We Always Get Our Man

WE ALWAYS GET OUR MAN

My former brother-in-law, Mike, was an FBI agent on the fugitive squad, Chicago office. Word comes in that a convicted ? murderer, William Doe, has very likely come to his hometown of Chicago to hide.  A massive search ensues, but Doe is nowhere to be found.

Mike is very smart, not easily discouraged, and never deterred.  Poring over Doe's files one day on a break from other cases, something catches the very back of his mind:  the criminal had a very unusual, very large dog.  He thinks awhile longer and remembers the breed:  the dog was a Bouvier des Flandres.  He methodically sets to work, tearing the veterinarian section in the Yellow Pages out of over 100 phone books, and has the steno pool type out all the vets' addresses.  At the public library, he finds a picture of that breed and copies it, then sends a letter and picture of the dog (and Doe?) to 65 vets.   

Three days later, a vet on the North Side calls him to say, "Yes, I did treat a dog like that."  She says a man had brought in a Bouvier just a day or two ago, but since the dog needed a specialist for mange, she referred him to a vet in Hyde Park.  Mike asks for a description of the man.  It's almost surely Doe.  Mike goes to the specialist on the south side.  Specialist vet says, "Oh yeah, I remember that guy but not his name - drives a loud-lookin' car, something flashy - and here's his address" - a place on the North Side.  

At the North Side address, Mike and his partner find the car in the parking lot behind the apartment.  They don't want to spook him by going in, so they decide to stake out the car and wait.  But they need a lookout spot.  (can we please find another word besides spook?)

There's a Catholic school right across the street with a 2nd-floor window, but they need the priest's permission.  After partially clearing the hurdle of the protective housekeeper, a tiny nun with an Irish accent who asks them to come back after lunch, they persuade her to ask Father to speak with them now.  Permission granted.  Mike's partner goes to the front, Mike goes to the alley, and the stakeout begins.

And sure enough, here comes Doe down the alley with his huge dog.  They draw down (that is what agents say when they point a gun at someone, cool!), call out whatever agents call out at such a time, and the dog starts barking.  Mike warns, "Another step and I'll blow your dog away!"  Doe calls out,   "Don't hurt my dog!  He's cool!" and puts the dog in the car.  He confesses that his mother is in the apartment, tells them they'll find drugs and guns - "but don't hurt her."  

Mike points his gun, summons his partner, cuffs Doe, hands the dog's leash with dog attached to his partner, and escorts Doe to the Bureau car.  Mike and his partner call in the squad, 7-8 squadmates.  They find $37,000 in cash, 6 guns, a big white bag of either heroin or blow, and Doe's mom. So they put Mama in one car, Doe in another, and leave the dog in the apartment.

At HQ, Doe is Miranda'd and held.(?)  They turn the guns over to the Bureau and the drugs to the DEA/US Attorney.  Then the agent seats Doe's Mama at a table and sits across from her, with the $37,000 in bills on the table between them.  He turns over the first bill and asks her, "Do you see the blood?"  She says, "I don't see no blood,"  The agent turns over the next bill and asks the same question, following with, "Your son got this money selling drugs, and it's blood money."  He repeats that statement as he turns over every single bill, making her sit there and watch.   

True story.

                END

(Note:  Turns out Doe's been in California with his girlfriend and their a young son.  (I couldn't find a good place to put this or decide if it is relevant.)

MIKE:  I think a you said the following didn't happen,but I could swear.  If it's not true, just leave it out.  But it really makes a good finale. :). Was your partner ever actually in a car with the dog?

With his partner driving, the dog riding shotgun, and Mike in back with Doe, the entourage travels to HQ (or somewhere).  Doe is Miranda'd and incarcerated.

Mike's partner said later that the only scary part was riding all the way to the office 18" away from the huge dog.  

England Without A Passport

ENGLAND WITHOUT A PASSPORT

By November 1977, Dick had been in Saudi Arabia for several months without us.  We missed each other!  His letter said I should meet him in London and fly back home with him for Christmas.   No actual travel instructions, but hey.

I was really busy managing the children, finishing my degree, sorting things for our upcoming move, and getting ready for Thanksgiving and Christmas.   Not knowing where to begin (it took 3 days to reserve a phone call to or from Dick in Saudi Arabia), I called our travel agent and booked a flight. Then  I called the British Consul in Dallas and asked if I needed a visa to go to England. They said "new," Brit for "no."  I figured visa = passport, so I think there, that's done, cool on the paperwork.  Mama said she'd come over and stay with the children, Dick had the hotel, I had the tickets, bang.

When we disembarked the plane at Heathrow, all us passengers were herded into a huge waiting room by a gentleman who told us to get in line and disappeared.   Under each of the two signs, "UK Passports" and "Other Passports," stretched a very long line.  There wasn't a sign that said "No Passport," so neither sign really fit me.  The man had disappeared and I didn't see anyone to ask, so I got in the "Other Passports" line, which seemed more like me.  About 45 minutes later, I was at last face to face with Her Majesty's customs official, Mr. Marley, a bespectacled young man in his 20s, wearing, of course, a tweed jacket and standing behind a little podium.

"Pahsspoht, please."  I smiled and explained,"I don't need a passport.  I'm an American."  He stared at me for a long time.  We each repeated our lines once more.  Then he said, "Are you trying to take the monkey out of me?"  That was a new one for me, but I got his drift.  "No, no," I said.  "I'm telling you the truth."  He stared more, still politely but seeming incredulous.

He:             All right.  Let's ask this: why are you here without a passport?
I, excitedly: I'm meeting my husband, sir!  I haven't seen him in months!
He:             And where is your husband now?
I:                He's at Claridge's, waiting for me.  I'm to call him when I get through here.
He:             And where did he travel here from?
I:                Dammam, Saudi Arabia.
He:             I see.  Is he an American too?  Does he have a passport?
I:                Of course, yes.  The Saudis are strict about letting people in.
He:             May I see some form of identification?
I:                Sure.  Here's my driver's license.
He:            OH.  You're from Texas.
I:               Yes sir, Dallas.
He:            Do you have any other identification?
I, rummaging in billfold:
                 Yes, here's my Dallas Public Library card.
He:            I'm afraid that won't help us.  Anything else?
I:               Well, here's my student ID from the University of Texas.
He:           (Semi-eye roll)  And what are you a student OF?
I:               I'm getting a degree in Classics.
He:            (More incredulous staring; jaw drops.)
He:            !!! Really?!  I'm doing Classics myself at London U.  In fact, one of my                                                            professors, Kagan,will be on BBC telly tonight.
I:               You're kidding!  You mean DONALD Kagan?  I just finished one of his textbooks!
He:           (Beaming!)  Oh, he's brilliant.  You will love the program.  Do you read Ovid, my favorite?

Suddenly we both become aware of the impatient catcalling and foot-stamping in the long line behind me.

I:             I'm afraid I'm holding up the line.  What should I do?  Can I come in?

He:          Oh yes, yes, of course.  Here (scribbling on a scrap of paper), this is the name of the program tonight.  And here, I've filled in a form you'll need when you go thru customs back home.  DON'T LOSE IT.  You won't be able to get in without it.  Next time, get a passport.  And bring it with you.

I:            OK, thanks SO MUCH!!! .  You are very kind.  I had no idea ... but I won't lose this paper                   and I will get a passport.

He:         Have a lovely visit.

Which we did.

This is totally a true story.  And the reason I wrote this is that the story got around to the point that I'd sometimes have to step in when I'd hear people telling it wrong.

Discretion forbids me to tell how my husband sometimes interrupted: "And meanwhile, I'm sitting in Claridge's with a bottle of champagne, a dozen roses, and a (H*** O*)"
             

Defacing the Taj Mahal

1980 – DEFACING THE TAJ MAJAL

I vomit easily.  I have ralphed in most of the third world.  Over the years, we had developed a system wherein Dick would just slow down to a crawl so I could open the door and throw up in a patch of gorse, rather than stop, let me out, and delay the whole drive.   This works fine if you aren’t on foot in one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

After all, as Dick reminded us, the Taj Mahal would be “the pinochle” (our family malapropism) of our trip to India.  We and the children toured Delhi, had lunch with my cousin at the embassy, and headed out for the Taj in about a 1966 Chevy with no a/c and what sounded like a loose axle.  Our driver lay on the horn almost every second of the 125 miles, a 5-hour drive since barefoot peasants, beggars, cattle, and an ox or two crowded the road.  

It was only about 95 degrees, but it was a bit muggy and a lot dusty.  The open windows were a mixed blessing.  As we neared Agra, I began to feel a little queasy from the potholed road, the swerving to miss our fellow man, and the smell of the animals who ambled along with us, often keeping pace with ease. 

Finally we arrived, bribed the driver to hang out till we were ready to go back, and entered the magnificent Taj.  There were steps and there were narrow passages, and they twisted and turned.  My husband took one look at me and raised his eyebrows at me; hand over mouth, I nodded.  He quickly waylaid a young Indian guide and explained that his wife was sick and needed a restroom.

The guide was all over it.  He asked me, “Do you vant to womit?”  I nodded.  He led me to a parapet and said, with the flourish of an impresario, “Here!  Lean over here!  Then you can just womit onto the ground.”  I peered over the edge.  “Sir,” I said, “I can’t!  See, there are people down there!”   “Oh,” he reassured me, “they von’t mind.” 

I’ll tell you later where I actually threw up.

Turtles in love

So one spring Dick and I are eating breakfast in a cafe with John and Marcia.  Dick's telling them about our recent trip to the zoo with our children and how every single species of animal was mating, even the turtles. 

John:  "How do turtles do it?"

Dick:  "I'll show you.  Hand me your grapefruit halves."  

Do you have a father?

Remember when we were beautiful middle-aged married ladies and some young guy would ask, "Do you have a daughter?"  Well, I was thinking now we could ask cute middle-aged guys, "Do you have a father?" 

Pandemonium

Who knew a splinter the size of 3 atoms laid end to end could spur such an onslaught?  A tiny dot on the tip of my finger - pinkish but barely visible - hollered mayday.  Pink became red became magenta as white blood cells zoomed to the spot, the spot became an angry little hillock, and the battle was joined.  The war between the forces of red and the forces of white heated up the battlefield of flesh, and the battle raged for hours.   The host, me, plunged a pair of tweezers into the alcohol bottle and nudged out a splinter, barely visible, one very wee to have caused such a ruckus.  My finger throbs, it is hot, and it is twice its normal size. 

A little Polysporin and a good night's sleep ought to cure me.  But you know what?   If all this happened while I was awake, can you imagine what my constituent parts are up to while I'm asleep?  Scary.

Daddy Builds a Swing Set

DADDY BUILDS A SWING SET

It’s a fine morning to build a swing set, here in the Year of Our Lord 1945.  Glad I took the day off for this little project.  Ought to finish before lunch.

I’m wearing what I always wear for building things, my work shorts and white t-shirt.  (At least I’m not wearing a sleeveless undershirt like Garfinkel.)  Got the iron pipe for the the end triangles, got braces cut to size, got the joints, the chain, the swing seats.  Got my toolbox and my hacksaw.  Could put this in the back yard, but I think the side yard would be better.  It’s a corner lot, right by and I want to see the look on their faces of the guys get off the bus and get a load of THIS. 

I didn’t tell Liberty about this, so she's off in the car with Carolyn and Bertee.  That'll give me time to build my surprise for them.  We have one car.  That's all anybody needs.  'Course, the Watsons on the corner have two cars.  And they give a dime to every single kid who comes trick or treating.  Livin’ the high life right here on Rosewood Street.

Okay.  The pipes are together – that wasn’t too hard.  Heavy, but easy to put together.  Amazing how whistling makes time go by.  Wonder why that is.  After “The Sweetheart of Sigma Chi” and the Penn State alma mater, I’m whistling Beethoven’s “Violin Concerto in ?” – it's a work of genius.  He should have written more than one.  Maybe he decided to quit while he was ahead and move on to symphonies.

Lessee.  That right joint isn’t tight enough.  There!  That’ll hold ‘er till Kingdom Come.  Now for the S-hooks to hold the chains.  Where’s my metal drill?  Here it is.  Just drill through that pipe and run that little X-screw through there to hold the hooks real tight.  Can’t have them give way with my little girls on them.  Drill's going through pretty easy - ouch!  Those little metal splinters can really sting around your eyes. 

 Boy, Liberty and the girls are going to be surprised!  Can’t wait to see their faces when they see how their very own swing set has magically appeared.

This has taken longer than I figured.  Don’t have my watch on, but the sun's getting over into the west.  Getting hungry.  Doesn’t matter.  Like I always say, no point in doing things halfway.  A job begun is half done.  I’ll just drink some water from my thermos here.

Think I’ll go ahead and sand the seats and drill the chain holes.  I’ll be finished pretty soon – no point in waiting.  That way I’ll have everything ready when I get ‘er up and set the legs steady with that cement.  Funny how they SEE-ment down here, and “THEE-ate-er.” 

Wellsir, I believe I’ve got it assembled.  Seats sanded, chains attached.  Put the legs down nice and firm, plant my feet, get under the middle of the top bar, and heave ‘er up.  Here we go!  UNNHH.  UHHNN!   Heavier than I thought, but it’s al…mo…st up ... It’s falling backwards, right toward me!  GodDAMMit! My feet are slipping out from under me.  OOF!

Right across my chest and both arms.  I’m pinned.  I can sort of breathe through my diaphragm but not my chest.  Short breaths. 

Oh, here's a lucky break - there comes Bill Sullivan – just got off the bus.  He glanced over here, but I don’t think he sees me, so I call to him:.

“___________________________________________________________________!”

I’m trying to yell.  Nothing is coming out but a little wheeze.

“___________________________________________________________________!”

Jesus!   I can’t get his attention!   Come on, Bill!  Look over here!  Nope, he’s on his merry way down the block and out of sight. 

It's getting real hot.  I can’t get out from under this thing.  The pipe hurts, the way it’s smashing into my chest.  Here comes the 5:15.  Harry and Jack are always on that one.  Good.  Here they come.  Maybe I can take a little breath. 

I'll just yell “Help!”
“___________________________________________________________________!”

The SOBs are so busy talking to each other, they don’t even see me.  Or care, probably.  But thank the Lord, Jerry is getting off too.  

“_______________________________________________________________!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”                                                                                                                                                             

What’s he so busy looking at?  Why won’t he just look over here?  If he’d just turn his head this way one inch, that’s all I’m asking.  Nope, not him.  Never realized how selfish my neighbors are.

I  hear the car coming up the driveway!  Finally!  Can’t turn my head very far, but I can just barely see the car out of the corner of my eye.  Liberty and the girls are getting out and going straight in the back door. I'll just call to Liberty.

 “______________!”     “___________!”    “_____!”     I'm gasping.  I’m pretty much out of breath.  No noise is coming out.

But I hear footsteps.  My angel Liberty is standing over me, ready to rush for help.  She’s looking down at me with her beautiful eyes.  “Bob dear?  Aren’t you afraid of getting sunburned again?”