Small-town police stories

In our small town, the biggest issues of late have been domestic abuse arrests, operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated, and a good number of arrests for possession or use of illegal substances. So, the police blotter has a tendency to be repetitive, even more so when factoring in fender benders.

A great story does occasionally surface, such as the next two.

Late evening a couple of weeks ago, Janine and I were watching one of our streaming shows, when someone knocked at our door. After shushing our little white dog, we answered.

One of our officers was knocking on doors as a couple tried to track phones accidentally left in our park during a photo session. The phones had been tracked to our neighborhood, so the search was on.

We hadn’t seen any, but it was good to chat a bit with the officer.

Couple of days later, I saw the officer and he volunteered that the search had been fruitful.

Just around our corner, he heard a phone ringing in a garage. He knocked on our nearby neighbors door and asked if anyone had found the phones.

Turns out, the kids of the house had found the phones in the restroom at the park. With no one at the park, they brought them home with questions for dad. He said he’d return them to the city offices in the morning.

Well, the phones started squawking when the “find phone” feature was turned on by the owners. The family couldn’t get them to stop, so the dad plopped them in the garage until morning.

When the officer knocked and asked about the ringing he heard, the dad gladly handed them over. “I couldn’t get the damn things to shut up!”

The other story involved a case of mistaken home identity. The same officer had been involved in this incident many years before but had to bring it up in our conversation, since we were already talking about odd happenings. He said it ranked up there as the strangest humorous thing he’d investigated.

A couple returned to their home after taking part in one of our town’s celebratory evenings and found a person in the basement sacked out on one of their beds. Freaked out, they called the police.

The person, when awakened, was nonplussed, said he was where he was supposed to be at the invitation of the owners of the place, who had told him it would be fine for him to stay overnight rather than drive all the way from whence he came.

Everything was where it was supposed to be, the door, the turn into the basement, the placement of the bed, etc., so he turned in.

The home he was supposed to occupy was a block over, same number on the door but a different street.

If that wasn’t odd enough, the officer telling the story told the chief of police that if he went to the home at which the gent was supposed to be at, he’d probably find a key in the mailbox. (At that point, our officer did not know the full extent of the arrangements). Chief said, “No way,” but took him up on the good-natured bet.

Sure enough, our officer’s instincts were spot on. The key to the home was in the mailbox.

There is some fun to be had in a small town.

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3 thoughts on “Small-town police stories

  1. There is fun to be had in small towns. I got my first hint of that when I moved to a small Texas town, and discovered that the Lutheran chuch, the gas station, and the post office all were on the same party line. There really wasn’t any need for that, of course, since everyone knew what was happening without picking up a phone. Maybe the party line was for backup.

    I was going to tell a story, but I think I’ll pass, since some of the parties involved still may be alive. Suffice it to say that small town taught me two things: you never know what’s going to happen, and people cope better than you can imagine.

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