we talk that over a lot between us, at the time? Did we get straight with each other on what it meant, on how we felt about it? I don’t remember that we did. For me, I guess I said to myself, well, that’s the deal you’ve got: it is what it is. Clemmie? It might have been tougher for Clemmie — probably was. We’re different people, ain’t we, different kinds of people? That’s what makes it interesting. That’s what makes it fun when it’s fun, but that’s also what makes it hard when it’s hard. The way I said, Clemmie can take life too seriously.
But I was saying about Addison. Maybe Clemmie and I didn’t talk much about having kids or not, but everybody else did, including Clemmie’s cousins. It was one day we were all sitting around after lunch at Addison’s, talking about sperms and eggs and hormones and all that fascinating kind of thing, and one cousin speaks up and says, Well, have you considered adoption?
And Addison, who’s probably got a leg pretty well up over the back of the White Horse by now, gives a big guffaw and says, “Why would they do that?” Then, looking at me, “He’s already adopted the whole god damned county, don’t you know?” Good old Addison.
So: Deputy Keen says I’m not doing my job, that I’m giving Sean a get-out-of-jail-free card. Am I? I guess I am. Is that because of what Addison said back then? Am I making Sean a special case? Am I going easy on him because I think he’s one of my own? Never. Sean ain’t mine. I don’t want him; he don’t want me. If I’m giving him some extra rope — and I am — it’s because that’s my method. That’s sheriffing. In sheriffing you don’t stop things from happening. You know you can’t do that, mostly, so you don’t try. People are going to do what they’re going to do. You let things happen. “Let them come to you,” said Wingate.
Your bad boys, he was talking about. Let your bad boys come to you. The idea is that you give them a little cover, so they have a little room to screw up, a little time to figure things out and come around. What you’re aiming for is a taxpayer with a few good stories, a few memories that today make him shake his head, and not a convict sitting in a jail cell somewhere.
In working with your bad boys, you’re also in the conservation business, in a manner of speaking, you’re in the endangered species business; because bad boys are getting scarce, at least the old-fashioned kind like Sean are. It’s like I said before: without the Seans of this world, it looks like the only young fellows we’d have in these parts would be bank clerks and sales representatives and fellows who work on computers — kids who want to grow up to be big lookers, kids who want grow up to be Logan Tracy and Emory O’Connor.
Sure, there are bad boys who test Wingate’s method, who won’t come to you, who will not shape up, not ever. Sean may be one of them. But you don’t assume that. You try to use the method with Sean, too. At least you try until you get done trying. Then you come down onto the hard bottom of the law, the bedrock, the place where Deputy Keen wants to do business. Then you say that your job is to make the law work, to make it real, and in the end what makes the law real can only be one thing. If you’re a trooper, you carry it on your hip; if you’re a sheriff like Wingate, like me, you keep it locked up in your sock drawer. But you’ve got it, you know where it is, you know how to use it, you know you’re allowed to use it, and so does everybody else.
Would Sean make us all come down onto that hard place? I didn’t think he would. And this time, anyhow, I was right. Because as it happened, I didn’t catch up with Sean. Sean caught up with me.
He did it fairly neat, too: got me out of the office and as off duty as I ever am. Dinnertime. Clemmie was making something in the kitchen and came up with not enough sugar. Would I make a sugar run? So I got in her little car and
But I was saying about Addison. Maybe Clemmie and I didn’t talk much about having kids or not, but everybody else did, including Clemmie’s cousins. It was one day we were all sitting around after lunch at Addison’s, talking about sperms and eggs and hormones and all that fascinating kind of thing, and one cousin speaks up and says, Well, have you considered adoption?
And Addison, who’s probably got a leg pretty well up over the back of the White Horse by now, gives a big guffaw and says, “Why would they do that?” Then, looking at me, “He’s already adopted the whole god damned county, don’t you know?” Good old Addison.
So: Deputy Keen says I’m not doing my job, that I’m giving Sean a get-out-of-jail-free card. Am I? I guess I am. Is that because of what Addison said back then? Am I making Sean a special case? Am I going easy on him because I think he’s one of my own? Never. Sean ain’t mine. I don’t want him; he don’t want me. If I’m giving him some extra rope — and I am — it’s because that’s my method. That’s sheriffing. In sheriffing you don’t stop things from happening. You know you can’t do that, mostly, so you don’t try. People are going to do what they’re going to do. You let things happen. “Let them come to you,” said Wingate.
Your bad boys, he was talking about. Let your bad boys come to you. The idea is that you give them a little cover, so they have a little room to screw up, a little time to figure things out and come around. What you’re aiming for is a taxpayer with a few good stories, a few memories that today make him shake his head, and not a convict sitting in a jail cell somewhere.
In working with your bad boys, you’re also in the conservation business, in a manner of speaking, you’re in the endangered species business; because bad boys are getting scarce, at least the old-fashioned kind like Sean are. It’s like I said before: without the Seans of this world, it looks like the only young fellows we’d have in these parts would be bank clerks and sales representatives and fellows who work on computers — kids who want to grow up to be big lookers, kids who want grow up to be Logan Tracy and Emory O’Connor.
Sure, there are bad boys who test Wingate’s method, who won’t come to you, who will not shape up, not ever. Sean may be one of them. But you don’t assume that. You try to use the method with Sean, too. At least you try until you get done trying. Then you come down onto the hard bottom of the law, the bedrock, the place where Deputy Keen wants to do business. Then you say that your job is to make the law work, to make it real, and in the end what makes the law real can only be one thing. If you’re a trooper, you carry it on your hip; if you’re a sheriff like Wingate, like me, you keep it locked up in your sock drawer. But you’ve got it, you know where it is, you know how to use it, you know you’re allowed to use it, and so does everybody else.
Would Sean make us all come down onto that hard place? I didn’t think he would. And this time, anyhow, I was right. Because as it happened, I didn’t catch up with Sean. Sean caught up with me.
He did it fairly neat, too: got me out of the office and as off duty as I ever am. Dinnertime. Clemmie was making something in the kitchen and came up with not enough sugar. Would I make a sugar run? So I got in her little car and
Similar Books
