You Can Never Go Home Again  


“You can never go home again,” is something they say. Ok, but if home is where the heart is, we go home every day. No, they’re saying, you can’t go back to your childhood home ever again. I lived in my dad’s house for twenty years, and then I moved somewhere else a bunch of times for the next twenty years. After my dad passed on, I moved back into my dad’s home, and I went home again. It’s a different home now, but it’s still home, and it’s the same home I grew up in. 

“How can you stand it there?” the theys ask when they find out what city you call home. “It must be so boring.” Ok, but I view home as the place we return to after we go out. I don’t think time at home should be exciting. The definition of home should be home base, or place we return to after our exciting adventures.  

“That’s kind of the point,” they say. “Where do you go in your small city/big town to have exciting adventures?” 

“I realize you live in a bigger city with more people in it,” we say to them, “but what are you doing outside your home that is so much more exciting?”   

“I’m saying you don’t have as many options as we do.” Ok, but anytime we put a bunch of people together, they develop things to do. They post about functions and get-togethers, they build buildings to do things in, and they pay people to come to our city to entertain us. What are you doing that’s so much better? What’s the difference between Big City entertainment and Big Town/Small City entertainment?” No one has even been able to answer those latter two questions in a way that made me rethink my relative definitions of home, boring, and things to do. 

When residents of big towns, and small cities want to go out and have big adventures, they travel to “exciting” locales with their “exotic” sights, and when they’re done, they can’t wait to return to their boring home in their boring hometown.  

The big city, city slicker cannot imagine living in a city as small as small as ours, because they’re just too exciting, and they have to constantly have exciting things to do. That’s the headline, the thesis statement, and the takeaway we’re supposed to have in this conversation. Once we become friends with the city slicker, he concedes, “We don’t go out much. We’re pretty much homebodies.” We’re not supposed to catch the inconsistency, but when we do, and we call them out on it, we can tell that they didn’t catch their own inconsistency. Are they dumb? As a small city resident, I don’t believe we’re allowed to ask that question if we live in a smaller, less populated city, because we’re required to assume that size matters when it comes to intelligence, and I think we’re supposed to naturally assume that size matters when it comes to how exciting an individual is too. It genuinely surprises most city slickers to consider that they fell prey to their own big city fallacies. “I think I’ve heard that people question small city/big town residents on the excitement in their town so often that I never considered realities of it.”

***

All my people were boring, and I was born and raised in a boring house in a boring hometown. As a result, I’ve been boring most of my life. There were times when I went crazy with the boredom, and I made friends who said things like, “What are we doing here fellas, let’s do something.” They were boring guys who knew they were boring, from boring homes in a boring hometown, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t fill their lives with constant excitement. They, like me, were the literal definition of home boys, but that didn’t mean we had to sit around watching Who’s the Boss reruns, or chat in the boring manner my people did. I hung out with these friends separately, for the most part, and they kept me on the go, constantly, until we branched out to other boring fellas doing other boring things all the time in our boring hometown. We did so many ‘things to do’ that a lot of these things began to run together, until we didn’t appreciate most of the things we were doing. At some point, we just wanted to go back our boring home with our boring people, until we finally got back home, and we couldn’t wait to go out and do something again. 

There’s the rub, I’ve had blocks of my life with people like me who never wanted to go home after a shift, and we’ve partied so hard and so often that the parties started to lose their edge. What is “that edge”? That edge is a thrilling, momentary escape from the mundane activities of the every day. Yet, if you’ve ever had a block of life where you had so many friends, wanting to do so many things, we reach a point where we party so often and so much that we’re no longer escaping the mundane. We reach a point where we want to return to the boring side of life, so that the next parties are more exciting. The Big City, city-slickers purport to live exciting lives that the rest of us would never understand, but my experience with this fast-paced lifestyle is that if we don’t return to a base norm it starts to become more commonplace and it loses its edge?    

The “How do you continue to live in such a boring place with nothing to offer?” question reminds me of the old “Mean People Suck!” bumper sticker. One of the latter’s primary purposes was to inform those of us who see the bumper sticker that its owner is NICE!, as in all caps with an exclamation point nice. We don’t see this self-serving bumper sticker any more, but I would’ve to ask them to define the difference between mean and nice. I’m quite sure their reply would be just as self-serving, to which I would say, “Doesn’t this bumper sticker imply that you’re nice, and isn’t that a characterization you’re required to allow others make of you?” I have the same question for the The Big City, city-slickers who want to leave us with the impression that they’re movers-and-shakers, cosmopolitan types with so much culture in their system that it’s now bubbling up and out of their pores. They can’t identify with country bumpkins who don’t mind being bored. That’s their headline and their takeaway impression of themselves, but after listening to their bio, I often find them just as boring and unsophisticated as I am, you are, and the rest of the 50% of the planet that they just assumed they were better than.   

The Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff III: “He Was a Real Sonofabitch”


“I finally shot the sonofabitch,” a Ms. Haith informed the dispatch operator of the sheriff’s office that day. After discussing the preliminary details of her call, the operator got on the radio to direct Sheriff Dan Anderson to the Haith home. Ms. Haith said the sonofabitch, in question, happened to be her husband Mr. Haith.

“Even though I knew the residents of the Haith home after all of the calls the two of them made,” Sheriff Dan Anderson said, “I knew enough to know that you never know how such scenes might play out. So, I drove onto this woman’s estate prepared for anything. When I saw the wife sitting on her porch in a porch swing, I couldn’t see anything that would cause greater suspicion on the scene, so I exited the patrol car.

“We received a call of an incident,” Dan called out to Ms. Haith from the outskirts of her property. “Do you mind if I enter your property?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “The rifle is over there, in the corner of the porch.”

Sheriff Anderson said, “I entered the woman’s property, walked onto the porch and secured the rifle. I determined that the rifle had been recently fired.”

“My husband’s body is in the living room,” Ms. Haith said, mentioning her husband by name.

“I secured the body,” Dan said, “and I left the house to discuss the matter further with the wife.

“She informed me that her husband was violently abusive, which I already knew from previous calls, and that he had been throughout the course of their long marriage. She said that she decided that she wasn’t going to put up with the abuse anymore, and she said that she decided to end it.”

“The wife stood without further incident, and we handcuffed her. We then placed her in a jail cell, and we went back to the scene of the crime to examine the evidence for the case. With all of the preliminary evidence, some might consider collecting further evidence unnecessary in such a case. The wife signed a full confession after all. She provided a minute-by-minute recounting of all that had taken place that day, and she provided us a full backdrop for her motivation for doing what she did. The wife was very forthcoming, in other words, saying that she’d rather spend the rest of her life in jail than put up with another day enduring her husband’s abusive ways. Even though the evidence we had, prior to returning to the scene, was largely preliminary, I considered it my duty as a lawman to go back to the scene, no matter how open and shut I thought it was, to do my due diligence on the matter and collect every piece of evidence available.

“We determined that the rifle that had been sitting on the porch, was the rifle used in the incident,” he said. “We determined that it was her fingerprints on the gun. The husband’s fingerprints were on the gun too, but the nature of the wound suggested to us that it was not self-inflicted. All of the evidence we found, and gathered at the scene, suggested that the idea that anyone but the wife was the alleged shooter were remote.

“As her arresting officer, I was later called upon to sit in on the trial of her case. I was there to offer my testimony, if necessary, and any other character assessments of the wife and husband I might be called upon to make, should that be necessary. Again, I didn’t think any of this would be necessary, for we had a full confession, and such an overwhelming amount of evidence that I didn’t think this would be anything less than an open and shut case.

“Before the trial began, the wife’s defense lawyer asked the judge for a sidebar,” Dan said. “The judge agreed to this, and he invited the state’s lawyer, and me, to attend this sidebar.

“Before we begin your honor,” the defense’s lawyer says. “The defense would like to submit into evidence the idea that the accused had every reason to shoot her husband, because he was a real sonofabitch.”

“To this point in my career,” Dan said. “I attended hundreds of court cases. I’ve witnessed such a wide variety of claims of innocence that it would take months to document them. I’ve witnessed defense attorneys make insanity claims and temporary insanity claims. I thought I’d heard everything at that point in my career, but this defense was a new, and almost laughable. I’m serious, I almost laughed when the lawyer said that, because I couldn’t believe the lawyer asked for a sidebar to submit that claim to the judge.

“That was the beginning and the end of the defense lawyer’s submission to the judge, and presumably the only reason he asked for the side bar, and the judge turned to the state’s attorney, and me, to ask us if we had anything to add. We both said no, the judge ended the sidebar, and he ordered us back to our seat.

“I walked back to my seat and I did laugh a little. I snickered at what I considered defense so laughable that I wondered if the judge would declare a mistrial on the basis that the lawyer for the defense was incompetent, and that the wife would need a new lawyer.

“The defense has submitted the idea that the victim in this case of murder against the accused, was a real sonofabitch,” the judge stated. “Well, I knew the accused’s husband, and he was a real sonofabitch. Case dismissed.”

“You could’ve knocked me over with a feather,” Dan said. “As I said, I’ve worked so many cases, and sat in on so many trials that swung in a direction contrary to the evidence that I compiled, that I thought I was above being shocked at what can happen in a courtroom. This was beyond anything I ever witnessed. I just sat there with my mouth hanging open.

“After the trial, I thought about the husband, and I thought that even if the man was a real sonofabitch, he didn’t deserve to die for it. If this man physically assaulted his wife, he deserved jail time. If the wife feared that the abuse was escalating, and she feared for her life, I could see the judge being more lenient, or even dismissing the case based on the nature of that abuse. I could even see the courts dismissing a case against the wife if she physically assaulted the husband, and the court judged her assault to be retribution for the years of abuse. The idea that a judge could dismiss a murder not on the basis of years or abuse, but. on that basis that a man was deemed a disagreeable person, was unprecedented to my experience in such matters. I was a lawman who believed in the justice system, and I had had that belief tested throughout the years, but this dismissal shook my beliefs in the system to its core.

“I also thought about the man hours law enforcement officials put in to collecting evidence for a case. I thought about how what I believed to be either a corrupt, or incompetent, judge can undermine those efforts and our beliefs in a fair and blind justice system in such a manner that it makes one question everything they do in the aftermath. I didn’t let it affect how I conducted myself on the job, going forward. You can only control what you can control, I thought, but one cannot involve themselves in such a bizarre case without being affected by it.”

*This story was used with permission.

Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff I: “I Want to Kill Someone!”

The Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff II: “Is He Dead?”

The Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff I: “I Want to Kill Someone”


“I Want to Kill Someone”

“I want to kill someone,” a man said after entering a small town’s sheriff’s office. Any time someone issues such a threat, it can be alarming. When that person enters a sheriff’s office to confess such a desire to his local sheriff, all parties concerned should consider this an elevated threat. When the individual making such a threat is a 6’8” and 350lb. man with a history that warrants a level of scrutiny from local law enforcement officials, the audience to such a threat drops everything else to address the man’s concerns.

Officer June, the wife of Sheriff Dan Anderson, was working front desk duty the morning this 6’8” and 350lb. man entered the station and issued his threat, and she was also working the radio dispatch. The problem for June Anderson that morning was she was the only person in the station when this man entered.

The sheriff’s office did not consider the man violent, as he had no criminal record, but he did have a history of unpredictable behavior that put him on their radar. He suffered from a mental illness that required regular medication, and the fact that he was not on his medication on this particular morning was obvious, for he did not direct his anger at one particular person. His anger was more general, and he sought a release.

“He had his hands splayed out at the sides of his head, and he was squeezing his fingers together, as he repeated that line, ‘I want to kill someone,’ over and over,” June said. “When I asked him for how I might be able help him, he repeated, ‘I want to kill someone,’ and he added, ‘I need to talk to Sheriff Dan.’

“Sheriff Dan is not here right at the moment,” June informed the man. “He is at the hardware store, but he’ll be back soon. The man told me that he could not wait,” June added, “and that he wanted to kill someone, and he started in with the fingers again.”

“I’m six foot tall,” Sheriff Dan said, “and I would have to look up to the man when he talked. When I run across a person who has a somewhat troubled past, I’ve always consider it the lawman’s job to get to know them on a personal level, so that I can lay some groundwork in the event that something could happen at a later date. When that person is as large as this man was, and his history suggests that he might be capable of hurting someone, I reach out to them to diffuse possible future situations with day-to-day contact. When I would see this man on the streets, or in the hardware store, I would stop to say hello to him. ‘Hey, how you doing today?’ I’d say. I would ask him about the particulars of his day, and I would ask him about his job. I would then ask him questions about how his family was doing. I would make small talk, in other words, to establish what I considered a vital link with the man. I did this so often with him that he and I developed a relationship. I would do that, with the thought that if a day like the one June is describing should ever arise, he’d look for me, his friend, if he needed to talk to someone.”

“The first question I’ve been asked,” June said. “Is if you were on radio dispatch that day, why didn’t you get on the horn and tell Dan what was going on in the station? The problem was that Dan never answered his radio.

“I was lucky this day,” June continued, “because Dan informed me where he was going before he left. He told me he was going across the street to the hardware store. He normally didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He just went. So, when this 6’8” and 350lb. man walked in talking about wanting to kill someone in such a manic state, and with him being so insistent that he wanted speak with Sheriff Dan, and only Dan, I sprinted across the street to the hardware store and retrieved him.”

“Learning the details of such a situation might have led a less tenured law enforcement official to believe that such a situation required force, especially when your wife is the one providing these details in such a distressed manner,” Dan said. “I thought I laid the foundation for a decent relationship with this man, and I thought this might lead to a peaceful resolution, but peaceful resolutions are a two-way street. I knew this man could be unpredictable, and I decided that the best course of action was to prepare for the unpredictable nature of this man.

“Before we made it back to the station,” Dan continued. “I told June to put a gun on the two of us, and if anything should happen, just start firing. My rationale being, that if my interaction with this man devolved to a tussle, I would rather take a bullet than the haymakers I feared this man could deliver.”

“He had these enormous hands,” June said to illustrate why Dan’s concerns might have led him to believe that it would be better to take a bullet as opposed to a punch from this man. “I don’t know how else to describe it, except to say I’ve never seen hands as large as his, in person, and I would say that if you think you’ve seen large hands, go ahead and assume his hands were larger than that.”

“So he and I start talking once I arrived at the station,” Dan said, “and he informed me that he wanted to kill someone today, and I suggested that he might want to go back into a cell and cool off, but he did not want to do that.”

“He did not want to go into a cell,” June interjected. “I invited him to sit in the cell when I went to retrieve Dan from the hardware store, and he made it abundantly clear that he did not want to be in a cell.”

“So, I said, okay,” Sheriff Dan said, “and we start talking again. He began explaining his situation to me, and I decided that the best course of action for me was to just sit back and listen. I developed a relationship with him as I said, and I knew a number of details about the dynamic of his relationship with his various family members. When he went through the details of his situation, I participated in that conversation, but for the most part, I just offered a sympathetic ear. When he finished, I told him that I understood his situation and that we would work together to rectify it. I also told him that I planned to go to ice cream after I was done at the hardware store and before June interrupted me. I told him that I still wanted to go to the ice cream store, and I asked him if he would like it if I bought him a dish of ice cream too. He said, ‘Sure.’ I knew the man had a weakness for ice cream, so I said, ‘Well, why don’t you go have a seat, and I’ll go buy you some ice cream.’ We looked for a chair for him to sit in, but we couldn’t find one, until I suggested one. The chair I suggested happened to be in our cell. When he sat, I locked the door behind him, and I went to get him some ice cream. We called his family and told them to find the medication this man required, and there were no further incidents. The man ate his ice cream and took his medication.”

“One of the things I tell less tenured law enforcement officials when I relay this story to them, is that one simple act of kindness, and understanding, can go a long way with people,” Dan continued. “Some of the times, a lawman needs to be strong and forceful, but some of the times, a lawman can be just as effective by listening to the complaints a person has about their day, and that they should display a level of interest and understanding to the person’s problem that is genuine. A lawman can be too kind of course, and people like this 6’8” 350lb man can sense this. They can misconstrue it as weakness. In the case of this 6’8” 350lb. man, however, diffusing the situation that happened that day at the station, occurred long before he entered the station all worked up. He and I developed a friendship founded on mutual respect, and it concluded with one simple act of kindness.”

*This story was used with permission.

The Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff II: “Is He Dead?”

The Strange Days of a Small Town Sheriff III: He was a Real Sonofabitch