I grew up in a very small town adjacent to a large one. It still had that small town “feel” though despite the proximity of its large and busier neighbor.
I was a sort of Mayberry, but with snow.
The weird thing about this place is that while very small -only 1 ¼ square miles- they had 4 cop cars rolling 24/7/365 without fail. I lived three blocks from the “copshop” and knew when the shift change was. They must have had a dozen cars and a few other vehicles there ready to go.
“Since we’re so close to the godless big city we will ensure the security of our local citizens!” …or something like that.
Anyway, the guy next door was a huge, fat man who styled himself a sort of Hemmingway-type. He was also expert in the use of guns. He probably had 100 of them in his basement at any given time. He was such a fine shot that he was barred from competing any more at the NRA shooting contests, so of course, he became a judge for the aforementioned shooting contests.
He was also very well connected locally. He sought and received a permit to own, load and fire a cannon on his property. Relax, it was a comparatively small caliber 1920’s vintage cannon…but still…a cannon in his side yard.
Every Patriotic holiday he would make a big deal out of firing blanks out of that thing, scaring the poop out of every bird, dog and cat for 3000 feet or more.
As I said he was very well connected and even though in that time and place it was illegal to even own a police scanner, he had one. He’d sit in his garage and while sipping hard cider, “listening to the death defying exploits of our town’s best”.
Mostly, it was drunks coming home from the Golden Pheasant, stalled cars and the occasional “domestic”.
However one night, I was sitting next to him, and my dad. Drinking soda while the adults had their hard cider, and we heard something interesting.
Apparently, once or twice every Summer, a certain Mr. Pulsaki (not his real name) would throw off his clothes and run naked, thus defiling our streets with his nakedness in our attempt to maintain a sense of decorum.
When thinking back on that incident, I’m reminded of “Otis”( from Andy of Mayberry) who after getting very drunk, would let himself into the jail cell, lock it and go to sleep.
I heard the world-weary voices of the cops tired of his …ummm “shenanigans”.
Officer One: “I have a report that out good old Mr. Piulkaski is at it again. He’s on Knowlton, heading toward Elmwood.”
Officer two: “I got him last time, remember? It took a half hour to talk Mrs. Pulaski into letting him back in.”
Officer three: “I got him the time before that. He made a mess of my back seat.”
Officer One: “Well, somebody’s gotta go get him and take him home. Ted will you do it? I just went on break.”
Officer three: “C’mon. I don’t want to deal with all that in my back seat again…”
Officer two: “Okay I’ll get him again and ferry his ass home, but you guys owe me.”
Officer One: “Thanks, Teddy”.
My neighbor thought this was by far the most entertaining thing he’d heard all day.
Then
Officer four: “well… It IS a warm night…”
That guy would end up in jail so fast nowadays… I sort of miss that aspect of my old Mayberry home.
