The question I posted to Facebook yesterday–What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?—prompted several replies from friends who shared tales of their own worst job experiences. I found the responses to be quite interesting and would love to hear more. Please feel free to comment below. In the meantime, here’s “my worst job.”

Mine was when I was in high school. I think my father decided I needed this experience of hard work to help me become a man and to learn the value of a dollar. And, I think it was his way of showing me how hard he had it when he was growing up. It worked. Believe me, lesson learned and never forgotten.

I worked two summers, from sunup to sundown, pulling tobacco in the hot southern temperatures. All back-breaking and nasty hand-pulling. Individual leaves the size of small palm fronds are pulled from the stalks, starting at the bottom of the plant (note the bare stalk-bottoms in the image below). Bottom leaves ripen first.

Pulling the bottom leaves is often referred to as “the first pull,” because when you finish pulling the ENTIRE crop of lower leaves (acres upon acres of the stuff), you must start all over again a few weeks later with the second pull (don’t worry, the crops are planted in stages so that there’s always work to be done somewhere on the farm—no rest). Then the third… I’m not ashamed to say that I felt a few tears in my eyes when I faced the fields on the first morning of the second pull. Looking out over those endless rows at daybreak was an extremely daunting experience.

With each pull, the leaves are tucked into the armpit of the worker as he moves along each row from plant to plant. When the armpit bundle becomes too large to carry, the farmhand places the wad of leaves onto the slide, or trailer, and continues on. By the way, tobacco leaves are extremely waxy and sticky, and leave behind a nasty paste-like buildup of residue on your hands and wherever else the leaves touch. Workers spend a bit of time throughout the day peeling the gluey mess from their hands.

Drinking water? A metal bucket and dipper shared by all the workers. No ice. No cups

Bathroom. Nope.

The farmer I worked for used a mule named Bess and a wooden slide (no tractors) to transport the huge, sticky tobacco leaves to old wooden barns where women and children waited to tie the leaves to long sticks. I always felt sorry for Bess, having to drag that heavy load back and forth between the barns and the field, but she plodded along all day long. She also knew when to move along the rows without having to be told.

At the end of each day, after working in the hot, dusty fields, we had to carry and hang all the full, heavy tobacco sticks inside the tall unlit barns, by hand, starting at the top of the buildings (we had to climb to the peak—no ladder), working our way down to the lowest level. Sometimes we had to shove snakes out of our way, causing them to fall to the ground below where co-workers waited with the next sticks.

We headed to the fields before the sun was up, and we returned to our quarters for the evening meal after the sun was down.

I shared a room with another farmworker, a man called Cephus. No air-conditioning, two lumpy mattresses on the floor, and no screens on the windows. Nighttime temperatures hovered in the upper 80’s and mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds feasted on our blood until they could drink no more. Then they sent in the next shift of diners.

Breakfast was at 4 a.m. Eggs from resident hens, fresh sausage and smoked country ham made from a pig that used to root and oink somewhere on the farm, tomatoes and fried potatoes (both raised in the garden tended by the farmer’s wife), and homemade buttermilk biscuits and strawberry jam. Milk was freshly squeezed from either Myrtle or Maggie, the two cows who donated our liquid breakfast refreshment each morning. Coffee was for the farmer, his wife, and their kids (the farmer’s kids did not work the fields, but they were required to do other work—feed livestock, weed the gardens, etc.). Field hands ate outside, standing up, at long planks stacked on the ends of metal barrels. I was a field hand.

My pay was $3 per day. $18 per week. We were also given one ice cold Pepsi at 3 p.m. each day. I’ve been a Coke drinker since. No Pepsi for me, please.

Work was not allowed on Sunday. Time off for illness was also not allowed.

Picking cotton wasn’t as brutal, but we were paid by the sack/pound picked, not by the day. I quickly learned that it takes a whole lot of cotton to equal $3. Besides, the sharp edges of the cotton bolls were forever sticking into our fingers and kept our hands extremely sore until we developed thick callouses…another reason to choose pulling tobacco over picking cotton.

I hated every single minute of it, but I did it because the money was needed and there was a lesson that needed learning.

We were hard workers.

I consider myself to be extremely fortunate and blessed to have met some of the coolest people on the planet, including, of course, many of my favorite authors and musicians. Sometimes the two cross paths when they—musicians and/or writers—decide to spread their wings a bit.

You already know how fond I am of Joe Bonsall and his fellow Oak Ridge Boys, and you can peek at his latest book by glancing to the right of the first paragraph of this page.

But my connection to musicians and their writings goes a bit further, and here’s something many of you don’t know about me. I, too, am a musician of sorts. I started out learning to play drums when I was a child. From there I learned to play the tuba, clarinet, piano (some), and eventually the trumpet. Actually, I wound up playing first chair, first trumpet in concert, jazz, and marching bands for several years. I’ve played solos in numerous venues.

In the meantime, I learned to play guitar and bass guitar and played in a few garage-type bands. Along the way, I was lucky enough to play music with lots of extremely talented people in a few well-known clubs and concert arenas.

This occupies a corner in our office

I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting and hanging out with a few superstars in the music business, such as the Oak Ridge Boys, who, by the way, were recently inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. And, a few weeks ago they received the Country Song of the Year Award at the Gossip Music Association’s 46th annual Dove Awards.

Then there’s Peter Noone of Hermans’ Hermits. What a super nice guy. Eddie Money—another great guy who, by the way, was once a police officer. Tony Lindsay of Santana…a great singer with a heart of gold and a voice that’s as smooth as melted butter.

Here’s Tony performing with his own band. Speaking of superb musicians…

Anyway, back to musicians who write. I met Gregg Kihn of the chart-topping Gregg Kihn Band several years ago (Gregg’s hits include Jeopardy and The Breakup Song, to name a couple).

Gregg eventually worked as a DJ at San Jose, California’s KFOX radio, where he featured many rocking musicians as his morning show guests. Then he turned a corner by writing and publishing mystery novels and other books, including Carved in Rock (pictured above), a collection of short stories written by other musicians such as, Joan Jett, John Entwistle, Pete Townshend, and Eric Burdon.

So, when I heard of Gregg Kihn’s anthology I rushed out to grab a copy and to ask Gregg to sign it (Yes, I collect signed books and chances are I have one of yours in my office. If not, I wish I did).

Now, to tie all of this up with a neat little bow, Gregg’s son, Ry, is one of the best guitarists I know. In fact, he’s been on stage with the best in the in the business—Joe Satriani, The Who, Billy Idol, and more. He’s also a highly-sought-after studio musician.

When I heard Ry’s style I just had to ask him to teach me a few new licks and tricks. So I wound up taking guitar lessons from him for while. Well, mostly I just sat there and listened to and watched him play because the man is a genius on guitar. Here’s a sample of his style of instruction.

There you have it, my secret side. I can play, but I can’t sing. Not a note. Unless, of course, the goal is to drive away people and barnyard animals.

We’ve all experienced that moment of anxiety and apprehension when we look in our rear view mirrors and see a police car following closely behind. The sweating. The knot in the stomach. Not to mention the “what did I do’s” flashing though your mind like a slide slow on speed. Oh no, did I say speed? How fast was I going? They don’t give tickets for twenty miles-per-hour over the limit, do they?

You glance in the mirror again.

No matter how fast or how slow you go, it’s there, in stealth mode, with headlights glowing like the eyes of a demon. The driver’s monster-size dark silhouette sits unwavering behind the wheel. You can’t see them, but you know the driver-creature’s eyes have met yours. It knows, and you know it knows. It has probed deep into your soul, the place where you keep all your dark secrets. Yes, it knows what what you’ve done and what you’re thinking. It knows you rolled through that intersection, brazenly ignoring the stop sign. And it knows about the day when the time had run out on the parking meter, but you threw caution to the wind and left your car there for ten extra minutes, slapping Big Brother in the face with your devil-may-care attitude. But you knew it is was only a matter of time.

Yes, IT is coming for you…

Okay, that’s a little overboard, but I think the feelings we get when we see a police car in our rear view mirrors are pretty darn intense. And all that intensity, anxiety, and trepidation often leads to trouble in the form of saying too much and doing all the wrong things at all the wrong times, especially when around persons of authority. And, no matter how calm and cool you think you are, this tongue-tangling often occurs when approached by police officers…even when we’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.

So what should you say when approached by a police officer? Or, what shouldn’t you say?

Well, let’s start with a few basics. First of all, if the officer is aiming a .12 gauge at you like Officer Crawford in the top photo, well, you should definitely obey any and all of his commands. That is not the time to argue.

However, under normal circumstances, if you are stopped by the police you should be aware of:

1. Body language/mannerisms. It’s a good idea to not make any threatening gestures, like suddenly reaching into your pockets or suddenly placing a hand behind your back, unless you’ve been ordered to do so by the officer. Let’s face it, if you’re at the point when the officer has asked you to place your hands behind your back, most of what follows is moot.

2. What you say and how you say it. Arguing with the officer will earn you no favors. He/she wants the incident to be over and done as quickly and easily as possible. They don’t want to get hurt, nor do they want to hurt you. However, arguing automatically brings about a hostile atmosphere, and that puts the officer on guard. Therefore, simple acts that normally wouldn’t seem harmful suddenly become potential threats in the eyes of the officer. Besides, anything you say can and WILL be used against you in a…yada, yada, yada…

Also, asking to see the officer’s supervisor is a silly thing to say while you’re arguing with the officer because , if you’ve been hostile and combative you’re probably a matter of seconds away from meeting the supervisor and the four or five other officers who’re on the way to help arrest you.

3. Your hands. Keep them to yourself. The officer does not know you or what your intentions are toward him. Do NOT touch the officer. Do not pretend you’re going to touch the officer.

4. When operating a motor vehicle. You ARE required to present your driver’s license and registration when asked. By the way, if you are arrested/detained, you are required, by law, to give the officer your correct name. Failure to do so could result in an additional charge against you.

5. You do not have to give permission to search you or your property.

6. You should not physically resist a pat-down search. If you think the officer is overstepping his bounds then file a complaint with his supervisor at the police station.

7. You can be arrested if you don’t sign a traffic ticket. Your signature on the summons is like a bond, and the officer is allowing you to go free if you sign promising to appear in court on the date designated on the ticket. By not signing, the officer has no choice but to think you’re refusing to appear in court. Next up…handcuffs. Remember, driving is a privilege, not a right.

8. If you are arrested and you ask for an attorney, that does not mean that a lawyer will drop what she’s doing and immediately drive over to the jail. It might be several hours, or even days, before you see a lawyer.

9. You will get a phone call (after arrest) but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to make that call the second you hit the jail floor. Booking and processing will probably be completed before you’re allowed to make the call. Sometimes, it’s hours before an officer has the time to get you to a phone. They have many other things going on, and bringing a telephone to a screaming, angry, blubbering drunk is not high on the to-do list.

By the way, it is not a constitutional right to make a cellphone call during your arrest. You’ll have to wait to call your mom, brother, father, sister, brother, Auntie Sue.

10. Use your common sense. And for goodness sake, while an officer is placed cuffs around your wrists don’t quote law and police procedure based on what you’ve seen on TV. Those made-for-your-viewing-pleasure scripted lines are rarely accurate. Besides, at that point the officer isn’t listening to you anyway. Instead, they’re concentrating on getting you to the jail or police department without either of you getting harmed. That’s the goal.

Remember, if you resist an arrest the officer is permitted to meet that resistance with whatever legal means it takes to overcome it. They can’t simply let people go because a suspect suddenly decides they don’t want to be arrested.

Finally, do not operate a riding lawnmower on the roadway, especially while drinking alcohol.

It’s time, past time, actually, for each of us to stop what we’re doing to take a good look at ourselves—a real self-exam of our inner being. Unfortunately, though, we may not like what we see.

As time goes on, dragging us along for the ride, we watch as the world around us changes. Our climate is different than it was just a decade ago. New species of animals are discovered while others disappear entirely. Gardens grow and eventually fold back into the earth. And people, well, it seems they fight change more than any other entity on the planet.

Human resistance to the recently-created comes in all forms, but is especially evident in the word of cops and robbers. Sure, new things are invented every day—new weapons, new art, new devices for watching TV and listening to music, new and sleeker automobiles, new drugs, new…well, you get the idea. But the one thing that never changes is a bad guy’s desire to steal, rape, rob, and kill. That, my friends, has been a constant for as long as man can remember.

Sure, with new things to steal and new people and ways to kill, modern-day suspects must also adapt new ways to carry out their crimes. As a result, law enforcement must overcome a crook’s new methods of operation. Still, stealing is stealing, killing is killing, and robbing is robbing, no matter the method or implement used to assist murderers, robbers, and/or thieves.

A good example of just how “same old, same old” today’s world of cops and robbers really is, here’s my response to two questions I answered in a magazine interview many years ago. My answer could, and would, still apply today. And it could have just as easily been completely relevant 25 years ago and longer.

Here, have a quick look at the excerpt before we continue with this post.

Q: How can new officers prepare themselves for some of the more dangerous aspects of police work?

Easy answer: training and education.

Here are a few basic tips:

– Always expect the unexpected.

– Don’t take anything for granted, and keep your guard up. The well-dressed man with the million-dollar smile just might be the next Dahmer, Bundy, or D.C. sniper.

– Search every suspect thoroughly before placing them inside the patrol car. And don’t be shy when conducting a search. Criminals are very creative when it comes to hiding weapons and other contraband.

– Always have an escape route. There’s no shame in a retreat. A dead hero is, well, dead.

– Sure, the job is important, but never let it come before your family!

Q: What are some of the challenges in the field?

One of the most frustrating things about police work is how children perceive law enforcement officers. It’s sad to see little kids run away the second they see a police car enter their neighborhood. Or, to hear a six or seven-year-old look up from playing with his toys and curse you as you pass by.

It’s important for officers to take the time to show kids that they’re the good guys and that they’re there to help, not to harm the kids or their families. Community policing is a must. Proactive law enforcement begins with personal and positive contact with citizens. Stop, get out, and talk to people.

~

I guess the take-away from this blog post, and from the article, is that policing is far more than simply wearing a badge and carrying a gun. It’s a “people” business, and to do the job well it’s an absolute must that officers and citizens come together to work out the problems of society. After all, one cannot succeed without the other, and someone has to make the first move.

So yeah, park the car, get out, and talk to people. And I’m not speaking about getting out to arrest someone. Get out and visit when times are good. Don’t wait for the bad times because people will then only associate you with a bad memory. That’s also how you’ll remember the people you encounter.

Get to know the people who live in the areas you patrol. Sit on a front porch and listen to what they have to say. Talk about sports, their hobbies, their families and their kids, etc. I think you may be surprised at what you hear. And those citizens, well, they just might, for once, see something other than a badge, handcuffs, and gun—your personality, heart, and smile. Officers will also learn that people, not animals, live in those houses on their beat.

Sure, having an occasional hotdog cookout for kids in the park is a great way for police to interact with the public. However, a weeinie roast and face-painting will never take the place of the one-on-one, heart-to-heart conversations on someone’s front stoop.

The police in the city where we live do a wonderful job, and they have a community policing program in place, but I have yet to see a single officer out of his car other than when making an arrest or traffic stop, or eating a meal at a local restaurant. All I see and know are blank, empty faces behind dark sunglasses as they pass by at an intersection.

You know, a little personality can go a long way. So again, park your car, get out, walk a few steps, and say hello to everyone you meet. I promise someone will say it back.