Cazual Conversation

My retired colleague Claude Duncan, as many of you read in the News Herald two weeks ago, died in a car wreck recently.

His memorial was a week ago today (Saturday), at 3:30 p.m. I knew I had been asked to speak at the memorial and assumed I was one of many asked to share a few thoughts about a man who in his last years alone wrote more moving pieces than I ever contemplated putting to paper.

It wasn’t until the morning of the memorial, however, that I realized I was not one of many speakers, but was the only speaker and was tasked with eulogizing my friend, an honor I did not feel I deserved.

What to say? I was in over my head. What could I saw about Claude that people who had known him for decades did not already know?

I counseled with trusted friends and was told not to worry, a higher power would be with me that day and the words would come. I believed that.

Driving to WaterSound, wondering what the heck I could say, I saw the blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I knew I was speeding, running a little late for my engagement.

The Walton County sheriff’s deputy took my license and information, asked about the speeding, and all I could offer was that I was a little late for a memorial at which I was speaking.

“What’s your friend’s name?” she asked, having heard a litany of excuses over the years, I’m sure.

“Claude Duncan,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said slowly, “I know that name. I was one of the first ones at his wreck and helped perform CPR.”

The family did not know, at that point, what caused Claude’s death exactly. Family and friends hoped it was medical related leading to a crash, as opposed to a crash without reason that ended with his car in a tree and suffering. The Florida Highway Patrol was still working on its fatality report.

The deputy offered to me that which I could never have ascertained for myself: Her observations and experience told her that Claude probably did not died as a result of the wreck, but rather from something medically related that led to the crash.

So as my friend foretold, I was able to offer something to the family at the eulogy, something they did not already know about Claude. He died in peace.

There was a time I would have believed the entire episode to be a big coincidence. I know better now.

Single guy tip No. 12: If a movie title has the word “porno” in it, no matter the rating or genre, thoroughly research said movie before taking someone to it on a first date.

“Zack and Miri Make a Porno” is not the exception to this rule.

The brief “review” I saw was innocent enough: “Lifelong platonic friends Zack and Miri look to solve their respective cash-flow problems by making an adult film together. As the cameras roll, however, the duo begin to sense that they may have more feelings for each other than they previously thought.”

It would have paid to read the actual review. By movie’s end, I decided I had seen X-rated fare with less sex. I’m not sure about my date, as she spent much of the time averting her eyes. 

“Now when I was your age,” I might tell a young lad of 24 or so, “an ‘R’ rating meant the woman might end up with a wet T-shirt for a scene.”

And the young man would likely look at me the same way I used to look at my grandfather when he said the biggest thrill in movies when he was younger might be a woman in a dress exposing her leg above the ankle.

The mood for the date was light, so we had eschewed “Eagle Eye,” a suspense/action movie with a PG-13 rating, for Zack and its “R” rating. It stars the lovable Seth Rogan and the cute Elizabeth Banks. What could go wrong?

Well, it seems the ratings system has changed. As was explained to by various reporters rolling their eyes when they heard what I’d done, what used to be “G” is “PG,” what used to be “PG” is now “PG-13,” etc., and if you are going to see an “R” rated movie, well, you might run across a man in a raincoat.

This is not to say the movie wasn’t funny. I heard several people laugh as I repeatedly explained to my date that I certainly had no idea what we were getting into.

There’s a reason you don’t let the man pick the movie, I suppose.

Dear Readers, we received the expanded list (from 30 locations last month to 60 locations this month) of roadblock locations from the Florida Highway Patrol, but the cover sheet appears to be missing.

I’ve taken the liberty of recreating what it must have said:

FROM: DHSMV, Florida Highway Patrol, Troop A, Panama City, FL.
TO: All concerned with making darn sure it is beaten into the citizenry that driving is a privilege, not a right.

RE: Roadblock issues

Troop A Commandos,

As was recently noted in The News Herald of Panama City, we have a Supreme Court-ordered duty to notify citizens ahead of time of where we plan to conduct roadblocks.

The article noted that while we use to limit those to four or five locations a month, we now routinely list 30 or so places where we might be during any given month between the hours of sunrise and sunset.

One of our astute leaders looked at the map of these potential locations and had to agree with the News Herald’s assessment: The 30 roads comprised nearly all the roads in the county in one form or another, nearly guaranteeing any driver might fall into our grips.

We also agree this is not acceptable. You will note that the list of potential roadblock locations for next month has been doubled to 60, to close those loopholes and better ensure no one can travel about freely without fear of interrogation from someone with a badge and a gun.

Because we can’t be everywhere at once, we’ve listed 30 locations where we might be between sunset and noon, and 30 more where we might be between noon and sunsent. We are not attaching a map this month since this essentially encompasses the entire county.

Enjoy using your right to remind folks how lucky they are to have privileges.

Attribute it to an emotional high I’m riding after dropping a doe with a neck shot on the opening day of bow season today.

I’m not sure what we’re going to call it: “Bucks for Bucks” or something like that. Anyone in Bay County is eligible. The rules will develop between now and Thanksgiving but go something like this:

You send in your picture when you harvest a buck and I’ll post it here on our Website with your name and the deer’s particulars (where you shot it, how, any story behind the harvest).

We’ll post all submitted photos of harvested deer.

But for the money, we’ll have two categories. One is for anyone 16 or under and any legal buck will be eligible. The second will be for adults and will include only 8-point or better.

One name will be drawn from each category for a prize to be determined prior to general gun opening at Thanksgiving, but it will be worth at least $50.

Since it’s a drawing, anyone can win, so it’s not a “big buck” contest.

We’ll monitor interest and feedback and if enough people express an interest, we’ll do it.

If you have an interest, let us know. In the meantime, send us your pictures.

Every time memory fades on why so many find the Florida Highway Patrol distasteful, a fresh reminder erupts.

Thursday, subpoenaed to traffic court as a witness to a wreck, I walked in on a hearing presided over by Bob Pell.

Traffic court is generally mundane, this hearing was not.

The undisputed facts as I heard presented from the trooper and the defendant were these:

The trooper was working one of those beloved vehicle inspection checkpoints at a nice choked-up place on County 2300 near the dam at Deer Point Lake.

The woman was driving along minding her own business to take her young child to some sort of sporting event or function. The trooper saw the car and decided, in his experienced opinion, that the window tint on the passenger side window was too dark.

He approached the car and after receiving the woman’s papers (driver’s license and registration), told her to roll up her driver’s window so he could measure her window tint. The woman declined, believing it an invasion of her rights.

The trooper again asked her to roll up her driver’s window and she again declined.

At this point I’m thinking, “I bet that smart ol’ trooper went around to the passenger’s side window, measured the tint there, and wrote his ticket and she’s going to complain about that!”

No, on the side of the road with a mom and child - the wife and child of a police officer we would soon learn - he threatened to arrest her if she didn’t by God roll up the window he wanted to check.

That, in a nutshell, is the problem with the Florida Highway Patrol. It’s the attitude. The ticketed woman saw it with the arrest threat, hence her desire to have a hearing. The hearing officer saw it, as evidenced when he told the trooper he really ought to find a kinder, softer way to go about his business. I saw it as the trooper argued that he was within his rights to do it the way he did it.

Pell, not as easily sold, called it a good opportunity to research an interesting legal question: Did the trooper violate the woman’s Fifth Amendment rights against self-incrimination when he threatened her with arrest if she didn’t roll up her window?

At the end of the day, this is what we had: The FHP managed to alienate a woman who until the moment of that encounter was heavily inclined to support law enforcement. A hearing officer wondered if this might be some interesting legal ground to investigate. A witness wondered why the trooper was so adamant that because what he did was probably legal, it was therefore right, and why he didn’t just measure the window he had access to, which would’ve made the entire case moot.

And the trooper seemed to wonder why anyone was questioning what he did, as opposed to whether there was a better way to do it.

Things must be bad when a city votes to dissolve itself and trade the known (being run by Cedar Grove commissioners) versus the unknown (being run by the Bay County Commission).

Tuesday’s vote wasn’t close, 722-464.

The dilemma now is where will The News Herald turn to break-in rookie government reporters?

Much as the crime beat is used for breaking in rookie  writers - the prevailing thought is if a newbie can survive covering crime he or she can cover anything - Cedar Grove was a testing ground for wannabee government reporters.

I was thrown to those wolves back in the mid-80s.

It was 1985. Crack was making its first appearance, Nintendo made its debut, Billy Joel married Christine Brinkley and a Cedar Grove commissioner said used a profanity so profane that even the other members of the board appeared aghast.

Time seemed to freeze. I was taking notes and stopped, trying to make eye contact with the other commissioners because I could not believe what I had just heard. It was only one word, but it was bad, and everyone but the person who uttered it understood that.

The offending commissioner was aging, and by aging let’s say she was a lot closer to triple digits in age than I was to my midlife crisis.

A lot discussion took place after meeting, both with other commissioners who begged me not to print what was said, and with my boss at the time. By the time the story was filed, it was decided not to publish it, mainly because there were zero audience members present when it was uttered.

Still, the moment has stuck with me, and in many ways helped define how I looked at the city. It never really seemed to grow up with the rest of the county in terms of how it conducts business.

Actions and words acceptable 23 years ago are no longer so palatable to voters, it appears.

If you give the guy the benefit of the doubt, it’s hard not to feel a little compassion for Ryder Laramore after his arrest for driving under the influence and possession of methamphetamine.

It is not because he is a correctional officer facing disgrace. It is not because his father, a good man, holds public office.

It is because Laramore, 44, lives in rural Marianna and was, police said, wearing a black dress, black stockings and a blond wig when he was pulled over for erratic driving.

The DUI charge - he blew 0.0 on a breath test but refused a chemical test - can be handled. Even a possession of methamphetamine charge can resolve itself over time and with reformed behavior become a part of the past.

How in the world, though, especially in Marianna, do you explain to your buddies the part about the dress, stockings and wig?

The thought crossed my mind that there is little legitimate reason to be so stylishly dressed that late at night with Halloween still a month away. Especially with the cold snap we’ve settled into. You’d at least expect some leg warmers.

Then the thought crossed my mind that there are at least three occassions where charity functions required me to dig up dresses: a Goodwill event, a Hooter’s fundraiser and a Red Cross event at the Panama City Mall.

That would be hard to explain under the wrong circumstances.

Maybe Laramore was on his way to or from fundraiser, or a party for that matter. It’ll make things a lot easier with his hunting buddies, if they are anything like mine.

Just when there was little hope of an Olympic miracle, along came Paraguay.

Turned off by synchronized diving and poor judging and a hair’s breath away from playing online majong, this viewer suddenly was captivated by the javeline competition.

It’s hard to describe the draw, but it was immediate and powerful. Paraguay, in particular, was ready to take on the big boys.

 Paraguay’s Leryn Franco carries the javeline for Paraguay, we carry the torch for her.

Go Paraguay!

It gives one a feeling of confidence to so easily pick up interests in new sports, something in which I take pride.

Until last year, I was no fan of Indy racing. But that changed.

Kind of like a couple of years ago when I suddenly developed an interest in tennis.

Beach volleyball is a real possibility for 2012.

Two stories on the front page of Monday’s News Herald serve as reminders of how fleeting life, and our freedom, can be.

Jeremy Morrison told us about Faith Pristine Jackson, a 6-year-old Cottondale girl whose life ended in the blink of an eye when lightning struck a tree and traveled down its roots to the little girl standing 12 feet away.

Authorities can explain how lightning works, and how tree roots can act as “feeder systems” for electricity. They can talk about acts of God and fate and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Below that story, Morrison told us about Alan Crotzer, freed from prison after serving 24 years for a rape he did not commit. The sentence was 130 years, tantamount to a life sentence.

Authorities can explain how an eyewitness made a mistake and how scientific evidence led to the clearing  of his name, and the state can explain how a $1.25 million “compensation” will help him enjoy what is left of a life once taken away.

No one can tell Crotzer, though, how to replace those 24 years of life. He sets an example, though, when he says he does not hold a grudge. “I ain’t got time to be bitter and mad,” he said. “I’m on a mission.”

Nor can anyone properly comfort Faith Pristine Jackson’s family, and explain how life can so abruptly be pulled from a little girl.

We can only hope they find some peace, some comfort, with the thought that life does not always end as we plan or hope, but that it can be everlasting on a different plain.