Let me start by saying right off, I have no combat experience. Although I carried a sidearm as part of my five-year profession in a different life, I never fired a weapon in anger. I was trained on the M1, M16 and a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun for civil unrest, but in LaMoure County, North Dakota we had to hire our own rioters.
That’s not to say we didn’t have the occasional conflict. Between DUI’s, restless teenagers and custom combiners — often the same thing — there was never a shortage of interesting characters. But the truth is, I’ve seen more gun violence on the average gamer screen than what I dealt with as a cop.
As a civilian, however, I’ve been a target more times than normal. I just haven’t learned yet what defines normal. I’m often funny, articulate, good looking and wise. I’m also an even-tempered diplomat, said no one ever.
It started when I was a restless teenager my own self and driving a car my father had never seen before. Pulling into the farmyard about midnight and too tired to exit the car, I parked next to the big fuel tank reserved for field equipment. When a shot rang out, I was stunned to see dad on the front porch wearing nothing but a gun belt, about to fire another round over my head.
As a rent-a-cop with a private security company, I was in charge of a motor patrol division responsible for overnight coverage of public schools. One of our officers eventually went on to a stellar 20-year career in law enforcement, but not before pulling a gun on me in the squad room. In the interest of full disclosure, he was just trying to be funny, but three of us handcuffed him to a telephone pole for the longest hour of his entire life.
In another incident, one of the guys was patrolling a school adjacent to a railyard at 3:00 a.m., when he spotted a pheasant hopping across the tracks. Resting his weapon on the windowsill, he fired a round at the bird and missed. Unfortunately, the bullet ricocheted off the tracks and struck a control panel.
Some of the officers I worked with in the Dakotas were incredible officers worthy of infinite praise. One of my favorites was the guy who couldn’t find work in his chosen field of electrical engineering, so he became a highway patrolman instead. He had never fired a weapon, prior to academy training in Bismarck, but in three years he was the statewide champion.
Other officers in our district weren’t quite so disciplined. At a shooting range in Jamestown, North Dakota a cop from … well, never mind … was on the line right next to me and practicing his fast draw. There is, by the way, no such thing as a fast draw except in the movies. Anyway, he thought his revolver was unloaded. It wasn’t. He’s had that limp forty years now.
I was trucking through Chicago back in the nineties and waiting for a loading dock to open. Suddenly a truck from our same carrier whipped around in front of me and backed into the dock I was assigned to. I immediately walked over to tell him to move his rig out of my way.
His response was to pull out a small revolver and fire a round in my direction.
The good news is, he missed. The bad news was, our company wouldn’t terminate him. The good news was, I lived to quit and he died months later of natural causes when someone else shot back.
Clark is a Kyle resident. After 40 years of interstate trucking, he's too old for a paper route, too young to retire and too tired to have an affair. You can reach him at [email protected].
