It's Only Me- Chapter 30- Rick Stines, the Accident and Gun Charge

If my story seems short on “family life” type stuff it is only because I consider myself to be one of the most inept and ill equipped parents to have ever walked the earth. I was making all the same mistakes as my dad, yelling and flying off for seemingly little reason. Don’t get me wrong- there were times when I was justifiably angry- but just as often I was simply overwhelmed.

That said, my work life was going well as I went from job to job, always for more money and responsibility. I was learning a tremendous amount about how things are planned and built. I was also learning about Construction Law, which would come in handy later on for a variety of reasons.

By 1992 I was working for Rick Stine and Sons outside of Frederick, Maryland. He had set up some trailers in the woods behind his home in Woodsboro. I did my estimating there. It was a great place to work and the Frederick area was also a great place to explore with Sarah and Sue on the weekends. We went to the Zoo and fed the animals, walked through the woods and looked at the streams. For all the problems I had dealing with being a father there were still some nice times.

For the first time ever I had an assistant to do some of the hand grids for taking off the earth quantities. His name was Russ Robertson and he was about 22. We would roam around looking at job sites and sometimes just mess around exploring the mountains and streams around Woodsboro. Sometimes we would drive to Baltimore and go to the Zoo. I even took him to Pigtown to see the hookers and outdoor drug markets. He had never been to Baltimore and was wide eyed at it all.

Around this time 2 memorable events happened. The first was the time I shot Richie Jrs. pickup truck right through the radiator. He was a typical owners kid- spoiled and troublesome. We had several "Port a Johns" scattered about the property and he would tip them or hit them with his truck when they were being used. Several guys got seriously “dirtied up” from his fooling around. I had warned him not to mess with me in that regard or there would be repercussions. I guess he didn’t hear me.

I was using the "Port a John" one day when he hit it with his pickup. It didn’t turn over- just splashed some and got me a little wet. Charging out I looked around but he was nowhere in sight. But his truck was. Reaching for my pistol (a .380) I took aim at the grill and let fly, emptying the clip into his radiator and hood.

Richie came out of the woods and went screaming down the path to his house. Several minutes later his Mom came to the trailer and started to yell at me. I stopped her and told her that I had warned the boy and that the next time I would shoot Richie rather than the truck. She fled back to the house.

About 20 minutes later Rick,Sr came in and started to give me hell. I stopped him and explained that he was lucky it was me and not someone else delivering this lesson to his son. The next person just might kill the boy. Nothing further was said.

Another episode that sticks out from this period is my accident in the Catoctin Mountains outside of Camp David, Maryland. This was in the summer of 1994. The road there is one lane in either direction and I took a curve too wide coming face to face with a fully loaded 20 ton dump truck. I remember thinking, “Oh, shit!” Then there was a shattering of glass and a twisting of metal. The sky was turning around and around as my truck , an S-10, reacted to the collision by doing several 360 degree spins. When everything stopped there was a deathly silence.

I was passing in and out of consciousness and at one point a sheet was placed over my face. I came to with my arms flailing and yelling, “I’m not dead- I’m not dead!” The sheet was lifted and a soothing voice informed me that the sheet was to protect my face while they removed the windshield. I was pinned by the steering wheel and my right leg was impaled by some sort of rod.

At one point when I was conscious I asked Trooper Updergraff to take charge of my pistol, which was under the front seat. I did not want it to fall into the wrong hands. It was registered in my name. I recall seeing the Firemen and Troopers playing with it before I passed out again.

Using the Jaws of Life and saws it took an hour and a half to remove me from the wreck. The mountain was closed in both directions. Being outside of Camp David had its’ advantages. I had 3 helicopters trying to claim the jurisdiction to fly me out to Hagerstown. The Marines from Camp David claimed me, as did the National Guard, but in the end the Maryland State Troopers won and took me to the hospital in Hagerstown.

Sue was summoned and raced the 60 miles to the hospital. She was pulled over for speeding on the way, but after explaining the situation the Trooper let her go.

When Sue got to the hospital I had already been scanned from head to toe. I had several broken ribs and a puncture wound to my right leg. They told me the puncture wound was not serious. I disagreed and after several hours I realized that staying there was going to be a problem. They refused to debride the puncture wound!

I told Sue to grab a wheelchair- we were going home. The doctors and nurses were furious and had lots of papers for me to sign about leaving against medical advice. I signed them all as Sue wheeled me out.

The next day I went to see Doctor Shaffer, my personal Physician. He agreed about the puncture wound and debrided it. You could hear my screams way out in the waiting area.

On Sunday I woke up and the wound was bad- it was going toward gangrene. I called Dr. Shaffer and he came to the house after church. He arrived without his bag and had to debride the wound again using a knife from my kitchen, which we sterilized with boiling water and alcohol. All in all I was lucky to be alive and was back on my feet in a week or so.

Now, back to the gun. It was approaching 16 weeks after the accident, which happened in August, when I began to try and retrieve my pistol. This was not easy. Apparently my weapon had disappeared. In addition there was no record of it having been turned over to Trooper Updergraff or its' being received at the Property Clerks Office. This was going to be tricky.

On the one hand I did not want the weapon floating around and turning up after use in a crime. On the other hand I did not want to engage in a battle of wits with the State Police. But my real fear was that the pistol was going to be used as a “drop” gun by a police officer. A “drop” gun is a stolen or unregistered weapon that is “dropped” at the scene by an officer after a shooting. This gives the officer a cover story if the shooting was not “clean.” I could also picture myself being charged at some later date with a homicide if the weapon had been sold and was on the street. In short, if I could not recover the weapon I wanted a receipt.

I was informed by the State Prosecutors Office that receipts were not issued for lost property. I reiterated my position to no avail. I called Trooper Updergraff and explained my concerns. He threatened me with arrest and incarceration pending trial. This is when I started thinking... and so, accordingly, I went to the library.

Looking up the State Statutes on Weapons Charges I found one that I could live with and which would also serve as a receipt for the pistol. I called Trooper Updergraff and had him meet me in the woods behind Rick Stines. I demanded to be cited for “carrying a handgun in a vehicle against the Peace and Dignity of the State.” It was like a traffic ticket and though it carried a penalty of 1 year and a $1,000 fine it was never enforced. Trooper Upergraff was not pleased and so he gave me a ticket for crossing the centerline as well as the weapons citation. Court was scheduled for Januray.

I arrived at Court early and, as usual, without counsel. The Prosecutor and Trooper Updergraff were waiting for me and we arrived at an agreement. I would plead guilty, pay a small fine and serve no time. I would also formally forfeit the weapon to the State, but this was not to infringe upon my right to Possess Arms in the future. It was a misdemeanor. I would also agree to not ask the State to produce the physical evidence. With supreme confidence we entered the Courtroom.

The Judge was in a foul mood and gave me 30 days! This was after he bullied me about not having a lawyer. We were clearly not getting along! Trooper Updergraff and the Prosecutor both approached the Judge and then summoned me to join them. It was agreed by all that the 30 days would be suspended and I would pay a $300 fine. I would also do 18 months Unsupervised Probation. I would also agree to forfeiture of the weapon without future infringements upon my rights to purchase firearms. This was acceptable to all parties and the case was closed. I now had my defacto receipt. This deal would never have been accomplished had I used Counsel.

The following spring Rick Stine entered into negotiations with Albert Williams of Williams Construction, at that time the biggest road contractor in the state. He was of no relation to me.

Essentially, Rick Stine had incurred a lot of debt and wanted to partner with Williams so he would in essence be sharing this debt. But Williams Construction wasn't in the best of shape either. So what you really had was two pricks trying to screw one another. This was going to be very interesting...

The Locked Room

It all started with a trip to Mexico. Sue and I had been married for 10 years at the time and we decided to re-visit Cancun, where we had spent our first honeymoon. So, leaving Sarah, our daughter, who was about 9 years old, with her grandparents, we set off; confident in the ability of our teenage sons to act responsibly in our absence. We were half right in our judgment.

What we had forgotten to take into account was that the period of time we would be gone was also the week of “homecoming” for 3 area high schools. Now, for those who don’t know what homecoming is, I’ll explain. For some reason; maybe related to football, or the prom; each year high school students have a weekend of absolute insanity to celebrate. And if your house is the scene of an unsupervised homecoming party while you are away, my advice is to not go home.

Simply put, our youngest son, who shall remain nameless here because he knows who he is, decided to hand out fliers announcing an “open house” at our home. I never saw one of these alleged fliers personally, but I imagine that they said something along the lines of “Come wreck my parent’s house and steal stuff like furniture.” And, friends being friends, the masses happily complied with the request implied by the invitation.

On Sunday morning; early Sunday morning; and I mean very early Sunday morning; Sue and I were awakened in our hotel room overlooking the Gulf of Mexico by a phone call from the Maryland State Police barracks in Westminster, which was located several miles from our house. I immediately declined to make a statement; out of habit; before realizing what I was hearing.

The gist of the matter was that there had been some sort of party at our house the night before; actually I think the State Trooper said for 2 nights before; and that we should come home. We were scheduled to depart the next day for Baltimore and seeing that the event had passed, we decided to wait for our scheduled flight.

Arriving home late the next day we were shocked at two things; the damage that was inflicted upon our humble abode; and the fact that no-one had been arrested. Some furniture was gone, most notably the little Louis XIV end table which my parents had purchased in 1966. We found it by accident several days later, smashed in a roadside ditch. There was not a light fixture in our house that was undamaged, and our neighbors windows had been shot out. But nobody was in jail.

Later descriptions recounted that the police were throwing the partiers out of the front door, only to have the kids going back inside through the back door. And, the fact that the police actually thought that one of the kids had brought a Louis XIV end table to the party, and allowed that person to leave with it; well, that really took the cake.

While cleaning up this unholy mess; that’s right, the kid didn't even try to clean it up; I was livid. And, since I was due back at work at 7:30 AM in the morning and was clearly going to get no sleep, as I cannot sleep in squalor, about every 10 or 15 minutes I was at the door of the younger boy’s bedroom, cursing and generally acting insane. In my defense I would have to say that at the time, and in those circumstances, I was not in a normal state of mind.

The next morning saw me back at work, exhausted from cleaning up. And, to my surprise, everyone at work had heard about the party and the destruction at my house. So, I had to put up with quite a bit of ribbing about leaving teenagers home alone. And to make matters worse, by the time I got home from work, our son had run away. This began a 5 day odyssey which would rival the exploits of Homer’s “Odyssey” as I went in search of him. In addition to feeling guilty about yelling at him; which was absurd, since he needed to be yelled at; I was worried for his safety. And watching Sue live in torment at his absence only made me angrier at him. But clearly he needed to be found.

Though I looked everywhere, I never did locate him and he returned to school unbeknownst to us, on the 5^th day. This is the point at which the school authorities got involved and notified DSS. It’s also where this story begins to get interesting, and funny.

I was sitting in my office at Soil Safe, a company I was working for at the time, when I got a call from the State Police, again. The trooper on the phone was extremely courteous and nice, which raised my suspicions immediately. He wanted to know if I could come down to the barracks in Westminster to sign some papers concerning my son’s return home. I asked what kind of papers, and could they be faxed. He fell silent for a moment and then said that I needed to come in or they would have to come get me.

Realizing that our son had been in a locked principal’s office with 2 State Troopers interviewing him; without the presence of his parents or legal counsel; I recalled Hamlet and I, too, smelled a rat.

At the time I used to carry a small handgun with me everywhere. And of course there were always some left handed "cigarettes" to be considered as well. I agreed to meet the trooper at the barracks in about an hour, and then left the office.

Now, I am not the cleverest of individuals, but, having smelled a rat, I proceeded with caution. At the time I owned no vehicle or even property in my name. The vehicle I did drive was registered to Soil Safe. So, I decided not to go the police barracks, electing instead to park at a McDonald's located about ¼ of a mile down the road. I placed my pistol and cigarettes in the vehicle, locked it, and then left the key under the tire. Then I walked to the barracks.

Entering the barracks I approached the little glass window which separated the troopers from the reception area. I gave my name and was invited inside. As the door closed behind me I was thrust against the wall with my arms wrenched behind me and my jacket pulled up over my head, completely immobilized. The questions came fast and furious; “Where’s your gun Mr. Williams?”; followed by “Where’s the pipe and marijuana?”; and, “ Can we search your vehicle?”

Immediately I realized that they had pumped my kid for every bit of info about me that they could get from him. I was not at all angry with him; he was about 15 and definitely at a disadvantage without some sort of counsel during their interrogation of him. So, it was easy for me to look them in the eye; after they let me down off the wall; and inform them that I had no gun, no drugs and moreover, no vehicle. Of course they did not believe me and frog marched me to the parking lot demanding to search my vehicle. I showed them my keys and there was no vehicle key on the key ring. I also invited them to search the DMV database so as to satisfy them that I did not, in fact, even own a vehicle. Likewise with the gun, as it was not registered in my name, but to one Bob Wilson in Florida, where I had purchased it several years prior.

With these formalities out of the way, I was taken to the top floor of the barracks, placed in a locked room with a Trooper Sergeant and a woman from DSS. I was told that I was not under arrest and this was just a routine questioning about my son’s safety at home. I asked why the door was locked if I was not under arrest and was told that this was for my own safety. Then I was handed a form and told that my signature was an acknowledgment of my rights and I was required to sign it. I refused, as it was actually a waiver of my rights, allowing me to be questioned without counsel.

There was a tape recorder present and when it was switched on the DSS lady said, “This is an informal hearing with Mr. Williams and we have requested him to sign an acknowledgement of his rights. Mr. Williams, do you agree to this interview?” I replied, “That is a waiver of my Miranda rights, and if I am not under arrest, why is the door locked?” The DSS lady hit the stop button on the recorder. Take 1.

The Sergeant got tough and informed that I was to answer all questions and if I got wise with the DSS lady he was going to deal with me. The tape player was restarted anew with the same preamble by the DSS lady, to which I now replied, “Please note that this is the second attempt to interview me against my wishes and the first tape has been taped over.” This went on for about another 30 minutes, during which time I was asked where my vehicle was and how, if I did not have one, I was able to get from Baltimore to Carroll County in time for the interview. My reply; “I hitched.”

For the next three hours we parried back and forth; I wish I had a copy of that tape. I was like Clarence Darrow, fending off each question with a question of my own. I even found out that the DSS lady was a single mom and that she herself sometimes hit her son, even though that was not an issue  that was ever raised with me. She then threatened to take my children away from me, placing them in the custody of the county. My reply; "Go ahead, they're a pain in the ass; even you hit your own kid. So, you want 'em; they're yours. Where do I sign?" I do believe, that in the 15 years she had been doing this for a living, this was the first time that offer ever came her way.

During the 3 hours, a different officer would come into the room and ask things like, “Whose car is blocking the fuel truck?”, and “What color is your car Mr. Williams?” This only made me tap the microphone in an effort to see if it worked as I had already answered that question several times and now stated that I would not answer that question again.  In fact, I began to ask questions about the actions of the State Police on the night of the party. Things like, “Why were no trespassers arrested at my home?” and “Why were people allowed to leave with my furniture under the eyes of the officers present at the scene?”

After 3 hours I was released from the locked room and followed as I left the barracks on foot. I went to a Burger King nearby the McDonalds where I had left my car, got a hamburger, and waited until my “tail” was gone before walking back to the McDonalds to retrieve my vehicle. Sitting in the driver’s seat I reached down, feeling the reassuring weight of my pistol. Then I smoked a “cigarette” and went home.

Greg Hardy - Buying Justice

The Appeals trial of Greg Hardy; football player for the Carolina Panthers; was terminated in a dismissal Monday when his accuser; the elusive Nicole Holder; did not appear. Nothing sinister going on; she has been sighted skiing and partying elsewhere in the country in recent days; leaving many with the impression that she’s spending the money which Hardy provided her with to not appear at the trial. Indeed the media have confirmed that a deal for an undisclosed sum has taken place.

It seems odd that the Prosecutor’s office in Mecklenburg County; which is where the offense and original trial took place; sees nothing wrong with this. On the surface many will agree. But examine this a bit more closely and see if it passes the smell test, or if it smacks of a double standard.

First you have to forget the victim in this case; as she has seemingly done herself. That leaves Justice as the defendant; an ironic twist considering that the victim was the original Plaintiff. Her actions; or should I say inactions, along with the acquiescence of the Mecklenburg County Prosecutor’s office; have turned justice on its head by allowing Ms. Holder to walk away from the Appeals portion of the trial she initiated.

That’s right; the victim here has now become the person obstructing justice in her own case; in which she alleged she was beaten and threatened with physical violence at the hands of Greg Hardy. She has; of her own volition, and for profit; sold her status as a victim and become the criminal. She has done irreparable damage to the claims of women everywhere who have been legitimately assaulted.

As for the Prosecutor’s Office I have but one question; what is the difference between offering someone money to withdraw testimony, and intimidation of a witness? Surely there is an element of intimidation involved in this. If someone is willing to give you $100,000 to go away quietly, then I must assume they would pay $50,000 for you to disappear if you refused the offer. And the recipient of that $100,000 knows this is true to a certain degree. And that constitutes intimidation, even if she accepts the money which should never have been offered.

When someone files charges with the Court there is a perceived bond between the two. The victim has asked for the court’s help in resolving a problem which is beyond the Plaintiff’s ability to solve on their own. When that person then walks away from the Court; in this case by not showing up for the trial; they sever that bond and the expectation of protection that it offered. And when money changes hands that victim becomes a criminal.

But the real victims in this travesty of our Justice system are the thousands of people who will not be taken seriously when they file domestic abuse claims. Then there are the rest of us; we have all been robbed collectively of our faith in the Justice system to go beyond the money and deliver real justice.

The Prosecutor has said that this is just a misdemeanor case and not worth pursuing; but it seemed to be worth a lot more to Greg Hardy; underscoring just how wrong the Prosecutor is, as well as undermining the credibility of Ms. Holder’s original charges in the first place. As I said, the real losers here are you and I.

Note: The Prosecutor’s Office was unable to answer my questions concerning why they did not seek a subpoena for Ms. Holder to appear; citing only that the judge would have had to sign off on one if it were issued. In this case it appears that the Prosecutor’s office did not consider it to be worthwhile according to District Attorney Andrew Murray.

  

Mr. Murray’s office has not been able to locate Ms. Holder since November, in spite of her numerous appearances on social media. If this assertion is true; that the DA’s office has not been able to locate their star witness since November; in spite of what Mr. Murray describes as “extraordinary efforts”; then it smacks of gross indifference of the well-being of Ms. Holder by the DA’s office.That in itself will serve as a deterrent for other victims to come forward.

You can contact the District Attorney’s office directly at 704-686-0700. Tell them Rooftop sent you.

  

"The Unarmed Truth" by John Dodson (2013)

I have wanted to read this book since it came out; and for a very good reason. Many people lay Operation “Fast and Furious”; the government sponsored program in which guns purchased by “straw buyers” are allowed to leave the country, supposedly to track their destination; at the feet of the Obama Administration.

While it is true that the program of that name began under his administration, the same program was already in operation during the Bush Administration’s second term under the name Project “Gun Runner.”  Much to his credit, author John Dodson does point this out on page 146. It was operated by more than one government entity, including the Blackwater Security group which was responsible for security in Iraq. I know about this program because I had a personal “experience” with it in late May 2007. But that’s for later…

John Dodson was working for the ATF in Virginia before he transferred to Phoenix, Arizona to participate in what was being dubbed “Fast and Furious.” He had no way of knowing about the true ramifications of the program. He quickly learned. “Fast and Furious” was; at the best; a vehicle by which the government aided and abetted the sale and transfer of automatic weapons through “straw buyers”, who then transferred those weapons to criminals who were then transferring those weapons to Mexico and the drug cartels in order to “track” them and see where they were bound.

The other side of this equation is that nobody ever got arrested and, in effect, the government was deputizing Federal Firearms Licensees to sell the weapons to the suspected straw buyers. In most cases the firearms dealers were the first to approach ATF about the bogus sales, which they wanted to stop. But the ATF responded by enabling more and more weapons to leave the country for Mexico with no tangible results to show. This infuriated Agent Dodson, who was under the impression that the program was designed to stop the trafficking of the illegal weapons.

On December 15, 2010 all of Agent Dodson’s fears about the program were realized when Border Patrol Agent Brian Terry was killed in a shootout with criminals whose weapons were traced directly back to “Fast and Furious.” This was the straw which broke the camel’s back; the camel in this case being Agent Dodson, who felt almost responsible for Brian Terry’s death. At that point he teamed up with a journalist from CBS and embarked on a phase of his life he had never even dreamt about. He was about to become a “whistle-blower.”

From the very first page of this book, and through the last paragraph, this book chronicles the insanity that passes for intelligence at the highest levels of our government. It is a world of acronyms and agencies with strings of letters that never really identify their true purpose. With a sharp pen Agent Dodson enumerates the times he tried to make his superiors realize that they were actually legally culpable for the weapons they were allowing to flow freely across the border. His superiors; concerned more with statistics rather than actually fighting crime; continuously ignored his concerns; at least until December 15, 2014 when it all “hit the fan.”

The story which follows is typical of the bureaucratic cover my ass  syndrome which plaques the entire government, rendering it ineffective. And when someone like Agent Dodson does take steps to right the wrong, they are cast aside and sometimes even dismissed for their efforts. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Mr. Dodson does a credible job of chronicling the whole sordid affair, and does it in such a manner that you can’t wait to get to the part where he has had enough. The trials of being a whistle blower become evident to him immediately as he is systematically ground up by the powers that be, placing his entire career in jeopardy for telling the truth. Just like Anthony Snowden, Agent Dodson becomes a pariah.

There are those who would argue that Snowden’s revelations might lead to the unintended death of one of our operatives overseas by an agent of an enemy government, and that’s a valid point, though those “assets” are fully aware of the risks that they run. This is not the same when it comes to people like Brian Terry, or any of the other law enforcement personnel who go to work each day expecting not to be killed with a weapon provided to the criminal by their very own government.

This is the end of the review. The following is my own story concerning "Project Gunner." 

And now, let’s go back to the beginning of this post and the story I have to tell about Project “Gunrunner.”

There are very few people who have not heard of John Dodson or the “Fast and Furious” program. But what many people don’t know is that this program was begun during the Bush administration in 2006 as “Project Gunrunner”, which was pretty aptly named, as that was the true purpose of the program; to run guns. The link between these two programs is clear; the United States is engaged in an effort to destabilize foreign governments. We have seen this in Iraq, and also Mexico.

In  May of 2007  I was on my way home from work in Hickory, travelling South on I-77 and passing through Mooresville, N.C. At the time Blackwater was working for the Federal Government in the capacity of providing “support” to the troops in Iraq. Their excesses are widely known and chronicled. But some of the things they were involved in were not related directly to the War in Iraq. Running guns was one of those activities.

It was Memorial Day Friday and it seemed as if everyone had hit the road for the 3 day weekend. I was driving a company provided pick-up truck and thinking about the weekend when I got rear ended by a guy in a BMW. Somehow, in spite of all the traffic, he managed to get around me after hitting me, so that his car was in front of mine on the shoulder when the State Police arrived 20 minutes later.

During that time I was offered cash to take care of the damage and I noticed that the driver was intoxicated. I explained to him that it was a company vehicle and the decision was not mine to make. He then proceeded to show me his identification and asked if I had heard of Blackwater. I replied that I had but that it did not alter the fact that he had hit my vehicle and that no amount of cash; or muscling; would alter that fact.

When the Trooper arrived I explained what happened and that the other driver was drunk and had offered me money if I would allow him to leave the scene. The trooper then went to interview the other driver and what happened next still has me shaking my head in wonder.

He showed the trooper some identification which he had not shown me and the whole atmosphere of the situation changed. The officer was joking and laughing with the other driver and they both went to his trunk, which the driver proudly opened, displaying an array of automatic weapons and high capacity ammunition clips. No boxes, just loose weapons and cartons of ammunition. There were about 20 weapons in all. But it gets even better.

Within a few minutes the trooper was joined by another and they began to play with some of these weapons; unloaded; by the side of the road. The troopers seemed to give no thought to the fact that they were handling these weapons, marking them with their own fingerprints. What a bizarre sight this must have been for all who passed by in their cars. I’m sure they thought they were witnessing a big time “bust.” After all, that’s what should have happened. But wait, it gets better still.

At one point the other driver; who was very well rehearsed in all of his dealings with me; somehow convinced one of the troopers to show him what kind of ammo he used in his state issued 9 MM. The officer actually unholstered his weapon and ejected the clip. Removing a round he passed it freely to the other driver for inspection. At this point I was apoplectic. But there was clearly nothing that I could do about it.

Returning home I related the experience to my wife, as well as a friend who was Lieutenant on the police force in my town. He was hocked beyond belief; as every protocol known to law enforcement had been violated by the actions of the troopers who were clearly enamored of the mysterious other driver. When I asked him what he thought I should do about it all; I did have the man’s name and address etc; he told me quite seriously that the best thing I could do about it was to keep quiet.

Two weeks later my boss called me into his office and thanked me for the $1,200 dollar check which he received as payment for the damaged bumper. And I have never written this story down until now. But, I assure you, every word of it is true.

"Song of the Birds" with Little Audrey (1949)

The Little Audrey series of cartoons were not really on my radar as a boy growing up. As a matter of fact, until recently, while searching for a cartoon I had never really even watched one all the way through. I suppose as a boy I considered them to be “girl’s cartoons”; the same way certain films are labeled to be “chick-flicks.” This type of thinking can cause a person to miss out on some really fine entertainment. “Fried Green Tomatoes” springs to mind immediately, as does the classic novel “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.”

In this 1949 cartoon, Little Audrey has a BB gun and; like all good children everywhere; she can hardly wait to shoot something with it. After a bit of practice on the cuckoo clock the family maid banishes her outdoors warning her of the trouble likely to come from Audrey’s BB gun. Although the maid may seem to be politically incorrect, she is always the smartest one in these cartoons, and you do have to wonder where the hell Audrey's parents are.

Audrey is nonplussed at being thrown out, and seeks to shoot the first thing which will stand still. The squirrel gets away after delivering a real tongue lashing at Audrey, who then proceeds to shoot at a baby bird who is just learning to fly. As the bird falls to the ground the mother is in anguish at the loss of her little one. And Little Audrey is grief stricken at what she has done.

The Weeping Willows weep, and the whole world of nature mourns the passing of the young bird as Audrey retreats to her house in shame and remorse. But sometimes miracles occur, and as the mother bird is burying her child a sudden storm breaks out, unleashing the rain which revives the fallen bird. As the animals rejoice Audrey hears the song of the birds and rushes outside in great relief, breaking her rifle in half to show that she has changed.

With a box of bird seed in hand she attempts to bring back the trust the birds once had in mankind, but that is easier said than done. As Audrey turns, forlorn and rejected, one brave little blue bird leaves the safety of the trees and lands on her shoulder. When the other birds see that no harm comes to the little blue bird they all come out and happiness is restored to the forest once again.

This cartoon is very reminiscent of the 1963 Andy Griffith Show episode in which Opie does the same thing as Little Audrey. The results are the same and Opie also learns the value of life by his mistake. You can view the first part of that episode here; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhJeRaCwiNU

These old cartoons and television shows contain an awful lot of wisdom in them. In today’s world they may seem quaint and old fashioned, but the world was a seemingly less violent place just a few decades ago. In light of all the recent mass shootings I thought maybe a refresher course in responsibility was in order. And what better way to see things more clearly than through the eyes of a child.