Story 7 Bonnie and Clyde visit
Although this story was to be about my first year in the public system, a couple of experiences with the U.S. Forest Service that influenced my teaching career kinda got in the way. As I’ve already indicated, I worked a few years with the U.S. Forest Service as a Naturalist; the later years during the summers. Mondays, my job was to travel several hundred miles between campgrounds, picking up the moneys collected by the superintendents; then depositing in a bank on my way home.
Since Chilao was my last stop, the closed ranger station at the nearby Charlton Flats made an excellent place to count the monies and prepare the bank slip as it had a back office with a desk. Now, some of my colleagues felt I should carry a weapon as many of them did in their glove compartments. But this was the National Forest. What could be safer? So I thought. Besides, although I grew up with guns and went shooting in the river bottom often, I feared holding one as that student suicide still haunted me. I did not want to relive those military days of mine, as well.
So, this fateful day, I had the money all laid out on the desk to count and bundle when I heard a strange noise behind me, inside the station. Hmmm, I thought I had secured the door after entering so that I wouldn’t be interrupted; and, with it being a Monday, there were few visitors. As I stepped out of the office to the main room’s counter (thank God for the counter), I was face to face two very spooky guys; one being, I swear, the twin brother of Michael Pollard, the dumpy driver in Bonnie and Clyde.
At the counter with barely two feet between us, I said something to the effect: “The place isn’t open. I thought the door was locked!” “Oh, we came in through the window,” was the response from the dumpy one. Then, seeing the open casement windows to the right wide open, I was a bit stunned. Before I could utter a word, one of them asked if there were any nudist colonies in the area; and, like I coulda kicked myself for not saying: “Oh, yes, right up the road a piece”, l but I replied in the negative.
Fortunately, my mind recovered quickly enough for their next question: “Hey, you guys carry guns?” This time, my reply was: “Absolutely!”…….which drew an immediate: “Can we see it?” Thankfully, my poker face took over as I replied: “I’m sorry, but the only way this comes up is cocked with my finger on the trigger; and, I truly don’t think you want to go that route!”
Yep, the bluff seemed to work as the next question was: “Is there something exciting to do that we might like?” My mind was right on that and I offered: “Well there was a big plane crash over on Mt. Williamson a few days back (check me out, this was in 1966 or ’67)” to which they asked: “Wow, have they taken the bodies off yet? Maybe they still have wallets on them.” To which I added: “Don’t think so, as it is a bit of a distance from the trailhead”.
Lickity split, they were gone; headed towards Wrightwood.
Me? Well, I definitely re-thought my feeling about weapons and especially possessing one. Matter of fact, I understand there are high schools in our country that actually teach target shooting and in the process, gun care/safety. Most of us don’t learn it until we get into the military. Actually, I was given permission by a high school Principal here in Glendora to take interested students on trips specifically to teach gun care and safety. Down the line, too, there’ll be a story about the first, which was also the last, time I was unprepared to protect my students.
For those of you who might argue that I’m promoting a gun culture, well, that would be like saying that because I drive a Harley, I’m promoting outlaw motorcycle gangs….that, by the way, make up only one percent of the Harley bikers.
Otherwise, just sayin’: I’m always willing to listen to the errors of my thinking.
Wishing you well,