ONE EARLY FALL AFTERNOON

ONE EARLY FALL AFTERNOON

(A story about one fateful afternoon and a plea for racial understanding)

Author

Bob Fogle

           On an early fall Sunday afternoon; forty-two years ago, I learned at a very dramatic event that race should not define community.

           Most of us adhere to a class system, determined by, for example, our social prominence; or wealth, and yes, skin color which determines our individual community placement.  

           Who makes these placements? People do; the same people whose ancestors got themselves evicted from the Garden of Eden. Generations through generations up to the year 2020 have bypassed the community of humankind. Isn’t it probable the future maintains this same attitude as the past?

           Let me get back to the fall Sunday afternoon I first mentioned. That was a long time ago, but the event I became part of will live in my heart until I die, and hopefully pass on its meaning to someone out there.

One Fall Afternoon/Fogle                                                        pg 2

There’s a saying that goes ‘life can turn on a dime’ but on that day in 1978, my turn didn’t involve a dime, just a half-hour of my life.       

           My harsh, bloody, and personal half-hour that afternoon was just what this tough, opinionated cop needed. An undercover narcotics investigator in mid-central Florida, I was about to inspect a long-abandoned house in a wooded area. Just the right place was important for arranging a successful major drug buy/bust.

           To my recollection, the house was nearly a quarter-mile down a badly rutted dirt drive beyond a ‘For Sale’ sign beside a paved two-lane country road. The lane ends in the front yard of this long unoccupied house, getting very close to the definition of a shack. The house sits in the middle of four or five acres of densely wooded land. On both sides of the lane and surrounding the house is a forest of tall mature pine trees.         

           I may have a need for an isolated shelter to hide an arrest team while taking delivery of a large quantity of high-grade Columbian marijuana. The property owner, a friend, and Realtor, has given me permission to use the house with no questions asked.

           I’m laying the groundwork for an operation involving a drug cartel; the go-between, a reliable informant in the past. This may be the perfect place, close to, but not near any heavily populated area.

           This ‘shack’ appeared in good enough condition to satisfy the dealer organization as suitable for short-time storage.

           The Pines were thick with old-growth so not much light came through, even during a full moon. I could hide all my takedown officers next to the house.

One Fall Afternoon/Fogle                                                 pg3

While inspecting the foot, I heard a tremendous collision on the nearby two-lane road where this drive turned off. The explosion of the crash seemed to echo in the woods and followed by the sounds of heavy flying debris falling to the blacktop.

           I called in the accident, which transferred to the Florida Highway Patrol who had traffic jurisdiction in this area, and drove the pot-holed one-lane dirt drive as fast as possible to the scene.

           A vehicle headed south had crossed into the northbound lane, hitting a northbound vehicle head-on with tremendous force. The devastation was enormous, and I being first on the scene prepared myself for the obvious serious injuries and death I’d find.

           Nearest to me was the vehicle that caused the accident. I maneuvered my way through smoking engine and car body parts until getting close enough to make a determination. The driver's upper body appeared heavily damaged. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt and wasn’t breathing. He had no passenger with him. He was a black male, and probably elderly because of white hair and a white beard. A cheap whiskey bottle with the cap gone lay on the floor on the passenger's side.

              Turning to the other vehicle, smaller and more damaged than the one that hit it, smoke was billowing from what was the engine compartment. The southbound vehicle, a much heavier vehicle, had to have been moving at a high rate of speed to cause this amount of devastation.

           Trying to avoid the smoldering metal car parts, and keep from slipping in the hot engine oil, I approached the passenger’s rear door, which is hanging wide open and nearly torn off its hinges. I hear no sounds of life from within.

 One Fall Afternoon/Fogle                                                        pg4          

 Just inside the open door, her right side facing me slumps a large black lady with her head hanging to her chest, and she’s not moving. A fastened lap belt must have kept her in the seat, and from the blood draining from her stomach area was the probable cause of her injury.

           Sticking my head inside the door, smoke was just clearing from the inside. I saw two more black female occupants who were most surely gone. The engine, driven into the firewall, collapsed the dashboard and windshield into their laps.

           Everywhere I looked the interior was awash in cast-off blood. I turn my attention to the far side rear passenger behind the driver. Her head hangs at an unnatural angle and she is not breathing.

           The smell of hot metal and burned oil mixing inside the car with the distinct odors of blood and death is overwhelming. I went to step back when the lady I was nearest took in a tremendous gasp of air.

           Startled, I stepped back and saw her move her head slowly from side to side. I shout out loud, “She’s alive!”

           Kneeling and placing my hand on her right arm, I pat her so she knows someone’s here with her. “Mam,” I say, hoping to get her attention. Struggling, she strains to twist her shoulders and head to look into my eyes.

           Amazingly, she seems alert as she opens her mouth and whispers, “I’m going to die!” She didn’t say, “Am I going to die,” she made a statement, “I’m going to die!” Trying to look just over my left shoulder she appears to focus on something in the sky. Snatching a glance, I see nothing but clear sky.

One Fall Afternoon/Fogle                                                                            pg5       

 It’s then I notice against her chest she’s hugging a large brown blood-splattered Bible. She’s still looking to the sky as her appearance takes on an ethereal look and she smiles, unaware of the pain from her injury.

          Believing she’s in shock, I ignore the blood and wrap my arm around her shoulder as I feel a need to comfort her. Me, the guy with no sense of compassion for other people’s pain; I’m compelled to offer her reassurance. She needs another human’s touch, to know someone cares for she is dying.

           What to say, what do I say? I lie! “Just try to relax,” I tell her, “You’ll be fine.” How many times have I said something that as it leaves my mouth, I’ve thought, “That was stupid!” She knows she’s dying and the last word she hears from me is a lie.

           Her dark satin smooth skin is beaded in sweat and cast-off blood. The smile hasn’t left her face, though she moans and sheds tears from the pain.

          Still smiling, she turns her head and looked directly into my eyes. With a labored effort but a calm voice, she says, “Dear child, me and my sisters are going home now.” With those words, she closed her eyes, laid her chin on the top edge of the big brown Bible, and breathes out her last.

           My arm still around her, I felt her body relax as it seemed something physical left her body. I saw nothing, but years later learned what I now believe I felt. But let’s not go there for now.

           Standing, I’m struck with a substantial weight of loss for this lady I’ve never seen before. Withstanding the difference in our skin color, I mourned her as I would my sister. Being around death for many years, what had become routine did not apply this time.  I

One Fall Afternoon/Fogle                                                                                                 pg6

had just opened myself to a woman of integrity. I witnessed faith and certainty that was real. It lasted through her last breath. 

           The drug deal, which was in the preliminary planning stage, failed to happen, and in fact, I never told the Sheriff about this incident. He didn’t need to know; I had nothing substantial to report.

           What did I take away on that day when I said it turned me? Remember the life turning on a dime quote? I can say that forty-two years ago I had what I can finally describe as a, “life turning experience.”

          Yes, all that is human is actually a community by relationship, which is anywhere from hard to impossible to accept. She had looked directly into my eyes and called me, child.

           I doubt my experience will change the hardness that your heart may hold. Today on television, I see many black people in open opposition against the entire white race. It does not appear conceivable that we’ll see the two races ever accept each other as equals.

           More than likely, the best we should look towards is a positive start by one-on-one encounters, hoping these two hearts will soften. What we, all races, need to understand is, “Me, and my (white/black) brother are both God’s creation, and deserving of equal respect. I don’t expect everybody to hold hands and sing, Kumbaya, the key is, MUTUAL RESPECT!”