Wednesday Motes, with a tear.

This says a lot: I am now getting more spam for face masks and hand sanitizers than I am getting “Hi I’m a alone houes wife” emails. (Misspelling house was my first hint.)

Prediction: Very soon the Covid-19 will run through Africa. Between off kilter Christian faiths, just plain black magic beliefs, and the arrogance of its leaders, Africa is basically did nothing to prepare for the onslaught. It took 16 days to go from 1 case to 100; 10 days to reach 1000; and then 3 days to double to 2,000 and so on, the total as of today is 9,000+. Countries have begun lock-downs, curfews, and the result has been violence and brutality. Unfortunately, to my belief, the MSM (international) will treat the Covid-19 plague through Africa just like it did the Rwanda genocide, page D3. After the comics and before the want ads.

I saw that one: UFC head Dana White is talking about buying his own island and having there, televising the fights cards, probably worldwide. This has been the plot for how many “b” (and worse) movies. There’s a line here about MMA and professional wrestling, but I ain’t going to say it.

Enough is enough: This has got to stop. They’ve gone too far. “Reynoso, Tamaulipas Mexico.” Gunman stormed a beer warehouse and killed seven employees. Have these barbarians no shame? I was a little unhappy with the drug trade, I got miffed at the sex slave trafficking, but to kill beer workers is uncivilized and I call for the righteous anger tom fall upon their heads.

Question that doesn’t need answering: As reported in the Daily Caller; “Calling All Patriots; Should Illegal Immigrants Be Considered For Stimulus Checks?”

Oh crap. Just crap
: John Prine, 73, has succumbed to Covid-19. His canceled concert was going to be my first chance to see him in person. I have no John Prine stories to tell. All I have is a great collection of his music, some Rolling Rock in the fridge, and some time. Like the song says, there ain’t no “good” in “good-bye.” John, you will be missed.

Tuesday Mote New New New

It’s all racist: The Chicago mayor has decided the Covid-19 is racially motivated. So far, 70% of the cases in Chicago are persons of color, and the city make up is 29%. She will probably appoint a blue ribbon committee to look into the feasibility of selecting an award winning panel to sturdy the problem. At taxpayers expense of course.

A sad good-bye: To Bond girl Honor Blackman, 94. She was, of course “Pussy Galore”, in “Goldfinger.” Many fans don’t remember she was one of the original “Avengers” (BBC) ads Cathy Gale, the judo chopping lady. Tho’ she hasn’t done much in the past few years, her talent, her beauty, and verbal duel with Sir Connery, will certainly be missed.

It’ll get worse before it gets better: As often seen with “racial” crimes, we are beginning to see “Convid-19” or “Coronavirus” frauds, false claims and made up reports. There will be a lot of “If only (whoever) had acted faster my mother/brother/uncle/best friend/mother-in-law would still be alive.”, and “I was forced to work without (whatever) and now I’m sick”, and the ever popular “Please help me bury/heal/build and give to my go-fund-me drive”. Those wishing to profit from the suffering of others will be coming out of the woodwork and from under the floors. Like roaches.

Just asking: Will all “diplomas” issued during the pandemic have an “*” attached? You know, like when Barry Bonds home run numbers are mentioned. Kind of to denote not really valid.

I don’t understand: Arresting some poor shmuck for stand-up paddling, by himself, on the ocean. That’s as “social distancing” as you can get. Nor do I understand people throwing punches at other people standing in line to buy whatever. Okay, let’s face it, I just don’t understand people.

Saturday Story

 

Most of my problems, with Internal Affairs anyway, started in 71-72 with a real good arrest.

There was an armed robbery call from Liberty House, Ala Moana. Dispatch broadcast a really good description of the suspect, and his sawed off shotgun.

I was patrolling inside Ala Moana Park when it happened. Being the cop I was (am?) I started scanning the park.

And there he was. The right male description, the right clothes, and that blue Pam Am bag. Even though every other person in the park carried one of those damn bags; I was betting it was him.

The first thing I did was call for back-up, but everyone was at the shopping center. Everyone but an adjoining sector sergeant.

I will not use his name, mostly because I don’t want to.

He radio’s that he will “cover” me. Let me set something straight here, to “cover” means he’s got my back. He will be there to back-me up, to protect me, to be my second pair of eyes, or hands if everything turns to shit. He’s supposed to make sure we both go home tonight. When someone says they’ll cover, you trust them.

So I went forward knowing, should I need it, help was on the way. Somehow I snuck up on my suspect; he was so focused on someone coming from the shopping center, that he never saw me coming from ahead of him in the park.

I was there in front of him, car stopped, gun drawn and he was centered in the sights before he actually was aware everything was over.

Of course, I was yelling for him to drop the bag, don’t move, put up his hands, don’t move; you know all the contradicting orders cops give when they’re scared, amped up, and 25 years old hoping to make 26.

He dropped the bag raised his hands, and didn’t say anything. He’d been thru this before.

I cuffed him, put him in the back seat, and sat down to take some deep breaths. Inside the Pan Am bag, a loaded sawed-off double barrel shotgun.

When I started looking around I realized, my back-up was nowhere around. I finally spot him, across the park, in a lot, watching with binoculars.

BINOCULARS!

By then, other units, detectives, Sergeants, all start showing up. The bag and its contents were “recovered” into evidence. I transported the Suspect back to the Beretania Station for booking, and I went to the squad room to start the report.

By now it was afternoon and the 3rd watch was getting ready to start. It was either a Wednesday or a Friday as the on-coming watch was getting ready for inspection. So everyone was in the squad room. I sat down at one of the typewriters.

So, everyone was there when my back up sergeant shows up, slaps me on the back and tells me what a good arrest “we” made.

I lost it. I called him every kind of coward I could think of. I maybe made a few new ones. In front of God, Buddha and the on-coming watch, and at the top of my voice, I loudly proclaimed him a coward for his long distance back-up.

Finally a couple of the on-coming Sergeants got between us, moved him away from me, and got me calmed down. But I never forgot, and neither did he.

A short time later he was transferred to Internal Affairs, and I became one of, if not his only, favorite targets. He took minor complaints, made them major violations and basically made me his career.

He finally put in his time, retired and got his pension.

Me, I got fired eventually.

Update Mote

Wow, things happen on the fly don’t they?
Here in Hilo it’s been rough. We got caught by a Pacific storm. Rain so bad my garage was flooding, and the kennels were under water. I spent hours “pushing” water out the side doorway to keep it out of the house proper. Then I have to dry everything out, again.
The .gov has set some new inter-island protocols so not sure how it wil;l effect my travel, and the care of my wife. I just have to find someone who can explain it all to me. Someone.
Not sure when regular bloging will restart, just keep checking. It will start again, I promise.
Until then, stay safe, stay healthy, stay strong.
Storyteller

Tuesday Storytime Motes

BIRD OF PARADISE

As a “Rookie”, you got stuck with some not so glamorous or police-like assignments.

Hawaii is known for its lush landscapes, incredibly beautiful flowers and the “South Pacific” experience. For a time, there was a park that catered to the tourist looking for that experience, named Paradise Park. It was filled with plants from all over, but its main attraction was the incredible birds.

A visitor would walk the marked trails and stop by the numerous cages and aviaries to see parrots, cockatoos and toucans, chickens (some very beautiful), and the “duck show”.

Actually it was often billed as an exotic trained bird show, but seldom was.

My assignment was to be the uniformed escort for the Police Wives Club, and small children for a special mid-week tour, show and luncheon. Regulations being what they were, the wives had to be escorted by a uniformed officer. I was the lucky guy.

Most of the children, since it was “mid-week” were 6 years and under and like all wives they were all shapes, sizes and ages but the ladies were dressed up and so were the kids.

Because so many of the birds were “trained” they were allowed to basically be free in specific areas of the “trail”.

There was a warning sign at the entrance telling you the birds would be attracted to shinny objects like necklaces, bracelets, earrings and visitors should take those things off. So everybody did. Well, almost everyone.

The walk itself was mostly down-hill, surrounded on both sides by cages with multi-colored, brightly feathered birds from around the world.

Along the pathway there were assistants and volunteers that would try to answer questions about the birds, where they came from, what was their natural setting stuff like that.

Sometimes the “guide” would let the visitor hold a bird, let the bird sit on their shoulder, or have the bird do a trick. That’s how a bird ended up sitting on the shoulder of a Captain’s 4 year old daughter.

Remember when I said almost everyone took off their jewelry. The daughter was the exception. Everybody in the beginning was so concerned with their jewelry they forgot the little girl was wearing small gold-ball earrings.

The guide gently placed a medium sized cockatoo on the girl’s shoulder, everyone began ohing and awing, taking pictures, and she was giggling with joy.

Then giggles of laughter quickly turned to screams of pain and fear as the bird latched onto the earring with a beak strong enough to crack hazelnuts.

Of course, the louder she screamed the more afraid the bird became and the harder it clamped down on its prize, the earring. By now everyone was yelling, the women kept yelling at the guide, and me, to do something.

The guide was trying to calm everyone down. She kept telling them to quiet down and stop scaring the bird. I will not repeat what she was told to do, by the police officer’s wives.

Not being able to use a blackjack, mace, or a gun I just grabbed the damn bird by the neck and squeezed what I hoped was its jaw, hoping it would cause the beak to open.

The one thing nobody ever tells you, those birds have really fragile necks. Oh, and how do I know this? Okay, the damn bird let go of the earring because it was dead.

There, I said it, I killed the bird!

It wasn’t until later, after all the huhu and shouting died down that anyone, but me, bothered to check on the other victim, the little girl.

It was her I was worried about, so I was hugging her with one hand and holding that damn dead bird with the other. Then the wives and park personnel moved in and I was left holding the bird.

That’s pretty much the story. I’ll skip the report work, the fact not one wife bothered to ask how I was doing or say thank-you, and I’ll pass over the $3,000.00 bill the park sent me, and as far as I know, nobody ever paid.

I’ll just wrap this up by saying, that’s the story of how I killed,“The Bird of Paradise”.

Sunday

Okay, I’m back in Hilo taking care of me and mine. I plan to emulate my dogs; sleep and/or nap a lot, eat whenever I’m hungry, and sit on my arse unless something bothers me. Not sure how much posting I’ll get to do with that intense schedule, but I’ll try. It may be just a story now and then, but know I care and hope you all stay safe.
Storyteller