George Gallstone was a cop with the Ft Myers PD. They'd been having some gambling trouble in a rough section of town called Dunbar, and George was assigned to work the area in plainclothes. See what he could turn up. George didn't like the assignment.
"Workin' over there by my damn-self at night, I could get beat up. Killed even."
"You've got a gun," his Sgt said. "If you're worried carry two. A knife. Whatever."
"That ain't the problem," George said.
"So. . ."
"They can jump you, knock you in the head. You don't have time to get your gun outta the holster."
The Sgt shook his head. "You'll figure out something. Just do it. Marked cars will cruise thru there regular, like they always do. We usually have someone workin' a complaint in that area, anyway. You'll be okay."
George was a good cop so, despite his misgivings, he followed orders and did his duty. Besides, he had an idea that gave him comfort.
Later that night, one of the patrol cops pulled up beside the Sgt's car, stopped at a traffic light. He was laughing so hard he could barely talk. "I was just over in Dunbar and I saw Gallstone sneakin' around. You ain't gonna believe it. Go take a look."
The Sgt drove to Dunbar and found Gallstone lurking in an alley. He had something in his hand. A first he thought he was carrying a brown, lunch bag. On closer inspection, he could see that Gallstone's hand was inside the bag. He drove by George and told him to meet him around the corner, out of sight.
At a safe distance away from Dunbar he asked, "Just what in hell is that on your hand?"
"Little invention of mine," Gallstone said. He loosened the rubber bands he'd rigged to hold the bag in place, dropped it away, revealing his hand, gripping a revolver. "Never get the jump on me now," he said.
Most of our embarrassing acts of stupidity--thank God--are swept away on the tide of time. Others, become legend. To his dying day, whenever George Gallstone met a Ft Myers cop he was asked, "Hey, George, still usin' that Gallster Holster?"
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