Why don't I write anymore?

Dear folks, it's me... TEN whole years later.  It's been 8 years since I retired and often people will ask me why I don't write stories anymore.  After my retirement I tried very hard... it wasn't the lack of material, 29 years gives a lot of stories; however every time I sat and tried to write something, something else would capture my interest more. 

After a couple of years I figured out what the problem was; I wrote as a way to deal stress.  After a hard day or a particularly tough crime scene, staying up for hours and composing a silly story relaxed and detoxed me.  Without the stress, I just don't have the motivation or need to write.  I do produce videos for the Gun Range/Firearms Training Facility I work at now, so I continue to do something creative (https://www.facebook.com/TheRangeLLC/videos/?ref=page_internal) .  Anywho, I was just looking at some old favorite pages and I wondered if the link to the blogs was still even good. 

God bless,

(Former) Detective Dave

Still here.... kind of

Hey everyone, long time no see.  Like dead fish, get it?  "Long time no sea".  Lame, sorry... I'm out of practice.

I've not written anything in about two years because I've been retired for two years.  Blogging was a way to relieve stress and deal with my job, but now I don't have those events that need the catharsis of writing.  My position now is one where I chop wood, care for tractors and other implements and speak to churches and other Christian groups.  Nothing to inspire stories of dark humor there.

However, what I have found I'm doing is re-telling many of the things which happened to me on the job as sermon illustrations during my many speaking events.  Because most of my life was spent as a Police Officer (and most of the rest was spent as an unruly kid), it is about the only way to make a point about whatever my topic for speaking may be.

So, this all to explain that I have started a new blog, titled "Investigating God" where I retell many of the same stories, and some new ones, with the corresponding truth about God and His Word that I used to relay that truth to an audience.

Thanks for listening,

Dave

Oh... here is the website:  http://investigategod.blogspot.com/

Found

Wally has been located. In light of the previous blog, and the reference to the popular 80's "Wheres Waldo" books, I had a private snicker when I pried open the trunk lid and saw Wally; he was wearing a red and white shirt.

After standing in the cold, snowy wrecking yard for 4 hours waiting for a search warrant to open the car up, I was cursing winter weather. However when I saw Wally, I noted that he (in spite of being killed almost two weeks ago, way back on the 9th) was "Just killed" fresh. I should be very thankful to the good Lord for the cold, in that there was absolutely NO smell (or fish bait... if ya know what I mean).

Fortunately for me, because I am less adverse to grabbing frozen bodies than Detective Brew, he got to go and notify the family. I can shield myself from tragedy with the whole puzzle of trying to discover what exactly went on, and a bit of dark humor; but there is always a family that has experienced loss. Didn't matter if the victim was Mother Theresa or Genghis Kahn, the family only sees what was good, and if there was nothing good they fantasize that there could have been good. It's pretty common, look online at "Obituaries" from a large metropolitan area and try and concentrate on those where there is a young person (16-26 years old) that has died and there is no reference to a medical problem. This leaves suicides, car accidents and victims of violence. Often times you will read lines like, "He was turning his life around" or "Those close to him know he had a good heart."

I used to absolutely scoff at this stuff, showing others at the PD the obit for some criminal victim (we collect them as part of the case file) and just laugh at the absolutely fictional crud being written about poor gang-banger Gary, shot in a drive by; "He loved his family... he was a loving son... he had just re-enrolled in school and was going to get his diploma... blah blah blah..."

BUT, now that I'm older, I realize more each day what a sinner I am, and think to myself: Don't YOU want YOUR family to think what is best about you? Shouldn't your family be the one who has hope for you, no matter how many times you screw up?

I read the obituaries now without laughing; and God bless families who still have hope for their criminal, no-good, drug-dealing, car-thieven sons.

Merry Christmas

Where's Waldo?

Wally the car thief is missing. Rumor on the street is he stole the wrong car, belonging to a local member of the Northwest chapter of either Sharks or Jets (Westside Story reference), and ended up being shot and dumped on some mountain side near town. Detective Drew and I have walked about 6 miles of dirt roads looking for the body... every other day we hear a rumor of where Wally could be, and we would rush right out and look at lots of nothing.

This morning Evidence Tech Kristen came to my desk and said, "Fire (aid crew) is responding to a body in the canal just north of town!" The scene is pretty macabre, here we are, a couple of supposedly responsible, well-adjusted adults all giddy to go look at a dead guy as if we were a couple of school girls running to the store because they just heard glitter nail polish is two for one today only.

Bummer for us, the dead guy was not Wally. Just some poor slob who got mad at the misses and went running out into the night, forgetting he lives next to a swift-water canal. I guess he wanted to "Cool off." (rim shot baaadda BISH). Sorry, bad joke, but it's tough to get too worked up over stupid.

Well... maybe I will get lucky tomorrow, it's a new day, and it's winter in Yakima- which means it's really tough to dig in frozen ground ... so, It's just a matter of time before we find Wally.

Booze and Heights Don't Mix

Went to an autopsy today of a teenage kid. Any time you have a dead young person, there is a measure of pity for a life wasted, in spite of whatever circumstance (gunshot, suicide, stabbing, broken bottle, drowning, auto-erotic, car crash etc...) caused the death. But, all of that tragedy is sometimes covered by a thin layer of "Normalcy," which for cops means trying to be funny. Don't misunderstand- there is nothing funny about death, but often how WE (the living) deal with it is hilarious.

Saturday night. Very warm here in Yakima, and the young folk were out in force; dancing, making out and of course, drinking alcoholic beverages. Often times these same drunk kids climb into a car and try and drive home (or somewhere to find more dancing and/or alcohol). A young lady (drunk) had in the passenger seat a boy (also drunk) while driving down a local thoroughfare when said drunk girl "Loses control" of her car. Loses control??!? What does that really mean? Did she misplace her steering wheel? Drop her brake peddle in the toilet? So car smashes into center divider, fenders are crumpled, air bags are deployed and guy realizes that he probably wont "get lucky" tonight... After the crash, the driver is probably thinking what she will tell mom; passenger is probably only thinking about getting out of there before the cops come. So that's what he does; he gets out, runs to the side of the road and leaps over the guard rail.

The cops do come, they arrest little Miss .14 blood alcohol and place her in the county lock up.

Fast forward 6 hours. Elderly lady walking her dog along a canal bank sees a guy laying on the ground, a closer look (and a few licks from Fluffy) convinces her that the guy is dead, so she flips out her Jitterbug and calls 911.

The cops first arrive and instantly assume they have a homicide on their hands- this guy was obviously suffering some severe head trauma and had broken bones all over. Finally, a Detective arrives (my partner) and puzzles for a while, because he thinks that the injuries look nothing like an assault.

There was one late graveyard officer still working, who took the call before reporting in for the morning; he pointed up and casually commented to the detective,

"Funny, there was an accident right there last night."

Everyone then looked up at the road overpass to where he was pointing, 49 feet above the exact spot where the body lay.

Oops. As the saying goes: look before you leap, or maybe it should be: don't drink and jump.

Not a homicide, just another drinking related death. Sad.

The Glorious Agony of Defeat....

Been fairly quiet in the little town of Yakima. Speaking of Yak-Town, I was watching a Nickelodeon Channel show called "iCarly" (it's funny- don't knock it.) In this episode, the star, a teenager named Carly, was going to have to move from her home in Seattle, to Yakima. Throughout the show they kept saying "Yakima" like it was a very funny word, then it came to me... it IS a funny sounding word, but the most common mistake is to pronounce it ya-KEY-mah. It is pronounced YAK-i-mah, with the i pronounced as in it.

You can now sound like a native Yakimaniac, Yakimanian, Yakiwhatever.

The excitement this week was found (as it often is) in SWAT training. We went up into the Gifford Pinchot (no idea who he was, I'm surrounded by funny names) National Forest and snuck around, looking for.... ME. Having done this stuff for as long as I have, it's best to give the new guys a chance to go up against me in an ambush situation. Now understand, I don't want to win; I want them to win; it means that all of us old guys did well teaching them.

I took a few pictures of the environment; it's a pretty area:

The problem came when my ambush position was flanked by very accurate return fire from what are deceptively called "Air Soft" guns. They may use "air" as a propellant, but the .22 caliber polymer resin balls are anything but "soft."

After the guys "killed" me, I took this photo and texted it to my wife; only saying, "I got shot."

As you may guess, I got in big trouble for not explaining right away that it was no more than a shaving cut, although I waited until I got home to wash off the trickle of blood (MAJOR sympathy points scored there.)

The following day, the newest guy on the team came up and apologized. He was the one who shot me, but was too afraid of me to tell me on the day it happened. Afraid?!?! My first thought was- "Why would any other cop be afraid of me? I'm harmless!" Plus, I was very impressed with the teamwork and shooting; they did what they were supposed to, and did it quickly. But the second thought I had was, "Cool... the new guys are afraid of me!" Nothing wrong with some respect associated with the old dudes, right?