Reach Out If You Need Someone, Be There If Someone Needs You

"Tony, Matt (name has been changed) has found his father's gun and is in his bedroom threatening to kill himself. You're the only I one know and I can call. The sheriff gave me your number. I think Matt trusts you and will talk to you. Please, can you come?" That was a call I received at home about 11:30 one Friday night from a very distraught mother of a crack addict. Of course I was going. I was working narcotics and vice at the time and had dealings with them before. I called dispatch while on the way and advised them I would need back up at that location. I told them to make sure the other units came in with no lights or sirens and no one approached that residence until I got there. We didn't need to scare him anymore than he already was.

When I got to the house two uniformed deputies were waiting in their cars just down the street. Good. There's no way they were seen. I asked for one of them to accompany me down the hall to the bedroom and to stay in the hall, just out of sight in case I needed help. The other was to take the mother to the other end of the house and keep her there in case it turned bad. I was not a trained negotiator. I was going to have to "wing it."

I gently tapped on the door and told him I was coming in. I stuck my head around the corner to assess the situation and saw him with the gun pointed towards his head. I then slowly entered the room as he turned the gun on me. I had my firearm at the ready and Matt had his pointed at me. A standoff.  "Mr. Taylor, I'll kill you." "No you won't Matt," I told him as I lowered my 9 mm to my side, still keeping it at ready. "If you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it soon as I came around the corner. You want me to kill you and it ain't gonna happen tonight." Suicide by Cop. Officers deal with it everyday. If one of the other officers had walked in first they may have had no choice. I had an advantage, I knew this kid. He was nervous, agitated, crying and shaking as he sat in the corner facing the door with his gun still aimed at me, but he wasn't a killer. He wanted a hit off a crack pipe bad but I felt he also wanted someone to listen. He lowered the gun, finger still on the trigger, but now pointed at the floor between his knees. I sat down in the opposite corner by the door. He continued to cry as he talked about the damage he had done, not only to his life, but mostly the damage and hurt he was causing, and had already caused, his mother. He felt by leaving this world he could ease her pain and that he would be giving her the gift of relief from him and his addiction. It had led to him stealing from her and even removing household items to sell or barter for crack. Matt's dad had died a few years earlier and it left him with an emptiness and depression he couldn't control. His mother worked hard to be both mother and father to him but that void was still there. She had tried counseling and had done everything she could, but no one could break through the wall he built. He turned to alcohol and pot with his friends and then stepped up to free-basing cocaine and then crack. As daylight started shining through the windows and we had been talking all night Matt finally gave me the gun. We walked out to the waiting arms of his mother. He was taken to the hospital for evaluation then transferred to the state mental institution in Anderson for treatment. As the deputies left his mother broke down and cried in my arms for what seemed like an hour. I escorted her to the ER and looked in on Matt. He was still scared and crying. He thanked me and I wished him luck. I lost track of them shortly after that as I took a job in another town. I do hope he made it back.

Yesterday evening a dear friend posted on Facebook a suicide prevention hotline number and post to hopefully let people know that people are listening, caring and will talk if you'll reach out. This got me to thinking about the above story and the many needless deaths I have investigated over the years due to suicide. It made me look further into this as it is increasing yearly.

Did you know that in 2014 (the latest year I could find accurate statistics) forty-two thousand, seven hundred and seventeen people took their own lives. That's 117.2 per day in this country and it's the 10th leading cause of death in the country. Did you know that three times more people will die at their own hands compared to someone else murdering them? Amazing isn't it? We jump up and down demanding action about those being murdered but don't say anything about those taking their own lives. This doesn't even take into consideration the suicide attempts made daily. Hospitals and clinics in the US reported 494,169 self-harm attempts which were reported and taken to hospital and clinics. That's 1,354 per day. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention states that for every suicide fatality there are 25 attempts which brings that total to a whopping 1,069,325 or just under 2,930 per day. Can you imagine the outcry if these same people were to die at the hands of someone else.
58,000 died during the entire Vietnam war spanning 20 years. Remember the outrage? Where is the outrage over those who believe they can't go on today.

Annually 12.93 out of every 100,000 citizens commit suicide. While we're on statistics let's look at our military men and women. 19.1 out of every 100,000 men and women in the military commit suicide each year, almost double the national average.

Enough statistics. What can we do? I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist but I do know how to love and listen to my neighbor. I can be there for him or her. I can learn, and look for the signs. I can reach out, even if they won't.

Several months ago a young man came to our church and I greeted him as he entered with a handshake as Diane smiled, hugged, and welcomed him. I saw a sad face turn to a brief smile and for a second he held his head up a little higher. As service was about to start I noticed he was sitting near the back of the church looking down and depressed. I sat with him and asked him to tell me a little about himself. He started tell me where he came from and how he had ended up at Faith Riders Church. He seemed to be starting to feel a little better as the music started playing and the services were beginning. I told him I would really like to speak with him more after the service and went to sit by Diane. Shortly after the service started I looked back and he was gone. I should never have left him alone and have felt guilty about it since that morning. I promised myself it would never happen again. If someone needs an ear, I have two. You need someone to talk to get hold me. I will listen.

If you are the one who feels the world is closing in around you, contact someone. Call a friend, family or even that hotline number Lynette sent me to post last night: 800-273-8255. This is an actual suicide prevention hotline number. I contacted it as I was writing this article to make sure that my friends and I have not been posting a fraudulent number. If they don't answer immediately, please hold they will answer. If you are concerned about a friend or family member, they will help with that also.

If you would like to research causes, risk factors, and symptoms the Mayo Clinic has great research materials available online at: Mayo Clinic - Suicide Research

If I can be of help email me at: Tony   All you have to do to reach my email is click on the link. That is usually the easiest way to get in touch with me. If I don't get back immediately, don't get discouraged, I will. I can't check emails while driving but I do check at each stop. Also please leave something in the subject line so I know it's not a scam.

Remember, it may not feel like it, but your life does matter to someone.

Dumb Crook News

Several years ago while working as the Chief of the Narcotics and Violent Crimes Unit in Johnston (Great title, but I was the Narcotics and Violent Crimes Unit), a part of my responsibilities was that of court officer. As such during Edgefield County's two week per quarter Circuit Court I had to be at the courthouse early every morning and sometimes late into the night as we met with the Grand Jury, discussed cases, interviewed witnesses, prepared for the next day's session, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, on one such long night it seems I had just got home, grabbed a quick bite to eat and climbed into bed when the phone rang. I looked at the clock and it was about 1:00 am. Dispatch was calling stating there had been an armed robbery at the all night convenience store in town and one of the clerks had been injured. A patrol unit was on the scene and EMS was en route. I grabbed my gear, jumped into my police car and headed to town. When I got there I spoke with the uniformed officer and then talked with the clerks. One of the clerks pushed one of the robbers away and told him she wasn't giving him "S..." He hit her across the face with a Mac 10 type weapon knocking her to the floor. She wasn't seriously injured and refused to go to the hospital. EMS treated her on the scene and left. While I was interviewing the clerks they told me that about 20 minutes before the robbery two guys had come into the store and asked if I was working that night. They told them they hadn't seen me so they didn't believe I was on duty. The clerks told me they believed they were the same two who robbed them. If a crook won't pull a robbery if I'm working.....well what can I say? We went back and reviewed the tape. They had purposely avoided looking toward the camera but, sure enough, when we continued playing the tape until the robbery the two that came in were wearing the same clothes but this time they had bandanas over their faces and hoods pulled up over their heads. When the one robber hit the woman in the face he went down onto his knees to get right up in her face, again demanding she open the safe. When he did his bandana came down. Instead of pulling it up immediately he turned around looking for the camera to see if it had caught him. Perfect picture. I still couldn't identify the second suspect so I called the County Narcotics Investigator. He seemed to know everyone in town and he did this one, "That's his younger brother."

Later that morning I had to be back in court so when I got a break I went to the Judge and obtained warrants against both the suspects for the armed robbery, assault, using a firearm during the commission of a crime and a couple more for good measure.

I had no problem locating the leader of the two since he was sitting in the back of the courtroom waiting to have his case come up on an earlier arrest where he had burglarized a business and I happened to come up during the break-in. He ran from the store with me in hot pursuit. When he got to a fence at the back of the business he pulled what turned out to be a sawed-off .410 shotgun from a gym bag where he had stashed his loot. I pulled my weapon, pointed it at him and told him to drop it. He did, along with the gym bag, and he jumped the fence. I didn't continue the chase and got the shotgun and gym bag. When I got back to my office I checked the bag and found several items he had stolen along with a picture ID of him including his address.

You shouldn't be allowed to be that stupid twice. The court did give him a lengthy sentence to try to learn his trade a little better before he returns to society.

They Call Me Doc

Beaufort Naval Hospital

We were only kids. We were 18, 19, 20 years old. We were dodging bullets in the jungles to try

Sharon McDowell

to save that marine who went down. We were working the ambulances, headed to a multi-car crash caused by a drunk driver. We tried to help those hurt and dying while watching the drunk walk away unharmed. We worked on those from that same crash in the emergency rooms, stopping the bleeding, suturing the wounds, giving oxygen and life saving fluids. All the while, reassuring the loved ones. We were awakened after only a couple hours sleep to man the operating room where the latest stabbing victim had been brought. We worked airplane and helicopter crashes. We may have delivered your child or watched over your premature baby or sick child all night keeping a constant vigil while we also held your hand and prayed with you. We tended to your needs as you lay in that hospital room gasping for breath or in pain. We gave you the medication you so badly needed to ease your pain or fight your illness. We ran the pharmacy where you got your medicine and the laboratory working with specimens so your illness could be properly diagnosed and treated. Were we to make a mistake, we may aggravate the problem or, God forbid, someone could die.

Wally Jarratt

And yes, we were kids. This responsibility had been given to us at such a young age. A good friend and I discussed this a few weeks ago. He said it right. Most of us were still teenagers, still learning to walk in an adult world. We didn't have a degree from a medical college. We had a certificate from the United States Navy Hospital Corps School that should have stated somewhere on it that one day soon, after graduation, we would be expected to walk on water. At least, that's how most of us felt and we wondered if we could live up to the high expectations and continue the traditions of those who were here before us. We also wore a rating patch on our shoulder letting the world know we were United States Navy Corpsmen. we wore that patch proudly. I guess the proudest thing we had was the nickname given by our marines, sailors, and occasionally, a dependent we were treating. The name "DOC." The name wasn't given lightly and it didn't matter if you were male or female, you had to earn it, and once earned, you carried it with honor and pride.

We were only kids, but we learned, we lived, we laughed, we loved, and occasionally, we cried. We

Donna J "DJ" Dedert-Clark

rejoiced when the wounded or ill were able to walk out of that hospital or off that field. We cried when they were carried away. When one of us rejoiced, we all rejoiced. When one of us hurt, we all hurt. We were family. We saw things and did things that deeply affected each of us. We leaned on each other. We couldn't take this home. It may or may not have been true, but to us we felt as if no one could understand unless they had been there. We always had each other. We knew. We understood. Some things we can never forget, some good, some bad. Each of us was changed by what we did and what we witnessed. Each of us handled it differently. Some people remained with the Navy for a career. Some left the Navy and continued in the medical field. Some of us went in an entirely different direction but no one left without carrying what we had experienced with us, both on a personal, and professional level.

Me in much younger days

It seems from reading this everyday was gloom, doom and stress. Far from it. When the time came to work, we worked and we worked hard. Each one knew his and her job and did it exceptionally well but, when it was time to play we played as hard as we worked. There were always the practical jokes, whether on each other, or some poor unsuspecting schmo who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We played golf, tennis, football, baseball and soccer. Each was always played with that same fighting spirit and striving to win that saw us through our work. Many times it was just head over to the good old "Anchor Inn" and relax, laugh, talk, and again, occasionally, cry on each other's shoulder. We had each other. If it seems I'm boasting, yeah, I am. Remember, we were kids.

Although I was able to post only a few of the photos here, there are many, many more good men and women I had the honor of serving with during 8 years and two tours at the US Naval Hospital Beaufort ('72-'73), ('76-'79), and during my time with the 10th Marines, 2nd Marine Division, Camp Lejeune, NC ('73-'76). Each of them left a lasting impression.

Next year a group of us from the Beaufort Naval Hospital are planning to reunite after way too many years. As the time draws near so does the apprehension as it has been so long ago. I have a feeling we will reconnect as if only a couple of days have passed. Love you all and miss those times together.

United We Stand.....

Good evening friends and neighbors from a small fuel stop in Laurel, Mississippi. Tomorrow I'll get up early and take this load into the flood ravaged parts of southern Louisiana. When I first got here I went inside to get a quick bite to eat in a Huddle House restaurant attached to the fuel stop. I mostly listened to the conversation going on about the floods and thousands of displaced people in the area just south of here where I'm heading. They talked about the millions, possibly billions, of dollars in damage. People's jobs, homes, places of worship and businesses destroyed. Some of the people and businesses may pack up and leave as they did after Katrina, never to return. Most of these people didn't have flood insurance. The people talking were a rather diverse group. There were the cooks, waitresses, truck drivers and just your average citizens. Their conversations centered around family and friends in the area and also what they were doing as far as donations and volunteering time to help clean up. I'm sure several of these people live paycheck to paycheck and barely make enough to live on, much less donate, but here they were helping out any way possible. The people were also both black and white. You didn't hear talk of black lives matter or blue lives matter or white lives matter. The only thing on their minds was, "EVERYONE MATTERS and we've all got to pitch in and help in any way possible.

As I got back to the truck I felt a little better about mankind. These people didn't care about the politicians or agitators, they only know people need help. They don't care about color, sex, nationality or any other thing that may set them apart. They're brothers and sisters in life. I normally don't talk about what I have in the truck as there are too many people ready to steal whatever they can to make a quick buck, even if it means stealing from those in need. This time I'm carrying a load of diapers. That's right something as simple as diapers. Something that people my age normally wouldn't think of as being a necessity. But it did make me think of all the babies and toddlers in need. Yesterday on Facebook I saw a video of Trump handing out toys from a truck. At the time all I could think about was what a waste of resources. Now with the load I'm carrying I had to back up and rethink this. Were these needed? You bet. Anything to give a little bit of comfort to a small, displaced child.

We should all look at the way most of the people down here have pitched in to help. We should all do anything we can, even in our own communities. This nation must reunite! We all heard someone say if you don't like the way things are, leave. No! Don't leave, fight. Not along your narrow little political agenda but for the betterment of all society. We don't need color barriers or anything else to stand in our way. If we don't reunite soon, and with a purpose, we will become another third world country fighting to survive day by day.

Several years ago Leon Everette and the Faith Riders Band released a song and video called "United We Stand." The song was recently re-released with a new video and has reached number 7 on the Top 20 Country Countdown ahead of some very interesting artists. Give a listen. I believe the words alone will help understand where we are and where we need to be. Click on the link:

Leon Everette and the Faith Riders Band

I hate to say it but I guess I'm as bad as the next guy when it comes to helping out someone in need. I have crossed the street to keep from running into homeless people, but I am trying to do better as each of us should.

The Faith Riders Motorcycle Ministry motto: James 2:26 "As the body without the spirit is dead, Faith without good deeds is also dead".

I'll try to do better if you will.

Love you all and until next time give a brother a helping hand.

The Motorcycle Ride Of My Life

The man who saw it has given testimony, and his testimony is true. He knows that he tells the truth, and he testifies so that you also may believe.  (John 19:35) NIV

Quite awhile back our evening Church service deviated from the norm and seemed to be turning into a real, old time Holy Ghost revival with music, singing, and testimonies. Now don't get me wrong, our Church always has wonderful music and our pastors always preach the Bible. Every 5th Sunday we have singing and testimony during the evening service. I really don't remember this particular night as being one of those. As I remember it the music from Leon and the Faith Riders Band and the opening prayer really got the Church moving. There was a presence in that service where you could feel the Lord working. Pastor Atkinson said the Lord was moving and to let it continue. Someone was asking others to get up and give a testimony and made the comment, "Everyone has a testimony, you all have one, whether you know it or not." I can't remember who it was but I'm sure it was either Kid or Leon. I turned to my wife, Diane, and quietly told her, "Not me, I don't have one." She just gave me one of those looks, like she does from time to time when I go off into my own little world.

Diane giving me one of "Those Looks"

Like I said, that was a long time back but for some reason I've been thinking about that night a lot lately, and it led me to the realization that not only do I have a testimony, my entire life has been a testimony.

When I was younger I never thought I'd live to see 30, then as I passed 30, 35, then 40, I still had to always be right on the edge, always wide open. Most of those who knew me pretty much also believed I was living on borrowed time. I used to tell people, "When I go, you're going to read about it. Not in the obituaries, but on the front page." I figured that my time on this earth would end in an horrific car or motorcycle crash, maybe during a pursuit while working, or racing, or maybe even heading home, driving or riding like a maniac, or maybe I'd get shot by some crazy I was trying to arrest during an undercover narcotics or firearms deal, or by a mad boyfriend or husband of some woman I happened to be chasing at the time. Now here I am at 62. I still  like to go to the edge. Only now I go to the edge and look over instead of jumping off. I look back on those days and know during that time the Lord was protecting me while leading me in a direction that I didn't understand. I didn't know where I was being taken, why, for what purpose. Those things are still somewhat hazy to me. I still don't know where, exactly, this journey is taking me. Maybe this is part of my journey. Maybe this is where I'm being led, to tell you, and others, how I got to where I am today and to help you realize that every now and then you just have to follow along where ever the Lord is leading you. I have dozens of testimonies, or stories, of how God has led me, used me, or just pulled me through trying times when, at the time, I didn't even know it. 

We've all heard the saying that, "God works in mysterious ways." This is just one of the ways he has worked in my life.

You all see me in my vest, tee shirt, boots and jeans, this is me. This is who I am today. This is probably who I've always been. Motorcycles have taken me in a full circle and brought me to where I am today. I'm not only talking about physically. I'm talking about where I am in my life, at this very moment in time. I know I'm still not where I'm supposed to be, but I am well on my way. So now I'm sure I've got you wondering, "How can the Lord use a motorcycle to bring you around?" Well, listen up. It's no telling what, or who, he is using to bring you home.

I've had a love affair with motorcycles since I was about 14 years old and my brother brought home a brand new 1968 BSA 65o Lightning and taught me how to ride it. I did hundreds of miles just riding around and around the house. I was Michael Parks in Then Came Bronson, heading off to some far away place and some new adventure. I was Steve McQueen trying to escape from a Nazi prison camp. It seemed to be a new destination, a new adventure, each time I lapped the house. After a short time my brother lost interest in the bike and sold it. Broke my heart, but I didn't forget the exhilaration I felt each time I heard that powerful engine come to life, the distinctive click when it was put into gear and the way it pushed you back as you eased onto the throttle. It's a feeling that a lot of people will never know and some of us can always feel by just closing our eyes and thinking. So how did that bring me here?

As I've talked about before, when I was 17 years old a preacher followed my girlfriend and I to the car one night after church and told me, "We don't need your kind at this Church." He proceeded to call me a "long-haired, dope smoking, hippie," although I was dressed in a coat and tie, was neat and clean, with my "long hair" (over the ears and barely touching my collar) clean and combed.

The 17 y/o Long Haired, Dope Smoking Hippie

That night I walked away from the church and didn't look back. Life changed, I changed. Oh, at first everything stayed pretty much the same. I didn't go back to church and told myself if that's the way churches are then I didn't need the hassle. Let's see how they like it when they're no longer getting my $3.50 tithes every week. (That was 10% of my weekly salary. You do the math) I could read my Bible and study on my own. Right. We all know how that works out, first you try to read nightly, then it's every few nights, then occasionally. Eventually you lay your Bible on the shelf. You may pick it up again, sometimes, and read a little, then you lay it over there and things get placed on it and eventually you not only don't even think about it, you probably couldn't find it if you wanted to. After that night at Church my girlfriend and I started arguing, mainly over my refusal to go to church, any church, but then over anything. That was okay too. I remembered an old love, one that wouldn't argue with me, one that would be ready, willing, and able, one that would go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. She'd always be at my beck and call. So on my next day off I went looking and I found her. A brand new 1971 Honda motorcycle. I couldn't wait to go show it to my "other love." As soon as I pulled up she came out of her house and went off on me, mainly about what I could have better spent my money on and how much I had changed in the last few weeks. She absolutely refused to go for a ride just around the block. I left and went by work and showed her off and then just went cruising. Wow! When she talks, it's music. Well when I got home I called my girl, or what used to be my girl, because as soon as she answered she told me she wouldn't be seeing me anymore and we should do our best to avoid each other at school and anywhere else. No problem, I had a new woman waiting under the carport. I went out fired her up and off we went. Again she didn't complain.

I started dressing different. Black jacket, boots and jeans. I let the hair get longer. Out of a school of around two thousand students there were two of us that rode bikes. I became the outlaw, the movie and television persona of what a biker was. I acted tough. I was wild. I learned to really ride. All of a sudden I started being noticed at school. Before I just blended into the crowd. I found a lot of the prim and proper girls who had never even given me a second look were now speaking, even asking for a ride. "Just don't tell anybody." To them I was James Dean, rebel without a cause. To me I was still Tony "Butch" Taylor, rebel without a clue. It didn't take long for that lifestyle to get old. It's hard being someone you're really not. Sure, I liked the little bit of attention, I liked the girls, I liked the idea that people would speak to me that never before knew I existed. What I didn't like was me. I was lost and floundering. I really didn't have a clue. I was lonelier than I had ever been. I didn't know where to turn next. I never once thought about turning back to that Bible sitting on my shelf. I hadn't been a good student in a while and now I wasn't doing anything. One day I left school and never went back. I didn't quit. That would have involved telling everyone bye, signing papers, turning in books, I just left. I guessed that sooner or later they'd figure it out. A couple of days later I was taking entrance exams to join the Navy. The first anyone knew of this is when I told my mom, "I hope you're not too busy tomorrow." "Why." "I need to you to take me to Columbia, Fort Jackson, and drop me off. I joined the Navy." That went over real well, especially since Vietnam was still raging. Again, I hadn't told anyone about this, not even my closest friends. I just disappeared from Augusta, Ga. Eventually everyone found out but, this way seemed easier.

During my time in the Navy and all the years after I was never without a motorcycle long. I continued to ride and enjoy the freedom it gave me. I could take off and for a while forget all my troubles, relax, and come back feeling refreshed.

After the Navy, as a detective in Greenwood, I would get up in the morning, put on my coat and tie, clip my gun on my side and my badge to my belt, jump on my bike and take off to work, coat blowing in the wind, gun and badge just shining. The Chief finally called me in one morning to tell me that he didn't mind the fact that I rode a bike, but "would I please cover up the gun and badge," he was getting complaints. Easy enough, a shoulder holster and London Fog coat fixed that. Now that was a cool look.

I eventually moved to Aiken County where I spent a long time as a "deep cover" undercover officer. Only about 4 people in the Sheriff's Office even knew who I was. The old Johnny Rivers song "Secret Agent Man" pretty much told my story, especially the part of "...giving you a number and taking away your name." Five twenty-two. That was my call sign and that's pretty much all anyone knew of who I was. 3x5 cards were even put up at the dispatcher's consoles advising them that "If 522 calls in, don't ask questions, just give him what he needs." Again, I was pretending to be someone I really wasn't.

I mention that because as a cop, a hundred percent cop, you don't have a lot of friends. Even the people you were closest to growing up try to avoid you. It ends up the only friends you have are other cops, and you're real careful about which ones you allow in. As an undercover officer you don't even have them to turn to. You can't trust anyone. No one can know who you are or what you do. I was a loner and preferred it that way. When the undercover side of things was finally over, I kept that mindset and didn't trust anyone. I was always looking for the worst in people. After I retired I realized I had pretty much shut myself off from the rest of the world outside my immediate family. I didn't have any real friends.

I had sold my last motorcycle years earlier because of family obligations. After Diane and I bought the truck she began to ride with me and we traveled the country together. Over time she noticed that every time a motorcycle would pass I'd check it out. One day she made the comment, "You'd like to have another one, wouldn't you?" Well yeah. "If you think we can afford it, see if you can find one." "Oh no....you're gonna allow me to buy one. Let me tell you who wears the pants in this house. If I want an motorcycle, I'll just tell you....Baby please.....Can I buy a motorcycle?" Well I found one. We started riding and joined the Harley Owners Group. Next thing you know we're riding with them, going to dinners or just hanging out. Life started changing. We were making friends again and enjoying getting out with other people. Next it was the American Legion and American Legion Riders. From those guys we learned about the Patriot Guard Riders We joined and started attending missions every chance we could.

Diane and I at a Patriot Guard Mission in Union, SC

Are you starting to get the picture? The bike was actually giving us, me in particular, a new life, and new friends who didn't care what career I had before. Some of the people we were now meeting were veterans, some active duty military, some were retired or active police officers. Even those who weren't military or police were good, patriotic, people with old fashioned values. This kept us busy when we weren't on the road and it was giving me a new focus on life. Police officers are cynical by nature and the job only increases this cynicism as you mostly see only the worst side of people. All of a sudden we were in the midst of people who thought of others first. They were the first to lend a hand when someone was in need. They looked out for each other and the community as a whole.

During this time we were volunteering and riding for charities but felt we still needed something more, something was still missing. Diane's mom had moved in with us and kept reminding us that without God and Faith in our lives, no matter what we did, it wouldn't be enough. We did try to go to a few churches. I was still leery of churches and I was probably just looking to find something wrong at each of them but still I never felt comfortable. I felt as if I was still being "checked out." Was I dressed right and were my clothes nice enough? Was my car new enough? Again, it was probably me, but I just wasn't comfortable.

One Friday evening while taking a break in the truck I was checking the internet to see if there were any Patriot Guard Riders missions coming up or anything with the American Legion Riders or the Harley Owners to do over the next few days since I was heading home and would have a few days off. There was nothing so I just started looking for motorcycle events in the Aiken/Augusta area when I tripped across an event that had occurred the previous weekend. It had been a motorcycle rally/revival at Faith Riders Fellowship Church. This got my interest. A motorcycle rally? Combined with a church revival? What kind of bikers were these? Well I started looking for more information on this Church and found bits and pieces here and there. I found they had regular church services in Aiken. Hmmmm? Interesting. I also found that the music minister was Leon Everette who I had known and followed way, way back when he was an up and coming country musician playing the bars in and around Augusta trying to get a break. I had even gone to a dance hall and bar he owned in Aiken several times. I had kissed my future wife, Diane, for the first time on the dance floor at his club. I called Diane and told her what I had found about the church and asked if she would like to go Sunday since I would be home.

On Sunday we dressed casually since what I had seen said "Come as you are." We headed for the address I had found for them. I guess I should have looked closer at the address because when we pulled in the parking lot it was our old dance hall. Now it's a church? Just wow! As I looked around and saw all the motorcycles under the awning, and cars in the parking lot I began to have second thoughts. Diane and I just sat in the parking lot awhile talking about it. Neither of us were real sure. I said at the time it was curiosity. Not true. I know there are a lot of you who watch NCIS and see Gibbs smack Dinozzo in the back of the head when he screws up, or is about to. That's what the Lord did to me that morning. He smacked me in the head and told me to get out of that car and get in there! As we got to the front door Leon met us with hugs and handshakes as he welcomed us and told us we were going to love it there. I had seen the Pastor's name on the sign out front, Jack Atkinson. Before I could finish asking if that was the same person I knew, Leon interrupted with, "Yep, that's your old boss." He had been the Chief Deputy at the Aiken County Sheriff's Office when I was there. I knew he was always a good and Godly man but, I never knew he was a Preacher.

As we walked in with Leon and he began to introduce us there were more hugs, handshakes, and welcomes. On entering the Sanctuary I recognized other active and retired Police Officers I worked with over the years. There were also dozens of bikers, some former addicts, or alcoholics sitting there along with people from every walk of life. This place was amazing! I did tell Diane that there were probably several people there I had arrested over the years and I might have to fight my way out of there. If anyone recognized me and carried a grudge they didn't let on. We were welcomed by everyone. We had a wonderful day with this real life melting pot of people. We went back that evening and continue going until this day.

Diane rededicated her life to God after only a couple of weeks.  She got baptized, and became a member of the church and a very special prayer warrior. It took me considerably longer as I still had questions about my faith and where I was headed. Eventually the Lord smacked me again and I gave my life back to him. I was baptized and shortly after that I also became a member of the Church. Today Diane and I stand in that same doorway where we were welcomed that first day and we are the ones giving the handshakes and hugs, welcoming both the newcomers and those who have been here since the foundation of the church. We are both considered leaders in the church. I am proud that the Lord saw, in his infinite wisdom, where I needed to be and led me. He knew when the time was right, not me. He gave me the stories to tell and the ability to tell those stories, both in writing, and in person. I cannot quote scriptures and verse. I can tell how the Lord has helped me.

I know this has been a rather long article. It should be. It was a long ride from where I was until now. Sure, we still have our trials but, they are so much easier to overcome today. Yes I still worry, only not like I did before. Today I am still learning to just look to God and ask him to get me through it. He does, only on his time.

We still have two wheels

Now you know how a motorcycle brought me on this long ride. God used what I loved to bring me full circle. He knew that I couldn't tell my story if I didn't have one to tell.

Diane's Ride

You also have stories to tell. The Lord is trying to take you somewhere. Don't be hardheaded like me. Listen to what he has to say. Find a church. Find a church family. Look if you need to. Don't be afraid to try new places and new people. Most of all get down on your knees and truly ask God where he wants and needs you.

1 John 4:1 (NIV) Dear Friends, Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into this world.

Here We Go Again

For those who follow my Facebook Page, Life From The Slow Lane, you know by now that we jumped head first into the trucking business again.

After a lot of number crunching, soul searching, and prayer we agreed to sign on the dotted line for a new truck. The only people who knew we were even contemplating this move were a few of our closest friends who knew the trucking business from the inside and a couple who have absolutely no idea about trucking but know us well enough to slap some sense back into us if they thought we were making a mistake. We love all of you and thank you for your continued support and prayers as we start this journey again.

The last time we decided to do this we were 10 years younger and naive about what it took to run a business (College can give you the basics but until you jump in you have no idea). I was in a job I hated and Diane had just been told her job was being outsourced overseas. I jokingly said, "Why don't we buy a truck and see the country? The next thing either of us knew we were in Nashville signing our life away and then headed to Kansas to lease our new (4 year old) Peterbilt to National Carriers in Liberal. 14 months later we were ready to throw in the towel and give up. We forged ahead by cancelling the lease and leasing with Palmer Transport out of Ontario, California. We were hauling new furniture made in the southeast to all points west and returning with new furniture made overseas to the east. We had found a home. The people were great to work with and no one pressured you to run too hard. The loads were light meaning tremendous fuel savings. It was hard work but it paid well and with the wonderful, hard working wife I have we turned everything around within a few months. Then our lack of business savvy hit us again. We were making money like we never had and instead of putting a percentage back we were spending every dime that came in. We lived like there was no tomorrow. Had to have the newest and best of everything. Then reality sank in. The recession was beginning. People still had no idea why their money wasn't going as far as it used to but they quit spending. When you start tightening your belt one of the first things we learned is that people don't buy furniture. If the springs from that old sofa aren't sticking you in the butt, it can wait. All of a sudden we were getting to California with no loads out and when the IRS finds out how much money you make they want a much larger cut. After a couple of months we were slipping in that dark hole again. While sitting in Ontario one day without having a load to get us out I started looking around for somewhere else to possibly lease the truck. I found Schneider National and what they referred to as the "Choice" program. You go on their website, look through their loads and pick what you want to do, where you want to go, and when you want to go there. You see upfront how much a load pays, how much it weighs, and everything you need to know to make an informed decision. I knew nothing about dispatching a truck or what to look for as that part had always been done for me. Even though we owned our business, we still were treated like an employee at most companies. For the most part it worked for me.

Some people hated this program and some loved it. I loved it. For the first time I was actually my own boss. My fate rested in my hands. Work hard you can do well. We were doing okay. After a couple of years Diane's mom started getting sick and started falling. We were afraid for her safety and decided Diane needed to be home for her. We moved her in with us and for the first time in about 6 years I lost my partner and best friend from the truck. It took quite a while before I got used to looking over at the passenger seat and not seeing her over there. She never got bored, and never complained. Everyone we knew tried to talk us out of her going with me on the truck telling us that we had too good of a marriage to ruin it by being right up under each other 24 hours a day. It worked just the opposite. It gave us the opportunity to know each other and get that much closer. Now her time at home has allowed her to reconnect with old friends, get deeper involved with our church, and become a real grandma to our grand kids. She also works as needed with one of her "besties." While she was on the truck with me she learned how I liked to run and where so she will also be helping to dispatch me. I guess I'm kinda jealous that these people, her job, and other activities have taken her out of the truck, but I'm proud to see her have the life she deserves for the first time in years.

I know this seems to be a drastic move at a time when I should be thinking about sitting back and relaxing. That is as far as it got, thinking about it. That just isn't me. Also we decided that financially I couldn't just sit and do nothing.

When our old truck went down with almost 1.5 million miles we decided it was time to put it, and us, out of our misery. I took a job with as a company driver and lasted all of 12 days. I tried another with Heartland Express and I won't say anything bad about them. They were a good company to work for but again, I was miserable the entire time I was there. Nothing to do with them, I just found how hard it is to work for someone else after doing it so long for yourself.

So here I am again. This time with a new 2016 Freightliner Cascadia Evolution truck. It will take a lot of hard work but with the support of friends, family, and our faith that the Lord will continue to guide us, we will be able to make a go of it.

I will be updating as frequently as possible through my Facebook page so please follow along with this renewed adventure at the link above and feel free to send me your comments, suggestions, or ideas. Just click the link and like the page for updates.

Love you all and look forward to hearing from you.

To The Grammar Police: Enough!

Awhile back I overheard a group of people belittling someone because of their improper use of a word. I just stood there, not saying anything and that has continued to irritate me. I was not only upset because of what was said, but even more so because I didn't step in to try to protect this person or at least try to deflect some of the criticism. Last night while browsing through Facebook I saw a post from a friend who had apparently been hurt by some things that were said because of his inability to write and speak in a perfect manner. I will not stand silently by again.

You people that think you're the grammar police are nothing but grown up school yard bullies. Belittling someone who maybe can't spell correctly, or who may say the wrong thing, or put the wrong word in a sentence, WHO CARES! You're no better than the school jock who picks on the weaker kid, or the popular, pretty girls who pick on the plain girl in class. You're bullies. You've finally found something that you do well and want to come down on everyone who can't live up to your expectations. Apparently there are some shortcomings in your own life you're trying to detract from. I'm not just talking about the grammar people here, but those who always have to gossip or belittle someone else.

Back to the grammar police.

Do you really think that person wouldn't enjoy being able to spell better or speak more fluently? Some people didn't have the opportunity to have a proper education. It was only recently that schools started trying to identify students with learning disabilities and to help them improve. Before it was just "Send them on to the next grade and let someone else deal with them. Maybe it's a learning disability or maybe they dropped out of school to help the family in bad financial times. Maybe their parents didn't have an education and they grew up listening to the way they spoke. Maybe even a combination of all these things. Who knows and again who cares? If they ask for help I'll be the first to jump in. You can bet I won't be publicly berating them. Maybe you think because you're not pointing any particular person out on your ignorant Facebook posts that it's just funny. Well to the people with these problems it's not funny, it's hurtful. Shame on you and as I said, enough. And to make it clear, it's not one person doing this, it's many. There are several Facebook pages devoted to hurting others such as Grammarly. Oh by the way for all you perfect grammar folks, adding "ly" to a word doesn't make it a word. An attempt at humor? Not so much. Irony? I think not.

I have friends and family who have problems with the English language. It may be writing, it may be spelling, or it may be a combination of all of them. These people are some of the best people I know. They are the first to help out at church when called. They are the ones who take an elderly lady or gentleman to the grocery store or doctor's office. They help their neighbors who can't help themselves. They give when they don't have it to give. They are the types we speak of as "salt of the earth." You'll probably have to look that up to see what it means. Leave them alone. They are my friends and they are my family. You're stepping on the wrong toes.

I was fortunate during school and English came easy to me. In college I was exempted from English because I breezed through my English entrance exam. I was allowed to take Creative Writing for two semesters instead. I fell in love with not only the written word, but the spoken word.  I was the weak kid in school. The one who didn't participate in sports. And yes, I was the one who got picked on. At least until I decided it was time to fight back. I found something else I was good at, fighting. I didn't get picked on anymore and I decided to stand up for the other weak kids. I had forgotten that aspect from an earlier time in my life I had so hard tried to leave behind. I'm 61 years old now and would probably have a hard time going toe to toe with someone, but don't try me. I believe it was Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton who said, "Beneath the rule of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword." When I can no longer, while standing on my feet, defend those who need it, I will defend them from this desk.

If you got your feelings hurt from reading this, good. If you want to take me off your social media lists, that's okay too. At least I'll know I reached you and you're the ones who needed to be reached. Hopefully you're not so shallow you don't realize how hurtful you're being to people. If they want help, I'm sure they'll ask. Otherwise, take a little walk in their shoes. Look deeper into this person and you might just find a few things you could learn from them.

I love you all, but please, think about what you post on social media sites.