As seen at the swap meet.
Printed in the Clinton (Okla.) Daily News, Sunday, July 23, 2000:
To the Citizens of Clinton, OK:
I was born in your fair city on Feb. 25, 1947. I spent my early years residing at 509 S. 12th Street, then 1109 W. Nowahy. Our family moved to Stillwater in 1958, when my father, Clint Lester, and several other USDA employees were transferred to the new state office.
I have been a police officer in Stillwater for almost 30 years now. Over the years, I have been asked many times why I chose law enforcement as a career. For most of those years, I didn’t have a good answer. I just knew I had grown up with that goal in mind.
About 4 years ago, while attending the Chickasha, OK old car swap meet, I saw something that jogged my memory, bringing things long forgotten back to mind. Memory is a funny thing. Things happen to you in your formative years. Then, you get to be about 13 years old, your brain goes dormant, and you just know what you want, not why.
While this is not generally considered a long-term condition, some of the affects do seem to linger. But, with proper (sometimes seemingly coincidental) stimulation, little by little, the brain slowly recovers, usually just before another decline.
We won’t talk about how long term memory seems to improve as short-term memory diminishes. That can’t be happening to me. Not yet. My thoughts would seem to wander if that was happening.
To get back on subject, the object I saw at the swap meet that inspired this episode of déjà vu was a roll-out sign, which depicted a smiling police officer, wearing white gloves, with his right hand raised, as to slow traffic, and his left hand holding a sign that read, “SLOW SCHOOL ZONE.”
As seen at the swap meet.
Like when you see an old friend in a crowd, I thought to myself, “I know this guy! Where have I seen him before?” Memories of my early years in Clinton, Oklahoma began to fill my mind, but, WHY?
I remembered that I had gotten lost at a parade, and the local police returned me safely home. I remembered being hit by a car down town, right in front of the police station.
Police officers rushed to me, and fussed over me like I was somebody. I was not seriously injured, but had the wind knocked out of my sails. I remembered the looks of concern, then the relief in their eyes when they knew I was going to be OK.
I remembered that my bicycle had been stolen, and a call from an officer telling me that they had found my bike, and that I could pick it up at the police department. I remembered them taking the time to give me a tour of the department while I was there to pick up my bike.
I also remembered trying to cross Modelle Street barefoot in August, on the way to the swimming pool with my friend Dale Baumwart, but that’s another story….
Back to the future... as I stood staring at this sign, my mind wandering through the fog of these memories, brain cells 202-478 came out of dormancy, and communicated with cells 1,000,001-1,000,004… the connection was made.
The fog lifted. A bright light illuminated the building housing the swap meet. It seemed to focus on the figure in front of me. I remembered why I recognized this smiling, rollout officer.
While in about my 6th year, I went outside to play one morning, and discovered one of these signs in the middle of 12th street, right in front of my house.
I remember dragging “him” up on the curb, for fear
“he” would be run over by a speeding Studebaker.
The sign had to be half again my size and weight, but I got him safely
out of the street.
At first, I believed the officers of the Clinton Police Department must have decided that the Lester kid over on 12th street needed all of the help he could get, and placed the sign there to warn folks about me.
While this concept no doubt had merit, in retrospect, I realize that the sign was placed there because Nance school was just up the street. But, it was fun for a while, believing they had done it “just for me.”
As I became reacquainted with this old friend, I found the answer, at least for me, to that age-old question, “Why would anybody want to be a police officer?”
I am pleased to report the answer is, after all, very simple. It is that the police officers of the Clinton Police Department treated me very well, and by so doing planted a seed of desire in me to become like them.
The “old timers” of the Stillwater Police Department nurtured the seedling through my teen years, but the seed was planted in Clinton. I can only hope that I have been as positive an influence on the lives of young people as those officers were for me.
Sure, I know they were, “Just doing their jobs.” But, it was pretty darn special to me. That is what is so neat about “the job.”
It’s about protecting people, sometimes from themselves, sometimes from basically good folks going too fast in school zones… and sometimes, from really bad guys that probably grew up being influenced by always hearing about how bad “the cops” are.
It’s about helping people, all day, every day. It’s not always easy or appreciated, but overall, it just doesn’t get any better than that!
Back to the swap meet…
The light in the room dimmed considerably when the vendor quoted me a $3,000 price on the sign. This particular sign was like brand new, as it had been found in an attic, still in its original box. It still sported the original Coca Cola cast iron base, which accounted for at least half of its value. So, I gave the officer a high-five, thanked him for the memories, and went on my way… enlightened, but sad that I couldn’t take him home with me.
Life has its cycles, and my law enforcement career is about to come to an end. I retire Feb. 1, 2001. Then, I have to decide what I’m going to do when I grow up. Since I now know the role they played in my life, I would like to take this opportunity to thank those officers of 47 or so years ago for their kindness and caring.
As displayed in my toy box.
I finally found one of the roll-out signs I could afford, and bought it. “He” stands in my workshop as a tribute to those officers, and to the community they served.
I pray that our communities continue to foster an environment that encourages officers, while, “Just doing their jobs,” to interact in a positive way with the youth of the community.
You just never know what the long-term results might be. Some of them might grow up with a desire to serve and protect your community, your grandchildren.
To any police officers that may be reading this, please be aware of the influence you have over the little ones. One of them, because of your influence, may want to wear your badge after you retire. May they do so, and may you watch them do so, with pride!
Thanks for the memories!
Would I do it all over again? Maybe... but I think I would choose not to promote past the rank of Sergeant.
Major Dave Lester
Stillwater, OK Police Department.