At one time the Florida Highway Patrol had no station around Naples. We let them use a desk at the NPD and worked closely with them. One of my favorites was Trooper Jim Peacock--his real name. Jim, a Clint Eastwood type, had a soft voice and an infectious grin. He'd grin all the time he was being berated by an irate motorists. Grin and just keep writing that citation. And, if you bowed up at him, grin all the time he was kicking your keester. I can only recall one occasion when the grin faded.
The NPD, CCSO, and FHP were all out in force looking for an escaped prisoner. As I recall, he'd cut a prison guard's throat and escaped from a work party. The search had gone on for hours and we were about tapped out. The fugative seemed to have evaded us. Peacock was particularly tired, having been on duty most of the day, and now all night. The sun was just coming up and Jim, far east on US 41, decided it was time to grab a coffee and some breakfast before he resumed the search. And he needed to make a long due rest room stop.
Jim found a side road through the palmettos, pulled in, and parked the cruiser. Selecting a likely clump of bushes, he headed that way, unzipping his fly. At just that moment, up jumped the murderer from behind the bush, screaming, "Oh God, don't shoot. Don't shoot." It so shocked Jim, he almost wet himself.
Peacock later reflected that, considering where he had his hand then, he wonder just what the convict figured he was going to shoot him with. Anyway Jim quickly grabbed his real gun, and took the A-hole into custody.
Jim never gave anything but a factual account of how he'd bagged his game. Having a keen sense of humor, he reveled in its irony. The press, however, is always on the lookout for heroes and Peacock fit the bill. He made every rag in the South. This eventually culminated in a story in the men's adventure magazine, Saga. Jim Peacock, Law of the Everglades. It was a romantic accounting of Jim's relentless pursuit of the criminal using all his police tracking skills.
When we ribbed him about it, he'd just say the more he read it, the more he believed that maybe that's how it really did happened. And then he'd grin.
The NPD, CCSO, and FHP were all out in force looking for an escaped prisoner. As I recall, he'd cut a prison guard's throat and escaped from a work party. The search had gone on for hours and we were about tapped out. The fugative seemed to have evaded us. Peacock was particularly tired, having been on duty most of the day, and now all night. The sun was just coming up and Jim, far east on US 41, decided it was time to grab a coffee and some breakfast before he resumed the search. And he needed to make a long due rest room stop.
Jim found a side road through the palmettos, pulled in, and parked the cruiser. Selecting a likely clump of bushes, he headed that way, unzipping his fly. At just that moment, up jumped the murderer from behind the bush, screaming, "Oh God, don't shoot. Don't shoot." It so shocked Jim, he almost wet himself.
Peacock later reflected that, considering where he had his hand then, he wonder just what the convict figured he was going to shoot him with. Anyway Jim quickly grabbed his real gun, and took the A-hole into custody.
Jim never gave anything but a factual account of how he'd bagged his game. Having a keen sense of humor, he reveled in its irony. The press, however, is always on the lookout for heroes and Peacock fit the bill. He made every rag in the South. This eventually culminated in a story in the men's adventure magazine, Saga. Jim Peacock, Law of the Everglades. It was a romantic accounting of Jim's relentless pursuit of the criminal using all his police tracking skills.
When we ribbed him about it, he'd just say the more he read it, the more he believed that maybe that's how it really did happened. And then he'd grin.
No comments:
Post a Comment