THEY ALWAYS DO

In the early 80's I worked a short time as a Deputy in Tennessee. After about two days on the job, I gathered all my family and gave them the following instructions. "If a cop up here asks you to do anything, do it. Anything." There was good reason for this advice. These were the meanest, wildest, critters I'd ever encountered in law enforcement. All had blackjacks and other instruments of misery--that were just a memory in LE elsewhere--and they loved to use them. Especially if you didn't do just what they said. And the courts would back them up.

Most cops are against this. That's not to say that someone who attacks a police officer isn't due a demonstration of real police violence. But just beating up folks cause you can is usually a cowardly act.

Of course, their clientele was often hillbillies, or Deliverance folks as I called them. Maybe the cops in my part of Tennessee had found from dealing with them what worked and what didn't. They were different.

We had one community that didn't even recognize the existence of law enforcement. They wouldn't talk to you, look at you, or assist a cop in any way. And they had their own justice system. We would regularly get calls from delivery folks, or mail carriers that a body was lying beside the street, a victim of hillbilly justice.

On evening we received a call from the state prison. They had released a hillbilly from our county who had promised, as soon as he got back home, to kill his uncle. The uncle had testified against him in court.

We took the threat seriously. If a hillbilly says he's gonna go home and get his gun and kill you, you better arm yourself. They don't make idle threats. So we called the uncle and warned him, then headed to his house, about 40 miles away.

On the way there, we saw a car pulled over to the side of the road. On inspection, our quarry was passed out inside. Along with three other drunkards. Seems he'd caught a ride with them, and just becoming a free man, had way too much fun with liquid stupid. We gathered them all up, and headed for the jail.

Mine was a big thug about the size of Hulk Hogan. His arms were so huge I had to use two sets of cuffs, extending the length, to cuff his arms behind his back.

On the way to the jail, he was strangely quiet. I usually tried to joke with or at least talk to folks, but he'd have none of it. It wasn't until we got to the jail, and I was locking him up, that he finally spoke. "I wanna thank you for not beatin' me with your blackjack," he said.

I was confused. "First off, I don't use a blackjack and second you didn't do anything to warrant an az whuppin'. Why'd you think I'd beat you."

He shrugged. "Cause they always do," he said.

And I have no doubt about it.