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07-14-08, 06:28 PM #1
All so often,we in L.E. are asked why? why we do it,why put up with the pay? Why---add to the list.
When I first started,I KNEW the reasons,so that I would get to carry a gun ,24/7 if I wanted,and drive a fast car with lights and sireen,ALSO,I thought that maybe, just maybe,I might be able to help "someone/somewhere,eventually.
In the past years of my time in LE,I have saved many lives,some for the good,some maybe not,--The 9 y/o drowning victim that I gave CPR to(breath and compressions before the disease scare)YES,I brought him back to life from death,only for him to live 4 more years in a coma.As well as those that are alive and productive today.
This is all to tell all of you ,the smallest act can sometime have excellent results,we dont do it for the fame,.I viewed this on a local message board,and it brought a tear to my eye.THE OLD PHONE
THIS WAS ONE OF THE 'GOOD OLD DAYS' WHEN PEOPLE REALLY CARED ABOUT EACH OTHER
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was 'Information Please' and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the Parlor and dragged it to the landing climbing up; I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
'Information, please,' I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
'I hurt my finger,' I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
'Isn't your mother home?' came the question.
'Nobody's home but me,' I blubbered.
'Are you bleeding?' the voice asked.
'No,' I replied. 'I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.'
'Can you open the icebox?' she asked.
I said I could.
'Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,' said the voice.
After that, I called 'Information Please' for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, ĦInformation Please,' and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, 'Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?'
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ' Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.'
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, 'Information Please.'
'Information,' said in the now familiar voice.
'How do I spell fix?' I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. 'Information Please' belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me..
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, 'Information Please.'
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. 'Information.'
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, 'Could you please tell me how to spell fix?'
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, 'I guess your finger must have healed by now.'
I laughed, 'So it's really you,' I said. 'I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?'
ĦI wonder,' she said, 'if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.'
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
'Please do,' she said. 'Just ask for Sally.'
Three months later I was back in Seattle a different voice answered: Information.' I asked for Sally.
'Are you a friend?' she said.
'Yes, a very old friend,' I answered.
'I'm sorry to have to tell you this,' she said. 'Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.'
Before I could hang up she said, 'Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne?˘
'Yes.' I answered.
'Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.' The note said, 'Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
07-14-08, 06:34 PM #2
*sniffle*\\` ` ` ` < ` )___/\
`` ` ` ` (3--(____)
"...but to forget your duck, of course, means you're really screwed." - Gary Larson
07-14-08, 07:36 PM #3
Dammit, Mav. You really gotta stop that.
(Nice. Real nice. Thanks.)
.The Swamp Mafia -"Heaven doesn't want us,and Hell's afraid we'll take over!!".
07-14-08, 07:43 PM #4
Great story, I've heard a similar one before and I'm sure there are many more like it. It isn't the story but the thought behind it. I heard from an old classmate about a year ago. He told me that he always had thought of me and wondered what I was doing, he found me in Classmate.com. He said that being from the only black family in our town he always felt like an outsider. One night a friend and I, and he and his friend were walking to a party. Our friends started talking to each other and I started talking to him. He said he never forgot it because I made him forget that he considered himself "different" than everyone else, that I talked to him like I would anyone else. I never considered him "different" actually. I have always remembered him, but, I don't remember that night but it is one that has always stuck with him because it made him feel better about himself. I guess we all touch someones life at times and never realize the impact we leave behind. Wayne and I still keep in touch from time to time and I consider him a friend still.
My dad, I miss him every day.
Originally Posted by Wolven
Life is too short to wear unsexy underwear.
I am a female!!!!! LMAO
Be who you are and say what you feel.....
Because those that matter...don't mind...
And those that mind...don't matter
07-14-08, 07:53 PM #5
Wow, nice heartfelt stories.
07-14-08, 10:50 PM #6
Now that I am much older, I now wonder what I might say to this question, had I gone into LE. I would hasten to add that its not just a job, but rather a calling.
Throughout my life I have had the honor to have been able to interact with a few cops on a personal basis. Men that I would be honored to call my friend. Men that I got the chance to do things with or listen to a few words of encouragement to get me through my day. I miss these men greatly.
My dad was a deputy sheriff reserve in the early 60's. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if he had stuck with it, but he had the opportunity to be able to help people in a different way by being an inspector for the USDA.
When I was in my 30's I had an advisor or group leader that belonged to my church that I used to get together with to work on cars (usually mine) much like when I was younger with my dad. Or do other things with.
Then there are the men that I honor at the bottom of my posts. They usually had some words of wisdom to pass on to me while I was doing my paper routes. They were my subscribers, my customers. If I had the chance to talk to them, I would go out of my way to do just that. To let them know that I cared about them and their families and was concerned about the dangers that they faced every day.
I once asked my wife, why is it that I like cops so much? She told me that I see them for the fellow human beings that they are and not for the big bullies that the public likes to make them out to be.
Sadly, these men are gone now. My dad died of cancer in 1990, Howie made the ultimate sacrifice in a Line of Duty Death and Bob had a heart attack in between shifts covering for his friends at work. Gene Esklund eventually was medically retired from the California Highway Patrol due to diverticulitis and irritable bowel syndrome and could no longer handle the shift work that is so associated with police work. He has since moved to Idaho or Utah to be closer to family. Sadly, we have lost touch. Gene, if you are out there, I still go to the same church, look me up sometime.
Now I post here on O/R because the fine men and women in and around LE here make me feel like family and I get to feel the camaraderie that I had with these men when I was younger. You guys make me feel as if we are talking on the phone or even right here in my house, albeit thanks to the computer. Hopefully I might have something to add to a conversation or thread and that I don't get too far out of line.
Choose The Right. When you're doing whats right, then you have nothing to worry about.
Not a LEO
In memory of Sgt. Howard K. Stevenson 1965 - 2005. Ceres Police Dept.
In memory of Robert N. Panos 1955 - 2008 Ceres Police Dept.
07-15-08, 01:23 AM #7
On some days, it's better to reflect back.
I remember my first g/f from grade school (1st grade). Their home was about 2 blocks from the school, on my route home. Her dad was a Seattle PD officer. He would arrange his breaks, or days off to be home when his daughter "Bunny" got out of school. Several kids walked this route home and would drop off along the way. Ofc Springgate if home on a break, or just off duty, was a guy who, by example showed us kids that a police uniform meant trust and help if you needed help.
My first dog was run over in front of my house when I was about 8 yrs old. Toni was a female black lab who liked to hide, chase, and bite at tires on delivery trucks. I was down the street at a neighbor's when I head the truck the screech of tires and a yelp. My dad was away on a flight, my sister and mom shopping, left me with the neighbors. I just knew and ran up the street, in front of the house was Toni still running laying on her side, a truck driver in tears and and an SPD officer just drove up and checked her. I looked at the officer, he told me she was bleediing inside and dying, as he slowly shook his head. He asked "where are your parents". Before I could answer the next door neighbors came up and said "we're here". They had no kids, he was a hen-pecked real-estate guy, and we called his wife the "crab". She had a perfect yard and kids were just "little monsters". Mr DeMeyer walked me over to Toni's head and told me she was scared and needed to see me. As he pushed me down to sit his wife was already sitting and took me in her arms. Toni saw my face, she smiled as dogs do with their eyes, wagged her tail several times and died. The SPD officer was talking to the driver away some place. Mrs DeMeyer took me home, while Mr DeMeyer got a blanket and he and the SPD officer put my dog into his new Caddy. After my mom and sis got home Mr. DeMeyer and I took Toni to the veterinary clinic for cremation.
Some 15 yrs later, I watched a yellow mutt get hit by a car as it ran across Warrington Blvd outside NAS Pensacola. It belonged to some kids in the projects near the Corry Field turnoff. The dog dragged off the road and collapsed on the west shoulder. I stopped and then remembered Toni. So that day it was me in Mr DeMeyer's role but in Navy uniform, and an Escambia SO Deputy drove up. The dog had been run over and it's abdomen hard, rear legs broken. It nipped at the Deputy and me. Then the dog's kids came up and the scene played out as it did years before. I helped the Deputy load the dog into his patrol car, we reached out for a quick handshake and said "thanks" at he same time. I drove off.
These things I remember. I can't really say why I did the job for 27 yrs, but a lot of things in my life added up to make it a 'natural' decision.Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.-- Anonymous
Old People, like me, may not be around to witness the destruction of our Nation. The rest of you may not survive the collapse. We all have the sworn duty to prevent it.
The light of hope burns brighter than the fires of doom.
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