How worse can it get?
Photo: Fitzsimons Army Medical Center
It seems like yesterday so long ago. After basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia, and basic Medic training at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, my Army career led me to Denver for training as an Orthopedic Specialist. I was nineteen years old.
Denver was a fun city and I got there during the ski season. Almost every weekend we would rent skis from special services and drive to Breckenridge, the closest ski resort to Denver.
Sometimes we would drive a little further to Vail, which was much more fun.
Vail is a town patterned after a European ski village, even to the architecture and it had a teeming nightlife even back then.
One of our standing jokes was when asked if we were going to Vail, we would reply, “Yeah, and I may even take skis.”
As students we had permanent passes so we could leave post anytime, but if you were going to be gone overnight you were supposed to sign out.
One weekend four of us decided to go to Steamboat Springs to ski even though it was outside our 150 mile pass radius. We didn’t think about signing out, because we were to be back on Sunday. We got a late start on Friday and it was after midnight before we got about seven miles outside Steamboat Springs.
The land around Steamboat is all ranch or farmland. I think if it were not for the mountain, it would have been not much town at all. As a result of being so rural every farm had a gasoline tank on the property, and I suppose theft was common. This night we had gas but my friend’s car was low on oil and the warning light came on. I told him to stop at a farmhouse we were coming to and see if we could buy a quart or two of oil.
My friend stopped the car near the gasoline tank and began walking toward the house. Before he could get but a few steps from the car, a man came out on the porch with a shotgun saying, “You boys stopped at the wrong house to steal gas this time.”
He came on out pointing the gun. We tried to tell him what was going on but he would hear none of it. To make it worse, it just so happened he was also the county Sheriff.
He told us to head on into town and he would follow us. We complied and on the drive into town, he noticed my buddy had a taillight out.
Well, by the time we got into town he was so mad at having to come to work in the middle of the night, we were going to be arrested for something regardless.
We hadn’t actually done anything criminal. He didn’t see us trying to steal gas; he had just assumed that was what we were there for. We told him we were soldiers and hadn’t done anything wrong, many times in fact. I think he finally did realize that we were military and there wasn’t much he could do to us any way. So he said to my buddy the driver, “You’re under arrest for operating an unsafe vehicle because of the missing taillight.”
I couldn’t believe this because it was so petty and said, “That is crap and what about the rest of us?”
He said, “You three are under arrest for aiding and abetting the driver of an unsafe vehicle.” He then proceeded to lock us all up.
When they brought us breakfast the next morning the deputy told us the sheriff had called the base and the M.P.’s would be there to pick us up Monday which meant no skiing and two nights in jail, well shit.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, this particular Saturday afternoon we were sitting around in the jail bored when the jailer came to the door and said, “Which one of you miscreants is Hardester!” I indicated I was the miscreant. He said, “Come with me, there is someone who wants to talk to you.” I had absolutely no idea of who wanted to talk to me, or even anyone who knew where I was, so I asked who it was. He replied, “Your Mother.”
That day of all days, Mother decided she would call my orderly room and see if I around so we could chat. Of course the duty clerk told her I wasn’t there and in fact, I was in jail, and told her where.
Immediately at “Hello” Mom began crying as saying, “I didn’t raise you to become a criminal and wind up in jail. How did I fail?”
The more I tried to calm her and tell her it was nothing the more she wailed. Finally, I got her to calm down. I told her I would be back at the base Monday and would call her and explain everything. That seemed to pacify her, and a laughing deputy took me back to the cell.
Monday came and we left a wonderful Steamboat weekend behind.
The M.P.”s got us about 10:00. On the drive back to Denver they asked just what it was we had been incarcerated for and when we told them they busted out laughing.
It seems that rumors had gotten around base about us and our incarceration in Steamboat Springs. The worst one was that we had tried to rape the sheriff’s daughter. They must have felt a bit sorry for us because when we stopped for lunch, they treated us, still laughing. Hot dogs we had I think.
Of course the Company C.O. a Captain, wanted to see us at once, me first. He was madder than a hornet and wanted to know what was up. He said, “Ok, you didn’t sign out, you were outside the pass limit, and you are A.W.O.L this morning. Just what have you got to say for yourself?”
I told him the story about the oil and the taillight then said, “Well you see Captain, nobody really signs out much anyway and we didn’t realize that Steamboat was that far.” “Ok” he said, “What about being A.W.O.L. this morning?”
“Well sir,” I said, “We were only A.W.O.L because we were in his stupid jail and couldn’t get back yesterday.”
When I said that I heard uproarious laughter coming from the main office where the First Sargent and company clerk were listening.
I saw the Captain’s face turn a bright red as he pointed to the door and said, “Get out!”
That was thankfully, the last I heard of the whole matter. I did call my Mother and explain everything and she was ok. I assured her I was no criminal and nothing was going to happen. All was well again with mom. She believed me and said she wasn’t worried anymore. I could have done without all this but then I wouldn’t have this funny story to tell years later.
Other than the sheriff with his one-track mind, everyone else in authority seemed to have a sense of humor about what happened. If only you'd signed out...
Good one, Walt. Reminds me of the time I was caught in a speed trap in Morellton, Arkansas about midnight as I tried to get back to my base. The lone city cop had me follow him to the 'Jail' (a bench in an alley by the 'City Hall') where he called the Justice of the Peace. After waiting on the bench (fortunately it was summertime) for an hour, the JP fined me $16. I only had $9 but he agreed he let me call my mother who promised to send him the whole amount on Monday by Western Union. Guess he was sleepy and forgot to tell her the town did not have a WU - anyway, I made it back just in time to muster. I was angry/outraged/putupon, etc., for many years, and I shudder to think of my fate had I been a minority or 'vagrant' ... but you are right. Sixty years later it makes for a funny yarn, one in the string of them that constitutes a life.
That was quite a story. Country law men sometimes seem to take the law into their own hands. Never want to mess with a Sheriff because a politician first and a peace officer second.
The closest I ever came to that was when I drove into Mexicali Mexico with little cash in my pocket, missed my turn at the border and made an “illegal” left turn at a stoplight––turned on green instead of a left arrow. Anyway, an older cop on foot with a basketball whistle pulled me over and told me to, “Go police station… Pay fine,” in broken English. A younger cop came along who seemed to understand English better. I explained to him that I had missed my turn and just trying to find the highway south to San Felipe. The younger cop seemed to understand and signaled for me to go. I could see the two cops arguing in my rearview mirror as I slowly pulled away.
I could only imagine being thrown in a Mexican jail for not having enough money to pay the fine and having my two-year-old Oldsmobile Toronado impounded.
Enjoyed your story Walt. Had a similar experience back in 65 when I was in the army. Fortunately, like you, it worked out...no penalties...and no apologies from the army either.
This book is an autobiographical account of the lessons I learned about life and how I was able to apply them to inspire, motivate and empower others in my own work as a firefighter, as well in my daily life as a husband, a father and a man. When I w
Rosetta was born in 1909 as the youngest of ten children. The family had more laughter than money and neighbors would knock on their door to ask, "Can we come in and laugh, too?"
It seems like yesterday so long ago. After basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia, and basic Medic training at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, my Army career led me to Denver for training as an Orthopedic Specialist. I was nineteen years old.
