Category: Saturday Night Baths Stories

Sometimes we don’t realize when we are in danger and when unseen angels protect us without us even knowing it. The following is a story that happened to me back in February of 1968 when I was a rookie deputy sheriff beginning my career in a patrol car:

I had joined the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department in April of 1967. I finished the grueling Academy in August and was assigned to the old Hall of Justice Jail. The jail was built in 1929 and occupied the top five floors of a fourteen story building. Here’s an interesting tidbit: The top five floors were jails and the bottom 9 floors were courtrooms and criminal justice offices.

The building sat on two separate foundations. The bottom nine floors sat on a foundation typically designed to hold up a building of nine stories. The top five floors sat on a foundation that included several large balls. Each was 24 feet in diameter and constructed of concrete. The theory was this: Since Los Angeles was plagued with earthquakes, the idea was that if the bottom nine floors were to fall away, the top five floors would allow the prisoners to survive by holding top of the building in place and allowing it to move on the foundational balls that supported it. To this day there have been many earthquakes but the theory has never been put to the test.

Back to my story: Following graduation from the Sheriff’s Academy deputies are assigned to the jails before being allowed into patrol. I was 21-years-old when I joined the department and spent 16 months working the jails before being transferred to Temple Station in Temple City, California, located in the beautiful San Gabriel Valley.

I arrived at the Sheriff’s Station in December of 1968 and was assigned to Gene, my training officer. I was spit and polish, had all new equipment and was ready to make my mark on the world.

That February of 1968 it rained almost every day. Everything and everyone was inundated with these heavy rains that had brought mudslides and flooding.

Gene and I were working the graveyard shift in the city of Duarte. This is a foothill community located at the base of the San Gabriel mountains. Around two o’clock in the morning, Gene and I were dispatched to the San Gabriel Gun Club to rescue the caretaker who had called the station asking to be evacuated due to flooding.

The gun club is located in Fish Canyon about 3 miles north of the city of Duarte. Gene drove our patrol car up the paved road as far as we could before reaching the unpaved section that was impassable due to mud. We got out of our patrol car and began the trek on foot to the gun club located about a quarter of a mile away. The going wasn’t too bad. We were protected by our police issued yellow slickers and our boots. It was muddy but not too difficult to navigate.

We were thankful when we reached the cement driveway leading up to the gun club. We approached the living quarters of the maintenance man who kept an eye on things and knocked on the door. The door was opened by a middle aged man who was obviously intoxicated. He looked at us with bleary eyes while being unsteady on his feet. Gene asked him if he was ready to go. He was belligerent and demanded to know where the whiskey was he had ordered. We had no desire to deal with this individual, determined he was in no immediate danger as there was no evidence of flooding in his area. We left him in his intoxicated state and began the trek back to our patrol car.

As we began our trek back to our car, we were unable to find the road again. It was entirely gone. Off in the distance, we could see two patrol cars with their red lights and spotlights on. They were using their speakers to tell us to stay where we were that rescuers were on the way. What? We didn’t need rescuing, we were fine…we thought.

Eventually the fire department arrived and we were led out of the area on a life line through swirling muddy water that was up to our chests. Our patrol car was nowhere to be seen and Gene and I were still a bit disoriented as to what was going on. Once we reached safety, the deputies who had arrived to check on us told the story.

When they arrived they could not reach our patrol car as there was a torrent of water keeping them from moving up the road. They couldn’t see our patrol car, as a flash flood had come through taking everything in its path. The mud was up to the top of the telephone poles, the road impassable and they were believing the worst, that we had been swept away in the flood. It was only when they saw the light from our flashlights that they realized we were okay and began rescue efforts.

Gene and I were soaked, our uniforms and equipment ruined. We were covered in mud from head to toe. The next morning our patrol car was found nearly a quarter of a mile downstream where the flash flood had taken it. It was completely filled with mud inside and only the emergency lights were seen above the mud.

Now, you might be asking yourself, “How did we get back to safety and whatever happened to the guy who caused all of this in the first place.

We were separated from safety by a raging river of water a few hundred yards wide. Thanks to the Fire Department we were guided to safety. These brave men were able to somehow get a rope tethered to each side of this raging river. To this day, I have no idea how they accomplished this feat, but they did. We entered the water and held on to the rope. Every few yards was a fire fighter who made sure we did not let go of the rope and we eventually reached the safety of the other side. To add just a wee bit of additional drama to this rescue, as we were being guided through this river, one of the fire fighters told us to be cautious of rattlesnakes in the water. Like we needed one thing more on our minds.

That same afternoon, the rain stopped and the maintenance man called again asking to be rescued. This time a helicopter was dispatched, the man was rescued and arrested and booked for reporting a false emergency.

It wasn’t until much later that the severity of the situation really sank in. This time my life flashed before my eyes following the event. I thought of the effect of leaving my wife and daughter, parents and friends. A matter of a few minutes or a few seconds were the difference between life and death. There is no way we could have survived if we had been caught in the flood. It seemed surreal as I reflected on the life-threatening experience I had survived.

I’ve always been close to my Grandma Haag. She passed away when I was fifteen but I have always felt her presence close to me. I’d like to believe she had something to do with saving me that night. I’ve always felt she is my guardian angel as I have survived several near death experiences throughout my lifetime and I have attributed them to God’s grace as he provided His angels to look over me. I think my Grandma Haag is my guardian angel.

One thing I know for sure. There are guardian angels. I am living proof of that.

Thank you God for your protection!!!

Like most boys at 15 I was enthralled by cars. I would spend time at the local hobby shop looking at and purchasing plastic models of a variety of model cars. Once I got them home I would paint them, usually in candy apple colors, and then customize them. Some would be lowered in the front, some in the back, some had a continental kit added and some were chopped. I just enjoyed my romance with model cars.

My dad had always been a Nash man. My first memory was of his 1946 Nash and then later his 1951 Nash. The 1951 Nash looked like an upside down bathtub, but my dad loved his Nash. My job was to make sure that car was washed every Saturday and that it was polished a few times a year. That job lasted for a very long time since my dad bought the car new and we had it until it was destroyed in 1962. More about that later.

The Nash was in an Airflyte model and when we were kids we’d try and convince my cousin, Gary, that the car could fly. Of course he did not believe it so we showed him where, right on the dashboard in chrome lettering, were printed the word “Airflyte”. My dad and mom perpetuated this myth when I would ask my dad to put out the wings so we could fly. He would come up with the excuse that there were too many cars around and no room to extend them. My cousin who was probably about 8 or 9 was pretty gullible and bought into it hook, line and sinker. It was great fun!

My dad did buy a 1951 Chevy before he bought the Nash. He piled the whole family into the car. He, my mom, my sister and me. He drove us up to Mount Wilson located a few miles north of Pasadena, California and the highest peak overlooking the San Gabriel Valley. When we got home, he took the car back to the dealership and turned it back in. No Chevy for him. He’d stick to the Nash.

In 1962 my dad bought a used 1959 Chevy station wagon, just like the one pictured here. That was our Sunday go to meeting car and our number one car while the Nash was used to get my dad back and forth to work. By now my three brothers had appeared on the scene and thus the need for a station wagon. Not sure who the car belonged to before but it had a really unusual item that had been added on.

Just to the left of the steering column and mounted just below the dashboard was a Kerr fruit jar. Leading from the top of the fruit jar was a tube that extended up and next to the steering column. The tube was attached to a chrome funnel about an inch across and it had a small latch that allowed the funnel to open and close. This was something I have never seen before or since. It was a place to dispose of lighted cigarettes. My dad and I both smoked but the person the car had belonged to was a chain smoker according to the used car salesman who sold us the car. You would finish your cigarette and then place the lighted butt in the funnel, push the latch and a vacuum would suck the butt into the fruit jar where it would extinguish itself.

I was 15 ½ and yearned for my California Learner’s Permit so I could drive with one of my parents in the car. I spoke to my dad about getting my permit but he said I could get it but before I could get my license at 16 I’d have to find a way to pay for my own insurance. I got my permit, took a driver’s training course offered through the high school and enjoyed driving. When I turned 16 I did not have money to pay for insurance so no license. However, my dad had never been one for obeying all the traffic rules, so very often I was allowed to drive the Nash…by myself…no parents or anyone else in the car.

I am reminded of another time my dad scoffed at the rules. My dad, mom, sister and I were at Keeler and Stimmel’s, an appliance store in Temple City, California. Not sure why we were there but my dad did not put any money into the parking meter. I was about 6 years old at the time and as luck would have it an officer appeared and began writing out a parking ticket. My dad flew out the door and told the officer he had just gone in to get change to put in the meter. Well, I knew that was not true and I had been raised (in my short time living on the planet) the importance of telling the truth. I ran out behind him and told my dad he must be mistaken, that we’d been there for a long time. I don’t remember if he got the ticket or not, but if looks could kill I would have been dead a long time ago.

Now, I really wanted to use the Chevy for my dates. It certainly was not a “chick magnet” but it was way better than the Nash, the upside down bathtub. Unfortunately, the Chevy was off limits. I was allowed to use the Nash if I only drove it locally. Out to a local drive-in restaurant, a drive-in theater, or to church and back.

I was embarrassed to invite a date out and show up in the Nash but it was all I had. There was one good side effect of the Nash. The car was a four door and it was advertised that the seats would lay down and make into a bed. As youngsters, my sister and I often slept in the car while my parents attended meetings or visited with friends. I remember one trip we made when we were returning home from a vacation. It was late at night and my dad was tired from driving. This was in the days before freeways and driving took a lot more attention than it does today because of blinding headlights and curvy and narrow highways.

We pulled off to the side of the road in Bakersfield, California. We were still about 4 hours from home so my parents laid the seats down and we all laid down to take a nap. Bakersfield was known as the earthquake capital of the United States back then and I remember that we had just gotten settled when my mom popped up and said, “What if there’s an earthquake?” “What if the earth opens and swallows us up?” Well that did it. Put the seats back up and hit the road. Everyone was too nervous and excited to sleep. As I look back on it, so what if there had been an earthquake. I think my mom watched too many movies.

Back to the story. The front passenger seat was broken and the back would sometimes fall back if somehow it was pulled forward a few inches. Otherwise it would stay in place. In high school, I had a steady girlfriend that lived across the street from the church we both attended. The parking lot on week nights was the perfect place to “park” and “share a little romance.” As we would be “making out” as it was very easy to release the broken seat and allow it to lay flat without missing a beat. Okay, I know what you may be thinking but I was a virgin until I got married a few years later. I only had the thoughts in my imagination, I did not act upon them.

In 1962 I was driving the Nash late one night when I was involved in a head-on collision with a 1959 Cadillac driven by a drunk driver. The driver of the Cadillac nearly died and I had a few stitches and lost a couple of teeth but survived. Unfortunately the Nash did not.

I eventually saved enough money to buy my first new car and pay for the insurance. It was a 1964 Volkswagen. No fold down seats, engine in the rear, trunk and gas tank under the hood. Not a lot of power, but it was mine all mine.

OUR SPIRITUAL JOURNEY

Who, what, and where is God? I think we each have our own sacred path that leads us to this entity we call God, Spirit, Great Spirit, Universe, Jesus, and so many more names. It is more the feeling I have when I am in concert with my beliefs in God. It is my journey, not yours. You may not have recognized that journey yet and would like to skip this story. I give you permission to do so. As you read these words, understand that this is my journey that Danielle has chosen to walk with me. (At least for now.) This is our story.

Both Danielle and I began our spiritual journey’s in very different ways and yet we eventually came together on the same spiritual path.

Danielle grew up in the small town of Piedmont, South Dakota and was introduced to the Methodist church in her teens. Her mom attended church and taught Sunday School. Her dad did not attend regularly but did make time to attend on Easter and Christmas. Since Danielle played guitar and loved to sing, she became part of the Praise and Worship Team at her church. She loved her minister, Pastor Leach. In fact, she was instrumental in modifying the worship service. Danielle loves to pray and she found that during the meditation time during the service, she did not have time to finish her prayers in the time of silence provided. She mentioned this to Pastor Leach and from that time forward, the time of silence did not end until Pastor Leach saw that Danielle had concluded her prayers.

Danielle was also very active with the youth group at church and she enjoyed her party times each week with them. At the conclusion of what may have been a summer program, all of the kids were encouraged to go to the front of the church, kneel down, and say that they believed in Jesus. Danielle chose not to participate because, as she put it, she did not believe in Jesus, because she did not really know who Jesus was and she did not want to lie in front of the church congregation. That night when she returned home, she got down on her knees and prayed, “Jesus if you’re real, reveal yourself to me.” She said that an immediate feeling of peace and comfort surrounded her and in that moment she felt the presence of Jesus. It was so very real that she was able to climb up into His lap and until this day she continues to feel His presence and she still climbs up onto his lap.

Her close friendship with Pastor Leach continued. The Pastor and her began attending local tractor shows a couple times a year. (Keep in mind this was a rural part of South Dakota) Much like car shows, tractor shows were designed to showcase the latest tractors and their makers. At these shows, Pastor Leach would lead a cowboy church where Danielle would play her guitar and sing praise songs. The cowboy church was held outdoors under a tent with maybe 50 or so cowboys in attendance. Danielle would play and sing and Pastor Leach would give a short message in the hour long service.

Danielle also had a unique baptism experience. When Pastor Leach and Danielle determined it was time for her baptism, they chose the creek that ran through the back of Danielle’s house. Pastor Leach, Danielle and Danielle’s dad went down to the creek and performed the baptism ritual and ceremony. Complete immersion in very cold water. Brrr! Danielle’s mom had chosen not to attend because in her words she, “ didn’t think Danielle was good enough to be baptized.”

As Danielle reflected on her church going experience, she only remembered the good things. She had no recollection of being taught about the idea original sin. The idea that when we are born we already hopelessly sinful. Daily she watched Joyce Meyers and Ken Copeland on television and loved their messages of hope and love.

Several years later when she moved to New Mexico she attended the Assembly of God church and the Vineyard church.
My experience growing up in the church was quite different. I attended the Christian Reformed Church in Arcadia located just a couple of blocks from my home. The congregation consisted on mostly people who lived in the local area and were Dutch. The Christian Reformed Church was an off-spring of the Dutch Reformed Church, a very conservative religion that believed only members of the Dutch Reformed Church were admitted into Heaven. It was also the denomination that created the idea of Apartheid and separation of races in South Africa.

In 1941 my grandparents, and three other couples, started this church in Arcadia It was a part of a larger denomination especially popular in the Midwest, particularly in Michigan and Iowa. The first missionary minister increased the size of the congregation by going through the local telephone book and calling people with Dutch surnames and inviting them to Sunday services. Eventually the church was constructed and over the years enlarged several times to accommodate the growing congregation.

My parents met in this church, married in this church, me and all my siblings were baptized as infants in this church and I later made my Profession of Faith in this church at the age of 15. Later my children were baptized and made their profession of faith in this church. The roots ran very deep.

I had so many mentors growing up. Friends of my parents that took a real interest in helping me along my religious path. People who cared about what happened to me. People who were kind and caring. They often waved at me or stopped me when they saw me riding by on my bike and sometimes invited me in for a cool drink and a snack. It was like one big happy family and I loved it! I set up my summertime “Lemonade and Hot Dog Stand” in front of one of their homes which was a busy street and a more desirable sales location than on the quiet street I lived on. I used their stove and refrigerator to cook the hot dogs and store the lemonade and made a few bucks from my sales.

I was often invited in for lunch with these friends and invited to Sunday dinners and barbecues.. Dutch meals were the best. Lunch often included a variety of meats and cheeses along with a delicious selection of breads and crackers. Sunday dinners were almost always a roast or fried chicken. I remember a very socially active church community that I was in love with. It was a close knit family of both adults and friends my age. In fact, the church was criticized for being less than hospitable to people with non-Dutch heritage.

Most of the people attending this little church lived within a mile of the church. Some of these people, including my parents, started the Arcadia Christian School, a one room schoolhouse with eight grades. One of the more humorous stories to come out of the beginning of this school was that it was originally named the Arcadia Christian Reformed School to match up with the Christian Reformed Church located a half-block away. It didn’t take long for the local community to react and take issue with the school being located in their community. There is no way they were going to allow a “reformed school” in their neighborhood. There was a lot of explaining to do before the community understood it was a church school and not a “reformed school” for juvenile delinquents. The controversy finally subsided. The school was appropriately renamed the Arcadia Christian School.

The Christian Reformed Church taught me early about being born into sin, that if I didn’t obey God I would go to hell, that if I didn’t measure up to God’s standards, my prayers would not be answered. It was drummed into my head from a very early age that I was born into sin. I was corrupt and that could not be changed unless I believed in Jesus dying for my sins and living an upright life governed by the teachings of the church. I believe this had everything to do with my poor self-image, my feelings of being less than, and believing I would never be good enough.. This was so deeply ingrained in me by the constant teachings by ministers, sunday school teachers, school teachers and members of the church.

Fast-forward many years. I am now an adult in my 40’s and am still very involved in the church. I am attending both the morning and evening services as well as being totally immersed in church activities. I sit on the church council and have served as both deacon and elder. I teach Sunday School, head committees and so much more. I am perpetuating the teachings I later realized to have been such a hindrance to my own growth.

My soon to be ex-wife and I were going through a separation and divorce but both of us were still attending the same Christian Reformed Church. The church of my childhood. I saw no difficulty in attending and worshiping in the same space. Two of my close friends and elders in the church came to visit us one evening. These two elders were people I had known for many years, had taken meals with. These were men that were among my dearest friends. I knew this must be more than a friendly meeting when they arrived unannounced and had driven more than 30 miles to where I was now living. They hesitatingly got to the point of their visit. They were representing the church council and asked me to find another church. My presence and my wife’s presence at worship services were creating a problem. People were taking sides and they thought it best I find another place of worship. What? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was devastated at what I was hearing. Really! Was this what my religion had finally come to? Where was the love? Where was my support? Where was God? I was being uprooted from my heritage. As much as I hated what was happening, I chose to find another church and in doing so God was leading me in a direction I could not have seen coming.

Although it took some time, I soon started attending a Presbyterian church. I soon found myself very involved with this church, had found a close friendship in Mark Kliewer, the interim minister and was a member of the Session or church council.

I was the chair of the Personnel Committee that was responsible for overseeing personnel issues with the church, the associated nursery school, and the church administrative staff. As mentioned, Mark was the interim minister and had a one year contract to provide ministerial duties with the church. The previous minister had accepted a call to another church and Mark served as minister while another minister was found.

As so often happens when there is a change in leadership, a particular faction in the church resented Mark and felt he was not doing what he had been called to do. I won’t go into the details but I was often asked to sit in on meetings between Mark and congregants who aired their grievances and complaints. I often could not believe my ears as these people shouted profanities and obscenities at Mark. Sometimes it felt as if I was sitting in a bar and not in the minister’s office. A few months later, Mark’s contract expired and he left to serve another nearby church as interim minister.

After Mark’s departure, and since I was seen as his friend, the same people who had resented Mark turned their anger and energy towards me. I suddenly found myself as their new “whipping boy”. Session meetings became difficult. If I said white one of them would say black and their anger was prevalent. I soon found myself feeling abused and those old feelings of not being good enough were returning.

By now a new minister had been found but that did not seem to solve any of the issues I had been experiencing. After one particular volatile diatribe directed at me by a fellow Session member, I saw myself as the victim. I realized perhaps for the first time that I had the choice to continue to be victimized or to be strong and stand up for myself. I chose the latter and made the decision to resign from the Council and leave the church. I was not going to be the victim of anyone’s verbal abuse again. I sent a letter of resignation to the minister along with my reasons! Interestingly, I never heard one single word back from anyone. I left the church!

I wondered where the love was in these churches? I also realized that this was a two-way street. I was not loving my enemies, I was not praying for those who persecuted me, I was only caught up in my own stew of anger and hate. The teachings of the church and Jesus were ignored as I was too busy being the victim.

I had now been away from the church for many years. Sundays became just another day for me. Fortunately, I did attend my A.A. meetings and that provided a spiritual base. I learned more about my relationship with God through the teachings of A.A. than I had never known while attending church. In 2001 I retired from my law enforcement career and was enjoying retirement. One day I had lunch with an acquaintance that changed my life forever. A former Captain I had worked for, Sue Burgoon and I had lunch together in Huntington Beach, one of my favorite spots in the world. During lunch the topic turned to spirituality, God, and religion. Sue said she had a book she thought I would be interested in and a few days later the book entitled “Discover the Power Within You” by Eric Butterworth arrived. The book, written back in the 1960s was amazing. I had only read the first half of the preface to the book when I could not put it down. It spoke to me as nothing had ever spoken to me before. It spoke of love, compassion, peace and most of all of never judging another for who they were or how or where they worshiped God. Butterworth let it be known that God leaves no one out and that became my credo. Most important was that Unity believed we are born into Original Blessing and not original sin.

Mr. Butterworth was a Unity minister, a movement that taught the importance of inclusivity, leaving no-one out. This movement was accepting of all other religions and sought only to see the Divine spark in all of us. Unity church was co-founded by Charles and Myrtle Fillmore back in the late 1800s. Myrtle was healed of her tuberculosis after being given a six month death decree (she lived for more than 40 years after that.) Charles saw how his wife had been healed and began a journey that would not only start a new movement but would see his own disability healed. He had one leg shorter by inches than the other and had to wear special shoes. Over a period of years the leg lengthened until he wore normal shoes and no longer walked with a limp.

I wanted to know more about the Unity movement and sought out a nearby Unity church in the Los Angeles area. I was met with open arms and warm smiles. I felt like I was home. I attended this Unity church for a little more than a year before moving to New Mexico. The small town I lived in had no Unity church and the nearest one was 87 miles and an hour-and-a -half away. So, I reverted back to old habits and just stopped attending church but I maintained a great interest in Unity. I read everything Eric Butterworth had written as well a several other Unity authors.

After nearly 10 years, I was going through yet another separation and divorce when I met Danielle. Our courtship and relationship is outlined in the chapter entitled The Teacher and the Groom. It soon became apparent that although Danielle and I came from different religious backgrounds, we had the same ideas about love, compassion, kindness, and peace. Danielle’s background was founded on love and a close relationship with Jesus. Mine was filled with the idea that I was born into a world where I was already condemned.

Soon after Danielle and I began dating, we drove to the Unity Church in Albuquerque where once again we were greeted with open arms and warm smiles. People seemed genuine in their loving ways. We were told that we were born into a world of original blessing! We were the apple of God’s eye and were magnificent and loved! We were not judged!

We still drive to Albuquerque each Sunday. A lengthy drive that is filled with music and conversation between Danielle and me. As we enter the sanctuary each Sunday we are greeted with the sound of laughter and love. The message is clearly mentioned by the minister each week, GOD AND UNITY LEAVE NO ONE OUT!”

We are now on the road to making a transition from New Mexico to Missouri to be near Unity Village, the headquarters of the Unity movement.

Danielle and I drove nearly 87 miles every Sunday to attend church services at the Albuquerque Spiritual Center.
The drive we enjoyed most Sundays was on Highway 55 from our small town of Mountainair to Albuquerque. The drive was pleasant as it was a beautiful drive through beautiful scenery. Red rock canyons, tall pines, and small villages were all a part of the journey. It also allowed for us to have great conversations or to listen to some of our favorite CD’s on our way to church.

I remember one gorgeous Spring morning. The sky was so blue, filled with puffy white clouds, and the day was one of those crystal clear days that seem too good to be true.

Danielle and I had been listening to “As Time Goes By” made popular in the movie Casablanca with Humphry Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.

Suddenly Danielle shouted to pull the car over. I assumed an emergency had been detected and I found a turnout and stopped the car. Danielle jumped out of the car and yelled for me to join her on the passenger side. I ran around the car as fast as I could and met Danielle at the passenger side door. By the time I got to her, she had cranked the radio up and stood there with a big smile on her face. She simply said, “Dance with me!” And I did.

We danced to As Time Goes By for the remainder of the song. I remember feeling a bit awkward to begin with but that feeling soon evaporated as I held and danced with the love of my life in my arms. A memory not to be forgotten,

Now getting back to the original story. It was Ferbruary and we had some snow a couple of days before that had mostly melted. The temperature that Sunday morning was near freezing. As I was in the middle of a turn, our car hit a patch of black ice and skidded off the highway. We had been going 55 Miles per hour and were now sliding sideways on the shoulder.

As we were sliding sideways I saw that we were heading directly for a large tree. I knew we were still going pretty fast and that we would hit on Danielle’s side of the car. I was frantically trying to get some control of the car back as we were nearing an impact that was certainly going to cause some injury to Danielle. As I continued to fight with control of the car and just as we about to make impact, the rear wheels found some purchase and we were propelled back on to the highway. I was in an adrenaline fueled state but was astonished as I looked over at Danielle.

She was not the least bit upset nor concerned. To see her you would have thought nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I questioned her about it and she gave me one of her many lessons in faith.

She said that she was prepared to let God make the decision as to her future as we hurtled towards that tree. She was prepared to let God handle the situation.

I was unnerved by her calmness but years later as she approached her own death, I saw the same calmness in her as she took her last breath. I have been touched by lessons learned from this amazing woman and have been able to apply them to my own life,.

Call it a miracle if you like. If not call it a coincidence. You decide. For me it was a moment in complete surrender to our Creator and His/Her grace to Danielle and I.

NOT GUILTY

Every year the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, (of which I was a member for 34 years) puts on a “Round Up” in Laughlin, Nevada. This is a 4 day reunion for retired folks from the department. In 2016 Danielle and I attended.

As is our custom, when we travel, we enjoy attending local Unity churches. On this particular Sunday we found a Unity church in nearby Bullhead City, Arizona. Laughlin and Bullhead City are only separated by the Colorado River which flows between them and also forms the border between Arizona and Nevada.

At the church we were warmly greeted andinformed that the minister was on vacation but there was a special musical event being performed by Armand and Angelina Della Volpe. This was right up our alley as we loved all kinds of music. We were not disappointed as Armand and Angelina put on an amazing performance. Armand is an accomplished flute player and Angelina is a classically trained soprano.

After finishing one of their pieces, Armand gave a short message that began this way: He stood up in front of the congregation and raised his hands and as he did so he spoke these words: “I now pronounce you NOT GUILTY!” Immediately there was heard a sigh that arose from the congregation. As Danielle and I discussed it later, we both felt as if a weight had been lifted off of our shoulders. What an amazing and profound impact those two simple words had. It was then that we decided we would use these words for others whenever the moment would arise.

Just a couple of weeks later, Danielle and I were meandering around Old Town Albuquerque. It is a part of the city that has been restored and is filled with shops, an American Indian Bazaar, a beautiful Catholic church, and other buildings of historical interest. We had just finished our lunch and were returning unhurriedly to our car when we spotted a shop advertising cowgirl apparel. Well if I had not mentioned it earlier, Danielle is a real cowgirl. She was a rodeo performer and had won the coveted title of “National Rodeo Cowgirl Champion” back in 1978. (By the way, she is very easy on the eyes and was twice runner up for Miss South Dakota.) So, you see, she loves cowgirl apparel.

We were the only customers in this small boutique and as Danielle browsed I struck up a conversation with the clerk. The clerk was a 35ish lady, small in stature, who spoke with a German accent. As we talked she shared that she was from Germany and that she was very ashamed of her countrymen. Even though she could not have been alive at the time, she felt guilty for the atrocities and execution of six million Jews during World War II. She felt that when people heard her German accent they were blaming her in part for this activity that had occurred under Hitler. As she was speaking, she was not making eye contact with me. She was looking down at the counter she was standing behind. Although I did not understand why she had taken on this unnecessary guilt and responsibility, I tried to be courteous and listen without interrupting. As I saw the sadness, the depression, and the fear in this young lady, those words of Armand came back to me. When she was finished speaking, I held up my arms with my hands and palms facing outward and spoke those words I had heard from Armand: “I pronounce you NOT GUILTY!”

What happened next was nothing short of amazing. Danielle and I speak of the transition often. Tears welled up in her eyes, color returned to her face, she began to smile and her entire countenance changed. If we had taken a before and after photo the two photos would have little in common. We were looking at a different person. She said a huge load had been lifted off her shoulders. She tearfully thanked us over and over again and gave us huge warm hugs. She couldn’t stop thanking us for coming into the store. We were dumbfounded.

As this young woman thanked us for the umpteenth time, we agreed to return next time we were back in town to hopefully continue our new-found friendship and we left the shop.

A few weeks later we were back in Old Town and thought to look up our new friend. We walked to where we knew the shop to be, but it was not there. I don’t mean it was closed; it was not there. The building wasn’t there. We walked up and down the streets several times and even drove up and down the streets looking for the shop. It was like it was never there. It was a “Twilight Zone” experience. We were once again dumbfounded, how could the shop just disappear? What kind of experience did we have? Was the shop and our new friend somehow transported here temporarily? Was it only for the purpose of her having the experience with us? To receive absolution of her imaginary sins? We don’t know! We have never seen this lady nor the store again! I could not find it listed when I did an Internet search. This was really eerie!

Maybe what happened was also a lesson for us to learn.

I learned a long time ago, that I needed to love myself so that I could love others. I can only love others to the extent I love myself. Both Danielle and I have come to the conclusion that loving ourselves must come first. A huge part of loving ourselves is being able to forgive ourselves for our shortcomings and change our behavior so we do not continue do the things that caused us to look down upon ourselves in the first place. We had to pronounce ourselves, “NOT GUILTY” and then we had to live those words.

Back in the 1980s I was assigned to the Marina Del Rey Sheriff’s Station. I was a newly promoted sergeant and the Marina was located on the ocean on the west side of Los Angeles in a very affluent area. The Marina itself was a very small area made up of expensive high-rise condominiums and apartments. Docking space in the Marina was expensive and provided permanent docking space for boats and yachts owned by the well-to-do and the rich and famous. There was docking space for more than a thousand boats.

Needless to say it was not unusual to cross paths with politicians and celebrities on a regular basis.

I once sat in the back of Thomas “Tip” O’Neil’s (At that time Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives) limo after being invited to get out of the rain while my deputies took a report from his aide who had been a victim of a robbery. Or stopping the son of Dan Rowan of Laugh-In fame for speeding. His son was being a jerk and throwing his dad’s name around when Dan showed up on the scene and put an end to his son’s tirade. Rick Monday who was at that time playing for the Dodgers had a six-pack cabin cruiser docked in the Marina and always offered me a cold drink whenever I passed by. Rick was know for his saving of the U.S. flag when he played for the Chicago Cubs. A fan had run onto the field and was preparing to ignite the flag in left field. Rick ran up and snatched the flag away and saved it from being burned. (Look it up). There are too many other instances to relate here. But the one I remember and loved the most is the one I will share now.

The Marina City Club in the Marina was a high rise comprised of numerous condominiums. the largest and most affluent places to live in the Marina at the time. The Marina City Club had their own security and we rarely received calls for service as security took care of their own problems.

One Sunday morning around 5 AM my deputies and I received a call to respond to the penthouse at the Marina City Club we were informed that a resident was holding a burglar at gunpoint This was very unusual as normally their own security would have responded but apparently the caller had dialed 911 and had bi-passed their security.

We hurried to the penthouse and entered via the unlocked door. There we came face-to-face with one of my long-time hero’s Dick Van Dyke. Dick was holding a shotgun pointed at the intruder he had captured.

What a sight to behold. Dick Van Dyke in his pajamas pointing a shotgun at a single male who had broken in to his condo.

As we entered, Dick broke out into his very familiar smile and said, “Thank God you’re here cause this darn shotgun doesn’t work.” He then laughed as we took the suspect into custody. Dick demonstrated that same wonderful warm personality we see him portray on the screen. No wonder he is so popular.

Dick Van Dyke had always been special to me and now I was face-to-face with one of my heroes.I had always loved his comedy but was also drawn to him as I knew he had imitated another hero of mine, Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy fame. But what made my endearment of him so special was that I knew that Dick was a recovering alcoholic like me and we suffered from the same disease. Somehow that made it even more special in those early Sunday morning hours. That made us a sort of brother-in-arms.

After the deputies departed I had a short conversation with Dick. He gushed his appreciation for our service and I gushed mine over his accomplishments.

I went my way and Dick Van Dyke continues to wow audiences in spite of being in his 90’s.

Thank you Dick Van Dyke for all you have done for us.

This is a love story…written in the stars.

As Danielle and I were dating, we had made the decision to live apart until we were married. She on her small ranch and me in my home on the Deer Canyon Nature Preserve, both in central New Mexico. We were separated by about a 20 minute drive.

Both Danielle and I are early risers and I especially enjoyed walking my two dogs, Sunny and Skye early in the morning. Sunny was a Chow-Golden Retrieve mix and sweet as pie. Skye was an Australian Cattle Dog and full of life. Both were extremely well behaved, my amazing partners and they loved to walk and run in the half hour or so before dawn.

My home sat alone on an 18,000 acre nature preserve where all vegetation and animal life was protected. I could not see my neighbor and the dogs and I could walk up the side of the mesa on a well defined trail. The dogs were off leash and that left me to behold the wonders of nature that surrounded me. With so little light pollution, the stars gave off enough light that I did not need a light to guide my path. I used to tell people that on a moonlit night you could sit outside and read the newspaper, it was so bright. As the three of us walked, we were surrounded by silence, peace, and the overwhelming presence of nature and God.

One morning, as I was walking, I looked up at the stars and my attention was immediately drawn to three very bright stars. These stars were aligned in a constellation and shape of a triangle, . It really caught my attention, and immediately I felt a divine tug. Not sure how to adequately describe it but I felt as if there was some significant meaning to what I was seeing. And then it came to me. It was meant to show my relationship with God and with Danielle. It was my own holy trinity. God, Danielle and I were represented by the three sides of the triangle. We were inside the triangle and we were meant to be together. I believed that we were divinely destined to be together.

I was anxious to return home and call Danielle to tell her of my experience. It was my habit to call Danielle each morning following my walk to spend a few minutes on the phone before our days began. I called Danielle.

Now lets here Danielle’s side of the story:

“Following my divorce, I had been alone for a few years and was not sure I should be entering into another permanent relationship. Even if I made that decision I questioned whether Ray was the man for me. In my prayers I asked God for a sign that I was making the right decision to move ahead with Ray.”

“One early morning, before dawn, I looked into the night sky and I saw three very bright stars. They were in the shape of a triangle and I saw this as a sign that God, Ray, and I were entwined in the triangle. I felt so strongly about this that I prayed to God that if Ray was right for me, let him see the same sign. But even as I prayed this prayer I thought this was an impossibility.”

“Twenty minutes later the phone rang and Ray said, “You need to go outside and look into the sky at three bright stars that are in the shape of a triangle. I think it means that God, you and me are meant to be together.”

“What? My head was in a spin. Was this really happening? I couldn’t believe it! I was so happy but I was still having difficulty wrapping my head around it. Both Ray and I were in a state of amazement as we went over the story again and again. God was real! My prayer really had been answered!”

Final Decision

From that moment on, Danielle and I were all in. This was not coincidence, this was not fate, this was faith in action. God is! It was apparent to both of us that our marriage was meant to be. To this day, we often revisit this story of the miracle in the stars and we still get goose-bumps as we relive the story. We have also used this experience as a way of anchoring our relationship. In difficult times or in times of disagreement, we remind each other of the story in the stars. This was our covenant with God. It was a divine agreement between the three of us. God had given us his promise and it was ours to keep. We knew in those few sacred moments that we indeed had a God who listens and lives.

Soon thereafter, following a church service, I knelt on my knees in the sanctuary of our church, and asked Danielle to be my wife. She said the word I had longed to hear, a resounding “YES”. On May 16, 2015, we took God at his word which was given to us in this sign in the sky, and we were married in our church in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

One last thing! Following that moment with the triangle of stars showing themselves to us, we have never seen them again. We looked the following day, the constellation was gone. We have looked many times. We even looked on the anniversary of the event; they were no where to be seen. We truly believe this moment was exclusively meant for us. It was our Star of Bethlehem moment and as we remember, we will continue to sing praises to God our King.

Our destiny was written in the stars.

Being a Deputy Sheriff I soon learned that people seemed to like to hear the stories of some of my experiences. I usually only tell them to some of my closest friends. They vary from funny to sad to crazy. This is one of those once in a lifetime stories of my unexpected encounter with Robert Plant, (lead singer of the Led Zeppelin rock band), Scotland Yard and my scoring backstage passes for a Led Zeppelin concert.

This all began back in the late 1970’s. I was assigned to work the night detective car at the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department Temple Station. Temple Station is located in the small town of Temple City, California a suburb located approximately a dozen miles from downtown Los Angeles.

On this particular evening, my partner had called in sick and I was working alone. Around 10 o’clock that night I received a phone call from London, England. This in and of itself was unusual and of course stimulated my curiosity. A male identifying himself as a someone who provided security for Robert Plant of the Led Zeppelin asked for my assistance. He related the following story:

A phone call was traced to a phone booth in our town of Temple City. The young male on the phone had managed to get through on the phone to Robert Plant. The caller identified himself as a doctor and was telling Robert Plant he had cancer and was going to die. Now this caller was very convincing because in order to get through to Robert Plant you had to go through Scotland Yard. The caller had convinced an officer in Scotland Yard that he was the real deal and had been transferred to Robert Plant. The security person I was speaking with said they had managed to trace the call and in fact still had the caller on the line. I was given the location of the phone booth, which was only a couple of blocks from the Sheriff’s Station. I jumped in my unmarked unit and raced to the phone booth. Sure enough, there was a young male talking on the phone. When he saw me approaching the phone booth he quickly hung up the phone. I immediately recognized the suspect as someone I had dealt with many times. Someone who seemed to be getting into trouble without even trying.

I detained the suspect and transported him to the Station where he admitted his wrongdoing. He said, he was angry and upset that the Led Zeppelin had cancelled a tour date for which he had tickets. He was directing his anger at Mr. Plant to get even for him cancelling the concert. This very imaginative young man had managed to get through to Mr. Plant and pass himself off as a doctor, telling him he had a case of incurable cancer.

Robert Plant had, in fact, cancelled the concert as he had broken his arm and was unable to perform. I called the security agent back and asked if they wanted to prosecute. I was told they preferred not to prosecute and if I was able to supply them with a photo of the suspect, they would be willing to let him go.

The suspect agreed to let me take his photo, in fact was enthusiastic about it as now the Led Zeppelin would know his identity and would have his picture. He was stoked!

I mailed the photo to the security agent and I thought that was the end of it. A couple of months later I received a call from the security agent. He said the Led Zeppelin was going to be performing in Los Angeles and they would like to invite me and my friends as guests. He sent me 12 front row guest passes along with backstage passes.

I was not into 1970’s rock in those days. But my younger brother Don was and I gave him the passes. Later he told me he had an amazing evening seeing the concert and meeting the band members following the performance.

All in all, it was a fun caper!