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hafoc
In the town where I finished growing up we had at least one good mechanic and at least one bad cop.
Joe worked at the Ashland station, until Ashland closed all the stations in the area. Then he moved to, reopened, actually, the Phillips 66 station out by the freeway.
He worked on my dad's long succession of Oldsmobile Delta 88s. He himself drove an old black Impala, which he kept in beautiful shape. I owed Joe a lot; aside from my safety whenever I rode anywhere in the family car, he introduced me to the joys of pornography via the pin-up girl on the tool company calendar on the shop wall. She wore a demure bathing suit, but it was printed on a separate layer of clear plastic that peeled up.
Eventually Joe decided he needed a newer car. He sold the black Impala to Dad, and Dad gave it to my older sister to drive back and forth to the University, about twenty miles away.
The cop-- oh, let's make up a name for him, completely at random. Let's call him Officer Fife. Officer Fife wasn't a bad cop in the usual sense. No, far from it. He was a young kid fresh out of cop school, and he was frightfully earnest. Wore his hair in a military buzz cut. He didn't speak, he barked. Worked out and ran laps to keep in condition and to better attract the future Mrs. Officer Fife, if and when he ever met her. Read the criminal code and training manuals on his days off.
The problem with Officer Fife was that he had no judgment. I hope he gained it as he gained experience. Most people do. Some, of course, don't have the ability. At the time I rather suspected Officer Fife was one of these, but of course I don't know.
He first got into trouble with the City Council for wrapping a police cruiser around a tree, about three weeks after he'd done the same thing with ANOTHER one. This was especially embarrassing at the time because they only had three police cars. Singlehandedly, Officer Fife had bent two of these. The third was out of service too because it got wrecked, or ruined at least, in a high speed chase down US-127. They got it up to 120 miles per hour and it threw a rod. Left them sitting there on the southbound lane shoulder at the end of a hundred yard trail of oil and bits of metal. Rather pitiful, really.
What got him fired, though, was taking a shot at a guy for doing a U-turn. It was a motorcyclist who pulled out of one of the angle parking spaces in front of the courthouse, did a yoo-ie, and headed back the other way. Motorcycles are loud, so he didn't hear Officer Fife shout "HALT!" Whereupon Fife, assuming the motorcyclist was fleeing, pulled his .357 and launched one.
He was immediately fired. Too immediately; Fife sued the city for failing to follow due process, and got his job back. My memories may be distorted by the mist of years, but as I recall Fife stayed on the force for several more years before moving on.
Now, I don't know whether they still allow studded snow tires in this state, but back then they did. That was part of another Officer Fife incident, where the good officer knew that the universal small town terrorist, Some Kid, had been shooting out the department store windows with a .22. Fife announced he knew where Some Kid was and was ready to bring Some Kid in and sweat a confession out of him. About that time somebody mentioned that Tony Vivaldi, who ran the little grocery store across the street from the department store, had (for reasons known only to himself) jacked up his car so that one of the rear wheels was off the ground, and had then gunned the engine for an extended period of time, spinning the elevated wheel at what amounted to a significant fraction of the speed of light. And Tony's car had studded snow tires. Sure enough, it turned out that Tony's tire had thrown most of its studs, and several of them had gone through the window across the street. Once again, Some Kid had eluded the clutches of justice!
My sister's "new" Impala came with a set of studded snow tires on. They were kind of old, but they'd serve to get her through the winter. Dad planned to get new ones in the spring.
But he hadn't quite gotten around to it when March came around. It was legal to run studded snow tires, but by the end of March they had to come off. Dad couldn't take them off; he had no other tires to put in their place. Instead, he did the next best thing. He jacked the Impala up, got out his pliers, and pulled all the studs out of the tires.
That left the holes where the studs had been, though. And you know what? Those tires snarled when they went down the road. Sounded just like they still had the studs in them.
One weekend day, after my sister had to cover for another teaching assistant at the University on a day she'd planned to have off, she was driving home, and not in the best of moods. I should mention here that my sister is smart. SCARY smart.
She was coming into our town on one of the back roads when who should she encounter but Officer Fife. He did a bootlegger's turn and hit the lights and siren and came up behind her. She pulled off the pavement, into the slush, stopped the engine, rolled down the driver's side window. Fife strutted to the window, thumbs in his belt.
Sister batted eyes at him. "Oh my, Officer, did I do something wrong?"
"Do you know what the date is, ma'am?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Officer. I have no idea what the date is, but I can find out, I think. Let me--"
"It's April Fourth. Do you know what the last day for studded snow tires is in this state?"
"My goodness Officer, is there a last day for them? Do they expire, like milk?"
Fife sighed. "The last day for studded snow tires is March 31st. You have to take the studded snow tires off your car on or before that date. Do you have studded snow tires on your car?"
"Mercy me, what are studded snow tires? These came on the car, and you have to put air in them or something. Or they'll break." Sister had WATCHED Dad pull the studs out of those tires. She knew they weren't studded, not any more, but she was in a bad mood and Officer Fife was being a ****head. Even more than usual.
Fife sighed in a long-suffering manner. Then he got down on his knees, in the slush, to look at the rear tires.
He frowned. He got right down, almost face down-- well, I don't think he meant to, but the road was slippery-- so he could examine the tires a little better. He got up. His sharply pressed uniform wasn't so neat as it had been. "Could I ask you to pull ahead about two feet, ma'am?"
Sister complied. Fife got down to examine the areas of the rear tires now newly exposed to his view.
He came back, finally, rumpled, soaked, and muddy. And now HE wasn't in the best of moods. "You may go, ma'am," was all he said.
"Oh my, thank you, Officer."
"Go."
She went.
My sister can be pretty mean when you provoke her. Trust me, I know.
Joe worked at the Ashland station, until Ashland closed all the stations in the area. Then he moved to, reopened, actually, the Phillips 66 station out by the freeway.
He worked on my dad's long succession of Oldsmobile Delta 88s. He himself drove an old black Impala, which he kept in beautiful shape. I owed Joe a lot; aside from my safety whenever I rode anywhere in the family car, he introduced me to the joys of pornography via the pin-up girl on the tool company calendar on the shop wall. She wore a demure bathing suit, but it was printed on a separate layer of clear plastic that peeled up.
Eventually Joe decided he needed a newer car. He sold the black Impala to Dad, and Dad gave it to my older sister to drive back and forth to the University, about twenty miles away.
The cop-- oh, let's make up a name for him, completely at random. Let's call him Officer Fife. Officer Fife wasn't a bad cop in the usual sense. No, far from it. He was a young kid fresh out of cop school, and he was frightfully earnest. Wore his hair in a military buzz cut. He didn't speak, he barked. Worked out and ran laps to keep in condition and to better attract the future Mrs. Officer Fife, if and when he ever met her. Read the criminal code and training manuals on his days off.
The problem with Officer Fife was that he had no judgment. I hope he gained it as he gained experience. Most people do. Some, of course, don't have the ability. At the time I rather suspected Officer Fife was one of these, but of course I don't know.
He first got into trouble with the City Council for wrapping a police cruiser around a tree, about three weeks after he'd done the same thing with ANOTHER one. This was especially embarrassing at the time because they only had three police cars. Singlehandedly, Officer Fife had bent two of these. The third was out of service too because it got wrecked, or ruined at least, in a high speed chase down US-127. They got it up to 120 miles per hour and it threw a rod. Left them sitting there on the southbound lane shoulder at the end of a hundred yard trail of oil and bits of metal. Rather pitiful, really.
What got him fired, though, was taking a shot at a guy for doing a U-turn. It was a motorcyclist who pulled out of one of the angle parking spaces in front of the courthouse, did a yoo-ie, and headed back the other way. Motorcycles are loud, so he didn't hear Officer Fife shout "HALT!" Whereupon Fife, assuming the motorcyclist was fleeing, pulled his .357 and launched one.
He was immediately fired. Too immediately; Fife sued the city for failing to follow due process, and got his job back. My memories may be distorted by the mist of years, but as I recall Fife stayed on the force for several more years before moving on.
Now, I don't know whether they still allow studded snow tires in this state, but back then they did. That was part of another Officer Fife incident, where the good officer knew that the universal small town terrorist, Some Kid, had been shooting out the department store windows with a .22. Fife announced he knew where Some Kid was and was ready to bring Some Kid in and sweat a confession out of him. About that time somebody mentioned that Tony Vivaldi, who ran the little grocery store across the street from the department store, had (for reasons known only to himself) jacked up his car so that one of the rear wheels was off the ground, and had then gunned the engine for an extended period of time, spinning the elevated wheel at what amounted to a significant fraction of the speed of light. And Tony's car had studded snow tires. Sure enough, it turned out that Tony's tire had thrown most of its studs, and several of them had gone through the window across the street. Once again, Some Kid had eluded the clutches of justice!
My sister's "new" Impala came with a set of studded snow tires on. They were kind of old, but they'd serve to get her through the winter. Dad planned to get new ones in the spring.
But he hadn't quite gotten around to it when March came around. It was legal to run studded snow tires, but by the end of March they had to come off. Dad couldn't take them off; he had no other tires to put in their place. Instead, he did the next best thing. He jacked the Impala up, got out his pliers, and pulled all the studs out of the tires.
That left the holes where the studs had been, though. And you know what? Those tires snarled when they went down the road. Sounded just like they still had the studs in them.
One weekend day, after my sister had to cover for another teaching assistant at the University on a day she'd planned to have off, she was driving home, and not in the best of moods. I should mention here that my sister is smart. SCARY smart.
She was coming into our town on one of the back roads when who should she encounter but Officer Fife. He did a bootlegger's turn and hit the lights and siren and came up behind her. She pulled off the pavement, into the slush, stopped the engine, rolled down the driver's side window. Fife strutted to the window, thumbs in his belt.
Sister batted eyes at him. "Oh my, Officer, did I do something wrong?"
"Do you know what the date is, ma'am?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Officer. I have no idea what the date is, but I can find out, I think. Let me--"
"It's April Fourth. Do you know what the last day for studded snow tires is in this state?"
"My goodness Officer, is there a last day for them? Do they expire, like milk?"
Fife sighed. "The last day for studded snow tires is March 31st. You have to take the studded snow tires off your car on or before that date. Do you have studded snow tires on your car?"
"Mercy me, what are studded snow tires? These came on the car, and you have to put air in them or something. Or they'll break." Sister had WATCHED Dad pull the studs out of those tires. She knew they weren't studded, not any more, but she was in a bad mood and Officer Fife was being a ****head. Even more than usual.
Fife sighed in a long-suffering manner. Then he got down on his knees, in the slush, to look at the rear tires.
He frowned. He got right down, almost face down-- well, I don't think he meant to, but the road was slippery-- so he could examine the tires a little better. He got up. His sharply pressed uniform wasn't so neat as it had been. "Could I ask you to pull ahead about two feet, ma'am?"
Sister complied. Fife got down to examine the areas of the rear tires now newly exposed to his view.
He came back, finally, rumpled, soaked, and muddy. And now HE wasn't in the best of moods. "You may go, ma'am," was all he said.
"Oh my, thank you, Officer."
"Go."
She went.
My sister can be pretty mean when you provoke her. Trust me, I know.
