You Are Not Allowed In

The road to my father’s modest beach home was blocked by barricades and yellow police tape.   An officer in the customary dark blue uniform stood in the hot sun near the barricade.  He was tanned, yet looked very warm in his sweat-stained uniform. Along with the uniform he had all the gear attached; gun, taser, nightstick, cuffs.   He gave the desired look, authoritative and imposing.

I handed my driver’s license to the officer as requested.    He took it and headed toward his squad car saying he’d be back in a couple of minutes.  He returned wearing a very stern look that served as a warning of trouble.  The officer was insistent, I would not be allowed past the barricade. I tried desperately to have him reconsider.  I begged him.  I explained that my father was in his house in the area that was devastated.  I just wanted to get him and take him to my home.  Despite my fervent pleas, the officer would not allow me in.  He reminded me that the town council had passed an ordinance that was intended to guard against looters.  No one with a criminal record would be allowed in the area.  He added, “Apparently you’ve had some trouble with the law.”

That morning had started very early.  My phone erupted in a penetrating blast at 2 AM. Even in my sleepy state, I knew this would not be good.  Jane was hysterical.  I heard the strain in her voice and assumed she had been crying.  Dad is still in the house, he never evacuated.   I would immediately regret it but I asked, “Didn’t he say he would pack and leave with Mom.”  Jane spit out her reply, “Well I guess he changed his mind.”  She continued “I quizzed Mom and got some nonsense about guarding the place after the storm.”  Then Jane laid it on the line.  “You’ve got to go get him out, no electricity no AC, no phone service.  You’ve got to go get him.”

Jane was right to contact me.  I lived much closer to Dad’s house and was our best chance to get something done.  I knew people on the island, including the town council and the police chief.  As the biggest contributor to every charity and needy cause that came along, I was well known.  I hope I was well-liked, too.

I rushed to the police station and told the clerk that I wanted to see Chief Tatum.  The curt reply was “No way he’s busy.  Try next week.”  Tell him Craig Toby is here and needs to see him, he’ll see me.  Sergeant, please, I’d very much appreciate it if you would just ask.  Reluctantly, he walked the few steps to the chief’s office.    He came back with a disgusted look on his face and said “He will be with you in a few minutes.

I explained my situation to the Chief.  I said, “Jack, your men won’t let me get my father out of his house because I have a record. That’s crazy.”  Jack was calm and deliberate.  He gave me the speech I suspect he had been repeating many times in the last twenty-four hours.  “The council members were getting so many calls they had to make a show of doing something.  So, they passed the ordinance, no one with a record gets in the evacuated area.” 

Jack was a solid guy, even-tempered, and a great chief.  He was quite firm in explaining that despite my good standing, he could not make an exception.  “People are frantic right now.  They will have a right to go berserk and give me holy hell if they hear I made an exception.”  He looked me straight in the eye saying, “What is this about you having a record.” 

I explained that the blemish on my record was from twenty years ago when I joined a college protest about the chemical plant.  I got a little carried away and had a physical exchange with an officer.  He asked, “What was the charge.”  Sheepishly I explained, despite a sincere apology to the officer and the court, I was charged with a misdemeanor of obstructing a law enforcement officer. 

The chief gazed out the window.  He looked at the sky, clearing now after yesterday’s storm.  I dared not interrupt.  A wry little smile emerged.  He said, “I have an idea how we might fix this little problem.”  He strolled to the door, then said to the sergeant, “Get the governor on the line, tell him I have Craig Tatum in my office, and we need a quick chat.” 

Without a word to me, the chief went back to his work.  I did the only thing I could.  I sat still and quiet like a schoolboy in the principal’s office.  After a few anxious minutes, the phone rang.  I was dumbfounded as to why the chief was suddenly so cheerful.  I was quite confused; he knew I was desperate, yet the chief seemed to be enjoying something.  He spoke into the phone, “Governor, you know about our recent town ordinance, right?  No, I didn’t think much of it either.  Well, Craig Tatum’s father decided to ignore the evacuation notice and stay in his house.  Craig is trying to get to him, but Craig has a record and is not allowed to go anywhere near the house.  Yes, I was surprised to learn about that, too.  Craig tells me it is from twenty years ago, a college protest resulted in a misdemeanor obstruction.  I was just wondering what your thoughts would be about giving him a pardon.  There was a pause for an agonizing few moments.  Yes, he would qualify because it is not a federal offense, and I can assure you he is not a habitual criminal. That meets the criteria needed.”  Another pause.  I was suddenly acutely aware of my every breath.  He continued with the governor, “Thank you, sir.  Yes, we I both appreciate your help.  Glad you asked, we’re doing pretty well, with the National Guard here we have things under control.  The power company says within twelve hours ninety percent of the homes will be back online.  Thank you, sir.”

The chief turned to me and said, “You go ahead, Craig.  We’ll radio the officer to let him know he can let you through.  If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot on my plate right now.”  As I left his office, I was aware that he had that little smile on his face.  Amid all the trouble he was dealing with today, he seemed quite proud of himself for orchestrating this little coup.  I will not forget his effort when I attend the next police benefit.  I am guessing that I will get an invitation, perhaps at his table.