Shaaron Claridge
I was listening to Visalia PD on the radio earlier today, when one of the dispatchers gave a return to an officer in the field, and it struck me as almost eerie. She sounded very much like the dispatcher heard on the Adam-12 television series!
The interesting thing about the “voice actress” who voiced “Adam-12, Adam-12, see the woman…” and my favorite, “Adam-12, a 211 just occurred, Adam-12, handle code 3!” is she was a REAL police dispatcher, with the Van Nuys division of the Los Angeles Police Department! She worked part time as a voice actor, and did the dispatch for several police shows through the years. Can you imagine the double takes people would do, if they listened to early police scanners, or happened to be standing next to a LAPD police car, and heard that voice come across the speakers? “Hey! That’s the lady from Adam-12!” Her husband was a motorcycle officer with LAPD, too.
I look at her dispatch console, a desk, really, and think… wow! How things have changed!
My work station
I seldom remember my dreams. Unless I wake up during or immediately after, I just have no clue what they were about. I might recall that I had a dream, but not the details. I sometimes have a strange, fading image of something, and I feel like I knew everything about it just a moment before, but then it drops away, despite my attempts to remember, and is gone.
JimmieJoe / KC6YRU 
This morning’s wake up call
October 10, 2012
Jim Reeves commentary, Personal addiction, Drunk, eviction, mental illness, relative 2 Comments
So this ‘morning’ (I work nights, so it was about 1:30pm) my ‘wake up call’ was my drunk cousin crashing through my bedroom door. I was in that not-quite-awake, not-quite-asleep mode that lets you be aware of things, but you don’t feel any need to do anything about them. I heard him staggering down the hall, and was doing my best to ignore him, when all of a sudden he comes crashing through my closed and locked door. Fortunately, the hollow-core door flexed enough to allow it to spring open without ripping the jamb or lock out of it’s frame.
He just laid there, refusing to get up, and cussed me, like it was my fault he fell through my door. I finally had to grab him by the feet and physically drag him from my room into his, with him trying to grab on to the doorframe to stop. In the process, I may have injured myself, although at the time it didn’t seem all that strenuous, because my right lower leg is now hurting when I walk. Hopefully it’s just a sprain.
Next week I file the court papers to force eviction. He won’t leave voluntarily, so I’m left with no other option.
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