Stabbed in the I . . . (Integrity): A True Story of a Deputy Sheriff Who Was the Target of a Character and Physical Assassination by His Own Department.

By Bernard Fife

I can only pray that no person will have to go through what I had happen to me. When a county prides itself on integrity, they seem to fall short of its goal by about 100 percent. Even in a court environment, this letter would be admitted under a business document for the purposes of bringing an official complaint against the County of Taylor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496954558

Bernard Fife

The author is depicting his life and career in law enforcement despite two murder attempts made on him by members of his own department.

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© 2014, 2015 Bernard Fife. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/22/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5453-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5455-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter One

I grew up in the in the bay area. My earliest life experiences still are of fond memories of running up and down the steep hillsides, over looking a prison on one side of the bay and able to watch the traffic on the Richardsen bridge. The bay was a mere 300-400 yards down the hill from our house and my friends and I could make the trip with our fishing rods in no time. The weather had a constant breeze and it seems like I was always wearing a sweatshirt with a hood or a jacket. My childhood friend named Todd wouldn’t miss a day during the summers to head down to the local docks and catch everything from bullheads to flounder. Needless to say it was a Tom Sawyer sort of adventure growing up. I remember my friend Todd could play the guitar very well and could pick up on almost any melody that would be on the radio (we’re talking 1964 era.) I figured that Todd would someday become a rock and roll star and become rich and successful and almost idolized by the girls (5th graders). I began thinking about what I might do and knew that music would be a part of it.

It was about this time that I became aware during breakfasts that I saw my dad come to the table wearing a snub-nosed pistol in a cross-draw holster and was always impeccably dressed in a dark suit and a tan London Fog over coat. Mom always said that dad worked for the government and I realized that a gun was a symbol of authority and I liked the attitude of professionalism he exuded when he left and later came home at night. Quite often he would show up late for dinner but would always call mom so she would not worry. Some of the stories he would tell would fascinate me. This was during the time that the FBI was deeply involved in espionage investigations in the bay area and other subversive activity. The details he would tell were worthy of the best of Dragnet series on television. One time he said that he assisted in prosecuting some spies that were sending messages to a submarine that was just off of the coast of Santa Cruz. We, on a family trip’ visited the location where we found an old shack in the midst of the coastal redwoods, not visible from the roadway. It was a moment that I had made up my mind to do the same type of work as dad. Occasionally the local sheriffs patrol unit would drive up our driveway and out stepped a Lieutenant or Captain. Now this was really impressive. The atmosphere that these gentlemen would project would be that of professionalism and the ultimate authority, along with their utility belts that held some of their police equipment and always extra cartridges for the pistols they were carrying. They would always treat my father with respect while they themselves were garnished with stripes and gold badges signifying their importance. I felt that dad was a well respected agent and it almost blew my mind when I found out that he had a siren in his work sedan. Now, to a kid of about 10 years old you can imagine how cool was that? Playing with dads handcuffs and blackjack (a leather covered club with a spring and hand strap about 10 inches long). He would place his pistol in the closet above the shirt hangers along with his black Jack Webb hat fedora. I had learned by this time that the good life of living in a progressive, somewhat rich location of the bay area. It was at this time that mom and dad were talking about moving down to someplace called the Central Valley, where grandpa and grandma lived. We had visited the ranch several times but I don’t recall much except that it was hotter than what I was used to.

Chapter Two

Grandpa and grandma lived on a large walnut ranch in the San Joaquin Valley and Dad had put in for a transfer to the central valley to be close to them. I started to find out that real chores were required of me like harvest time and irrigating the trees. Sometimes I would ride along with grandpa and dad on the tractor and learned how to disc the soil and prune the trees. This was real hard work for the first time in my life and not yet being a teenager, I was always thinking of the great times I had in the bay area with my friends. Now I had no friends and lived in a rural area farming area. This may appear arrogant to some, but I felt that I had just a little more class and personality that my first friends that I was introduced to.

My older two brothers were enrolled in the local high school with my little brother and I was placed in the local elementary school. As most people would know, this was a very awkward period in my life trying to fit in. I mentioned earlier that I really enjoyed music but this was my first exposure to the county genre’. The only TV stations we had were the Porter Wagner show and the Friday night fights. Soon I found myself in high school and made occasional trips to the bay area to visit my old buddies. It was easy to make fun of the local okies as the central valley attracted most of its population were from the mid-west. They would drive their pick-ups and chew tobacco with the constant blare of some twangy country singer who lost his gal.

It was ironic that dad seem to fit in with the locals playing the role of a new rancher in town while still working for the FBI. Now I was aware of the presence of the local sheriffs would come by but they didn’t appear as