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OK, now that I got my YahYah's out, as well as my nah nah nah naaaaah nah's, it's time for a special "enlargement" post. This will be the COMPLETE tale, beginning to end, of my little jail time experience. You have to remember, this is not only the Mighty Sword's life, this is also the life of Mr. Christopher Bruce, the man with a talent for having the sh**iest luck on the planet, and for always being in the wrong place at the right time.
See, you would think, at least for most, that this would have been a simple case of "Corrupt DHS workers throw monkey wrench in defendant's life, because a. They want to screw you up in your assessment appeal, keep your baby, and make you sign the abuse registry for ten years, and b. they are mad because of that little ordeal with their pet foster parents (I suppose, for them, it's a lot like killing the neighbor's dog and hanging it on their door by a nail, just because you didn't like him burying bones in your successful garden. They have a real knack for blowing things (and feelings) waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay out of proportion. I'm sorry, I don't know WHY the word "feelings" got there, DHS never has feelings. I'll think of a better one later....no time, haven't had any sleep since yesterday at noon), put out warrant for his arrest, Chris gets arrested, has to be deported back to home city, Chris goes before judge pays bail and goes free until court...but it ain't. No, my interesting Judeo-Christian friends, Chris's life just don't play that. Nothing is EVER "cut and dried" where this man is concerned. Worse yet, it always seems to bleed out and affect nearly everyone within 20 feet of him as well.
Anyway, I digress. Back to it, it should have been pretty cut and dried, but it 'tweren't. See, it wasn't even the idiots at the Des Moines Police Department who figured out where I was. No, there was a 3rd party to my capture, the one who fingered my Washington trick to throw off the Des Moines Police. This party had a brain and a lot more power, where finding me on the Internet was concerned. BTW, I still intend to go to Washington...but I couldn't feasibly attend until I flushed the harassment stuff down the toity. Enter then, a CIA operative, who had suddenly become VERY interested when I put, on the Church's blog post, the phrase "I fully intend to camp out on Obama's doorstep, until he does something about the corruption in my state. As if I could a. Get within 1000 yards of Obama's doorstep without going on a tour, b. I would be allowed to stay on Obama's doorstep, after the tour's end, c. given my current age and spryness, I couldn't possibly pole vault the very high barb-wire fence like the other guy did, and finally, d. Like I would be capable of any such violence. He and he alone is responsible for my capture...not the incompetent Detective Jack Lancaster, as I first believed.
So the Carroll Police were then called to my door to do the dirty deed. The one officer was pretty polite, and was nice enough to allow me to call my wife and take a few minutes. The other officer, his partner, was also nice...until the cuffs went on, and I went from acceptable free citizen to cuffed offender, A.K.A. No better than the dirt under his nails.
I was ushered to the Carroll County Jail (it's important to mention, here, that at NO time, during the ENTIRE arrest, or during any subsequent interviews, was I ever quoted Miranda), where I was booked by, who I thought was, an initially nice booking clerk. Around 2 minutes prior to my being ushered to my cell, I started a bout of fibrillation, something that hasn't happened in years. Now, a little history, I have had these small occurrences since I was approximately 7. What happened is, I fibrillate for around 2 minutes, and my heart races to around 180-200 beats a minute, and until I concentrate and end it, it will ravage my circulatory system and fry my brain, leaving behind a massive headache. Only 2 times, has it ever gone on longer. The first time was during Hurricane George, my first hurricane, where it lasted for nearly 2 very long and very pain-inducing hours. I finally had to brave the hurricane and get an IV in my arm that stopped it for me in around 5 minutes, following that 2 hours. I remember how drained my system was, and the headache obtained from it had, up to this point, been unequalled.
The 2nd time happened here. I recognized it immediately of course, and asked for someone in the medical field, or an ambulance for the father. I was ignored, and then placed in my cell.
This heartbeat continued on for over an hour. All the while I begged, threatened, screamed and yelled over them, in order to "Promise" then, a lot like all the others who have blatantly done these parents in, that their jobs would be had, and people would very much pay; for a medical doctor or nurse to be present to observe this very critical and life-threatening condition. Then, thankfully, it ended...just two moments before the DMPD showed up to usher the defendant to Polk County Jail.
Now, I have to take a moment to state, also, that at this time, as well as a few times to follow, I will be praising the names of a few select DMPD's and PC Sheriff's for doing their respective jobs, and doing them well; respectfully AND lawfully. These folks have earned my "above and beyond" awards, and are hereby to be recognized for actually "Protecting" as well as "Serving" the main two jobs that are SUPPOSED to be practiced by ALL in law enforcement. Remember the names well, DES MOINES, and hope, for yourself in YOUR case, the names of those who are honest and forthright.
So, that being said, I'd like to thank (?) and (?) of the Des Moines Police Department, for being kind to this defendant, and for making conversation on the trip back to Des Moines. (I'm afraid I have to leave the names off of the blog, until I can contact the Guthrie County Sheriff's office...I ADD'd all of my legal papers in the nice Sheriff's car that rode my tired butt into the next county, after getting hypothermia and walking for nearly 25 miles in 31 degree weather with only a jean jacket on. These two were patient and considered my story from various sides, instead of most people I know, who are generally one-sided in their thinking.
Now, I can say a lot of bad things about the Polk County Sheriffs. Remember, these are the Judge's goons at the Polk County Courthouse, and I have no respect for most of them. But the CO's at the jail (with the notable exception of one, whose story will soon be related) were quite understanding and pretty amiable as well...if you were a good egg, and followed the rules, as well as weren't too damned annoying; or just were plain old off of your rocker. Unfortunately, I won't be giving you their real names, only because they aren't allowed to give them out...something to do with possible "favoritism" or something like that. I will be describing them only as C.O. A, B, etc., and as long as THEY know who they are, they can garner their own appreciation, and we'll just leave it at that. Anyway, like I stated, I can say a lot of bad enough things about them and their jail, but the one thing I won't be able to say is that they don't consider your life and your health more important; over and above anything to do with incarceration. I wouldn't be so fortunate with the Carroll County Sheriffs. These people laughed at me while I went through this, and made fun of everything I was screaming about, and totally ignored me, in order to deprive me of the help I was desperately in need of, concerning a very important life-threatening condition. They will, of course, be added to what I now call "The Bruce Bitch List", my very long list of a forever growing number of people who will be paying...out of their a**es, as well as with their respective positions.
Moving along, I arrived at Polk County to enter "The Fishbowl", a cell made entirely of Cement, where you are expected to eat, go to the bathroom in front of, and share sleeping places with as many as 12-15 other Polk County misdoers, while you wait interminably for next morning's court arraignment on your charges, or wait while your loved ones struggle, against all odds (collect phone calls, putting money on your books, etc.) to bail you out a.s.a.p. There is only one bad thing about the processes you need to make and follow in order to accomplish everything: If you've never been through this before, as in the case of your spouse's mate, it's nearly impossible to communicate to them, all within a 15 second radius). Then at the end of your stay, you generally still won't have money on the books, won't have talked to your wife in days, and are no closer to getting out than you were when you went in, even after a few days. Suddenly, I had a mental relapse back to DHS's "reasonable efforts", where they offer you ridiculous things that serve NO purpose to help reunify you. *shudders*
So, as you already know, I had the very fair Judge Birkenholtz, and he, of course, disregarded Mr. Sarcone's suggestion, and let me get my bond, and, naturally, my bail as well. Directly following this, as you also know, I had my surprise interview with Mr. CIA. All went surprisingly well with that too. He understood that this was about my daughter and the corruption in my state, and nothing more. What's more, he took extra time to question me about what I had gone through with DHS as well, like he was attempting to ascertain, not my talking too much about it, but more like he was trying to figure out if DHS wasn't maybe going too far. That made me feel a little more confident about my trip to Washington. I made it perfectly clear that this was about jobs, and that what I said about camping out on Obama's doorstep was simply a metaphor. I also made it perfectly clear that I had no intention of setting up camp on his actual doorstep. I meant, actually, that it was Washington itself, hat I considered to be Obama's doorstep.
On day one of my little stay at Polk County, I grew tired, already, of watching other people getting out, and I was still having issues making it clear to my wife what she was supposed to do to get me out. After a time, I got that I needed someone...ANYBODY, that would sign my guarantee with the bailbondsman, that I would appear on the court date stated. I then called my brother, who I THOUGHT would sign the bond paper. He didn't quoting that I still owed him money from before, money that we had talked about and argued that I owed him little to nothing, and he insisted that it was more. Well, screw you too brother. I had friends/ex-bosses that were nicer, they signed it, and my family won't, over an amount of money not worth spitting on, really. As for calling my mother, I got about as far; she hung up as soon as it was known that she might have to pay a small collect phone bill. Really? In retirement, she made more money than when she actually worked for the state...so that's no excuse in my eyes either. And you wonder why I'm not too thrilled with my immediate family.
After talking with my mother, I was despondent that my own family didn't even trust me to show for court, even though I've never skipped out on a court date to date...but my former bosses, who I've known for far less (and who obviously know me a lot better than my family does, currently), did...the following day. Needless to say, though, on that first day, I was pretty down...and I threw a couple of minor temper tantrums. The C.O. on that day was the only guy I didn't get along with too well, mostly because he liked abusing his position somewhat. He threw me into solitaire...and they stripped me naked. The next morning, as additional punishment (like practically breaking my bones in order to leave me in the cell, added to being left in a cell with nothing to do and the lights on all night, with crazier people than you banging and raising hell all the time wasn't nearly enough), for breakfast, I was treated with a whole honeybun, a small carton of milk, and an orange juice. Nice rounded meal, huh?
The day after that, things went better. By the time I was done with that day, it was time to get out. All of that went ahead with nary a hitch...but I was left in Des Moines BY Des Moines with no money, and no way home. I would mention this at a more appropriate time, but to say it now makes more sense. Polk County, who has continuously sucked me dry of fines and things to pay for, where their justice system was concerned, had drug me back to a city I despise now...and abandoned me to fend for myself, where getting home was talked about...and along the way home, different sherrifs of other counties were giving me ride along the way TO GET ME BACK HOME. What's wrong with that picture????
So I decided not to stick around long, and I stuck out the good ol' reliable thumb and got to work. Funny though, it would seem that rural Iowa isn't as big on picking up hitch-hikers as they used to be. This would soon present a problem. Remember too, that when I got arrested, it had just been a balmy 80 degrees, and all I had been arrested with was a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of cargo's. I had brought no coat, my pay card had been left with the wife, and I had no food, money, and had left all of my phones at home. I was a little screwed there...but, like a fool, I counted on the good people of Iowa (of which I later found out, was running a bit short of generosity and understanding, in addition to some other things I discovered that might have dampened a soul in that part of the country thinking that ALL hitchhiking is illegal. No, Iowa, hitchhiking isn't all illegal. Only the kind that is done on a U.S. Interstate...that's it. State roads, county roads and gravels are all good for that. You can't do this on a four lane interstate...and I can pretty much understand that thinking. No, hitchhiking is NOT illegal on those secondary road and highways and lower.
I started the trip at the QT in Grimes at 6 p.m. By this time, the temps dropped almost 40 degrees to an overnight stay at a local friend's place for the night. I started the trip at around 7.
I walked straight through from Grimes to Granger, an 8 mile hike, as the Bruce flies. I was picked up in Granger, then, by a nice elderly sheriff of that county, and he rode me all the way to Perry. He left me in a spot by the plant there, where it was well lit, and I thought to pick up a ride there....that NEVER came. As I stood in the even colder weather, another such sheriff picked me up there as well. One thing though, the farthest he was able to lift me was the airport in Parry...about one and a half miles from my previous spot...and presented this as my problem now; in the blackest and coldest part of night, with nothing better than a car or so coming my way at a rate of 1 or so cars per every 15 minutes. Not a good sign...and now the traffic, of course, was on the decline...as was my warmth. By the time I had only gotten a mile or so, the cold was unbearable, and it was now around midnight, with no relief in sight. I was practically hypothermic, and no shelter would present itself now until I got home, or morning came...not good odds for a thinner man. As a small burg came up along the right, I made a beeline for it, hoping for somewhere to be open for warming. I would soon be quite disappointed with my findings.
The town of Dawson, Iowa, was around 300 or so in population, and one of Iowa's smallest burgs. Worse yet, there was nary a place that might even partially promise to be open. I looked around for a sleeping resident's vehicle...a move of desperation. I figured warming up for 15 or so minutes in an open vehicle might help me out. It didn't help a whole lot, at this point though. Something else would have to be found to help out.
This is where it gets super strange. On my way out of that dead town, I spotted a miserably old wrecked trailer. The door was wide open, obviously with nary a resident in sight. I cautiously approached this and entered, with the hope of finding a warmer piece of clothing or the like. What I found instead would be a Godsend. On the window in the living room was a large thick blanket covering the window. I grabbed it...then started. I heard a rustling outside that I was sure might be someone checking out the now closed trailer. I bolted for a dark bedroom and waited.
Soon it became quite apparent that there were people walking through the trailer, and I moved ever so slowly to cover myself in my dark corner. After it seemed like the walk through had ended, I moved to the living room to find the door once again wide open. I freaked. I bolted for the door, and saw a brand new caddy drive by, with a single occupant. Not wanting to find out if they might be searching for someone they didn't recognize as being the one they suspected might have been in that trailer made me a little paranoid. I would later discover that my paranoia was pretty well founded.
As the caddy passed me by, I made a run to get out of that dead place. I made for the highway, but didn't quite make it before two cars caught up to me.
The first contained about 5 boys. It slowed down, and I noticed that at least 5 heads had all turned in my direction. With a slight whimper, I wrapped the blanket closer around me, and then noticed that the 2nd vehicle was the newer caddy that had passed by me earlier. Now I was seriously tripping, and walked faster. I watched as both cars reached the highway I was headed towards, then both moved on to go another mile North, then east, then back to the original road they had passed me by on. By this time I had reached the highway, and had made it around a 1/4 mile past this to the West.
I then watched as the caddy went East...and the original car with the boys had turned no other direction than the one I had been headed in. All I could think about at this time was Stephen King's Children of the Corn, and decided on what I would later discover would be a very prudent move...I made for the dark corn field to my left and covered my entire body with the blanket. They passed me by...then stopped and turned around in about another 1/8...as far, I imagine, as I could have possibly made it by this time.
Now, if this had stopped then, I would have chalked it all up to paranoia. But here's the weird thing...when the two cars again met up at the same checkpoint road, I watched for another two hours as these same cars branched out to further and further roads, as if they were still looking for the offender...just because I had borrowed an ichy blanket out of an already demolished and abandoned trailer that wouldn't have been salvagable by fire even. I think my life, even though it's not worth a whole bunch as it stands, was certainly worth this town's huge sacrifice of a ratted out blanket in a trailer that wasn't worth the money they might have gotten by scrapping the metal on it, or wasn't even being lived in, and whose door was wide open. It gave me the creeps, and I ducked and covered often, yet usually had beaten them and continued on before they made it to the next road. I was never more pleased to get away from a town in Iowa than that one, people. The actions taken by these horribly bored residents made DHS's stuff look like amateur scare tactics, compared to what I witnessed in Dawson, believe that.
I walked over 12 miles to the next town of Jamaica Iowa. This brought my running walking miles to a whopping total of 20 in those limited hours. I reached Jamaica, and finally ran into yet another sheriff. This one would run me to Carroll County, my home county. I don't think I'll be returning to Guthrie county...well, ever, I can bet, unless I'm drivin' straight through.
As the sheriff there dropped me off, he promised he would contact the Carroll County sheriff to get me the remainder of the way, a statement I didn't feel the need to argue about. I gladly waited, and the promised Sheriff did arrive. He got me as far as Glidden, about 7 miles outside of Carroll, and I once again stuck out the ol' thumb thinkin' I wouldn't be long getting a ride at all, considering the distance I wanted to go.
Instead, I walked almost another 5 miles before I would get a ride into Carroll, bringing the whole walking total to more miles in that distance of travel than I had ever experienced in a combined run of equal or greater distance. There has never been a happier guy than me than to finally get home, take a shower (that I hadn't done for over 3 days) and change the clothes that I had been in for the same frame of time. Pretty weird for an otherwise cut and dried ordeal that most would go through in the same circumstances, eh? :D
SPECIAL NOTE: The church blog post, will, of course, be replaced at the head of the blog again following a 24 hour reading of this post. This is only to allow the promised new readers of law enforcement to reap their thanks for doing the father right in this strange and scary time. Now, that will, of course, place that post back at the bottom of the "Most Read Posts" list, and start it back over...but I'm sure you fine readers will drive it right back up again. Toodles.
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