Watching

He is in his early 80’s now.  He’d be the first to tell you that he’s not quite as agile and steady on his feet as he once was, but he’s still as strong as a mule.  He’s got a bum knee that goes out on him every now and then.  It should probably be replaced with a new titanium model, like the new hip he got a few years back.  His ears don’t always hear as well as they used to, although that comes and goes, selectively I think.  He has outlived most all of his old running buddies, and I sometimes picture them sitting around a table up in heaven, drinking coffee and wondering if perhaps Sarge didn’t make the cut after all, and was delivered somewhere else! 

Sarge is my Dad.  He’s also my hero.  That word “hero” is so overused these days that for some it may not carry the weight it once did.  But for me, it’s the perfect word to describe this man who beat the odds and forged his life into something significant and meaningful.  He’s a man who overcame tremendous early hardships, married his high school sweetheart, and with her created a wonderful and loving family that has prospered under their continuing examples.  And he’s a man who gave his best in service to the people of Texas for 34 years, who even now continues to give back to society in quiet, unheralded ways that most people don’t ever see.

When I became a father, I quickly learned that your children are always watching you.  They are even more closely watching what you do than they are listening to what you say.  From the time I was a small boy, I was watching my Dad as he paved the way for me in so many ways.  As a young man myself, I watched him even more closely, and learned from him valuable lessons of life that will forever be with me.  And even now in his later years, as his road has gotten a little smoother and straighter, running mostly downhill, I continue to watch him.  On every stretch of the road he’s traveled, if I was with him, I was watching.  

Applying for the job of Texas Highway Patrolman in 1959 was a bold move for a 21 year-old from Farmersville, Texas, who had only been married a short while, with a two year-old baby and another one on the way (me).  If you were accepted as a trainee, it meant that you’d be living in Austin for 4 months without your family, enduring intense training at the Department of Public Safety academy.  It also meant that your first work assignment would likely be far away from home, since the DPS rarely posted new recruits back into their hometown area. 

So after graduation from the academy, my Dad came back home, packed up my mom and my older sister Kim, and headed to his first assignment as a newly commissioned Highway Patrolman:  Borger, Texas – a small town in a desolate part of the Panhandle known as a haven for renegades and tough oilfield roughnecks.  I remember the strong smell of sulfur in the air coming from the surrounding oil fields.  When the wind was wrong, tiny specs of carbon black would float from the Phillips refinery and coat my Mom’s clean laundry as it hung on the clothesline.  In the early 60’s, automobiles were advancing in power and speed, but were not necessarily advancing in safety commensurately.  At the same time, our state’s roadways were not always keeping up in terms of advances in safety and design.  So as a young Highway Patrolman working the wide-open roads of Hutchinson County, my Dad had his hands full.  He worked hard in his new job, learning the ropes as a lawman, and dealing with the good and the bad of society.  And as a little boy, I was watching.  Here’s what I was seeing…

When I was five or six, and old enough to start going around town with him, he made it a point to introduce me to good men whom he respected and admired, like Arthur Waight, Preston Morgan, his patrol partner Sam Smith, and Sheriff Hugh Anderson.  Another friend who I’ll call “Blackie” was the owner of the pawn shop downtown on Main Street.  Blackie had a true “pencil thin moustache”, with slicked back hair and a black bowtie.  He would give my Dad and his friends generous discounts on critical items, like shoes and boots and leather goods.  Dad taught me crucial things like how to give a firm handshake, how to stand up straight and look another man in the eye while greeting him, and the importance of being respectful to my elders.  He made sure that, even at my young age, I knew what that gray uniform and the badge he wore represented.  He also taught me what bad guys looked like.  He never failed to point out the courthouse and the jail to me.  

I watched as he and my Mom stretched their dollars each month just to make ends meet.  At the same time, I experienced Christmas trees that seemed loaded with toys for me and my sister.  As kids we were oblivious to the fact that they were barely getting by on his meager state paycheck.  In my eyes, my family wanted for nothing.  I watched as he taught me the value of patience, a quiet demeanor and an even temper.  He showed me how to have fun, even on the smallest budget and with the simplest things!  I saw him show unconditional love for his family.  And I was watching as he showed unwavering respect and esteem towards women, especially my Mom.  Those were the things I was seeing. 

When my Dad was 29 years old, he was encouraged to apply for the rank of Sergeant in the Highway Patrol.  He promptly received the promotion, which automatically meant a transfer to another part of the state.  Although I was only seven at the time, I distinctly remember the night when my Mom, my sister and I waited anxiously for Dad’s long-distance call from Austin, to let us know where his new assignment would be.  When the word came, I unfolded the official Texas Highway Road Map my Dad had given me and spread it out on the floor, tracing with my finger the long route between Borger and Centerville, our new home.  Texas was so big!  And Centerville was so far away from all I had ever known.  

Dad’s new office in Centerville was on the second floor of the Leon County courthouse, on the square.  This was one of the oldest courthouses in Texas, originally built in 1886.  Entering that building and walking up those creaky old stairs was like stepping back in time for an impressionable and curious eight year-old, and I was filled with wonder each time he let me go there with him.  His office, next to the courtroom, had 20’ tall ceilings, and the wind blew through the exterior walls like they were nothing more than oversized screen doors.  In the winter, he always had to wear his full winter uniform coat while working in his office, just to stay warm enough to get his reports done.  

Although we were only in Centerville for a little over a year, it was an interesting time for my Dad.  He supervised 12 patrolmen in Leon, Madison, and Houston counties.  He worked long hours, since being a Sergeant meant he could be called out at any time to assist his patrolmen with any serious situations or major traffic accidents.  

During my Dad’s tenure in Centerville, construction of Interstate 45 between Buffalo and Centerville was completed.  This segment represented the final gap in this modern, high-speed divided highway that would link Dallas and Houston.  As this last section was being completed, traffic passing through the area on I-45 would have to detour onto the old highway, U.S. 75.  This was a worn out, antiquated, two-lane asphalt road that was never intended to handle the level of traffic that the Interstate was now dumping onto it.   It was like a huge pipeline being squeezed down to the size of a tiny straw for those 16 miles in Leon County, and I remember it as a continual scene of carnage, with terrible automobile accidents happening all the time.  I recall that the Houston Chronicle had an article calling it “the deadliest stretch of highway in Texas” during that time.  

I’m sure my Dad felt his plate was completely full as he faced these and other huge challenges in this new position, particularly after having moved his young family to this completely new part of the state.  During this time, I was watching him.  Here’s what I was seeing… 

I watched him show me, by example, what true compassion for others looked like.  He treated everyone equally, with respect, empathy and generosity – his patrolmen and their families, travellers on the road, and even those who found themselves on the wrong side of the law.  He showed me what it meant to work hard but to also take the time to play.  On his days off, we fished the small stock tanks and ponds around Leon County.  We took memorable family vacations, which I have no doubt were preceded by months of scrimping and saving.  He made sure I continued to interface with people whom he respected and admired.  To me, they were people who it just felt good to be around.  He let me roam that little town on my own, all day long, exposing me to a level of freedom and independence that I will never forget, but always coupling that freedom with responsibility.  

Our short time in Centerville was formative for me, and it expanded my horizons as a young boy.  I was so fortunate to have had the unique perspective of a Highway Patrolman’s son in those years, learning about and living around such things as that new Interstate Highway, the old historic old courthouse, black and white patrol cars and the impressive men who drove them, and even the prisoners yelling at me from the open windows of the county jail cell as I rode past on my bicycle.  

It was here that my Dad sparked in me an interest in the workings of my state and community, our government, the judicial system, politics and Texas history.  I feel like I became a true Texan while living in Centerville, gaining an identity with my beloved state that means so much to me still.  He also made sure that I experienced lakes and streams to supplement my memories of Panhandle dust and tumbleweeds.  He drove me fast in his patrol car on the curving, hilly roads of Leon County – such a contrast to the flat and straight highways out in Hutchinson County.  And we were both initiated to that sacred smell and feel of the East Texas pineywoods that now runs through the veins of all of my family members.  As I watched during those years, that’s what I was seeing.  

In 1969, my Dad seized the opportunity when a Sergeant’s position came open in Tyler, and applied for a transfer there.  Our short stay in Centerville, the epitome of small-town Texas in the late 60’s, had been memorable for me and I’m sure the rest of my family.  But Tyler is where my Dad would grow and advance in his career, and the place that I would eventually call my hometown. 

Tyler and Smith County were vibrant and bustling when we arrived there, and I’m sure the transition from Centerville was quite a change professionally for my Dad.  There was much more traffic and activity in the urban areas around Tyler, fewer rural roads, and more troopers to supervise.  Smith County sits astride Interstate 20, one of the most heavily travelled interstate roadways between the east and west coasts of the United States.  During the 70’s, drug use and trafficking was increasing, and criminal activity was becoming more sophisticated.  Thinking back on both the notable and notorious events my Dad was involved with, I can remember manhunts, CB radios, the introduction of mobile radar equipment, escaped prisoners, a horrific plane crash, and visits of dignitaries, including the Reagans, the Bushes, and the Clintons.  Even the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang came to town one weekend for the funeral of one of their members.  Sgt. Fisher was a busy man, but loving every minute of it.  And all during those years, I was watching him.  Here’s what I was seeing….   

Even as a 10 year-old, I could easily see that people in Tyler welcomed my Dad and my Mom because they were good, honest and caring people.  We became active in church and attended regularly, and Dad took on leadership roles and gave of his time in service whenever he could. 

Dad enjoyed his work and was extremely good at his job.  He especially liked how his job let him interact with people from all walks of life.  As I watched him during those years, it was instilled in me how you can’t really understand another person’s perspective until you’ve put yourself in that person’s shoes for a while, a lesson I hold dear to this day.  From the wrecker driver to the County Judge, I watched him treat everyone with respect and integrity.  He listened intently and always tried to understand the positions of others.  

Once I became old enough, he would take me out on patrol with him.  More than once, I watched with amazement as we would pull up to a difficult or troubling scene and he would seem to instantly have a full understanding of what was going on, who the players were, how the events had probably unfolded, and what needed to happen next.  He would have already put all the puzzle pieces together while I was still unwrapping the box. 

The badge and uniform he wore with both pride and humility also gave him the authority to literally change people’s lives, if that was what was required.  But I watched him use that authority sparingly, with great humbleness.  He never abused or overused it.  People in difficult situations with him never saw that authority first.  He didn’t flaunt it.  It was just there, and understood.  They saw the man first – a caring human being who would certainly uphold the law and set you straight as needed, but who would also try his best to help you through the situation if he could.  I think about that a lot these days, as I’m reminded all too often how a singular “bad cop” can do so much damage to the very fabric of our society. 

As a teenager, I watched him show the utmost patience with me as I made my share of dumb mistakes.  He could always see right through my little lies, while showing me the truth.  His even temperament within the walls of our house was the same as I would see outside.  Whether he was dealing with me and my “important” issues, working with his patrolmen, speaking with politicians and important people, or conversing with agitated people on the side of the highway, he always had this aura that quietly commanded respect, almost without him saying a word. 

Perhaps one of the greatest credits a man can receive is when others want to follow in his footsteps.  I’ll never forget the day when a friend of mine, a few years older than me, told me he had just applied to be a Highway Patrolman, “just like your dad”.  That happened on several occasions.   

During those years, that’s what I was seeing.  

In his later years, I’ve never stopped watching and learning from my Dad.  I’ve watched as he worked hard to cultivate and maintain friendships, many of which have lasted for decades.  How he truly cares for his neighbors, looking out for them and always giving and helping.  How he would do anything for his family, especially my Mom.  His unwavering but quiet faith in God.  How he maintains connections and stays involved in his community, mentoring others when the opportunity arises.  

I was a little bewildered when, a decade or so back, my Dad sought to rebuild his relationship with his own father, the grandfather I had seen only a handful of times in my entire life, and didn’t know at all.  This was a man who had literally disappeared when my Dad was just a small boy, leaving his children and disabled wife alone, with very little means of support.  When we went to that man’s funeral a few years ago, I listened as people who knew him late in his life gave glowing tributes and spoke kind words about him.  I looked down the pew and watched my Dad, wondering how he could ever begin to reconcile the very different and conflicting images he must have held of his father for so much of his life. Then and there, while I watched, my Dad taught me about forgiveness, acceptance, reconciliation, taking the high road, and about unconditional love.  

As I grow older myself, that gap in years between my Dad and me becomes much smaller.  At our ages, the twenty-two years between us is just not that big of a difference anymore.  I’m not that far behind him.  And yet it seems like there will always be this huge gap between us when it comes to important things like wisdom, experience and maturity.  I don’t suppose I’ll ever catch up with him.  But in the meantime, I’ll just keep on watching!

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