From Smokey to Rambo, a sad decline

I don’t mind being bribed, but I hate being bullied. I don’t like bullies (who does?) and whenever possible I stand up to them even if it means taking a punch or two myself. This is not always easy, since, by nature, I’m a coward. But sometimes you’ve just gotta take a stand.

My problem lately is with the biggest bully on the block. I’m talking about the formerly friendly Uncle Sam and the advertising firms he’s hired to scare us into being good drones. 

What am I talking about? (To be honest, sometimes I wonder myself.)

To fully understand where we are now, you have to go waaaay back, back to Smokey Bear. Smokey was a nice bear, a gentle bear, the kind of bear who would never eat you if you were lost in the woods. All Smokey wanted was to let you know that only you could prevent forest fires. For a bear, he really knew a lot about woodland conflagration issues. When you live in a forest, it pays to be aware of this stuff. I liked Smokey. 

Then came Woodsey Owl. He wasn’t nearly as cool as Smokey, but he cared a lot about environmental issues. Like Smokey, he suggested things adults and kids could do to make the world a cleaner, better place in which to live.

I liked following Woodsey’s and Smokey’s advice. I put litter in its place, I poured water on my campfire, stirred the ashes, and poured again. It was fun to be a good doo-bee.

Then the insurance company lobbies decided it would be a good idea to pay off a bunch of duly-elected congressmen to pass a seat belt law. But there was no “Buckley” to suggest I wear one. No friendly, talking seat belt explaining how much safer I would be, buckled in.

What there was instead was: CLICK IT OR TICKET!! You could almost hear the heels clicking together and somebody shouting “Ja, mein Kapitän!” It vas an order und you vould obey!

Not long after, I saw my first anti-drinking and driving billboard. No sane person is in favor of drinking and driving. But the billboard was designed not to inform or advise, but to frighten the already terrified sheep (us) into submission.

In giant type, pasted over a pic of a dumb-looking kid being dragged off in cuffs, was the legend: “YOU JUST BLEW $10,000!!” Yup, that last beer you had at the class reunion put you one-fiftieth of a point over the legal limit and now the fee collection machine previously known as the legal system is going to absolutely ruin your life and set you on the path to financial ruin! Have a nice day!

Are you scared yet? As Yoda said, “You will be. You will be.”

The most recent ad campaign is geared toward motorcycle riders. Again, it shows a dumb kid being lead off in cuffs, while in the background, his bike is being hoisted onto a truck. The legend? “GET CERTIFIED OR GET TOWED!!”

See what I mean? Threats, threats, threats! And for what? Not taking care of bureaucratic paperwork in a timely manner, that’s what.

It’s bad enough already, but I’ve seen the government in action. It’s only going to get worse. 

How long before we see billboards reading: “USE THE CORRECT POSTAGE OR GET BEATEN TO A BLOODY PULP!” or “JAYWALKERS WILL BE SUMMARILY EXECUTED!!”

It’s no coincidence many urban police departments are now outfitted with more military hardware than a Navy Seal team. We’re getting Rambo when we need Andy Taylor.

I swear, Smokey would be turning over in his woodland grave if he could see what we’ve come to.

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

If all you need is Andy and Barney, don't call in the SWAT team

 Until a year or so ago, I lived in a small town. Usually when I write about this town I mention it by name, but not this time. This time I'm likely to say some unkind things and I still have a friend serving on the village council there. I'd like to keep him, because he makes really good home-brewed beer and on occasion gives me some.

Anyway, it's not really the town's elected leaders I want to talk about, but rather some of their appointees; namely, the police.

When I moved to this town, which I will henceforth refer to as "Taylorville" since -- according to assorted ex-wives and girlfriends, I'm a narcissistic egomaniac -- there was one cop. His name was Rupert*, or Chief Addams if you were trying to talk your way out of a ticket.

Chief Addams was hired as the town's lone officer after retiring from the State Police. He spent most of his days in a cubicle down at the village offices. He read a lot of magazines, filed a little paperwork and on occasion drove the town's only police cruiser up and down main street to see if any crimes were being committed. This being Taylorville, none were.

In Taylorville, a "crime spree" consisted of kids TP-ing each others' houses after Homecoming. A "major crime spree" meant those same kids also had vandalized a couple mailboxes out on Youngman Road. About once a year, someone would break into the pizza joint or hardware store in the middle of the night and steal the $27.50 left overnight in the cash register. (I suspect the "perp" in these break-ins was Alvin McDonald, owner of the town's only insurance agency; without the occasional robbery the downtown business owners might cancel their theft policies.)

The only other crime committed with any regularity in Taylorville was the annual kidnapping of Jesus from the Methodist Church Nativity display. Every year on the first of December the Methodists would stick Jesus out there in the manger and every year he would go missing by December 20. Chief Addams would mount an investigation (from the comfort of his heated office) and wait for Jesus to turn up again Christmas Eve, as he always did, often on the bench in front of the village offices.

Then Chief Addams retired. He didn't really need the money and was growing weary of the malcontents calling him at home because their neighbor's pit bull wouldn't shut the hell up, already.

Rather than follow the time honored tradition of hiring another recent State Police retiree, the village council decided it was time to "shake things up." They hired a kid who looked almost old enough to order a beer, but not quite. Kevin Binkey, our new chief, subscribed to the Barney Fife philosophy of peace-keeping: Everyone is a suspect and guilty of something. Binkey wrote more tickets in his first week than Chief Addams had written in his career.

Great-grandfathers who had never received a ticket in their lives got their first from Chief Binkey, sometimes for the heinous crime of driving two miles per hour over the posted 25 mph limit. Others got tickets for turning right out of the grocery store parking lot without first engaging the correct blinker. And that seat belt law -- never popular in rural communities -- became a whole lot less popular under Binkey's Draconian rule.

The village council was amazed by how much revenue this generated. So amazed that they hired on another full time officer. Then a part-timer. Chief Binkey suddenly found himself leader of a police force. You could tell he liked it way too much. He began to strut around town like Darth Vader stalking the hallways of the Death Star.

Kids on skateboards got tickets. Old ladies crossing against the town's only traffic light got tickets. People who parked their cars in their front yards to wash them got tickets. The council used the extra revenue to hire yet another part time officer and buy a second, used cruiser.

Taylorville is now an orderly village. No one drives 26 miles per hour, but always 25. If Taylorville had trains, they would run on time.

And if there ever is a serious crime in Taylorville, you can be sure the law will be there. To pass out tickets to the gawkers and loiterers.

*All names changed in case I'm ever stopped for speeding or coasting through a stop sign within village limits.

Mike Taylor's book, Lookingat the Pint Half Full, is available at mtrealitycheck.com and in eBook format at Barnes & Noble, Border's Books and other online book sellers. Email Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.

Worrying about the long arm of the law; my grandson’s

My grandson Edison is a serious kid. He’s ten years old, so the things he’s serious about differ from my own solemn concerns. He’s serious about Harry Potter, Nintendo Wii, his math homework (usually), and most notably, his job in law enforcement.

Edison is a cop.

Considering my own checkered past, I never thought I’d be saying that about a member of my family, but there it is; Eddie is a cop. Well, a safety. And as anyone can tell you, being a safety is that first step on a slippery slope that eventually leads to a career with the FBI or NSA.

Especially for a serious kid like Edison.

Now, before I go any further, I should point out that some of my best friends are cops. Really. Two serve as sheriffs to the counties in which they reside. A few are deputies. One is a young officer with the city of Grand Rapids.

Some of my best friends are cops… Hmm…that sounds uncomfortably similar to a phrase quasi-liberal white people once used to describe their relationships with African Americans. There’s probably a message here somewhere, but I’m not sure what it is.

The point is, during my years working as a reporter covering the “Law & Order” beat I met and befriended many folks in the law enforcement community. Like everyone everywhere, most of ‘em were nice; only a select few were twerps.

I’m afraid my grandson, should he continue his career in law enforcement, might wind up being one of the twerps. Because he’s so serious.

In a 1950s movie, he would not be the cool cop named Dave who lets the kids off with a warning for racing their hot rods out by the levy. If a young Steve McQueen tried to tell him a Blob from outer space was attacking the town, Edison would lock him up for public intoxication.

Edison would be, not Andy, but Barney Fife. That, at least, is my fear.

I base this assumption on his seriousness, of course, but also on the way putting on the uniform seems to change him. In Edison’s case, the uniform is a reflective belt worn over the shoulder, emblazoned with the legend “SAFETY PATROL.”

Every school day, rain, snow or shine, Edison dons the belt and mans his post, a busy intersection less than a block from his elementary school. I’ve seen him in action a few times and I can tell you this; nobody crosses against the light with Eddie on duty! He is large and in charge. Well, in charge, anyway. The safety belt makes him appear large.

When I confront him with my fears, Edison assures me he’s only in it for the hot cocoa the safeties get on mornings when the temperature falls below freezing. But I can’t help notice he’s started referring to kids who try to cut in line as “perps.”

Yesterday I caught him rehearsing the Miranda in front of the bathroom mirror. You know, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law, dirtbag!”

I’m writing this column at a nearby coffee shop. When I drive home, I think I’ll try to avoid Eddie’s corner; I have a headlight out and can’t afford another ticket.

Missed a week? More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.