Preface:
What follows is another story from our AG
Writers Club. Its central character is a young boy seeking to define and ready himself
for entry into an adult world, looking for role models to follow.
Most families with children in the 40s
and early 50s didn’t take ‘vacations’ as we may think of them today or as they
are advertised on TV. Finances tended to be tight for the average American
family and other priorities prevailed. Disneyland was decades away and the
interstate highway system was only a pipe-dream as a way to get anywhere
different. So, our family, like so many others of that time, substituted visits
to extended family in place of a vacation to some unknown romantic or exotic
destination.
Story:
The
living room had the faintly musty odor of older houses thoroughly and comfortably
lived-in for generations who called it home. This space - where I sat obediently
with my parents, hands folded in my lap, feet shoeless - was immaculate yet,
hosting a decor strange to a young boy. I could not imagine how so many objects
could be gotten into this small of a room, all neatly arranged and placed just
so, with fuss and care. Heavy draperies complemented footstools with thick covers,
a sofa and chairs solid, straight-backed, plumpily cushioned, antimacassar’ed[1]
and pillowed, shaded lamps located about, all residing among a vast profusion
of unusual objects. Scattered, museum-like, around the room were at least 100 glass
figurines, tiny dolls and statuettes, puppets and Hummels,; each one different ,
all positioned on doilies atop narrow wooden or glass pedestals or on shelves some
separately, others in groups. I was afraid even to move for fear of breaking something.
Before
our arrival my father had cautioned us that Aunt Mary Steele was “Queen’ of her
home. My father outlined all of the rules learned from his own childhood that Mary
enforced for behavior and comportment. Remove your shoes on entering so as not
to track-in dirt. Children should be seen not heard. Swearing is never
tolerated. As I watched this tiny, energetic woman fussing to serve tea, milk
and cookies, chirpily happy to see us, somewhere in the back - beyond the
kitchen - a door opened and a man’s voice boomed “hellooo Lovie."
Firm
strides brought the owner of the voice to the kitchen door. I jumped backwards
in my seat out of alarm. The man was huge and imposing – whip-thin but tall even
in his socks, broad-shouldered, sinewy forearm muscles rippling as he unbuckled
his gun belt, hanging it over a big hook on the wall. Sherriff Harv’ Steele
dominated our little space physically and, by the sheer magnetism of his bearing
and presence. He leaned over, put one arm around his wife’s waist and gently
lifted her upward where they hugged before he softly returned her feet to the
floor – all with one arm! With a big smile he strode over to my father, gave
him a bear-hug and said in his soft Kentucky drawl; “it’s been a-too lawng
Colonel”[2].
Colonel was my father’s nickname – as in Kentucky Colonel. The Sheriff bowed to
my mother and welcomed her to their home – calling her “mother” from then on.
Finally,
his eyes turned to me. I had already decided that this intimidating man was fascinating
so, bravely, determined not to show weakness, I jumped off the sofa, thrust out
my hand and declared, “I’m Richard”. I suppose, already, I wanted to be like
him. Chuckling, he knelt down to shake my hand with his strong and calloused
one, his presence redolent of gun-metal, machine oil, tobacco, leather and
sweat. “Glad to meet ye lad’ he said, “yeonna come ‘long on ptrol afta
mlunch?”
“NO!!’
declared my mother, “he’ll get shot and he’s only 7”.
“Now
Mother, it’s just a routine cruise ‘round town”, Harv’ replied “nothin happens
in the afinoon inaway’ he can keep me compny and I can get to know ma great-nephew
better whilst you and your daughter git an afternoon off with Lovie”. My mother
relented, Sheriff Harv’ was a difficult man to argue with. My father left to go
visit friends around.
Whatever
county London KY was in, Harv’ Steele was the Sheriff of it and so that
afternoon the Sheriff and his new sidekick set out to keep order and maintain
the peace. The patrol car was cavernous and smelled of cigar smoke, gasoline
and the cold sweat of involuntary past occupants. With his boots on Harv’ was
taller yet and so drove with the seat (only bench seats in cars, then) way
back. The only way a 7 year old could see out was to stand on the floor (no seat belts then, either) so I could barely see over the dash.
Harv’
liked to talk and mostly got his fill of it in all situations. He taught me how
to stay effective on police patrol. “Know yer territory, lad, know whut’s
spozed t’be and notice whut’s differnt . Rmember lad, notice whut’s differnt”
he instructed as he slowly and thoroughly scanned left and right as we moved up
and down the streets of the town. Meanwhile, I stood on the passenger side
floor, gripping the dash with both hands, my head on a swivel hoping to impress
the big man with my vigilance and dedication to enforcement of the law.
A
few minor things happened about which I recall little except that Harv’ was
always in sure control of every situation. All we met recognized his authority,
unchallenged. A few hours later we returned to the station. My father was there
chatting with the deputies – old friends of his - one of whom showed me around
and locked me in one of the jail cells where I pretended to be a fearsome and
dangerous criminal.
Back
in the Sheriff’s office, a harshly lit, spare, concrete-floored room with three
gun-metal desks and some gray filing cabinets, devoid of doilies or figurines,
the phone rang on Harv’s desk. Harv’ answered, listened for awhile, a menacing
and fearful scowl deepening on his face. “Lesta, agin?” Harv’ barked into the
phone.
“Tha’
be Lester Higgins,” one of the deputies whispered to me, “ole’ Lesta, he at it
agin”. “He’s a good carpenter whin he’s a-sober but, git some ‘shine in ‘im, he
trouble.” “Now Shurff’s on his tail, Lesta’s a-one in big, big trouble and he
knows it too”.[3]
“Put
‘im own!!” Harv’ shouted into the phone.”
“Lesta,” Harv’ bellowed. “You git your sorry carcass own down heah
likkety split – YOU HEAR ME BOY? Don’t make me a-come down ‘ar n’ a-fetchye or ye
be in a heap more trouble ‘n any reglar feller kin stand,” Harv’ yelled. Harv’ then
slammed down the phone.
Sure
enough, bye and bye, Lester came shuffling down the street, climbed the stairs
to the Sheriff’s office and jail, a sloppy, sheepish grin on his face; still clutching
the whiskey bottle he had grabbed off the bar that precipitated the phone call
in the first place. So, not only did Lester Higgins bring himself in but,
thoughtfully, also brought along the evidence against him.
That
is the true story of how Sheriff Harv’ Steele[4]
arrested a fellow over the phone.
Richard Lee; C-406
[1] An
antimacassar is a protective,yet washable, fabric thrown over chair or sofa backs
or arms to deter wear. Maccassar is a type of oil used in many hair dressings
for men such as Vitalis as an example.
[2] Harv’
and Mary never had children. In retrospect I believe that my father and his
brother, Green Lee, and sister, Evie, were substitute “children” for the
Steele’s even though they lived in different towns. However, Green was an
alcoholic occasionally in trouble with the law in his jurisdiction and so, my
father was perhaps the “favorite-son”.
[3] Actually
I didn’t find out the details about Lester until later from my father. The
Deputy’s comments to me are contrived to fill the time in the story while the
Sheriff listened on the phone.
[4] Mary and
Harv’ Steele remained faithfully together all of their adult lives. When Harv’
finally retired it was noted in the newspaper that he had served the longest continuous
term of sheriff in the history of the United States – 52 years. Somewhere, I
have that clipping. He was able to do so even though local statute forbade
succession in the position. Every other term Mary’s name would be on the
ballot. She’d get elected overwhelmingly and Harv’ would carry on as usual.
Four years later, Harv’ would run under his own name, win big and then, go out
on patrol.
