Breaker One-Nine. Anybody Got A Copy?

Okay, let's have a show of hands. How many people remember CB radios? I can hear the young folks now, "CB what? Is that like an Ipod?" I was taking a picture of the inside of my truck a little while ago and I don't know what drew me to it but I just sat for a minute staring at this outdated piece of equipment sitting on my dash. The only time I even turn it on anymore is if I come up on stopped traffic on the highway and that's only long enough to find out what is going on, accident, construction, etc. Too much trash talk. Too much cursing and way too many "radio Rambos." In case you haven't been on one in a while there are a lot of people on there than are gonna whup everyone on the radio. As long as they're hidden behind that mike they are really bad. Don't even let a woman come on the radio. The abuse starts as soon as a female voice hits the airwaves. I shut mine off shortly after Diane started riding with me. We had fun with it at first and she can pretty well handle herself, but it did make me want to go Rambo on a few heads. It didn't take long to figure the best way to keep my blood pressure to an acceptable level was to turn the knob all the way to the left and leave it there.

CB, or citizen band, radios made their first appearance in the mid 40's for small business and family communications as well as radio controlled airplanes. They really started taking off though in the early 70's after the Arab oil embargo. Gas and diesel prices skyrocketed. In January 1974 President Nixon signed a bill lowering the speed limits nationwide to 55 mph. Both the increase in fuel prices and the lowering of speed limits impacted truckers hard. First it was with the higher cost at the pumps for their fuel, second their trucks started getting worse fuel mileage because they were geared for the higher speeds and third they mostly worked off mileage pay. At $1.00 per mile and an average of 70 mph that was $70.00 an hour they were making. At the same rate and 55 mph they were now making $55.00 per hour and more of that was going into the fuel tanks so they were taking a huge hit. Bring in the CB radio. Now truckers could keep up their old speeds and know where the cops were all the time and they also spread the word by radio of where the cheapest fuel stops were, a win-win. Anybody who had a CB back then knew as soon as a patrol car hit the highway, "Kojak with a Kodak getting on 95 northbound, 26 mile marker." "Ten-four. You're looking good back to the line. We ain't seen nothin'. Scales are open northbound checkin' log books so get 'er right." "Appreciate it, see you on the flip side. This is Night Rider northbound and down." It wasn't long before you had trucker shows coming on tv like Movin' On and then songs like Convoy, Teddy Bear, and then the movie Convoy and Smokey and the Bandit. These all glorified the CB and before long two out of every three cars on the road had a CB antenna hanging on it somewhere. I was one of the first and always regretted not buying stock in Radio Shack. Their stock prices went through the roof as they were one of the largest retailers of the radios.

We had a ball with CB's back then. I was stationed at Camp Lejuene, NC and my wife, at the time, and I would head back home to Augusta, Ga whenever we could. It was a 335 mile trip one way. I kept it reasonable until I hit I-95 and then 'Let 'er roll.' My older brother drove a truck and I saw what the drivers were doing with the radios and just had to have one. I'll never forget I actually financed a freakin' CB radio and antenna, $25 down and about $23 a month for a year but I had to have it. I also bought a second antenna and a removable bracket so I could take it out of the car to keep it from getting stolen. I mounted the second antenna to the roof of the house and made a box with a second bracket so I could switch it from the car to the house. I was scared to talk on it and just listened for the longest time. After awhile a Marine friend came to the house to look at the set up I had and gave me the handle of "Medicine Man" since I was a Corpsman in the Navy. Shortly after that I was recruited to the Onslow County REACT (Radio Emergency Associated Communication Team). We would monitor the radio in shifts and listen for emergency calls from citizens via the radio on channel 9 which had been, and is still, designated as an emergency only channel. Occasionally I would get called out if I was closer than an emergency crew to accidents or other medical emergencies. It was interesting and reinforced my interest in Law Enforcement as I watched what those guys did.

The Medicine Man handle didn't stick long as people seemed to think it was code for me selling drugs. I went through a couple of different names until my brother made the comment on day that I was a lost cause. I adopted that handle and it's been with me until this day.

Everybody in the family got into the CB craze and went out and bought them including my Dad. He used to be in the Army Air Corps and would get on the radio with all the roger-wilko, over and outs and no matter what we would tell him about the way these radios were he couldn't get used to it. I guess some habits do die hard.

My younger brother decided to one-up everybody and he went out and bought one of the most expensive radios on the market along with a top of the line desk top microphone and put a linear in the attic. CB radios were limited to 5 watts of power to keep them from interfering with other electronics, especially TVs and radios. A linear was extra power output for CBs and was a definite no-no. I don't know how much power this thing was pushing but when he would hit the switch and turn it on, he'd key the mic and every tv and radio within a mile would go black. He would get on there and just mess with people. If they wouldn't give him a break (free the channel) he would hit the switch on the linear and key the mic telling everyone if he couldn't talk, nobody would. And he was right. Nobody within 20 miles or more could talk to anyone else. I know we all had our fun with the radios but I guess he did more than anyone. He would get on there talking like a woman and have men for miles around going crazy and wanting to talk to him...er, her. They were all trying to find where (s)he lived. He wouldn't get quite X-rated, but he came real close. He'd have them panting. One day he was riding in the truck with the other brother and got to talking like that to other truckers and Paul told him that if he kept on they would eventually find him and as hot and bothered as he had them drivers somebody was gettin' f***** and Paul said it sure wasn't going to be him and he was going to hand him over. Whatever happened, happened.

I kept a radio for years and even kept one in my cars when I was in police work. Other officers and I could talk back and forth without getting on the main radio and that came in handy. Unless you grabbed the wrong mic and started telling what was on your mind as I did one night while working narcotics and trying to serve several warrants on a suspect who kept eluding us. I only realized what I was doing while hearing cries of, "Wrong radio, wrong radio" coming from my CB and knowing it couldn't be talking while I was. Oh well, water under the bridge. I'm turning red just sitting here thinking about it while I write. I guess it's time to go.

"Breaker one-nine. Time to go 10-7 for the night and shut 'er down. Keep the shiny side up and the greasy side down and we'll catch you on the flip-flop. Lost Cause down for the night, ten four?"

Looking Back, My Life On The Fringes Of Society

"I'm gonna put you in a f***ing ditch." He's a big man with dirty hair and a beard that could use a trim. He also has a big gun about two feet from my face. It's a nickel plated 4" S&W .357 revolver and I can barely see anything beyond that. Even in the dim porch light I could see bullets in every chamber. He then pointed it at Joe and told him, "You're goin' in the ditch beside 'im. You know you don't bring nobody to my f***ing house." He's drunk, has the hammer pulled back, finger on the trigger. His hand is shaking from a combination of scared, mad and drunk. A ticked off, paranoid, drunk, drug dealer with a loaded handgun. I can see now this is probably not going to end well. How can this turn out any way other than bad? I have a 9mm Smith auto stuck inside my belt in the small of my back but there's no way I can get to it before he can squeeze that trigger. This ain't television or a movie. It doesn't work like that. If either of us move too quickly he'll start shooting.

My brain jumped into overdrive. "How the hell did I get myself into this and how am I going to get out of it?" The night started innocent enough, just like so many nights before.

I look around as I pull up to the dirty concrete building. One entrance door and no windows. The dirt lot is filled with vehicles. A few I recognize, most I don't. What a freaking dump. Oh well another night. This is my life, the life of a nickel and dime drug dealer trying to work his way up to bigger and better things. It's the night life. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. I can hear the music from the jukebox through the thick concrete walls. I get out of the car and look around. There's a couple over at the end of the lot climbing all over each other. Hell, they probably just met a couple of hours ago. Too many drinks, too much music and now looking to each other for an end to the loneliness in their lives, even if only for tonight. There are a couple of guys at the corner of the building smoking a joint and talking, oblivious to everything around them. Another couple are sitting in a car arguing. Too many drinks have taken control of their night also. In their case it went the wrong way. I'm sure it started as a fun night on the town. Now they'll go home disappointed. Everyone here is looking for, or trying to forget, something.

I lean back against the fender of the car, cross my arms, and close my eyes as I lower my head. To anyone looking I'm just another drunk in the parking lot who's had one too many. My head is spinning but not from too much to drink. I'm just trying to put into perspective who I really am and what I'm doing here. This life gets a little too fast sometimes. I was here the night before last and then last night it was a biker bar on the other side of the county, now here I am again. "Lord you brought me here, now help me get through it. Show me what I need to do and walk with me."

I look up to a beautiful full moon. A sky full of stars. The night is much brighter now than it seemed a few seconds ago and I know what I've got to do. First I've got to get into my own head and make a rapid change. I've got to lose the normally quiet, reserved, and somewhat shy Tony Taylor and become my alter ego, Anthony Lee "Tony" Dixon. He's my Mr. Hyde. The hard charging, loud, boisterous, "life of the party" guy. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. At least that's the persona.

I throw open the door and walk through like I own the place. "Okay people let's get this party started," I shout over the noise. The handshakes and high-fives start as I make my way to the bar. "Carol set it up and get ready for a hell-of-a night," I yell at the bartender as she hands me the first one and I take a drink. I see Big John at the pool table and put my money up for the next game, "Confident and cocky", I tell him as I slap him on the back and head toward the restroom. "Don't get too confident, I'm on a roll," he tells me with a laugh.

This is the strangest of strange friendships between John and I. John, a former Marine and ex high roller coke dealer and me, a former Navy Combat Corpsman and now undercover narcotics cop. Our friendship is a story for another day. Let's just say he knows who I am and what I do and I know he'll always have my back and he knows I'll always have his. We never served together but there is a connection there you would not know unless you were there. Our lives after the military took totally different directions and yet, here we are, best of friends. It's been 26 years since the night I'm writing about  and we both know that all either of us has to do is call, the other will be there.

I go to the restroom and, thankfully, I'm alone. I pour the remainder of my beer down the toilet, flush it, and refill it with water from the tap. I can't step over that line. I have to keep my senses sharp. All it would take is one small slip of the tongue, a wrong move or anything that would "out me" and I end up dead. The people I deal with have too much to lose. Most would never stoop to that level, but a few would not think twice about killing a cop. Especially a narcotics cop. To them I am the lowest creature crawling around the face of this earth. To me they are the same.

As I walk back into the barroom John is finishing his pool game. I grab one girl after another and dance my way back to the table where he's waiting. He's sent another challenger back to the bar with his tail tucked between his legs. That's okay. Tomorrow night he'll have his confidence back and try again, and lose again. I rack the balls and John breaks. As far as John and I playing we're about 50-50 on wins and losses with each other. That's been my ace in the hole that normally gets me into these places. I grew up with a pool table in the rec room at home. I'm not great but for the most part I can hold my own against most players. John and I team up in tournaments around the county and again this gets me into places where normally they would treat me as an outsider and not deal with me. As we're laughing, talking, and playing I'm approached by a regular in the bar, Joe. He comes over and whispers to me, "Hey man, you still looking for a good score?" "Always, what you got?" "As much pot as you need," he replies. I can't seem too anxious so I tell him to let me finish this game and we'll talk. John beats me and I tell him I'll be back as I head over to the bar with Joe. I turn my beer bottle up and finish the last of the water in there and tell the bartender to get me and Joe another one. He tells me he has a friend who has a "quantity" he needs to move. I tell him I'll buy an ounce to check it out and if it's any good I'll see about doing more and ask him when he can set it up. "Give me a few minutes and I'll let you know."

Joe left the bar, probably to use the phone and I start roaming through the bar talking with anyone and everyone. I am always amazed how many women hit on me in here. They think I have a pocket full of money and drugs. I do have a pocket full of money and I'm not afraid to let it be known. Only one small problem, Every dime of that money belongs to the Aiken County Sheriff's Office and I have to do a detailed report on, and account for, every penny at the end of the night. As I walk along the bar talking to different people, a very attractive women stops me and asks me to dance. "Oh well, I've got to keep my cover, take one for the team. It's tough, but someone has to do it." I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. Having a beautiful woman on my arm will never hurt my cover story. She had played the song on the jukebox and is singing along. This particular song takes me back to another city, another bar, another dance floor and another beautiful lady and I know I shouldn't but for just a moment I close my eyes and let myself go back. "Stay sharp," I tell myself. That was a lifetime ago and much different circumstances.

"City girls just seem to find out early,
How to open doors with just a smile.
A rich old man and she won't have to worry.
She'll dress up all in lace and go in style."

Eagles, Lying Eyes.

No pretense here. To her I could very well be her way to the easy life. I'm not a doctor, lawyer, banker, but in her world I'm better. After all I'm an up and coming dealer. She is hot, and this blue, form fitting short dress is making it hard to concentrate. She's making no secret of the fact she's wanting me to take her home tonight. As we turned, I looked at John and he gave me a "thumbs up." I just smiled, "God I love this job." I will really have to use a lot of tact and diplomacy here. I don't want to make her mad or give her any reason to second guess who I really am. In my other life I'm married and have a family that I'll eventually go home to so I have to be careful.

Saved by the bell. Joe has just walked back in and is motioning me to come over to him. I tell her I've got business to take care of. "Can I come with you?" she asks. "Not tonight, baby. You've got way too much class for the people I'll be dealing with." Of course I had to throw in, "It could get dangerous. I'll be back." She says she understands. Still I leave her on the dance floor looking a little sad and disappointed. "I'll be here when you're done," she calls to me as I walk away. I look back at such a beautiful lady and for a moment I have to think, "Well, maybe....No, No, No." "God I hate this job."

I walk over to Joe who's still standing by the door. "He'll meet us at the Speedway gas station at I-20 in thirty minutes." "Let's go," I tell him.

As we get in my car he asks, "You're going to give me a cut out of the o-z, right?" Now I'm in one of those sticky situations. I'm a cop. I can't very well be selling dope. "I tell you what, here's forty bucks for helping me out. You buy whatever you want from him. If this turns out good and I do more business with him there will be more coming. You help me and I'll see you're taken care of, whether with him or anyone. Only thing is, it's got to be just between us and whatever I buy has got to be top of the line stuff, no garbage. Any deals you help me set up, whether I'm buying or selling, I'll take care of you."
"Hey man, thanks. That's cool, most people don't give a s*** that I'm going out of my way to do this," Joe replied.
"That's why one day soon everyone will be coming to me to get what they want. I take care of my people."
We pulled in the parking lot and talked for about an hour. No one showed. I looked at my watch and it's now 12:15 am. I tell Joe that it looks like he's not going to show.
"That's okay Dude, I know where he lives. We can just go over there."
"I don't know man, that don't sound too cool," I tell him.
"Oh, yeah. It'll be alright. Head up 25."

As we left and continued up US Highway 25 I realized we are probably going to end up out of my jurisdiction in Edgefield County. I gave Joe more money with the excuse that I didn't know this guy and it'd probably be better if he did the deal. I wouldn't take possession of it until we were back in Aiken County. That way I would still be okay. Poor Joe was setting himself up for a distribution charge and all I could do is go after his friend with warrants or indictments in another county for conspiracy.

We went a few miles into Edgefield County and turned off onto a side street where we went to a single wide mobile home. Seconds after Joe knocked on the door things went real bad real quick and now we're both seconds from being shot by a high drug dealer.

At this point my earlier prayer came to me, "I brought you to it and I'll bring you through it," I heard. I regained my calm and after a few seconds I was able to see past the .357 pointing at my face. I looked closer at the man holding it and realized I had made a deal with him about a month earlier. I can only hope he remembers. He was a car nut and I had showed him around my hot rod 79 Monte Carlo at that time. It was really the Aiken County Sheriff's Office's Monte Carlo but for all intents and purposes, it was mine, it was registered to Anthony Lee Dixon.

"Whoa man, you know me. Look at my car. You'll recognize it. I've bought from you before. If I was the man, you'd already be gone! Remember me?"

"Oh yeah Dude. You're cool. I remember your ride. I remember you. Sorry 'bout that brother, you never know these days. Y'all come on in." He sat the .357 on the kitchen table with the hammer still pulled back.

I reached toward the gun and asked, "You mind?" "Naw, go ahead." I picked it up and eased the hammer down. "Nice piece," I told him.
"Yeah. Dude owed me money and gave me that instead. How much you need?"
"Just an ounce. If it's good we'll go from there."
"Ain't no problem man. It's all good and I got all you need," he said as he got up and motioned for us to follow him. At least he left the gun behind.
When we got to the back bedroom he opened the door and on the floor were two black trash bags. He opened them and said each one contained eight pounds. "I got all you need," he bragged.
"Cool. I'll let you know after I see how good it is."
"You wanna burn one?" he asked.
"Better not right now, I've really got to get back to the bar. I left a hot little number waiting when I came to meet you. You know how it is though, gotta take care of business."
"Don't I know it. Just let me know when you're ready. I know it's good stuff. I gotta move it fast."

Joe and I headed back to the bar where his car was parked. He had actually bought both bags of pot with the money I gave him and after we crossed the Aiken County line I kinda told him in a curt way to hand mine over. He did and we got back to the Tavern and parted ways. He got in his car and headed somewhere and I went back inside the club. The young lady I was dancing with earlier was gone. One part of me was relieved. I was a little disappointed at the same time. After what I had just been through I really did need a drink.

I eased up to the bar and sat down. Carol handed me a beer without me saying a thing and stated, "Your little floosie left about an hour ago. She couldn't have been much more obvious." Did I detect a note of jealousy? "You can't deny this package drives 'um crazy," I said standing up, turning around, and rubbing my right butt cheek.

"You lost your freakin' mind," I heard John say.
"Hey buddy, I didn't see you."
Well, Tell me about it. You seem a little pale."
John and I walked away to a table. Most of the people were already gone so I didn't have to worry about anyone overhearing us. I told him that was a first and he said I needed to get used to it if I'm going to stay in the business. I let him know that was the first, and hopefully last, time I let myself get into that kind of situation. I left and headed to the house. I knew tomorrow would be a busy day.

I was up before 7 the next morning and about 7:30 I called the Sheriff and told him about last night. I gave him a name and description of the house for a search warrant so that he could contact Edgefield County. I would meet with them at their convenience and sign the affidavit. I would meet my contact at our usual place to turn over the drugs I had bought along with an incident report. I set up a meet with my contact for 11:00 and just got in my car and rode around trying to clear my head. That was a close call. If he hadn't remembered me or if it would have been anyone else I might not be around to tell the story. Me and John are always talking about our pool games and having to be "confident and cocky." Well just maybe I've gotten a little too confident and cocky in my job. Maybe it's time to pull back. Only I have moved up pretty good in the local drug scene. Which way do I go? What should I do?

I called the Sheriff and he said that he was about to call me. I asked if I could come into the office and talk with him. When I got there he told me that the Sheriff in Edgefield had, in no uncertain terms, told him they had their own narcotics division and didn't need my help. He said the Sheriff told him that if I came back across the county line working he would find a reason to lock me up. (Kinda makes you wonder what was going on back then, doesn't it?) Any time I had ended up out of my jurisdiction before they welcomed the help and went as far as signing a mutual aid agreement so I didn't have to worry about jurisdictional boundaries.

We talked about what had happened the night before and I let him know that it had caused me to second guess myself. You have to have that confidence in order to do the job without reservation. He understood this. I told him I was thinking seriously about getting out of the undercover side of things and now what happened with the Edgefield Sheriff it made me even more unsure. Sometimes you can't help what happens or where you end up. I needed their support, not their threats. And yes, I was still mad about having a gun stuck in my face and now not being able to do anything about it.  I wanted the SOB! The Sheriff told me that there were other ways to get the guy. He told me to take a few days off to think about what I wanted to do and if I felt the same way when I came back we would find something else for me to do.

Only one problem, there is no "taking days off" when you're undercover. You live that life 24/7/365. Anywhere you go you have to be in character. I can't even go grocery shopping or to the movies with the wife and kids. I can't take a chance on them being connected with me. It could blow my cover and put them in tremendous danger. If I took the wife and kids anywhere I had to leave town so no one would see us together. They had to live my lie, my life. Not good for the domestic front.

I did go home and relax. I went to Augusta and spoke with one of my brothers who knew what I was doing. He just said he was proud of what I was doing and knew I would make the right decision for me. After a few days I went back with a new sense of what I was doing and was back to being wide open.

We did arrest my suspect about 8 months later. I spent many days and nights doing surveillance and watching his every move until I could catch him dirty.

I also worked a deal with one of the Edgefield deputies who told me he was tired of drugs and dealers moving freely through the "his" county and he became an informant for me. He knew about things happening in Edgefield so he would keep me advised of dealers in his county who were entering Aiken County with dope to sell. I made quite a few cases this way and together we took a lot of drugs off the street.

After that night I did start easing out of the undercover side of things and went more into the investigation side with the Sheriff's blessing.  I still did quite a bit of undercover work and assisted other agencies including several local agencies and began to work alot with BATF, DEA and FBI. I was also given a partner and although we were very seldom together, we knew what each other was doing and had each others backs. We ended up making over a hundred and twenty cases against 70 people coming in and out of that one club. We were recognized by the Govenor's Task force in 1989 after increasing narcotics arrests in Aiken County by 4700% in the first year with a 98% conviction rate. Our arrest and conviction rate was number one in the state. After the undercover operation shut down at the Tavern and we made the arrests people were afraid to come back and within a short amount of time it shut the doors.

God, I loved my job!

The Good Old Days.....Or Were They?

Last week I dropped in Topeka with 1 1/2 hours to spare and headed toward Tulsa for my next pickup. I couldn't pick up in Tulsa until the next day and I figured that was a good thing since I was starting to run short on hours. Only 16 left for that day and the next so I decided to cut the day short and pulled off into an old, familiar haunt, the BETO Junction truck stop. It's been many years since I spent any time here so I decided to just walk around and check things out. Like most places the old mom and pop truck stop has been bought out and transformed into a chain truck stop. T/A has it now and the old ambiance is gone.

I spent many a night in here grabbing a piece of homemade apple pie and some good old fashioned ice cream. Back in those days in the middle of the night there would always be 5 or 6 tired truckers like me doing the same thing. We'd talk about where we were headed, coming from, going to, or any of a dozen topics. Anything just for conversation. Mostly what you'd see in here back then were bull haulers or meat haulers and everybody had to be somewhere yesterday. I had probably picked up a load of beef out of Liberal or Dodge City, Kansas and headed east. Wasn't anything back then to pick up a load at about 8:00 PM Tuesday night and have to be in Boston, New York, or Rhode Island by 5 or 6 AM on Friday. I'd come out of the truck stop and set the alarm for about 2 hours, get up and roll. You'd pull out of here and kick it up between 80 and a 100 mph and let her roll til you got near Kansas City. The only traffic you'd see on the roads at that time of night were other truckers and they were doing the same thing you were. If you passed the Highway Patrol he'd usually just flash the lights at you to warn you and keep right on going. If you did get stopped you'd just give him one of the "few" driver's licenses you had and keep on rockin'. Once daylight came around you'd keep your speed down to around 75 to 80. Logbooks were just a nightmare and very seldom were they right. I was stopped at the scales 6 times in a period of 5 weeks for them to check my books. I finally asked the scale master in

Truckers Chapel at Beto Junction T/A truck stop

Missouri why did I keep getting checked? He told me the company I was with had the best tractors and trailers on the road and never was there a safety defect found on them, but you could bet 2 out of 3 drivers logbooks were way behind. They knew the companies that had to really roll, mostly because of time sensitive product you were carrying. When you did sleep it was usually about 2 or 3 hours over the wheel. You normally didn't get in the sleeper until they were unloading you. That was good for 4 or 5 hours. Then do it again in the other direction.

Sounds dangerous, huh? Not really. Traffic was virtually non-existent after about 11:00 PM. Weren't nearly as many deer and other animals getting onto the roadways. And the drivers were a different breed back then. They would crash themselves to keep from hitting another vehicle, even if the other vehicle was at fault. We also knew our limits. We knew the roads we were traveling on and could tell you every bump, dip and rock. We knew when we had finally had enough and it was time to shut it down. Dispatchers also knew that we knew and would very seldom argue if you told them, "Enough." The trucks running like this were extremely well maintained. Brakes, tires, springs, shocks everything was top of the line as were the trucks. Back then the freight rates were about the same as they are today. Only then you had fuel prices below a dollar a gallon which left a lot of profit to maintain your equipment or purchase new equipment. New trucks were a fraction of what they cost today. Most people I knew very seldom kept a truck more than 3 years. They could afford to trade.

How does this compare to today. Well for starters we do get a fuel surcharge today. It's in no way enough to keep up with the cost of fuel. Also some shippers, since they are required in their contracts to pay surcharges, will reduce the freight rates so that you don't see a lot of difference in the total rates. You hear drivers hollering about, "Don't pull cheap freight." I do have a limit I won't go under but I also have a family and bills to pay. A lot of owner operators give me a hard time about deadheading 200 miles to pick up a load. If that load is paying good rates and including the deadhead miles and I'm well over my bottom line, yeah I'll go get it.

We also don't drive nearly as fast today. Too much traffic and too many idiots on the road. Also too many truck drivers that don't have the common sense and/or experience to get out of the rain. Back in those days cars respected trucks. It seems back then everyone knew what it took to control and stop a truck. Today that respect is gone. I run quite a few short runs through the back roads and at least two to three times a day I have people run stop signs, pull out of driveways, pass on yellow lines on hills and curves, anything you can imagine just to get ahead of the truck. Most of the time just to go a half mile and turn left. People don't have a clue what it takes to get this truck stopped, not to mention what it can do to the product you're hauling when you have to brake hard. I put a dash cam in my truck just for these idiots. If I ruin a load to keep from running over you, expect to get a piece of paper delivered where I'm suing you to recoup damages. My insurance deductible is $1000 and I will not take that hit alone. Remember I now have your vehicle description and usually your license plate, along with the time and date the incident occurred. A lot of drivers are going to these systems now. You want to sue me because a rock came up off the road and hit your windshield? Pay back is hell. Keep in mind that about 10% of the trucks on the road are now installing cameras for their protection. This number is rising quickly as the costs associated with the cameras has come down. It is a small price to pay for our peace of mind. Trucks were easy pickins' for ambulance chasing lawyers who knew it was cheaper for the truck to settle without going into court and fighting, even when the driver was in the right.

Now days I keep my cruise control set at about 63 mph. I do this mainly because that is where the "sweet spot" is and my engine is most efficient. I'm saving fuel. Some companies have speed limiters where their trucks are limited to 60 with the cruise on and 63 standing on the accelerator to override it. Most over the road trucks also run electronic logging devices which makes sure we are running our legal hours. Some people (mostly old timers) don't like it. Sure there are times when I wish I could throw it out the window but, for the most part I have no problem with it. Some companies are using it to harass their drivers by knowing exactly when they can come back on duty after their 10 hour break and call them with loads that have to be "picked up right now." It doesn't matter that the driver had nothing scheduled so he sat around the truck stop bs'ing til the wee hours of the morning and has only been asleep a couple of hours. Your log says you can go, so go.

Drivers are also shoved through schools so fast now just so the company can put a butt in the seat they're not really getting the over the road training they need. Most "at fault" crashes drivers are involved in happen within the first two years of driving. It takes years to get comfortable with the differences in a truck and a car. Just because you think you're Earnheart Jr behind the wheel of your 4 wheeler doesn't even begin to translate into safely hauling 80,000 pounds down the highway. There is too much time in the classroom and not enough time behind the wheel at these schools. Yeah we all had to learn someway but, the schools are there taking good money from these kids to teach them, so teach them what the road is all about. Most companies have over a 100% turnover each year. A lot of this is because these people just don't realize what it is like to live as a rambler with little home time.

I've never been one to sit in an office all day or work in a factory somewhere. Sure I could have probably made more money elsewhere but this country is wide open and I enjoy seeing it. Yes I do miss my wife and now that the truck is mine I do get to spend a lot more time at home with her.

So which were the better days, yesterday or today. I guess it's really a trade off. There are a lot of things I miss about the old days on the road, mostly the camaraderie with others that you don't have today. But today I enjoy the easier lifestyle. Not having to always be somewhere yesterday. Not having to be wide open everywhere you go. I mostly enjoy the fact I do get my rest these days. Maybe that's from old age catching up to me. I don't know. I just know that things seem a lot easier these days.

Not A Good Day For A Birthday

It's Tammy's birthday. Her 22nd. Birthdays are days of great cheer. Especially in our younger years. We drink, we eat, we laugh. All our cares are gone for this one day while we ponder a year gone by and another, even brighter year, on the horizon. We celebrate this special day with our family and friends. Tammy is working on this day. She's a bartender at a sports bar outside Dayton, Ohio. Far from home, she is still surrounded by friends. This particular group of friends will jump at any reason to have a celebration. A birthday, Tammy's birthday, is really special for them and now they have a reason to throw the party to end all parties. They love her and she loves them. They are her regular customers. Yes they're her customers, but each is also a dear friend to her. What a great reason, and place, for a party.

Tammy

Not tonight. Not this year. The bar is eerily quiet and somber. There are some silent tears from her customers as they sit nursing their drinks and wondering what the future now holds for each of them, their families, friends, and our country. Even the biggest, baddest, most boisterous is quiet tonight. His eyes wet with tears he doesn't want others seeing. They are quietly crying, reflecting on, some praying for, those lost today. People they don't know. People they've never met and probably never would. Yet people they developed an instant bond with, as did the rest of the world. They are in shock, confused by the sights they've seen today. All eyes continue to be glued to the television tonight as they will be for days to come. Tammy is on the phone with her mother 500 miles away in South Carolina crying, along with her mother, for all those lost. "What a way to celebrate my birthday, and all the rest to come." You see, this birthday is September 11th, 2001. She was young but understood the impact this date will have on the American public for years to come. Hopefully, eternally.

It's Tough To Get Old...But It Does Beat The Alternative

Where did this guy go?

I remember when I was young my dad got up one morning complaining about being sore all over. I asked him what happened. He told me, "I must have slept wrong." What? It's sleeping. How can you screw that up? 4 easy steps. 1)You get in the bed. 2)You lay down. 3)You go to sleep. 4)You wake up. It's so easy that a bed doesn't even come with instructions. What's so hard about sleeping that you can't do it right? I've even fallen asleep standing up, in class. And that was after the teacher told me to stand against the wall because I fell asleep at my desk. I've never had trouble falling asleep and I never woke up sore. That was until about a year ago. Now I frequently wake up sore all over. Sometimes being sore is the reason I wake up. How does your neck get sore from sleeping? Or my arm? Or my back? I don't think I'm doing anything different. Even going to sleep is sometimes a pain. My legs get to kicking like I'm running a marathon.

Oh yeah, and where do these bruises come from? I think somebody is beating me up in my sleep. I can get in the shower and get out with bruises. What the ???? The other day I was cooking and felt something wet on my arm. I looked down and it was bleeding! I had a small cut that I have no idea where it came from. This old age thing sucks.

If I were a car I'd be headed for the scrapyard. I can't get started in the morning. I squeak when I move. I have occasional leaks and I make strange noises for no apparent reason. I've had the occasional tune-up but that don't help. My exterior is shot and I really hate to think what the interior is like. As my mom would have said, "I look like I've been rode hard and put up wet." I went to the doctor for a physical and while I was getting dressed he went outside and spoke to the wife. He told her, "I don't like the way your husband looks." She replied, "I don't either but he's handy around the house."

I guess I deserve it. I didn't take care of myself at all when I was young because, to tell the truth, I never figured I'd make it this long. I figured I would be dead by the ripe old age of 35. Anyone who has known me for any amount of time knows what I'm talking about. I had to be right on the ragged edge all the time. I think they call it a "Type A" personality. In fact A plus. Now that I'm older I look back and really do wonder how I made it this long. I believe I was the original, "Hey y'all. Watch this," guy. Fast cars. Faster motorcycles. Crazy women. Even my profession as a cop. I wasn't satisfied to be just a patrol officer, which is dangerous enough. I had to be a Detective, an undercover officer, where I was living on that line all the time. I figured one of these would have gotten me years ago.

When it's my time I don't want people walking up to the casket and saying, "My, don't he look good." No....I want them to walk up, look in, and say, "Oh crap. Did he get hit by a bus?"

Another part of getting older is the loss of my memory. It's bad enough to run into someone and can't think of their name. I'll be working on something, walk to the shed to get a tool, and can't remember what I came for. I'll walk around in there for awhile just looking around thinking if I see it I'll remember what I was there for. Finally I'll give up and go back to whatever I was doing. Eventually I'll need that tool again and make a second stab at going after it.

I still love my fast motorcycles and cars, and well, the wife makes sure I don't have to worry about the crazy women anymore. They still turn my head occasionally and like I tell her, "Just because I'm on a diet don't mean I can't look in the refrigerator." But she's good to me. It don't matter where I get my appetite as long as I eat at the house. Retiring and walking away from my job as a Police Officer was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. To leave something that was ingrained into me, was a part of me, was rough. I still get that adrenalin rush every time a police car goes by lights flashing, balls to the wall. Oh yeah, go git em boys. But I knew I was getting slower. None of us want to admit that we're getting older and slower but police work is a young man's game. If my reflexes are off a fraction of a second it could cost me or, worse yet, someone else their life. I have friends who are as old as me and are still in it and are still great at it. I just wasn't going to risk it.

When the Lord says, "Come on, it's time to go," I'll be glad to leave this old body behind because I know it's all used up anyway.

I will continue refusing to let life pass me by without living every minute of it. It's a little slower now and the things I enjoy are things I didn't pay enough attention to when I was younger. Quiet nights at home with the wife. Time with our Church. Kids, Grand kids. Friends. Family.

I am still learning to appreciate the slower life and finding things that were always there but I never slowed down enough to look at, and enjoy.

It's time for me now to Live, Love, Laugh, and Enjoy life in an all new and amazing way.

It May Be Bleeding And Battered, But Patriotism Is Very Much Alive

Schneider Operating Center, Edwardsville, Illinois. Monday, May 20, 2013, three am central time. I awoke to the sound of some serious rain and wind hitting my truck. Just what I need, more bad weather. It seems that's all I've had the past few weeks. I pulled the covers over my head and went back to sleep knowing I had to be up and out of there in a couple of hours. I finally got up the nerve to roll out of bed about five-thirty and attempted to get myself together for what I knew would be a long day. I needed to be in Topeka, Kansas before noon to drop my loaded trailer and then head to a small town outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma to pick up in the afternoon. I don't know why but I woke up with this terrible feeling of dread. There was an eerie feeling in my head and I couldn't seem to figure it out. It must be the horrible weather.

As soon as I pulled onto interstate 270 headed west I knew my misgivings were going to be accurate. A car cut between me and another truck, almost clipping both of us. The rain was still falling, but not a hard as when I first got out of bed. As I approached the Mississippi Bridge I started seeing signs that the two right lanes were closed due to construction. Great. Traffic is always bad along this stretch and now they're going to cut it off. The traffic was already heavy and as I approached the closed area I was driving in the last right lane that was open. At this time I noticed a set of headlights headed up the right side of me. The idiot is trying to beat me to the start of the construction. We're way too close. I turned on the emergency flashers and hit the brakes. There was traffic on the left of me, which he knew, and nowhere for me to go. I knew he couldn't make it and hoped that vehicles behind me saw my flashers and saw what was happening. Instead of trying to stop, he accelerated hard and took out two of the construction barrels. One went to the right and the other went across in front of my truck and into the left lanes. I didn't hit it but the other vehicles started bouncing it all over the interstate. Bumper pool with construction barrels. The driver that caused all this never even looked back.

I just looked up at the sky and asked the Lord to please get me through this day. In the distance I could see emergency flashers in the rain and they appeared to be in right lane. I moved over one more lane to the left. As I got closer it appeared to me I could also see....white lights? What the....? I know that no one in their right mind would be trying to back up in this weather and traffic. Sure enough, another idiot, this one backing up on the bridge which was about a mile long. I do hope they made it, but I don't know. Twenty miles and three near misses. Yep, this is going to be one hell-of-a day. I kept my speed down considerably until I was about ten miles west of O'Fallon. Even then the rain was still bad enough I kept the speed down around 60 even though it's a 70 mph speed zone. Thankfully most people by now had realized this was nothing to play with. Occasionally some crazy would pass like he had somewhere to be yesterday, but for the most part everyone was driving like they had some sense.

As I got just west of Columbia, Missouri I noticed a single headlight headed eastbound. That's got to be a car with a headlight out. Nobody would be riding a motorcycle in this weather. Wrong again, it was a bike. I looked closer thinking I recognized the banner across the windshield. For the first time today a smile came across my face. The banner was definitely one I recognized. "Patriot Guard Rider, Standing For Those Who Stood For Us." He's dedicated. He was bundled in leather from head to toe, probably riding about 45 to 50 mph but still moving. I continued to smile thinking about him and wondering where he was headed. About five miles further I passed three more PGR bikes headed east. I couldn't help but thinking of the old post office motto, "Neither rain nor hail, sleet nor snow..." The rain was extremely hard off and on and there were lightening strikes all around. Once the lightening flashed and thunder struck so close to me it caused me to jump in my seat. The weather app on my phone had started before I left Edwardsville and hadn't stopped. There were flash flood warnings and severe thunderstorm watches and warnings. I didn't want to be out in this mess in a my truck. I could only imagine how these guys felt riding bikes. But they had a "mission" and nothing was going to stop them.

I stopped in Booneville, Missouri to fuel and by the time I got back on the interstate the weather had eased. The wind was still blowing but the rain had turned to a fine mist. The lightening was all but gone. After getting back underway again I started passing more and more bikes. Some were one or two lone riders and then some were groups of as many as twenty. This continued for the next hundred miles. The farther west I drove, the better the weather became. Just west of Kansas City I hit the Kansas turnpike and about twenty miles out I saw about thirty people standing on an overpass facing west and holding large American flags as more an more riders were headed east. I had to make a quick pit stop and called Diane and told her, "You're not going to believe what I'm seeing." It was really hard to speak as so many bikes went by flying the American flag. I was only there a minute or two and I pulled back out to continue my run. As soon as I got back on the interstate another overpass that was just covered with people waving flags and cheering at the bikes passing underneath. Then I saw it. Police had every entrance to the turnpike blocked and there were what seemed to be thousands of bikes. This is what the people were cheering for: ROLLING THUNDER, THE RUN FOR THE WALL. The sight of all these patriotic Americans, both those on bikes and those on the overpasses and sides of the highways supporting them, was completely overwhelming. Those who couldn't join them enroute to DC were coming out by the thousands across America to cheer them on and show their support. I got choked up at the sight of all this and couldn't even speak. I thought I would have to pull to the side just to compose myself. I had a lump in my throat and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I knew I was going to have to write about this. In a period of about 4 hours my day had gone from horrific to awesome.

Little did I know my emotional roller coaster was running away and wouldn't let me off for a couple of days.

I continued on the last thirty miles to Topeka and dropped my loaded trailer. I picked up an empty and headed toward Tulsa, Oklahoma. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Every one knows my involvement with the Patriot Guard Riders and the American Legion Riders.

As I got farther south the weather started turning again. My phone started with the weather alerts. Severe thunderstorm warnings and flood warnings were coming two or three every five to ten minutes. The wind started picking up dramatically, blowing my empty trailer all over the road. I was listening to Fox News on the satellite and they were doing a pretty good job of staying with the weather. They discontinued normal broadcasting. I got an alert on the phone of a tornado on the ground near Tulsa and at the same time Fox told of a massive tornado on the ground in Moore, Oklahoma. I didn't know where Moore was off hand and grabbed my map. I was figuring it was close to Tulsa. I found it pretty quick and realized it was about 80 miles from me.

Weather as I was headed toward Jenks, Oklahoma from my Dash Cam.

I continued on just wanting to get to Jenks, Oklahoma where I would get rid of this empty trailer and find a place to hunker down. I was able to do just that before the weather got really bad where I was. As I got parked the news was becoming more dramatic with the unfolding events in Moore. I was glued to the satellite radio. Storms came through where I was parked and it seemed for a short while we would suffer the same fate as Moore but it passed quickly.

While the tornado was on the ground, news we were hearing was devastating. Multiple deaths and the destruction of an entire town and two schools.

At the same time news was also coming in of heroes. People were flooding the scene trying to look for those missing and in need of help. Neighbors were helping neighbors. They were going door to door. We heard of teachers covering children with their own bodies to protect them. We heard of Police, Firefighters, and Emergency Medical personnel doing what they always do when needed. We started hearing of everyday citizens doing whatever was asked of them.

Bloodied teachers helping children in Moore, Oklahoma

This is patriotism in the truest sense. Love and Devotion to country. This is what America is all about. During times of adversity we pull ourselves up by the boot straps and do what is needed. Moore, Oklahoma is a suburb of Oklahoma City and has seen more adversity than most of us will ever know. On April 19th, 1995 they lost friends and family in the Oklahoma City bombing. Many residents of Moore worked there. On May 3rd, 1999 a tornado with the highest winds ever recorded, 302 mph, touched down in Moore killing 24 and doing over 2 billion dollars in damage. The residents of this area will once again pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start again. While under this tremendous stress they are still looking out for and helping each other. The citizens of this country will help and stand with them. They are not alone and we have let them know that we are here. People and money is pouring in from everywhere. If that's not Patriotism, I don't know what is.

When our servicemen and women returned from Vietnam they were discharged and released into the world without help to readjust and for the most part were despised and avoided. They weren't told where to seek the help many needed and employers refused to hire them. I was in from early 1972 through the end of 1979. Almost eight years of service to my country and was not even told so much as goodbye. I received my honorable discharge in the mail since I had taken terminal leave and was home on my actual discharge date. I never received any information on benefits I was due or anything else. Thank goodness I had plenty of support from family and I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

Today the government may not be doing what they should for our vets, but by God, the citizens are. There are numerous foundations to help those in need and today our citizens aren't afraid to extend a helping hand and even just say, "Thank You."

Funeral for Deputy Alton Creech, RCSO

 I received a couple of photos on Tuesday showing the Patriot Guard Riders at the funeral of Deputy Alton Creech. I didn't really know Deputy Creech well but I knew he was a motorcycle officer with the Richmond County Sheriff's Office and a ET3 in the U.S. Naval reserve. He was serving his community and the country he believed in and we shared a love of Law Enforcement, the Navy, and our motorcycles. The funeral was attended by a contingent of Patriot Guard Riders and the population of Augusta, Ga turned out in droves. Again, that is what patriotism is all about. Love and Devotion to country and those who protect us.

This is the second Motor Officer Richmond County has lost in just over a year. I know how heartbreaking it is to lose a brother or sister officer and how hard it is to recover. They will move on in spite of the hurt. They are a dedicated group of officers and they have a wonderful backing from the population to help them through.

Graveside Service for Deputy Alton Creech, RCSO

I guess I'm starting to just ramble now. The past few days, as I said earlier, has been an emotional roller coaster. It's now Memorial Day and I'm sitting at the Operating Center in West Memphis where I've been since yesterday about noon. I still can't deliver until tomorrow afternoon so I have way too much time to sit and think and that's never a good thing.

Schneider "Ride Of Pride" Truck for 2013

On this Memorial Day I'm sitting here looking out over a sea of orange trucks and trailers. I am proud to be associated with a company that believes in, and supports, our service men and women. They actively recruit veterans, knowing they have the discipline and drive to accomplish the task at hand. They also honor those who've fallen as witnessed by the "Ride of Pride" trucks they put on the road each year with a deserving veteran driving them. They do one a year with this year's being pictured. Again patriotism up front and in your face.

Patriotism is still alive and well with most of America. There are still pockets who don't care. As I sat thinking about who are those people that don't think about anything past today and the first group that came to mind was our young people, teenagers. Almost like she was reading my mind, a post came up on Facebook from my granddaughter. It read, "I love having my FREEDOM!!! Happy Memorial Day to all the women and men, who have served and are serving our country! Thank you! :)" 

Thank you Haley for helping make an old man believe there is hope in our young people.
Love You,
Papa

To all my friends, family, and readers: Have a great Memorial Day and when you say grace over that Bar-B-Que, say an extra prayer for the families and friends of those who died protecting our right to live in a free and wonderful country.

Blue Lights In The Mirror, What A Way To End The Day

Saturday, April 6th. This is the kind of day that makes rolling a truck across the highways of this nation special. The weather couldn't be much better. It's cool, but not cold with slightly overcast skies. I've got old 70's rock and roll on the satellite radio. Traffic is light. I'm pulling a light load with a new energy-efficient trailer which means I'm getting great fuel mileage. I travel through some of the most beautiful country in the United States as I cross interstate 40 through Tennessee, all four hundred fifty-one miles of it. Rolling mountains all the way across and into North Carolina. I was up early this morning at 4:30, 3:30 central when I started out.

I-40 Bridge coming into Memphis at 3:30 am (CST)

I got to Hurricane Mills, Tenn at about 7:00 am and had a wonderful breakfast at Loretta Lynn's Kitchen.

The rest of the morning and into the early afternoon was wonderful. Great day that could only be better if I was on my Harley. But then....

A North Carolina Highway Patrol car slowly passes me, backs out of it and falls in to my left side as he travels just behind me. Blue lights start flashing. I'm driving with the cruise control set at 63 in a 70 zone, in my lane not weaving and clearly wearing my seat belt. Nothing is wrong with my truck and I'm not doing anything wrong. Oh wait, yes I am, I'm driving a truck. Just being behind the wheel makes me a suspect. What crime? It doesn't matter. I see an exit ramp about 1/2 mile from where I am so I let off the cruise and turn on the emergency flashers so he knows I am pulling over as soon as I get to a safe location.

It's a young trooper who tells me to open my passenger door. He steps on the running board and looks around inside the truck. He's very nice. Very professional. "I need the registration on the truck and trailer, your driver's license, medical card, and log book. I stopped you to do an inspection." I asked what prompted him to stop me and was told, "Nothing, I just thought I'd do a random inspection." Can you imagine the uproar if this were happening to people in cars? No probable cause. Not even reasonable suspicion you're doing anything wrong or in violation of any laws. Just, "I thought I'd do a random inspection."

I came away from the stop with perfect inspection but terrible disposition. What a way to screw up the perfect day. Even though my truck is, like me, getting older with a lot of miles I try to keep it in top notch condition. It is serviced and a complete preventative maintenance is done between 15 and 18 thousand miles. My son owns a diesel repair shop, ServiceFleet, in Augusta, Ga and him and his mechanics do all my routine maintenance work. They know that if I don't pass an inspection because of something they missed it will be hell to pay.

I do it by the book. I run completely legal and compliant. My log books are electronic and help keep me 100% legal. I run at or below the speed limits. This not only helps from a safety standpoint but the reduced speeds, especially on the interstates, reduces my fuel costs and puts money in my pocket. Just one nickel per mile is $125.00 per week based on an average of 2500 miles a week. That's $6500 per year just by keeping my speed lower and not idling the truck. Safety pays.

I understand safety from all my years as a law enforcement officer. I know not all trucks are not well maintained and not everybody is going to run by the book. I am as concerned as the next person by this. It's my life and that of my family who must share the roads with these people so don't get me wrong, I do get it!

My complaint is not about trucks being inspected. You will never hear me complain (loudly anyway) about a routine inspection at a scale house or other location set up specifically for checking all trucks. My complaint is a Fourth Amendment issue. Why do I lose my rights against unreasonable search and seizure just because I happen to be sitting behind the wheel of a tractor-trailer?

Terry v. Ohio, 392 U.S. 1 (1968), was decided by the United States Supreme Court 45 years ago and was a landmark decision which held that the Fourth Amendment prohibition on unreasonable searches and seizures are not violated when a police officer stops a suspect on the street and frisks him or her without probable cause to arrest, if the police officer has reasonable suspicion that the person has committed, is committing, or is about to commit a crime and has a reasonable belief that the person "may be armed and dangerous."

The Terry Court recognized that ''not all personal intercourse between policemen and citizens involves 'seizures' of persons,'' and suggested that ''[o]nly when the officer, by means of physical force or show of authority, has in some way restrained the liberty of a citizen may we conclude that a 'seizure' has occurred.''  Years later Justice Stewart proposed a similar standard, that a person has been seized ''only if, in view of all of the circumstances surrounding the incident, a reasonable person would have believed that he was not free to leave.''

 http://constitution.findlaw.com/amendment4/annotation03.html> 

United States Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguably one of the most liberal justices, more recently wrote the opinion for the unanimous court in the case of Arizona v. Johnson 555 U.S. 323 (2009) which in part read: "During a traffic stop... passengers are seized under the Fourth Amendment once the vehicle they're in, when stopped by the police comes to a complete stop on the side of the road..."

I put these references in to show that we are not afforded the same rights under the Bill of Rights as every other citizen, including criminals.

Look at the references. Under Terry a police officer must at least have reasonable suspicion that the person has committed, is committing, or is about to commit a crime...to be stopped in the first place. As I was driving along I fell into none of the categories and the officer had no reason to think any of these had, were, or were going to be done.

Once I was stopped "by show of authority" I was not allowed to leave. Can you imagine how far under the jail I would have been tossed if I had told him I didn't have time for the inspection and needed to continue on. This constituted a seizure under the strictest meaning of the word since I was in no way "free to leave."

Even Justice Ginsburg agreed that once a vehicle is stopped on the side of the road, "passengers are seized."

Like I said I understand the need for safety on our highways. A truck in the wrong hands is like a firearm in the wrong hands and will eventually kill. But will stepping on the Bill of Rights help anyone or is it like the President with his gun control agenda? All this is doing is creating a nation of criminals. Even if we are doing it the best and safest way possible we are still treated like criminals. We are "profiled" just for driving a truck.

How many other professions have entire law enforcement agencies, federal, state and local, dedicated to nothing but policing their profession? I can't off hand think of any. The Federal government has the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration (FMCSA) that does nothing but regulate trucks. Each state has it's own truck enforcement division, whether it be called Transport Police, Dept of Transportation, Public Utilities or many other names they are all the same. Even local law enforcement have jumped on the band wagon in recent years assigning officers to nothing but truck enforcement. We have to obey all motor vehicle laws that the normal citizen does but, we have Federal, local, and state laws on top of those. I hate to say it because I heard it so many times over the years, "The city must be short on funds this month so you're writing more tickets," but a lot of this is a revenue grab.

Now we also have the FMCSA putting out new regulations or changing regulations almost daily and we are supposed to keep up with them.

Under it's newest rule, CSA (Compliance Safety Accountability) we are charged with things we have absolutely no control over. CSA was implemented over the weekend of December 2011 and is supposed to be a Safety Management System. CSA is currently being challenged in court but is still in use as the lawsuit proceeds.

CSA is flawed on many fronts but the most outrageous is in its Evaluation. "Evaluate safety performance of carriers and drivers and identify behavior patterns that may result in unsafe operations."

Read that again "....that may result in unsafe operations." This isn't saying that I have operated unsafely, only that I may, sometime in the future, operate unsafely due to their less that well thought out criteria. If I had a clearance light burn out during my trip when I had gotten stopped for the "inspection" I would have gotten points accessed on a scale of 1 to 100 with 100 being the worse. They think because this light burned out somewhere along my route I should have caught it and therefore I'm a danger on the highway.

I don't even have to do anything wrong. I am assigned points for anything that I'm involved with whether I'm at fault or not. Even if I am given a warning ticket it will be placed on my CSA record and held against me without due process of law under the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution. You can't go to court and fight a warning ticket so you have no recourse and you still get the points accessed.

One of the best examples of what can happen was stated by the Vice President of Safety for Groendyke Transport, Steve Niswander, during an inverview. "A driver can have a bad score, yet be a great driver. If, for example, a car driven by a drunk driver crosses the median and hits the truck head-on causing the death of both the driver and their passenger, you have an alcohol-involved accident with two fatalities. That will go on the driver's CSA record and it will blow their score clean out of the water through no fault of their own."

Did you read that? Scary huh? Let's try that on a passenger car. After Church you took the family to Grandma's house for Sunday fried chicken. The strongest thing you've had to drink is some of your Mom's great sweet iced tea. Now you, your wife and your two children leave and head on home. As you're driving along through town a drunk driver running 70 mph runs a stop sign hitting your car and killing everyone in the car but you. Of course the drunk driver walks away with minor injuries. You have just been involved in an alcohol-related accident with three fatalities. You've just lost your entire family and now you will also lose your job, and home because of something you had nothing to do with other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the points are accessed against you just for being involved. Can't happen. It could if you were behind the wheel of a truck.

I heard a story on the radio awhile back about a woman driver who had over a million miles of safe driving. No accidents, no tickets. She was stopped in traffic due to construction and even turned on her emergency flashers to warn other motorists. Someone texting and driving and not paying attention hit her truck in the rear killing themselves. Over ten years of safe driving didn't count. She was fired and can't get another job because of this incident on her record although she did everything right.

I could go on and on but I won't. I'll leave it here.

I'm not a lawyer but I do have a deep and passionate love of the law. This is my opinion based on research I've done. I'm a retired cop who's just trying to provide for my family now by driving and owning a truck. I'm not a criminal so please quit treating me like one.

PS: Thanks to a great organization like OOIDA for standing up for the little guy who can't to do it alone.