'All That Matters'

It was a spur of the moment decision, really...made on a whim. My best friend, Big Ed, and I happened upon an accident one Saturday night back in Nineteen Seventy Something (coincidentally I happen to be the author of a top notch novel by the same name.) For reasons I do not remember now, but it couldn't have been any good ones, we had ventured across the Red River into Oklahoma, just north of our hometown of Delight, Texas (we'll call it that since that's the name of the town in my book.) We were cruising along with the windows rolled down on that warm summer night, likely jamming to Grand Funk Railroad or Pink Floyd, our minds as free as the wind that blew through our shaggy hair.
It was that single headlight that first caught my attention and I waved to draw Big Ed's eyes toward the direction the beam of light cast itself into the black sky just ahead of us. As we approached, we saw an old '64 Ford pickup in the bar ditch, smoke billowing from beneath the hood. Big Ed slowed the Gran Torino, finding the shoulder of the road and as we came to a stop beside the pickup, we saw what had caused the accident. Sprawled in the middle of the road was a Black Angus bull, gasping for breath as he lay dying.
We both scurried toward the Ford where an elderly man and his wife sat stoically, staring straight ahead. Their faces were covered with blood and I could readily tell the old man had at the very least broken his nose. Big Ed, who, as you could guess, earned his name by his stature, grasped the door handle on the driver's side and gave a mighty tug. The door failed to budge.
"Mister, are you hurt bad?" I shouted.
He shook his head slowly, "I think the wife and I are just bunged up. The doors won't open."
"Do you think y'all can climb out the windows?" Big Ed questioned, "We'll gladly take you to a hospital!"
"Naw, my wife's on a walker. She can't get out that window. Y'all go on into Eldorado and hunt down the constable. Tell him to send an ambulance."

I'd like to tell you the rest of that story, but this is a blog, not a book. I'll just wrap up by saying that before that night was over, I was nearly killed by a dead bull, Big Ed and I found ourselves in charge of an empty pool hall stocked with ice cold beer, and as we passed by the scene of that accident on our way back toward Texas, that old man gave us a feeble wave while scores of drunk Oklahomans tended to him and his injured wife. (The rest of this story is in my book, Nineteen Seventy Something.)

It was just a mile or so on the Texas side of the Red River bridge that Big Ed turned the music down and spoke.
"Whaddya say we go to college and study to be cops? I think we're cut out for the job, don't you?"
And so we did. It seemed the natural thing to do. We had practically become volunteer policemen in our little podunk town. Our ears always tuned to that CB radio, we had often been the first to arrive at the scene of an escaped cow on the highway. We'd rustled a few wild horses that strayed onto Main Street from time to time. We even shot a skunk or two that someone had found in their alley in the wee morning hours. We were on good terms with the local police officer. Yes, I swear to Pete his name really was Barney and he always seemed to appreciate that  we were eager to assist in helping him with his duties. There were times he let us slide when we probably should not have been driving, offering to follow us home in his squad car rather than taking us to jail.
It was toward the end of my second semester...I remember the night distinctly. Julie Ann Mathis, my first true lust, and I had just passed the courthouse, making that one blinking light on Main and Third, when she reached over and turned down the 8-track stereo and spoke.
"My daddy says cops don't make much money. He says if I was married to a cop, I'd spend lots of nights home alone."
I could see her eyes focus on me in the dim streetlight.
"I don't want you to be a cop. I don't want to always worry that you might not come home."
So I quit college and after leaving me and running off with an Alabama boy, Julie Ann settled down and ended up marrying some cop after all. But perhaps I have her to thank for not becoming a police officer. Perhaps because of her I am still alive.
It takes an extremely special person to choose a career in Law Enforcement. One who can live with the thought of dying...tomorrow or five minutes from now. I don't know who would ever choose to become a police officer in this day and time. I fear there may come a day when we just won't have any cops. Nobody will want the job. And then what becomes of us?
I struggle to find the words to end this rant. All I know is that there are days some folks leave for work and never come home. Their wives' greatest fears become a reality. Their children, their parents, their friends...all fear the day would come...and sometimes it does. They don't die for the paycheck. They don't die for fame and glory. They die...willingly take that chance to die...because what they do...matters. There are those who want to spout off. Black Lives Matter? What these oh-so-special people do day in and day out... put on a uniform, pin a badge on their chest, strap a gun to their side, and go out there to protect us...all of us...that matters! Pray for those who know they may not come home at the end of their shift...and still, they go to work. To most of us...all that matters