PAYBACK IS A BITCH

If Ed had been a wrestler, he'd have been labeled Haystack or Man Mountain or, at least, Big Ed. Because that he was. About 300 pounds with a neck like a keg of nails and fingers like smoked sausages. Mostly muscle, too, from his years of pulling the nets in his trade as a fisherman.

Big Ed was a mean 'un, with a disposition like a gorilla with hemorrhoids. Not someone to trifle with. He was a regular customer of the NPD or Sheriff's Office, usually producing a legendary encounter.

Once Ed had possession of a skiff thats ownership was in dispute. The boat was resting in the water near Boat Haven. Cops were trying to figure how to get the boat started, so they could drive it to the ramp and up on their trailer when Big Ed arrived. He said he didn't have the keys with him, but that was no problem. And it wasn't. He just leaned over the seawall and lifted the boat, motor and all, up to dry ground.

Another time, we had a warrant to serve on him. It required that he go to jail and bond out. One of our biggest officers, Jack Bliss, went out to do the dirty work. Ed's tiny wife, Sweet Pea, greeted Jack at the door and warned him that Ed was asleep and didn't take kindly to being awakened. Jack told her he was just gonna have to be ticked off cause this wouldn't wait.

In the bedroom, he called Big Ed's name, eliciting no response. So, he put his hand on Ed's arm and shook him. Bad move. Ed spun around, clamped Jack's arm like a vice and said, "Don't mess with me when I'm sleepin'." Jack, in agony, replied, "No problem, Ed. I have a warrant for your arrest. When you get up, drop by the station and we'll process it." And that's how it worked.

Knowing all these tales, Dave Johnson, couldn't believe the message that was broadcast over his police radio. Big Ed said he needs help, Sweet Pea is beating on him. Sweet Pea, at about 11o pounds. Dave eagerly took the call. This was something he had to see.

He could hear Ed howling when he arrived on the scene. Going inside, he found Ed on the floor, his leg in a cast. Seems he'd broken it fishing. Standing over him was Sweet Pea, with an aluminum baseball bat, taking measured, hefty swings at the cast. She'd already busted it open and was now getting to Ed's beefy leg. He howled like a werewolf with each blow.

Dave, enjoying the sight, watched her deliver a little more agony, then stopped her. It seems Sweet Pea was playing catch-up for years of putting up with the brute. There's a lesson to be learned here.

That's the way it works with little women. Folks used to ask me who I was afraid of. "Sandy", I'd say. They'd laugh, Sandy, my wife, at just over 5 feet tall and 100 pounds, and me six feet and over 200. "It's true," I'd say. "Ever since she found out I had to sleep sometime, I've lived in fear."

A good thing to keep in mind.