Am I proud to be an Amerikan? Well, no, I’m not; not at all. I used to be grateful to be an American, but this week I got a taste of Amerika.
I’m 81 years old. I don’t have the strength, energy, and stamina that I once had, but I’m still in good enough health to stay out of the doctors’ offices, and most days I’m able to do a few hours of real, honest, useful mental and physical work. I generally mind my own business, and do my best to be law-abiding, keep a low profile, and stay out of trouble.
Usually that’s enough, and life is simple enough for me to comprehend it, but not this week. Not over on the east side of our great metropolitan area, anyway.
On Wednesday afternoon I drove across town to do some work at my church in the little suburb at the other end of the tunnel. We’ve had several odd plumbing problems in the church building recently, so I volunteered to remove the water pressure reducer valve to measure it and then order a new valve to replace it. I already knew it was an old and odd setup, so I was prepared to take my time and face some challenges.
The water shutoff and reducer valves are underground behind the church house, so I parked near the little plastic cover box, unloaded my tools, and went to work. I wasn’t hiding, I simply parked close to the job. I always work slowly, quietly and methodically, paying careful attention to my work – especially when I’m not exactly certain what I’m doing. So there I was, sitting on a blanket, surrounded by tools, with my hands and arms down in a hole in the ground, when I heard a car door close behind me. I assumed it was the next-door neighbor, who is a friend of mine and often stops to talk, so I kept working until a strange voice asked what I was doing.
I glanced over my shoulder, saw a local policeman, and explained what the problem was and what I was trying to accomplish. When asked, I responded that I’m an elected trustee of the church, got the keys to prove it, and, although I’m the oldest man in the church, I’m the only one with the experience and tools to do this kind of work. I continued working, worrying at the reluctant hardware surrounded by hard dirt while he continued to talk. He stayed behind me.
Several minutes passed, the fellow continued to ask questions, and I began to wonder if he was new on the job and didn’t have enough experience and good manners or sense to say, “Well, good luck!” and go on about his business. Evidently he didn’t, because he became officious and demanded formal identification from me.
I told him that was unnecessary and unreasonable, it was obvious I was working on something useful to the church, and I was not doing anything wrong. “Name and date of birth?” I told him my name and said I was born in 1943. “Month and date?” No, that’s not necessary; you can run the tag on my old van and find everything you could possibly need to know about me. He said he’d already done that, but it only identified the vehicle; I suspect that is untrue, but let it slide. Now, realize I was still on the ground, working to remove an oddly connected and hard to handle pressure reducer valve; he was standing behind me, out of my sight and not helping my work at all, just hassling me now for his own entertainment.
He apparently hadn’t ever been told NO before, didn’t understand the concept, and didn’t like being ignored; he kept demanding more details than I felt obligated to give him. I mean, this is still America, isn’t it? At least I thought so. I was minding my own business, I was trying to do a useful and needful job, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and shouldn’t have to cater to his idle curiosity or ego. Many of the cops on his force probably know me and my old van by sight, because I’m at the church every week all summer, cutting the grass.
Finally the dirty old pressure reducer valve came loose, spilling a lot of rusty water on my new black jeans, and I stood up (a slow, often painful, and always unattractive process at my age), wiped my hands, and said I needed to use the toilet. I started in that direction but – surprise, surprise, surprise – another cop had shown up! Things had been pretty much calm and quiet until then, even if increasingly stressful for me, but this new guy was older, heavier, and obviously more experienced at dealing with hardened and dangerous criminals like me.
He grabbed my arm and asked, “Do you think I’m playing?” Well, in fact, I did; I thought he was playing tough guy with an innocent and harmless old man who’d been minding his own business, and I thought he was playing the fool, but I kept my mouth shut, except to repeat that I needed to use the toilet. (As you can imagine, cop-induced diarrhea is a real and pressing condition.) He said I wasn’t going anywhere until I produced proper identification, which I did under duress and out of desperation. Then he pulled my little self-defense pistol from its holster on my belt, saying he couldn’t have a man with my ‘demeanor’ wandering around with a weapon. You’d’ve thought I was Public Enemy Number One or something – maybe Amerika’s most wanted church trustee?
Then I was allowed to go inside for a few minutes. When I came back out, the first cop was waiting outside the front door and handed me my driver’s license, said everything was okay, and that the second cop had laid my gun inside the open back doors of my van. Oh, by that time there was a third uniform and vehicle there, too, just in case I’d gone on a rampage or whatever a crazy geriatric might do when bullied that way. Shucks, if I’d taken another five minutes they might’ve called out the SWAT wagon and put the nearby school on lockdown.
It turns out they’d all had a good time together while I was relieving myself – laughing, probably congratulating themselves on having taught another ignorant senior citizen just who is boss in their town. See, the second cop had parked his fancy SUV right in front of my van’s dash camera so that’s all on video – the camera didn’t pick up any of their words, but faces and actions are really informative. It’s too bad those cops don’t understand such things when they meet strangers who are just minding their own business.
Now, I hadn’t set out from home thinking that I was doing the Lord’s work or anything important like that; the job was just something that needed doing, it was something that I could do, and I hoped to save the church a few hundred dollars. We’re a small congregation, we need to buy a new gas furnace and air conditioner right away, and every little bit helps. I may not have been doing the Lord’s work in particular, but the sons of Satan were busy doing their father’s work that day – last Wednesday in their own little homegrown version of Amerika.
I’m sure the taxpaying citizens there are gratified to know that nearly half their afternoon police force stood guard over our little church while this one trembling old man went to the restroom. Everyone can sleep well with that kind of diligence protecting them.
Meanwhile, I was so scared and upset and shaking that I just put my tools back in the van, covered up the hole in the ground, and drove home on autopilot. I didn’t have the heart or the strength to finish what I had come to do or to put the defective valve back in place. Even now, two days later, I’m still shaking from the experience. I can’t sleep well, can’t get warm no matter what I do, and don’t know when or if I’ll ever have the courage and nerve to drive through that long dark tunnel under Missionary Ridge again to get to the church.
I don’t know how much time I have left on Earth, and I don’t think it’s worth risking a stroke or heart attack, or having those guys take another year or two off my life.
The water at the church is still turned off, and even though the new parts are supposed to arrive here on Saturday, I’m in no shape to go there and put things back together. Somebody else will have to figure out that detail; maybe they’ll have better luck than I did on Wednesday.
So, am I proud to be an Amerikan? Well, no, I’m not; not at all. My experience this week was too much like Sinclair Lewis’s 1935 book, It Can’t Happen Here. What I used to know as America is too much like Amerika now, and it’s way too close to home. You’ll see.
Larry Cloud
Lookout Valley
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It does not matter apparently where you live anymore. I don’t care where their area is and I don’t care who signs their paychecks. They still act like thugs. I have no use for that.
When you do not require a college education, you are not going to get critical thinkers. You have to pay them a wage that reflects their education.
You have heard the phrase “you get what you pay for.” That is what we have across the board. We are certainly not disappointed there. We are getting exactly what we are paying for. Pathetic.
Rebecca DeBord
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I read Mr Cloud's account of his recent experiences with law enforcement with some concern - I have had positive encounters with the CPD on occasions (a car accident in September of this year when a courteous police officer responded quickly) but also had a bad encounter several years ago.
I was on my way across town to check on my elderly father when I was stopped by a Chattanooga police officer. I had stopped for a red light, proceeded when the light changed and I pulled over and provided my driver's license and other information. He advised me that he had "run" my license tag and that it had expired. I knew that to be incorrect because I had renewed it the week prior at the County Clerk's office and had posted the new decal to the plate.
I therefore produced my receipt from the County Clerk showing the paid fee, date, and related information. The officer seemed surprised that I had the proof and brusquely told me that I should call Nashville and confirm that my registration had been put into the "system."
My response was that I had no control over what the "system" did with the information but that I would certainly call. The officer also told me that "they" had gotten a lot of calls about stolen license plates - well, I didn't (and still don't) steal license plates so that did not apply to me.
The stop caused me to be late in reaching my father's house, thus causing concern and distress on his part. He was approaching 90 in age and an insulin-dependent diabetic and it was important that I give him the insulin at the appropriate time.
I called the Clerk's office the next day and was assured that my registration was indeed valid. I asked about calls about stolen plates and the lady said their office had gotten a lot of calls about that.
It was - and is - very unlikely that a white-haired, clean-shaven and appropriately dressed man in his 60's driving a clean, well-maintained car with a USAA sticker on the bumper indicating military service (28 years total) would have stolen a license plate or fabricated a registration. The stop was unnecessary.
Was the young officer simply overreaching in his duty or was he attempting to show an "old" man who was in charge of the street?
Mr. Cloud's experience again raises the question in my mind about the direction this country is moving in 2025. Surely men in Mr. Cloud's and my age group are not a serious risk to the safety and security of the community. Or, is there a developing trend toward disrespecting people by following the example of low-class national politicians?
Tim McDonald
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Larry, I hope we're on first name basis. First hugs to you and the Mrs. Larry. (smile)
I was so hurt to read of your experience with East Ridge police. I had to walk away half way through and come back to finish reading about your encounter, the hurt was so deep and profound.
The way you were treated brought back similar memories. A cop, who appeared to be well over a six footer, my oldest son is around 6'2" or 3", took a stance once as if he was preparing to rush me. I am, or was at that time around 5'6 'n 3/4". But they say old folks sometimes tend to shrink as we age. I'm not sure what my height is now. At the time, I was so angry and hurt I was ready, like "bring it on busta!" It all happened when my youngest son returned home on a short weekend leave, with his wife whose unit was scheduled for deployment to Iraq for a year. She wanted to see family because the entire military base was going into lockdown the following week, and no one would be allowed to leave up to the day of deployment.
Not knowing when or even if she'd see the family again, my son drove to her base (they were actually stationed at different military bases) to bring her home to visit her family that weekend. Just a two-day stay, as they had both had to be back at their different bases by the following Monday. He'd drop her off then head straight on to the military base where he was stationed.
They drove straight home to Chattanooga, nonstop, only for my son to be physically assaulted and verbally cussed by a burly hothead cop, while taking a simple walk in the community he was born and spent all his life before enlisting. His only crime was he decided to take a simple walk through the community and get the feel of being home, if only for a short while. He hadn't been home since he shipped out for basic training. The lies told afteward about his encounter could fill a book of wicked fairytales. Gosh! I didn't know cops could be so creative when protecting one of their own. So I know what you must've felt like during your encounter. The humiliation, the anger. But believe me when I say, it's not on you. It's on those cops who would abuse their positions of power and treat a citizen in such a way for no other reason than to bully someone. In reality, it only shows their own insecurites, lack of control and lack of self esteem. Good thing, at least you have some of it on camera.
At some point, the nation will have to come to realize, if they really want a more law abiding population of citizens, they can't place lawless individuals in charge of uploading the laws. Individuals who constantly break the laws they've been sworn to uphold and keep the citizens safe, they themselves all too often abuse.
Please don't let this experience get you down. It can be so overwhelming and sink you into a very dark place. You're a very fine person, and Camp and I consider you a friend. He still has his 1973 TTU year book with a younger Larry Cloud, who taught as a math and science instructor. Although he wasn't one of your students. You're on page 33. I think his photo is in the section with the first- or second-year students. I'll have to check and see for sure.
Also, if I forgot to thank you. A big thanks for those spiritual books you dropped off for me a while ago - although I wasn't home to meet you in person. They're very uplifting and inspiring. All in all thank you for the emails and stories you've sent at times. Thank you, too, like only an older brother would do, for gently letting me know when I needed to tone things down in my letters to the Chattanoogan. John Wilson has gently yanked me too. That's what friends and family do for one another. They're honest and upfront.
Please take care. I'm just so sorry you had such a negative experience with those cops. Don't let it get you down. Stay strong! They're the weak ones.
Best wishes to you and the Mrs. Cloud.
Brenda Washington
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Larry,
Thank you for being a good parishioner and working on the water system issue. I need to do that under the house with this pressure regulator.
My take from reading this is your pastor and Board of Elders need to have a sit down with the police chief and the officers present and discuss norms of interaction on church grounds between church membership in the light of day and local town police.
One thing missing in American culture is appropriated from 12 step wisdom, it encompasses admitting being wrong and making amends.
Then there is the opportunity, invite the police officers who were present to come to church off duty and meet all you and enjoy the partaking of a service and if you have such a Wednesday evening dinner. We all can make more possible that there is more that unites us than divides us.
Near in Lookout Valley,
Prentice Hicks
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Larry,
Call Robin Flores's office at 423-267-1575 and schedule an appointment. Go explain the situation to him. If not for yourself, do it to protect your fellow citizens and to teach East Ridge to be more selective in their hiring and more diligent in their training.
Kevin Hargis