Stand Him Down

Ruling by Judge William Young, US District Court

Prior to sentencing, the Judge asked the defendant if he had anything to say. His response: After admitting his guilt to the court for the record, Reid also admitted his 'allegiance to Osama bin Laden, to Islam, and to the religion of Allah,' defiantly stating, 'I think I will not apologize for my actions' and told the court 'I am at war with your country’.

Judge Young then delivered the statement quoted below:

Judge Young: 'Mr. Richard C. Reid, hearken now to the sentence the Court imposes upon you.

On counts 1, 5, and 6 the court sentences you to life in prison in the custody of the United States Attorney General. On counts 2, 3, 4, and 7, the court sentences you to 20 years in prison on each count, the sentence on each count to run consecutively. (That's 80 years.)

On count 8 the court sentences you to the mandatory 30 years again, to be served consecutively to the 80 years just imposed. The court imposes upon you for each of the eight counts a fine of $250,00--that's an aggregate fine of $2 million. The court accepts the government's recommendation with respect to restitution and orders restitution in the amount of $298.17 to Andre Bousquet and $5,784 to American Airlines.

The court imposes upon you an $800 special assessment. The court imposes upon you five years supervised release simply because the law requires it. But the life sentences are real life sentences so I need go no further.

This is the sentence that is provided for by our statutes. It is a fair and just sentence. It is a righteous sentence.

Now, let me explain this to you. We are not afraid of you or any of your terrorist co-conspirators, Mr. Reid. We are Americans. We have been through the fire before. There is too much war talk here and I say that to everyone with the utmost respect. Here in this court, we deal with individuals as individuals and care for individuals as individuals. As human beings, we reach out for justice.

You are not an enemy combatant. You are a terrorist. You are not a soldier in any war. You are a terrorist. To give you that reference, to call you a soldier, gives you far too much stature. Whether the officers of government do it or your attorney does it, or if you think you are a soldier, you are not. You are a terrorist. And we do not negotiate with terrorists. We do not meet with terrorists. We do not sign documents with terrorists. We hunt them down one by one and bring them to justice.

So war talk is way out of line in this court. You are a big fellow. But you are not that big. You're no warrior. I've known warriors. You are a terrorist. A species of criminal that is guilty of multiple attempted murders. In a very real sense, State Trooper Santiago had it right when you first were taken off that plane and into custody and you wondered where the press and the TV crews were, and he said: 'You're no big deal.'

You are no big deal.

What your able counsel and what the equally able United States attorneys have grappled with and what I have as honestly as I know how tried to grapple with, is why you did something so horrific. What was it that led you here to this courtroom today?

I have listened respectfully to what you have to say. And I ask you to search your heart and ask yourself what sort of unfathomable hate led you to do what you are guilty and admit you are guilty of doing? And, I have an answer for you. It may not satisfy you, but as I search this entire record, it comes as close to understanding as I know.

It seems to me you hate the one thing that to us is most precious. You hate our freedom. Our individual freedom. Our individual freedom to live as we choose, to come and go as we choose, to believe or not believe as we individually choose. Here, in this society, the very wind carries freedom. It carries it everywhere from sea to shining sea. It is because we prize individual freedom so much that you are here in this beautiful courtroom, so that everyone can see, truly see, that justice is administered fairly, individually, and discretely. It is for freedom's sake that your lawyers are striving so vigorously on your behalf, have filed appeals, will go on in their representation of you before other judges.

We Americans are all about freedom. Because we all know that the way we treat you, Mr. Reid, is the measure of our own liberties. Make no mistake though. It is yet true that we will bear any burden; pay any price, to preserve our freedoms. Look around this courtroom. Mark it well. The world is not going to long remember what you or I say here. The day after tomorrow, it will be forgotten, but this, however, will long endure.

Here in this courtroom and courtrooms all across America, the American people will gather to see that justice, individual justice, justice, not war, individual justice is in fact being done. The very President of the United States through his officers will have to come into courtrooms and lay out evidence on which specific matters can be judged and juries of citizens will gather to sit and judge that evidence democratically, to mold and shape and refine our sense of justice.

See that flag, Mr. Reid? That's the flag of the United States of America . That flag will fly there long after this is all forgotten. That flag stands for freedom. And it always will.

Mr. Custody Officer. Stand him down.

She Was Asking for it.

There are some pretty ignorant people out there. As soon as I heard this chick speak, I knew she was just plain ignorant, and it wasn’t the religious garb she was wearing that tainted my opinion of her. Afterwards, I got the lowdown on this idiot, and what happened to her after I left. I wish I’d stayed around to see her being hauled away in a police car.
As far as I’m concerned, they need to give her a blindfold, cigarette, and a brick wall to lean against. What she did a few years ago was tantamount to treason.

Bird in the House, Ma...

After work today, we were in the kitchen when my husband noticed what looked like small wasp nest hanging on the soffiting over our deck. I thought it looked more a small hornet's nest, so I went out to investigate. As I got closer to it, I saw that it was a tiny little bat, all curled up into a ball.

I motioned for my husband to come out, and as he did, he grabbed the wasp spray. I told him to put it away, and to get out there fast. He thought it was a cocoon of some sort. I had to tell him it was a bat. I grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos of him...macro, so I had to get really close.

The bat reminded me of one of those hilarious events that happened when my kids were small. We were at Mom and Dad's, sitting around in the family room--except for Dad. He liked to sit at the kitchen table, smoke his cigs, drink a beer, and watch the little portable TV. At one point, he looked up at the kitchen ceiling, and without missing a beat, he very dryly said, "Bird in the house, Ma...".

I ran into the kitchen, telling Dad not to hurt it. When I got close, it swooped past my head. It was a bat, and that's exactly what I yelled, "BAAATTTTT!". That set up a huge round of chaos. Everyone started running around. I went berserk. I kept picturing that bat being rabid and getting tangled up in my hair. I grabbed my two little hysterical kids and ran from room to room, with the bat right behind us. It never occurred to me to take the kids to a bedroom and simply shut the door!

My husband never moved from his couch-potato post on the sofa. Picture a houseful of screaming maniacs, and then Mr. Smooth not even flinching while in his reclining position. At one point Dad had a fly swatter and was whapping the poor little guy (the bat--not my husband), but he managed to escape Dad and continue his reign of terror on the family. Finally, the bat flew out the sliding glass door to the enclosed back porch. I hurried and shut the door, then locked it. At least he was out there where he couldn't get to us! And I was fairly sure he couldn't get through a locked door.

A minute later, a scream came from the other side of the sliding glass door. Mom had been out on the porch, unbeknownst to us! And since I locked the door, she couldn't get back in. I unlocked the door and Mom scooted in before the bat could fly back into the main part of the house. We were finally able to get the bat back outdoors by opening the outside door off the porch. Whew!

For the next few minutes, the house was still noisy--but this time with the sound of laughter. That would've been hilarious on video, but few people had video cameras back then. Later, my son told me that he never thought bats were real, because they turned into vampires...and vampires weren't real. So when he saw the bat, his thinking was that bats ARE real and this guy was going to turn into a vampire!

I just checked on the little guy, and he's still hanging from the deck soffiting. I hope he's not sick. It's starting to get dark, and he should be out looking for supper. Funny that a bat scared the life out of me 30 years ago, but not today. I must be getting brave in my old age.

Sick of Being Sick

I don't know how people who are chronically sick stand it. It's just been a few weeks for me, and I'm losing patience real fast. Seems the strong antibiotic I took to get over pneumonia has killed off a lot of good bacteria as well as the bad bacteria. You know what happens when all the nice folks move out and leave their homes wide open...the riff-raff moves in.

And the riff-raff has moved in--on my tongue at first. It started with the black tongue that is common when taking an antibiotic. I thought it would clear up after I was done with the meds. Nope. It merely evolved. It became a "hairy tongue", and now it's become a full-fledged case of "thrush". Sunday night, my tongue began hurting. I thought maybe it was a taste bud gone bad and as the Bible says, "If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out". Well, I located a swollen taste bud in the central part of my tongue, and thinking "maybe if I just got rid of it"...I grabbed my small needle-nose pliers, latched onto the elongated taste bud, and pulled the stupid thing right off my tongue.

Who would've thought that a tongue with a dismembered taste bud would bleed so badly? I tried to yell at my husband to grab a wet wash cloth. He came in to see what I was blathering about, and found me trying to talk with a really bloody tongue. What a stupid thing to do.

Yesterday morning I woke up to sore tonsils and throat, and my tongue still hurt.  I felt generally sick again. I ended up going to the doctor, who gave me the diagnosis.  This stuff has spread to my throat and also my intestines.  I didn't tell her about my self-surgery.  I learned my lesson.  And in case you're wondering, the photo is NOT of my tongue.  I just tried to find an example of "thrush tongue" that wasn't horribly gross.

From now on, I won't sever anything other than skin tags.

My Turn

I didn't get to attend my little brother's first communion because I was sick. Yep, that's me in the chair all covered up. And missing one of the few times my little brother Mark ever sported wings.

Forty-nine years later, I'm still laying around in a big chair all covered up...and recuperating from pneumonia. This started coming on a week ago, but got really bad Thursday night. I think that's when the pneumonia set in. I missed making 14 batches of strawberry jam, but thanks to Mom and the hubby, it's made and in the freezer. It's a funny feeling to be laying around like a slug while others are doing your work. I had the same feeling when, as a kid, I'd hear the vacuum cleaner running early on Saturday mornings. That was all the alarm we needed to tell us to get up and help Mom clean up the house. (To this day, I can't stand to hear the cleaning lady at work vacuuming--I feel like I should be dusting or something.)

I think today's the turning point. My temperature's down to my normal 97.something. I can breathe a little deeper, even though the wheezes, squeaks and rattles are still there. My mind is coming out of the fog I've been in, and I no longer feel like I'm halfway between this world and the next one. The doctor's orders include staying home from work for the rest of this week. I'm hoping I'll feel good enough in a day or two to tackle some housework (ok, now you KNOW I'm sick).

Mom just called to see what I needed from the store. All I need is a loaf of bread and some vanilla ice cream. Thought I'd make a strawberry shake since I still have some berries in the fridge. My little bro Mark said he makes his shakes with our strawberry jam, and that sounded pretty good. I'll just claim I have a sore throat and need the shake to soothe the ol tonsils. Nobody will call me a liar, since I'm sick.

Thankfully, I had my mommy to take care of me while I was sick. I don't know why it is, but no matter how old a kid gets, when they're sick they want their moms. I guess that's because it's mostly the moms that took care of them when they were little. Mom was always there, no matter what time of the night. My dad slept through all those kid illnesses, and so did my husband. Just nature's way, I suppose.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

A Shocking Turn of Events

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor when I got a text..."Is Mom with you?" I texted back to my little sister, "No". Within a few seconds, the phone rang. Occasionally I have a sixth sense about things. I know the phone call did not carry good news; but I knew it would be ok.

First there was some small talk, then silence. I knew that silence would be followed by some jarring news. With her voice cracking, she said, "Mark's on his way to the hospital". She told me he was having problems with his heart; that it wasn't beating correctly and the doctor sent him to the hospital. I told her I had several friends with the same problem and it would be ok.


Mom and I headed north Saturday morning. At the hospital, Mark seemed pretty good--even with his chest thumping in crazy rhythms. The lines on the monitor zig-zagged with no regularity. When he stood, his pulse would go up to around 150. He was having some pain in his shoulder blade radiating to the front. And he was having problems walking without being able to catch his breath.


He admitted to having this problem for the past 15 years. About once a year, his heart will go out of rhythm, but will return to normal after four days. This time, the doctor wasn't messing around, especially with Mark's lightheadedness.

Sunday, Mark's heart was still not beating correctly so it looked like the "shock" would be a go for Monday. His doctor came in to see him and I asked if we could watch, or even hit the button for the big shock. No go. We'd have to sit in the waiting room. I even told the doctor of my experience shocking Mark with our electric fence. Nope. That didn't even work.

This morning, Mark had just been taken back by the time we arrived at 8. We'd been there earlier if we'd known, but they couldn't seem to be able to tell us what time they'd come for him. So we kept Mark's wife and daughter company for a couple of hours.


Finally, an Indian doctor came and told us that he did great. No blood clot, and it only took one shock to get the ol' ticker beating in rhythm again. He took us back to see Mark, who was being wheeled back to his room. Mark started in with his usual sick humor, telling everyone within earshot that he was clinically dead for five minutes and expected to go to Heaven. Instead, he went to hell and was greeted by Saddam Hussein. I asked if he saw the 72 virgins. He said he did, and there was a good reason they were all virgins.


Typical Mark.

In wrapping this up, I need to thank The Big Man above for watching over my little brother. Looks like we'll have him around a good long time to torment and tease. We'll expect the same in return.

Just like old times...except no more knock-down drag-out fights that were common between me and Mark. Now it's just hugs and "I love you's" between teasings.


Love you, little brother!

My Big Debut

I don’t know why she did it, but for some strange reason my sister volunteered *me* to speak at an an African-American Southern Baptist church. I’m not a speaker. I tend to stutter and talk very fast in front of groups of people. I don’t have a clue what they wanted me to speak about. But if my sister had this much confidence in me, I was going to do it. I got busy and wrote a mediocre speech. All I had to do was print it and rehearse it a couple of times.

My plan was to wait until Sunday morning to shop for an outfit, but I had in mind what I wanted to wear. I was going to buy a real pretty dress and find one of those big fancy hats to wear. I wanted to fit in and look like the folks I was going to address, even if I did have another skin color.

I headed off to Indy, wearing a loud floral matched pantsuit. I wore it all day Friday and then again on Saturday. I looked really skinny in it for some reason—like it had removed about 60 pounds from my frame. Sunday, I headed off to the mall to find that perfect outfit. Much to my chagrin, none of the stores were open at 8am on a Sunday morning. I went from store to store and kept finding great outfits and hats on display in the windows, but none of the stores were opening until noon.

I finally gave up and decided I had to wear my pantsuit for the third day in a row, and I hoped no one in the congregation would notice that it was beginning to stiffen up from the constant wear. But the really weird thing was, the slacks somehow turned into a skirt. Still, I didn’t look too bad considering my bare legs that I hadn’t shaved in weeks. But then I remembered I needed to put on makeup. Trouble with that was, I suddenly was sitting in a wheelchair and wasn’t capable of putting on my own makeup. Someone wheeled me to a table set up in the mall, and some kind girls were powdering my face and applying blush.

More interruptions…I had to find a place to hook up my laptop and print my speech. I found myself being pulled from place to place and not getting anything accomplished. And it was getting close to the time of the service.

I got out of the wheelchair and walked around a wall. On the other side, there stood my dad! I nearly passed out from the shock since Dad died over 18 years ago. Then I ran over and hugged him. He told me he hadn’t died 18 years ago, but was lost in Iraq for all that time. He looked so healthy and hadn’t aged one little bit, which only seemed a little strange. I was still mulling over how I could remember being with him when he died, but yet he didn’t die. And what was he doing in Iraq in the first place? He worked at Sears!

Still being dragged all over the mall, I gave up on printing my speech and decided to ad lib it. I would talk about my crazy preparation I was still going through. I would finish up the speech by talking about how there’s a lesson in everything and how even good things come from bad things. I was going to wow them, for sure. All I had to do was to keep my ideas in some sort of order and not start talking a mile a minute. So with half my makeup on, a dirty floral suit, and bare legs, I found myself in a beautiful large church. One of the church leaders met me and was walking me up the stairs to the stage. I was about to inspire a thousand African-American Baptists. They were going to love me—I just knew it!

Then I woke up. What a weird dream.

What Has This Got to do with Work???

I try...I really try to NOT listen to all the BS around me. I have noise-canceling headphones, but there are days that I really don't feel like listening to music or white noise while I'm working. Just today, here are just a few of the less-than-intelligent comments I heard from next door...

"Your hair looks cute!"

"It was all wobble-jello and bouncy."

"I'm leaving early today." (So what else is new?)

To top it off, I heard all about her labor of 32 years ago when she was telling a male co-worker all the gory details. He said it was because of the way she was built...you know...small hips.

Why does every workplace have one or more of these useless employees? Beats me, but they all do. Once in awhile, I could put up with this, but this talk goes on all day long, every day. I'd find another job, but it would just be the same thing.

Tired of complaining...it's time to go get a Margarita and forget the Doublemint Twins for awhile.

For Once in my Life

She had just addressed and stamped the letter, and it would be headed to Muncie the next day. The phone rang as she walked past. It was the mom of her best friend telling her that their friend Mona was in the hospital and might not make it. It didn't make sense. The letter she just finished was written to Mona...how could she be in the hospital fighting for her life?

Bonnie said that Mona had spinal meningitis. She had complained of illness, a headache, and pain in her neck, so she didn't go to class. Her roommates came home to find her unconcious. She was on a respirator and in a coma. The letter never got mailed.

38+ years later, Mona steered her motorized wheelchair down the aisle of a small chapel. The aisle was strewn with pink rose petals. Once she reached the groom, also in a wheelchair, a very scratchy and slow rendition of "For Once in my Life" came out of the sound system. The groom asked, "Is that you singing?". She said it wasn't, but then the familiar lyrics kicked in. She said, "Oh my God! It is!".

The tears had already begun for the three "girls" standing up for her. Then Mona joined them. She buried her face into the back of her little dog, who was poised on a pillow on Mona's lap. We all cried for the three minutes it took for the song to play.

The wedding ended in a few minutes. Then it was time for congratulations, hugs, and lots more tears.

Two of those four girls have lived fairly normal lives in the past 38 years. One girl was handicapped at age 18, and the other was a widow at age 19, left to raise a six-month-old baby boy. For one reason or another, those four girls hadn't seen each other in many, many years.

I wished I had kept that letter. I would've given it to the bride last Monday when we went to her wedding and stood up for her.

Why?

One teenage boy is in a hospital tonight getting radiation for a brain stem glioma in hopes of adding a little time to his short life. Another teenage boy is hell-bent on destroying his life when he has it all and just can't see it. God, please put peace in both boys' hearts. Help one boy sleep tonight and help the other one wake up before it's too late.

Men...

I heard the other day that our new contract with the new company might not start until March 1st. That would mean from February 17th when the old contract ends until the 1st, we'd all be off work--with NO pay. That would be fine with me. A few days off would be nice. But it would suck for those whose money runs tight.

I emailed my husband and told him the rumor, and that I might have a week or so off. He emailed back and said that if that happened maybe he might come home to a clean house, a hot meal, and a smiling face. I emailed back, "Does this mean I can hire a maid, a cook, and a prostitute?"

His buddy said that a good woman would be all three.

...men...

What Just Happened???

Today was my RDO--that's "Regular Day Off". I work nine hour days, Monday through Thursday, then one eight hour Friday and one Friday off. I was really enjoying my RDO--until my work buddy called me up to tell me "the contract was awarded". I knew our portion of this huge contract was up for a re-compete.

But my buddy told me that our company was no awarded the contract. Ironically, the company that my current company won this contract away from was awarded the IT contract. That means in mid-February I will no longer be employed by one company, but will hopefully be picked up by the new company.

Funny how all these hard-working (well, not ALL are hard-working) folks that manage to score perfect ratings from their customer for several years in a row are just kind of tossed up in the air. Where we'll land, who knows? I've got a feeling they'll take one look at the fat old woman and tell her to "hit the road". I think my days as a tech-writer were numbered anyway. The software I work with is going away in less than a year, thanks to a less-than-smart move on the Navy's part. That's ok. I'll expect the worse, and if it's anything better I'll be pleasantly surprised. Maybe not completely happy, but it's been a long time since I was completely happy anyway.

And at this point in my life, I really wouldn't mind staying at home. I'm tired of working and coming home to a messy house that I don't want to clean. At the end of a long work day, I just want to kick back and NOT HAVE to do anything. I've got my little dog to keep my company and lots of unfinished projects at home. And I wouldn't mind doing housework if I didn't have to work too.

If the "worst" does happen, come springtime I'm having a clothesline installed. I always loved to hang out my laundry. I can take up sewing again and I can even finish that quilt I started for my son ten years ago. I can pick up and just go stay with my granddaughters any time I want. They need and want me now--ten years from now they'll be teenagers and have much more important things to do than hang out with grandma.

I'll have lots of time to walk and get exercise. I can drive up north a couple of hours and hang with my old classmates. When I get caught up with my housework, I might even do some spring-cleaning at my son's house. I could never be bored staying at home--not at this stage in my life.

So any way this falls, I'll make the best of it. The worst part is leaving co-workers that I've grown fond of. I won't miss the boring work. I won't miss the politics. But I would miss some of the folks I've worked with for the past 3-1/2 years.

Things have a way of USUALLY working out for the best. And even if something bad comes from all of this, there's still something good to be gleaned out of it. I may just have to look for a while to find it...but I will.

What????

Two weeks ago last Thursday I made a last-minute unplanned trip to take care of a four-year-old with a stomach bug. My daughter could not get off work, and my son-in-law was in training. I had Friday off anyway, so I threw a day's worth of clothes and my meds into a sack. Rudy had already sensed the phone call from my daughter meant a road trip and he was driving me crazy with his constant jumping and barking. I went ahead and put the little guy into the car to keep him out from under my feet so I could finish getting ready to go.

By dark I was at my daughter's hugging two seemingly healthy granddaughters. The youngest had lost her breakfast that morning, ran a temp, but seemed her normal self. She even had some crackers and Sprite and kept it down. So the next morning, the three healthy ones went to work and to school, and Kaylee and I did a little housework. I decided to cook a nice supper later on, and since Kaylee seemed fine, we took off around 10:30 to do some shopping and grab something to eat for lunch.

Kaylee told me without even giving it any thought that she wanted to eat at McDonald's. When we got to the counter, she asked if she could tell the girl at the counter what she wanted. Sure, I said. She did a fine job telling the girl that she wanted chicken nuggets, apple dippers, and a chocolate milk. I ordered, picked up the tray, and we took a seat in a booth.

Kaylee was her usual talkative self. She asked question after question. And invariably I had trouble hearing what she was asking me. Probably after about the 20th time I asked, "What???" Kaylee looked at me and loud enough for half the restaurant to hear proclaimed, "YOU need a hearing aid!"

I had NO trouble hearing that remark. I also had no trouble later that night when she told me my neck was like a trampoline.

Another Bright Move on my Part

I must be at the point in life where I have no feelings in my legs due to poor circulation. How else could I have not known what I did until it was too late?

At lunch today, I had brought in a couple packages of Eckrich Grillers and some buns to have for lunch. Not all for me...but to share with the less fortunate. You know, the co-workers who were relying on the roach coach to bring them some food. Due to the snow, the roach coach didn't run today. But lucky them...I had 16 grillers and was cooking them for anyone that was hungry, didn't have a lunch with them, or didn't want to get out in the snow to run to Subway or the caf.

I microwaved both packages to bring them to room temperature to speed up the process a bit. Then I threw four at a time into the little sandwich maker I keep at work. I keep the sandwich maker on top of one of the lunchroom microwaves. Ever so often, I'd turn the grillers to get a nice even brown on all sides. As I stood near the microwave, I backed up a little so my coworkers could use the microwave.

Against the wall near the microwave is a five-gallon bottle of water with a pump/spigot attached to the top. The bottle sits on a chair, for lack of a table to put it on. The room temp water is used to make coffee. I knew it was there.

After a minute or two, I began to feel something slightly cool, but very wet on the back of my left foot. I turned around to find the entire back of the left leg of my heavy knit slacks completely drenched with water. I had backed up a little too far, opened up the spigot, and soaked myself. I mean, the floor behind me was even wet.

The room was full of people, and I was at the far end of the room. Besides, I was the chef for the multitude. So I made an announcement and turned around to show them my soaking wet leg. It was the laugh of the day.

It wasn't too comfortable sitting around all afternoon in wet pants, but they eventually got dry before I had to head home. And it still wasn't as bad as the time I sat down on a huge cup of iced tea, then had to go teach a Windows class with a soaking wet behind.

Good move, Helen

Just a Good Ol' Boy

About 37 years ago, I heard a knock on the door. Newly-married and not used to having anyone knock on the door of our home, I peeked through the glass to be on the safe side. On the porch stood a local policeman. I knew who he was, but just barely. I couldn't imagine why Joe was there.

With a big smile on his face, he held out a check. "Ma'am, would you sign this?" I looked closer at the check. It was the one I had written for my water bill, and apparently didn't bother signing. I signed the check, handed it back to him, and thanked Officer Gee.

I've talked to Joe a few times in the 37 years I've lived in Loogootee. I can't recall ever seeing him without that familiar smile. He had a way of putting a person at ease and making you feel like you've known him forever. After a few years on the police department, and serving as the chief of police, Joe ran for sheriff of Martin County--and won.

During his tenure as sheriff, Joe would bring the "chain gang" from the county jail to the post prom setups and teardowns. We loved it when they showed up. Without complaints, they did all of our heavy hauling and high-climbing for us. We always bragged on their efforts, and they always smiled back. You could tell it was a pleasure for them to get out of jail for a few hours and do something besides sitting in their cells.

My Aunt Margi used to cook for the county jail, and her good home cooking coupled with Sheriff Gee's gentle ways and smiling face, I imagined it to be real similar to Aunt Bea's cooking and Sheriff Taylor's jail in Mayberry.

Joe Gee died on December 23rd. His last wish was to come back home to die. I heard that he hadn't been home from the hospital very long when he passed away. But at least he made it back home and was in the loving arms of his family. I personally know how important that is. It's hard to imagine Loogootee without Joe Gee. He's been an integral part of this town and this county for many years. How's the saying go? "A pillar of the community"? Yep, that was Joe.

Everyone knew him, and apparently everyone thought the world of him. I stood in line two hours to pay my respects to Joe, his wife, and Joe's kids. It was worth the wait to see Joe once again in his sheriff's uniform. That was the way he'd want to be dressed for this occasion.

Thank you, Officer Gee, for the many years of community service...from driving unsigned checks around town to rehabilitating members of our community that needed a second chance. I'm sure Loogootee will look after your family just like you looked after us.

Rest in peace. We'll miss you.