By John “Butch” Dale
Guest Colummist

John ‘Butch’ Dale

One evening, just as I came on duty on the night shift as a deputy sheriff, I received a radio dispatch to check on the status of an Indiana State Trooper. The trooper had radioed in that he had been following a suspected drunk driver who had refused to pull over when the trooper turned on his red lights. There had been no further communication from the trooper for 10 minutes … until he activated the emergency call for assistance button on his portable radio.

I drove my patrol car down the road where the state trooper had been following the intoxicated driver. In a few minutes I spotted his patrol car, with its red lights flashing, parked near a driveway at a farmhouse. As I pulled up closer to the lane, I was shocked to see the trooper standing in the yard, his duty weapon drawn and pointed at a nearby garage.

Not knowing the situation, and assuming that he was likely in danger, I drew my revolver from my holster and kneeled down behind my car. As I edged slowly forward, I then saw the problem. A young man was standing in the garage and facing the trooper. He had a rifle in one hand, with the muzzle end up against his forehead, and his other hand on the trigger. Not a good situation!

The state trooper’s blue uniform was soiled with dirt and grass stains, indicating that there had definitely been a tussle, with the young man having evidently escaped the fight, and then grabbing a gun from the garage. The trooper, who had the hammer drawn back on his semiautomatic pistol, was shaking so profusely that I suspected he might pull the trigger and shoot the young man at any time … whether he intended to or not.

What to do? I holstered my revolver and yelled to the boy to put the rifle down, but he yelled out that if he was arrested, he would kill himself. I could sense that he was not bluffing. The state trooper was a rookie who had only been on the force for a couple of months. In a loud enough voice that the young man could hear, I told the trooper to get back in his car, leave the area, and radio his dispatcher that he was OK … and tell them not to send any more officers to the scene.

John Dale as a sheriff’s deputy.

The young man had heard my directions to the trooper, but he still had the rifle to his forehead and his finger on the trigger. I said a silent prayer, lit up a cigarette, and walked over to the garage. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Officer, I am NOT going to jail,” to which I replied, “Don’t pull that trigger … Get in my car … I’ll figure something out.”

The young man sat in the front seat of my patrol car, with his rifle between his legs and aimed at his head. Not the ideal scenario for me to be in, but I knew deep down he would not harm me. I radioed my dispatcher that everything was under control so they wouldn’t send another officer.

I talked to that young man in my car under those circumstances for the better part of an hour. I was chain smoking and sipping on my Diet Pepsi the entire time. Fortunately the young man listened and responded to me, which is always a good sign. He told me of his many personal troubles, and he admitted that he had had an alcohol problem since high school. He had been arrested as a teenager for illegal consumption.

So what happened? The young man agreed to voluntarily commit himself to an alcohol treatment facility that evening. He handed over his rifle, and I emptied the cartridges from the gun and locked it in my car. After contacting the county judge and advising him of the situation, I transported the young man to the treatment center. He received treatment and counseling, and a few years later was married and got a good-paying job in Crawfordsville. He never touched alcohol again.

And what happened to the rookie state trooper? I never heard from him or saw him again. Yes, he had successfully gone through training at the police academy, but there are some situations that police officers face that are not part of the training. A few months later he resigned and started up his own business … a wise decision … They both won.

During my time as a police officer, I was also in two other situations in which I sat next to a person who had a gun to his head, and his finger on the trigger … threatening suicide. Each time it took an hour to talk the person out of it and hand over the gun. Each time the good Lord protected me, and saved the other person’s life.

I haven’t smoked in over 23 years, and I am certainly glad because it’s a nasty habit. But when I see someone light up nowadays, I often think about those tense police situations … and I hate to say this, but I was glad I had a pack of Marlboros during each encounter. One of Marlboro’s slogans was “Taste the adventure.”

Today I say, “Thanks…but I’ll pass.” I don’t need any more adventures like those.