BUGGED BY PALMETTOS

If you look up "ubiquitous" in a dictionary you should find a picture of a Palmetto bug--the Asian Water bug. The cockroach on steroids. That is, if it's a Florida dictionary. They're ubiquitous! And, sometimes in the strangest places.

A State Fish and Game officer, Snook Bucktail, could tell you all about it. We had the Hoppe's and patches out one morning, cleaning our guns, when he dropped by the NPD. "Mine might could use that," he said, pulling his S&W from the holster. If he had refloated the Titanic, there couldn't have been a rustier piece of metal.

In fairness, Snook worked on salt water quite often and it will rust a blue gun fast. Stainless weapons weren't in production at the time, so we all had to be vigilant against rust. But damn. His looked like the anchor on the Ancient Mariner's ride.

Then, when he tried to open the cylinder, it was rusted shut. He had to beat it on the corner of the desk to release it. And, when it finally creaked open, out strutted a Palmetto bug from an empty chamber in the cylinder. Seemingly perturbed that he'd been evicted from his home, the bug ran up Snook's arm and crawled in his shirt pocket. Seemed to know the territory real well.

Another time, Snook stopped by wanting to bum some fresh ammo. "Sarge told me to change mine out. Said it had more moss and mold on it than granny's cooter. Guess it is a little raunchy. But, I'm a little short on cash this week. Wonder if. . .?"

We said sure and got some out of the ammo closet. When he opened the leather ammo pouch on his gun belt, out walked a Palmetto bug. He looked at it, then at us, and stuttered, "Now that ain't the same one. . ."

But you couldn't have found a cop that would've bet on it. One said, "You keep bringing your pal around least you could do is introduce us, tell us his name. We'll get him some coffee and a donut."

Note: (Why did Snook's revolver have an empty chamber? At the time, some cops still had old revolvers that didn't have a hammer block built in. The block prevents a dropped gun from firing. One of our officers, Lou Collins was killed in just such an accident. So, as a safety measure, they would just load five bullets and leave the chamber under the hammer empty. This is still done by some with Colt .45 revolvers and black powder guns. Same reason.)

And, a cooter is a genus of pond turtle, especially in Florida. Granny was an animal lover.

What did you think it was?

ED CRAWFORD, FHP

Ed Crawford was a Trooper with the Florida Highway Patrol when I got in the police business in 1963. Then, they shared a desk at the NPD. The desk was also used by the wildlife officers and the FBI when needed. These were all agencies that didn't have local offices.

Ed was the personification of the FHP Trooper. He was stern, had little to say, and was the scourge of bad drivers. The FHP had a system in place to insure their Troopers didn't turn into slackers. They were assigned a monthly quota of tickets they had to meet or they got transferred to Florida's equivalent of Lower Slobovia. They didn't need the quota with Ed. He was the first cop I ever heard use a famous cop wisecrack. Ed'd stopped a mouthy speeder who disparaged him with, "Well, I guess you got your quota for the day."

To which Ed replied. "Nope, we don't have a quota any longer. Now I can write all the tickets I want."

Ed was a strong fella, too. Once an enraged motorist bowed up to him at the NPD, and said, "I'm gonna kick your azz."

Ed grabbed him by the neck, with one hand, lifted him in the air arm's length and said, "Well, come on down here and do it."

He was also innovative. He modified his radio car, a Dodge 440, so it would exceed the 120 mph top end. That model had a speedometer that had a horizontal, sliding bar to indicate the speed, instead of the round, regular model. Ed took the stop peg off his so the indicator could continue past 120. Then he wrote on the glass over the meter, 130, 140 and 150. And the meter would get there.

I understand he has a son in law enforcement. Hope so. If he's anything like his Dad we can sure use him.

PENNY ANTE JUSTICE

Judge Richard Stanley had his own way of doing things. He'd dole out special conditions to his levied periods of incarceration. Thirty days on a diet of Gerber's baby food. Or, Corporal punishment consisting of so many licks with a belt. Performed in the courtroom. Or, Keep the cell in total darkness. Yep, Richard, or Wretched as he loved to be called, was an original.

Once a game violation case came before him that evoked his special conditions. Dorkwood Dikhead was a local game warden. Being a game warden requires special sensibilities because of the vagueness of the laws and sometimes unique circumstances. And a little common sense comes in handy. Dorkwood, without exception, possessed none of these traits. He was nitpicky and picayune, and was popularly referred as a Prick with ears. It was an appropriate epithet.

In the case in question, Dorkwood had a man for possession of three cottontail rabbits. The man had no valid hunting license so Dorkwood charged him and took the rabbits as evidence. The poor defendant stood before the bar, a downtrodden soul, who obviously had intended the bunnies for his supper. He readily pled Guilty to the charge. Whereupon, Dorkwood related the man's dastardly deeds to the Judge.

Judge Stanley, looked at the defendant for several long seconds then adjudicated the case: "On your plea of guiltily, the court finds you guilty, and fines you two cents for each rabbit. Pay the clerk six cents."

Then he turned to Dorkwood and gave him that look that you never wanted aimed at you. A look that would whither an oak tree. Then, with the brutal sarcasm that only Wretched was capable, he said. "And for you, Mr Dikhead, bring me some more of these cases."

Dorkwood Dikhead beat a hasty retreat from the courtroom, amid rumbles of muffled laughter.

And he didn't present any more bunny cases.

Thanks Dave Dampier for this tale.

JUDGE HUGH HAYES

Officer Gerard Rittersdorf came into my office at the Naples Police Department and dropped a bomb. "Just gave that new Judge a traffic ticket," he said. The new judge was a young Hugh Hayes. Although giving a judge a traffic citation was perfectly legal, it was considered bad form. At least. This was a person we were going to have to work with and, considering the egos of some judges, crapping in their flathat could have disastrous consequences.

 But Rittersdorf was famous for arresting those who usually received special consideration. He'd arrested a local priest for DWI. Twice. And, although only giving him a warning ticket, had lectured our boss, the City Manger, at a traffic stop. "You think you being the City Manager impresses me, think again."

 "I thought, after I'd given the Judge the ticket, maybe I should tell you about it," Rittersdorf said. Yep, so I could get a head start on looking for a new job.

 Just about then, my secretary Shirley, came in and said, "Judge Hayes is out here and wants to see you."

 "Well," I told Rittersdorf, "I guess we're gonna find out real quick what kinda man we have for the new Judge." I told Rittersdorf to go back to his duties and I'd take care of it. Reluctantly.

 Judge Hayes came into my office. I'd met him before, but we weren't friends or close associates. He came right to the point. "One of your officers just gave me a traffic ticket and I want to know where I pay it."

 "Well, uhhhhh. . ." I muttered, trying to read his attitude.

 "No, I was speeding," he said, "and I deserved a ticket. Your officer did exactly the right thing. I'm going to be presiding over a court that will hear cases just like like this. And if I can't be fair in my own case, how could I be expected to be fair in anyone else's." And pay up he did.

 That day I formed an opinion of Judge Hugh Hayes. This time they got it right. A good, decent, intelligent, and equitable man. Just what a judgeship requires.

 We found out later he could sure come in handy in other situations. Once, while presiding over a case with a rowdy defendant, the defendant went nuts and attacked the bailiff. The defendant was strong and mean and violent and the bailiff was having a time with him. Thankfully, help was on the way. The bailiff was dumbfounded to see his assistant was the Honorable Judge himself, piling on the rowdy and helping to subdue him.

 Yep, I found out about Judge Hugh Hayes years ago and have never had reason to change my opinion of him. The perfect man for the job.

THE GREAT DUDA RAID--Part 2

Seeing property trashed the way the migrant's had done Duda's wasn't anything new. When attending polygraph school in NYC, a Lt showed me some of my tax dollars at work. It was a multi-story apartment building that had been renovated under HUD for low cost housing.

When we went inside the stench was unbearable. He showed me why. There was an air shaft in the center of the building that each apartment on that floor had windows on. The garbage was stacked up over the third floor windows, where tenants had just thrown it out into the air shaft.

As for the apartments themselves, anything that could be removed had been. Copper plumbing, dry wall, appliances, sinks, toilets, even the tiles on the floor and carpet had been stolen. When the tenants took everything out they could sell, they moved.

This project was paid for with tax dollars. Most of the tenants had been illegal aliens. The renovation had happened less than six-months before.

Sandy told me that most of the workers at Duds's had to be illegal aliens since they all had phony Social Security numbers. I used to tease Lamar about this, and he would deny it--with a wink. I told him, as a joke, that he'd better quit lying to me or I'd get revenge.

One day I had one of those The Devil Made Me Do It moments. I was on the East Trail and Duda's was coming up. Sandy and I were having trouble making ends meet. With four kids and several doctor's bills a cop's and her salary didn't go far. And what hurt was that we were also paying the doctor bills for these illegal aliens.

So I flipped on the blue lights, turned on the screaming siren and raced into Duda's parking lot, skidding to a stop. In the fields I could see migrants running in panic in every direction. It looked like when you pick up a board and the ants have built a nest under it. Or, maybe like a soccer game. Anyway, I guess they figured it was an Immigration raid to sack them up.

Probably was a silly thing to do. But it sure felt good.

Lamar told me it took a week to gather 'em all up from the woods and get 'em back to work. But they did come back. And we're still paying for them.

THE GREAT DUDA RAID--Part 1

At one time, my wife Sandy was a payroll clerk for A Duda and Sons, then the world's largest farming operation, having properties all over the world. They were good employers and offered their employees excellent benefits, especially insurance. They could do this because they had a controlling interest in Hartford Insurance. Their operation in Naples was several miles out on the East Trail. I got to know several of the folks there, especially their farm boss, Lamar.

At the time Hubert Humphrey, running for president, had a traveling circus going around where he was exposing the terrible conditions migrant farm workers endured. Although being a migrant worker wasn't a cushy job, being a construction worker, and many other occupations weren't any fun, either. And the migrant's irresponsible lifestyle appealed to many. Especially wetbacks who didn't like to stay in one place too long.

Hubert's circus did uncover some sad cases but mostly the idea was to gain publicity for Hubert. And, he didn't want too much lemon in his hot toddy. Tom Morgan, a local reporter for the Miami Herald, accompanying Hubert on a tour of a destitute woman's home in Immokalee, opened up her refrigerator to take a picture of how bare it was. He was astounded to see that it was packed full of groceries. And the heifer weighed about 300 lbs. No starvation going on here. He pointed it out to Hubert, who quickly slammed the door shut and moved on to another building.

Closer to home, at Duda's all of the pickers made more money than Sandy. All. They also enjoyed free health care at the County's expense, and got food stamps.

At the start of one picking season Lamar showed me the family housing units the pickers could use. Looked like a motel. They were all freshly painted, had good appliances--some new--and were as nice as many low-cost motel rooms. He said we'd look at them again in just one month.

In that short time the buildings had been destroyed. And anything that would hold a clothes hanger was festooned with new clothes. Never seen so many. They'd even pried the doors off the refrigerators and used them for a clothes closet. Lamar just shook his head and said, "This is how you get the slum housing Hubert's crying about."

Part 2 tomorrow.

SNAKE MOBILES

Most folks with good sense stay as far away from snakes as possible. And others carry them around in their cars.

JD Spohn once ran over a rattler, and was so impressed with its size he threw it in the back of his station wagon to show to his family. JD lived in Pine Ridge and in rainy season the rattlers would migrate from the marsh lands--where Pelican Bay is now--to the high ground in Pine Ridge. It was common to run over these brutes, some as thick as a coal miner's arm. And when you ran over one it was like running over a tree limb. JD had one of these.

Spying one of his neighbors he pulled in the driveway and yelled, "Look what I got in back." The neighbor came over, looked in the back and said, "What? An empty K-Mart sack?"

"No, the snake! The rattler." JD said.

"Snake!" the neighbor said, taking a quick step back. "No snake back here."

The neighbor later said he'd never seen JD move so fast. Out of the car, pulling his .45, pointing it in every direction, realizing the rattler he thought was dead had only been stunned.

Finally, JD gingerly opened all the doors, stood back and waited until the rattler came slithering out. Whereupon he made sure it came to an untimely demise.

Another time, a man was taken to the station on suspicion of larceny and was being interviewed while his truck was being searched. "Tell who ever's searchin' that truck not to open that box in the back. There's a rattlesnake in it." Huh? "A rattlesnake."

When cops went to confirm, sure enough, in a chest-high wooden box, was a rattlesnake. Never found out why he was carrying it around. A pet, a close friend, a relative, who knows. But there it was.

Then there's the cop that stopped a fella on the East Trail for a speeding violation. Writing the ticket he could hear movement behind the driver in the back seat. Looking inside, he saw a large burlap bag with something squirming inside it. "What's that?" he asked the driver.

"Oh, it's about twenty, twenty-five moccasins I picked up this evening out in the Glades," the driver said.

"Moccasins? You mean Cottonmouths? Snakes?"

"Yep. I gather 'em up and sell to Ross Allen at the Serpentarium. He milks 'em or something to make anti-venom."

"You ever get bit?"

"Ever once in a while, but the pay's real good."

Not good enough for this old hoss.

Thanks Dave D.