ASK WARILY

  TV commercials are dominated by folks wanting you to sue someone. Or file bogus claims. Or call someone to help you sue someone or file one. No wonder insurance is cost prohibitive and Social Security is going broke.

 Now, I have no experience with any of the "Ask" someone deals. Far as I know they could be run by benevolent souls just wanting to help humanity. No ulterior motives. Not wanting a piece of the action. But, I do have experience with one that is no longer around. This is how it worked. 

 Wally Weasel got in an automobile accident caused by dozing off. He was driving a sports car and weaving down the road. An oncoming driver tooted his horn at the wobbling Wally,  causing him--because he was awakened from a sound sleep--to lose control of his Triumph TR3. He drove across a lawn and crashed into the house that belonged where Wally didn't.

  In a few days, an ambulance chasing firm gave Wally a call. He told Wally he could help him make a few bucks. Wally explained that the accident was his fault, and he was not injured. The only person who suffered was the home owner, who was knocked out of bed when Wally crashed into his bedroom.

  Mr Slim, from the "helper" firm told Wally that fault was just a word, a matter of perception that could be "adjusted." He was so persistent he signed Wally up for the program. 

 The program involved Wally going to Slim's picked doctor who told Wally where he hurt, when to say "Ow" when he was poked in the right spot. He also gave Wally a series of pain shots that were really just vitamin shots and a nice donut to wear when he went outside.

  Then, a lawyer, explained to Wally that he'd been so shaken from the accident that he didn't remember what actually happened. The lawyer told him what did, an absolute lie, involving being forced off the road.

 After a few months, Slim's doctor and lawyer received a nice check from an insurance company, Wally's wallet fattened, too, and Mr Slim's company took a percentage.

  So, I'm not saying today's "Ask" companies operate in the same fashion, but I'd be particular who I called. Or, you might become a slimy weasel yourself.

WHATEVER WORKS

   At a Detective's school at the University of Georgia, I met a personable cop from Atlanta named Jake. Jake was of the Jewish persuasion. Kinda. He said his family were all serious about the faith but he was a slacker. Said he wasn't even welcome at synagog. 

 Over some excellent Jack Daniels black one night, we were discussing religion, usually a bad practice--especially when drinking liquid stupid. I'd noticed that he had a pendant hanging around his neck that depicted a Star of David. I asked him why, if he wasn't that serious about his religion.

  "Not taking any chances I might be wrong," Jake said. Then he flipped over the medal and on the other side was a Christian Cross. He smiled again. "Like I said, I'm not taking any chances."

  I laughed. 

 "And," he continued with a smile, "it seems to work. So far I haven't been bitten by even one vampire."

 I recalled that he favored bacon with his breakfast. "No problem," he said. "A priest can pass his hand over tap water and make it holy water. I pass mine over bacon and it becomes a nice Gefilte fish."

 I learned early on to be forgiving of religions folks who'd "backslid", as they say back home. One of my favorite uncles was a self-ordained minister. Trouble was, every few years he'd gather up a pretty member of the choir, grab the building fund, and abscond to Mexico. He'd stay there until the fund was exhausted, then come home.

  Incredibly, the church always took him back. He had a stock redemption speech he made to them that worked every time. "The Devil is alway working," he'd say. "And if he can corrupt a man of God like myself, what chance do you have without me?"

 Whatever works.

TERRIFIED

   Naples Daily News columnist Brent Batten has ruined my day. In today's entry, he lists the Colorado State University annual hurricane prediction. It opines that the chances of a hurricane hitting Collier County are there, but small. That's what has me terrified. Their record of accuracy is a joke, usually inversely proportional to actual events. They say less, it's more.  Even with their mid-season tuneups, their accuracy trails former National Enquirer physic Jean Dixon.

  Once the News--I believe--published a hurricane likelihood survey taken from folks on the street and compared it, at season's end, to the Colorado expert's guesses. The street folks guesses were more accurate.

  Years ago at a hurricane preparedness seminar given by the National Hurricane Center the former director, Dr. Neil Frank, told us, "Anyone who tries to predict the weather more than 24 hours in advance is either a fool or a charlatan."

  So, "slight chance" of a hurricane in Collier? It's down to Home Depot for plywood for this ol' hoss.

LONG TIME NO SEE

   Sorry to be so negligent on the blog entries but I'm putting my book together and it takes all my spare time. Hope to be finished, soon. gdy

LIES, LIES, LIES

 The storm over the validity of polygraphs has raged for years. Reviewing the history of the instrument, you can see why. There is a lotta deception in the deception business.
  As one story goes, interrogators in WWII made alterations to their polygraphs to squeeze the truth out of Japanese prisoners of war. They altered the ink well, that fed the chart pens, so that the examiner could, on the sly, switch from black ink to red ink during the exam.

  During the preliminaries, the examiner would caution that as long as the subject told the truth, the track would be written in black ink. If, however, the subject lied the tracing would be written in blood--sucked from the attachment on their arm. (The cardio cuff like the one used to check blood pressure)

  Then, when the examiner suspected the prisoner was lying, he'd switch to the hidden red ink reservoir and the "blood" tracing would appear. The customer was warned that if he continued to prevaricate the polygraph would suck him dry.

  No one's stupid enough to fall for that gag you say? It worked with such effectiveness that it was used throughout the war. 

 Chester Keene reminds us that you didn't have to go to the Orient to encounter "lie-detector" shenanigans. There were some--in candor I must plead guilty to this--that would seat a prisoner in the front seat of the patrol car and tell them a field lie-detector test was going to be conducted. Then, the cop would wrap the mike cord from the police radio around the subject's arm.

  The testee was told that if he lied, the red light on the lie-detector would come on. This light was the transmit indicator, that came on anytime the radio was in talk mode. In this case, the cop would hide the mike in his palm and key the transmit button when he suspected his subject was lying. And more times than not, it worked. And on folks that should know better.

 Next, some of the shady techniques used that caused Teddy Kennedy to get a law passed put a stop to it.

A BAD SPELL

  This is from Dave Dampier who remembers the days before Spell Check on computers and some of our cops who couldn’t spell sugar if they had a mouthful.

 One of my early supervisory duties at NPD was to review and approve the written reports produced in the preceding 24 hours.   These were typed, with a carbon copy, or later NCR. Both were a pain to correct yet we demanded the best written report possible because they were public records and could be used in court and were seen by the "newsies", who loved to tease us about some of our hobbled Hemingways.

 I will say that the majority of our officers were good at meeting the report's factual and information requirements. But, some had spelling ability deficiencies that required sleeping with a Funk & Wagnall’s.  

 Minor misspellings were usually easily corrected and in most cases I just wrote over a misspelled word or two. But, occasionally I ran into a composition that just would not pass muster.  

 We had a primo investigator who went on to a successful career at the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. One of the best! A virtuoso at detective work. He had, however, a tin ear when it came to spelling--just had no feel of how a word should be spelled. If we would misspell a word kitshen, he might try cittshund. In all other respects his reports were perfect. 

 There was another officer I recall who always “Pulled the car to the crub”.  He may have been dyslexic, but we didn’t know what that was in those days.  Another favorite, “Arrived on the seen and fownd”.

  These were minor things compared to “Officer Fonicks” who we hired as a trained, seasoned, and experienced officer from up north. Officer Fonicks was repeatedly given the task to re-write reports due to numerous misspellings, inadequate sentence structure, and just plain inability to convey facts in written form.  One time I sent a report back to him for re-write and that afternoon he was seen in the squad room with his wife at his side, struggling with the task.  He later brought the re-written report to my office and I had difficulty reading same. When I tried to point out some of his errors and omissions he said “But Lieutenant I just can’t do it”. 

 My immediate and, admittedly, off-hand response was “Well Bob, I would advise you to seek another line of work”.   The next I heard of Officer Fonicks was when I tried to read his resignation letter.   He was with us but a short time--just a few months. Guess he decided they weren't so picky at the Cincinatti PD so he went back home.

 Editor's note: My stuff is spell checked by the computer, my wife, Sandy, and readers. And still things get spelt wrong. 

A CLOG IN THE COGS

  Another example of not being particular about what you say, involved a guy we'll call Rick Janovich, one of the best cops at the NPD. Always there when you needed him, knowledgeable, tough when he had to be, and gentle when he should be. I hated to lose him. Especially, when I found out the reason.

 I was working late one night and heard a scuffle in the hallway entrance by the jail. Investigating, I saw Rick picking up a "customer" from the floor. When Rick saw me, he started dusting off the prisoner like he was a new hat that had blown in the dirt. "He tripped," Rick said.

 Listening to the A-hole's rant, I could see how a loudmouth like that might "trip" on the way to jail. I went back to work.

 After he'd booked his prisoner, Rick dropped by the office. Worried, I guess, about what I'd seen he asked, "How am I doing?"

  I gave him an honest answer: "Rick," I said, "you are one of the main cogs in my big machine." Rick frowned, turned and left my office. A week later he resigned and joined the CCSO.

 Years later, when we were both working for the CCSO, I asked him why he'd resigned from the NPD. Incidently, it hadn't hurt him, since he was a Lieutenant with the Sheriff.

  "You as much as told me I had no future there," Rick said, "so I left."

  "No future?" I said, "you were one of our best officers."

  "Then why did you tell me I was clogging up your machine?"

  "Rick," I said, not quite believing what I'd heard, "that was a compliment. I said you were the main cog in our machine. A key element."

  "Oh," Rick said and never mentioned it again.
  Causes you to wonder how many relationships are destroyed because one persons doesn't hear what the other really said.