The way things are.

How are things? The general consensus is: "Not great."

A quarter of the nation is unemployed, thanks to a novel virus causing international lockdowns for social distancing.

Large cities are powderkegs of "protesters" and police clashing.

Cultural wars are in full swing. We have strong evidence (hell, let's just say "confirmation") of outside influence by international online arsonists who are fomenting hate and discontent on social media.

The President says that he does not trust:
The news media.
Scientists and doctors.
Our nation's intelligence services.
Our nation's criminal justice system.

The Left is cast as being full-bore socialists who want to tear down free enterprise, and get rid of the police.
The Right is being portrayed as racist, war-mongering, radical conservative, gun-obsessed zealots who care nothing for the nation's environment.

Police are being portrayed as focused on killing or at least hurting people of color whenever they can get away with it, who totally would get away with it, if The Left let down their guard.

Every use of force by police is now suspect to the public eye, if there is not a long history of the actor being a dangerous criminal, and there is not beautiful video of the event, depicting the recipient of police force committing indisputably heinous crimes (i.e., not just against police) when the police step in and expertly execute maneuver which stops the crime.

Police are assumed to be part of an inherently racially unjust system.

Because of this, people have taken to the streets in demonstrations which have repeatedly become riots. People will en masse block highways, blocking other people, to "raise awareness" of their issue. (This, to me, is akin to punching out a random old woman to raise awareness about breast cancer.)

People are stressed.

Listen to me: 

WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS.  

We as police will adjust some of the things we can, and the public will have to understand what we cannot adjust.

A vaccine is coming, and the greatest nation on the planet will get back to work again.

The current dumbass President will leave office, and another dumbass President will assume the role.

Do not get worked up over what someone says over the Internet-- chances are, they're just some Russian 'bot trying to goad you into a position of rage, to contribute to our chaos.

I and my brothers and sisters in blue will continue to try. And dammit, we'll try to do better. We have to.

I am sorry for our collective Troubles, and I will take a drink when they are past. For now, the liquor cabinet remains shut, because we have work to do.

If you can, try to be understanding of that idiot neighbor of yours, and do something kind.
If you can, let that comment box with the flashing cursor in it go unfilled with furious text.
If you can, send a little olive branch to that person that you used to think well of, before finding that they were just a little over on the Other Side on some divisive issue or another.

Finding Peace.

I am an atheist. I don't say that much, because of the negative reactions and connotations that seem to come from saying it.  This may be the first time that I've said it public. I think that it is. It's something that I've recently come to grips with.


I don't draw my peace from a higher power. For me, it has to come from within.


You may have noticed that the URL for this blog is MayPeaceBeWithYou [dot] BlogSpot [dot] com.


I composed that address one night after a decent beer or two, when I tried to decide what this web log, or 'blog, was to be about. I thought about writing about my experiences as a peace officer, but realized that most people don't tune into police stories for the "Peace" part of the officer's trade. They want to hear about the drama that accompanies discord.  I knew that I was mostly going to let people down if I promised them such things. If I had a counter on the number of times that I've drawn my gun with real concern that I was going to fire it, it would be in the double digits, and not really threatening the century mark.


When I suit up every day for work, I try to remember what my job is. I am employed to keep the peace.  The best way to do that is to show respect to the people that I come in contact with. And to be honest, I fail, occasionally. That respect thing works in a lot of other areas of life, too, for finding peace. Be it your neighbor, your wife, your daughter, your son, your work partner, your political adversary, or the saber-rattling nation a half-world away-- showing respect is a decent way to keep the peace.


That's hard to do, when we're irritated with someone. But if your goal, (having been established after contemplation in quiet times) is peace, then it is probably when we're irritated with someone that we most owe it to ourselves to display constant respect.

Let's just stop this and maybe be the good guys again.

Good guys take responsibility for their own actions. When they hurt someone by accident, they still own up to it.

Good guys weigh the danger of what they're doing against the good that can come from it.

Good guys try not to hurt kids.

So when we throw a flash-bang stun grenade into a baby's crib and critically injure the child, and claim that we've done nothing wrong because OMG drugs!, well, we're not being the Good Guys anymore.

I'm done with people's grandparents dying in a hail of bullets as they respond with a gun in hand to the intruders in their house, who happen to be cops serving a search and arrest warrant on their grandkid.

I'm done with no-knock warrants. 

If there's not a hostage involved, we do it by the numbers, serving a felony warrant. We knock on the door, LOUDLY, and announce, LOUDLY AND CLEARLY, that we are the police. We explain that they have an extremely short time to open the door, or we will open it for them. We make clear that we are the police, serving a lawful order. We then make entry, announcing our identity and intent very clearly (Not just hollered incoherently.). We then go about making the scene safe, and serve the warrant.

Will some evidence be lost? Yes. You bet there will be. And that's a damned shame.

But it's not as big a shame as what has become to be far too commonplace, in the case of the No-Knock Warrant.

You want to fix the medical system? You want reform?

I've got a very simple law that we could pass that will go a LONG way toward medical healthcare reform.

Require that, within one business day, the healthcare provider give you a straightforward answer to this question:

"How much is this going to cost?"

Mom is in rehab for her new knee, which she had put in last week. The orthopedic surgeon called it one of the worst --if not the single worst-- knees that he's ever had to replace. He told me that Mom should have come in 10 years ago to get that knee swapped out. Mom's answer (she walked 150 yards in to the pre-op room, unassisted) is simply, "Yeah, but think of how far that replacement knees have advanced, in the last ten years." Good point.

Mom's a super star at rehab, and is actually being released early. This makes her cranky elder son very happy; we've been missing her next door. (Yes, I've been visiting daily, but it's not the same.) But when her family liaison person called me to ask me if I had any questions, I asked her, "What's the cost of this? How much are we saving daily by having her come home early? What is the average daily cost of her care?"

She didn't know, but turned me over to a person at their facility who could "better answer my questions." That lady didn't know, either. "We don't do any billing here," she told me. "That's done from the corporate offices in Pennsylvania."

But she went on to assure me that the bill was to be sent to Mom's insurance companies, who typically covered most of these things, before we'd ever get a bill.

"But somebody, somewhere, knows what this costs," I protested.

"No, we won't really know, until we bill the insurance companies, and see what they pay," she told me.

This is ridiculous.

The attitude that it doesn't matter, because there is insurance, is the reason why the costs are spiraling.

On the first of this month, I changed over from my old PPO to a new Health Savings Account*. Thus, when it's medically-oriented, I want to know what EVERYTHING costs.

I know what I make per hour. I know what the overhead is for my job. I could, after checking a few figures, answer the question "How much does it cost to run the police department in Matt G's little town for a single day?"

Why is this so hard?

________________________________
*I've got a $3000 deductible to fill each year, before my account turns into a classic PPO. My job kicks in $180 a month to a savings account that I pay out of.

This is getting old.

The most common (and apparently powerful) attack on the Tea Party movement that the Obama supporters have is race. You don't like the current administration, and some of you who are critical have been outspoken racists. Ergo: Your entire movement is racist. (Guilt By Association. Circumstantial ad hominem. Hasty Generalization. How many logical fallacies can they employ?)

You get people like those at Don't Tea On Me, who point to a single data point, and conclude that the argument is invalid, and thus the only answer for why you're critical of their side is that you're a racist.

The anonymous author of the story seems to interpret that graph differently than I do.

From what I can see, it shows that spending goes up during war. Even that's lamentable. Reagan ended the Cold War by outspending the communist bloc. Bush I spent in Iraq, Bush II spent in Afghanistan and Iraq. While I think that both Bushes overspent, I can't help but notice that the graph goes up at its steepest rate during the present President's administration.

That increase was predicted by the critics that heard the amazing array of government spending projects that were promised during the last presidential campaign. Give our President that: he's a man of his word, who spent and spent with his cohorts in Congress.

Again, though: it's offensive to be called a racist, simply for being the loyal opposition. I have NEVER thought of the President's race as a liability. Nor have any of my friends who are critics of him.

The truth is, the biggest wedge between the current President's administration and its critics are the knee-jerk supporters, who mindlessly attack the critical pundits with name-calling.

Lemme get this straight:

TSA screeners get paid about as much or more than city cops on the street.

They receive the same protections and authorities under the law as real police.

They are training their new recruits to make derogatory remarks about the genitalia of those pass through the screening devices?

Friends, the security theater isn't working. What we should have done, September 12, 2001, was require secure doors on the cockpits of common air carriers, allow the pilots to go armed, and gone on with business as usual. Because we did not, the terrorists have won in ways that they never imagined.

______________

Hat tip to Unc, by way of Tam.

Don't even start.

Don't start whining to me about how hard it is to rear teenaged girls, when:

For the second time in 4 months, I come across your 15 year old teenaged daughter, in the company of drug and alcohol-addled grown men, and you didn't even have a clue where she was, at 9:00 on a school night.

Or where the 16 year-old daughter was.

And we've received not one single run-away report.

And you lie to cover up that your 15 year-old has been dating her second 20-year-old.

You, madam, are part of the problem. And if it hurts your feelings to hear me say it, get ready to not like me very much.

Never.

I'm never moving to the coast. It's a nice enough place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

We're living in the future.

Tamara links to Sippican Cottage, where the proprietor asserts that this ain't a bad time to be alive.

I've been saying this stuff for years. It sucks to live today for some reasons, but those reasons are offset by the fact that we're livin' in the future, man.

Cell phones have changed the entire planet in the last decade. In my profession (police), we've seen it change the way we receive and answer calls, and the way that we respond to them when we get there.

Computers-- especially laptops-- have changed the world. Hell, I'm at home, and I'm not even using my desktop. Why should I? the little notebook does it as well, and I can pack it with. In my patrol car, I can bring up a suspect's mug shot, criminal history, and what he paid for his house, without even invoking privileges given by the badge-- I'm doing that on the public side, through Internet Explorer.

My tired old Honda that's 11 years old and has almost 200k miles on it still gets 32 mpg, when I drive it like a bat out of hell.

Telephone service is cheaper than it's ever been in the history of ever. I can talk all day long to my friends in other states on the reasonable flat fee that I pay once a month.

Flush toilets. Air conditioning.

Clean water is taken for granted, my entire life.

I ate homemade lasagna Friday night. Unimpressive, right? But the pasta was a favorite brand of whole wheat. The cheeses were chosen among an impressive variety of them, still with an eye toward reducing the fat. The garlic was fresh but I didn't have to grow it. The basil was fresh from my windowsill. The pork sausage was made in my kitchen with a food processor a few minutes before we made the pasta dish. The oven was digitally regulated. The sauce was frozen, but was defrosted in the microwave. The food was dirt cheap, compared to my yearly wages.

Beer: It comes from all over now. And there's competition to make it better. Even when I was first legally able to buy beer, a good selection was a rarity.

Same for coffee.

Seafood: We who live inland can now enjoy it, too.

Entertainment: Shows are a LOT more complicated than they were as recently as the 1970's and '80s. Back then, 4 main characters was a LOT, with 8 being very complicated. I heard somewhere that that 24 show that some of y'all watch has over 40 characters. Huh. People are smart enough to keep up. Who knew? Also the variety is a lot better. Used to be, you had some goofy comedy, some game shows, maybe a western, and some cop shows prominently featuring car chases.

Music: Download. Order. Plug in an MP3 or burn a CD or whatever. It's an anomoly to have to cue a tape, these days. And setting a needle in a groove is a lost skill. Which I don't lament.

For better or worse, free speech is utterly guarenteed, with regard to obtaining access to information. Also, it ain't hard to publish an opinion, these days. Yes, there are draw backs to removing the vetting process of an editor or publisher, but there are benefits, too.

Computers are dirt cheap, relative to a few decades ago.

I'm relatively free from concern about contracting communicable diseases. While AIDS sucks, you have to participate in activities that I exclude myself from, to get it.

My daughters have a pretty good chance of living lives in which they are not constrained in their life choices, merely because they're female.

There's more. A lot more.

Quit yer griping. Yeah, there're problems. But check out the bennies.

Doctor's appointment.

Got the sniffles or a chest infection? Go to the doctor. (G.P.)

Got a skin infection? Go to the doctor. (Dermatologist.)

Got a broken bone or a torn ACL? Go to the doctor. (Orthopedic surgeon.)

Got a heart problem? Go to the doctor. (Cardiologist.)

Got diabetes? Go to the doctor. (Endocrinologist.)

Got cancer? Go to the doctor. (Oncologist.)

Got female troubles? Go to the doctor. (OB/GYN)

And on and on and on

So what's with the stigma, when someone gets the psychiatric equivalent of the sniffles, with going to the doctor? (Psychiatrist.)

Part of the problem...

...is that no one knows who Jacob Ryker is.

But there's a big Wikipedia web entry on who Kip Kinkel is. (Which Ryker isn't even mentioned in!)

Let's fix that.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I've been trading emails back and forth between a trooper I know down in SW Texas and a good friend that lives in the Big Bend area. I found myself sending the following in an email this afternoon:

Every time I hear about how stemming the tide of illegal immigration is impossible, I ask, "How do you know? We've never tried to do it, yet."

Every time I come across a bona fide mojado, who admits that he's an undocumented alien, who makes no bones about having come across illegally, I'm generally ready and willing to get his butt documented by his deportation process. But we're regularly being told that ICE won't bother with them unless we catch them with at least a Class B or greater crime.

Will a fence work? I don't know. Why don't we try it and see.

My friend who works at DPS licensing bureau is being told to accept Border Crossing Cards that are only supposed to be good 70 miles north of the border, to give honest-to-Gawd Texas ID cards, which then turn into licenses.

I'm dealing with El Paso insurance agents that are giving insurance to undocumented aliens, even though they don't have a Texas drivier's license, and the State Board of Insurance won't do anything about it. This is a shame, because if they don't have license or insurance, I can tow their car. If they only are missing one, I have to give them a ticket. (Dept. policy, which is common in many departments).

Given the rate at which we're devaluing the nation AND losing rescouces with regard to population, I have the solution: Annex Mexico. They should jump at the chance-- better quality of life, US dollar, Medicare, Social Security, better emergency response, etc. Even better environmental situation. In exchange, we get their resources, we move our southern border down to Guatamala (much easier to patrol), and we get 'em all documented and tax-paying.

I'm not sure I'm joking about this. Actually, I'm beginning to get pretty sure that I'm not joking.

--Matt

The more I think about it, the more I like it. No more accusations of xenophobia. I don't want to export them-- I want to make them my countrymen! :)

Why is this our government's bidness, again?

Yeah, I'm quoting Tam again. While her main post about ludicrous federal intervention into subprime mortgage contracts is really good, the best part is in the Comments:

PS: The problem's not going to be fixed by legislative bandaids.The problem will only really be fixed when dumbass investment firms are going bankrupt while sitting on vast portfolios of worthless tract homes and millions of dumbass middle class homeowners have had to sell the plasma TV to come up with an apartment deposit after getting evicted from their foreclosed crackerbox.

Nobody learns nothing from a bailout.

Damned straight.

It has to hurt, and risk businesses (hell, markets) going under, or no one will avoid it next time.

But what the hell-- it isn't as if the money's not free, right?

I make a decent little wage, I don't do drugs, I don't gamble, I don't have any expensive hobbies, I never travel, I have two paid-off old reliable beater cars, I have a small TV and the least-expensive satellite entertainment plan I can get. My wife works, too. Still, I'm living in a little 1100 square foot rent house in which my girls share a bedroom until we can find a house that we can afford to live in, and make the down-payment with the profits we made from the last house we sold.

That's called "reality."

My family is anything but special, in this regard. We are doing nothing extraordinary.

Why does everyone feel the need to have that which is extraorinary? If you can't put anything down, why do you think that you can pay for a 2700 square foot house? If you find that you're about to be foreclosed on, why is it my duty to bail you out?

And why is our government doing this? For the homeowners? For the businesses? What about for the taxpayer?

Winding the clock

Pakistan has The Bomb.

Pakistan is the sixth most populous country in the world.

Pakistan has uneasy relations with India, and still hasn't forgiven India for yet again kicking its butt in Kashmir in 1999. (That same year both countries tested their respective nucs, too.)

Pakistan is our supposed Islamic ally in the War On Terror in the Middle East. Pakistan borders Afghanistan, and is widely thought to be the haven to which Taliban bigwigs run when occupying Coalition U.S. forces get too close.

Pakistan has a nasty little habit of selling nuclear technology to other rogue states.

Pakistan has declared emergency martial law. If you're not a Musharraf-supporter, you are placed in house-arrest. About 60+ political activists are arrested, including all of Bhutto's camp.

It's impressive when a government is so very wrong, that they make a crowd of angry, yelling attorneys look right. But that's what they've managed to do in Pakistan.


Tick. Tick. Tick.

Minor surgery.

I've been bugged by a little pimple-like thing in my eyelid for the last couple of months. The first doctor proclaimed it to be a "Stye In The Eye." I checked his name tag; it said "Garcia," rather than "Seuss."

So I took his oral antibiotics and topical steroid religiously for the full course and.... found that my irritation persisted.

So I saw an opthamologist. This guy was wiser in the ways of eyes. He proved it by using words like "sclera" and "conjuntiva" when referring to what lesser humans would call the "white of the eye." I, in turn, dazzled him with my explanation of how a cruller is different from an ordinary donut.

So Dr. Eye Guy said that I had not a stye, but a chalazion. (No, mine looked nothing like the one in the picture. Eww.)

He recommended minor, in-office surgery, to hack that bad boy out.

Well, it says here that fixing a chalazion is pretty benign stuff:

"The minor operation is quite painless, the eyelid is injected with a local anesthetic a clamp is put on the eyelid, then the eyelid is turned over and the chalazion is scraped out."

Lying.
Bastards.

What with the injections and the eye speculum (how very Clockwork Orange), I can tell you that I was just a South American doctor with a German accent away from full-scale torture.

But he seems to've fixed the damned thing.

Now I get to pay him for the privelidge. Feh.

Did I ever mention my ocular phobia? I don't like things touching my eye.

Deadly parenting.

Mom gives some insight from the perspective of a retired Child Protective Services caseworker into how children go emotionally dead before they physically die.

Yeah, it's tough stuff to read, but it's interesting, and it's fairly brief. Worth the read.

Traffic.

I come from a small town, originally. Actually, "town" is an over-statement; it was a place where a few hundred people lived, and had a couple of churches, a service station, a post office, a school, and a small grocery store. The big intersection was where a state highway intersected a Farm To Market road, and only the FM had stop signs. The biggest traffic snarl that we ever saw in my town as a kid was the 10 minutes preceding the late bell at the elementary/junior high school every morning, and the 10 minutes after school let out every afternoon. Trains would cause backups, but only until the caboose went by (when was the last time I saw a working caboose?).

We would occasionally head into Big City, where the traffic was legend. To hear folks talk about it, you would be bumper-to-bumper at 80 miles per hour for the first half of your trip, and stop-and-go (mostly stop) for the second half.

As I grew up and learned to drive, I took a special pride in my ability to drive in Big City traffic on my forays into the maw of post-industrial urbanized hell. I wasn't just some country bumpkin-- I could drive with the big boys. I never subscribed to the whole concept that "you have to drive like them, or you'll never get anywhere, and you'll get into an accident." I was told repeatedly that you had to hug the bumper of the car in front of you, or you would be cut off repeatedly. But that seems like a good way to cause a rear-end collision, so I've always held to the concept that we need a goodly following distance. Cut in in front of me, and I'll have to increase it for your rear bumper, too, I guess.

Following even just a little closely doesn't get you there faster-- it slows the whole process down. Attend me: If you have to tap your brakes the second that you see that you're beginning to close the distance with the car preceding you, then the cars behind you have to tap their brakes when they see your brake lights. It creates a chain reaction behind you that results in stop-and-go traffic. Literally, if everyone just left enough room to coast to a slower speed rather than hitting their brakes every time, we could mostly eliminate stop-and-go traffic. Yes, I would HAPPILY rather go 30mph on a highway than stop and go. Make that 20mph.

Then there are the minor fender benders. Usually they're caused by hugging someone's bumper and not being able to stop in time when they hit the brakes, but occasionally they're caused by bad passing. (More on lane changes in a minute-- I've got a bone to pick on signalling.) People have these little "meetings" in the middle lane of the interstate, and then get out and stand there looking at their crumpled bumpers. For half and hour! It's a minor fender-bender, people! NOT a fatality accident! Get your asses over to the shoulder of the road to exchange insurance. Guy in front: Wave to the guy in back, and point to the shoulder or to the next exit, and slowly pull off the road with the other guy. If he doesn't follow you, get on the cell and report his butt-- he's not getting far. The traffic law in Texas requires that you clear the road if possible. Do it, before you cause another accident. Please.

Then there's the folks that have to look at the accident. Look, if it's in your lane, or you have to drive around it, then by all means slow down for safety. But if it's not in your lane or worse, it's on the other side of the freeway across the divider, keep your attention to your own lane and keep moving, please. There are few things more irritating than being in stop-and-go traffic caused by gawkers looking at the wreck across the median. Oh, wait: I just thought of one: being in STOPPED traffic caused by the rear-end collisions caused by the gawkers looking at the traffic accident on the other side is more frustrating.

All of this may make me sound like I'm a really frustrated driver, given to fits of road rage. Actually, no. If somebody cuts me off and I can tell that they just didn't see me, I probably don't even honk my horn except to tell them that I'm there to avoid a collision. I'm human. They're human. I've sure screwed up like that before, and wanted a hole to climb into; I assume most of those people do, too. Chasing them down to yell at them really doesn't make me happy. Would it make anyone so?

But what's the deal with turn signals? Most automobiles built in the last half century have a device built into the steering wheel column that sticks out on the left side of the wheel. By extending the left pinkie finger, the driver may actuate that device down (I.E., in the counter-clockwise direction of the wheel) to signal a left turn, and up (I.E., in the clockwise direction of the wheel) to signal a right turn. The laws of every state in the United States, to the best of my knowledge, require the use of a turn signal some distance prior to turning or changing lanes. In Texas, the Traffic Code requires that the turn signal be displayed continuously for at least 100 feet prior to making the lane change or turning. Is your light burned out? No problem: the Traffic Code provides for that, too-- they're called hand signals.

But people don't use them, as they weave through the heaviest of traffic.


Why? Is it just too. Much. Trouble. . . to stick out your itty bitty wittle finger, and waggle it up or down, and let the rest of us know what amazing maneuver you're about make next? Is it that you'd rather keep it a secret? I've actually had people tell me that they don't use their turn signal in heavy traffic because the driver behind them in the next lane over will speed up to keep them from changing lanes. Oh, good lord! Paranoid, much? I think most people just think they're too damned busy driving to be bothered with stupid little technicalities like signals. Clue: The fact that the traffic is so busy that it requires all your concentration should tell you that signalling your intent to change lanes would be a good idea.


_ _ _


I see that John B had a little road rage the other day.


This is not to be confused with escalator rage, but they have kindred emotions.

Then there is Traffic Direction Rage. I felt a twinge and saw a brother officer feel some of that once or twice the other day.

Like many little towns in the area, our little town had a little autumn event. In my day, we had honest-to-Gawd Halloween carnivals, but now we tend to call them Fall Festival. (Ow. It hurts my head when I roll my eyes that hard.) So part of this event involved getting some crosswalks established across a heavily-used state highway during drive-home time. I got to stand in the middle of the intersection of a state highway and a heavily-traveled farm-to-market road from 1600 to 1800, using my hands to urge vehicles to stop, turn, or drive through the stop intersection without stopping, while my brethren acted as crossing guards. As traffic stacked up almost a mile up the road, I began urging traffic through faster and faster, and holding up the crosswalks for longer periods of time.



It had been a few years since I had really had to do any complicated traffic direction, and I took a few minutes to get back into it. One thing I learned early on is: NEVER urge one lane to move without your other hand up to halt the intersecting lane. So, though I was slightly inefficient to begin with, I never created a dangerous situation.

After a while, I hit my stride. Full-arm movements. Large gestures that could be seen and interpreted from blocks away. Faster movements to signal that I wanted them to speed up. Head nods with my straw Stetson to let them know that I saw them. Head shakes to let people when I would not let them go someplace where they wanted to go. Significant pointing at cars to let the drivers know that the next gesture was directed at you, Sir.



But what kept getting me, over and over again, was the people that would try to turn when I gestured for them to move straight ahead, because that was where they had intended to go all along, but nobody else knew this... because they hadn't turned on their turn signal. Often this was accompanied by cell phone use. They would pull out into the intersection and turn... into a crosswalk full of kids.

I have a baritone speaking voice, for the most part, but when the volume goes up, the pitch rises a bit as well, to tenor. "Stop" becomes "STOP!"

Occasionally I would loudly say "Turn signals!" and the drivers would sometimes glance at me in annoyed incomprehension.


Sometimes, I might have been heard to say, "Hang up, and use your turn signals!"


My partner at one of the crosswalks, having warned the kids in the crosswalk to avoid yet another car that had turned into the crosswalk without using turn signals, would scream at them: "Hang up and learn to drive! Ever heard of turn signal?" It got worse from there. He was very unhappy with the drivers. Well, so was I, too, with some of them.

But I smiled, and thanked people who had sat in traffic for their patience.

Hard to do. When you're dodgin' traffic, and so are the kids, it's hard to show social graces.

But worth it. More on that, later.

Funeral escort.

A thousand people doesn't sound like much.
But it is, in a town twice that size.
All those people add a heartwarming touch
Seen through the mourners' eyes.

At least a hundred kids in front of the school,
Each with a little flag to wave.
Making even those who are cynics as a rule
Believe there's something to save.

His life ended by a bomb at the road side.
He returns now to the place he knew best.
And our little town gathers in sorrowful pride
To see its son carried to his final rest.

Tips on Concealed Carry

Hi Matt G--
...I've been reading your blog for a
while and I was hoping you could help me out with something. I recently bought my first handgun, took the concealed carry class, and now have my permit. Problem is, I really don't think I know what I'm doing when it comes to carrying a firearm for self-defense. The concealed carry class was very vague on that topic, and I caught some serious errors on topics they weren't vague on (for example, they told me that I SHOULDN'T notify an officer that I had a firearm until asked. The back of my carry permit says, in big letters, that I should). So I don't really trust them any more, and have no other good resource. Any advice?

I'm probably going to give you a lot more than you wanted, here, and a lot less.

First: What state are you in?

Second: I am not a lawyer, nor a professional trainer. I am a man who carries a gun for a living and for personal protection. I've made a study of firearms, and am more than a little bit interested in them. But you get what you pay for in this world, so take the following with a grain of salt:

I could quote you chapter an verse about Texas law on concealed carry, but I don't know if that's where you live. For example, if you are detained or asked for your identification by a peace officer in Texas and you are armed, you must present your Concealed Handgun License.

Packing Dot Org used to be the gold standard for good handgun law information, but it seems to be down right now. So go to HandgunLaw Dot US and try to find out everything you can about your requirements under the law. Really, you should read the black letter law of the statutes, codes, ordinances, etc that pertain to your carry and the application of use of force in your state. Do you have a duty to present your CHL? Do you have a duty to retreat before using deadly force? Do you have a requirement to keep it concealed, or can it be visible? What is "brandishing"? Are there ammunition requirements, loading requirements, requirements for holsters, cases, type of firearm, number of firearms, etc? Does your state have laws that supersede local ordinances forbidding carry? What are the places where carry is prohibited even with a CHL, if any?

These are damned important questions. You need to have the letter of the law printed out and available to you, preferably in your car or luggage. As you've seen, there are many misinformed people, and they can include instructors and cops.

For good tips on carrying concealed, I really would recommend that you go read this thread at THR. Specifically pay attention to the concept of wearing the stiffest, heaviest belt that you can fit in your holster and pants. (hint: The first month of putting it on, you'll think you got one that was too stiff.)

Don't let anyone tell you that the gun you favor the most is wrong-- handguns are intensely personal issues. But at the same time, don't assume that someone else's choice is wrong just because yours works for you-- realize that there are many ways to skin a cat. For concealed carry, you need to realize that you're going to sacrifice shootability for carryability. Sure, you can circumcise a gnat at 40 paces with your 8 3/8" heavy barrel Super BlackHawk in .480 Ruger, and it will reliably put down a bull sperm whale, but what of it? You're not going to have it tucked in your Sparks Summer Special when you drop in the convenience store for a Slushy.
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1.The most important issue for a concealed carry pistol is: reliability. If it doesn't go Bang every time, then what's the point? Why risk the potential liability of carrying a deadly weapon?

2.The next most important issue is carryability. If it's not something you'll find comfortable to carry, you'll almost never carry it. Carrying a pistol is inconvenient. It takes time. You have to dress accordingly. You will find yourself carrying that pistol a lot more if it's:
(A): Lightweight (read: under two pounds, and preferably in the 16 ounce or less range), and
(B): Thin.
Barrel length is only moderately important, and is actually far outweighed by butt profile. A short round butt on a gun with a long barrel is far easier to conceal than a big square butt on a short-barreled gun.

3. The next most important issue is shootability. Can you draw the gun and hit the center of a man-sized target twice at three paces reliably and quickly? Don't laugh: that's a serious question, and one that more people should ask themselves.

4. Finally, and least important (yet still important) is: is the gun powerful enough? If you pop someone with a .22 or a .25, and they find out about it, they might become annoyed with you. (Apologies to the late Jeff Cooper.) Find a pistol that fires as powerful a caliber as you can reliably shoot well, taking into account the above limitations. This is where intermediate calibers shine. 9mm, .38 Special, and even .380 acp are very good calibers to consider is small carry guns. I have heard people that I respect speak highly of the .32 H&R Magnum as a contender. Don't discount less common rounds like the .41 Long Colt, .44 Special, .45 Schofield, .38 S&W/.380-2Z, .32-20, the 9X18, etc.

Life is a trade-off. You may well want to reduce your power level to increase carriability. This is why a BUNCH of Baby Brownings have been sold and carried over the decades, and why for the last decade so many KelTec P32s have been sold.
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--Get a good holster. If you carry your pistol in your pocket, get a good pocket holster. It not only makes it safer and makes the gun easier to deploy when needed, but it also protects the gun in your pocket.

--Wipe your gun off every day. Even if it's stainless.

--Don't get complacent about safety. The Four Rules are always (ALWAYS) in effect. When you get home, put the gun up properly-- don't just kick it in the corner with your pants (if that's how you roll when you get home.). I don't care how long you've been around guns. I don't care how safe a gun you've got. I don't care that "you've checked it, and it's safe." You're one careless mistake away from a tragedy, and if you can't remember that, then don't carry. In fact, just leave the guns alone.

--Decide ahead of time what is the absolute point where you have to act. Don't wait until the situation arises, because while you're deciding, it's too late.

--If you're going to carry, carry every day. I don't have a crystal ball, and I can't predict when I'm going to get into a gunfight. If I'm wearing pants, I'm wearing a gun. This principle applies to seat belts. If I'm driving, I'm buckled in, because I can't know when I'm going to be hit by someone. Think of the gun as underwear.

--Go read Marko's short riff on the responsibility of carrying-- he's got some good outlooks on it.

--Don't show your ass while carrying.

In short: Be responsible, and think ahead of time.

I know. It's a lot.

But you don't have to carry. If you choose not to, that's okay.

Not a misogynist. NOT.

Look, I probably hold women to higher standards than I do men. They don't have that testosterone poisoning that we do, which makes us want to solve simple problems (e.g.: "The neighbor's dog is crapping in my yard.") with complicated or at least complicating solutions ("I'll settle his hash!" Blam! Blam! Blam! "Is that bullhorn coming from a helicopter?"). Ladies see sex, conflict, and self worth very differently, on the average, than does a man. Usually for the better.

But, boy, when you run across the dumber ones... it'll put you into a spell of the cranky mumblings that people might misinterpret to think that you're judging all women, by the actions of a few.

"Grumble mumble grumble idiot couldn't find her mumble grumble if she used both hands and called Directory Assis... grumble, mumble... "

Exhibit A:

Dumb Woman: "Officer, I'm so glad you stopped."

Me: "Well, it seemed like the thing to do; you kept following me."

DW: "I need to report a Hit and Run."

Me: [Tensing to run out and stop the perpetrator, but then stopping myself.] "Where and how long ago did it happen? You've been following me for over three blocks."

DW: "It was over at that shop? You know, across from the school?"

Me: [After waiting a second for clarification and getting none.] "Which school? There are several. What shop?"

I finally dragged out of her which shop (only by establishing what they sell).

Me: "That's a couple of miles from here. How long ago did this happen?"

DW: "Oh, it was right before I dropped Junior off at school-- say about 7:50? Don't they ring the bell at 8:00? I just know we were running late."

Me: "Ma'am, it's almost 10:30 AM, now. Why are you just now reporting a hit and run, 2.5 hours after it occurred?"

DW: "I had to get Junior to school."

Me: [Putting that aside for the moment and noticing a tightness in my jaw I hadn't noticed earlier that morning.] "So how did this happen? Wait. Let me bring you a piece of paper to draw it out for me."

After I diagrammed the parking lot on one of the sheets of typing paper I always carry on my clip board for just such exigencies, I drew a compass rose to indicate "N" in the corner, labeled the road adjacent, and handed it to her, asking her to show me how the crash occurred. She rotated the clip board around, and around, and around, and asked what the "Z" meant (seriously), and said that she couldn't make heads or tails of the diagram, and didn't know where everything was. I pointed out buildings, parking lot entrances, and streets. I may not be Michelangelo, but I've been drawing crash sketches for a large fraction of my existence on this earth, and I'm pretty competent at it.

I wondered not aloud whether this woman should be driving at all. Ever.

By doing something akin to the Sullivan/Keller exercise ("Yes! That's water, Helen!") where I took my pen and carefully outlined the articles on the sketch while she held the clipboard (that was important, apparently), I actually directed the pen in her hand to items in the parking lot to areas around the property, I got her oriented.

(Now that looks like a snark at Helen Keller. It's not. Helen Keller was one of the smartest people who ever lived. She, even with her being deaf and blind, would have understood the diagram faster, and would have conveyed to me how the crash had occurred more concisely. And, to look at the numerous dings and bits of body damage on this lady's car, would have been a better driver.)

So I established that she had gotten backed into by another car in the parking lot. She then pulled into the spot next to it, and watched the other car begin to back away. She went to great trouble to describe the car, and the kid in the back seat, and even the driver, which was helpful. I asked her the make of the car, but that was an exercise of sheerest optimism. She did, however, finally, as an afterthought, after I had asked twice whether she had it, present me with the license tag number that she had written down.

I asked her what she had done when the other car drove away.

DW: "I called my husband, of course!"

Of course.

Me: "On your cell phone?"

DW: "Yes. I could still see the car driving away, and wanted to know what to do."

Me: "Where did the car go?"

DW: "Oh, it got in line to drop of the kid at the school."

Me: "The kid in the car? He goes to school here in town?"

DW: "Yes."

Me: "And you saw the other car drop off the kid. How long did it take to drop a kid off and leave?"

DW: "Well, because I had to call my husband, I was about 10 places back of her, but it was busy, so I guess about 4 or 5 minutes."

Me: "Tell me again why you didn't call the police?"

DW: "Well, I didn't know what to do. And I didn't have your number."

Me: "You didn't know the number to 911?"

DW: "Well, I didn't think I should, you know..."

Me: "Ma'am, for a Hit & Run in progress, calling 911 is completely appropriate."

Sensing an accident report in my future, I asked for her driver license and insurance document. She produced a card with the name of a man she identified as her husband on it. I noticed the discrepancy between her license address and her insurance, and asked if she had moved recently.

"No, we moved 2 years ago," she said, looking at me like I was a fool for not knowing this.

"Okay, you might want to go notify the D.P.S. of your current address, so that you don't get a citation from someone," I said helpfully. Texas law requires you to notify of change of address within 30 days of moving. No, I had no intention of writing her for it, but someone might, so I thought I would just let her kn...

D.W.: [Aghast] "You're going to give me a ticket?!? I'm the victim! What did I do wrong?!?"

Me: "No, ma'am, I was just..."

D.W.: "I can't believe this! Some horrible person almost kills me, slams into me, and you want to write me a ticket!" she was warming up to the subject, so I raised my voice.

Me: "Ma'am! I am not writing you a citation for anything, here."

She immediately calmed down, and said in a self-satisfied tone, "Well I'm glad you came to your senses," she said tritely. "I'm the victim, after all. If you're not going to write me a ticket any more, may I have my stuff back," she said as she gestured toward the license and insurance card that I still held, forgotten, in my hand.

"Uh, sure. Let me just get your information written down for my report," I said, transcribing quickly. "So you now live at this address?" I referred to the address on the insurance card.

"Nooo." She was completely unable to hide her disgust at my stupidity. "That's my husband's address."

The address was only 5 miles away. "You are estranged from your husband, then?"

"No, we are divorced, for the last 5 years," she said slowly, as if to an idiot child.

"Have you remarried?" I asked. Oh, trust me. I knew it really had no bearing on anything, but I just wanted to know how much I was understanding. Or misunderstanding. Whatever.

D.W.: "No."

Me: [Pondering] "So it was your ex-husband that you called while the other driver drove away, rather than calling 911."

D.W.: "Well, yes. Of course." [Surprised that I hadn't realized that from the start.]

I disengaged as fast as possible.
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Exhibit B:

Later that day, I was typing up a report at the P.D. when Dispatch notified me that I had a "Meet Complainant" call at the P.D.

"Uh, I'm right here," I reported. "The door's unlocked."

"She says that she's been parked out front for 10 minutes but can't find anyone," the dispatcher advised. I had been working on paperwork in the office by the front door for half an hour. I opened the door and saw an older woman pensively smoking in a small sedan out front.

"Uh, show me on scene," I told Dispatch.

"There you are!" chided the older woman as she got out of her car.

"How can I help you?" I asked as I held open the front door for her to come into the P.D.

"You can tell me why you arrested my grandson today!" she announced.

"Ma'am, I haven't made an arrest today. And if I'm not mistaken, neither has any other officer with my police department today, because we've had no arrests today. What's your grandson's name?" I asked as I opened a computer browser to the public website to look up the boy's name. "How old is he?" I asked, figuring that it was possible that he wasn't even on the public site, because he was obviously a young teenager, and would be in the juvenile system.

"26," she said.

I was aghast. She went on. "I already paid his tickets with y'all last month! You shouldn't have put him in jail for them!"

"He's in jail for traffic citations?" I asked as the page came up. Yep, Mid-Sized City P.D. had arrested him for warrants issued on unpaid traffic citations out of our city an hour and a half before. Before I looked up his history, I asked if he had been to jail before.

"Oh, my word, yes. Y'all just won't leave him alone! I've had to bail him out 5 times this year. It's not his fault that he gets in trouble-- he has A.D.D."

What do you say to that? I pulled up his history, and saw that A.D.D. had caused him to be arrested for stealing, for driving with a suspended driver's license, for possessing dope, and for driving while intoxicated. Damn those bastard cops, and double-damn the greedy drug companies for charging too much for Ritalin!

I wondered why she was in such a hurry to get him out. "Does he have a job?" I asked.

"Yes!" She said as she beamed proudly. "He starts next week. As a matter of fact, yesterday we got the judge from another charge to postpone his upcoming court appearance so that he could go to work."

"But he's not working now, so..." I began, thinking to suggest that he sit out the tickets for a few days, and also thinking that she would learn that her darling grandson wouldn't just waste away to nothing if he spent a night in hoosegow for his own actions or failures to act.

"A.D.D.! I told you! It's not his fault that he can't keep a job! Plus, with you people always putting him in jail, it's hard for him to keep a job, anyway. He gets depressed," she accused.

"Well," I said, turning around from the computer, "He's never been in our system, so we don't have any information on him. I guess that he just didn't pay his tickets."

"But you put a warrant out for him!" she accused.

"No ma'am, that was the municipal court that issued the warrant, after he failed to appear," I said.

"Well, I'll pay right now for those tickets --but I could swear that I paid for them last month-- so you can let him out," she said, reaching into her purse.

"You'll need to discuss that with the municipal court clerk," I said. "But he can't get out until he's been bonded out at the jail."

"Can't you just call and have him let go?" she asked. "After all-- it's not his fault. I was the one who didn't pay his tickets."

I sat there astounded. "No, ma'am. He has to stay arrested until he posts bond to appear in court, or until a judge orders him released. Aren't you tired of bonding out a 26 year old man?"

She pursed her lips, nodded, and said, "I sure am! Why can't you just leave him alone? Can't you see that it's hard enough on him as it is?"

"I'm sure it is," I said, as I held open the door for her to leave. "Good luck ma'am. Buh bye."

_ _ _
And so on.

My whole day went like that. I had to run over to the municipal court to calm down a mother who was lambasting the court clerk who had the audacity to demand that her own 25 year old son (who was not present) honor the payment plan that he had signed to pay for his citations for driving without driver license, insurance, etc. The fact that her son had a much sought-after professional tradesman's license, a job, and a meth habit didn't seem to make her see why she shouldn't act as the sole point of contact on her little sonny boy's city court case.

I went to knock on the front door of a house where I found a three year-old playing unattended in the street. He was stopping traffic, literally. The mother complained that I was sticking my nose in where it didn't belong, and then got mad at me when I asked for her full name and date of birth, along with the child's. Hell yes, a report was going to be made.

I finished my day with a phone call from a woman who wanted advice on how to get her kid back from her ex-husband. There had been no custody agreement, because they hadn't been officially married. He wanted his car back from her before he would give her back their child. She, who didn't have a driver's license, didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He just wanted the car, she said, so that he could sell it to buy more meth before he went to prison in two weeks. He had an appointment to check himself into custody to serve his 2 year felony sentence, she said.

"Sounds like a civil issue to me," I said. "Consult a family law attorney, and get a property judgement and a custody order." I hung up as fast as I could.
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I love women. I think womanhood is admirable, and the best people that I know are women. I love and respect my wife and my mother, among many, many wonderful ladies. I am bringing up two girls who I know will become respectable, great ladies.

But man, did I meet a BUNCH of dingbats, the other day.