srj641

Unless you are a newlywed, being aroused from a deep sleep at zero dark thirty means different things than it did years ago. The soft rustle of freshly laundered sheets, the gentle breeze from a ceiling fan and the soft breathing of your wife as she stirs to life still happens, more frequently than the grand-kids would give you credit for, but little do they know. Your senses all come alive and you finally drift back to slumber land with the soft fragrance of a warm and gentle interlude on your mind. Your wife slips easily back into bed, wrapped in the soft scent of woodsmoke. This is the life of a man married to a serial smoker, and I would not change a thing.

We are carnivores. I make no apologies, having been raised in a family where there was meat of some sort on the table three times a day. It might be salt-pork, fried crisp and chewy, or canned salmon or, on good days, some form of beef, pork or chicken. Honestly, I had no idea you could eat a meal without meat until I joined the Army and was served a nice dripping ladle of oatmeal on a steel tray with toast and canned fruit as a side. Mind you, after shuffling around in the sand of Ft. Polk, La., in 100 degree heat the day before, a slice of cardboard with syrup would have tasted good. It should be no surprise that when I returned to the civilian world, I picked up where I left off, eating meat. That is why we have a couple of outdoor appliances on our deck, one for the quick char, the other to gently smoke a delectable cut into a culinary delight. The smoker reigns supreme.

Sharon has developed quite a set of notes relative to the preparation of meat on a smoker. She reads voraciously on the topic, borrowing technique and recipes from the great Texas and Alabama smoke artists. She is developing a style unique to our tastes, eschewing the traditional spices with modifications that suit us, taking the spice induced heat out of the meat to protect old stomachs that can no longer endure a ghost pepper finish. Among her late mother’s coveted old cook books, she treasures her developing manuscript on the art of smoking above all else in the kitchen. She is a Traeger Wizard, although concedes the name on the smoker means little if you are just going to throw it in and jerk it back out with a slathering of some preservative laden sugar free stuff that is designed to insulate the diner from a piece of dry, flavorless muscle that would send Tazzy to the kibble can.

For me, gone are the days of smoke being associated with the P. Lorillard or R. J. Reynolds tobacco companies so important to our family in rural South Carolina as we struggled to raise a cash crop of cancer inducing herb. Today smoke means a delectable finish to a perfectly marbled piece of cow or our favorite, the pig. We don’t do tobacco in our house, cars, or yard for that matter. We do however, bring the neighbors down the street to their decks with the aroma that a pork butt, languishing over fine Missouri Hickory wood smoke, brings. Dogs break chains for this stuff, all courtesy of my wife, addicted to smoking.

Back to where we started. A smoking hot wife is what every man dreams of, but it is a carefully guarded dream, and I am surely violating my man card by reminding folks that we may be old but we are not dead. We still love a wee hour of the morning kick start to the day, courtesy of a wife willing to wake up and arouse our primal senses by firing up the smoker. I have decided to toss my expensive colognes in favor of a dab of liquid smoke on the back of my neck. That ought to do it. I love being married to a smoker and I know how to get her attention. An early morning with the sounds of rustling sheets replaced by the crackle of butcher paper and the scent of hickory coming to life, ain’t all bad now that I think of it. Guys, buy her a smoker and bring romance back into your life. There is nothing quite like a smoking hot wife in the wee hours of the morning!

Have a great weekend!

SR

I read posts on social media from time to time written by my friends who are able to pursue their passion for flying airplanes. There is nothing quite like the feeling of an airplane rising from the runway for a new adventure, seeing the world from the uncluttered confines of the heavens. I was blessed to have a terrific instructor who had an amazing ability to teach as well as instruct. She was demanding but patient, as old folks are harder to teach than young folks, and I started this adventure relatively late in life. After many hours with her and less than 10 solo, she pronounced me ready for my sport pilot check ride. I procrastinated and the opportunity is past. The lessons will follow me to my grave. Thank you, Jeanne’ Willerth, for sharing your passion and skill in instructing.

If you are to pursue this passion, do it as soon as you can. Lesson number one is the things that happen to you as you age are of great interest to the bureaucracy known as the FAA. They do not take prisoners and will dive deeper into your medical records than Jacque Cousteau in the Mediterranean. A relatively small lacunar infarct, also known as a stroke, many years ago is a show stopper, relegating budding old pilots like me to a limited “license” known as a Sport Pilot Certificate. The stroke was totally asymptomatic, didn’t know anything about it then or now, but only after some thirty thousand dollars in neurological testing could I be considered. The finest medical examiners who must sign off on your fitness to fly advise against the testing as a “denial” would preclude me from flying under any circumstance, including the sport license which requires only a valid drivers license. When the FAA denies you…..you are finished.

Lesson number two. Airplanes in the air are marvelous pieces of machinery. The FAA and pilots in general, place great importance on experience. On a clear air, visibility unlimited day, when everything is going just fine, you can relax just a bit and enjoy the world below and above. Things happen quickly in an airplane and you might go from a semi relaxed state to one of rapt attention as “something” has happened. Be it mechanical, weather related or any number of scenarios that only experience has prepared you for. Today, experience carries an inordinate price tag, and it is not getting any cheaper. The FAA is almighty, and has passed yet another regulation that has the flying community in arms, and will serve to increase the expense. I have learned there is no substitute for experience in life just has in flying.

Lesson number three is an extension of lesson number two. Airplanes are expensive. You have hangar expense, annual inspections, insurance and the hourly expense of actually flying. All this after you acquire an airplane. The costs associated with flying have and are rising at an alarming rate, with old hangar queens commanding big prices. These expenses are somewhat manageable with an older airplane, if you are a private pilot, but the sport pilot has far fewer options as a result of weight limitations. New airplanes, well, for most of us, are simply not affordable. When your age and experience are not in sync, insurance companies look the other way. A sport pilot ticket is a way to fly, but the limitations are daunting and relatively expensive.

Piloting requires thinking at a level not reserved for a jaunt to the grocery for a loaf of bread. It is a procedure laden experience that requires a lot of knowledge about the airplane, weather, rules and regulations. It offers an opportunity to awaken your mind and apply conscious thought to what you are doing and what the result is going to be of your action. I deeply admire, if not envy, pilots who have and are living their passion. Approach an airplane with the casual indifference we approach the family chariot, and sooner or later, you are going to get in trouble.

I read, a lot. Center in my bookcase is a leather bound logbook, between two airplane bookends. It is the most expensive book on my shelf, as I have invested time and money in every entry in it. It represents a beautiful expenditure of time, in limited supply for old guys, but seemingly unlimited for younger folks. Flying is a passion and I delayed far too long. If you have a passion, and you won’t know until you have tried it, do not delay. Do not let the everyday business of living get in the way of your dreams. I did, and I am now an experienced wannabe. Tip of the hat to my pilot friends…….

Have a great weekend.

SR

Computers have made us lazy. Books are available electronically, greeting cards are now emailed and letters have gone the way of the dodo. Documents are, more often than not, filed electronically and electronic signatures are legally recognized. Newspapers are now loaded with propaganda, available online, and losing subscribers in great numbers as we live in a 24 hour news cycle and prefer to have a talking head tell us what we think. The ability to spell words that involve more than a single syllable is no longer necessary, as spell check will handle that task for us. The emotion and warmth that surrounds a hand written note or thought is lost in the coolness of a few keystrokes by hordes of people who transmit their thoughts electronically with nary a care about the impact of these kinds of communications. This realization has prompted today’s writing.

What and how we write is an important part of our personal brand. As a young officer, I made sure that everything in writing that hit our regional headquarters reflected a maximum effort. The record that we kept of gasoline and vehicle expenses was in ledger form and at the end of each month, I carefully reprinted this form for the convenience of the motor equipment officer in headquarters. The motor Sergeant in turn, was required to transcribe my records into a system that managed these expenses, and I was careful to end each gasoline purchase with a .5 or .0, which saved him time in transferring the data. The Patrol required block printing on official documents, and most officers were meticulous in their preparation of reports. Supervisors did not make changes in reports, but would return them to you when you failed to adequately explain a happening or circumstance. Good police officers are good story tellers. Accurate and lucid descriptions put people in jail, keep people out of jail, clarify undignified situations and portray history in factual terms.

Hand written notes are superior to any form letter or card. This statement is worth repeating in another way. There is no substitute for a hand written condolence, note of appreciation or recommendation. As I progressed into police administration, I was in the habit of regularly isolating a particularly well written investigation report or accident report produced by one of my officers. I would then express my appreciation for an excellent effort, hand written, on the margins of a copy of this report, and mail it to the officer’s home. Some thirty years later, I run into an occasional officer who reminds me of how much this meant to him at the time. Proof positive the efforts of the officer were indeed reviewed and evaluated. I enjoy writing and have deep respect for those that can carefully and lucidly explain a complicated circumstance or procedure relying on the King’s English. There is not one among us who has not opened a set of instructions for a home bound project, written in broken English, which failed entirely in providing useful instruction in regard to assembly.

I’ll end by saying that I am now taking the time to write letters to folks who have made or are making a difference in my life. I will continue my habit of writing various medical professionals, sales people and service folks who exemplify hard work and effort on our behalf. Fifty eight cents is a small price to pay for the privilege of creating a personally written note to a friend or other person of importance to codify my thoughts as to why they are important. I will trade this privilege for the habit of writing politicians to express an opinion, only to have it answered by a form letter months later. In the end, one of your friends will be tasked to carry you on that short walk from the velvet lined casket hauler to your last owned piece of real estate. They will come closer to appreciating your thoughts than will the pol who is only concerned with the loss of a potential vote. My father had the benefit of knowing about when death was going to call. While he could administer a scorching verbal correction to those in need, he chose to write a personal note to each of his pallbearers, thanking them in advance for their services yet to be delivered.

Writing a legible and coherent note or letter still carries the impact that electronically generated thoughts never will. As the lawyers say, if you don’t have it in writing, you don’t have it, period. It is never too late to start writing!

Have a good weekend!

SR

Within hours of birth and almost always after death, we go for a ride in a vehicle, be it a car, truck or glorified station wagon with a velvet lined cargo area. America loves cars and guns and both have been severely impacted by Covid, the little virus that has disrupted supply chains world wide. Guns need ammunition, in short supply, and cars need chips, also in short supply. It is in the news and on our tongues, “chips” but do we understand what is happening? I can help here…….

Chips are simply tiny little wafers that perform complicated electrical transactions at damned near the speed of light. The picture below is of a chip, or more appropriately semiconductor. This is why your local new car dealer is wringing his hands and opening a fruit stand on his vacant lot while hyping his inventory of used trucks that are bringing new truck prices. Can’t find that new Silverado you have been waiting on? Here take a couple of these vine ripened beauties home and make yourself a nice BLT. He’ll even toss in a bag of chips made from potatoes, they are in abundance. We can walk on the moon, but can’t build a chip, some of which are damned near microscopic in size. Sure we can, but our “global” economy has us by the…well, walnuts.

Chips are manufactured in Malaysia, Vietnam, Taiwan, Singapore and here. Ah, but each country produces a certain kind of chip and all are dependent on one another to come up with the thimble full of these little miracles to make today’s vehicles run. It ain’t your daddy’s old Buick with a few fuses and relays, folks, our vehicles are damned complicated. Covid has seriously interrupted production in virtually every country that makes these things, and relief isn’t likely until early 2022 at best. Flu Siew Hai Wong, the head of the Malaysia Semiconductor Industry Association, says until the virus let’s workers return to the factories, chips are going to be in very short supply. New car sales in America are down 18% in August alone, selling at the slowest rate since 2011. Used car prices are climbing like homesick angels, pushed up by an increase of 8% in new car prices, when you can find them, this year! The average new car transaction price this year is $42,736.00. That is a big number.

Stellantis, (Chrysler to us old road dogs) is now installing old school analog speedos in some of their cars to avoid using a precious chip. Ah the good old days of a speedo that ticked between a couple of MPH as you hurtled down the super slab. I certainly hope my new Ram heavy came in early enough to avoid having chips replaced by rubber bands and Velcro. Who has been impacted by the shortage of chips? Every manufacturer, however some more than others. If you have a hankering for a new Chevrolet, Ford Bronco Sport or F-150, Mustang, Hyundai, Jaguar, Jeep Grand Cherokee, Dodge Durango, Mercedes C-class, Mini Cooper, BMW X-1 or X-2, Nissan, Subaru Ascent or Outback, you could be in trouble. Make that ARE in trouble.

As a final note. Are you proud of your Detroit born and bred hauler? Gonna keep those American dollars at home where they belong? Don’t check into the origin of the parts that comprise your latest chariot to freedom. Ain’t no such thing as an All American vehicle these days. The UAW is alive and well down in Saltillo, Mexico where my latest behemoth was manufactured. Economy of production and the bottom line drive the cost of vehicles, always has and always will, so production is a multi-national thing. When old Johnny Cash sang “One Piece at a Time”, he had no idea the pieces would be coming from all over the world in just a few years.

When you reach the age of my contemporaries, waiting until next year may be a dicey option. For now, keep circling your dealers lot and be prepared to pay MSRP, or better, for your next new car smell. Now you know the rest of the story!

Have a great weekend!

SR

History teaches. During the Civil War, Generals Robert E. Lee and his able assistant, James Longstreet, were far more successful when fighting from a defensive position than when on offense. Athletic competitions will also lend credence to the axiom that a good defense will beat a good offense with amazing regularity. Let’s talk personal defense for a bit.

Indulge me while I remind you why this is important. America with 4% of the world’s population accounts for 40% of the civilian owned firearms in existence. We now own an estimated 350 million firearms, and recent sales have tilted in favor of handguns, which we now believe constitute over 40% of all firearms in civilian hands. Purses, pockets, backpacks and various holsters are placing handguns within easy reach of folks who find themselves in some form of an encounter with people who lack civility. How we respond is critically important, both for the belligerent and for you. Enough numbers.

Television, video games and our beloved cinematic aristocracy teach us that when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. How unfortunate. Verbal skill and the ability to remove yourself from the confrontation in the first place should be in the top of your tool box. For citizens, that means running away from the gunfire instead of toward it, the sworn duty of the police. When you have assumed a good defensive position and are cornered by someone hell bent on hurting you, out comes the hammer. Translation: When a crazed sociopath is in your front yard, waving a machete around and threatening you, leave your little Micro 9mm in it’s holster, go inside, call the police, and grab your shotgun or AR and wait until the bad guy leaves or the police arrive. When he starts kicking your door down, you will be far better equipped to deal with the problem than in a yard fight. It will also make far better reading on a police report.

Civilians should be concerned with protecting themselves and folks within a few feet of them. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, but going on the offense is not in your best interests. This is a job best left to the professionals….when at all possible. You carry for those precious few times when a belligerent individual will not leave you alone, pulls his or her handgun or knife and threatens you, and you cannot get yourself and your companion to cover or away from the situation.

Okay folks, the long and short of it. Learn to shoot effectively, holster and un-holster your firearm, and maintain it. Avoid arguments with strangers, especially those that have not read this piece and may be carrying a “hammer” with no thought given to avoiding confrontations. I have taught retention techniques to hundreds of police officers in years past, and you must give thought to keeping your firearm out of an assailants hands. I DO NOT like open carry, for the aforementioned reasons. Open carry complicates the situation when you are scrambling from an active shooter situation to a position of cover. It creates unreasonable expectations from both the bad guy and those around you who now expect you to respond instead of seek cover. This is not a good situation to be in.

Embrace the concept that a “hammer” is the last resort to be employed when no other option exists. Always carry concealed. When you are cornered and have no other option, then the production of a firearm MAY resolve the problem, and if it does not, the flash and loud noise that follows likely will. We are not the police and our job is not to go after bad guys, rather to protect ourselves from imminent harm. Make them come to you.

The handgun is not a tool for idle threats. We use deadly force as a last resort and only when we are forced to. You are not much of a carpenter if your only tool is a hammer….

Have a great weekend.

SR

This piece is about us, not the folks living in concrete and steel, rather about America’s farmers and meat producers. If you don’t occasionally take the road less traveled, you will soon miss seeing the true pride of America, the family farm. It is inevitable, but sad. The reality is that we are watching the transformation of farming into just another mega business with all emphasis on the bottom line. Along with the gobbling up of family farms by mega corporations we are watching small town America dry up. How profoundly sad.

Dad was a professional warrior. Mom was a farmer’s daughter. I was blessed to see much of the world, worth seeing, as a result of dad’s experiences and still gain insight into a 70 acre cotton and tobacco patch in rural South Carolina. My agricultural education was further honed on a medium sized row crop operation courtesy of Sharon’s parents. Both farms required business savvy and experience. It isn’t as easy as seeding the ground and harvesting a crop, an art that our newest generations may never be exposed to. I loved every minute my boots were in dirt.

Sharon and I love to drive the roads less traveled. I smile when I drive by a Missouri Century Farm, knowing that successive generations of farm folks have not capitulated to the corporate raiders that have bought every acre they can, cleaned every ditch and hedgerow and planted the margins that were once home to coveys of quail. In 1985 Missouri, we were home to 23,000 individual pork producers, a number reduced to 2,000 today. How big are these operations that are relegating the family farm to a historical reference? Virginia based Smithville Foods has 1,000,000 brood sows on the ground. In the 1970’s, our Agriculture Secretary, Earl Bautz, championed the mantra of “get big or get out”. Thanks Earl, for encouraging the demise of a noble family enterprise. In 1990, family farms accounted for about half of productive acreage. Today it accounts for less than a quarter.

The demise of the family farm is eroding rural America’s wealth and political power. This is easy to see in the last election process when rural America wasn’t accorded the respect that is centered in our big cities. The talking heads were not at all concerned with what we say in farm country, rather the concern was in the cities. As a kid, I loved to go to town and visit McIntyres store, a feed and farm store, with it’s unique aromas of seed, chicks and turkey poults. The HVAC was a giant fan, blowing dust on wood plank flooring. Farm equipment was simple back then, much of it still involving a sturdy mule in well oiled traces. Thank you Lord, for giving me those wonderful memories.

Our recent drive to South Carolina, much of it on secondary roads, confirmed this unfortunate transformation. Still visible were old farmsteads and the occasional small farm with equipment in a machinery shed and evidence of denim and chambray uniformed folks running the show. If you have not done so, please expose your kids and grand kids to these last vestiges of a beautiful and honest way to make a living. The smell of freshly turned earth or freshly mowed hay is a wonderful way to begin a day. Take them to a country cafe and sit among the jeans and work shirts worn by people whose opinions are most often grounded in fact and where neighbors rely on each other. Walk them among the farm markets where real producers bring home grown produce to be sold at the prevailing market, (careful here, there are frauds selling boxed produce from big distributors among them). Teach them the differences in tomatoes, melons and fruit. We must not lose sight of the wonderful opportunities to see and understand food production.

In closing, it is sad that politicians don’t get out of their cars on a rural road and talk across the fence with a hog producer, beef producer or row crop farmer. You just might learn a hell of a lot more in that conversation than you will on a big city street. Most importantly there is very little likelihood you will be shot or knocked in the head. A little manure on your glossy loafers won’t hurt a thing and there will be little, if any, pretense.

Have a great weekend and week ahead!

SR

This past week, we returned from a trip to the Deep South where we were able to work in a much overdue visit with friends and family along the way. It was great to see them, however it was our second extended trip in a car as opposed to pulling our RV, and we missed the trailer. We are in between RV’s and our new one is in production, as is most of America these days, or so it seems. What do we miss and why the fascination with a RV? Let’s have a look.

First, let’s consider motels and dogs. They are a bad mix from the perspective of motel operators and that is easily understood. Dogs can be destructive, dirty and loud. Bad dogs have bad owners which causes problems for those of us who travel with the Tazzy’s of the world. The fix is easy, on top of rapidly escalating room costs, they tack on between 50 and 100 bucks for “pet fees”. Consider yourself fortunate if you find the rare motel that will accept them at all. The pet walk areas are usually littered with excrement, another sign of laziness and slob owners that walk among us. Before leaving this subject, trust me when I suggest that while motels are springing up like nut sedge in a lawn, they are showing wear along our interstates. We also can’t help but wonder how many folks occupied the room before us while suffering from Covid in some fashion or another……yes we are one of those couples who takes precautions with this virus. As a final note, dragging a bag or two through motels is becoming more of an issue than it used to be when we were young enough to travel with a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

Your RV addresses the motel issue head on. It is your condo on wheels. We have duplicated our home existence in the trailer, down to the coffee makers and precise climate control. When we come home from a day of exploration, we are back in a familiar environ, watching the local news and soon enjoying Sharon’s expertise in the culinary arts. If you are careful, you can stay in one of thousands of beautiful parks for a fraction of the costs associated with a room in a motel. Tazzy has his rug, and we are, indeed, in our second home.

The current national trend toward providing your and my tax dollars to folks who choose not to work has resulted in a restaurant nightmare out there. We have waited for 30 minutes to be seated in an empty restaurant because there are no folks willing to work. We have endured horrible meals from previously renowned eateries because the kitchen is relying on someone who will work for a week and watch his mailbox for the remainder of the month. We found ourselves eating what was handed to us through the take out window at fast food stores, and quickly tired of the predictable carb bundles that are inevitable in these places. The RV has a stove, oven, refrigerator and my personal chef who is at home in any kitchen.

Finally, RV’s keep your mind sharp. You become somewhat of a sanitation engineer, are mindful of various systems such as HVAC, water management and mechanics. You become tire conscious and travel with tools to handle stuff that is loose or broken. There is artistry in setting up and breaking down. There is also the pride of ownership, reflected in maintenance and keeping stuff clean. I even enjoy raising Old Glory over the Blue Line flag, a sign that I enjoy America and have an investment in her. Unlike a motel, you will meet your neighbors and delight in new friends along the way. Folks like a second home and the RV provides that second home, in as many parts of America as you care to see.

This is why we love the RV culture, and why dealers can’t keep them on their lots. Today, more than ever, it is a great way to travel!

Have a great weekend!

SR

This past week I spent several hours at the Confederate Relic Museum located in Columbia, SC. On display are thousands of artifacts from the Civil War, including such things as Minnie balls removed from the bodies of Confederate Soldiers, Battle Flags and a great display of small arms weaponry actually carried by soldiers of the Confederacy from South Carolina, the first state to secede from the Union. You do not have to be a student of history to appreciate the intensity and horror of this Great War. I am fortunate to see these things before some woke politician deems them offensive and orders them destroyed.

South Carolina traces it’s contributions to our country back to the days of the Revolutionary War fought in her swamps and lowlands by legendary leaders such as Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox. The British soon learned that standard Neapolitan tactics were useless against a determined and crafty foe. America was born from this conflict and hardened by the Civil War that followed some years later. The museum in Columbia pays homage to both conflicts with a decided emphasis on the Civil War. I could not help but draw comparisons between the early Patriots in South Carolina, who ran the powerful British Army off the continent and our more recent experience where a determined enemy sent America home from Southeast Asia having accomplished very little beyond a horrible loss of life. History does teach, but it’s lessons are lost on those who seek to cover it up or destroy it.

The flag in this writing is the real thing, not a reproduction or restored banner.This battle flag belonged to the 2d South Carolina Volunteer Regiment, organized in 1861 and assimilated into the command of the capable Confederate General Joseph Brevard Kershaw. This unit was attached to the Army of Northern Virginia, under the command of Gen. Robert E. Lee. This flag is blooded. It accompanied the 2d Volunteers into battle in such storied places as Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville. Literally thousands of confederate sons were killed under these colors as well as an equal number of Union soldiers. Each side fervently believed in their cause before the matter was finally decided and ended at the Appomattox Court House in Virginia.

Most folks have a rudimentary knowledge of the Civil War, but few understand the Herculean effort of every man, woman and child in prosecuting this conflict. This museum reminds us that southern wives sewed the uniforms for the men they sent to their deaths and the tremendous hardships that both armies suffered through, beyond the quick exit brought about by gunfire. We have graphic reminders of the gallant efforts of the war surgeons with very basic tools and chemicals who worked until exhausted during every battle or until their arms could no longer wield the saws used to remove limbs shot through. This museum also helps the patrons to understand the political nature of this fight and the inner mental working of the great Generals on each side. As a reminder, Gen. Kershaw was not a trained military man, rather a prominent attorney who soon grasped the nuances of warfare and was quite successful, in leading his men.

I am ending today’s writing with a plea. Please, to the extent that each reader can, speak out against the destruction of history in the name of erasing this period of strife in America. It is a damned shame that folks who had nothing to do with any of this history want it covered and erased to appease some sense of righteousness that dwells within them. Their slant on the Civil War period is fashionable today but in reality is as ridiculous as reparations for the sins of those who acted over a century ago.

Have a great weekend!

SR

I, like all troopers, began life as a dedicated traffic cop with broad police powers that led us off the road and into the criminal realm on occasion. Working traffic exposes you to a virtual Petri dish of human behavior that runs the gamut from pleasant folks who simply succumbed to momentarily lapse of consciousness to jackasses who could care less about the restrictions imposed by motor vehicle law. I have a total of 48 years of observing America behind the wheel, of which 27 were in uniform. Today what I see is as ugly as it has ever been. Here are my thoughts.

At the upper end of the scale, we have a shrinking minority of folks who still adhere to the rules of the road. They signal, stop at stop signs and are courteous to the drivers around them. They are easy to spot for us old road dogs. At the other end of the scale you have the psychopaths that fly through stops, wouldn’t know a turn signal from a spotted elephant, drive really fast and generally think the road exists for their exclusive use. Traffic cops love the good guys and live for the bad guys. We feel really good when we hand the jerks an invitation to circuit court. It is the grey area in between an automatic summons and a warning that concerns me. It has dramatically expanded in the year of Covid and we are seeing the results of reduced enforcement brought about by the viral scourge. When is the last time you saw what appeared to be a traffic stop? In my municipality, the traffic guys are up to here with accident investigations and the district cars are entirely too busy to mess with traffic law unless the violation is particularly egregious. What did I just say? There is more DWHIA (Driving with head in ass) activity today than I have seen in 48 years of observing the movement of cars. The grey area in enforcement has expanded and folks know it.

To be fair and balanced, in this age of defunding the police, a dramatic number of experienced officer retirements, and the ever increasing non-police related duty placed on law enforcement, traffic slips to the bottom of the list of things for the police to consider. While the number of traffic crashes declined during the pandemic, the severity of the accidents showed a dramatic increase. Why? Speed and DWHIA rates have increased, a lot. Officers have so little discretionary time these days, coupled with a reluctance to stick your head in the window of a strangers car who might be a Covid carrier, traffic enforcement is down. Apparently the days of 30 troopers saturating I-70 in a single county are over. We used to do that and it made an impact. If this old road dog donned a uniform and slipped out in a Patrol car, I doubt I would get 10 miles from the porch….there is that much work to be done out there.

One last thought. We have a new generation of drivers on the street who have come of age in a non enforcement environment. They earned their licenses and climbed into their chariots with little fear of suffering the consequences of stupidity behind the wheel. They are going to be tough to re-train when and if we amp up traffic enforcement. Good luck to my brothers and sisters who have assumed the responsibility of lending dignity to the movement of traffic in America. You are behind an eight ball not of your making, but it is a job that needs to be done. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to rail at the disregard that today’s motorists have for the law and their fellow drivers. If you have the inclination, work on climbing the grey scale to that light shade at the top, where folks don’t mind rules and understand the consequences of ignoring what you know to be right.

Have a great weekend!

SR