The Undertaker

Keith spent some time in prison and you could tell.  He was jaded and angry all the time, but not closed off.  He would explain to me how much prison had changed him.  A bump in the night for everyone else is just a bump in the night.  In prison, it could be someone coming to stab you.  He dealt with that for years.  It changed him.  For whatever reason I made that the focus when he would come in for office visits.  He didn’t have any family and it seemed to help him to talk about things.  I’d just sit and let him vent for an hour.  Occasionally, I’d work in a joke to lighten things up.  Over time, other officers got involved.  My office was loaded with comedians and busting on each other was a regular thing.  It wasn’t long before Keith was getting a little of that.  It made him laugh and feel welcome. 

Keith was in his mid 40s, 6’6”, pale as a flour tortilla, and always dressed in biker gear.  He looked like the Undertaker from the WWE (look it up).  He was an intimidating guy, but his smile would instantly crack that image.  He was doing much better.  The conversations were no longer about the despair of prison and more about the motorcycle he was hoping to fix.  He was about two weeks away from the end of his parole term when I decided to stop by his apartment unannounced. 

I was with a trainee, who would later become a star officer.  His family was from Tijuana, and he was one of the first born in America.  Some of his uncles or second cousins may have had run ins with the Mexican Mafia.  He was no stranger to hard times, and genuinely wanted to make a difference.  He was at the end of his training and was out for the night with me to see how I do things.  He knew Keith and liked him… This was the last stop of the night.  I knocked on the door and we waited patiently. 

“What up Scotty?” Said Keith before he pulled open the door.  As he opened, he exhaled an enormous cloud of marijuana exhaust – right in my face.  It was clear he was not expecting me, and thought it’d be funny to welcome his friend to the apartment with a hurricane force storm cloud of weed fresh from his lungs.  Once the fog cleared, Keith could see it was me. The look on my face let him know I was not impressed with his bong rip.  

“Oh shit man, I’m so sorry.  I thought you were someone else.”

No kidding. 

This was years ago when marijuana was still technically illegal, so Keith was going to jail for his obvious use and violation of parole.  But, it was weed; no one cares about weed, even then.  Keith was almost done with his parole term, was I really going to bring him back after he had come so far?  

I had Keith flush the weed and smash his colorful three foot bong.  It was heartbreaking. We left the apartment with the understanding that nothing happened, it was a normal home contact, no contraband found.  On the way back to the car, my mind was scrambling for an explanation for the trainee.  Why did I let this go?  My action was not consistent with the way he was trained.  We were supposed to control the residence, seize all contraband, and arrest any violators. 

“Look man, I know that was weird, but-“ I started to explain. 

“Don’t worry about it man, I get it,” said the trainee, saving me from an awkward conversation. 

I was grateful for his understanding.  I mentioned earlier he became a star officer.  I believe it was this type of outlook that helped him advance his career.  It’s never cut and dry or black and white.  Sometimes flexibility can go a long way and impact people deeply.

Years later I got a letter from Keith.  He wanted to thank me for helping him when he was struggling for positivity.  He was now employed as a motorcycle mechanic and was working on building his own custom bike.  He didn’t mention the weed cloud, but I’m sure it was on his mind.