I’m not sure who’s idea it was, but somehow we ended up parked on Main Street with a couple of air rifles, shooting out Christmas lights. Not just any lights, these were the ones that were stretched out over Brigham city’s main drag that spelled out HAPPY HOLIDAYS. Our goal was every single light. We didn’t quite finish in one night, so we decided we would return the next night to finish the job. 
                                                              

                    Tom’s new truck was the envy of us all, a 1982 Brown Chevy short bed. When he and Mike picked me up for night two of,  ‘operation lights out,’ we all felt invincible. It was the middle of our junior year and life was all about having fun. Repelling off the high school at night, blowing up the freshman bonfire,  covert growing operations in the high school greenhouse, and basically just acting on every stupid thought that came into our collective brain. Shooting out the Happy Holidays sign that hung over Main Street, was just another feather in our juvenile delinquent hat. I can’t explain why, but I  can still look back on all this adolescent stupidity and  in spite of it all, I can honestly say that we were pretty good kids. When we were down to the last light, Tom pulled right out on main to get the perfect angle to finish our work. As we stood and raised our guns, the flashing lights of a police car came flying down main and pulled up behind us. Tom pulled into the parking lot that is now the home of jiffy lube on south main. Before we could even shit our pants the cop car door flew open and officer Jones took his stance as he steadied his side arm over the top of his driver side door. “Hands in the air and I’m not EFFING around,” he barked, and then, “throw out the piece!” Before he could finish his sentence, 2 crossman air rifles were shattered on the ground. “Get out of the truck and eat the pavement!” (If you’ve never layed down on pavement with your hands extended out in front of you and legs spread eagle, well, I’m sorry, you haven’t really lived). They cuffed us all as traffic rolled by on main. Mike and I in one car and Tom in another as we made our way to the police station. 

         After some paperwork and other formalities they had us call our parents to come pick us up. Things sure have changed, if this happened in today’s world everything would have been handled differently. In 1982 Brigham city was still relatively small, everyone pretty much knew everyone in town and immature scoundrels  like ourselves were given a little more leeway I believe.  When it was my turn to call home I remember ignoring whoever it was that answered the phone at my house, “hello hello,” I hung it up and told the officer that nobody was home. When Tom’s dad showed up, they let him give me a ride home. Now came the hard part, telling my parents. I remember approaching my mother in her bathroom the next day as she was doing her hair, I broke it down and to my surprise she laughed. We teamed up later to ease the whole episode on my dad; he didn’t laugh. 

                     For our sentence, each of us boys had to pay a fine and do some community service. From that point on we were always on the lookout for officer Jones. He became sort of legendary to all of us and our friends as we retold the story of his badassery on that winter night on Main Street. 

            I managed to avoid the snow angel pavement dance and handcuffs for roughly the next 20 years. However, later in life as my addiction to prescription drugs put a stranglehold on me, I eventually found myself being ‘hemmed up’ again. As I’ve shared in previous posts, when it was all said and done I walked out of the halfway house some 14 years ago free from addiction, but also divorced from the art and science of dentistry. With my license revoked and practice sold, Jill and I looked at each other and were both thinking, “ok, what now.” I had a good friend who gave me some work helping out with his cement contracting business. It didn’t take me long to realize he was a lot tougher than me, somehow I needed to get back to what I was good at, ‘drill and fill.’

              I wasn’t sure how the dental board and the people at DOPL would receive me. After all I had spent so much time in my years of addiction trying to pull the wool over their eyes in so many ways. From cheating  on drug screens by using my kids urine, to falsifying A.A. Meeting attendance reports. Anything I could do to get over and stay high/drunk for one more day. Now I had to go back to them and say,”hey, I know you’ve already given me repeated second chances and I’ve failed miserably every time, but, really, I’m better now. How about one more shot?”  After some months of concrete work I was actually surprised with some good news. DOPL’s bureau manager over the dental board, had agreed to meet with me to discuss any potential of me getting my license back to practice as a dentist. I was hopeful but very nervous about how it would go.

                          

             When the appointed day came, I made my way up the stairs and through the maze of cubicles over to the bureau managers office. After a few minutes of waiting he welcomed me into his office with a firm handshake. I sat down and we exchanged small talk about life and where we both grew up. He was a little surprised when I told him I grew up in Brigham city. Imagine my surprise when he told me Brigham was his home for many years as well. In fact he was a police officer for BCPD back in the 80’s. I looked again at the name on his desk and all at once it hit, I felt like I was laying spread eagle on the asphalt once more. How could it be that the same officer Jones who made me ruin a good pair of BVD’s all those years ago was now, once again, staring me straight in the face with so much hanging on his next move. He didn’t have a hand gun aimed at me this time, no, it was worse, he had a good firm grip on my undercarriage. Yes, he had me by the short hairs once again. One false move as a youngster back in 82 and I could have been planted permanently in the Brigham city cemetery taking an eternal dirt nap.  One false move now and I would be castrated from a career in dentistry for good. I decided to jump right in and ask if he remembered arresting some small town idiots for shooting out Christmas lights. Quickly it came together for him as well and before I knew, it we were both laughing at the craziness of it all. As he reveled in the irony, I was just happy to still be sitting in his office, in a chair, with my hands free, not restrained by metal zip ties. 

                 

                  The rest is history. Officer Jones had me pee in a cup 3 times a week for the next 5 years while I slowly earned back the trust of all those I had seemingly left on the other side of a smoldering bridge.

                 I’m forever thankful to officer Jones. First, for letting me live to play football my senior year. Then once again, 20 years later,  for helping me continue on my journey of recovery. Mercifully allowing me to continue practicing in the profession I had grown to love and miss. Thank you officer Jones!