Coming Out Of The Conservative Closet

Hello, again my gentle readers who have come back to visit good old Gumshoe for another episode of my “raison d’etre”.

It may surprise some of you that I was not always a conservative.  Sure, I was a former US Marine (uuurah Chesty wherever you are?)

However, once I left my four years from the “Green Machine”; I found myself with my hair down past my skinny shoulders; granny glasses;a puka-shell necklace; sporting bell-bottom jeans; platform shoes; driving a yellow and purple-flowered van with brown shag-carpeted interior and a registered “peace and freedom” party voter.

Did I happen to mention that I was employed as a huggy-body California state correctional counselor at a prison?  “Spare the rod and use Behavior Mod!” This all came down to a crash with my own personal “harmonic convergence” (without any magic mushrooms mind you) when I had the epiphany that there really are bad predators who only get worse in time.  My liberal restorative justice model was deader than John Brown’s body molding in the grave. I learned the reality that these beings from the shallow side of the human gene pool thrive on preying on the weak and the vulnerable folks in our society throughout their wasted existence. No, I am not characterizing all of these misanthropes that I managed on my caseload as beyond rehabilitation nor beyond redemption.  But the majority!

I decided to pursue a law enforcement career as a trusty and loyal “sheepdog” to protect the “sheep” against the wolves.

I shed my blond locks; gave away my puka-shell jewelry; opted for good old Levi jeans with hiking boots; painted my van copper penny with an American flag sticker on the back window and registered as a Republican thanks to Governor Reagan.

I remember an incident as I wore the dark blue uniform as a Santa Ana copper back in the early ’90s that demonstrated my “Spartacus” moment as a true conservative.

I had recently returned today to watch uniform patrol after several years as an undercover street narc.  It felt good to be back on the streets driving a black and white and chasing 911 calls in my beat. I checked out my mobile office on wheels and found (to my amusement) that there was a small US flag (trimmed in gold bunting) affixed to my outside radio antenna. Glory hallelujah!  His truth is marching on I thought.  Show the flag as I would cruise my barrio beat.  God bless America!

I hit my overhead lights and siren as I threaded my way through heavy afternoon traffic. Moments later, I saw that the male versus female assault had now moved into the Burger King parking lot.

On this one particular sunny and hot Southern California day, I had just “left the barn” (police jargon for the station) to show old glory and start my shift when I got a “hot” dispatch radio call about an adult male beating the crap out of a female. (Crap was not actually the police dispatcher’s terminology) I further learned that this assault was occurring inside a Burger King on the west side of town and that I had no follow-up officers to assist me.  Blaaah! No problem!  “One riot, one ranger” as the police saying goes.  I hit my overhead lights and siren as I threaded my way through heavy afternoon traffic. Moments later, I saw that the male versus female assault had now moved into the Burger King parking lot. I grabbed my trusty PR-24 monadnock baton and took out the male with two well place strikes to his ankles as he bent over the hapless female victim who was in lying in a protective fetal position on the asphalt.

I had to use two sets of handcuffs (linked together) to secure this miscreant’s arms behind his back as he complained about the “owes’s”   to his shins. I felt no sympathy nor compassion for him.  I only felt that I should have hit him harder! The fire department paramedics treated the battered female (her face was a mess) along with her broken ribs and ripped clothing. I learned that this mope had just been released from the joint (prison) and he did not like the idea that his “main squeeze” (girlfriend) has been seeing other mopes.

The “main squeeze” went to the ER as I transported the “rehabilitated” parolee to our city jail for felony assault and battery charges. As I pulled into the sally port of the jail, a civilian police administrator waved at me to stop. She immediately started to lecture me that the flag on my unit was offensive to our citizens and she told me to remove it post-haste.

I then thought of an old WWII movie I saw as an adolescent, with a scene of an Imperial Japanese Officer ordering a Filipino school teacher to take down the American flag. This brave teacher was too scared to speak and he could only shake his head.  The officer had him hung from the flag pole in the presence of his students. Yes, I know that this was a propaganda film, but it struck deeply into my patriotic soul.

I merely laughed at this order and exclaimed to her that this was my flag and that I would not remove it.  Furthermore, I told her that I had police work to do since I had a client in custody. The soon-to-prison parolee violator was booked and I returned to my police unit at which time I was greeted by the administrative police captain who ordered me to strike the colors.  (Apparently, the civilian boss had ratted me out to her daddy.) Before I could respond, he snatched the flag from the unit’s antenna and I reflexively snatched it from his closed fist. Momentarily, (probably by my very busy guarding angel) I stopped myself from putting a “C-clamp” on his pencil neck and ripping out his larynx. There went my career path instantly!  I felt that I made my stand for God and Country and my true conservative colors came out for this little old glory.

NOTE:  The police association supported my actions and the civilian administrator was disciplined. The police administrative captain kept a very low profile and we never did exchange future pleasantries. I did occasionally fantasize about him missing his larynx though.

That little gold bunted US Flag now is framed and mounted on my game room wall adjacent to a framed article that I wrote and entitled “Respect” that was published in the “Reliable Source” the Santa Ana Police Association Newspaper.

Well, kind readers, that’s the gospel truth from retired Gumshoe.  Remember to love the ones who love you and even the ones who don’t.