It started off quietly enough.  A nice staffing level, not much going on, things running fairly smoothly.  A nice, calm, reasonable Monday at 9-1-1.  The officers and deputies were all out getting into their routines, as Mondays are generally the beginnings of work weeks for them.  Some subpoenas to be served, maybe a warrant or two, and informants to be talked to, in order to glean intel over events that occurred on the weekend.  We were settling in there in dispatch, looking forward to sedate work shift.  We should have known better.  Just when you think it’s all good…

“WHO SHOT YOUR MOTHER??”

That’s the phrase that led our descent into chaos, nearly shouted by the Duty Officer, on a 9-1-1 call…

It wasn’t a joke.  Sometimes we do that, once in a great while, after picking up a 9-1-1 hang up and finding nobody on the line.  Just a little prod to the room, to see who’s listening.  It’s always great to see the newbies cringe when someone pops up with that little gem.  This time, it was no joke.

It was a weird day all day.  As we came in at 5pm, dayshift regaled us with the unusual number of deaths that required a Deputy Coroner to respond to that day.  A number of other calls rounded out a crazy Monday.  We assumed night shift would be better behaved.  You know what they say about assuming something…

“WHO SHOT YOUR MOTHER??”

Not even an hour and a half into the shift, this one resounds across the room, and it only takes seconds to determine it’s the real thing.  Other 9-1-1 lines begin ringing, and in moments the room is in a state of barely controlled chaos.  (It’s actually very organized and well orchestrated, but to the uninitiated bystander, it looks and sounds like chaos.  It’s not.)

A family dispute turns deadly, with a man shooting and killing his wife, with some of the other family members present.  He then barricades himself in the residence, and refuses to come out.  This initiates an all-night affair with calling out the SWAT team, hostage negotiators, detectives, research into records, and endless phone calls and coordination, that can only be done by dispatch.

While all this is unfolding, the routine calls and responses of any 9-1-1 center continue to come in, and need attention.  We can’t drop everything else and tend only to the shooting, there are still ambulances that need dispatching to injuries, fire calls that need fire trucks, and calls about loud music that have to be answered.

While we’re dealing with the homicide and barricaded suspect, we get not one, but two home invasion robbery calls, one where the victim had been tied up for an hour before he got free and called 9-1-1.  A short time later, a burglary in progress call came in.  Then a fight in progress.  It just didn’t stop.  Now, we can handle all this pretty well.  After all, it’s what we’re trained to do.  The support we give each other in dispatch is a joy to watch, and things get jumped on and handled as quickly as they come in.

This is the point where the Universe decided we needed a bigger challenge.  The computers crashed.  But, they didn’t crash all the way, they only partially crashed.  We had some computer access, but not all.  We could see some information, but not all.  As we’re trying to deal with the shooting and other incidents, and are taking in progress emergencies, the computer screens just blink out!  The tech took them down without warning after a few attempts to reset various “modules” in the program.  When that didn’t work, the good old standby computer fix was implemented…  shut the damned thing off, and turn it back on.   It didn’t help.

We finally got the county to calm down, got the barricaded suspect out of the house, under arrest, and on his way to a hospital for evaluation.  That’s when the computer decided to recover and begin working properly.  The tech the tech called to fix the system said he thought too many mobile units tried to log on at one time while responding to the SWAT callout, and it crashed the computer.  Whatever the cause, we were just glad to have it back.  Dispatching in the 21st century with 20th century paper and pencil is not fun.  We survived, though.

So I’ve decided that there was some kind of flux in the space-time continuum, probably generated by the annular eclipse yesterday, and we managed to warp into a full Moon Friday the 13th.  It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.  I hope tomorrow isn’t a Saturday.

Well, it appears that conspiracy has ended.  As of a few days ago, the traffic directed here dropped suddenly, and the search term “vacation” hasn’t been showing up in the stats page with anywhere near the frequency of the past few months.  It looks like we’re back to the only visitors being those who are actually interested in my blogging!

Of course, this means I’ll have to work on my postings, both in frequency and content, to see if I can bring the numbers back up to the levels to which I had become accustomed!

First, on Thursday, my post about a former Merced County Deputy Sheriff suing the department for sexual harassment was posted to their “Around the Nation – California” page.

In that article, I wrote of the harassment Ricardo Olguin endured at the Merced Sheriff’s Department.  It was posted to Queerlandia early May 3, and was reposted at LGBTQ Nation later that day.

On Saturday, May 5, I posted a blog as rebuttal to one that appeared earlier in the week at Queerlandia, in which the author calls Dan Savage a bully and a hypocrite.

Savage made remarks at a High School Journalism Conference that offended many conservatives, and they’ve been piling on over the whole blown-out-of-proportion incident ever since.

On Sunday, it was posted at LGBTQ Nation’s “Views & Voices” page, as well.

In January, after the tragic suicide of Visalia’s EricJames, my articles at Queerlandia and the now-shuttered QueerVisalia drew over 30,000 hits to our sites, and reprints in blogs around the world.  The power of the Internet is both exciting, and a bit daunting.  Your words can have effects on people you’d never otherwise be able to connect with, but you also open yourself to sudden, relentless judging and commentary as well.

If five years ago you had told me my self-indulgent blogging on MySpace, intended for a few friends and relatives, would grow into intentional editorials meant for a wider audience, and eventually end up being carried on nationally respected blogsites, and even on sites in other countries, I’d have said “you’re nuts.  Who would be interested in anything I have to say?  I’m just a funny looking middle aged dork, living in the middle of nowhere-California.  Nobody other than a few relatives or friends would ever find my commentary the least bit interesting.”

Well, it appears that maybe I do have something to say that others find interesting, after all!  Or maybe just entertaining.  Either way, I’m enjoying the momentary status bump.  I expect it won’t last, but that’s OK.  When you start writing to gain attention, then it just becomes an ego trip.  Writing to the editors, rather than the audience would probably be a quick way to end up with nobody reading your thoughts!

I’m having fun, and I hope others enjoy my commentary, either as serious discussion, or momentary humor.  Either way, it hasn’t gotten boring yet.

Two blogs on a national site in one week.  I should have bought a lottery ticket!

Now, what else can I write about??

P.S. We consider Queerlandia.com a national and international blog, and our readership is growing steadily.  It’s just gratifying when a major player in the gay blogosphere takes notice!  We’re working on becoming a major player, ourselves! 

Mow the lawn.

At least afterwards I get to go to Fresno for dinner and a movie!

OK, Scotty, NOW you can beam me up!

I was a skinny, awkward, shy 6th grader.  I had one friend in the new school I was attending now that we had moved to Woodlake, and I wasn’t really making many more.  (that one friend is still someone I count in a very small number of “best friends”)

Dad had recently started working for a newcomer in the automobile market, Toyota, at the new Toyota of Visalia dealership on Main Street in Visalia.  Back in those days, salesmen could take one of the new cars home with them, and my Dad, although he loved driving things like Land Cruisers, brought home a brand new 1969 Toyota Corona.  It was very much like this one:

I promptly crashed it into a palm tree.

And I wasn’t even in the car when it happened!

We lived outside of Woodlake, in a old monster of a house on the side “W” Mountain, and on the edge of an orange grove.  The place had a detached garage, at the upper end of a driveway that was 1/10 mile long, running down the hill to the nearest county road.  That hill is what allowed a chain of events to occur, events that ended with that brand new Corona’s rear end wrapped around a palm tree.

Along that (what seemed like to a 12 year old having to trudge it every morning and afternoon, carrying a saxophone in it’s case) never ending driveway, three palm trees had been planted, probably back in the 40′s or 50′s, when such trees were spreading around California, and giving the region it’s iconic visual image.  (it should be noted that palm trees are not native to California.  Our iconic image is an import.)  One was growing near the parking area in front of the garage, the next about 10 yards down the driveway, and the third about 30 yards further down the hill.  That’s the tree that became intimately familiar with the back end of the new Toyota.

So Dad drives home with this brand new Toyota one afternoon, and parks it in front of the garage.  To set up the physical parameters of this story, you need to understand this:  as you come up the drive, you make a right turn at the top to park in front of the garage.  This means the car is sitting at almost a 90 degree angle to the drive itself, depending on how you decided to make your turn.  So this car is sitting there, all shiny and new, and whispering seductively at 12 year old JimmieJoe.  Who could resist?  I jumped in after Dad went into the house, and immediately entered the fantasy world where I was the master of an exciting automobile on a fantastic road trip.  The car was a “3-on-the-floor”, so that opened a whole range of possibilities!  An automatic would limit the young speedster to simply the steering wheel, gas and brake pedals, but a manual transmission instantly transported one into a thrilling race track, or winding mountain road, or gearing down to pass a bunch of slow pokes on the freeway!  (yeah, it was a Toyota. 4 banger. With a 3 speed. You make do.)

I don’t know how long I played in the car, but eventually it was time to end the fantasy road trip, and head into the house for supper, homework, television, or whatever.  I was sure I had put the car back in gear before I got out, but apparently not.  As I had not released the parking brake, I didn’t think to make sure it was set, either.

They say that an object at rest tends to stay at rest, unless acted on by an outside force.  Gravity is a force, and it is a patient and persistent one.  I came out just before dark to see my Dad and my cousin pushing this brand new car back up the driveway, with a huge indentation in the back end, exactly matching the size and shape of that third palm tree!  If it was possible for a 12 year old to have a heart attack from the sudden onset of fear, I’d have died right then.

Imagine this car with the back end caved in at least a third of the way forward on the trunk, square in the middle.

That’s what I saw when as my Dad and my cousin pushed it back up the driveway.

Apparently I had not put the transmission solidly in gear, nor set the parking brake.  A few minutes after I went into the house, the car, sitting sideways on the slope, began to roll backwards.  The front wheels must have been turned in just the right direction to allow the car to turn and roll down the driveway, picking up just enough speed to fully demonstrate that that shiny chrome bumper was simply for looks.  I immediately went back into the house, up to my room, and waited for my world to end.  My Dad never came in, and I did not stick my head out for the rest of the night.  When I got up the next morning, Dad was already gone for work, the car was gone, and nothing was ever said to me about it.  I was on pins and needles for a long time, fully expecting to be blamed for the carnage.

I don’t know what Dad told the car dealership about the damage.  I never asked him about the situation, and he never volunteered any information.  I don’t even know if he ever knew I had been playing in the car before it got friendly with the palm tree or not.

I did make sure from that point on that any vehicle I got out of was securely in gear, and the parking brake on.  Even to this day, with any manual transmission vehicle I drive,  I unconsciously pull on the parking brake before I get out.

12 year old JimmieJoe trashed a brand new car in 1969 without even trying.  Rear end damage to a vehicle would not happen to him again until a fateful trip to San Francisco in 2008.  Yep, he got rear-ended in San Francisco!

]]> http://jimmiejoe.com/2012/04/20/a-palm-tree-a-sloped-driveway-manual-transmission-a-brand-new-toyota-a-12-year-old-boy-prescription-for-disaster/feed/ 1 Jim Reeves 1969_toyota_Corona_front 1969_Toyota_Corona_RT52_1900_Coupe_Rear_1 http://jimmiejoe.com/2012/04/17/a-volvo-a-12-year-old-and-appendicitis/ http://jimmiejoe.com/2012/04/17/a-volvo-a-12-year-old-and-appendicitis/#comments Tue, 17 Apr 2012 22:03:23 +0000 Jim Reeves http://jimmiejoe.com/?p=3345 […]]]>

Last Sunday, as I was walking into the Express to attend the weekly Sunday Funday BBQ, this neat old car was in the parking lot.  Boy, did it bring back some memories!

Well, it didn’t bring back actual memories as much as it brought back the dreams of a 12 year old boy.  Dreams shattered by my father’s near fatal bout with appendicitis.

1968 or 1969.  Woodlake, California.  JimmieJoe is about 12 years old, and in the 6th grade.  Dad was working for the newly opened Toyota of Visalia, as a salesman.  One evening, he brought home a Volvo very similar to the one pictured above.  Black, and in a much less pristine condition than this one, it still looked like a dream machine to an exited pre-teen.  Dad told me he could buy the car for what they gave someone for it as a trade-in, $50.  He said he’d have a governor put on it, to keep the speed down, and I could drive it on the ranch where the home we were living in was located.  I was in heaven!  A car of my very own!  And at 12!

In what probably was a fortuitous turn of events (I’d undoubtedly have crashed the car into an orange tree, or ended up in the pond at the middle of the long driveway to our house) I never got the car.

Dad went to work one day, even though he was feeling really crappy.  While he was at work, he called my mother to come get him and take him to the doctor, as he was feeling really bad.  Short story even shorter, his doctor immediately sent him to the hospital emergency room across the street, for an apparent appendicitis attack.  They sent him directly into surgery, and he spent the next two weeks flat on his back in the hospital, then at home.  Seems it wasn’t that his appendix was about to burst, it already had.  Before he even left for work that day!

Well, once he was recovered enough to return to work, of course the car was gone.  Either wholesaled out, or possibly sold on the used lot, whatever the situation, it was gone.  Gone with it were the dreams of a young boy with his first car.  I didn’t get another one of my own until I was 18.  Looking back, that was probably for the best.

Very little accomplished, few places visited, and no dents in the credit card.

All in all, a quiet, inexpensive “staycation”.

Next up, vacation!  In June. Three more weeks, with San Francisco, Los Angeles, and maybe more in store.

Stay tuned.

I hope I remember how to do a “calling all cars…  calling all cars” broadcast!