Watching Police Interventions

Watching Police Interventions

Recently I have watched several reels where the police have been called to investigate or to intervene with a person who is doing something illegal. The police usually corner the “criminal” in a vehicle. The police confront the “accused” after the car is stopped. From that point on the same things happen, no matter the age or race, but most often happens with women.

Thee police person raps on the window and says to turn off the engine. A battle of words and wills commence. The police demand that the driver roll down the window and produce a drivers license, proof of insurance, and owner’s card. The driver may refuse by winding up the window or reach around in the car or purse for a license or the driver may ignor the demand. The confrontation intensifies, the window may get broken and the drivver is compelled to come out of the car.

From here on, things become repetitious. The driver screams “Don’t touch me” and pulls away from the cop. The cop repeats “Get out of the car or I will pull you out.” This battle of wills and words continue until the cop loses patience and actually forces the driver out of the vehicle. The driver repeats, “Don’t touch me.” The cop says, “Put your hands behind your back,” and a struggle for control continues until the handcuffs are securely in place. Sometimes control only happens after the intervention of a taser. Stunned, the driver finally complies.

Next the driver will switch the mantra by saying, “I can’t breathe,” to mimic the chant at George Floyd’s capture and death. All the while the driver’s screams grow louder propelled by copious amounts of air. Once the breathing excuse fails, the women start, “I’m pregnant. Don’t touch me.” The police continue to secure the driver. The police only match the violence of the driver with their own while trying to avoid the possibility of injuring an unborn child.

The next struggle is to get the driver into the back seat of the police vehicle; all the while the captured driver’s screeching voice would intensify. I really don’t understand how the cop can endure the cursing, name calling, and the volume coming from the back seat during the drive to the police station. The cursing is interspaced with threats of law suits, threats to cause the officer to lose their jobs, and even threats of violence to the officer or his family, which only adds another charge to the driver.

The resullt is always the same, the vehicle window gets broken, the vehicle gets towed, and the driver is knocked down and cuffed, when cooperation would have only been a violation ticket.

One Day

 One Day

As I opened the desk drawer to gather my medications for the morning and seeing the hoard of bottles inside, I thought, “There will come a day when I won’t need all of this. I’ll obtain a new and perfect body. I’ll rise from the grave and I’ll greet death as an old friend,” not fearing what is beyond that great divide of the living and the dead. I’ll open my eyes on that great and eternal morning and I will have no more aches and pain. I won’t have fillings in my teeth, my joints will be new, and I’ll have muscles that are made to do what I ask. I’ll again have hair, I won’t have allergies, and I’ll no longer need glasses.

I’ll have the strength and endurance that I’ll need. My heart will overflow with joy, thankfulness, and gratitude. I’ll see the city of God behind huge, wide-open pearl gates. Streets there are paved with gold. The buildings will be constructed of bright gemstones: jasper, beryl, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, and amethyst. They’re so common that they’ll be used as building material. There will no longer be a need for the sun or moon. The light will emanate from Father God Himself. All glory shall surround His throne in unimaginable brightness. Angels, seraphim, and cherubim shall hover near calling out hosannas and praise.

Jesus, God’s only begotten Son will sit at His right hand. There with the Holy Spirit, they will make up the Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Their awesome majesty shall be unequalled, unmatched, and indescribable. In the heavenly courts I will wear a spotless white robe of righteousness and dwell there with other saints who have gone on before.

I’ll be lifted up when Christ appears in the clouds with other saints that will be raptured into glory. It will be a time of casting of crowns at the Lord’s feet and we shall receive eternal rewards. It is only by Christ’s blood that was shed on Calvary that sins are washed away and by His stripes we’ve been healed. It is the key to the entrance into Heaven.

Why should I fear death when so much more awaits me in that land beyond the stars?

I would be remiss if I didn’t share the only other option of an eternal dwelling place. It was created for Lucifer and other fallen angels, but has been expanded to receive those who reject Jesus as their Savior and refuse His gift of salvation. I won’t describe the horrors, pain, and tortures of Hell, but suffice it to say that Jesus offers life and in the Bible speaks warnings about Hell more than promises of Heaven.

Losing Your Cool

 Losing Your Cool

            Dot was one of the nurses with whom I worked in the emergency department. She was an older woman who was meticulous. Her uniform was spotless, her shoes were shined within an inch of their life, and she always fastened her nursing cap securely on top of her dark curls with a bevy of hair pins.

            An emergency room doctors was her complete opposite. If you remember the television program, “The Odd Couple” you can understand what I am trying to explain. His clothing was always rumpled and more often than not, covered in dog hair. He wore his gray hair longer, unkempt.   He had one big bug-a-boo. He hated when a restroom door was left ajar. He wouldn’t just close it. He would slam any door that was open. You knew when he made rounds, somewhere on the floor a door would BANG shut.

            Dot was fastening her hat in the restroom one afternoon when Dr. Vee entered the adjoining lounge. He poured his cup of coffee and as he turned to leave. He saw the door was open. BANG! He slammed it shut. Turning on his heel, he walked out to the desk at the nursing station.

            A few seconds later, Dot stormed out of the lounge. She was as hot as the doctor’s coffee. Her face was red and there was dirt and debris strewn across her hair, her hat, and spread across the shoulders of her crisp, white uniform. When the doctor slammed the door, the air pressure lifted up the ceiling tiles and dirt that had collected for years on the top side of the tiles rained down on her.

            She stood beside Dr. Vee until he sat his cup of coffee down. She grabbed his coat sleeve and dragged him back into the lounge. She shoved him into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, not just once, but… WHAM, WHAM, WHAM! We could hear it in the nursing station. She left the lounge and went into a patient’s restroom to brush off her uniform and to pick the dirt out of her hair.

            A few minutes later, a much chagrined Dr Vee emerged from the lounge with a sheepish smile on his face. He was covered in a large amount of dirt, dust, and debris scattered on his head and shoulders. He rolled his eyes, ran his hand through his hair, and brushed at the dirt on his jacket.  It didn’t seem to faze him, but rather seemed amused about it all as he picked up his cup and took a sip.

Being a Good Scout

 Being a Good Scout

While I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland, the Boy Scout leaders from the NATO base and the Icelandic leaders decided to create the first “Boy Scout World Jamboree.” They approached the commander of our naval base and asked him to supply an ambulance and a few corpsmen in case of injury or illness.

Three of us volunteered to man the first aid station. It was our weekend off and it was nice to have something different to do. It was a pleasure to leave the base and see the countryside. We were issued a “cracker box” ambulance for transportation and we loaded it up with things that we thought we might need; food, bandages, food, a large tent, food, water and more food.

When we reached the site, we hurriedly set up our first aid tent. The tent was made of olive drab canvas with matching floor, windows, door flap. It also had a heat resistant vent for a stove pipe to exit.  The sponsors had a dozen wooden pallets delivered for firewood. We knew that so few pieces of wood wouldn’t last the entire weekend and searched the field around us. We collected all the dried sheep dung we could find and stacked it inside the tent to keep dry.

One of the corpsmen brought a stove that he created from a rectangular tin “can” that once held five pounds of coffee. He used snips and wire to make two “hinged” doors, one for feeding the fuel and the other to remove ashes.

The stoves legs war made out of thick twisted strands of wire. The same heavy wires crisscrossed the inside of the box to create a grate to suspend the burning fuel above the bottom of the ash pit. Three pieces of metal stovepipe were connected to the stove to run outside through the vent hole then turning upward. The stove was ready for business.

Our tent remained warm, snug, and dry all weekend, which was a good thing because most of the weekend was cool and it rained. A mist hung heavily in the air. The wood from the pallets quickly disappeared and by now the dung still in the fields was too wet to burn. But we had an ample supply. The smoke from the burning dung actually had a pleasant smell. We had a steady stream of scouts coming into our tent to “see what we were cooking.” They wouldn’t believe that it was actually the smoke from the dried sheep dung that they were smelling. We did offer them some pieces of liver that we were frying when they visited, but they all refused our offer.

My Sister Complains

The major thing that irritates her is hearing someone using nail clippers to trim fingernails. The clicking noise almost drives her insane. At the first click she will give you “I dare you to do that again” stare. If you are brave enough to try it again, she will chew you out in no uncertain terms.

I found the best place to torture her was while we were sitting in church.

I was older and could sit with my friends while Kathy still had to sit with Mom. There would be a pause in the service, a moment of silence between hymns or at the end of a prayer and I would use the clippers; snip, click.

I would watch for her reaction out of the corner of my eyes. Kathy would stiffen and turn around, searching to locate the perpetrator of the clipper crime. The clicking sound would set her off, but she couldn’t say anything because we were in church. Putting on a face of innocence, I would watch and wait until she turned back around and settled down. I would wait a few minutes then click, another nail would be trimmed. Kathy would stiffen, turn, and stare with a look of death in her eyes. I would sit with a look of feigned innocence until she would turn around. The torture and the fun would continue as long as my fingernails remained.

The other thing that Kathy hates is pink, plastic flamingos. I think her hatred stems from her having to mow Aunt Estella’s grass. Estella had pink flamingos and other yard ornaments which Kathy had to move or mow around and that irritated her. Kathy and her husband Doug lived next door to Estella and they had to look at the ornaments when they would sit outside.

This hatred for these inanimate objects allows more ways for me to torture her. It gives me great opportunities to buy gifts for her birthday and for Christmas. Sometimes it is nothing more than a card with the pink pests on it to a pair of wire ones placed in her front lawn holding a banner of “Happy Birthday” and balloons. It could be a pair of salt and pepper shakers to a Lucite serving tray with a pitcher and glasses all bearing the likeness of her favorite character. I even found a pair of wooden home-made flower boxes that were built to look like flamingos.

But my all time favorite was the birthday present I found for her. I had an accomplice to help in the delivery of this flamingo that I had found. What I had found was a back scratcher that was shaped like a flamingo. I went to our local florist and bought half of a dozen pink roses. I had the florist insert the backscratcher among the roses and delivered to her home.

I know that she kept the roses, but I was never sure what happened to the back scratcher. She never did tell me what she thought of the “special delivery.” 

America's Sins

America’s Sins

There was a time in history that America was a God fearing country. The first men and women came to our shores seeking religious freedom; searching for the ability to worship God without interference from a king or government.  The foundation of the Constitution was based on biblical principles that God shared in His Word. The Constitution of the United States is the document that separates freedom loving people from other governments of the world.

America has been blessed. The face of God has looked favorably on our nation to make it a powerful entity and a haven for the oppressed. God has allowed our country to intervene when evil men attempted to rule the world. America has given the lives of its men and women to secure liberty for those who were being enslaved.

But year after year Americans have turned their back on God and year after year God has been saying, “I love you. Come back to me.” The government’s been straying from the principles upon which our nation was founded. Too many politicians have come to rely on their own strength and wisdom instead of seeking God, the source of all wisdom and strength.

Morality is on the decline and depravity is on the rise. Our government cannot legislate morality. If the hearts of our citizens remain unchanged, laws will do little to restrain evil or to limit its effects.

I believe that God has been showing His displeasure by the increase of earthquakes and weather disasters. When mankind is unwilling to recognize the Creator of the Earth and the weather concerns, but gives credit to “Mother Nature” or “Climate Change” it will only increase. When men do not give God honor for creation nor see these phenoma as a pronouncement of judgment, He will continue to weigh those people and allow that nation to be brought to its knees. God says that every knee will bow.

History shows that when a country removes God from its daily life other than to think of Him as a curse word or as a servant only to be beckoned when something is needed, that country fails. God will use the same hands that produced the many years of safety and blessings to also deliver the wrath of His judgment on the people of that nation.

It is time for Americans to be less proud and more humble. God is the only strength and refuge in times of trouble and fear. He is our buckler and our sword. God can bless America again if only we turn to Him and seek his forgiveness and face.

Marines Semper Fi Corpsmen Always Sly

 Marines: Semper Fi, Corpsmen Always Sly

I recall several incidents where Marines and Navy Corpsmen met; not all of them were mutually supportive of each other. Although many Naval Corpsmen were cross trained to accompany Marines in the field, they didn’t always see eye to eye. One of my friends was a prime example. His name isn’t necessary at the moment, but at one time he had a definite Hippie type personality caught in Uncle Sam’s military machine. He preferred the feel of sandals on his feet, puka shell bead necklace around his neck, and when he talked about a joint in his hand he wasn’t talking about a knuckle bone.

Who says that the U.S. government doesn’t have a sense of humor? The fickle finger pointed at him sending him to Field Medical School and then assigned him to a Marine company. This occurred during the Vietnam War when the feeling between Hippies and Marines weren’t at their best. I wrote my friend a letter and accidentally included his middle name Felix. He wrote back saying it wasn’t hard enough being with these gung-ho meatheads and now they had his middle name to harass him. I’m sorting through photos and found a letter from him, complaimimg that I’d shared his name. Sorry man.

Another tale of crosscurrents between Marines and Corpsmen happened while I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland. The Marines guarded the base while the corpsmen handled the hospital and ambulance duty. There were times when they would mix at the enlisted men’s club to eat, drink, and gamble. One challenge that often occurred was a drinking game. A tab would be opened at the bar with the loser responsible for the bill. They would take turns fetching the drinks from the bar. Beer would appear and disappear until one or the other of the contestants would disgorge his drink. When the corpsman had his fill, he would pour ipecac syrup into the Marine’s beer. Ipecac is an emetic agent that induces vomiting. By then, the Marine’s taste buds were dulled and he didn’t notice the flavor change. Corpsmen rarely had to pay the tab. As a teetotaler, I was only a casual observer.

One good story shared with me happened while I was in Orlando, Florida. I was caring for a corpsman that’d been injured in Vietnam. He stepped on a land mine and had chunks from his buttocks and one calf missing. He said the Marines asked a Seabee bulldozer operator to clear a path across a field of mines. The Seabee refused and the corpsman was the one who’d found the buried explosive. Only by throwing himself forward was he able to escape death. He said that the Seabee later had fallen to friendly fire. Nobody messed with the Marines’ corpsmen.