Marine park was a great place, you never knew just what you'd see there. fishermen, lovers, stolen cars being stripped... I pulled in one day, noticed a car sitting in an open spot, noting suspicious about it, and came out about 15 minutes later to find the thing was stripped clean! Anything that could be removed had been removed--and the thieves were gone.
One morning I saw a young fellow trying to load about a half-dozen burlap bags onto his bicycle..not an easy thing. As I got closer, I found that he was soaking wet as he'd been wading in the shallows plucking mussels off the bottom. As shellfish, mussels can only be taken from certified water, and since this was certainly not certified water, they were illegal, no matter why he was taking them. He swore that they were going to a bait shop, though he was unable to tell me where the shop was or who owned it. I suspected they were going to some local restaurant. I signed him up for a trip to see the captain for a stipulation.
One morning I drove into the park and saw someone acting strangely in the phragmites (similar to cat-tails) along the shore line. I parked and found a good vantage point to watch him. There was a small flock of Canada Geese swimming toward him. He stood up, raised his bow, fired an arrow...and missed. The geese flew away and, much to my surprise my unlucky hunter went swimming--fully clothed--to recover his arrow. He emerged to find me holding his bow. Signed him up also.
Probably the scariest case I ever had there was the day I was walking a trail toward the water's edge when I heard a subdued "POP" and then heard a projectile whizzing through the phragmites several feet from me. I ran back to my car and started looking for source of the shot. Soon I found two kids, one about 15 and the other about 17, with a muzzle loading pistol and all the components. Searching them, I found one of them to be carrying a loaded flare pistol which, though not specifically a weapon would put an awful hurt on someone, tucked into his waistband.
I arrested these guys and headed off to the local precinct. Due to the age, the younger one was released to his parents who, though pleasant to me and the other officers in the station, had some rather unkind things to say about their son's friend. He was processed to go into the juvenile justice system. For the other one, I got my first trip to Brooklyn's Central Booking--a crazy experience for one who had never been there before. I spent about 4 hours there before I had the paperwork done and got to go home. I was fortunate to find an Assistant District Attorney who actually had some knowledge of just what an ECO was and did. He helped me get through the process much more quickly. I never heard anything from the court, so I assume the kid plead out to some charge. I'll always wonder if that was his last brush with the law. He was from a tough part of the borough, so I suspect that he was reacting to the violence he'd become accustomed to and arming himself.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Game Warden Files--Brooklyn, early cases, bunker
In Brooklyn's Sheepshead Bay, we had a place that was a bait and tackle shop, gas dock, beer/soda/snack shop...one of those places that had evolved over generations in the same family, catering to the needs of sport and commercial fisherman. Years of ECOs had been customers of the place and there was a good relationship with the family that ran it. Every game warden needs places like that to hang out--it's the best place to interact with those who use the resource. However...these guys were outlaws of a sort. In spite of the fact that several in the younger generation were professional firefighters and police officers, all of them engaged in illegally fishing for "bunker," as the fish menhaden was commonly called. This is fish that is taken commercially on the ocean in very large quantities (hundreds of tons) and processed for fish meal and oil. On a more local level, it's taken in smaller quantities--up to a ton or so--by local fisherman using small boats in the bays and inlets and then sold for bait. It is the bait for bluefish and stripped bass in the NY Harbor area. The method of fishing was to locate a school of bunker, generally when a school of predators had driven them into shallow water, and then use a haul seine type of net to gather up all they could. The nets used would be 200-300 feet in total length and the allowable length was only forty feet. The net this operation used was well over 300 feet.
In the years before I arrived in NY, my supervisor Jim Molinelli, then an ECO himself, had been getting complaints that that this bait shop was engage in illegal fishing for bunker. He'd gone to the brothers who ran the place and discussed the law with them, explaining that he was making no accusation, but he didn't want to spoil what had become a good working relationship. The conversation went something like this:
Jim: "I'm not making any accusations, but if you're doing it, you're in violation of the law and someday we'll catch you."
Joe: "If we see you coming, we'll just run."
Jim: "If you run, we're going to chase you."
Both men laughed and, unless I miss my guess, poured a cup of coffee and talked about fishing, boats, and whatever else was on their minds that day. It was that kind of relationship.
When I came on the scene, the younger generation was doing the actual fishing part of the business while the senior members of the family (Jim's friends) were staying at the store.
I had a nice conversation with the younger Joe--"Joey" one day and we pretty well came to the same agreement as had his dad and Jim. I promised that I'd never specifically target him; but did warn him that if I got a complaint or stumbled upon him, it was going to cost him dearly. He agreed that it was fair and we were friends.
One warm sunny morning in October of 1985, I got a call about two boats with a big net taking bunker in Marine Park, a piece of undeveloped City owned park land on Jamaica Bay with a small inlet. The tide was out and the sand was such that I was able to drive right to the water's edge. There was Joey and his crew, just finishing loading their net into the boat. When Joey saw me, I called out "What can I say...I had a complaint." He and his crew motored to the Coast Guard Station and we called Captain O'Reilly to figure out how to settle it.
We didn't often use the criminal courts in New York City, and for this event we chose to settle up by a process called stipulation, a civil agreement between the violator and the state. It kept the incident from being a criminal issue, thought it cost the offender a lot of money. In this case, the agreed settlement was a thousand dollars. We got the paperwork done, the money was delivered and we parted company still friends.
A couple weeks later, as I was having a cup of coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts in Sheepshead Bay, Joey came in and sat down next to me. Thinking that I was about to get an earful over our recent episode, I steeled myself. Instead, he started complaining about another agency, in Nassau County, that had caught him doing the same thing. He called them "a bunch of scumbags." He'd gone to local court there and had paid a total of less than $150 in fines for him and his entire crew. When I shook my head in confusion--I'd cost him a lot more than that--he said in quite a matter-of-fact manner, "...but for you it's business, for them it was personal." We each drank our coffee--he bought--and we again parted friends.
I stayed friendly with that family until my departure from the region. I was always welcome in the shop for coffee, even ate a meal or two there when they had something cooking on slow nasty days. There came a time later in my time in NY City years that we caught them again, this time I'd just dummied into them in another inlet. This time, the department seized the net and even after settling on a fine, decided to destroy it as a nuisance. The company asked for a hearing before an administrative law judge and it was granted. During the hearing, the history of the relationship came into question and Jim began to relate the story of his long-ago conversation with Joe. As he started to tell the story, Joe started to chuckle and even laughed out loud--even filling in a couple gaps. He apparently recalled it the same way as Jim had. The judge did give them back their net. It had been in the family for generations, hand-made by Joe's grandfather and kept in repair throughout the years--maybe the judge admired the tradition, because my memory of the logic for returning the net is that it was a pretty thin reason as a matter of law.
My understanding is that as the older generation passed, the relationship with that business changed. A younger ECO from the area has told me that the new breed are "just plain criminals." That deeply saddens me. Though I recognize the fact that new laws regulating the commercialization of wildlife make the penalties stiffer, and therefor the stakes higher, I wonder just how much damage, if any, they were doing to the resource. It was my experience that when the bunker were driven into the shallows, where this type of fishing was done, they often were held there long enough by the predators that they depleted the oxygen in the water and died in very large numbers.
In the years before I arrived in NY, my supervisor Jim Molinelli, then an ECO himself, had been getting complaints that that this bait shop was engage in illegal fishing for bunker. He'd gone to the brothers who ran the place and discussed the law with them, explaining that he was making no accusation, but he didn't want to spoil what had become a good working relationship. The conversation went something like this:
Jim: "I'm not making any accusations, but if you're doing it, you're in violation of the law and someday we'll catch you."
Joe: "If we see you coming, we'll just run."
Jim: "If you run, we're going to chase you."
Both men laughed and, unless I miss my guess, poured a cup of coffee and talked about fishing, boats, and whatever else was on their minds that day. It was that kind of relationship.
When I came on the scene, the younger generation was doing the actual fishing part of the business while the senior members of the family (Jim's friends) were staying at the store.
I had a nice conversation with the younger Joe--"Joey" one day and we pretty well came to the same agreement as had his dad and Jim. I promised that I'd never specifically target him; but did warn him that if I got a complaint or stumbled upon him, it was going to cost him dearly. He agreed that it was fair and we were friends.
One warm sunny morning in October of 1985, I got a call about two boats with a big net taking bunker in Marine Park, a piece of undeveloped City owned park land on Jamaica Bay with a small inlet. The tide was out and the sand was such that I was able to drive right to the water's edge. There was Joey and his crew, just finishing loading their net into the boat. When Joey saw me, I called out "What can I say...I had a complaint." He and his crew motored to the Coast Guard Station and we called Captain O'Reilly to figure out how to settle it.
We didn't often use the criminal courts in New York City, and for this event we chose to settle up by a process called stipulation, a civil agreement between the violator and the state. It kept the incident from being a criminal issue, thought it cost the offender a lot of money. In this case, the agreed settlement was a thousand dollars. We got the paperwork done, the money was delivered and we parted company still friends.
A couple weeks later, as I was having a cup of coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts in Sheepshead Bay, Joey came in and sat down next to me. Thinking that I was about to get an earful over our recent episode, I steeled myself. Instead, he started complaining about another agency, in Nassau County, that had caught him doing the same thing. He called them "a bunch of scumbags." He'd gone to local court there and had paid a total of less than $150 in fines for him and his entire crew. When I shook my head in confusion--I'd cost him a lot more than that--he said in quite a matter-of-fact manner, "...but for you it's business, for them it was personal." We each drank our coffee--he bought--and we again parted friends.
I stayed friendly with that family until my departure from the region. I was always welcome in the shop for coffee, even ate a meal or two there when they had something cooking on slow nasty days. There came a time later in my time in NY City years that we caught them again, this time I'd just dummied into them in another inlet. This time, the department seized the net and even after settling on a fine, decided to destroy it as a nuisance. The company asked for a hearing before an administrative law judge and it was granted. During the hearing, the history of the relationship came into question and Jim began to relate the story of his long-ago conversation with Joe. As he started to tell the story, Joe started to chuckle and even laughed out loud--even filling in a couple gaps. He apparently recalled it the same way as Jim had. The judge did give them back their net. It had been in the family for generations, hand-made by Joe's grandfather and kept in repair throughout the years--maybe the judge admired the tradition, because my memory of the logic for returning the net is that it was a pretty thin reason as a matter of law.
My understanding is that as the older generation passed, the relationship with that business changed. A younger ECO from the area has told me that the new breed are "just plain criminals." That deeply saddens me. Though I recognize the fact that new laws regulating the commercialization of wildlife make the penalties stiffer, and therefor the stakes higher, I wonder just how much damage, if any, they were doing to the resource. It was my experience that when the bunker were driven into the shallows, where this type of fishing was done, they often were held there long enough by the predators that they depleted the oxygen in the water and died in very large numbers.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Memories
I was pretty silent all last week. Last Monday, I got a call from a cousin telling me that his brother had died earlier that morning, alone in a hospital in Newport RI. That loss occupied many of my thoughts. Yesterday, I gave a eulogy at his funeral. If I'd been able to keep all my thoughts together, this is how it would have come out.
Memories of
Cliff
They were my
“Summer Siblings;” I really can’t recall a summer without the Wilson family
showing up at our family home in East Chatham.
It seemed that it was supposed to be that way. They were also our “fall family.” Seems like
every fall, around Thanksgiving, we ended up in Virginia with them. So, Cliff was my big brother. Just 11 months older than I was, it was a lot
of fun as little kids, and there is the source of most of my great
memories.
When news of
his passing hit our family, my brother shared a couple of his memories with
me. The first was of the Turtles, the
1960’s musical group, and their signature song Happy Together. There were
two parts of the memory: the first being that one of the musicians had a
remarkable resemblance to Cliff; the other being that we were always happy when
we were together. I can recall not a
single meeting when the greeting was not accompanied by a chuckle.
And we were
happy. I recall countess card games in
which Cliff won by such a margin we always sure he cheated. That brought about the rhyme of “Cliff’s the
smarty, what the heck; he always plays with an extra deck.”
My brother
recalls riding down “Uncle Bob’s Mountain” in an old Ford wagon, Cliff at the
wheel and no brakes. He also recalls
taking that same car, with the same driver, into town for groceries…. My recollection of being with Cliff on the
The Mountain include trying to figure out how to skin frog legs for dinner and
something about a can of beans being left on the stove to heat.
I also
recall him trying—unsuccessfully—to get me to drink Moxie, a vile drink created
somewhere in Massachusetts and him trying—also without success—to get me “up”
on a surf board.
One of the
most meaningful things about Cliff is that he was the family ambassador. Whatever the event, he’d pull out all the
stops to be there. Whether a wedding, a
birthday, or other special event, he’d do his best to be there. He was happy to be together with his
family.
The theme of
the 60’s runs strong in my memories of Cliff.
Another song from the era was Turn,
Turn, Turn, by the Byrds, the words of which were taken from the book of
Ecclesiastes of the Bible. Two verses
best describe why we’re here today:
Ec 3:1 To everything there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
4 a time to weep and a time
to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,
We will weep
and mourn—we lost a friend, father, sibling, child…, and that’s part of the
normal grieving process; but we have the memories of man who gave each of us a
measure of joy. For that and on account
of that, we laugh—and oh, there has been no small amount of laughter here today. One measure of a life well lived, and a man
well loved, is laughter at the funeral home.
Thought we’ll probably not dance today, at some time in the future, we
can recall him with joy even as we dance.
Goodbye
Cliff
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Let the Truth be Know
I'm very happy that the second of the Boston bombers has been captured and thankful for the brave men and women who worked tirelessly and selflessly to bring about the capture. I have avoided watching much news about it, however, and completely avoid any of the social media posts because the facts are not yet fully know.
I'm disgusted with those in the media and those who seem to be in the business of inventing news spreading what they think, guess or make up from thin air, and calling it news. In doing this, confusion results.
"There has been an explosion." "...two." "...three." "oops, only two."
"Subject in custody." "...ooops...."
You get my thinking here?
Everybody is an expert, so who can be believed? Please folks, before you start disseminating news, make sure it's news--not conjecture. Tossing out speculation in a form indistinguishable from fact might make you fell important, but it does no one any good.
I'm disgusted with those in the media and those who seem to be in the business of inventing news spreading what they think, guess or make up from thin air, and calling it news. In doing this, confusion results.
"There has been an explosion." "...two." "...three." "oops, only two."
"Subject in custody." "...ooops...."
You get my thinking here?
Everybody is an expert, so who can be believed? Please folks, before you start disseminating news, make sure it's news--not conjecture. Tossing out speculation in a form indistinguishable from fact might make you fell important, but it does no one any good.
The Attributes of God--Holy, Holy, Holy
Quite possibly the least discussed attribute is God's holiness. Yes, we sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" and similar songs, but what do we mean by it? Do we understand it? Believe it? Live by it?
Simply put, God is set apart from us; there is no other like Him. Interestingly, as He is set apart from man, He calls His people to be set apart from the rest of the world. He gives us patterns--the sinless life of Jesus being one--to follow to do this.
He can't look on sin, yet sent His Son Jesus to die so that man could be forgiven for it. That's a mighty God
The song HOLY HOLY HOLY also allows us a look at some of His other attributes:
LORD God Almighty--
Merciful--He gives mercy which is withholding a punishment that is justly due. He will withhold that from those who trust in Christ
Trinity--God is a God of three persons, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. All are God; all are equal; together they are God. It's not an easy concept to grasp and anyone who says he has it all figured out is most likely a heretic--or at best he is in well-intentioned error.
...all the saints adore thee...A picture of Heaven, when the saints will be glad to give to God all the rewards which they have earned in His service. This clearly shows God to be worthy of all our worship and praise.
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee--Another picture of Heaven. Here are two types of angelic beings, both engaged in acts of selfless worship.
Was, is and evermore shall be--Here's a statement of God's eternal nature, without beginning or ending.
Though the darkness hide thee--Our sinful world has clouded our ability to see God clearly as He is. Adam and Eve walked with God, apparently in a literal sense; but since they sinned, mankind was no longer able to do that. We cannot know, and I suspect even in eternity will never fully know, the full extent of God for we are limited beings and God is limitless.
Perfect in power, love and purity. He is perfect, that is complete in all of these things:
All Thy works shall praise Thy name...--there will come a time when every knee will bow to God's power and sovereignty. There will be no more disputing of His claim to authority, his right to rule. It will be over.
Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
This has not been an exhaustive exploration of the Attributes, merely an introduction. For a further and deeper study, I'd suggest biting the bullet and investing in a good book of systematic theology (I like Grudem's). Along with a good study Bible, it will guide you to a better understanding of who God is and what He says about Himself. He is NOT the god of pop-culture, He is Jehovah God, the LORD.
Simply put, God is set apart from us; there is no other like Him. Interestingly, as He is set apart from man, He calls His people to be set apart from the rest of the world. He gives us patterns--the sinless life of Jesus being one--to follow to do this.
He can't look on sin, yet sent His Son Jesus to die so that man could be forgiven for it. That's a mighty God
The song HOLY HOLY HOLY also allows us a look at some of His other attributes:
LORD God Almighty--
- LORD is the way the Jewish writers of the Old Testament recorded the proper name of God--Yaweh, or Jehovah as we write it today.
- God is an entity to be worshiped, followed and obeyed
- Almighty reflects his attribute of omnipotence--all power is His
Merciful--He gives mercy which is withholding a punishment that is justly due. He will withhold that from those who trust in Christ
Trinity--God is a God of three persons, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. All are God; all are equal; together they are God. It's not an easy concept to grasp and anyone who says he has it all figured out is most likely a heretic--or at best he is in well-intentioned error.
...all the saints adore thee...A picture of Heaven, when the saints will be glad to give to God all the rewards which they have earned in His service. This clearly shows God to be worthy of all our worship and praise.
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee--Another picture of Heaven. Here are two types of angelic beings, both engaged in acts of selfless worship.
Was, is and evermore shall be--Here's a statement of God's eternal nature, without beginning or ending.
Though the darkness hide thee--Our sinful world has clouded our ability to see God clearly as He is. Adam and Eve walked with God, apparently in a literal sense; but since they sinned, mankind was no longer able to do that. We cannot know, and I suspect even in eternity will never fully know, the full extent of God for we are limited beings and God is limitless.
Perfect in power, love and purity. He is perfect, that is complete in all of these things:
- He is all powerful--omnipotent. There is nothing that the LORD God Jehovah cannot do!
- Love--He loved the world so much that He gave his only son.... That's perfect love
- Purity--there is no guile in God. He defines truth, it's recorded in His Word, and acts according to it
All Thy works shall praise Thy name...--there will come a time when every knee will bow to God's power and sovereignty. There will be no more disputing of His claim to authority, his right to rule. It will be over.
Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
- Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity! - Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,
Who was, and is, and evermore shall be. - Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in pow’r, in love, and purity. - Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in earth, and sky, and sea;
Holy, holy, holy; merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!
This has not been an exhaustive exploration of the Attributes, merely an introduction. For a further and deeper study, I'd suggest biting the bullet and investing in a good book of systematic theology (I like Grudem's). Along with a good study Bible, it will guide you to a better understanding of who God is and what He says about Himself. He is NOT the god of pop-culture, He is Jehovah God, the LORD.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Game Warden Files--Brooklyn, early cases
In the middle of all that, I had to go to work. I reported to the Trade Center and soon found myself sitting around the table where I'd first been interviewed. We had a bunch of young and eager officers. A couple of the guys had been there before going to the academy, but a few of us were really new to it. We were given good maps of the city and told to go find our way around for a few days.
Dennis O'Reilly, the captain, and Jay Molinelli, the lieutenant told us what was expected of us, and what was NOT expected of us. They did not believe in writing a bunch of tickets for the sake of writing a bunch of tickets. They wanted quality cases. For the most part, I was able to do that.
Part of the Brooklyn assignment was that I had a boat assigned to me. It was a 31 foot twin 350 horsepower cruiser. Having that put me into contact with the US Coast Guard at Rockaway, and the the US Park Police Marine Unit, based out of the Coast Guard Station. Those guys and gals became a great resource as I became a boat operator and as I attempted to make those quality cases that Dennis wanted.
My first good case was a surf clam case. Surf clams are the largest of the clams harvested in New York waters. They're sold to be cut into strips or used for chowder stock. Like all shellfish, surf clams must be taken from water that is certified to a certain standard in order to be harvested or sold for food. They're harvested with big boats using dredges, and a day's catch for one boat can be well in excess of 100 bushels. The boats engaged in this fishery are licensed either as food or bait boats. A bait boat can harvest anywhere, a food boat only could work in the certified area.
One afternoon not too long after I'd begun working in the city, I was watching the activity on the ocean when I realized that I had a surf clam boat working not far from where I was near the Rockaway Jetty. The water there is uncertified for food clams and the boat I was watching was a food clam boat. I had my case! But how to properly document it and make the apprehension? I went to the Coast Guard station and got one of their senior-most Chief Petty Officers who joined me and with a decent compass and a chart we documented his position. Then, the US Park Police offered the services of their boat--which was faster than anything the Coast Guard had running that day. We stopped the surf clam boat, documented who the captain and crew were as well as the location, and had them dump about 150 bushels of clams back overboard. Our legal department then took the case and worked out a settlement that, as I recall, wasn't cheap. One of the best things I'll ever recall hearing is my captain's voice on the radio; "OUTSTANDING WORK, BILLY!" With that, I figured I had truly come into my own.
We also spent a lot of time chasing the guys who harvested the normal variety of clams. The clams we know from the supermarket or fish store all must come from certified waters also. All of the inland water within New York City is uncertified. In the 1980's much of the water was really pretty bad. Emptying into Jamaica Bay there were five sewage treatment plants, there were also several landfills which leached into the waters continually, countless storm sewers...you get the picture. Yet, people dug clams from Jamaica Bay. There were some who were what we called "mess diggers;" those who went out and dug a "mess" for dinner. There were some who looked like mess diggers; but their idea of a mess was several bags--enough to sell to a restaurant that didn't care too much about the source of their shellfish. Last were the high end diggers. They went out with boats and rakes or stick dredges, usually under cover of darkness, and dug a lot of clams. The pollution of the water allowed for wonderful clam production, and they could dig a boatload in a really short time if conditions were right.
The captain decided it was time to do a major operation and catch a couple of these clammers. We worked tirelessly for just about a month before it finally happened. For all practical purposes, we didn't take days off, we were going to catch some clammers!. Two of our guys were out one night and saw a small dark boat leave its dock with what looked like all the right equipment. They called out the rest of the region's officers and we assembled in the area of Howard Beach, Queens. The boat came back in just about daylight with about a dozen tubs of clams. The two men, father and son climbed the ladder from the dock up to the back yard and we took them down at the top of the ladder. We had them lying on the ground, cuffed, when the door to the house opened and a woman, dressed as a professional business woman, came out, looked over our way, never said a word; but turned and walked steadily toward the bus stop. I suspect that was not a happy household after that.
We made the paper with that arrest and pretty well shut the problem down for a while, though not for long.
Chasing the clammers was a continual part of my work the entire time there and after I moved to Staten Island.
The Game Warden Files--Brooklyn, part 1
We had found a suitable apartment in the Mill Basin section of Brooklyn and made an affordable deal to rent it as of the 1st of September. I needed to report to work before then, so I moved with my necessary items to Brooklyn a couple weeks before we really moved. It ended up that I spent the first 10 days or so in a guest apartment owned by a missionary organization and overseen by some family friends. Being alone in a strange place for a few days allowed me to get my feet on the ground a bit before my family joined me.
I sold all my duty gear from Chatham PD to rent the U-Hall to get us to Brooklyn. Revolver, cuffs and gun-belt all went to one of the guys who had been recently hired and was attending a basic school. (As I write this, I'm in the process of trying to reconnect with that officer to see if he still might have that Model 19 S&W, and if so, would he like to sell it back to me.) On the appointed moving day, a couple local officers showed up to help us load the truck and the next day we were on the way.
After unloading the truck, I parked it around the corner on a dead end street and Peggy came walking out to meet me. It was one of those "What have we done?" moments. Here we were, two country kids with two little boys, moving to one of the largest cities in our country. As we walked, somewhat shell-shocked, back to the apartment--in which she'd locked the kids, if memory serves correctly--an older gentleman leaned over his fence, introduced himself and said "All the kids call me Uncle Frank. Welcome to the neighborhood." We came to be very close to Uncle Frank and the extended family that shared the four-family house he was in. One component of that family had three girls whose ages were spread around those of our two boys. They became good friends and playmates in that little corner of what would be our home form the next 18 months or so.
One morning a car problem found me in a neighborhood gas station getting some work done. The owner, Moe Blum, and his family got a chuckle out of having a game warden in their place. Their little girl didn't know quite what to make of me; but kept up a steady dialogue with me the entire time her dad worked on my car. They, too would become friends over the time we were there. They come to mind often yet today, though we've lost track of all them.
We chose to go to King's Highway Baptist Church with the friends who worked with the ministry where I stayed, and developed a pretty good friendship with quite a few folks from there also. We were quite comfortable.
One of the funniest things was a snowstorm that happened in February of our first winter there. It was a great storm and shut everything down. Coming from areas where snow was no big deal, we found our landlord's snowshovels and started digging out. We dug out the sidewalk, an elderly neighbor's sidewalk--she wanted to pay Peggy for doing it--and started working on clearing out cars. It seemed like we started something. It became something of a party-like event with everyone helping everyone and things starting to look pretty good. Suddenly a gate across the street opened up, and a guy hollered "YOU ALL LAUGHED AT ME!" We stopped, not knowing what he was talking about and wondering if we had a madman on in the neighborhood. There was the sound of an engine and then a Jeep with a plow appeared. He joined the party and by nightfall we had a clear block. Of course, we had the only clear block in quite a distance and pretty well had to guard our parking places to ensure we'd be able to get back into them.
Our landlady was a sweetheart. She was a bit coarse; but underneath it all she was great. She brought me pasta fagioli when I was sick, brought us stuffed peppers "just because...." She even offered to take one of cats to the vet and use her credit card to pay for it to help us out one time. Yeah, she was great.
I sold all my duty gear from Chatham PD to rent the U-Hall to get us to Brooklyn. Revolver, cuffs and gun-belt all went to one of the guys who had been recently hired and was attending a basic school. (As I write this, I'm in the process of trying to reconnect with that officer to see if he still might have that Model 19 S&W, and if so, would he like to sell it back to me.) On the appointed moving day, a couple local officers showed up to help us load the truck and the next day we were on the way.
After unloading the truck, I parked it around the corner on a dead end street and Peggy came walking out to meet me. It was one of those "What have we done?" moments. Here we were, two country kids with two little boys, moving to one of the largest cities in our country. As we walked, somewhat shell-shocked, back to the apartment--in which she'd locked the kids, if memory serves correctly--an older gentleman leaned over his fence, introduced himself and said "All the kids call me Uncle Frank. Welcome to the neighborhood." We came to be very close to Uncle Frank and the extended family that shared the four-family house he was in. One component of that family had three girls whose ages were spread around those of our two boys. They became good friends and playmates in that little corner of what would be our home form the next 18 months or so.
One morning a car problem found me in a neighborhood gas station getting some work done. The owner, Moe Blum, and his family got a chuckle out of having a game warden in their place. Their little girl didn't know quite what to make of me; but kept up a steady dialogue with me the entire time her dad worked on my car. They, too would become friends over the time we were there. They come to mind often yet today, though we've lost track of all them.
We chose to go to King's Highway Baptist Church with the friends who worked with the ministry where I stayed, and developed a pretty good friendship with quite a few folks from there also. We were quite comfortable.
One of the funniest things was a snowstorm that happened in February of our first winter there. It was a great storm and shut everything down. Coming from areas where snow was no big deal, we found our landlord's snowshovels and started digging out. We dug out the sidewalk, an elderly neighbor's sidewalk--she wanted to pay Peggy for doing it--and started working on clearing out cars. It seemed like we started something. It became something of a party-like event with everyone helping everyone and things starting to look pretty good. Suddenly a gate across the street opened up, and a guy hollered "YOU ALL LAUGHED AT ME!" We stopped, not knowing what he was talking about and wondering if we had a madman on in the neighborhood. There was the sound of an engine and then a Jeep with a plow appeared. He joined the party and by nightfall we had a clear block. Of course, we had the only clear block in quite a distance and pretty well had to guard our parking places to ensure we'd be able to get back into them.
Our landlady was a sweetheart. She was a bit coarse; but underneath it all she was great. She brought me pasta fagioli when I was sick, brought us stuffed peppers "just because...." She even offered to take one of cats to the vet and use her credit card to pay for it to help us out one time. Yeah, she was great.
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