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Catching hell from your parents was the worst thing that could happen to a lot of us back in the day. Your mom would rip off you head and scream down your neck and dad would come home from work kick your head and butt around the block and that was worse then going to jail.
We had a couple of cops in our town. (Hartford, WI) I remember Officer McGregor (Big football player type guy), Officer Fulwider, Officer Albin, Officer Ben Day (I always thought for a long time his last name was Benday) and then Chief of Police Clem Mueller. Officer McGregor was a mean looking guy and we never walked down the same side of the street he did.
Then there Officer Otto Albin. He was basically nice old guy (about 55) who was part time cop on the weekends. During the week Otto worked where my father did. In fact, Dad was his boss(foreman) So I knew him too.
Otto lived just up the street from us on the edge of town. While he was nice guy off duty, he usually looked gruff and stern, when in uniform. Officer OTTO (as we called him) spent most of his time trying to be an intimidating tough guy to the teenagers who constantly drove him crazy with the cars roaring up and down Main Street, blaring rock and Roll music and doing Chinese fire drills at the town’s only stop and go-lights on Friday and Saturday nights.
It was 1967 and I was home from college for the summer, living with my parents. One Saturday, I decided to wind out my 1959 Pontiac (389 motor) Catalina and “blow out the carbon” in the engine I was coming to the edge of town on Cedar street so I “punched” it and zoom down the hill toward the High school.The last house on the edge of town happened to Officer Otto’s house.
On that particular day, at that particular moment in time, Officer Otto, off duty, was on his hands and knees,working with the glorious earth, weed in in his flowerbed in front of his house. Like many of his peers in that day, his choice of clothes when gardening was a pair of baggy khaki pants, suspenders and a sleeveless white t-shirt (Now known as a wife beater).
I went roaring by, not a care in the world, not seeing him. I let up on the gas and let the glass pack mufflers rap off and finally, I turn off the ignition key and switched ignition back on saluting Mr. Cook, the Culligan man (Who was mowing his yard) with a big backfire. Cook shook his head. His son and I were the same age and I'm sure he worried about his son as my folks worried about me.
Now my folks had recently moved down the road a bit into a new subdivision, right next to the golf course, so I was soon parked in their driveway. No one was home, so I got my key out and unlocked the house and went on to other things.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang. I went to my upstairs window and there was a gray, old Dodge sitting at the curb. Who could that be? I wondered.
I went down to the front door and there stood Officer Otto Albin in his baggy pants, suspenders, sleeveless white T-shirt with dirt stains, sweaty looking and his Police Hat capping his head. As I look back in time it seems like a rather crusty version of a chunky bald Barney Fife.
"Young Mr. Bowe, step outside please. " He began. "I do believe thatturquoise and white Pontiac out yonder was the vehicle I observed not only disturbing the peace but traveling about 75 miles an hour down past my house toward the high school a little while ago...And I do believe it was you behind the wheel! Now whattayagotta say for yourself?”
I said nothing. I was at a loss for words. Busted was all I could think.
“ Trying to be a smart ass? Cat got your tongue? I’m surprised at you. I didn’t think you were one of those punks. Your dad and mom raised to be better than this!"
I still said nothing, humble to a puddle of mud ,staring at the ground. I rolled a gravel stone with my shoe (A Lutheran thing I have been told) Staring at and finally kicked it a foot or so out of the way I and said meekly, "Sorry."
"Sorry?” Sorry, my ass!" he roared, “What if you'd had hit the little McPherson girl who was on her bike, just about coming out of the drive way, or run up the curb and flipped that tank of yours and slammed in old lady Carrey’s kitchen, you both been killed! That's just stupid behavior on your part.”
Officer continued to rain down on me, quite mad and then, just as wished he would write the ticket and leave before my folks came home, the worst thing that could have happened in the world, happened. My dad and mom, turn into the drive in their “63”Chevy Biscayne 4 door. Dad got out and walked toward us, smiling. Mom followed with a bag of groceries.
"OTTO, what you doing here?" Dad asked.
Otto looked a me and scowled. I hoped dad had not seen that. I fixed my gaze back on the ground.
“Well, Ronnie," he said. "I just saw your boy stop up the street to let old Mrs. Carey cross the road with her coaster wagon full of groceries and then he got out and helped her pull it up the curb. Thought I’d let the boy know how nice it was that he was driving' so careful around and was being so helpful to that old lady"
With that I excused myself and got the hell out of there. I had dodged a bullet and my parents. No ticket and the cop saved my butt and face in front of dad.
From that day on whenever I saw Officer Otto Albin, he gave me that look that let me know I owed him one. Needless to say that incident was a learning experience that made me a better person and much more diligent driver. Officer Otto probably save my life and some others. But I can't help but wonder if the politics of my father being his supervisor at his 40 hour a week full time job, hadn't worked in my favor?
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