Always Remembered, Never Forgotten

By E. S. Tasker

In his effort of further stressing the need for today’s law enforcement, the author of Rocks and Bottles has continued in the same vein by writing Always Remembered, Never Forgotten. It is a compilation of situations that he and other officers faced while working in law enforcement over a period of thirty years. When reading each of the incidents, it is hoped that you, the reader, will better appreciate the responsibilities shouldered by the men and women who represent their communities by wearing the badge.

He hopes to convey that while those in law enforcement have each accepted the responsibilities that accompany the job, they elected to do so freely as others have done before them. Each one of them recognize that each day they go to work, there will be perils, and for some, it could be the day that they’re asked to make the ultimate sacrifice. They must always be remembered and never forgotten.

Sadly, though, a culture has developed within today’s society that when hearing of an officer being killed in the line of duty, nothing is felt at all—no remorse, no sense of loss, nothing. Many identify the news as part of our everyday life and an accepted part of our culture—something that’s simply another news item.

The time has come for our society to come to its senses and realize that the only thing separating our civilization as we know it from falling into a state of anarchy is our law enforcement. We must never forget that these individuals who are willing to give their lives for us are people too. They’re not only numbers, but they’re also that segment of our society that, when needed in times of trouble, always responds to the call.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662479724

Book preview

Chapter 1

Animal Calls

The number of calls handled by each officer will always vary from community to community, as will the type of calls assigned. It goes without saying that regardless of the environment worked in, there will be those calls that are similar in nature and handled in much the same way (i.e., domestic disputes, burglaries, traffic accidents, etc.) There are also those calls that are considered unique to some areas, and the officers must be prepared to handle them. Many of the same concerns exist in every area within the country no matter the size of the community worked in; that’s just the way it’s always been and, more than likely, the way it will continue to be.

However, there is one type of call assigned to many officers throughout the country that varies drastically in its nature. These differences exist solely because of one factor: the geographies. Regardless of the training received, many officers have found themselves handling some of these calls on a wing and a prayer. No matter the training, there is nothing that can prepare the average officer for what might be encountered when dealing with different types of animals. (And I’m not talking about the two­legged type.)

Most all departments have, at their disposal, some form of an animal control unit. Generally speaking, they’ve been formed as auxiliary branches of most departments to handle the calls concerning your everyday dog and cat situations and, in some instances, other domestic animals. But unless they’ve been trained in other areas, they’re not prepared to handle calls involving many of the exotic animals that exist.

There are many individuals living among the rest of us that not only have a keen fascination or interest in various exotic animals but also have those animals living in their homes with them. Many of those individuals are very responsible in the handling of the animals they possess. But unfortunately, as often is the case, there are some of those individuals who aren’t as responsible. That’s where the problem begins.

When we read in the newspapers or see on our televisions the reports concerning the escape of someone’s pet chimpanzee or the accidental release of an African lion, who do you suppose gets the call? It could be as simple as a farmer’s herd of cattle or a few buffalo from a local ranch—guess who gets the call? If you happen to live in the Sunbelt region of the country, it’s not uncommon for a native viper to appear on a rear patio. More than a few gators have been known to use the family pool for cooling off. The list could go on and on.

Our sworn officers have each taken an oath to protect and serve those living in the communities they live in. They’ve trained and prepared to do just that; however, some of the animals they’re forced to face pose an entirely new type of dilemma.

Animal Calls No. 1: New Boots

New Boots

There were two periods a year when you could count on a higher frequency of gator sightings. The first was during mating season. The second was during the rainy season when the creeks, canals, ponds, and other waterways filled with an abundance of rainwater. Many times, there was such an abundance of water that you could always expect that the local streets would get flooded. But that wasn’t the only problem brought about by higher water levels. It also forced any nearby gators out of their natural world into ours. It wasn’t unusual to find many of those pesky critters in residential pools, local parking lots, and neighborhood streets.

The rains had been heavy all morning long but were beginning to ease up just a bit. Until then, the downpour had been relentless. The rains began the day before early in the morning and continued throughout the day and through the night as well. Those of us working the streets began believing that the rains weren’t ever going to quit. Other than a couple breaks, it had been raining most of the week.

The amount of water falling from the skies had been so heavy for so long that the local drainage network beneath the streets simply wasn’t capable of handling the thousands of gallons being dumped into them. With nowhere else to go, the waters began cascading over the streets and into the neighborhoods. In many areas, the streets began looking more like canals rather than what they were designed to be. On one such street, a marked patrol unit was easing through one of the neighborhoods.

The officer was utterly amazed to see the rain beginning to lighten up. An occasional but light shower continued but to the point of being more of a nuisance than anything else. One second, the wipers were needed; the next second, they weren’t. The only good thing about the constant rain was that it helped in reducing the day’s heat. As the rains lessened, the heat began to increase. The officer began lowering his driver’s-side window, and as it lowered, the sounds of rushing water filled the interior of the unit. With the passing of each storm drain, the sounds of the cascading waters nearly resembled waters pouring over a series of falls.

Driving through the neighborhood at that particular time of day wasn’t unusual. The area had been targeted in recent days with a rash of burglaries, and it was hoped that the frequent sight of a marked patrol unit would serve as a deterrent. As he drove along the street, he visually examined each residence he passed. A blend of sounds filled the interior of the patrol unit—a light rain still falling, the vehicle’s tires slicing through the waters, and the slashing of the wipers keeping the windshield clear—and created a mesmerizing atmosphere within the unit.

The rains had given everything in the area a new look. The homes, the lawns, and all the trees appeared clean and more vibrant in color. As the sun grew brighter, the heat began to rise, and everything took on a new radiance. Finally, the rains had stopped.

While the officer continued his patrol of the neighborhood one street at a time, he realized that the elevation of the streets in the rear of the area was lower than those streets in the front. As a result of that difference, the waters lying on the streets in those areas were much deeper. He was just entering into a cul-de-sac at the backside of the neighborhood when he spotted a young boy wading in the waters.

The officer slowly eased the patrol unit a little closer to the boy, and as he grew closer to him, the young boy looked up from the fun he was having and politely waved at the officer. He appeared to be somewhere around ten or eleven years of age. Like most young children his age, he was enjoying the rushing waters. He had apparently been outside for some time because he was totally soaked.

As the distance closed between the two, the officer slowed even more and addressed the young lad, Having fun, son?

The young boy smiled, continued kicking at the water, and merely answered with a nod.

While he continued his frolicking, the officer offered, You be careful in that water. You never know what might be crawling around in it.

Hearing what the officer had warned struck a chord with the boy because he immediately redirected his attention from the waters to the officer. The boy began wading through the knee-high waters until standing just outside the officer’s open window. Hi, Officer, did you see the alligator back there?

The officer stared at the boy with a puzzled look and questioned, No, I didn’t see a gator. Where did you see him?

The boy quickly pointed to an area behind the officer. He’s down along the road you just came from. He’s lying on the edge of the grass just above the storm drain.

The officer questioned further, How big is he, son?

The boy held up his arms, attempting to illustrate its length much in the same manner of a fisherman describing the size of the fish that got away. The boy quickly offered, I’ll go back and show you where he’s at if you want me to!

The officer instantly replied, No, that’s okay, son. I’ll find him. The last thing the officer needed was for the young boy to get snatched by the gator. So before leaving the boy, he offered, Thanks for telling me about it. I’ll go check him out—you be careful now.

With that, the boy returned to his horseplay.

Based on the description given, it sounded as if the gator was only a juvenile, maybe only a few feet long. The unit slowly turned around in the cul-de-sac, then made a left after the first street. The street was rising slightly, so the waters weren’t as deep, maybe only a few inches. After traveling only half a block, the officer located the storm drain. At first nothing was seen, but as the officer scanned around a large clump of saw grass, he located the gator. He pulled the unit to the curb, activated his flashers, then so as to not spook the gator, he exited the unit slowly.

The description provided by the young boy had been fairly accurate, maybe a little shy in the length but close. The gator was bordering on nearly four feet but no longer.

Slowly the officer inched closer to the drain but no closer than fifteen to twenty feet. The gator was stretched out across the grass only a short distance above the area where the drain was located. It remained motionless, never moving as the officer continued his gaze. Though small in size, the speed it was capable of was nothing short of fast. The officer was careful in his movements: he didn’t want the gator to flee and dive into the drain.

There were no lakes in the immediate area, not even a pond, and the nearest canal was almost a mile away. The gator’s presence was no doubt due to the abundance of rain that had fallen in the last couple of days and local flooding. The gator couldn’t be allowed to remain in the neighborhood; it would have to be relocated. There were only a few options to choose from: either contact the state’s Wildlife Department or one of the local Critter Removal Services or capture the thing himself and transport it to a nearby body of water. As far as the officer was concerned, the last choice was out of the question.

After notifying dispatch of the situation, the officer’s wait for a reply didn’t take any time at all. Dispatch advised him that the state would have one of their officers respond to his location in about an hour. So for that period of time, he had to sit and wait.

The rain had finally stopped, and the dark-gray clouds that had blanketed the area for days were finally breaking up, giving way to patches of blue skies. In minutes, the blue was becoming dominant; and with the disappearance of the clouds, the heat began to rise. As it intensified, the air took on the feeling of a steam bath, and the humidity began making everything feel sticky. To combat the ever-growing discomfort, the officer returned to his vehicle, adjusted the air-conditioning to a comfortable level, and utilized the waiting time to catch up with some paperwork.

Having spent only a couple minutes writing, the quiet of the vehicle’s interior was disturbed by the distinct rumble of an approaching motorcycle. A quick glance by the officer into his rearview mirror revealed the approach of one of the department’s motorcycle units. The huge white motorcycle passed slowly by the officer’s unit and announced its presence with two short beep-beeps from its horn. The officer laughed slightly when hearing the high-pitched sound of the cycle’s horn, then realized the cycle’s operator was one of his close friends. Knowing that he was in for a lengthy conversation, he moved his reports aside.

The motor unit slowly turned around in the few inches of water remaining on the street, then pulled over to the side of the road in front of the patrol unit, then parked. The officer watched intently as his friend parked the motorcycle and prepared to dismount. The motorman’s routine of dismounting from his cycle had become somewhat of a ritual, one that the officer didn’t wish to miss. In one quick jerking motion, the cycle was secured on its kickstand. Then after swinging his leg up and over the cycle’s seat, he stood erect, adjusted his utility belt, and straightened his slacks. Then he aligned the adornments on his shirt and began removing his gloves. Before ever taking his first step, he adjusted his sunglasses, then unsnapped the strap to his helmet. With his gloves tucked in at the top of his utility belt, he began walking toward the officer.

The department’s Motor Division was considered an elite segment of the Patrol Division. It prided itself on its equipment and the appearance of its personnel, and this particular motorman was no exception. The white of his helmet was always bright and shiny. His utility belt always had the appearance of freshly shined black patent leather. His slacks were bloused out at the thighs, as was typical, and were tailored to snuggly fit his legs. His knee-high black boots shined with a black luster, and they snapped with each step taken. His overall appearance was military in every sense of the word.

The officer and motorman had known each other for a few years and frequently assisted each other whenever the opportunity presented itself. The two kidded back and forth with each other about most everything, especially about the units they worked for.

The motorman constantly ribbed the patrol officer that he had to ride in something with four tires and protected with a roof. While the patrol officer shot back that the motorman rode around on something requiring a kickstand and that he couldn’t pass by a mirror without pausing to primp a little bit more.

While leaning against the unit, the officer watched as the motorman approached. They hadn’t seen each other in a few days, so they immediately shook hands. While removing his sunglasses, the motorman questioned, Haven’t seen you for a while. How you been?

The officer replied, Oh, I’ve been okay—just dodging all the rain.

What garage have you been hiding in?

The motorman simply shook his head in response to the officer’s smart-ass comment, then placed his sunglasses back on. The motorman placed his hands at the front edge of his utility belt, then asked, So you’ve got yourself a gator, huh? Where’s it at?

The officer motioned by pointing toward the storm drain, then directed, He’s right over there, lying on the grass behind the saw grass. As the officer began walking in the direction of the storm drain, the motorman followed.

In a few seconds, the two reached the location. The gator hadn’t moved at all. It was in the same position it had been when the officer first found it; it hadn’t moved. The officer remained a safe distance away from the gator. He didn’t wish to disturb it, but not the motorman. He slowly continued his approach, and as he did so, he questioned, Do you have any rope?

Before the officer had the opportunity to answer, the motorman offered, He’s just a little guy. The two of us can catch him, tie him up, and throw him in your trunk.

The officer didn’t feel comfortable with his suggestive questioning at all. I wouldn’t get to close to him if I were you.

The motorman laughed lightly at the officer. What the hell are you afraid of? He’s too small to hurt anyone. While the motorman continued his banter, he moved closer to the gator. At a distance of about six feet away, he questioned, Hell, is he even alive? The damn thing hasn’t moved at all.

Though his steps were decreasing in distance, his confidence continued to grow. The motorman took another step, only half the distance taken last time. Still, the gator didn’t move. With only a few feet between the two, the motorman glanced toward the officer and boldly announced, Really, I think the damn thing is dead. Almost as if demonstrating that he was correct in his assumption, the motorman extended his left boot and nudged the gator slightly behind its right rear leg. The gator remained motionless.

The officer continued watching the motorman as he foolishly tempted his luck.

As if to prove that he was correct, the motorman grinned at the officer. I’m telling you—the little guy is dead. He reached out again with his left boot but, this time, nudged the gator alongside the right rib cage area. No movement was noticed, however.

The gator’s body made no movement, but its eyes rolled back and looked directly at the bright and shiny black boot. In a sudden explosion of energy and speed, the gator’s body whipped around! Before realizing what was happening, the gator had the motorman’s boot in its jaws! The motorman’s reaction to what was occurring was priceless! His legs spread wide apart as he jumped high into the air! The peacefulness that once existed in the neighborhood disappeared with the shrieks coming from the motorman’s mouth! His jumping up and down resembled that of a kid doing the same thing on a pogo stick. One split second, his leg would jerk upward, then in the following second, it’d slam down! What was happening wasn’t funny—but really it was! The only other sound that could be heard besides the yelling was the shredding of leather.

There wasn’t a thing the officer could do, so he just stood and watched. He wanted to laugh out loud but didn’t. He wanted to so badly but, instead, directed a volley of scolding comments: I told you to leave him alone. Thought you said he was too small to hurt anyone. You’re such a dumb shit!

Finally, after establishing who was in charge, the gator released its grasp of the boot and walked away. The motorman stood perfectly still as if in shock. But in reality, he was feeling nothing more than old-fashioned embarrassment. When he realized the gator had let go, he half skipped, half jogged to the awaiting officer. He looked over his shoulder not once but twice just to be sure the gator wasn’t in pursuit. The gator had no interest in him from the get-go. All he wanted to do was lie in the sun. While the motorman did his best in composing himself, the gator returned to its original spot and stretched out in the sun.

The officer did his best in controlling himself but, deep down inside, was about to explode. He couldn’t remember when he had seen anything so funny. In his attempt to create a caring facade, he offered, Are you all right? He didn’t rip your foot apart, did he? I wish you had listened to me and just left him alone.

The motorman lowered his head and began examining his boot. He didn’t move an inch but stared intently downward toward his boots. For a few seconds, nothing was said. Then his temper flared! Look at what that damn thing did to my boot! Just look what he did!

As if lowering his head in sorrow, the officer joined with his friend and looked down at his boots. The left boot was perfectly intact, just as black and shiny as ever, not one single blemish. Then he stared at the right boot. An urge began to well up in the deeper recesses of his gut, but he fought off the laughter that was about to explode. There wasn’t much to be said about the condition of the right boot other than it was a total mess. Oh, it was still black, and there was a hint of some shine. But much of the top of the boot’s toe was shredded beyond belief. As a matter of fact, much of it was totally gone. What remained above the damaged area was scratched and gouged from the gator’s teeth. Unbelievably, the foot inside the boot was unharmed.

While still holding back any signs of laughter, the officer placed his arm around the motorman’s shoulder and quizzed, So let me ask you. Do you still want to tie him up and throw him in the trunk? Failing to hold it any longer, the officer released a short gut-wrenching round of laughter. The motorman had no reply for his friend’s behavior as the laughter continued. Deep down inside, he knew he deserved it.

While the two were still facing off, the State Wildlife officer arrived on the scene. It didn’t take him but a few seconds after leaving his vehicle and reaching the two standing near the patrol unit to notice the motorman’s boot. He immediately grinned from ear to ear while he continued staring at the shredded boot, then he calmly questioned, Got a little too close, huh?

The motorman didn’t see the humor in his questioning, but the officer did. And the state officer joined with the officer in another round of laughter.

Minutes later, the state officer captured the gator, taped its snout and legs, and carried it to his truck. While passing by the motorman, the state officer paused, pointed the gator’s snout directly toward the motorman, and asked, Want to say goodbye to your buddy?

The motorman began to lightly laugh, then warned the state officer, You’d better get that SOB away from me, or I’ll be wearing gator-skin boots!

Following the encounter, the three went their separate ways. The state officer headed out toward the swamps where he’d release the gator in its own environment. The officer returned to his patrol duties; and the motorman, with his fractured ego, proceeded to the department’s Supply Office.

Animal Calls No. 2: The Lake

The Lake

The county was growing at a rapid pace. Its transformation was occurring right before our eyes almost on a daily basis. Everything was changing. There were new roads being laid out in areas once considered the middle of nowhere. Roadways already in place were being enlarged. New homes and new schools were popping up everywhere. Those living in the country wondered, Where will it all end? Many of the county’s plush woodlands and open farmlands seemed to disappear overnight; their demise occurred without notice.

The city fathers identified what was occurring as progress. The future of the county and the plans for its expansion were moving at a fast-forward pace. To facilitate the needs for such expansion, something had to be sacrificed. Unfortunately, it would be the woodlands, those serene country places, those places we each hoped would never be touched—all in the name of progress.

One of those locations was an area consisting of slightly more than a hundred acres of tall regal southern pine trees. Nestled in the middle of the property was a beautiful natural lake, one which had a reputation for being a great fishing spot. Other than the locals, not many others even knew about the lake. It was one of those best-kept secrets. Getting in and out of the area wasn’t a difficult task: it just required driving along an old logging trail consisting of two worn tire ruts. That was the way it was then—in the past. Today, much of the area remained the same except that the old logging trail had been replaced with a newly developed two-lane paved roadway. Sadly, future plans for the property included the building of a new office complex.

Since the development of the new road, the wooded area had become even more popular. On any given day, it wasn’t unusual to find a handful of different people scattered throughout the woods or somewhere around the lake. For the most part, those utilizing the property were either jogging, riding their bikes, or fishing in the lake. Officers working in the area kept an eye on the woods and utilized it themselves. It was a great place to park in the shade of a few trees while writing a report or to simply escape from the public eye while eating lunch. The lake still retained its reputation, and many frequented its shorelines simply because of its fish.

Considering the number of times the beat officer drove through the area, it was no surprise that he had become familiar with several local residents who also frequented the area. Several of those who came out did so for the purpose of jogging. They could utilize the area and run without the worry of traffic. One particular family used the area every Saturday morning for riding their bikes, free from the perils of the usual hazards on the roadways. The five of them, the parents and their three kids, could ride to their hearts’ content.

Also frequenting the area was an older gentleman who always fished at the lake even before its new development. It didn’t matter what day of week the officer drove through the area: the older gentleman always seemed to be there, both him and his dog. Over a span of months, the officer and older guy got to know each other pretty well and spent quite a lot of time in conversation.

One particular day as the officer was driving through the area, he spotted the old guy sitting under a large old oak tree. He was seated with his back resting against the tree’s trunk with his legs stretched out in front of him. The cane pole he was using wasn’t held in its usual elevated position; instead, its tip was submerged in the water. There was no movement seen at all. His stillness alarmed the officer. The officer drove his unit as close as he could to the old guy, then parked and got out. He was about twenty to twenty-five feet away.

The walk from the patrol unit to his location quickly alerted the old guy’s dog as it immediately began barking. As the officer grew nearer, the dog’s barking became more intense. The old man sitting at the base of the tree, motionless up to then, quickly reached out and smacked the dog’s rear end. Hey, shut up. What’s wrong with you?

The dog stopped barking but watched as the officer walked even closer.

Sir, he’s barking at me. He’s just doing what dogs do.

The old guy twisted his head hard to the left and tried looking at the officer but couldn’t. The sun was at the officer’s back. Only after shading his eyes with his hands could he identify the approaching figure as his friend, the officer.

Oh, hey, Officer, how are you today?

Realizing that the sun was nearly blinding the old guy, the officer moved to one side and partially blocked the sun from the old guy’s face. I’m fine, Mr. Winters. How are you doing?

The old guy struggled to get up but propped his arm against the tree’s trunk for support, then stood up. The officer extended a hand in the old guy’s direction just in case he needed some additional support. Instead of grabbing it for support, he grabbed the officer’s hand in a firm handshake. The dog sat by his side as the two greeted each other.

It’s nice to see you again, Officer. Is everything okay?

The officer smiled, then apologized, Sorry I woke you. I just wanted to be sure you were all right. How’s the fishing today?

Mr. Winters went on to explain that he hadn’t caught anything all day but that he had just the day before—a couple of smallmouth bass and a few bream. He continued in conversation, Mr. Officer, I’ll be honest with you. You know I live on the other side of the highway.

Though the officer had provided his name to Mr. Winters several different times, Mr. Winters insisted on calling him Mr. Officer. The officer nodded. Yes, sir, I know where you live.

Mr. Winters went on, I walk over here almost every day if it’s not raining. You know how crazy it can get with the missus and a house full of grandkids. It’s a lot quieter over here.

The two laughed together as Mr. Winters detailed his life at home.

Hey, Mr. Officer, you’ve seen the big ole gator that’s in this lake? He’s a big one.

The officer listened to every word said by Mr. Winters, then added, Yes, sir, I haven’t seen it myself, but a few people have told me it’s really a pretty big one. The problem is, people come out here to the lake and feed the damn thing.

Mr. Winters reached out and grabbed the officer’s arm in an attempt to get his attention. I’ve seen that ole’ gator a couple of times. He’s a big one, all right. Even snatched my stringer one time. I had four nice bass on my stringer that day. He ate every one of ’em! Let me tell ya. If that ole gator messes with this old man, I’ll be eating gator tail instead of these small-ass fish!

Realizing he couldn’t stay any longer, the officer began walking away. I’ve got to run for now. You be careful now.

The old man waved nonchalantly as he sat back down. The old man had his line back in the water before the officer was out of sight.

A few days passed by before the officer was in the area again. Calls from dispatch had lightened up a bit, so he decided to drive through the area and make sure things around the lake were okay. He turned the patrol unit off the highway and slowly proceeded onto the roadway leading through the woods. The area appeared empty at the moment. It was fairly early in the day; and considering the fact that it was a Tuesday, if he did see anyone, that would be a surprise.

While the unit slowly cruised along the pavement, the officer absorbed the calm and peacefulness of the moment. With his arm resting on the opened driver’s window, he began to relax a little bit more. He thought to himself for a moment, I could get used to this. He passed by the many trees one by one. Off in the distance, he caught a glimpse of the sun’s rays bouncing off the lake. Then about midway between his location and the lake, something caught his attention. In one second, he saw some movement; then in the next, he didn’t. He concentrated on the spot where he thought he had seen something and slowly began steering the unit in the same direction. Then he saw it again. He fixed his eyes steadily in one direction. There it was again. But this time, he made out what it was! Someone was running toward his unit!

It was definitely someone running through the trees as fast as they could! The person wove through the maze of tall trees until finally at a distance of about fifty yards. The officer could make out their identity. It was Mr. Winters! The officer stopped the unit as quickly as he could and immediately began moving toward his location! As the two grew closer, Mr. Winters could be heard yelling at the top of his voice!

It wasn’t until the two were closer in distance that the officer could hear him screaming, He got him! He got him! Mr. Winters nearly fell into the officer’s arms as he literally ran into him!

The officer held him upright as the exhaustion of his running finally hit him. While holding on to him, the officer questioned, Got who? Who got who? Catch your breath. Calm down. What’s wrong?

Mr. Winters leaned forward, holding on to the officer for support. With his eyes swelling with tears and while gasping for every breath of air he could take in, he managed to blurt out, That damn gator—he got my dog! He got ole Sparky. The old man was close to collapsing while the officer held him upright. The officer’s concern for his welfare intensified as Mr. Winters actually began to tremble.

I’m so sorry about your dog. Let’s go over to my car so you can sit down for a while, okay?

Mr. Winters was spent; the run through the trees from the lake had used every bit of energy he could muster up. His efforts in walking weren’t very successful as he wobbled with the first couple of steps he took.

The officer realized very quickly that having him walk to the patrol unit was out of the question. Mr. Winters, I want you to sit down right here. I’m going to bring the car over here to you. Before running to the unit, the officer assisted him in sitting down, then sprinted to the car.

As the unit pulled alongside, Mr. Winters began standing up. The officer had just reached Mr. Winters when he began reaching for the back door. The officer reached out and intercepted his hand before he was able to grab the door’s handle. No, sir, not the back seat. Sit up front with me.

The look on Mr. Winters’s face as the officer advised him to sit up front was nothing short of remarkable. Mr. Winters stared at the officer for a quick few seconds with an expression of gratitude and newfound respect.

As he settled into the seat, the officer instructed, Go ahead. Buckle up. Show me the spot where you were fishing from.

With Mr. Winters secured in the front seat, the