Then They Flew

By Sherrell Michael Smith Jr.

This book is a compilation of a life well spent as a world traveler and police commander with the Richmond Virginia Police Department. It is presented as is life, in the form of short stories of police operations and life lessons in other areas. There is much humor inside, because this is the way I saw my life. There is, as well, serious and well-thought-out tales that occurred over a lifetime of living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514492918

Sherrell Michael Smith Jr.

Sherrell Michael Smith Jr., also the author of People of the Mist (copyrighted 2011), having lived nearly seventy years on planet Earth, spent a goodly number of them as a policeman with the Richmond Virginia Police Department. This is where many of the stories presented here originated. After much prodding from friends and family members, he would think to himself, “When pigs fly.” In this autobiographical novel, his life is revealed to us in the form of short stories. Thus the name of this novel, Then They Flew, is presented for your review.

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Copyright © 2016 by Sherrell Michael Smith, Jr.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016907568

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-9293-2

                Softcover        978-1-5144-9292-5

                eBook             978-1-5144-9291-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/09/2016

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Shorty and the sycamore tree

Boscobel

Gut shot

Sig

Otto Anders and his suicide prevention plan

Bill Oxendine

The Walker in the Wood.

Big John

Elmo kills a dog

Fighting the Cops

Riots and the training therefor

Hambone and the great Mississippi

Grave Robbery

Orphan laws

The Briley Brothers

The Miracle Mile

Of Cruelty and Mercy

The night Harry shot himself

The DOA

The Inspector

The Pig Fair last September

The kid learns his lesson

Tyrone and Tinky

The Super Bowl

The Taser and the NFL

Tracking Magellan

Random thoughts from one afternoon

Dealing with the robots

The Transplant and the Emperor

Conclusion

I dedicate this book to the love of my life, my wife, Eva Yvonne Valentine Smith, the person to whom I owe my life and sanity.

I have been asked for years to write down my stories. I would answer when pigs fly! Well I finally wrote the stories down.

Introduction

This writing is intended first and foremost as an autobiographical novel. The idea for this came about over time as I began to do genealogy research, or took advantage of research done by others, and over the years and I began to realize I didn't know anything about my forefathers. Sure, it was easy enough to learn who they were. But with each successive generation the further back I would look the more I saw my ancestors disappear into the oblivion of time. I alluded to this sad state of affairs in my first novel The People of the Mist written in 2011.

This was an attempt on my part to breathe life into my long dead ancestors and to give them form and substance. Of course, this was all it was; just fiction written over a historical background. Because my genealogical research (most of it done by others) left me with the most meager of information about the members of my long dead family; I could find their name and the dates of their birth, marriage, and death. On occasion I was able to find their occupation. This was listed on the census as one or two words; farmer, or carpenter, warehouseman, or tobacconist.

I wanted to know more about these relatives, but there was no way that could happen. Why should this be? It is because none of them ever thought about what they would be remembered for. They were probably too busy just living their lives to give thoughts like these any attention. After all the people around them; relatives and friends knew them and they would be there long after to pass down the stories and traditions of the departed ones. This was and is so wrong. For example I have every confidence my family tree is factually correct through my great grandfather. Before that and with each successive generation more and more doubt creeps in and so when I listed Samuel Smith as my great, great, great, great grandfather, a Revolutionary War soldier I discovered he is more likely my uncle and his brother Reuben Smith was likely my grandfather. Before these men the records become so much sketchier until the lines leading into my family's past just fade away. For me they may have faded away but my family didn't fade away. They were there 400 years ago; they were there even 4000 or 40000 years ago and they were as real during their time as I am today. They have simply been forgotten! Think about what our Stone Age relatives saw and did during their lives and remember their memories were as long and vivid as yours and mine, rich in the details and events of an entire lifetime. What a book they could have written! Alas, there is nothing I can do now to remedy this. These relatives even if they recognized the desire to pass along something of themselves to their descendants at some point in the past they would be entirely illiterate and lacked the technology to do so in any case. Therefore it was impossible. I think the cave drawings of early man were their attempt to say to us today; I was here and this is what I saw. At least they passed something down to us. This situation should not be allowed to continue when we are in a position to do something about it. The only way I can think of is to provide a written record of what my life was like between the mid twentieth and early twenty first century.

Two hundred or two thousand years from now, if we have not destroyed ourselves in some fool enterprise, I would like my descendants to be able to read this book and have a feel for what I was like and what the world as I knew it taught me. Each of our lives is simply a series of stories, some short, some longer and so I am presenting some of my stories here. Some relate to each other while some stand alone. Professionally, I was policeman and so many of the stories I present here are about the police of the mid to late 20th century. On the other hand some of these tales are just stories I dreamed up, while sober, I promise. Where I have used names I have altered them in a way so as not to embarrass anyone, or I know the individual will be agreeable and I feel safe using their name.

History is written by historians and even though they may try to present things factually and fairly, they have their own personal prospective and agenda. I will tell you what I saw and this will be my personal prospective and agenda of the time I lived through. It should be interesting, a couple of hundred years from now to compare the late 20th century with the late 22nd century. I fear there is the very real possibility we will no longer be around as a species, having long since blown ourselves to kingdom come. You better not, my grandchildren! You've got a whole universe to explore.

The short stories I present here are from my life, such as it was; most (notice I did not say all!) have their basis in truth and others are embellished by me to make the story more understandable or readable. It is hoped that when you finish this book, you would have some idea that if you could somehow sit down and talk to me you might be able to guess what I would be like or what I might say to you. Feel free to like me or not, I just hope you can see me for the individual, I was.

One of my favorite writers is the American Samuel Clements, better known as Mark Twain. Later in my life I came upon one of his quotes and instantly I knew he was referring to someone like me. I don't have it in front of me at the moment but to paraphrase it, If you find someone who has the two unlikely qualities of self-confidence combined with ignorance you will find a person who will go a long way! I realized I had them both. I was always very self-assured and my ignorance (does not mean stupid, although I may be that too, it simply means untrained) meant I would plunge ahead without much understanding of what I was getting myself into, and often I could succeed in things others wouldn't try because I didn't know it wouldn't work, but through trial and error somehow I managed my life.

This foolishness on my part was revealed to me very early in my life when an equally self-confident and ignorant friend named David Lerch and I repelled into a cave named Catawba Murder hole in western Virginia. We made it to the bottom of the 80 or so foot drop just fine, when we realized we had made no realistic plan on how we could get back out. My friend thought we should just wait until someone would come and rescue us. (That's not as stupid as it sounds, because many people knew where we would be and it would just be the weekend before someone came for us.) No way, was I about to face the ridicule this would have generated; much less the embarrassment and damage to my self-esteem and reputation. I was only 15 years old but my enormous self-confidence and equally enormous ignorance was on full display.

I had read an article a few weeks earlier about a type of knot called a prussic knot, and although I hadn't committed it to memory, it at least made me aware that it was possible to make a knot so that you could use one rope to climb another. For hours we tried different combinations of knot tying, and by early Sunday morning (we had entered the cave on Friday night), we thought we had it figured out. Sure enough we did and saved ourselves the humiliation of a rescue. There is your example of self-confidence and ignorance taking you a long way! It's sort of embarrassing now, I must say.

This novel is intended for my descendants but anyone who chooses to read it will find out how much a person's life and world can change in the span of decades or more. Many of these stories I present are from my 30 plus years as a policeman. Others are from my earlier years as a child or young man, and some are fictional or partly so. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Hopefully, you will, at least, gain a little understanding of my personality and nature by the way I responded to the events of my life.

Shorty and the sycamore tree

Before 1860 and the start of the American Revolution between the Confederacy to the south and the United States in the north, antebellum Richmond was a genteel southern town. It was a place where life was unhurried and the people were dignified and polite. Sitting as it does on the fall line of the historic James River, Richmond Virginia was an important commercial and cultural center. Its character was different than the more industrial and bustling cities to its north. Richmond was more wedded to the rural south with its agricultural bent and unhurried lifestyle. Where the cities to its north produced many finished products ready for export and trade, the southern states produced raw agricultural products much of which was sent to the north or to the outside world. This had been true for many decades and the two halves of the United States had assumed characteristics different each from other. Though they shared a common language and there was a need, one for the other, the lives of the people was much different. Much of the south was comprised of farms and as one went further south, there were the massive plantations and other labor intensive endeavors.

Enslavement of various African tribes and the use of indentured workers became established in the early years of the southern United States and though many farm and plantation owners felt deeply in their hearts that slavery was wrong, they also believed there was no viable alternative. There was simply no way for the owners of the large plantations to employ the hundreds of people, needed to maintain their vast holdings. Over the years since the conclusion of the Revolutionary War the south had become locked into the use of slaves, and almost everyone realized this system could not stand, but could see no way out and no good solutions.

By the late 1850s tensions between the northern and southern states had become almost intolerable and so when the secession of a number of the southern states from the United States began almost everyone realized there was to be war. So when the first shots of what was to become the American Civil War were fired there would be no turning back.

It was obvious early on that what everyone hoped for, a short war, was not to be. It was to become long, brutal and protracted. By 1865 it was recognized the Confederacy would lose the war, and in the same year Union troops fought their way into the center of Richmond and set the city ablaze. Although large parts of Richmond were destroyed by the firestorm some parts remained untouched and intact.

The area known as Shockoe Bottom was one that survived. Shockoe Bottom was a bawdy area of riverfront bars and houses of ill repute frequented by the many watermen and dock workers who were in the area. Dotted with warehouses and tobacco factories there were jobs available for the many laborers who needed work both temporary and full time. A growing farmers market thrived and many part time laborers were needed to move and unload the various commodities arriving daily. After the ending of the war, those parts of Richmond that had been destroyed were rapidly rebuilt. Shockoe Bottom, however, remained largely as it was and the people of that area behaved much as they had before the war.

By 1980 Shockoe Bottom was somewhat of a backwater as compared to the more modern city. Looking much the same as it did before the war, its merchants and businessmen retained many of the values and behaviors of their old south ancestors. It was into this mix that a policeman named Willie Tyree had spent most of his 40 year career. Officer Tyree was a beloved character in Shockoe Bottom. He and his horse, John, were a common sight at the farmers market and now he was retiring.

Colonel Frank Duling, the Chief of the Richmond Police Department knew he was going to have a problem. Officer Tyree had become legendary to the people and merchants in The Bottom as Shockoe was known. Officer Tyree was at the same time the best and the worst possible policeman who could be assigned to this area. He was best because he was completely adapted to the community there and he knew everyone and was aware of their problems and needs. Nothing happened in Shockoe without Officer Tyree's knowledge or permission. He became affectionately known to some as the Mayor of Shockoe. To many others however, he was seen as somewhat of a tyrant. This was also his greatest problem. The residents, merchants, criminals, vagrants and Officer Tyree knew what was expected of them and Colonel Duling knew when Tyree retired he would be irreplaceable.

So it was in 1980 that I received a phone call to meet with the Chief of Police at headquarters at 1:00 PM on Monday May 17, 1980. I was worried. I couldn't think of any reason why Colonel Duling would want to see me, a lowly Patrolman, but I was certain it couldn't be good. The Colonel was not a chatty guy. He ran the Richmond Police Department with strict although completely honest discipline. If you followed his rules to the letter you would be fine with him. Step even slightly out of line and he would bust your butt. He was also a high official with the Masonic Lodge of Virginia so he probably would be the last person on earth to go to for some small talk. At that time, I thought he and I had absolutely nothing in common. As I got to know him over the years though I developed the greatest respect for him. With Colonel Duling you knew where you stood. So you can imagine my concern about a meeting in his office. I, like everyone I suppose, am unique. I was considered a good cop by most people. At least that's what I was told, but there were many good cops, in fact, most were. I think my abilities came from my charm, humor and judgment, and in 12 years on the force, I never had a substantiated complaint, but had been commended by citizens some 38 times for the diligent and professional performance of my duties. I am told I'm the kind of person who could go on a fight call and when all was over I leave all the participants laughing and friendly, seldom having to make an arrest. In addition, my sense of humor is always my first weapon of choice.

As an example, often while on calls involving domestic trouble it is difficult for the police to separate the combatants without one or the other feeling they were being treated unfairly which could easily result in violent behavior requiring an arrest be made. I was reluctant and almost never tried to make a wife leave her home for fear of her safety, even though wives were often the antagonists. It always bothered me trying to convince a husband who was, as often as not the real victim, to leave his own home just until things calm down. It always left a sour taste in my mouth when the wife would gloat as her husband was forced to leave over some argument she had started. So to counter balance the situation I developed what I called the temporary divorce. It worked like this; I would say Sir,(or madam, but most often sir) I can see you two are having some real problems here but I can grant you a divorce right now, if you wish. People were always shocked that the police had such a power; by the way, we didn't. I would tell them not all police did, but certain specially trained ones, like me did. If the person agreed, they were asked to place their left hand on my badge and hold their right hand in the air. I would ask them to repeat their name at the right time and would finish by saying By the power vested in this badge by the Commonwealth of Virginia, and as its representative I hereby grant you a temporary divorce. The effect of this statement was immediate. Look, I would say with a stern look and tone, "It's only temporary, mind you, and you only have one week to go to the court and file the proper paperwork to make it permanent otherwise, after a week the divorce is null and void and you must resume your marriage. There was no end to the fun I had with the temporary divorce and other officers with me were always challenged to keep from laughing every time I used it.

I was amazed at the number of people who wanted my divorce. After all it did give the aggrieved spouse a way to feel they were getting even without violence and they would happily leave the house having divorced the bitch, and rubbing it in her, or his face, so to speak. The thing most humorous to me was there was not even the tiniest shred of truth in any of it, but it was swallowed whole hog and worked like a charm. Word of my divorces spread rapidly through the Department. But alas, as with anything good and effective though, other policemen began to use the technique but without my personality (no, I'm not saying I do any better than anyone else, but as the inventor of the temporary divorce, I knew what and when to accentuate certain things) most couldn't pull it off very well and it wasn't long before an executive order was issued telling us all we were to cease granting divorces; temporary or otherwise. And so we were back to trying to persuade people to leave their own home for a cooling off period while their anger remained unsatisfied. Oh well, it was a lot of fun and marginally successful while it lasted.

As I entered Colonel Duling's office I saluted smartly. The Chief motioned for me to sit and said, Smith, you may not know it but Willie Tyree is retiring and I want you to take over his assignment as the mounted officer in the Bottom". He has been there since early in his career and has a special relationship with everyone down there. I don't expect you to fill his shoes, in fact, I don't want you to. These people are still living in the past and he coddled them terribly and their strange ways. He never got complaints but it's because he babied them. The City is changing and I want you to at least bring them into the twentieth century. You have a good way with people and if anybody can pull it off I know you can. So what do you say, Smith?

I'm very flattered you asked, Colonel, and before I could finish my thought, the Chief said, Good, it's settled then, report Monday to Sergeant Blaylock at the stables. Oh, by the way, we all enjoyed your temporary divorces, sorry I had to stop them but the City attorney got cold feet about em, you know.

Colonel Duling stood and said Good luck Smith, let me know if you need anything, but I know you'll do your usual great job. And just like that he ushered me out. So there I was standing next to Dorothy Reynolds, the Chief's secretary wondering what just happened. Dot, I said, He just transferred me to the mounted squad!

I know, she said I did the paperwork. You like horses don't you? That's silly everybody likes horses.

Well, umm, I never really thought about em, I do like dogs and cats though.

There you go; same thing, she said. You'll do fine. And she walked with me into the hall; transfer complete.

The next few weeks were spent at the Police stables training. I, who had never been around horses, quickly learned horses are nothing like dogs or cats, except for their four legs. Dogs are intelligent and loyal to their master even unto death. Dogs truly love humans. Cats are intelligent too. They have learned how to show an appearance of love and loyalty so long as their human masters keep them well stocked with their preferred food and to be there to open and close doors for them. Cats will tolerate their human masters (they would call them acquaintances) so long as their tolerance leads toward their current, though unpredictable, often undiscernible goal. Just so you'll know, cats are always the boss. They have developed a tendency to use their front paws pushing in and out on soft things, like their owner's body and legs. Some people believe they use this characteristic to show affection, I have learned they are really probing for weak spots in case things go south for them and they have to take over.

That brings us to horses. As I write this story I will be as charitable as I can because I know so many people love them. Horses are super intelligent! You didn't expect that, did you? They are so intelligent, in fact, they have managed to conceal any sign of it and as a result, people cater to their every need. Police horses are perhaps the most pampered and spoiled large animal on earth. They live in a stable with their other horse friends where they have their own private room called a stall. That's a great name, by the way, because that's exactly what they try to do when you are preparing to ride them. After my training, I was assigned a horse by the name Big John. The word big in his name referenced his size, not his brain. John was a whopping 1600 pounds and stood 16.5 hands high at the shoulder. I'll have to look it up but I think that's about 66 inches. He was enormous. He was also a big sissy, a beggar, obstinate and the poorest judge of danger I had ever encountered. Horses, and Big John was no exception, are like deer or sheep. They are a grazing animal and therefore, in the wild, are the prey of predators. This naturally makes them pretty skittish of almost anything new. Let me correct the last sentence to say skittish of almost anything. Once aboard him, John was a master of dragging his feet, so to speak. Whenever we were headed away from the stable he would move so slowly I initially thought there was something wrong with him. When I asked Sergeant Blaylock about this characteristic he laughed and said; They all do that. He just doesn't want to leave the stables. Just wait till quitting time and he'll be a full time job to hold him back. The Sergeant was certainly right about that because John had an internal clock that told him it was now time to be going home and there was almost no stopping him. He would become very single minded and he could not be easily shaken from his home sickness. A part of my job as a mounted officer was writing parking tickets, but near John's