was a special time of day for prisoners. Twice every day and three times during the summer, the inmates were allowed to get out of their cells so they could exercise, play games like cards or basketball, or they could simply enjoy being out of the confines of their cells for awhile. Afternoon rec started at 1 pm and lasted for two hours.

I opened cell doors in the cage in West Max that morning, letting inmates out of their cells for recreation. Two other deputies were outside in the Rec Yard known as the bullpen. The bullpen was a rectangular area of concrete surrounded by high fences and topped off with four rolls of razor wire to discourage climbing. The razor wire was extremely effective, for I know of only two inmates who braved it during my three years at CDC, and they ended up cut and bloody.

When I opened the doors of the cells that day, the West Max inmates were neatly dressed in red jumpsuits. They filed out of their cells, eager to get outside to the bullpen. I wasn’t a person to them. They considered me a part of the institution like the walls, wire, steel, and concrete. They didn’t know I was there unless my presence could benefit them in some way. As long as I did not interfere with their entertainment, recreation, meals, or animal impulses, all was well.

An inmate filed past me, tying a blue bandana on his head. The bandana was contraband and wearing it was a double offense. It was my duty to inform him and the reason I drew a paycheck.

“Marcus Turner (not his real name) do not put that bandana on your head. You know it’s against the rules.”

Marcus didn’t look up. He tied the bandana on his head as if I never spoke to him. I was in the cage and unable to stop him, and there was no need to overreact. Maybe he would change his mind and remove the bandana before I went outside. It’s always best to give people the benefit of the doubt.

I finished letting inmates out of their cells. I checked all four tier doors, made sure they were locked, and made everyone standing around go outside. With everything secure behind me I walked into the sunshine of the bullpen on an unusually warm and pleasant day. It didn’t take me long to spot Marcus. He was doing pushups near the north fence with a blue bandana on his head. I took my time so the pushups would wear him down. Deputy Kevin Dunn was standing on the far side of the bullpen fence. Kevin was a Floater that day which meant he did not have an assigned post. Floaters escorted inmates on the compound, relieved deputies, and did whatever the sergeants told them to do. Floaters were automatically assigned to the Response Team. The Response Team responded to all calls of emergency which included fires, fights, and deputies needing back-up. Before I confronted Marcus Taylor, I let my co-workers, including Kevin, know what I was about to do.

It was rumored that Marcus Turner was a Vietnam vet which was something every deputy respected. He was muscular and tattooed in a day when only cons and soldiers wore ink. On his back in a grand curve of large Old English letters he had his last name “T-U-R-N-E-R” spelled out. He was hateful and known for fighting with deputies.

When I reached Marcus, there was a hush throughout the bullpen. It was a bad sign I should have heeded. All eyes were on me.

“Marcus…I told you not to put that bandana on your head. It’s time for you to go back to your cell. Rec’s all over for you my man.”

Marcus expressed his distain with two words consisting of a verb and the pronoun ‘you’ in a common phrase heard often behind cell doors. I ordered him to his cell, but he refused. His words were a spark in a tinder box. Inmates surrounded me. Marcus was directly in front of me while Geoffrey Palmer (not his real name) closed in on my left. Geoff was short but powerfully built. His upper lip snarled like a dog revealing a mouth full of white teeth and one gold one in the middle. He was inches away from me. I told him to step back. There were two deputies with me, but they were by the back fence watching. 

With Geoffrey Palmer on my left, and Marcus Turner in front of me, the other inmates made a large circle around us. It was incredibly intimidating. Geoffrey and Marcus refused to move, so I took a full step back to create distance, but when I did, Palmer followed. I took another step back, and he followed. Before he had time to think, I dropped low, grabbed his knees, and plunged forward. With a big upper body, Palmer upended easily. I took him to the ground, quick and hard. As he fell, he ripped the pocket off of my uniform shirt, and my paycheck fell to the pavement. I pinned Palmer’s arms to the ground and sat on his chest, and then a weight crashed down on my back. Instinctively, I brought my left hand up to my throat as an arm circled my neck. It was Marcus Turner putting me in a choke hold. His beard bristled the back of my head.

I was on top of one prisoner and had another on my back. Palmer squirmed beneath me while Turner squeezed my neck with everything he had. The only thing that kept me conscious was my hand between his arm and my throat.

I knew techniques for getting out of choke holds, but I couldn’t let Palmer go. I held my own with Turner until more weight dropped on my back causing me to put my hands on the concrete in a modified push up position. The pressure on my neck lessened until Marcus’ arm dropped away. It was Kevin Dunn who saw what was happening and put Marcus Turner in a neck restraint and rendered him unconscious.

The rest of the Response Team arrived and cleaned up the mess around me while I remained on top of Geoffrey Palmer. When the dust settled, a sergeant told me to get off Palmer. After 9 months experience, I considered Palmer to be under arrest, and I wasn’t going to let him up without handcuffs. I told the sergeant so, but he ordered me to get up. The moment I did, Geoffrey stood up and squared off with me. We were back in the same position we were in earlier until Deputy Bubba Richardson saw what was going on and stepped between us. I reached down to pick up my paycheck, but it was gone. The check had my home address on it.

A week later, there was a disturbance in West Max. I was on the respond team that day and responded. The disturbance was resolved quickly, but on my way out, I passed Marcus Turner’s cell. Turner spoke when I passed, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I approached his cell.

“You got something to say?”

“I know where you live. You’re a dead man.” He turned his back and said nothing more. My paycheck had found its way to the felon, and he knew exactly where I lived.

Marcus Turner had a network outside cell walls. Over the next week, his friends in the free world found out where my wife and Bubba Richardson’s girlfriend worked. I didn’t tell Colleen for fear of alarming her. For the next months, I slept lightly. I hid guns throughout the house, didn’t leave home unarmed, and I saw Colleen off to work every day.  

Every inmate involved in the disturbance in West Max was punished for violating jail rules. Marcus Turner and Geoffrey Palmer were charged with battery on a police officer, found guilty, and sentenced to six extra months in jail. But it wasn’t over.

In early 1988, Sergeant Jim Reed worked day shift with weekends off as the classification officer. That summer, Jim left the Sheriff’s Office and went to work for the Post Office. Things didn’t work out, so he returned to the Sheriff’s Office, but he was no longer a sergeant. To humble him further, he was assigned to my shift at CDC. He was fifteen years older than the rest of us, a former sergeant, and a stranger to the deputies supervising inmates. While the rest of us were known by our first names, everyone called him Mr. Reed.

When I returned to work in West Max in December of 1988, Mr. Reed and I worked there together along with another deputy. The day started with a headcount and then recreation. That morning I assumed my usual role of letting inmates out of their cells and making them go outside to the bullpen.

I finished letting the inmates out on the upstairs’ tier and then went downstairs to let the rest of the inmates out. Things went quickly on the lower south tier, but when I went to the lower north tier things slowed down. It took a few minutes and some strong words to usher a couple of inmates out. One inmate was rather slow and confused about what he was supposed to be doing. Perhaps it was his first full day behind bars. I walked him down the tier to make sure he went outside. When I got to the end of the tier, I turned and shut the bar door and pulled it to make sure it was locked. When I turned back, around Geoffrey Palmer and another inmate were directly in front of me, waiting.

The inmate who had been loitering on the tier was nowhere to be found. I was blocked in. I had metal bars behind me and on my right side, a brick wall on my left and my two friends were directly in front of me. If I turned my back and tried to unlock the door to escape, I was sure to be ambushed. I knew what was at stake, but I followed my use of force policy. “You guys need to head on outside right now.” It was a clear and unambiguous command, yet I had no expectation that they would obey it.

I dropped my right foot back, lowered my center of gravity and tightly gripped the giant jail keys in my right fist.  My plan was simple: the first one to move toward me was getting my booted foot in his groin. The second one would receive a handful of keys in the throat. Both inmates had their hands in fists at their hips. I couldn’t see Geoffrey’s right hand. I stared at the middle of their chests and waited, but a deep voice interrupted. “No one is supposed to be on the tier…get outside now!” It was Mr. Reed.

Geoffrey and the other inmate looked at me, looked at each other, dropped their heads and walked out to the bullpen. Mr. Reed suspected something was wrong and came inside to check on me at the perfect moment. His presence was enough to change the odds and cause Geoffrey to recognize their intentions had been thwarted. Both Mr. Reed and I knew what was at stake.

The next morning in shift meeting, we found out evening shift searched Geoffrey’s cell and found a shank made from a large piece of wire. That shank was for me. I knew it. Mr. Reed it.

Jim Reed retired as a Lieutenant but died two years later in September, 2011. I will always be grateful to him. In his final act of generosity, he donated his body to science for medical research.

The Man in the Middle of the Road

In 2009 I was assigned to the Youth Services Division with the Caddo Parish Sheriff’s Office. On Thursday morning, September 30, 2010, I was on my way to work on I-220 near Cross Lake in Shreveport when I heard a voice on the radio that got my attention. It was Art Thompson. Art was 3 months shy of having 30 years with the Sheriff’s Office. He was a former Marine, and someone you could count on in a tight spot.

“Headquarters I’m on South Lakeshore. There has been a motorcycle accident and there is a man lying in the middle of the road!”

Art had been a patrolman for years, but he transferred to the Civil Department five years earlier. Civil Deputies serve notices, subpoenas, seizure notifications, and anything else the courts find necessary to distribute. They usually start their days early to catch people at home, and they drive unmarked cars.

I wasn’t assigned to Patrol, but it sounded like Art needed some help. I listened as several patrolmen responded. All of them were further away than I was, so I turned off I-220 at Lakeshore Drive and drove to South Lakeshore. After a couple of miles, I came to a left hand curve and saw Art and his car on the south side of the road. A few feet away, a man was lying at an angle in the east bound lane of traffic. Cars were were passing near him. I drove around him, went past Art’s car, and parked my car in the opposite lane.

I opened my trunk and grabbed a yellow disposable blanket to cover the man. He was lying on his left side, with his left arm under him, and his right arm stretched out in front of him. He was a white male with a white beard, wearing an expensive motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, and riding boots, but there was no motorcycle in sight.

“You alright brother?” 

Art was east bound on South Lakeshore when he saw a deer run out in front of a motorcycle coming toward him. The motorcyclist was thrown in the crash. Art slammed on his brakes and just missed being a part of the collision. He was shaken but unhurt. I told him we had to shut down both lanes of traffic to prevent another accident. I started to spread the blanket over the man when I noticed he was breathing.

It was a helpless situation. Before I could attend to the victim, we had to shut down all traffic to keep another tragedy from occurring, so I turned my back on a man who was perhaps in the last moments of his life. I went to the east bound side, Art went west.

A car was stopped in front of my car and a man was standing beside it looking at the crash scene. I asked him to pull his car up to mine to block the road, and I ran back to the victim. When I got back to him, he was still breathing. I wish I could have sat down, pulled him in my lap, and held him, but he was so fragile I was afraid to even hold his hand. Instead, I bent down beside him and let him know he was not alone.

I have heard stories about unconscious people who could hear what was going on around them and waking up later to tell what they heard when they were unconscious. If the stories were true, the well being of the unconscious man in front of me might depend on someone encouraging him, so I got down on my hands and knees, leaned over him, and talked to him. 

“You’re gonna be alright man! Don’t give up…help is on the way. It won’t be long. You can do it!”

There was no response, but I felt like he knew I was there. He struggled to inhale and then exhaled noisily, like someone snoring.

“Keep going…keep going! You’re doing great. The ambulance is on the way. They have everything you need. It won’t be long now. We’re going to take care of you friend. Keep holding on, you’re doing great.”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered behind me, but I focused on the man in the road. He needed me, or at least I thought he did. As long as he was alive there was hope. He was wearing a helmet, so I spoke loudly.

“Dear Lord…I ask you to be with this man. Give him strength, give him life. Help him to hope in you.” 

His breathing changed. This time he exhaled slowly for a long time, and at the end, he stopped breathing altogether. 

Though a stranger to me, the tragedy of a man who was made in the image of God dying in front me was overwhelming. I considered his ultimate destiny and wondered where he would go. If he must die, I thought, let him at least hear some good news as he departs, so I slapped my hand on the pavement making a noise loud enough to wake the dead.

“Don’t do it! Don’t give in! They’re almost here. You can make it! Trust in Jesus…cast yourself on Him! He can help you.”

I wasn’t going to give up until it was over, and it wasn’t over yet. Within a few seconds, he inhaled deeply. 

“That’s it! You’re gonna make it. They’re coming. Hang on and call out to Jesus…”

 

I talked with him and quoted scriptures I memorized as a child, and he continued to breathe. This went on for ten minutes. When the paramedics arrived, I reluctantly stepped away so they could do their good work.

Other deputies arrived on scene. They had clip boards and measuring tapes to gather information for their report. By the side of the road, we found a beautiful 8 point Buck, a victim of the collision. Deputies searched diligently for the motorcycle but couldn’t find it. Thirty minutes later, Patrolman Jermaine Kelly found it 300 feet down the road against a fence behind some bushes. He ran the plate, and it returned to William Steen.

I grew up near sighted until 1997 when Dr. William Steen performed laser surgery on my eyes. I haven’t worn glasses since. Dr Steen was a pioneer ophthalmologist in Shreveport and founded Steen-Hall Eye Institute on the campus of Willis Knighton North Hospital. He was an airplane pilot, and he rode motorcycles.

Life Air One landed in the front yard of a Cross Lake mansion. A crowd of people watched as the doctor was loaded in the helicopter. When he was gone, I asked the paramedics if he would make it.

“He was breathing on his own and had a pulse when he left.”

After lunch, I called the hospital. They told me Dr. steen’s internal injuries were severe, and he didn’t make it.

Life gives us occasional reminders that things won’t always be pleasant. Tragedies happen, and death changes our priorities. It reminds us we are vulnerable. We don’t want to think about it because it doesn't fit our plans. We want life to go on forever without pain, suffering, and death, but sin has sealed our destiny. Our only hope is to be prepared beforehand. 

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” ~ Jesus in Matthew 11:28-30