Faulkner
Member
Here’s a recent duty situation I thought I’d share:
I had just finished up eating a sack lunch in my patrol car, my wife’s left over homemade chicken strips and a thermos of sweet tea, while parked on an overlook of the main highway through the county with a beautiful view of the Ozarks.
“S.O. to Unit 4.” Well, lunch is officially over.
“Unit 4, go ahead.”
“S.O. to Unit 4, please assist Unit 18 at the Elder Ranch Retirement Center. He has requested a supervisor.”
“10-4 S.O., I’ll be in route. ETA about 15 minutes.”
And so begins the second half of this day’s shift. Unit 18 is a rookie deputy sheriff that shows a lot of potential, he’s been out of the academy about 10 months, and has demonstrated the ability to make good decisions without a lot of hand holding. He has a good attitude and is great with people, at 26 years old he’s one of a few that gives me hope that his generation may actually make it after all.
The Elder Range Retirement Center is an upscale home for the elderly. I know several folks who live there, mostly parents of friends, and my wife and I visit there a couple of times a month. I don’t have a clue how much it costs to live there but I have been mostly impressed with what I have seen of the service and care of the residents.
“Unit 4 to S.O., I’m on the scene.”
“10-4 Unit 4”
I pull up behind Unit 18’s patrol car at the front door, parked my car, and Deputy Scott meets me in the lobby.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“The staff discovered a resident with a gun and he wouldn’t give it up, so they called 911. They have a no firearms policy here and if the resident does not give it up he can be evicted. I tried to talk to him but he’s in his apartment, won't answer and won’t come out. The facility director gave me the master key, but I don’t think I want this to turn into something more than it needs to be. Thought I’d call you in and learn how to deal with this challenge from the master, sir.” He added that last sentence with a grin.
This kid is good. Short and to the point without any drama, and his cute remark aside, he was smart enough to hold and not let this escalate unnecessarily.
“What do we know about the resident?”
He handed me a file, “they gave me his file just as you arrived. I’ve not looked at it yet.”
I thumbed through the file and found a few points of interest. First, he was 85 years old and was in pretty good health for his age. He had retired from the United States Army as a sergeant-major, he and his wife moved to Arkansas after he left the service and they started their own company. After running the company for some years it had grown enough to sell for a healthy nest egg. They also had one son who had been killed in Afghanistan two years back. Lastly, his wife had passed away about six months ago.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go see the sergeant-major.”
As we walked down the corridor to “Mr. Jones’s” apartment, I instructed Deputy Scott to stay in the corridor with the door open where he could be seen, but do not come into the apartment unless I call for him. We did not want to crowd or intimidate Mr. Jones in his own ‘home’. Let’s hear what the gentleman has to say.
When we arrived at the apartment I knocked and announced, “Mr. Jones, this is Deputy Faulkner with the sheriff’s office. Would you please speak with me sir?” No answer.
After a few moments I knocked again, “Sergeant-Major, I only want to talk, sir.”
After a pause, I heard him say through the door, “you’ve come to take my gun from me!”
“Sergeant-Major, I only want to talk to you. I will not take anything from you, sir, unless you give me reason to. You have my word.”
Another pause, then I heard the door unlock. I took a step back and stood with my hands in plain sight, Deputy Scott was behind me and off to one side, his hand on his holstered Glock 22. Mr. Jones opened the door and stood looking directly at me with strong eyes, even if they were 85 years old.
“I’m Deputy Faulkner, sir.”
“Does your word mean anything to you, young man?” He asked.
“Yes sir, it does.”
“Then come in and let’s talk.”
He turned and motioned me in, and as I came in Deputy Scott came to the doorway and stopped, holding the door open but not entering the apartment. Mr. Jones motioned me to sit on the couch as he positioned himself in a leather chair across a coffee table from me. He motioned his hand towards Deputy Scott and said, “Is your attack dog not coming in?”
“No sir, that young man is to stand there and learn from the old bulls.” That solicited a smile from Mr. Jones.
“Deputy Faulkner, I am aware that firearms are not allowed on this property. Even so, I’ve had it here ever since I moved in and what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Unfortunately, I cleaned my firearm last night and after I reloaded the magazine and put it up I left out the box of ammo. One of the cleaning staff saw the ammo box and sounded the alarm. I was in the army a long time, and then I ran my own business and I have never been without a firearm as long as I can remember.”
“Mr. Jones, do you feel unsafe living here?”
He thought for a moment, then said “It was my wife’s idea to move in here. She liked it here. She passed away a few months ago . . . . “
“Yes sir, the director told me. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but to answer your question, no, I don’t feel unsafe here. In fact, they do a pretty good job of taking care of all of us. I’ve met some nice folks here, good folks. It’s just that, well, we’re all getting old and we don’t like to give up certain things.”
We let that thought hang in the air a few moments, then I asked, “Sergeant-Major Jones, you don’t really need the gun here, do you? For protection, I mean?”
Another pause, then “No, no I guess I really don’t.”
So, to change the subject a bit I asked, “What kind of gun is it? You look like a GI 1911 kind of guy to me, or maybe a .357 magnum.”
“No,” he replied, “It’s a Colt 1903 pocket pistol.”
“In .32 ACP”, I added.
His face kind of brightened up, “Yeah, are you familiar with them?”
“You bet, I’ve got a couple of them in my collection. They are just about the classiest gun every made. John Browning was on his A game when he designed those.”
“Well, this one is a beauty, I bought it from a retiring master sergeant who bought it from an officer who bought it new back before World War II.”
Another pause in the conversation, then he looked up at me and said, “Well, son, here we are. You have an old man with a gun in a place he’s not supposed to have a gun. What are you going to do about it?”
“Sergeant-Major”, I replied, “I’m kind of in a pickle. I gave you my word I wouldn’t take it, and I keep my word. How about you meet me halfway? You can keep the gun until we figure out what to do with it, but I need to leave with the ammo. You’ve already admitted you don’t feel unsafe here, so let’s help the rest of the folks around here feel the same way. What do you say?”
“Okay, I can agree with that. But what am I to do with the gun in the long run?”
“I tell what, I’ll come back when I’m off duty and maybe we can haggle over it if you’re willing to sell it. If we can’t come to terms I know several other people who would love to have a nice Colt 1903. It won’t be a problem getting you top dollar for it.”
As we stood and shook hands, Mr. Jones nodded towards the door where Deputy Scott was standing taking it all in and said, “Do you reckon that pup learned anything today.”
I looked over at him and grinned, “Ha, if he was paying attention, you can bet he did!”
I had just finished up eating a sack lunch in my patrol car, my wife’s left over homemade chicken strips and a thermos of sweet tea, while parked on an overlook of the main highway through the county with a beautiful view of the Ozarks.
“S.O. to Unit 4.” Well, lunch is officially over.
“Unit 4, go ahead.”
“S.O. to Unit 4, please assist Unit 18 at the Elder Ranch Retirement Center. He has requested a supervisor.”
“10-4 S.O., I’ll be in route. ETA about 15 minutes.”
And so begins the second half of this day’s shift. Unit 18 is a rookie deputy sheriff that shows a lot of potential, he’s been out of the academy about 10 months, and has demonstrated the ability to make good decisions without a lot of hand holding. He has a good attitude and is great with people, at 26 years old he’s one of a few that gives me hope that his generation may actually make it after all.
The Elder Range Retirement Center is an upscale home for the elderly. I know several folks who live there, mostly parents of friends, and my wife and I visit there a couple of times a month. I don’t have a clue how much it costs to live there but I have been mostly impressed with what I have seen of the service and care of the residents.
“Unit 4 to S.O., I’m on the scene.”
“10-4 Unit 4”
I pull up behind Unit 18’s patrol car at the front door, parked my car, and Deputy Scott meets me in the lobby.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“The staff discovered a resident with a gun and he wouldn’t give it up, so they called 911. They have a no firearms policy here and if the resident does not give it up he can be evicted. I tried to talk to him but he’s in his apartment, won't answer and won’t come out. The facility director gave me the master key, but I don’t think I want this to turn into something more than it needs to be. Thought I’d call you in and learn how to deal with this challenge from the master, sir.” He added that last sentence with a grin.
This kid is good. Short and to the point without any drama, and his cute remark aside, he was smart enough to hold and not let this escalate unnecessarily.
“What do we know about the resident?”
He handed me a file, “they gave me his file just as you arrived. I’ve not looked at it yet.”
I thumbed through the file and found a few points of interest. First, he was 85 years old and was in pretty good health for his age. He had retired from the United States Army as a sergeant-major, he and his wife moved to Arkansas after he left the service and they started their own company. After running the company for some years it had grown enough to sell for a healthy nest egg. They also had one son who had been killed in Afghanistan two years back. Lastly, his wife had passed away about six months ago.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go see the sergeant-major.”
As we walked down the corridor to “Mr. Jones’s” apartment, I instructed Deputy Scott to stay in the corridor with the door open where he could be seen, but do not come into the apartment unless I call for him. We did not want to crowd or intimidate Mr. Jones in his own ‘home’. Let’s hear what the gentleman has to say.
When we arrived at the apartment I knocked and announced, “Mr. Jones, this is Deputy Faulkner with the sheriff’s office. Would you please speak with me sir?” No answer.
After a few moments I knocked again, “Sergeant-Major, I only want to talk, sir.”
After a pause, I heard him say through the door, “you’ve come to take my gun from me!”
“Sergeant-Major, I only want to talk to you. I will not take anything from you, sir, unless you give me reason to. You have my word.”
Another pause, then I heard the door unlock. I took a step back and stood with my hands in plain sight, Deputy Scott was behind me and off to one side, his hand on his holstered Glock 22. Mr. Jones opened the door and stood looking directly at me with strong eyes, even if they were 85 years old.
“I’m Deputy Faulkner, sir.”
“Does your word mean anything to you, young man?” He asked.
“Yes sir, it does.”
“Then come in and let’s talk.”
He turned and motioned me in, and as I came in Deputy Scott came to the doorway and stopped, holding the door open but not entering the apartment. Mr. Jones motioned me to sit on the couch as he positioned himself in a leather chair across a coffee table from me. He motioned his hand towards Deputy Scott and said, “Is your attack dog not coming in?”
“No sir, that young man is to stand there and learn from the old bulls.” That solicited a smile from Mr. Jones.
“Deputy Faulkner, I am aware that firearms are not allowed on this property. Even so, I’ve had it here ever since I moved in and what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Unfortunately, I cleaned my firearm last night and after I reloaded the magazine and put it up I left out the box of ammo. One of the cleaning staff saw the ammo box and sounded the alarm. I was in the army a long time, and then I ran my own business and I have never been without a firearm as long as I can remember.”
“Mr. Jones, do you feel unsafe living here?”
He thought for a moment, then said “It was my wife’s idea to move in here. She liked it here. She passed away a few months ago . . . . “
“Yes sir, the director told me. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but to answer your question, no, I don’t feel unsafe here. In fact, they do a pretty good job of taking care of all of us. I’ve met some nice folks here, good folks. It’s just that, well, we’re all getting old and we don’t like to give up certain things.”
We let that thought hang in the air a few moments, then I asked, “Sergeant-Major Jones, you don’t really need the gun here, do you? For protection, I mean?”
Another pause, then “No, no I guess I really don’t.”
So, to change the subject a bit I asked, “What kind of gun is it? You look like a GI 1911 kind of guy to me, or maybe a .357 magnum.”
“No,” he replied, “It’s a Colt 1903 pocket pistol.”
“In .32 ACP”, I added.
His face kind of brightened up, “Yeah, are you familiar with them?”
“You bet, I’ve got a couple of them in my collection. They are just about the classiest gun every made. John Browning was on his A game when he designed those.”
“Well, this one is a beauty, I bought it from a retiring master sergeant who bought it from an officer who bought it new back before World War II.”
Another pause in the conversation, then he looked up at me and said, “Well, son, here we are. You have an old man with a gun in a place he’s not supposed to have a gun. What are you going to do about it?”
“Sergeant-Major”, I replied, “I’m kind of in a pickle. I gave you my word I wouldn’t take it, and I keep my word. How about you meet me halfway? You can keep the gun until we figure out what to do with it, but I need to leave with the ammo. You’ve already admitted you don’t feel unsafe here, so let’s help the rest of the folks around here feel the same way. What do you say?”
“Okay, I can agree with that. But what am I to do with the gun in the long run?”
“I tell what, I’ll come back when I’m off duty and maybe we can haggle over it if you’re willing to sell it. If we can’t come to terms I know several other people who would love to have a nice Colt 1903. It won’t be a problem getting you top dollar for it.”
As we stood and shook hands, Mr. Jones nodded towards the door where Deputy Scott was standing taking it all in and said, “Do you reckon that pup learned anything today.”
I looked over at him and grinned, “Ha, if he was paying attention, you can bet he did!”
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