January,2009
SFC HEADQUARTERS DOCTRINE
"Read by Thousands Round' the World!"
28 January 2009: The Police Knife That Cuts Both Ways | Part Two
Police Knife Issues to consider.
1) Police Knife Policy: Given all the potential legal problems, all agencies that tacitly or openly allow knife carry should have some kind of policy on the subject, or at very least the optional duty knife should be added into any prior, existing weapon's continuum list along with guns, spray, etc. In the early 2000s, a naive citizen thought that he might teach police agencies “knife-fighting' and also supply a ready-made “knife use of force policy” for the agency. Little did the citizen know the complexity of creating and approving any police department policy, was a massive, committee project, reviewed and culled through administrators, politicians, attorneys AND their insurance companies and their attorneys. Joe Blow's little policy handout carried zero weight in this insider due process.
2: Knife Retention: These days weapon retention problems have increased exponentially. We not only fear the handgun removal from our belts, but now our Taser removal, too. And our spray. Next, we fear the removal of that new, Klingon-shaped, quick-draw knife from our belt. More weapons? More retention problems. There is an old-school, survival equation – “quicker draw also equals quicker steal.”
3: Stress Knife Quick draws: Getting a folding knife out and open under stress requires creative training time. Pulling a fixed-blade requires less skill, but it also requires less for the criminal to pull it off of you. Types of knives, shetahs and carry sites, and standing, kneeling, ground stress quick draws under pressure are vital training issues.
4: Knife Equipment Names. Officers (and agencies) need to be careful selecting the name of the knife they carry or the name of the knife course they train in. In the very, last end game, we must recognize we are judged by juries. If the name of an officer's knife is “CQC Combatives 9,” or “SEAL Team Throat-Slitter 6” the name is too aggressive-sounding for the public or the jurist. Such is the same as with the knife training course name. Course names like “Amok” or “Knife Jihad” are bad choices. Various companies make knives called “Emergency Rescue” for example, a smarter choice.
5: Other options in a continuum. When officers loose their pistols, they are often shot by them. This is a lethal-force situation requiring serious solutions. I (and others too) have experimented with weapon retention options in full-speed, scenario replications. The knife is not always the number one option and here's why.
• Pulling and opening a fixed-blade knife is hard in a struggle, (try it trainers!) Fixed blades are faster, but it is still a fight.
• Once either style knife is out, forensics tells us that typical knife attacks do not easily, nor instantly shut people down. Despite the aforementioned “single-stab,” Sacramento incident, victims of such stabs and slashes often report not feeling the knife itself, and often report "feeling like being punched" or hammer-fisted, only to discover later they were actually stabbed. Evidence shows us that people frequently fight on long after multiple slab and slash wounds. One instructor suggests the use of a quick draw, push dagger when the undercover drug deal...“goes bad.” What specifically does that mean? Naive, civilian knife instructors often think that every slash is a deep, disabling muscle cut and every stab is a "shock-knife," knock-back, finish. Street cops, EMTs and ER crews know much better. An officer defending his or her gun, or life, with a backup knife is likely in for a quite a wet, rodeo ride.
Other options? A fingers-to-eye attack with the other hand, usually gets a quick reaction. Eye attacks have stopped many a person, even bears, alligators and sharks. And the tools of the eye attack are “right at your fingertips.” Fast, easy, dependable and “easy to open.” If an officer is in any lethal force situation then a severe attack on the eyes is justified.
This eye-attack has also been successfully executed in the field in retention situations. In July 2008, in the Oakland, CA area, an officer was down on his back with a bigger man on him and grabbing for his gun. The officer told me he went for his back-up knife, but he forgot it that day! Instead the officer jammed his fingers straight into the eyes of the suspect, driving the suspect up and completely off of him and away from the gun. The eyes were not significantly damaged, healed, and the officer did not experience the subsequent stigma and anguish of knife-fighting “a finer citizen” of the Oakland Bay area.
In Summary Knife salesmen, civilian and police trainers failing to do their research, will over-emphasize the knife as the main solution to a gun retention problem or many other violent situations. All fights are situational and positional. The back-up, duty knife is simply not always the go-to option in all violent situations. It is but one option, not thee only option and often, not the best option.
I began field police work in 1974. I kept a knife and even an axe in my squad car trunk. I wore knives on tactical operations. In the 1990s when knife carry became tacitly "acceptable," as a detective and patrol officer I wore a tactical folder clipped to my pocket until I retired. I want all officers to carry knives on duty as I did, but I want them to understand where knives fit in the weapon's continuum, the law and public (jury) perception, and how not to be sued, fired and/or traumatized if they have to use them.
It's a training issue, and where there's no policy, there is no training.
Adios, amigos
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26 January 2009: The Police Knife that Cuts Both ways | Part One
In January, 2009, A Sacramento California police officer conducted a traffic stop. As the stop progressed, as the officer and uncooperative driver, one Eddie Hilliard, stood outside their cars, Eddie made a grab for the officer's handgun and a pistol retention incident occurred. The officer, also armed with a knife, drew the blade and stabbed Hilliard in the torso, thus disrupting the handgun grab. Hilliard was hospitalized after this single stab and the officer, as of the time of this reporting, is on paid leave.
I contacted the agency and received no official comments as the whole mess is under investigation. I call it a mess because a police officer had to stab somebody in a life or death fight, and such a thing is an extreme oddity. For one, it's a terribly messy crime scene, a difficult and unusual experience for that officer and secondly it is a political, ticking, time bomb and lawsuit if a few perspectives get out of hand by the citizenry.
This essay is not about that incident as we do not know the details, but rather about police knife-carry in general.
Citizens are always supportive of police carrying knives on duty for a multitude of smart reasons. Folks are reminded of the classic, “cut-the-seat belt” situation to evacuate people from car wrecks, or facts like knives might be used to cut through plasterboard walls on tactical raids and searches. Knives can do so very much in rural, suburban and urban environments. People seem to intuitively understand there are many reasons for law enforcement to carry knives on duty.
What these citizens don't ponder, and what many officers do ponder is the ugliest often unspeakable use - that of stabbing and slashing a suspect in a fight. It takes a unique circumstance for an officer to resort to a knife - be “down to the knife” – to use an old military phrase. And, for years now, the dreaded, doomsday scenario is most commonly exercised is the classic, weapons-retention problem. The officer using a knife to keep his gun and save his own life.
Since the mid-1990s increasing numbers of police officers began carrying knives as part of their daily, duty gear. This factor can be explained in one way, by matching it with that period-piece, marketing explosion of the so-called “tactical folder.” But, Today, we see a mix of both folders and unfolding, fixed-blade knives as common duty gear. And by way of fixed-blade, I mean not just the large, “hunting-knife-size” we might be most familiar with, but rather curved, improvised knives and small, push-dagger like designs, all with matching sheaths visible right on the police belt. Still, most officers opt for the pocket tactical folder.
Through these years, this edged-weapon addition to the standard uniform has been greeted with a tacit acceptance or ignored by police chiefs, sheriffs, commanders and special agents in charge with mixed emotions. Rarely have they been outlawed.
Is this good or bad? Allow me to explain so that my opinions here may interest you more. Some people in the martial industry consider me a “modern” pioneer, one of a small group in the 1990s that helped spread modern knife/counter-knife combatives on a much larger scale. I busied myself taking martial art knife material, compiling it with forensics (and even military history) along with my years a detective in Texas and all the various assault and violent death schools I attended annually, and converted it all to practical/tactical training doctrine. My police background created more police connections than say, inexperienced, martial artists inventing ideas with rubber knives in the corner of some gym. In the 1990s I began teaching the subject worldwide. Many were police groups as I have taught at, and for, academies throughout the USA, Canada, England, Germany, Australia and South Africa. Plus, police officers routinely attend my seminars in amongst other groups of people.
At virtually every one of these sessions, I begged for information on any and all incidents where law enforcement officers had to use a knife on a suspect. Worldwide, these events are extremely rare or unheard of. Thus far I have found a total of three. THREE! As anyone involved with policing can guess, the act of an officer stabbing or slashing a suspect, rare or otherwise, brings forth a plethora of legal issues, training issues and confused doctrine questions.
Training issues and confusing doctrines? As an example in about 1999, a southern USA police agency contacted me for knife training. The Sergeant said,
“all our officers carry knives now. The Chief worries that if they never receive any
knife training and one of them uses their knife, there will be a legal, backlash problem.”
I understood and committed to a seminar. The trainer sergeant then added, “we will invite the county sheriff's office too, as no doubt they need this training also." Months later when I arrived to teach at the city, the county was absent. The city police sergeant told me that the county sergeant said,
“all our officer carry knives now. If one used a knife, and we showed him how to,
there would be a legal backlash problem.”
There you have the classic problem, a city and a county at complete odds on the subject of knife training. Of course, I weigh in on the side of training, but the kind geared for law enforcement needs. Key issues and experiences with police knife training...coming soon, Part 2
Adios, amigos
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22 January, 2009: On the Road Again, for the 13th Year
The year 2009 seminar route has begun for me. Seven countries and on the road for over 40 weeks. Over the holidays while bracing and prepping myself for the trips, I thought over some aspects of the seminar business and the years past. This is the 13th year for me.
Last year I saw about 1400 seminar attendees, up a bit, but I can say that I see at very least 1,000 people a year. In the last 12 years that is over 12,000 attendees and could add up to be 13,000, or 14,000, or more people. The people are often quite diverse, from none-to-many, other systems experience and they vary greatly in age. 17 year-olds to 70. I have also seen many trends (and people) and business models come and go these last 12 years.
Some people tend to equate martial arts seminars with the seminars of other topics. I think its the word "seminar,"– that does it. other seminars like:
“How to succeed in business” or
"Tony Robbins hop-hip-horaaay!” or,
"How in one weekend to make millions in real estate.”
“How to become a self defense master.”
"Semimars on...how to do seminars."
“Get more students with a teen-age staff!”
These seminars are in general, surrounded by very typical trappings. You'll find the SAME SCRIPT and distinct beginnings and ends, outlines, and nice, notebooks and health bars, key chains and even evaluation forms. My seminars are very different…EACH WEEK! They are customized for the group I think I'll see. This causes me to me to operate differently. Its freestyle jazz, not Beethoven. But still, I am often shoved into this classic seminar model and compared against it. It's only natural, really. I get a kick out of the people who review my seminars, as though they are going out to see Tony Robbins, or a night at the opera, or seeing a new movie premiere.
“We started at 10:10 because someone ran to the car to get a kicking shield they forgot.”
“Hock seemed distracted at 11:45 but picked up the pace at 11:55.”
“The material at 2 pm was too difficult for me, but many others seemed to handle it well.”
“When he did the Thai kick, his left pinky toe was turned, unlike ShiQua Kundalini.”
“Hock taught too fast!” and the next sheet reads - “Hock taught too slow!”
"He had no handouts," or "his hand-outs were incomplete."
What do I look like here? Paramount Studios? Broadway? When you do 40 diverse seminars a year, it becomes hard to make each one a grand premiere, suitable to be reviewed. I just can't make 40 different hand-out outlines (buy the books and DVDS) and 40 red carpet nights! Next week's seminar will be different, unlike “My Fair Lady” at the West End.
Quickly, on the subjects of hand-outs, modern experts explain,
Hint : Avoid passive handouts. Make your learners listen or take their own notes. When learners have to translate your ideas into their own shorthand they engage the material analytically and physically." I have nothing against handouts, but note-taking is better. Its a learning process step. ANd really, if people buy my books with thousands of photos? Its all there. But, I won't have handouts because I treat each group differently.
Another complaint years back was I had no evaluation forms at the end of the seminar. You see, Tony Robbins has evaluation forms, so then should ALL seminars. I think in the seminar that teaches people "how to do seminars?" They suggest having seminar evaluation sheets at the end. (I wonder how that tip was evaluated?) This way, I could read more about ShiQua Kundalini, I guess. Seriously, I understand the idea, but you know, I can't fancy myself now with a pile of 13,000-plus, evaluation forms in the corner of my office, or carting stacks around in my 50-pound, airline-limit suitcase. It really becomes a drag. Especially when each seminar changes weekly anyway! I always hated having to do evaluation forms myself, wanting to leave at the end of a seminar, and then stuck there scribbling some bull down on one anyway. Don't you? "Great time! Great. Great and great." Usually people tell me in person or email me their problems and complaints.
Remy Presas told me that seminars were “a very tricky business.” Through time, I have an overall basic plan for them. I try to do two, multi-hour, multi-weapon themes. Then I immediately customize the seminars to who is in attendance, and this is quite diverse. And as a result, I always warn instructors that at any given time, a percentage of your students will be bored and that boredom changes like a wave through the day, like any high school teacher or college professor deals with. I see who is there, what their levels and interests are, and I work accordingly. Even single theme seminars have these peaks and valleys of waning interests.
Through the years I have noticed one thing come and go about the perception of me in the market place. When I first started up in the 1990s, my highly organized, ranking systems were often criticized, especially the knife system. These ranks were usually covered inside seminars. In the 1990s I therefore was labeled as an, over-charging, non-artist, greedy money-machine. One southeast USA instructor said, "I don''t like the way Hock does it, but I wish I'd thought of the idea." He then became some version of "American Knife Fighting Something or Other." He had pictures taken in a red, white and blue kind of windbreaker jacket. CUT HIS HAIR! From esoteric, Indo-swami to cheerleader! And he is now...gone.
You see, I was being paid for seminars, ranks and instructorships, like everyone else back then was too, by the way! But, I was just very efficient and organized about it. But thereafter, Los Angeles Krav Maga came along and knocked me right off the perceived "greed" money charts. Others systems followed with amazing high fees and franchises. Its gotten way worse. There is even a sleeper now in Vegas that charges $1500 for a two, short-day-package of…garbage...some psych mumbo-jumbo and basic karate, self-defense. 1500 smackers. UFC champ instructorship/franchises are tens of thousands of dollars. You can take a trip to Los Angeles and pay $10,000 for a weekend to be a mean Isrealite! Meanwhile, in 13 years my seminar fee has gone up...$39.
I usually wind up certifying about 10 or 15 so new instructors a year! WHAT a greedy machine I am! (Instructorships are $100 by the way. No annual or franchise fees. Comparison shop THAT anywhere!) Since I started I have been completely and utterly overshadowed in the so-called, greedy, money-raking business. Nowadays, no one associates me with greed. Well, I actually heard of one in the winter of 2008. Recently Gabe Suarez warned his readers to avoid me completely, that I was a “Knife-Amway” business and he cited a litany of just about anyone else who has ever held a kitchen knife in their hands, as a better knife expert to train with than me. He even mentioned Sayoc Kali (ahhh...did he miss that $5,000 a year fee?) Then, he courageously locked the forum thread. No sense arguing about it! Gabe! How 1990s of you to say that! Meanwhile, I would tell anyone to train with Gabe Suarez. Always liked him and really like all his gun DVDs. I like his new AK-47 seminar idea, too. Very, very clever! Hey, go see Gabe! (and oh, he charges money, by the way.) Seminars and martial arts organizations are very “tricky” to run as a lasting enterprise. And I don't mean to suggest that very simple and very cheap are the sure ways to go. They require a very nuanced approach of innovation and quality. A balancing act. More than I could ever discuss here. Take a book actually.
You will be reviewed....informally, anyway. Word gets around. The plays, My Fair Lady, and Hamlet are always the same. Easy to review, evaluate, contrast and compare (Rex Harrison was better than Richard Harris!) Jazz on the other hand, is harder. It's either good jazz or bad jazz. Each year my tortoise shell grows and expands while I see many, many, painted rabbits dart by me, and will tell you that I usually see almost ALL their skeletons on the roadside of the circus tour, highway. You know, they seem to make the same mistakes over and over and over again, despite their steady evaluation sheet collection?
Adios, amigos
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18 January, 2008: Showdown at the Jacksboro Lumber Yard -Conclusion
On TV and in the movies, and on target-shooting ranges, there is much ado about how police officers, even citizens move about when searching places with their guns out. Mandatory it seems, is the two-handed grip with both arms up and usually extended out. The knees are bent and people glide smoothly about. You see a lot massive arm swinging, especially among the TV and movie actors, coached by the stuntmen, all trying to look like the common perception of police searching places. Veteran consultants consistently report that their practical/tactical suggestions are often nixed for the sake of cool action and art. So, we see a lot of this two-handed grip with massive arm swinging.
Police then see this in the movies and television shows, as do the civilian gun trainers. It registers subliminally, and a cycle ensues. Art imitates life and life imitates art and in the end, who is imitating whom? What is reality and what are the best tactics? Often we are left with poster-boy, action-guy positions burned indelibly into our brains. Lights! Camera! Action!
Searching is always dangerous and the ambusher always has the advantage. You are an invisible trigger pull away from a bullet. Most of these searchers, many are instructors by the way, caught in the cycle, have never been on real searches or if so, then extensive searches. Extensive is a relative term. For many that could mean 10, 15 to 20 minutes of searching on out?
I have searched for people in huge houses, giant buildings and massive factories, and in rural and city areas in manhunts for like - hours, at some times, even the length of a day. Replaced and back for more the next day! No matter how you define “extensive,” be it 10 minutes or ten hours, these movie-poster, target-range, poster-boy image positions cannot be maintained from sheer exhaustion, and are at times even somewhat unsafe! A veteran learns pacing and a multitude of gun arm positions to best facilitate the landscape he is operating in. And posters have nothing to with it. The gun is transitioned from double AND single arm, extended and retracted as a professional traverses the search area. You might even have to climb or move something and that is why God made holsters, pockets and even armpits. By always having your arms and gun out in front of you and your chest, it can actually limit your vision on the immediate ground in front and around you. You may miss things that trip you up and places where bad guys can hide. Such was the case as I searched this abandoned lumberyard. Out of sight from Leverton, Bone and Compton I made my way through this cluttered mess, my pistol in various ready positions - most of them one-handed grips - to step and look everywhere I could. I even switched hands at times to throw some things around to see what reactions I might get from hidden corners.
About ten long minutes into this search, I had to cross a bit of clearing that was interrupted by piles of rubble. In doing so I also had to pass several one and two story, three-walled, sheds with metal and wood inside, and to do so, I had to rapidly look over quite an area. Or, I could spend 50 or more minutes tiptoeing into it and “slicing the pie” around every conceivable corner, and still further exposing myself to other unchecked corners at the same time. Real world terrain just simply sucks sometimes.
My eyes scanned as much as I could. And son of a bitch, there he was! He was flat down on his chest in a two-story shed, head up looking at me and his pistol pointed right at me, about 12 feet away. I was in his line of fire and dead meat! I move at him? Just ackowledge him, he could just pull the trigger.
But I made no eye contact with him! You see, I spied him in my peripheral vision, in one second's passing as my eyes actually scanned a line about 6 feet tall over him. I did not change my pace and was able to pretend I did not see him at all. I just had an instinctive, inspiration that to stop, confront him at that very second, point my gun at him and make some John Wayne command, was an invitation to a few quick, bullets.
Never changing my pace, never stopping my scanning eyes and head, I kept moving across the clearing. I got with a few feet of a pile of rubble and dove for it! Rolled up to a single leg knee (not as cool as it reads here) and backed off from the pile so I could see both sides of the shed. “Don't crowd cover” is the old school rule.
“Give it up Chester!” I shouted, “Give it up and throw your gun out!”
Gun barrel first, I skittishly peeked around a corner of my pile. I saw him! I saw the left side of his face, while he was still prone on the ground. He saw me. He only saw my gun barrel and my right eye. We made this handicapped, eye contact of each other. All from about 25 feet away.
“Give it UP!” I shouted again, trying to gain an inch more vision. I still couldn't see his right side or his pistol hand. If I saw the pistol and it was aimed my way? I'd a taken a shot at his head.
Bone came a charging across the yard. He must have heard my shouts. He was talking into his handheld radio. I motioned dramatically with my left hand to him that our man was in the shed before me. He cut left, then turned right behind me and took a position that somewhat flanked our bad guy. Not enough yet, but he needed to see the scene for a few seconds before he changed positions.
When I'd looked at Bone for an instant as he ran up, just a second, then back at Chester? Chester was gone! But, I could see both sides of the shed and felt Chester retreated back into the shed and in amongst the hundreds of pieces of wood. The shed was about 15 feet deep.
Limey ran up and then came Compton. They could obviously figure where Chester was holed up by looking at us, and they fanned out accordingly. I heard car engines racing our way. I popped up, head and gun together and took a good look at the shed. Our man was not to be seen. Was there a hole in the back wall? Could he crawl out? But Limey seemed to be able to see one side and the much of the back from what I could tell.
I stayed up, maintaining a steady vigil of the shed, ready to duck and/or shoot. Two or three cars drove across the yard and parked, headlights beaming into the shed as dusk was suddenly approaching. The cars ran over broken boards and litter and make very large cracking and popping noises.
Bone ran up to my pile. The officers piled out of their cars. I'd say it was a whose-who of Cooke County law enforcement. Deputies, city cops. DA's investigators and even Texas Ranger Weldon Lucas showed up, all of whom had been searching well north of us. Then several of us made a cautious advance onto the shed.
On the approach, we spotted Chester in the far left corner of the shed. He'd crawled under a lot of wood to get over there.
“Chester! I and others called out. “Throw out your gun!”
Chester's face was facedown. His pistol was still in his right hand. His finger on the trigger. The tension in the finger eased off and expanded. We were all zeroed in, intently on that damn finger.
Then it tightened! We all ducked, crouched and my trigger finger tightened in conjunction, as I am sure all trigger fingers did. He was still not looking at us, but a single shot into this line of encroaching officers would hit somebody.
Then it loosened. Then it tightened and we all loosened and tightened, still yelling commands to surrender, still stepping in. Then I realized something just wasn't right. Lucas, Bone and I slipped off to the sides of him. Deputies went to the back wall and shoved away the big planks of wood that were half on him and in our way. Chester laid still.
Bone put a big boot on the pistol hand. Lucas turned him over as I readied to shot Chester in the head. Too late. We saw the head wound.
“The boy's dead,” Ranger Lucas said solemnly
“He's dead,” the report echoed through the troops behind us.
He'd shot himself in the head. I looked over the shed and body. Chester crawled under hundreds of planks and two-by fours. His bare chest and back were scratched and bruised. Was he moving wood over his head and accidentally shot himself? Then wounded - crawled to this point and died? Or, facing the big bitch and completely surrounded by a dozen guns, did he just do his own self in? He must have fired under all the noise of the cars pulling up and cracking wood and popping over junk. All that on-and-off, trigger finger tension we saw was either his death throes or last ditch efforts of a wounded man to shoot us?
Lucas stood up and Bone picked up the pistol. Limey and I quick-searched his pockets. Got his wallet. In one pocket was a wad of cash rolled up. I was betting it was the exact amount missing from the auto parts store robbery. EMTs showed up and did a once over on the body as Bone, Limey and I converged with the investigators from the DAs office. It was obvious to me that Chester had shot himself, but not so to the others who arrived late? There were some rumblings that I'd shot Chester in the head. Or Bone did. Or that Bone and I both did.
“Man, if I shot him? If we'd shot em'? We'd just tell you.” I said. Bone nodded. What's to hide? I felt we showed great restraint under the circumstances. Bone and I could have shot the shed up like target gallery with 60 or more .45 caliber rounds, but we tried to bring him in alive. “You're gonna' find that the bullet in is head? Comes from his own gun,” I told them. Me, Bone, Compton, Limey...none of us shot, or heard each other's guns.
“Yeah,” the investigator said, thinking it over. “But before you leave town tonight will you write us a statement?”
“Sure.”
I went to the Gainesville police department, sat at an old typewriter and hacked out a short statement of a few brief paragraphs. Not much to report. Went to Gainesville to help a search. Found suspect. Suspect took his own life. If they needed more? They could ask later. I left the report with Bone. I checked in with Limey and then got into the Dodge and headed south.
Funny thing was - all this took about 2 and half hours, which is what I thought about on the drive back. Just 2 and half hours! And when I started out, I never dreamed I would even get up there in time, never dreamed I'd be searching in the key area, never thought I'd almost be shot by the robber and never thought I'd find him and pin him down. And how about that Compton for his gut instincts? “I think he's still over there somewhere.”
But I was a bit haunted too by how I played the scene. How I pretended not to see the suspect until I got behind cover. It was a smart play and one that I am not sure I would have done, had I not been to the police street survival school just two weeks earlier. Otherwise, it would have been possible for me to “John Wayne” my way into a shootout, standing out there in the wide open, even though Chester had the first drop and stop, dead aim on me. Chester was desperate enough to shoot me on first eye contact rather than be caught. Thats the haunting part, the "what if" part. But, I did something smart, not stupid. Something…tactical. Maybe that school burned a concept indelibly in my brain? Maybe haunted is not a good word for how I felt. Relieved? No. Ironic? Maybe. (Oh, and just for the record, I experienced no major adrenaline rush or dump as all the lab-rat testers like to proclaim always happens, just a low grade of excitement throughout.)
Anyway, that's that ugly story, with a side-lesson about playing it smart. Y'all take it to heart. Leverton would clear the armed robbery case “by arrest,” as our CID books defined. Always a good notch. I have arrested about 1500 people in my life and I am not sure if this was technically an arrest or not? I mean, nobody got cuffed. Well then, maybe...arrest by death.
Adios, amigos
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15 January 2008: Showdown at the Jacksboro Lumber Yard - Part 3
I slammed the car door shut, backed out of my driveway and headed for points north, way north and out of the city. Today, a detective suddenly leaving the confines of his or her city would require something like a permission slip from the United Nations, but this was the 1980s and Texas. Actually my Detective Sgt Howard Kelly would be little disappointed in me if I didn't go north at a time like this. Different times. Different people. Now, If I'd put in for overtime pay? Well, that would set off all kinds of “other” admin "bells and whistles" beyond Kelly and Cummings, and that constitutes yet another, distracting story. So, under the classic, general, broad, loose theory of “hot pursuit,” I tepidly drove the 30 some-odd miles to Gainesville, Texas.
I swore to myself I was not going to speed or drive recklessly, and that if I got up there in time to help in manhunt, then I would. If not? I'd just help Limey with some wrap-up chores and paperwork, and then come calmly back home. My “war bag” was already in the trunk, and I was good to go.
On the drive north I hoped to link up with my old friend Detective Captain David Bone of the Cooke County Sheriff's Office. If I were to ever build a Dirty Dozen police Department, ol' Bone would take up two of those slots. Maybe even three. He was a former Texas Tech football lineman, a power-lifter, dedicated lawman, crack shot and even way back in the 1980s - a budding computer expert! Bone was fascinated with the potential for computers in law enforcement. He was so big, he had to dismantle the interior of his detective car and re-weld the front seat into a more comfortable position, so he could properly stretch out and blast hard-rock music as he made his daily rounds harassing and picking at the criminal populace. Bone and I'd worked on several major cases together that crossed our county lines and we became our “go-to” guys in each other counties (though I worked for the city, not my county, still, I knew people who knew people.)
David Bone had a simple business card. White. In the middle it read, “BONE” and it had a small phone number to the right corner. If you were a bad guy and knew Bone, and found that austere card on your door, I imagine a chill followed. Half the fun of going to Gainesville that night was maybe seeing ol' Bone and maybe squeezing in a catfish dinner when the smoke settled.
I keep track of events as best I could on my car radio, which wavered in and out over with each hill and valley on the interstate. (This was why Sgt. Howard Kelly kept a CB radio in his car!) The suspect fled into the downtown area and was spotted heading north. Numerous law officials were searching and more were gathering to help. I asked our dispatcher to inform both the Gainesville Police and County that I was in route to help Limey and see if we could set up a rendezvous somewhere. I drummed the dashboard with my fingers and tried to stay calm and keep within the speed limit. No sense killing myself in a wreck.
Shortly, our dispatcher got through to tell me to meet up “Detective Leverton and Captain Bone" at an intersection on a main street not far from the highway. I knew right where that was. Within 10 or so minutes, I exited the highway and turned for the meet.
I guess news traveled fast in Gainesville back then. It was about 6 pm? The streets were deserted. Like a Sunday morning. Like somebody had seen a ghost? I saw a few police cars up ahead and three men. One was Limey, the other Bone and the third was Trooper Mike Compton. Compton was and is a bit of police legend in Cooke County. He and Bone were best buds and Mike was known for his no-nonsense law enforcement, and great, respected instincts. In fact, we were about to see a sample of some of those great instincts at work.
I parked, and we got right down to business. Everybody was checking their guns and ready to roll, but I wondered why were we doing all this downtown? Hadn't the suspect fled north? Hadn't the search gravitated well away from downtown? As we locked and loaded, Limey and Bone told me that the captured woman was the suspect's wife. His name was Chester Whiley. She admitted that her husband was a two-time, ex-con and would die rather then face the “big bitch” – the three-conviction, life sentence in the Texas Penitentiary that this brazen, armed robbery would produce. She hadn't expected him to rob the store. It was a surprise.
Compton, in his DPS uniform, rested the butt of his pump shotgun on his hip. “I got a feeling,” Mike said, “that this ol' boy didn't get too far. I think he is still hiding out down around there somewhere.” He pointed to the north side of the main street, with businesses, some homes and a decaying lumberyard.
And, I got a feeling that when Compton got a feeling, his fellow law enforcement comrades listened. Okay. I'm game. I usually have an idea that fleeing suspects travel OUTSIDE the range of established searches. I have advised and suggest establishing a search area, then immediately expanding it because adrenalized suspects tend to travel further and faster that common police officers predict. Police officers or soldiers who jog, run or wind sprint, have a better idea on how far and fast a desperado can and will travel in just a few minutes time. But, the big picture here was out of my control, and this was a good hunch from a good huncher. Let's do it! 
As Compton suggested, we fanned out. I took the far left side, armed with a 1911, .45 semi-auto pistol, four magazines, a snubbie .38 revolver in my sport coat pocket and big-assed knife. My portable radio was worthless up here so I left it in the car. About 30 or so yards to my right was Bone, with his pistol and ammo belt. To the right again some 40 yards was Leverton with a magnum revolver and some speed loaders, and to the far right end was Compton with his duty rig and shotgun. No doubt these guys had their extra weapons and gear I was not privy too at the time.
We lined up on the sidewalk of the street, me, Bone, Leverton and Compton. When in position, we looked to each other in the distance and Compton gave the big hand flick, move forward, finger-sign. Gun barrells up, we advanced into the city, at our perspective positions. We instantly lost sight of each other. But an off-beat advance may flush out your quarry, as any hunter will tell you. Only this ain't dumb-animal business.
My area was the abandoned lumberyard, that I will call here, "Jacksboro" Lumber. Bone shared the east end of this turf and some business buildings. Limey and Compton had some stretches of buildings and houses, some vacant, some not, and as I recall, parts of this lumber yard stretched around back of these areas. This lumberyard has the look of a bombed-out one, with buildings, stacks and piles of construction materials, one and two-story sheds of wood and metal. Basically, your tactical-search nightmare, an irregular, unpredictable, rotting landscape chock full of places to duck, hide and snipe.
So we four men, working isolated just four hours ago in a 50-square radius, suddenly found ourselves stalking in an area about the size of a football field, with guns at the ready. Well, make that five men. You see Trooper Compton's hunch was dead on. That desperate, armed, son-of-a-bitch was right in there waiting for us...
Part 4 coming soon….
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12 January 2008: Showdown at Jacksboro Lumber Yard – Part 2
“Armed Robbery. Winston's Auto Parts. Tall, white male. Short brown hair, Bare-chested. Jeans. Handgun…”
THAT'S interesting. Bare-chested? Different anyway, unless he's crazy, I thought. But it was a warm Indian Summer in north Texas. The police dispatcher read off the litany of the suspect. I was about 10 miles away, a detective in unmarked sedan. The passenger seat side of my car was full of case files I was working on. It was near 5pm and the dispatcher asked for an evening shift detective to respond to the scene. They reached Mike “Limey” Leverton. I toyed with the idea of going too.
“Suspect fled on foot…”
THAT'S not too interesting. Fled on foot probably to a nearby hidden car, so we have no suspect vehicle. Plenty of cop cars responding to this scene and searching, all for a mystery vehicle. The guy will probably put on a hat and a shirt and drove off by himself or with a getaway driver… “Suspect ran to a pick-up truck at McDonald's while it was on line at the drive thru. He jumped in the bed of the truck…”
THAT'S interesting. I toyed more with the idea of going.
“The white female driver left the food line and drove away at a high rate of speed westbound. Armed suspect still in the bed of the truck…”
THAT's kinda' interesting. I pictured a bare-chested, armed robber bouncing about in the bed of a truck. A small, maroon, older truck in fact, as the dispatcher updated that info. I guessed I'd drive over there to the auto parts store and see if I could help Leverton do something. I was still pretty far away.
When I got there, Limey (he was from Liverpool, England) was on the lot, his famous writing pad in hand (he was and still is a meticulous note-taker) speaking with a store manager. I pulled over, got out and listened in on the last half of the story. It was a clean case of quick, armed robbery, with a few more personal details such as “he stuck a gun in my face” recollections. Which always add a little spice to a dry report.
“I see the suspect!” came an excited voice over my car radio. My window was down and door open. Limey and I stepped over to my Dodge Diplomat to listen in. “The suspect vehicle has just turned northbound on Interstate I-35. Exceeding speed limits.”
THAT'S interesting. Limey and I exchanged glances. I looked down at my wristwatch. 5 minutes after 5. I was technically off-duty for the day. I had some of those mandatory plans with the wife and kids that night.
“Alerting all agencies up north!” the dispatcher reported. This meant the Texas DPS (the Highway Patrol) and all cities bordering the interstate will send units to the highway. If the suspects make it to Oklahoma? Well then, God help em' they'll likely be killed by Tommy Gun and shotgun fire if they try to run the border.
Limey finished up the interview. I watched a patrolman leave the McDonalds across the street, clipboard in hand. Another one jogged from the shoe store in the next building over. All hunting for witnesses and information. The drill.
“I guess I'll run up the highway in case somebody gets him,” Limey told me.
“Man, I am damn tempted to go with ya'. But it sounds like you've got plenty of help.”
“Okay.”
“Okay…might change my mind though. Don't be surprised if he ya' see me later.” I added as I got into my sedan to drove off to the house. (little did I know…)
On the drive home, the tension on the radio increased. I could feel the electricity. The suspect truck had been seen and tracked northbound. It busted through one city's attempt to stop it, but it was a small city for sure with little time to prepare. But the next city – Gainesville and Cooke County, and their highway patrolmen, will have plenty of time to prepare and they had some real, tough ol' boys working up there, who will shoot you full of holes if you mess with their roadblocks. Anyway, no way I would get to the action in time. I was miles and miles away. There would probably be traffic stop in a few moments. Arrest, or shoot-out, or whatever. I'd be driving like a bat out of hell and still be 25 minutes late.
I walked into my house, portable radio in hand, still trying to discern the latest news inside the tinny static. The kids were playing in the yard. Wife doing something. I heard some garbled, shouting voices crackling from the speaker. I ran back out to the car, hoping my bigger, car radio system would pick up the transmissions. It did.
“The suspect vehicle pulled over when in sight of the Gainesville roadblock,” an officer reported. "The suspect bailed out of the tuck bed and ran into a tree line.” The officer gasped for some breathes. “Female driver in custody. Suspect armed and afoot east of the Interstate in Gainesville.”
THAT'S Shitfire interesting. The downown areas. Rural, but citified. No way they will have enough officers to search for this bad guy.
“Shitfire,” I barked aloud to myself, “late or not, I'm going up there.”
Part 3 Coming Soon
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9 January, 2009: Showdown at Jacksboro Lumber Yard – Part 1
First off, before I start this torrid tale of how an armed robber lay dead at the tip of my gun barrel in a noth Texas lumber yard, after a multi-city chase, I would like to first take a moment to establish some context.
At some point in the early 1980s I attended a radical, police training program for the first time, called “Street Survival” by a company called Caliber Press. It was the first of its kind that endeavored to teach rank and file police officers real survival tactics and ideas. I call it radical because many police administrations were none-to-happy about the course. Suddenly, USA–wide, officers were demanding back-up to questionable and dangerous-feeling calls, to implement strategic responses, and thereby taxing manpower and invoking discredit upon that solo, "John Wayne" image. Or, in Texas, our "One-Riot/One Ranger” attitude. I even overheard one upper-management, desk-rider, complain that these new survival seminars “turned the officers to cowards, always needing help and back-up for every little thing.”
Up to that point, such survival training was hit-or-miss and usually quite incomplete. You could find some people with experience to show you these tactical ropes, but it was like Russian Roulette. I, and some others relied a lot on our military training. Probably the most covered subject back then was traffic stops. And they were and still are very dangerous events. But what about every thing and everywhere else? Meanwhile, people like Chuck Remsberg and Dave Smith were organizing to change the face of police training through an outreach series of seminars of Caliber Press. True pioneers.
I know I paid my own way to this first 1980s Dallas, regional survival seminar and many officers did also. We had to. Frankly, attending this seminar back then, was inspiring and life-changing for me. It made me re-think a lot of things I did or didn't do in dangerous situations. And within two weeks I was looking down the gun barrel of an armed robber and the ideas and concepts of that Street Survival seminar - within two weeks mind you - no doubt saved my life and/or limb. So this is not merely some tawdry, action/misadventure tale of gunplay and death, but rather a tribute to training, tactics and to Caliber Press and the movement they created. Now that we have covered that, the story begins...
“All units, Armed Robbery in Progress at…”
Part 2 coming soon.
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4 January 2009: Rifle over Shotgun and Barbarians at the Gates
On a security, foot patrol with Republic of Korea, (ROK) Marines squad around an Army base in South Korea in the 1970s, I had a ROK Marine Sergeant tell me,
“nobody ever invade USA. Too many guns. Too many crazy people with guns.”
“You think?” I added, but I got the point from this tough, old war vet, bastard who had seen his homeland destroyed by war, and lived in constant fear of more every day. It was ulcer I could not relate too, just observe as an outsider. Just empathize with. And he was right, crazy and sane people with guns do help keep the barbarians at the gates. In a Fall, 2008 police dinner speech, Killogy’s Lt. Dave Grossman recently declared, "the shotgun is quickly being phased out as a police weapon." Keith Plouffe, in attendance recalls more - "because you can carry more rifle shells than shotgun shells,” and Keith said Grossman “acts as if stand-offs/shoot outs of long duration without timely resupply are common place in police work as though they might be in a military combat operation."
TV actor David Spade agrees with this more-is-better rifle policy. Fox News reports in December, 2008 that, “Actor and one-time Phoenix resident David Spade has donated $100,000 to the Phoenix Police Department. The department will use the much needed funds to buy high-powered rifles to defend the city from the growing influence of Mexican drug cartels. Through his publicist, Spade explained that "these guys need to be able to do their jobs, and I am just happy I could help." Spade says he got the idea for the donation after seeing a story on FOX News. Phoenix police say Spade called asking to donate to their rifle program after he saw that officers, outgunned and desperate for more firepower, wanted to buy their own semi-automatic rifles.
“Mr. Spade has stepped forward and has given a gift to our officers of increased safety," said Police Chief Jack Harris. "I am thrilled that we were able to accept that money that will hopefully bring us to 300 rifles on the street.” Phoenix Police Sgt. Alan Hill says 50 AR-15 rifles to be purchased with the donation will be given to patrol officers. Spade, 44, grew up in the Phoenix area and graduated from Arizona State University. The "Rules of Engagement" star has helped out cops before, donating $25,000 to the family of a fallen Phoenix police officer last year.
many rural officers have carried rifles for decades, but the new, increased interest in the patrol rifle does seem true if one track trends in modern policing. A lot of patrol cars are carrying various rifles and police tactical symposiums are offering way more and more "patrol rifle" and "urban rifle" courses than they offer shotgun courses. And frankly, there is, even at a subliminal level, efforts to "SWAT-up" the look and feel of the everyday patrol officer and the rifle comes in many shapes and sizes. The common police recruiting ads and posters one sees these days, is often a SWAT look alike, unformed officer holding an AR-15 or some such weapon. But, the seduced recruit will unlikely ever be on a SWAT team or be in a rifle shoot-out once hired on through retirement!
The National Tactical Officers Association, or the “NTOA” is one of the premiere SWAT and police tactical associations/organizations in the USA. The NTOA was established in 1983 by Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department Captain, then-Lieutenant, John Kolman. Mr. Kolman hoped to provide a communications link between SWAT units throughout the United States and, later, other countries. The NTOA offers several levels of rifle courses. I list them here as an idea as to the certifications involved in carrying a police patrol rifle.
Tactical Precision Long Rifle I (5 days). This course is designed to expose tactical personnel to the proper deployment and techniques for a long rifle position. Topics to be covered include weapons selection and maintenance, rapid deployment issues, use-of-force issues and coordinated fire techniques. This course of instruction will stress the fundamentals of marksmanship and precision shooting. Practical range training will include shooting at moving targets, range estimation and various courses of fire.
Tactical Precision Long Rifle II (5 days) Police and/or SWAT long rifle personnel who possess a working knowledge of their equipment (rifle/optics) and the ability to apply basic fundamentals with assigned department equipment are encouraged to advance their skills in this course. Prior successful completion of a basic precision marksman course is recommended. From cold bore considerations of a basic long rifle deployment and coordinated fire, this course employs a realistic training regimen that trains and test participants to their potential. The course will begin with a practical application of the basic marksmanship skills. Students must successfully complete a 20-round qualification course.
Tactical Precision Long Rifle Instructor Certification I (5 days) This course is designed for experienced law enforcement long riflemen whose job description requires development of their instructor skills. Successful completion of the course will be dependent upon performance of various long rifle skills as well as demonstration of practical instruction needed for countersniper techniques. Topics to be covered include weapons selection and maintenance, use-of-force issues, rapid deployment techniques, coordinated fire, hide and firing position selection, cold bore rifle data, rapid bolt manipulation, extreme angle shooting, scope validation data, moving targets, range estimation, target identification, dim light and no light scenarios, as well as assorted qualification and stress courses of fire. Students must pass at least one of the three courses of fire presented. Instructors will work closely with all individuals to facilitate success. Students must also successfully present a one-hour block of related material instruction.
Tactical Precision Long Rifle Instructor Certification II (5 days) Utilizing the skills and techniques learned in the previous course, students will be expected to perform to their highest levels of ability. All advanced long rifle skills taught in the Instructor Certification I course will be covered in more depth, with emphasis on stalking and stress shooting. Students will have three opportunities to pass qualification courses and each individual is required to self-remediate as necessary in order to pass. The “teaching of” component will also be required.
So you see that police administrations don't just toss rifles to patrol offciers. Though "tossed" a few M-16s in military police work, I have never held a "police rifle" on duty in civilian police work in Texas. Just pistols and shotguns. I have often shunned the shotgun as being too long to maneuver in the close quarters of urban areas or inside buildings while searching for suspects.
Aside from length, one major drawback with the patrol rifle compared to the shotgun in police work, or even citizen self defense for that matter, is the durability of the rifle bullet, capable of zipping through walls, houses even, and through people and other surroundings far more than a shotgun blast or a pistol bullet. Just because I never held one, doesn’t mean I haven’t wished I’d had one in my sweaty little palms a time or two. I certainly have, and I do see the occasional need for a big-assed rifle. Even a few hand grenades.
I personally don’t care what is in the patrol car trunk - a shotgun or a rifle, or even both. And, with these crazy days of terrorists riding small boats up to the coastline, and shooting the hell out of malls, hotels and restaurants, I have become way more comfortable with heavily armed police and established SWAT teams in very city and county. Let every terrorist or enemy in the world view the US of A as a gun-crazed nation with not only the armed forces to deal with, but with thousands of handy, equipped SWAT teams at the ready, and then about a million crazed, armed citizens itching to shoot anyone for fun. Yup, that’s us! Bring it on.
George Bush said that impulsively when worried reporters reminded him that our enemies might get a little mad at us if we push back? And he said, “bring it on...” Then he fell hamstrung into civility by the usual timid, political process? This bring-it-on element or idea is in many gung-ho members of the US military and police forces and they that liked his quick response. Feel it in their guts. Don’t you? Don’t you despise rapists, bombers and murderers? Don’t you empathize with all the countries overrun by genocidal zealots, despots and madmen, or are you a cold-hearted, intellectual idiot? Or, maybe a pacifist dolt whose never seen a split-open head, up-close and personal, and hungered for a few ounces of justice?
Hell, I feel like going out and buying a new rifle today...don’t you?
Adios, Amigo
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1 January 2009: “Car 54. Car 54. Be on the Look-Out for...a Tornado.”
“The TV said a tornado has touched down here!” Jane reported as she burst into my office.
“I don’t hear any sirens?” I replied, looking around for my boots. A tornado watch is when one might happen. A warning is when one has been sighted. There's supposed to be sirens!
In my boots and short pants, well-heeled but not socially acceptable, I stepped out into the backyard for my own sighting. Sure enough the city’s tornado warning sirens wailed away, albeit not loud enough, especially for my half-blown ears. But Jane hadn’t heard them either. The sky looked bad, but not that bad. It had been raining all evening, but not that much. I walked through the house and out the front door. Same weather report out front. I stood in the street. Alone - which I thought was odd that none of the neighbors were out investigating the unfriendly skies?
There was indeed that odd, vacuum-like feeling I'd felt before. You can feel it in your ears beyond the any sound. The rain quit to a mist. The clouds were low and rolling. A little wind, but mostly stillness. It felt like a tornado brewing, a feeling I’d experienced near ground zero several times. I walked back in the house looking for Jane to give her a more localized weather report. Couldn’t find her. I walked into the long, bedroom closet and she was on the the floor, in the corner, clutching an unhappy cat, surrounded by bed blankets and comforters.
“Taking this seriously, ain’t cha’?” I commented.
“Hock, the warning sirens went off!”
“Well, don’t ya’ care to rescue me down there, too?”
“I have already warned you and I knew you would wander off.”
“I guess,” and I wandered off. Way too interesting outside to miss.
The word tornado is an altered form of the Spanish word “tronada,” which means "thunderstorm,” but many folks also call them twisters and cyclone. Climatologists - when they aren’t preoccupied screaming chicken-little that my coffee-maker and lawn mower are destroying the known universe - say that tornados can form and drop to the earth almost anywhere. The textbooks say that, “Although tornadoes have been observed on every continent except Antarctica, most occur in the United States.They also commonly occur in southern Canada, south-central and eastern Asia, east-central South America, Southern Africa, northwestern and southeast Europe, western and southeastern Australia, and New Zealand.” And a whole lot of them land in Texas. I’ve seem em’ from a nice distance in Texas and Oklahoma. A nice distance. No handshake. No thanks.
Growing up in the New York City area I never saw one, though I’ve heard of some landing thereabouts. When I got to Texas, I learned a fool could go stir-crazy worrying about them as they are a seasonal problem. They visit us Texicans a lot. And Okies. Today, we have these storm-chaser cable TV shows camping out in Texas and Oklahoma where vans built like tanks and full of Starship Enterprise gear roam our country-sides on the rabid hunt for a whiff or a glimpse of a tornado. "PLEASE," they beg for one! "DAMN," they cuss, if they miss one. When they see one they scream and holler as if they’ve won the Superbowl. Of course its all really for the science! They also “run tests” and “collect data” seated at Spock-like control board inside these vans. The narrators tell us that this vital, VITAL information will help us...ahhh...predict tornados? And this will help these...ahhh...warning systems? Sirens and the like? Systems like this damn, low hum buzzer, alarm one in my city nobody but a werewolf can hear? Especially when you’re sound asleep?
I watch the TV news these days and the modern weathermen can actually tell you at what moment rain will hit on exactly what street. name that street! That is amazing. To me, that might just be information-overload unless you’re the Wicked Witch of the West and melt on contact with water. She needs to know that precise stuff. Do you? Years back, it rained on you when it rained on you. I can’t document what kind of tornado detection devices we had years back, like in the 1970s when I first had to worry about the weather , professionally speaking. We had some kind of Cold War radar I guess, but I was part of the sophisticated detection system of the day. That being, my simple eyes, my simple ears, my slick raincoat. Boots on the ground.
When I was stationed as an Military Policeman in Oklahoma in the 70s, my first real contact with tornadoes and public safety began. When our old-school, weather radar reported an encroaching storm, say from the west side of our enormous base and surrounding shooting ranges and preserves, the Head Shed (powers that be - and I add - safe, secure, dry powers they were) dispatched us to the high grounds west of the populated areas to look out for these pending tornadoes.
For those who don’t know or haven’t seen it, the vastness of the south and central west of the USA really begins in the middle of Texas, Oklahoma, Nebraska and runs flat out to the Rocky Mountains. Way south and it runs almost out to Los Angeles! And, there is a beauty and majesty to the land, a special vista that is a unique sight. In southwestern Oklahoma, some folks call it the “Big Pasture,” or the “Badlands.” You can’t see much at night, but when lightening storms flow in and cast sudden, white light across the plains there is a natural genius and wonder about it all that defies description.
And these lightening storms get crazy! Like on Mars! I have seen a few of these nights and they remain etched in my feeble brain. Out there, on these o’dark-thirty nights, I caught my first glimpses of tornadoes, electrified into vision by bolts of white lightening. I have even seen one tornado peeling across the ground during a sunset. Most of the time I stayed inside our Rambler Ambassador squad cars as tons of heavy rain pelted upon me. The old, extra-heavy car rocking with the wind. One night I nosed my car into the wind, hoping I wouldn’t flip over! Visibility ended at the windshield like a fish tank. But, I still recall those magic times when the wind and the rain was afar, and I stood outside my prowl car, dry as a bone, with binoculars and watched the sheer chaos of it all. 
One such evening, I was sent to the north east side our post for storm, watch-duty at sunset. A truly, horrendous sky was forming above us. It looked like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel meets the Big Bang Theory, all on LSD with a Hendrix soundtrack. Right above me, miles of deep, multi-colored, thick clouds, swapping lightening bolts as they swirled. This sky scared the hell out of me like a caveman. The air around me stood bone still. Then, a breath-taking vacuum sucked through. I watched this abomination of nature inch by overhead. It passed me. Passed us, and the whole fort. I wondered about the ranches, farms and the cities further east. Would they be so lucky? There is so much empty land out there. Would it, could it just touch down over some sagebrush valley?
But, we escaped the threat. Later that night, it hit Duncan, Oklahoma, ripping the city clean apart, killing so many. A week later I drove through Duncan like a sick, rubber-necker, but I had to see. Needless to say, it looked like an A-Bomb touched down. Oh, the death. The destruction. A city turned into flying splinters that kill like darts.
We have had various, very serious storms through Texas and Oklahoma and I have been on duty as a patrolman or a detective pitching in to help. And some tornadoes come and go, but that one Oklahoma twister brewing over my head was as close as I have came to the big, bad one. When it sucks the wind from your lungs? That's scary close, bubba. Unforgettable. Doomsday.
Back to 2008 and thirty-plus years later. I walked back outside to see the skies again. The half-muted sirens still sounded. Most folks collected their cats, dogs, kids and grandma's valuable, antique clock and took to the padded corners of their closets, as I was once again apparently alone on the street, looking up.
Deep down, I guess I understand when storm chasers whoop and holler when they see a twister. Its the magic of being there, seeing a piece of creation and destruction at work, all at once. Oh, and all that science too! Don’t forget the research! Otherwise, I guess you’d have to be a damn fool to stand outside in a tornado warning. But then? I guess I’ve been that kind of damn fool my whole life.
Adios, Amigos.
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