This morning we had the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade tuned in as they went through the star studded lineup about to be seen. Spiderman was floating in all his splendor, held by several ropes, the workers grateful for a calm day. Various famous actors, actresses and performers would eventually make their way to the cameras; but of all them, Santa was the one the children would be waiting to see. Santa coming into town signals the beginning of the Christmas Season.
Years ago, I’m talking thirty plus years ago when I was assigned to the Point Control Division of the Houston Police Department, Thanksgiving morning meant working the parade. It started with 5am Roll Call, and you’d better not be late; don’t even think of staying home unless you already had a toe tag. There would be intersection assignments for crowd control, “go-fer” duties and then a rare few got to escort Santa at the end of the parade.
The three wheeled motorcycle, a cross between the worst parts of a two wheeled motorcycle and the worst parts of a standard automobile, was the vehicle of choice for Point Control. These interesting police vehicles did have some redeeming social value, couldn’t think of how to put that seeing as how this might be read by folks with tender ears; where was I, the three wheeler could operate downtown, either on the normal street surface or even the sidewalk depending on the need.
You could usually tell if the motor was at operating temperature, it would melt the inboard cuff of your dark blue police issued trousers. A brittle bead of crystalline substance, which at one time had been a blend of wool and polyester fabric would form a gentle arch along the bottom of the pants.
The actual parade wouldn’t start for hours so my partner and I would drive over to my folk’s house, at the edge of downtown in the Montrose area, and invite ourselves in for breakfast. We didn’t have to be on post for a couple of hours so it was a leisurely breakfast with my folks.
I remember driving back towards our assigned area, the sun was just up as we neared the old YMCA building. On the sidewalk was a young fellow with a boom box crouched on his shoulder oblivious to the rest of the world as he jammed methodically northward. An evil thought entered my mind and without speaking, a wry smile crossed my lips and alerted my partner of the planned attack on the unwary victim.
I should explain that three wheelers didn’t have a siren, or much of a horn for that matter. We’d learned a trick or two on how to get the attention of folks, either to pull them over for a traffic violation or to have them get out of the way when we were trying to get some place in a hurry. The most effective noise we’d been able to come up with involved locking up the front disc brake and simultaneously pulling the handlebars as hard as would permit, as if to make a turn, all the while giving the motor full acceleration. The combination of efforts ground the front tire along the pavement as if in a horrendous accident; folks gladly got out of your way, often times you could see their shoulders come together in one giant flinch, their heads bowing on pulled in necks waiting for the imminent collision.
Back to the happy go lucky fellow with the boom box; my partner and I both locked up the front end and gunned the engines, a horrifying air busting cacophony of sounds echoed off the nearby buildings. I failed to mention that there was a retaining wall of sorts next to the sidewalk in front of the YMCA building. The young man bounced off the retaining wall on his first attempt to avoid the accident which was happening off to his blind side, the boom box bounced along the sidewalk as he made it over on his second try.
Partner and I waved and laughed as we drove off, the sun at our backs, “your police department at your service”. The City actually paid us to perform these modest and useful acts of public service. Did I mention how to make a three wheeler’s muffler crack from repeatedly using it to detonate unburned gas fumes, intentional backfires? I guess I should leave well enough alone.
I started out to write about the thrill brought about when Santa was escorted, by a handful of exceptionally skilled three wheeled motorcycle officers, officers who’d distinguished themselves throughout the year by their professionalism. Yup, I got to escort Santa Claus at the end of the Thanksgiving Parade, more than a couple of times.
That reminded me; my first recollection of ever meeting a police officer was the time my brother and I had been hiding behind a hedge of low bushes one winter. We were surprising passing motorists with a cache of snowballs on a dreary afternoon in Levittown. We jumped up, threw our snow balls at the next passing car and made a direct hit on the open window of our local police unit.
Years ago, I’m talking thirty plus years ago when I was assigned to the Point Control Division of the Houston Police Department, Thanksgiving morning meant working the parade. It started with 5am Roll Call, and you’d better not be late; don’t even think of staying home unless you already had a toe tag. There would be intersection assignments for crowd control, “go-fer” duties and then a rare few got to escort Santa at the end of the parade.
The three wheeled motorcycle, a cross between the worst parts of a two wheeled motorcycle and the worst parts of a standard automobile, was the vehicle of choice for Point Control. These interesting police vehicles did have some redeeming social value, couldn’t think of how to put that seeing as how this might be read by folks with tender ears; where was I, the three wheeler could operate downtown, either on the normal street surface or even the sidewalk depending on the need.
You could usually tell if the motor was at operating temperature, it would melt the inboard cuff of your dark blue police issued trousers. A brittle bead of crystalline substance, which at one time had been a blend of wool and polyester fabric would form a gentle arch along the bottom of the pants.
The actual parade wouldn’t start for hours so my partner and I would drive over to my folk’s house, at the edge of downtown in the Montrose area, and invite ourselves in for breakfast. We didn’t have to be on post for a couple of hours so it was a leisurely breakfast with my folks.
I remember driving back towards our assigned area, the sun was just up as we neared the old YMCA building. On the sidewalk was a young fellow with a boom box crouched on his shoulder oblivious to the rest of the world as he jammed methodically northward. An evil thought entered my mind and without speaking, a wry smile crossed my lips and alerted my partner of the planned attack on the unwary victim.
I should explain that three wheelers didn’t have a siren, or much of a horn for that matter. We’d learned a trick or two on how to get the attention of folks, either to pull them over for a traffic violation or to have them get out of the way when we were trying to get some place in a hurry. The most effective noise we’d been able to come up with involved locking up the front disc brake and simultaneously pulling the handlebars as hard as would permit, as if to make a turn, all the while giving the motor full acceleration. The combination of efforts ground the front tire along the pavement as if in a horrendous accident; folks gladly got out of your way, often times you could see their shoulders come together in one giant flinch, their heads bowing on pulled in necks waiting for the imminent collision.
Back to the happy go lucky fellow with the boom box; my partner and I both locked up the front end and gunned the engines, a horrifying air busting cacophony of sounds echoed off the nearby buildings. I failed to mention that there was a retaining wall of sorts next to the sidewalk in front of the YMCA building. The young man bounced off the retaining wall on his first attempt to avoid the accident which was happening off to his blind side, the boom box bounced along the sidewalk as he made it over on his second try.
Partner and I waved and laughed as we drove off, the sun at our backs, “your police department at your service”. The City actually paid us to perform these modest and useful acts of public service. Did I mention how to make a three wheeler’s muffler crack from repeatedly using it to detonate unburned gas fumes, intentional backfires? I guess I should leave well enough alone.
I started out to write about the thrill brought about when Santa was escorted, by a handful of exceptionally skilled three wheeled motorcycle officers, officers who’d distinguished themselves throughout the year by their professionalism. Yup, I got to escort Santa Claus at the end of the Thanksgiving Parade, more than a couple of times.
That reminded me; my first recollection of ever meeting a police officer was the time my brother and I had been hiding behind a hedge of low bushes one winter. We were surprising passing motorists with a cache of snowballs on a dreary afternoon in Levittown. We jumped up, threw our snow balls at the next passing car and made a direct hit on the open window of our local police unit.
Our legs refused to work or we’d have made our get away; instead we stood there, frozen in our place until the officer walked over and explained how he wasn’t all that happy with our actions. He took us home and handed us over to my mother; never needing instructions from the officer on how to appropriately correct our character growth. Ironic, isn’t it, how some folks follow a path through life which leads to who knows where.
All this time the Macy’s parade has moved along and here I am going on about the past; hope I didn’t miss the Rockettes. Several years ago Lucy and I flew up to New York to experience the sights and sounds of that great city during the Christmas Season. It was the same year our troops found Saddam Hussein hiding in his spider hole over in Iraq, an interesting way to remember dates; a picture on the cover of the New York Daily News of that scoundrel getting hauled off was an early present that year.
Lucy and I had tickets to see the Rocketts perform at the Radio City Music Hall’s Christmas Spectacular that year. It was plenty cold as we waited in line, the shadows from the building along with the sounds of the city engrained as fine memories to this day.
I’m rambling again; have a great Thanksgiving, hope you’re surrounded by those you love and appreciate. Most of all give thanks to our Father in Heaven for the many blessings we’ve been given and pray for an extension of those blessings in spite of our many short comings.
All this time the Macy’s parade has moved along and here I am going on about the past; hope I didn’t miss the Rockettes. Several years ago Lucy and I flew up to New York to experience the sights and sounds of that great city during the Christmas Season. It was the same year our troops found Saddam Hussein hiding in his spider hole over in Iraq, an interesting way to remember dates; a picture on the cover of the New York Daily News of that scoundrel getting hauled off was an early present that year.
Lucy and I had tickets to see the Rocketts perform at the Radio City Music Hall’s Christmas Spectacular that year. It was plenty cold as we waited in line, the shadows from the building along with the sounds of the city engrained as fine memories to this day.
I’m rambling again; have a great Thanksgiving, hope you’re surrounded by those you love and appreciate. Most of all give thanks to our Father in Heaven for the many blessings we’ve been given and pray for an extension of those blessings in spite of our many short comings.
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