Trust but Verify

Come with me when we walk through the dark passageway into what is euphemistically called The Reception Lounge . But don’t be fooled. Ever since we were children our parents and teachers cautioned us, “You can’t tell a book by its cover.” The Reception Lounge is no exception. The euphemism might more accurately be identified as the Interrogation Center, Truth Finders , or the Gates of Hell. Whatever it is called, those deep, dark secret places in deserts and on mountaintops exist throughout the world—locales of ominous significance to the many nations who utilize them.   At least as a matter of self-protection and survival, Reception Lounges, by whatever de l’existence, they are a dark secret to many nations’ survival in what can be and is a cruel world. Walk with us into the Arrows of Allah for a unique observation into the netherworld of unseen and unspoken of life in a desolate mountain sanctuary where a man’s truth is “discovered.” Visit us at  

  "You're a Cop?" “You? A cop? How did that ever happen?” When I told people what I was doing, that was their first thought. It reminded them of the 1960s TV series, “Car 54 Where Are You?” You have to play the cards when they are dealt. Coming out of the Marine Corps, my skills were good but limited. The job market had nothing to offer for a person with my skill set—a BAR gunner, and an explosives installation and removal specialist.  I quickly learned to never be surprised by what surprises you. I had not planned on a career in law enforcement, but when you need a job you go after whatever is available.  It was a radio ad—The Tucson Police Department is hiring at a NEW paygrade of $90 per week. That was good money in 1961. I jumped at it, little expecting I would remain a cop for fifty years. It was typical in that era that most police recruits were former military, so the stress and discipline of rookie training was a piece of cake. Nevertheless, I was impres...

  “These are the times that try men’s souls,” so said Thomas Paine in The American Crisis,” circa 1776. Now, we jump 244 years to another trying time, 2020, the year of the worldwide pandemic. But rather than “cry wolf,” or do a Chicken Little with “The sky is falling,” I opt to say “Change is not pleasant, but change is positive. Only when we change and grow, we’ll see a world we never know,” from the Wisdom of the Orange Woodpecker . And that is what we shall do – encounter change, grow, and be positive. Something I learned decades ago was to find a new world in books. Read. Then read some more. Whatever your genre of choice, a world awaits you in books. The genre in which I write is founded on my career in the criminal justice field. From the depths of street crime to the white-collar criminals found in the ivory towers, I worked and learned, always moving forward, and never bowing down to what could be perceived as a never-ending series of crooks and crimes. After a care...

St. Patricks Day 2020 Style Happy St. Patrick’s Day – NOT .  This is likely to be the tamest St. Paddy's day in recent history with all of the social distancing we are asked to do. Speaking of history, St. Patrick was not really an Irishman. He was either from Wales or Scotland, but why let a touch of truth mar an otherwise good reason to have a pint or sip a bit of Irish whiskey? Nevertheless, March 17 th has been recognized as an Irish holiday since 1903. Many of our major cities in the USA have hosted parades, dances, and a corn beef sandwich on rye to celebrate the history of the good Saint Patrick. But, from wherever you live, American society has either accepted the revelry or at least turned a blind eye to the raucous behavior that goes hand-in-hand with the wild celebrations. From a cop’s point-of-view having worked more than one evening or midnight patrol shift on St. Patrick’s Day, I almost always found the partygoers to be of good cheer, loud bu...

The Silver Lining My writing history began with a silver lining in a very large, dark cloud. I was a young child living with my parents and brothers and sister in Kansas City, Missouri. I was a sickly little guy. Even in second grade I was hardly bigger that a #2 lead pencil. I suffered severely with asthma, almost to the point of death. The summers with their heat, humidity, and heavy pollen counts kept me housebound, unable to run outside with my siblings and neighbor kids. Winter was no better. The wet, cold weather was the wedge that kept me confined to the house. There was no escape—summer or winter. Finally, my life was forever changed when two nuns showed up at my front door to offer a solution, and quite possibly save my life. This solution would take me several states away from my family to live in the arid pollen-free state of Arizona in an orphanage.   Bye, Mama I've written a short piece that will give you a snapshot of the heart breaking ...