TallCop

Merry Christmas to my Heroes

2009-12-10T13:04:00.007-07:00

Christmas time. As always, I'm digin it.

This year, as with each of the last eight, my thoughts have gone out to our military and civilian sheepdogs - the men and women on the job keeping the rest of of safe and at peace and, in doing so, missing their own families and the warmth of those moments steeped with aromas of good cooking, good cheer and good times.I wonder sometimes if they wonder, sometimes, if we truly appreciate what it is they do.

Do we take for granted all they give us - or have we come to "expect" it from our public servants. Having been on the job myself for 20 years, this is one guy who clearly understands their risk and the sacrifices they make. Seems I remember making them myself a time or two. Today, in my retirement from "Copland," I miss my firends terribly; friends who happen to be the men and women on the job. I proudly say now what I could not say to their faces then - for fear of their sometimes harsh but always good natured teasing.

They always were my heroes--and always will be. Always.

Going into a dark building or some one's backyard at three in the morning to look for an intruder or prowler; stopping a suspected, armed felon driving a stolen car; charging into a burning building ahead of the fire department to rescue anyone inside. These things happen every day in America. Do you truly appreciate the skill and devotion this takes? I hope so, for their sake.

And the military. Their risk and the price they pay, goes without saying. Each who has served has earned my lifelong respect and thanks. Each who has fallen, will live in my heart for as long as it beats. With each day I draw a breath in freedom and peace, I send out a prayer of thanks to all in uniform

.And so, may I share my wish for the heroes among us? It is a simple desire for a peaceful and uneventful season full of all of the good things we so look forward to this time of year. The hugs from children, the joy of giving or the thrill of receiving a special gift.

Whatever it is - may they have it.God bless them all.

2009-10-29T22:09:00.002-06:00

It's time. I have started on a new book.

This time - for the first time - it won't be about cops. At least not directly. While I will and do, often look back on my career as a state trooper for inspiration and anecdotes, this time I want to write about just being. An American. A dad. A husband. The master of two labrador retreivers.

I want to write about being a regular guy.

So stand by. It aughta be interesting ....

Obama - Lying Liberal in Chief

2009-09-20T01:01:00.002-06:00

It seems I sold Barry Hussein Obama (might as well be Osama) short. He is not an angry black dude. It goes far beyond that...

He is a lying, angry America hating socialist. Of course, I know I will now join the distinguished group now known as racists for criticising the man, but I'm cool with that. While I am loathe to be considered a racist, I would hate worse, to be called a hypocrite.

He is what he is ... and I am, what I am. I'm good with that.

Peace.

Barry Obama (might as well be Osama) - an Angry Black Dude

2009-07-28T08:17:00.006-06:00

While I had suspected it for quite some time, my suspicions are now confirmed - our president - is an angry black dude, stuck in a mentality too familiar to me now. An anger, if you will, toward a world he sees as black and white. He has virtually no background of strife nor, any "keeping the black man down," but he has now shown he strongly sympathizes toward suck ilk. A weak and gutless attitude.

Never before in American history has a black man been in such a grand position to make good change for all. Yet, Barry Obama (might as well be Osama) chooses to steep even longer in the distrust, disdain and disadvantage of hate, bigotry and attitude. I knew he was without leadership skills, but this is sad. This guy is no leader - he clearly falls into step with his militant forefathers. What a terrible waste of a golden opportunity.

I speak of course, of Barry's recent, "I don't know the facts, but the Cambridge police acted stupidly," statement of support for another angry, belligerent and racist man - a Harvard professor - arrested for causing a disturbance when the police where only trying to protect his property.

Barry Obama (might as well be Osama) was correct - he didn't know the facts. He should have ended his statement right there. But no - his inept and clumsy arrogance came through as it has so many times already and his mouth ,overrode his brain.

My God, what has happened to my country. My president, is a tool; a cop-hating tool. We already have plenty of those. We needed something more.

Thank you, George Bush

2008-12-12T11:38:00.007-07:00

Dear Mr. President:
In a few short weeks we will say goodbye to you and your family. As you return to a semi-private life and a retirement you earned so completely, I just can't let you leave without saying, "Thanks," from one American patriot who is very, very grateful for all you did for us in the face of incredible pressure, unjustified insults, attacks and blatant treachery by some of your countrymen to include the press, members of congresss and our intelligence services.

It wasn't yet a year into your first term when the world--and you--were changed forever. Within a breath, you were no longer the leader of a peaceful and worry-free world but instead; found yourself thrust into what were to be some of the hardest most gut wrenching and heartfelt decisions ever made by a United States president. Sadness, fear, uncertainty and bewilderment were the words describing the feelings of your countrymen. With each day, the fear became closer to anger. Then the anger, demanded justice. They turned to you and you came through.

As you said, those who ran from justice, would have justice, brought to them. You warned us it would a be a long struggle and the cost would be hard to bear. You knew what we would learn--that freedom, would not be free. I know you felt it deeply when you sent our military into the fray but I also know--as they did--it was the right thing to do. As the days turned into years you faced immeasurable pressure to concede--to surrender--to give up the fight. Thank God you stood firm and did the right thing.

Your leadership of our nation--not just the military but all of us--has been remarkable. You were not afraid to show your emotion. Your determination was not thwarted for a moment or by an inch--by the many detractors who saw a political advantage in second guessing virtually every breath you took and every thought or decision you and you alone, had to make on behalf of us all. Their methods were clearly cruel, unjust and transparent for what they were--simply attempts to elevate their own agendas regardless of the national security or our national image. News publications became enraged and in fact, treacherous, when you wouldn't do their bidding. I was, and am still, amazed, at your spine, your stalwart resolve and your humanity through it all.

You have been a president for whom I was and am still, very proud to have voted twice. You surrounded yourself with the brilliance of minds and depth of expertise one rarely sees in a single administration. While you were not afraid to delegate, you never once hid behind it. Unlike others who wanted to blame, you accepted your failures on your own chin; with your head held high just as humbly as your triumphs. You took time on many occasions to recognize the sacrifices and contributions of your fellow citizens and made those with whom you spoke privately, feel as though they were the only person who mattered to you at that moment.

I saw you interact with children on many occasions. Your love of kids is genuine and a precious site. As a father myself. it was easy to see genuine love in your eyes. You always showed this, Sir, not only to your own girls, but to any child who captured your attention. When the news of 9-11 was whispered as you sat in front of a kindergarten class, not a child in the room was frightened or startled because of the smooth, measured and courageous way in which you responded. I was very impressed and proud at your maturity and conservative, measured response.

Your relations with our soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors has been equally heartfelt and genuine and one could always see the admiration and love in your heart for your military.

I have seen you laugh, weep, think deeply and rarely, scold harshly. All, with the flesh and bone of a human being; remaining presidential and a true leader in doing so. While so many of us butcher our language daily, you took immeasurable grief for all of us when you did--always with a smile and self-effacing admission.

Finally, you did the one most important task we ever ask of our president.

YOU KEPT US SAFE!

Not one more attack. Not one! No more invasions of our homeland security have occurred under your watch. Through your leadership, dozens of future attacks have been discovered in their planning stages and have been stopped cold. With each occasion, I have offered a silent prayer, thanking God you were our president at this time against and this enemy and not, those who ran against you.

You, Mr. Bush, were the exact right man at the exact right time and one day, history will give you a special place among the few past presidents who really did, make a difference.

I offer this not simply because it is the right thing to say, but because very few, have actually earned it.Sir, I wish you peace, love, rewards and mostly, the joys a hero, deserves.

Thank You Mr. President. God bless.

Our Day - Our Heroes

2008-05-01T18:47:00.003-06:00

There, among the pillars of marble and polished stone; among the hoards of commuters, workers and tourists; among the sightseers, visitors and residents; among the judges, the juries and the witnesses coming and going from Judiciary Square in Washington D.C, stands a quiet courtyard. It is a vacant space between two busy buildings – adorned with perfectly manicured trees and flowerbeds, pools of cool water and the statuary of a lion and lamb, lending a peaceful and serene backdrop to the starkly cold slabs of marble, embracing all visitors. These walls are engraved with the names of good men and women. Thousands of them—moms, dads, brothers and sisters; kids, coworkers and friends—all of whom, having died for their country. Having given us, the ultimate sacrifice. Are they soldiers? No. Marines ? No.

They are cops. State troopers, deputies, municipal police officers, federal agents. Every name on the elliptical walls—each placed without regard for rank, geography or title—gave you everything they had, to keep your community at peace and to keep your family free from harm. This is hallowed ground for American law enforcement. The National Law Enforcement Memorial. Someday, if you get the chance to visit Washington D.C., I implore you to take the time to go there. To stand there. To reflect on the peace and tranquility you enjoy there. And, to pray there.

I have visited this national memorial and have taken part in the ceremonies held there twice in my days as a state trooper and have seen the names of over 60; also engraved, on our own memorial at the Wyoming State Law Enforcement Academy, at Douglas. Three, were friends of mine. I am so proud to have known them. They gave my beloved Wyoming all they had. I often write of the valor of police officers in part, to honor these Wyoming sons and to honor the others I have known across the country who likewise saw a need, took the job and gave their lives to it. Completely.

Like Tina Kerbrat—the very first female Los Angeles Police Officer killed in the line of duty—she, a friend and the wife of a high school classmate who happened be a Los Angeles Firefighter. Tina was still in training when she was shot and killed.

Or Skip Fink, an Arizona state trooper who when last I saw him, had me laughing so hard I nearly had an accident. A wonderful and decent man who did not deserve to die. Yet he did so, for you. Hit from behind on a traffic stop by a drunk driver.

Or, Wyoming state trooper Chris Logsden—who when last we spoke, shared his love of flying with me—both of us pilots for hobby and cops, for fun, Chris, after locating a wrong-way driver about to collide with a school bus full of children, took evasive action and in doing so, crashed and was killed as his patrol car rolled. He is gone now and he is one of the thousands on that wall. Like Tina and Skip, Chris will live forever in name and in spirit. Heroes like these deserve eternal remembrance. As long as new, young heroes take the oath of office, those lost, live on forever.

May 15^th is National Police Memorial Day. Flags fly at half-staff on this day on government buildings and I pray, everywhere else where flags are flown. You will see police officers around the country wearing mourning ribbons across their badge. Now you will know why.

The week of May 15^th inclusive, is National Police Week. It is a time for honoring my former comrades. While I enjoy the comforting pension I receive for my service, they still patrol our streets, highways and alleys, still offer themselves as a thin blue line between you and the pervasive evil, greed and violent anger that exists in the society we all share.

I ask you to salute them. Thank them. Honor them—by simply obeying the law, offering a kind waive or handshake or, perhaps with a prayer. And on May 15^th, remember them all. Both those you can see and the many standing watch over us all.

In the warm and safe protection, of God.

Alternative Hose Job - And No Kiss

2008-03-31T08:23:00.003-06:00

Did you ever feel like a victim? Slapped—without so much as a kiss? Overloaded, abused, kicked around and beaten like a rented mule?

Say hello to the Alternative Minimum Tax! This year for the first time—because finally; at our “distinguished ages,” myself and “Mrs G” have attained the enviable income level of “middle class.” We have no more little boys from whom we can glean a child tax credit and so instead, we get to be hosed an additional $1,400 above and beyond the tax tables provided in the tax booklet! All the while, we proudly pay for college to the tune of $20,000 per year—along with millions of other “middle income” folks in the same situation. Man….what a country! No wonder the democrats in congress keep fighting the repeal of this gold mine. IT’S FREE MONEY!

Once I realized I would be afforded this special opportunity to step up and pay more than my fair share—I just sat back on the couch and stared at my computer screen in utter disbelief. My first reaction, was, “Huh? What, the hell? I am certain these are words uttered ad nauseum, in the collective privacy of millions of homes. This, is this Alternative Minimum Tax. I silently wished I had back the 30 minutes or so it took to compute the boy’s limited, small tuition write-offs. What was the point?

So I researched. Apparently, instituted in the 1960s, this brainstorm was actually conceived in the spirit of fair play. Contrived so that the very wealthy having a myriad of tax write-offs they could take advantage of and in doing so, actually pay less tax than “normal folks,” they would still have to pay a “minimum amount.” And it worked—BACK THEN. The problem, was that it was never indexed for inflation, so that now, forty years later, middle income levels having approached what were then, high-income levels, now fall into the range where the AMT comes into play!

Now I am no accountant. I am not tax professional of any kind. I’m just a regular schmoe—a retired Wyoming state trooper as it happens, who picked another job after retirement. Hardly anything more than middle-class next-door neighbor material. I mow my own lawn and everything. And, in just one direction!

Well, wait a minute. How dare I! I am, after all, fortunate enough to be considered middle class nowadays. I should be proud, to pay an extra little tidbit, so that the less fortunate United States Government will not have to do without. After all, the Congress is people, too.

Among the many “Bush Tax Cuts” I was so proud to support, was a temporary raising of the income level to qualify for this tax, but it wasn’t raised nearly high enough. Now, if you approach $70,000 or so, stand by and be sure to do the worksheet provided—you may be next in line to see the hose monster magically come alive and chase you down! If they think I supported those tax cuts before; you ain’t seen nothing yet! Sign me up for the camp to completely abolish the AMT. What a rip off!

For now, I sit and lick my wounds from doing battle with the IRS tax forms for another year—stunned, that I work every year until April, to pay my taxes. Then, smiling in irony, I think back to a day not too long ago where my liberal-leaning son suggested higher taxes were a good thing—that people should have to give even more, to pay for all of the finer things our government wants to bring us.

So I tossed in some logic he could relate to. How would he like it, I asked, if, (as he usually gets straight “A” grades and works very hard to attain them) he had to give two of his “A”s every semester, back to the school. They would then give him a “C” and give those perfect grades to a less studious, less fortunate youngster who “deserved” their help. My son’s GPA would suffer a 20% hit. His 4 point would become a 3.2! Shouldn’t he feel thankful the school would use his grade to help someone they felt needed the help, more than he? After all, he already had plenty!

“That’s different!” He exclaimed.

“How so?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because I worked very hard, for those grades!”

“Indeed, my boy. Tell me about it.”

Wyoming's Castle Law - The Last Laugh they Hear

2008-03-06T13:13:00.002-07:00

In the debate of the Castle Law currently being considered in our legislature, is the core question: Does the head of a household have the right to protect with deadly force if need be; his home, property or loved ones within. It amazes me that there would be anyone available to actually argue against this.

When in our nation’s history—much less Wyoming’s history—did we ever agree to acquiesce to the criminals among us? When did that happen? While in some circles of upper crust, liberal mindset it is true that some, have suggested that criminals are victims. That criminals are only evil, foul, violent and selfish—because our society has somehow dropped the ball and let them down. Hogwash!

The reason you, I, or most other folks have anything of value, precious artifacts we collect in our lifetimes and the human blessing in our lives—is because we’ve worked hard for them. Sacrificed for them. Waited for them. Earned them. Created them. For the most part, few of us had much more than the shirt on our backs when we started out making a life and acquiring those things of value to us. Now, some would argue, we must simply hand over these things—including the lives of our loved ones—to these poor, misunderstood souls. I don’t think so.

As a retired Wyoming state trooper, I once lived the life of a peace officer. A cop who, like other cops, understood all too well, the vial realities of the criminals among us here in Wyoming. Yes, we are few in population my friends and we all like to brag about keeping our doors unlocked to our homes and cars, because after all, Wyoming is such a friendly place. That is true. It is the most wondrous land in all of America in my opinion. But splash a little ice water in your face my neighbors—Wyoming—as good as it is—has no exemption from evil.

Understand clearly, that if you call 911 at 3 a.m. to report one of these animals forcibly breaking into your home while your children sleep just a few feet from the window you just heard get shattered, a police officer just a couple of miles away, will take precious minutes to respond. The intruder, will take but a few seconds, to find you all, kill you, steal your things and be gone—into the night. Yes—they are that bold, that fast and that ruthless.

And so now our legislature debates whether you should be allowed to defend your life and the lives of your family, against these thugs. Whether you should be required to bow down and surrender, at the feet of the evil and depraved living among us.

There are, living among you in virtually every tiny hamlet from Wamsutter to Casper; Story to Cheyenne and everything in between—very bad, very mean and very violent criminals who laugh, at the well-intentioned but far removed liberal judges, legislators and citizens who come to their defense. They are waiting; these self-gratifying parasites, laughing at us, as we argue this bill. They laugh also at the police, who must try to protect you when they cannot be in two places at once. They are waiting.

Please, contact your legislator and ask them where they stand on this issue and tell them that it is you—and your good, Wyoming neighbors—for whom the last laugh, is reserved.

A Straight beats 3-of-a-Kind

2008-02-22T08:00:00.013-07:00

In the world of poker, there is a hierarchy of hands - the final collection cards one is left to play, after the deal or draw. There are essentially 9 possible collections, from high card to a Royal Flush; a nearly impossible hand to attain. Sometimes, a player needs to bet when he is unsure of the opponent's hands. Or, when he wishes he had a better hand. And, while every poker player wishes for a Royal Flush every time, they are quite rare. We usually win pots full of money, with hands as low as a Straight, much more a common man's hand. And, it beats 3-of-a-kind, every time.

In the presidential race, we are going to be left with a choice, baring an independent spoiler, of "3-of-a-kind," B. Hussein Obama or "Straight" shooter, John McCain. The primaries aren't over yet, but we all know that's whee it is going to end.

In Obama, we have 3-of-a-Kind, or 3 great traits. We have an excellent public speaker, motivator and by all measure, a simply exciting candidate to young, first time, perhaps less politically educated and mature voters. He moves them--that much is plain to see. The problem, is that no one seems to know to where, he moves them. No one, can tell me what, exactly, Obama has specifically stated he will do, to bring this "hope" into something tangible. Something we can see, touch, hear taste or even smell.

Will the promise of "hope," prevent more attacks on our homeland? Will "change" keep our borders secure? Will saying "yes we can," translate into "and we did.."? How? When? Where? Will plagiarizing the meaningless speeches of other, more experienced candidates for public office, keep the economy flowing and thriving?

All I hear, is an empty echo in the canyons. And, it's just my voice, bouncing back.

With McCain, what we have, is a Straight. Nothing pretty. With McCain, quite candidly, we have a not so good public speaker. In fact, to watch him read his "heartfelt" speeches in the teleprompter is maddening. But he is straight shooter--no wild cards. No jokers. This, is an honest man. We see a partially crippled hero, left scared and in pain, from years of torture, malnutrition and emotional stress one can only imagine, from his seven years in captivity as a prisoner of war. I physically hurt for him when I watch him try to lift his arms to waive at a crowd. This man gave up his very body and health and probably some lingering emotional troubles, for me, my family and my country. I owe him deference, for that alone.

That Obama did not serve in the military does not disqualify him. That he doesn't understand it, embrace it or support its mission, does. He has no business being Commander in Chief of the entire United States Military. His statements and actions tell us that. Not, his lack of service.

While I have been an ardent detractor of John McCain for his liberal bent in certain issues, I am pleased he has "gotten the message" about the borders and has pledged to secure them and not, grant amnesty to millions who did not respect our laws when they entered our nation. Moreover, he realized that securing our borders will help immensely in protecting us from terror.

In regard to tax cuts, not only has he seen and announced the error of his ways when he came out against them; he now supports and offers more in the future. How cool is that? Because of W's tax cuts our economy (up until very recently) thrived and it will again once we get past this bump. McCain has seen this and now embraces the concept of less tax, translating into more revenue for the government.

As to the awesome responsibility of the war against terror very much still in progress--only part of which having anything to do with Iraq--this is by far and away, the most important duty and responsibility of our president. John McCain gets this. John McCain isn't embarrassed by his patriotism and will wear a flag on his lapel, place his hand over his heart and proudly recite the pledge of allegiance along with the rest of us.

B Hussein Obama, left me doubting his patriotism in a huge way, by refusing the symbolism involved. His wife; our would-be first lady, up until one week ago, had never been proud to be an American! And, she repeated it twice more! The Obamas know nothing of the powerful emotion and drive of patriotism--nothing of symbolism--and B Hussein knows nothing of military tactics or keeping peace through power--other than to threaten to bomb our allies! That comment alone was frightening if not laughable in its ignorance. This man grew up in the age of entitlement - everything has always been peachy in America in his lifetime--with no threat from outside our borders of having it taken away.

John McCain grew up with full knowledge of the nuclear threat of the Soviet Union. At any time, that communist enemy could have attacked us and John McCain, chose to enlist in the United States Naval Academy an fly fighters in Viet Nam. He chose this service, knowing he might die in doing so--and nearly did. John McCain understands the threats against our peace and security all too well and is clearly ready and able to give the hardest orders imaginable--to send Americans into war for all the right reasons.

B Hussein Obama, hasn't got a clue. How could he?

Many of my friends know I was not for John McCain--I was a Fred Thompson supporter. When Fred stepped down, our choices were simple. An astute businessman; a Mayor; a former governor / bass player / preacher; and a senator, with crippling injuries, emotional scars, age and his very career in the sometimes failing United States senate all working against him--save for one, final, undeniable, abiding truth....

His valor. His selfless, tested courage while under painful, physical and emotional attack.

He won that battle. He deserves the big desk. He's earned it.

While not a Royal Flush and clearly not the Full House we all wanted, he is, an ace-high straight.

A Family Tradition

2008-02-08T18:07:00.000-07:00

Today I received a text from Cameron, my youngest son - a freshman at the University of Wyoming. If I may brag a moment, he is brilliant and almost as good looking as his ol' man. He is as liberal as I am conservative and yet, somehow, we still love each other, complete with hugs - even if he sometimes tells me, "C'mon Dad, this is gay."

While he and I have had intense and heated debates - to the point where Mrs. Geeting was ready to throw ice water on us both and our Labrador Retreivers were howling - we still have the unqualified love of a father and son. God, I am so lucky.

Cody; a junior, is equally awesome, but this piece, is about his younger brother.

In his text, Cameron said, "Well, Dad, I think I just screwed myself out of an A. One of my teachers said today that 'most cops are racists.' I called bullshit to defend your honor and soon, she and the whole class, were on me."

It is popular, he said, to be against the cops these days and suddenly, it was a shark frenzie - all of them against me. I know you once told me just to agree with my professors - no matter how ludicrous they are - and this was a dumbass thing to do. I did it anyway.

Having been the victim of a professor with a chip, I learned that lesson years and years ago, only after it cost me dearly. "Stand for something later, I told him, after you have the degree! Until then, be meek, mild and sheepish, but hold your principles tightly. Quietly, but tightly."

And that, was just like my dad; he, a cop in Los Angeles, told me. So, when my professor called cops, "pigs," I blew my stack and defended my dad's honor - just like my own son. I completely disregarded my dad's council and told that professor just what I though of his opinions. He, then, with the power of the pen, suddenly found a way to award me a C, when my work had been spot on and perfect.

If this is the result of my son standing up for me - his complete disregard of my council - I will hug him tightly and kiss him and he, will call it "gay." Then, I will tell him I love him and like my dad, I will welcome him to a long line of proud Dutch - German men and women, who share something very, very special.

The name, Geeting.

People, who against some good advice, will always stand for something...

THE GOOD GUYS!

2008-01-29T10:44:00.000-07:00

Well, the odds finally caught up with me. 20 years on the road as a trooper without a scratch. Now, as a civilian, I got into it with a Schneider truck yesterday, in a blizzard here in Wamsutter – the brand, spankin' new driver (he's been on the road for a grand total of 2 weeks) decided since he couldn't see where he was going, just to slow to a crawl and stop in the middle of the hammer lane. I had slowed to 20 mph or so, but knew better than to stop, for fear of being rear ended. Next thing I know, I have the rear cargo doors of a Schneider truck in my windshield. I tried to swerve left and almost missed, but clipped his left rear with my right front.

My beautiful new F350 – destroyed.

The air bag didn't even deploy as I was going so slow, but these new trucks are built to crunch up front on purpose to absorb impact. It works. My front clip was destroyed but other than some sore ribs from the set belt, not a scratch. Radiator, tranny cooler and assorted fluid lines, all the sheet metal, dash and windshield. Trashed.

But, there remains, my poor truck.

Later, I will go to the auto body shop. I hope they total it but I'm afraid they won't and after repair, it just won't be the same outfit. We'll see.

My message and the bottom line here, is I'm good, I'm alive. And so would anyone else who had their seat belt on.

Wear 'm. Get in the habit, and wear 'm. Always.

Don't Blaze the TAZER, Bro!

2007-12-12T12:39:00.000-07:00

Across the country, there has been a lot of coverage regarding the use by police of the Tazer—an electrically charged dart gun—used to temporarily short circuit the body’s nervous system and disable a resisting or escaping suspect. While dramatic in its temporary affect, the public should understand it is harmless to 99% of the suspects upon whom it is used—no lasting effects, whatsoever.

A police officer has certain choices in the tools he uses when he must take physical custody of a human being or in some way, direct their movement. In rising order of force, they start with visual command presence; i.e., a glance of disapproval. Then, verbal requests, verbal orders, hands-on direction, pain-compliance techniques, blunt force, such as a baton or, finally, firearms. The question, is where does the Tazer fit into this choice?

To know the answer, one must decide how much abuse or harm we as a society will demand our police must absorb in our name. Remember—the police represent you and what you demand of civilized behavior.

Should the police absorb verbal assaults? Sure. They always have and they always will—it’s part of the job. Verbal name-calling, verbal abuse and foul language are all hallmarks of the less than desirable people in any society. Often needing direction, correction or physical custody, these seedy types really do not like the police for obvious reasons and are rarely timid in saying so. So be it. Sticks and stones and all that.

However; sometimes, verbal assaults are actually verbal warnings—words or inflections which mean much more to an experienced and seasoned police officer than a simple insult. They are often, a signal of imminent harm. Of an intended attack. Should a police officer—would you—allow that attack to happen first, before you responded to protect yourself? If you had a tool; harmless yet instantly and almost always completely debilitating to a charging or resisting suspect, would you not deploy it to protect not only yourself, but the public? Of course you would. Would you be willing to risk an injury to yourself and thus, allow a suspect to either attack and injure you or an innocent bystander? Of course not. At least, no professional peace officer would. If so, that peace officer would be derelict in his duty.

Remember that you employ your police to protect you as a society by protecting themselves. If a police officer allows himself to become injured or disabled, he takes himself out and leaves you to fend for yourself. This is not why you pay your taxes. A police officer has the responsibility as a professional, to protect himself at all costs, so that he is there to serve you in your time of need. To apprehend a deranged or violent suspect, before he gets to those you may love.

In my day, I had no Tazer and often had to resort to inflicting drastic injuries to suspects, to control them and to protect myself. Believe it or not, I did not enjoy hurting these people. A Tazer might have prevented this.

A Tazer is one more very useful, less than lethal tool at an officer’s disposal to affect control, without bringing fractured bones, dislocated joints and perhaps death, to an undesirable who doesn’t deserve such pain or death. Sadly, we could look back in time to thousands of cases where a Tazer would likely have prevented the deaths of suspects, but ill-equipped police officers of that time were left no choice—no “less than lethal” tool—in stopping a violent suspect.

In these days when it is popular politics to question and suggest excessive force by your local police, I would ask you to allow for another possibility. That such force—such as a Tazer—was used because a professional peace officer, perhaps with a spouse and kids waiting at home, wished to protect not only himself, but wished no harm on anyone else.

That a professional in your employ, wanted nothing more than to control an unfortunate incident and to give an “innocent until proven guilty” subject his day in court; as promised, by our glorious system of American justice.

A Hero Needs Your Help!

2007-11-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

To my beloved Wyoming: one of your peeps is being attacked! A fine and decent man, sworn to die for you if he must, is attempting to fight an unjust action against his good name. He deserves simple fairness. Is that asking too much of the hero he is? Wyoming, I ask that you do not let this happen!

First, there are the ill-conceived comments to newspapers. For example, as well-known in the criminal community for being anti-police and one who can “get you off,” second only to being as well-known in the law enforcement community as—well, something else—Rock Springs lawyer and drunk driver advocate Harley McKinney; a lawyer once publicly censured and fined by the Wyoming Supreme Court for less than professional conduct, stood upon his lofty perch and then, in a letter to the editor, he demanded honest scruples—demanding adherence by the police to the stalwart and irreproachable principals of our system of law.

In his familiar and typically libelous attack; actually, less an attack on Wyoming state trooper Ben Peech and Wyoming peace officers in general, and more, a free ad for his law practice, he enlightened us all as to what the police really do when they receive a tip of an intoxicated driver. Apparently, all those hundreds of times I responded to such calls, I fabricated the reasonable suspicion I needed to make the stop, fabricated the results of sobriety testing and then lied on my report. Imagine my surprise when all the while, I thought I was an honest cop.

As to the issue, I know Ben Peech. I was among the veterans who taught him and welcomed him into the Wyoming Highway Patrol. I know his motives. They are not of money, glory or power. I proffer instead, that his motives were and remain simple: to remove these selfish felons, their gains and substances and to protect our families from their collective foul and lethal presence.

Like all good cops, Ben hates what drugs are doing to America. He hates the chemicals but more importantly, the people who blend them. He isn’t alone. This state has other pit bulls just like Ben. Bad guys hate them. Which is why you should love them and be very thankful that they have been in your employ. In Ben’s case, for a decade.

Because of Trooper Peech, countless pounds of heroin, cocaine, marijuana, methamphetamine, ecstasy and other illicit substances have found their way into our state incinerators. They could have found their way instead, to your children’s veins. However, because they found their way to Trooper Peech, they were stopped cold. Cash; used to further these criminal enterprises, has been confiscated and in turn used by our state and federal law enforcement agencies against the very felons from whom it was taken. This includes the over 3 million in this case. All, at great risk to Ben’s family and to himself. And all for you.

I am no longer in a position to have an “ in” with the inner-sanctum of the Wyoming Highway Patrol and to know all of the facts in the case against Trooper Peech. However, I knew the Command Staff of the WHP all too well. In my time they were different players, but the tactics are familiar. I too, was a 2-term president of the Wyoming Highway Patrol Association. I authored the Awards and Medals Program under which Ben was decorated for his drug interdiction efforts! These medals have always been paid for by the Association, but have been pinned and presented, by the Colonel of the Wyoming Highway Patrol. Presently, that is Sam Powell—the very man who terminated Trooper Peech. For his drug interdiction efforts!

I too, faced endless and often emotionally taxing persecution over my questioning of labor matters, working conditions and officer safety issues. I demanded autonomy for my Association business and was rewarded with several cold and prickly meetings with Command, clearly intended to intimidate me into submission—into doing things, “their way." These are some of the suspicions many have cast toward the WHP Command over this case and, while am I not surprised, I am troubled. You see, I also know Colonel Sam Powell as a straight up, honest leader and I am sure he feels he has acted properly. Others who advise him could very well be ill motivated, but I pray not him.

The WHP is steeped in the tradition of overt, uniformed law enforcement—unfortunately to the point of debilitation. They are strictly a uniformed agency with proud, bold and colorful activities. The dark and slimy world of drugs requires a trooper who desires it, to sometimes obtain training on his own or from outside sources; of the dark, clandestine and tricky maneuvers sometimes needed to be successful in drug interdiction. In my opinion, what Ben did as reported in this case may have been distasteful to a WHP not accustomed to such tactics but it was 100% legal—with guidelines and directives by courts familiar with this type of activity and in conjunction with federal agents. As a taxpayer, I demand our police do everything within the law to stop crime. Everything! If hurt feelings result, tough noogies.

To see a brave and gallant peace officer stripped of the most coveted position in Wyoming law enforcement, whether due to his fraternal activities representing Wyoming’s state troopers or, due to his active engagement in fighting narcotics flow throughout our state, would be a shameful waste. All this would accomplish, is to afford a perverted sense of “pay back” and an almost sensual joy, to some very foul souls keeping our state prison officials employed.

I would urge those citizens holding animosity and a propensity to pre-judge so labeled “police misconduct” cases, wherein they have neither standing nor business, to keep their poison pens at bay and allow the system to run its course as the law provides.

2007-07-26T17:29:00.000-06:00

I have learned with dismay although with absolutely no surprise, that the family and survivors of a woman shot and killed by a Wyoming state trooper near Gillette 2 years ago, are suing, because among other things, they claim the state trooper, all 130 pounds him, was less than of proper stature adequate enough for the job. You gotta be kidding me.

Speaking from the lofty stature of 6’10” and over twice the poundage of the trooper in question, you can’t have it both ways! Often in court, I was accused of being “too intimidating!” Once, a particularly theatrical lawyer had me stand up and walk over to the jury to prove how intimidating I was! When several of the jurists failed to shiver in fear but instead, rolled their eyes and smiled at me, I could see they too, thought the trick was about as clever as the O.J. glove thing. So today, at the risk of instilling such fear that you loose your breakfast, I must pass along the truth of an antiquated and misleading belief that the bigger, the better, in the world of law enforcement. This is, today, a profession of brains—not brawn. I know this from watching recruits in my days as an academy instructor, form little droplets of perspiration on their foreheads—not from physical training—but from my written tests!

True, I rarely had to look up at a suspect in my day, but I have breached doors and arrested scoundrels with not only smaller men, but women too, of quite diminutive or petit proportions; all of whom, (when it was needed), could and did with courageous calm, swell up to about 6’3” and 200 pounds of sheer toughness, clearly worthy of complete obedience and respect . They even scared me and I’m not ascared of nothin’!

To suggest that a state trooper is somehow bound to fight it out hand to hand with an enraged, rather robust woman branding a quite deadly metal baton (forcible taken by her from the trooper, by the way,) by somehow overpowering her physically, is to look past (or ignore) the basic duty of any peace officer, to stop criminals and crime in progress quickly by whatever means is necessary to overcome any resisting force. I got news folks. The only thing that overcomes a deadly threat from a deadly metal baton, is an even more deadly threat from a 180 grain bullet.

While this tragic and sad case was no doubt thoroughly investigated from every possible angle both internally within the WHP and by DCI, I knew it would just be a matter of time before this lawsuit presented itself, when some over-zealous attorney could envision his third of any settlement, paying for a cabin in Jackson, a new boat or at least a nice set of golf clubs. My only surprise was that the suspect’s father, a former trooper himself, allowed this to go forward. Grief does things to folks. While clearly, my loyalties and benevolence will always be with the trooper, my heart does reach out the the suspect’s family here as as well. While nothing can relieve their grief, a lawsuit, simply drags it along and keeps it alive even longer. For what?

The trooper in this case, from everything I’ve read or learned about this case, was not only legally justified, morally justified and physically justified in shooting this drunken, exceptionally strong, enraged and combative woman, he was acting honorably and compassionately, pleading for the woman to drop her weapon even as she beat him across the head with it, before he feared for his very life and had to make the decision all cops dread—the decision to shoot. Taking any longer probably would have been fatal to this trooper. He did the right thing, as awful as it is.

In the years following this or any other justified use of police force, the community—in this case the state of Wyoming—must step forward to embrace and stand beside the trooper in question, to clearly show the trooper, his family, the rest of the Wyoming Highway Patrol and the world, that Wyoming stands behind her troopers who gallantly carry out their sworn duty—an oath given before God—to never run, never sway, never back down. To serve their constituency without equivocation. To be soldierly, in the face of death.

And if God forbid, that threat comes, be it in the form of a vicious dog, a child, a grandparent or even an enraged, intoxicated woman; to end it. By whatever means necessary.

And, to return home to their family. Alive.

Father's Day without Dad

2007-06-14T21:21:00.000-06:00

This is my first father’s day without a father. We lost him last winter—just a week before my birthday. He was 85. He was my only true hero.

Not to make your day into a downer, I only say this to say some things I wish I hade said, or said more of or said in person. While mine is not here to read this, I pray your dad is alive, well and indeed, is your hero, as mine was to me. If some of these things sound familiar, I urge you—beg you—to say them out loud and straight into your dad’s face, while you can.

Hey Dad. I wish I had said thank you, more often or, in some cases at all, for a few things I took for granted as a child. Before I was even in the plan, you were a real life hero; saving the world in Guadalcanal, Fiji, the Tonga Islands and other places, so far away from home. You were so brave. You were 20. You were a child. You were a man.

I want to thank you for creating me—for contributing your genes and family tree, to the life I eventually inherited. A life I have loved and from which I have drawn deep joy.

Then, (and I have pictures to prove it), you held me in your arms, bathed me, diapered me, rocked me and seemed to enjoy having me as your son. I have no memory of this, but Mom says it was so. Somehow, deep inside, I think it made a difference in the man and father I became.

You taught me honesty and how a man’s value is measured. You gave me a moral compass and admonished me to always go north—upward—onward—forward—straight. To let my heart guide my intentions and to let my mind, guide my actions. To be gentle and respectful to women. This, taught not by words but in life—in how you always treated mom with the class and honor she deserved.

You took me camping and taught me to value and protect nature. Taught me to catch fish, but to release them unless I was truly hungry, so that others could enjoy the big ones! To shoot straight and true, to love my country and to laugh loud and often and the ridiculous things people do and say. Thanks.

For playing catch; for letting me try a sip of your beer; for showing me how to build things; for teaching me how to drive; for always being impressed with me; for always making me laugh when I didn’t think I could. And for teaching me how to do world-class armpit farts.

Thanks, Dad, for the extra twenty bucks you always slipped me when I had a hot date in high school and for the greatest cheeseburgers in the world. Once, when we were out of food, you turned me on to stale bread cereal. It was delicious. I had no idea it was all there was.

You were a cop, in a very dangerous city at a very dangerous time and you made very little money. Yet somehow, Christmas and birthdays were very, very special. You worked exclusively on night shift, but you still found time for my brother and me, before we went to bed and you went to work. Thank you, for laughing at our worries of you being hurt or killed. You made those fears dissolve, with your huge laugh. You always had a joke about some dirt bag you arrested who did something really stupid. We never knew how scared you really were at times. Thanks for hiding it.

Thanks for the years I had you, Dad. For your timeless advice, your stock of priceless wisdom and your 85 years of good and wholesome influence on me. You were a giant, peaceful, honorable man. Never a headline was printed about you, but you were famous and revered and magnificent. A real role model. The real thing. You tanned my butt when I needed it and hugged me with your whiskered face, when I needed that, which thankfully, was far more often. I can still feel it. All of it.

I miss you, Dad. Without qualification and without reservation, I loved you. And Lord how I know—especially now—how much you loved me.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Sorry for all those dumb cards. Say hello to God. I will see you again and we will share a beer.

Or two.

2007-05-04T20:17:00.000-06:00

In Douglas, standing silent watch at the entrance to the Wyoming Law Enforcement Academy, are two slabs of black granite and, inscribed on those walls, are the names of 62 of Wyoming’s own, who have proven they were among the finest, bravest most selfless of Wyoming’s citizens; peace officers all, killed, in the line of duty.

I said that to say this—May 15th—is and has been for over 40 years, National Law Enforcement Memorial Day. The entire week of May 15th is National Law Enforcement Week. In 1962, backed by a resolution from Congress, President Kennedy proclaimed that this date would be a special day for Americans to honor and thank the police who had died for them in the line of duty across the country.

Did you even know this special date existed? Here is one more thing you should know: In one of the last executive orders of his administration, President Clinton, ordered all federal buildings to fly the flag at half mast on this date, opening up the protocol for local governments to do the same. Has yours? Will your community leaders order the flags flown at half-mast to honor your police?

During this time, try to imagine, realistically, your community without law enforcement. Imagine Casper, at Yellowstone and Poplar at rush hour, with everyone knowing there was no police to monitor and supervise traffic. Imagine Cheyenne, with no police as the closing hours on the final Sunday of Frontier Days see the bars close and hundreds of intoxicated partiers who don’t want to stop poor out onto Lincolnway to continue their party against the rule of law. No cops. None.

Imagine no one patrolling and arresting the thousands of intoxicated drivers every night on your streets in your town. No one cruising down your back ally at three in the morning protecting you as they scan for prowlers and other signs of crime afoot. Imagine your children without the vigilant eye of morning watch officers who keep an eye on them as they walk to school. Imagine crimes gone unsolved—no one to investigate and catch the people responsible.

Each year nationally, approximately 150 of the finest men and women in America die a violent death, as a result of their sworn position as a peace officer as one of a hundred different sworn professions at local, county, state and federal levels. Some, will die by traffic crash. Some being hit by vehicles, others by being shot, beaten, stabbed or otherwise feloniously attacked in service to you.

Peace officers take on a job you ask them to do for you because you do not want the responsibility or risk. They understand this. They do it for a paycheck laughable by Wyoming oilfield standards, with little more than enough for bare essentials for their families. They do it knowing it is a job very few want, fewer qualify for and even less remain at for any length of time. Few callings are more demanding both physically and emotionally and none other, requires a man or woman to wear a badge and uniform, stand out in the crowd and be a human target for aggression, insanity or rage.

Enough said my friends. Please do me a favor and honor my brothers and sisters in any way you can. Walk up and say thank you. But them lunch. Wave. Introduce yourself or your kids to a friend you never knew you had.
It’s the week of May 15th. Please remember all they do.

About Jed Dog

2007-04-03T16:48:00.000-06:00

The day finally came when the circle of life came calling in my home and we felt the bittersweet sting that comes to all of us. I lost my dad—a bona fide hero to me. He taught me how to be the man I am and the father I became. At 85, he had a good run. I miss him badly. Then, a week later, another sting. A type that comes one day to all dog lovers – the sting that comes when it is time to say goodbye to a great friend.

Just as I was getting used to the idea of my dad being gone, Jed, our 12-year-old yellow Labrador retriever, went on to catch up with my dad. Jed was a monster – one of the largest labs I’ve ever seen. While he was still quite energetic and alert, day to day, we saw his joints hurting him and his get up and go, slowing down more often. Finally, he seemed distant and off in a daydream at times, so we had him checked. The devastating news was that he, like his majestic father before him, was riddles with cancer and was in pain.

Each day when my obnoxious alarm clock blasted alive, my greeting was always the loud and hard, thump, thump, thump, of Jed’s tail, slapping hard the floor at the foot of my bed. It was also there whenever anyone mentioned his name. Anyone. As he awakened, he slowly stretched – more slowly now than in years past and with shaky steps, he walked over and sat back down at my foot, asking for nothing more than a few stokes across his soft head and a few words of kindness.

“Big ol’ Jed Dog,” I mumble as I scratch his head, trying to wake myself up and get in the shower for work. “You go on back to bed, now.” He would look away at his bed, look back at me and slowly get back up, doing the three circle curl-up thing and lay back down. A long moan would always escape his throat as if to say, “Man. Glad it ain’t me, pal” and within seconds, he was out again.

Jed joined our family when my oldest boy, now in his second year of college, was in the second grade. His younger brother, in Kindergarten. The youngest will graduate high school this year. Through it all, Jed had been there, watching them without a blink as they played in our yard, on camping trips or other outings, on constant alert for anything amiss. Often, he was the only friend a child had in our tiny town and was often a part of their fun; sometimes eating half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich a child lovingly offered his friend or, just as quickly, a threatening spider infringing on their play area a bit too close for his liking. A few guttural barks from his large vocal chords could instantly accomplish two things at once – alert Mrs. Geeting or myself of someone close by and perhaps, give a moments hesitation to anyone who might have wanted to snatch or hurt the boys.

On the camping trips he was always first out the door, running straight for the lake and jumping in, before we had even unpacked the tent. Then, he would remain soaking wet for the entire time we were there – he loved the water so. As we slept, we felt somewhat safer as he snored in the corner of the tent, knowing that if we have to step out in the middle of the night to go potty, he’d be out the zipper door first and any night stalking creatures out there, would have to deal with him if they got too close to camp.

Over many long recovery periods from injury or sickness, Jed was always right at hand, sitting close by or laying at your feet, in case one needed the occasional soft and furry, warm touch to feel better. In return, we always had his one addiction close at hand—a bag full of flip chips for him to toss about and then chew into complete heavenly oblivion. Kids with the flu or chicken pox; mommy recovering from surgery or me, nursing wounds from the battles of the street; Jed was there, sitting at whomever’s feet were needing him – staring and waiting for a stroke of his big head and then a yummie “chewie.”

A full half of my law enforcement career was spent on the streets at night and on weekends. You see, a cop must leave his family home alone at these times. All cops can feel a twinge of guilt – for not being there to protect their own family while they spend those dangerous hours, ironically, protecting everyone elses’s family.

For over half of those 20years – I had Jed. Vigilant and selflessly brave, he slept in the hallway blocking anyone who might foolishly want to sneak down into the dark, warm, inner-sanctum of his cave and hurt his family. Oddly enough, he only slept there, when I was gone. His growl and his bark – not to mention his intimidating size, would be certain to cause instant intestinal distress for any boogeyman and a sudden change of plans.

On those nightshifts, I would usually pull into the dark and silent driveway at one o’clock or so in the morning; the only sound the crumbling gravel under my tires. Quietly, I would slip my key into the door and slowly, quietly, ease inside, locking it behind me with an audible “click.” As I hung up my gun belt and uniform by the back door and crept through the dark and warm house where all who mattered to me slept in the peaceful bliss evidenced by three different snores, I would be welcomed home, by a familiar friend with a happy, loud and heartwarming greeting….
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Today, my pal, Jed, has gone where I believe all good dogs go – to the same Heaven that awaits us all, with all we ever loved in this world. I am happy for him, pain free and now young forever. In my mind and heart, I see him, sitting with my dad on the bank of some pine encircled, beautifully unspoiled Wyoming mountain lake. In his hand, my dad holds a fishing pole. In the other, a beer.

Jed, soaking wet, shares with him their little slice of heaven and together, they patiently wait for all of their people to catch up. And, maybe, bring a bag of flip chips.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for being my hero.

See you later, Jed Dog. Good boy.

Weather - Imagine That!

2007-03-31T00:51:00.000-06:00

Hard to believe here in Wyoming that it could still b e winter, here a few weeks into Spring! :D:D:D

The roads have been closed for the last three days so I couldn't go tgo work. Sheeot, man, had to burn up the few vacation days I had.

I'm ready for less winter - perhaps in a few years mama and I will get a ssmall winter house down south someplace and cal it good - retire for good.

But first, two in college. Then.....maybe. :)

Back to Normal

2007-03-29T11:27:00.000-06:00

Thought I'd get back to the normal gring today but damned if the road wasn't closed from here at The Rock to Wondeful Wamsutter.

Blizzard moved in last night so I'm stuck in my nice, warm house with a nice hot cup of coffee and my laptop.

Think I'll write some.

For My Dad - An American Hero

2007-03-24T12:19:00.000-06:00

My Dad
I feel compelled to say something here. My apologies if this is uncomfortable or inappropriate:My dad died last night. He was 85.

He was like so many other retired cops from his generation - before he saved lives here for 30 years, he, along with a million other teenagers, saved the world, in World War 2. In his case, it was Guadelcanal, Fiji, Tonga Islnds and other places. He was shot once by a strafing Zero and ultimately caught Malaria

Once home, he suffered from what we now call Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and in that day, a man simply had to swallow it and carry on. He did, with the help of my mom, who found him sleeping off a drunken fog on the stoop of the drug store in which she worked. She, saved him from himself.

He sobered up, became a cop and the rest, produced myself and my brother and 30 years of honorable service.My message here, is more than I will forever be thankful that he knew I loved him and that I knew he loved me. It is that he knew, because I told him, that he was not only my hero, but that the men of his generation were heroes to all of us - that his spilled blood, be it on the sand in the Pacific or the streets of Los Angeles, was not spilled in vane. That he and his comrades, will be remembered with reverence and humble respect forever.

Of course, when I told him that last part, he scoffed it off like so many of them do, and wanted none of it - no accolades, no recognition, other than to live in peace here in the nation they served and saved.

If you know someone like him - of his age - know they are dying by the thousands every day and soon, the last WW2 vet will be gone. In some way, find it in yourselves to thank them. To recognize what they gave us.

I have lived my life; I served as a cop, always trying to be some reflection of what my dad was. While I will never be as brave nor as strong, I will honor him by trying to be.Just a thought to all who might read this.

Carry on...
__________________

Some Days

2007-03-22T20:07:00.000-06:00

Some days life is tougher than others. Today was one of those. I wanted to wolrk on The FLip Flop today, but couldn't. The mind just couldn't get it in gear.

When I write, it makes me happy as I anticipate my reader's reactions to my construction of words. Today, I deleted everything. Perhaps someday I will explain.

To all, cheers, peace, get some.

JG

Welcome to my Blog

2007-03-16T21:09:00.000-06:00

A writer always has something to say but here, I will share more than words but thoughts, plans, future books, comm ents from you my readers and news of my world.

I welcome everyone - grown ups, kids, truckers, troopers, cops, civilians - anyone who cares to read my ramblings.

God bless you, God bless America and join me in praying for our strong and able leader, George Bush and for the brave man and women protecting us all over the world.

Get some.