Carrying Concealed in Texas

No, not me. I would never wear chaps

I have been "retired" now for about 6 years. In a misguided attempt to "move forward" (I use quotes when I'm trying to be politically correct so you think I really believe the crap I'm spouting) and transition from cop to civilian, I made a conscious decision to let my CCW (Carrying a Concealed Weapon) credentials expire from California. I figured I'd be so involved with my "retired" lifestyle, I wouldn't need to carry concealed or bother with the re-quals to keep it current. Boy was I wrong.

Realizing that Texas has one of the most liberal (hard term to use in a Red state like this) concealed carry laws around, everybody here carries a gun. Although it's still not unheard of (and quite common) to see "open" carry anywhere outside the major cities, Texas still demands a Concealed Handgun License (CHL) to carry concealed.

I pride myself in keeping up with the news (live and Internet) regularly and could not help but notice the increase in violent crime Nationally as well as an uptick in and around the DFW area where I live. As many of you may know, I usually take the wife out into the hinterlands of Texas and Oklahoma on weekends and some of those places I have to characterize as "the middle of nowhere" where if something bad happened, we might never be found, think the more remote locales in Deliverance (yeah, you know, the ones with lots of banjo playing in the background).

So, after a bit of deliberation, I decided to get my credentials up-to-date with my old employer and, on a whim, decided to take a concealed handgun course to get current on the laws in Texas. Because I'm a cheap bastard, I waited until I got a deal. Most courses in the DFW area were north of $100 dollars. I subscribe to LivingSocial and they had a 1/2 off deal ($49) through Dallas Concealed Carry. I registered and paid the fee and was directed to the website Texas Department of Public Safety (I don't think there's a Private Safety) where I learned that getting a license is a very expensive proposition.

I figured I would have qualified as a "retired Peace Officer", but oh...no, that's only retired Texas Peace Officers. Heck even the Feds get a discount. I can't be sure but I'm convinced its part of a grander "anti-California" sentiment agenda among Texans. So I ponied up my $140 and figured I was done. Nope, there is the $10 dollar fee to get your fingerprints scanned electronically by the sole-source provider, L-1 Enrollment Services . Oh, and then there was the need to get two passport quality photos to send in with the application, another $10 bucks at the CVS photo center. After reviewing the Dallas Concealed Carry website, I learned the DCC doesn't have their own range. The shooting range where the class was being held, Texas Handgun Academy was going to charge us another $20 dollars (had to be cash too) to use the range for the qualification phase.

So now armed with my application and now $229.00 lighter in my wallet, I got up early Saturday morning and drove to Plano, Texas . I say early because the State requires a 10 hour course including at least one hour of range time. Class started promptly at 9 am and with a break or lunch, ended at 7:30 pm. A long day of sitting for lectures by our instructors and watching DVD videos on shooting techniques and situational awareness scenarios from a couple of different shooting academies.

I get to class and am ushered in to a small airless classroom with whitewashed plywood walls. This facility is in a strip mall store front just off the LBJ Freeway (US 635). Somebody decided to stuff four classrooms and an eight lane gun range into a place which should have been a sandwich shop. I then learn our instructors failed to cut off the registrations in time and a class of thirty became a class of fifty. The room itself was sparse. Just a dry-erase whiteboard and a big screen TV for the DVDs. It had a low ceiling which I'm sure violated code and some very creative use of drywall. Very low-budget.

Our instructors were Daniel and Teresa. Both armed to the teeth. Daniel did the introduction and demonstrated that he himself had three handguns and a Taser on him (in a cross draw holster) and a briefcase full of other handguns. Seriously, nobody was getting by Daniel.

It was interesting to note that Texas has the third (come on, you thought I was going to say first, didn't you) most number of concealed carry licenses in America (525,000). Florida is first with 900,000 (that means, if you're standing in line for your morning latte', there's probably two armed persons standing in line with you) and Pennsylvania has 630,000. California has only 36,000. Heck, little ol' Massachusetts has 225,000! Illinois has no CHL provision. Not surprisingly, they have the highest crime rate in the nation.

There are Reciprocal (we accept other states licenses, including California that don't accept ours) and Unilateral (other states that accept our licenses) agreements between states to recognize each others licenses. Texas has Unilateral agreements with 34 states and 10 Reciprocal.

Alaska does not require a permit for any law-abiding individual to carry a handgun, either openly or concealed, within the state's borders (what a great place).

Many have "Opt-Out" statutes (Texas is one of them) known as "gun-free zones" so businesses, schools, hospitals, and public gatherings can post a sign prohibiting carrying within their premises. The sign must look like this and use the EXACT language (oh, yeah, it also has to be in Spanish) or it isn't legal.

The business must be savvy enough to post the sign but if not, the CHL licensee just has to "know" this information prior to entering. So, hypothetically, you could walk into a Chili's restaurant and if it makes more than 51% of it's revenue from the bar, you could be screwed but if they don't have a sign, it's a defense. Yep, has to be in Spanish too.

The State has had a "shall issue" policy since 1995. If you pass the test, pass the State DPS background, and pass the accuracy qual shoot (175 out of 250), you get a license.

Really funny was the fact that we had a very diverse group of folks there (kind of like Wal Mart on a typical Saturday) and several of them (remember why we were there) had forgotten to bring ammunition. We had young adults to Seniors. One very dignified Senior woman actually began nodding off during the 8th hour and Daniel went over to check if she was alive. She brought the cutest .38 Chief's Special with her. Daniel had to take her aside to help her figure out how to open the cylinder to load it after a demonstration of the difference between semi-automatic ammunition and revolver rounds.

They even had a raffle in which the youngest member of our class, a 20 something college student, won a Glock Model 36 in .45 cal. Only cost her the price of a ticket, $20.00. She scored. Then there was Daniel taking her aside to show her how to load and fire the monster. She had only showed up with a little .380 ACP for her purse. Can you imagine her drawing that monster out in the parking lot of the Club?

Of course, there are the little caveats like, have to be 21, no felony "convictions" (yes, you can carry if you've been charged until the Jury comes back), and (I love these), must not be incapable of making a "sound" judgement (what's your definition of "sound"), can not be delinquent on your child support, and absolutely not if you owe the State taxes or fines.

By law you can't carry in certain places like school buildings (OK, I get that), or any event sponsored by a school or any school vehicle. You can't carry in a Polling place, any government court (including the Feds), a racetrack (weird), not within a "secure" area in an airport (I imagine the TSA might have something to say about that) and my favorite, within 1000 ft of an execution. Yeah, sure, let the executioners have all the fun.

You're a bad CHL holder if you "intentionally" fail to carry concealed, show up to any sporting event, walk into a correctional facility, or God forbid, you're intoxicated (using the State .08 standard). And you can't walk onto somebodies private property if they've posted it or verbally advise you to leave. The latter will probably get you shot by the gun toting land owner.

The two really humorous subjects covered was the medical brief on what to do if you get shot. There were lots of suggestions as to how to act if you get shot (calmly so that others will remain calm too, like that's going to happen) and what types of supplies you should have on-hand to treat gunshot wounds. Even as far as recommending keeping a hunters first aid kit in your home and car for such emergencies.

The second was really riveting, "Verbal Conflict Resolution". Yeah, the State wanted us to be able to do a little "verbal Judo" with our assailant(s) prior to having to shoot them. Though thought provoking and certainly prescient on the part of our legislators, I couldn't stop from laughing.   

In the cop world, the concealed carry class was equivalent to a "Street Survival" course most of us took while we were cops. Most would agree that a course like that always made you a little more aware (i.e. read "paranoid") and most of us left there carrying more powerful guns, more ammunition and so many "back-ups", you didn't have room for your keys and wallet. When you finished up a class, you started making excuses to go to a bank or the 7-11 hoping some fool would try to rob the place while you were there.

Daniel was very forthcoming about his concealed carry experiences as well. By the time he got to his fourth story (which, interestingly, usually involved a late night trip to Wal Mart) you understood why this guy was so passionate about carrying concealed. He's had more armed confrontations than a season's worth of "Southland". He was also very anti-gun control. He actively solicited us to challenge, whenever possible, any new gun regulations or movements to deny us our God-given 2nd amendment rights. He and his CHL attorney wife have actually testified at the Texas State Legislature to defeat what they determined to be anti-gun legislation. These folks were serious about the erosion of our rights to carry and possess weapons and wore it proudly on their sleeves for everyone to see.

That following Monday, to complete my CHL application, I sought out a location for L-1 Enrollment Services. To my surprise, there was one right here in Frisco. It turned out to be in, of all places, a Sylvan Learning Center. It turns out the Sylvan staff double as fingerprint scanners when they're not tending to the education of the youth they contract with. Although kind of funny, I was informed it was a great secondary revenue stream providing the store with a steady income during the day when the kids were normally in school and more hours for the staff. Crazy, huh?

After sending off my application, I got more good news, Frank. The City of Frisco just announced a new shooting center literally 5 blocks from my house. The Frisco Gun Club which is an expansion of the Dallas DFW Gun Range. It's going to be state-of-the-art and is advertised as the largest facility like it in the United States. Awesome.

Cavanaugh Flight Museum

It has been a awhile since we had gone on one of our weekend hops. The last try was an attempt to view a Civil War reenactment in Grandview, Texas at a place called Beaumont Ranch sponsored in part by the Civil War Center of Texas. Beaumont Ranch is a large recreation area where you can do everything from zip-lining to off-road driving to weddings. The reenactment is the biggest in North Texas and features the 13th Texas Cavalry which is a huge bunch of Civil War (sorry, TWONA) history buffs who get out in period garb and weapons and educate the public and have some fun.

I only tell you this because on the weekend we were to attend (I got tickets and everything) it rained cats and dogs and we turned around when the windshield wipers could no longer keep up. I posted this on Facebook and got many hoots and put-downs for being such a whus. Yes, but lets not forget I had the little woman with me and there was no way she was going to stand out in the rain, in the mud, to watch a bunch of crazies run up and down hills shooting at each other. Heck, we could do that at home with the history channel with the refrigerator within easy walking distance. So it was with a heavy heart we returned to civilization.

So the following weekend, I had completed all my yard maintenance tasks ( it is an early Spring in Texas) and had a serious craving for war planes. I had been meaning to get to the many aviation museums in the greater Metroplex and decided this was the weekend. The closest was at the Addison Airport in North Dallas.

The Cavanaugh Museum is no Smithsonian Air and Space Museum but it does have a respectful number of well cared for aircraft. Just about all of them are ready to fly and they have a schedule of times you can buy a ride on one of them. I was somewhat disappointed in that their "crown jewel" planes, a B-29 named Fifi and a P-51D named the Brat III. They often travel to airshows all over the country and that week they were in  Ft Lauderdale, Florida.

P 51D Brat III

B-29

B-25 Mitchell

But the museum has a full complement of other warbirds many of my favorites like the B-25 Mitchell, a B-24 Liberator they're rebuilding and several jets from the 50's, 60's and 70's. And, of course, a bunch of helicopters.

B-24 Liberator

I took a trip down memory lane when I came across an old Bell OH-13D Sioux or the civilian Bell 47 in one of the hangars. I did my basic helicopter training when I was at the Sheriff's Office Aviation Unit (ASTREA). It brought back memories of my days of jostling poor CFI Archie Trott around the Whiskey pattern at Gillespie Field, doing approach after approach to points all over Sycamore Canyon, Proctor Valley and scaring myself over and over again when I was building time toward my Commercial rating.

Bell OH-13/Bell 47

UH-1B

The other little gem was the Bell UH1 sitting rusting outside on the tarmac. This B/C model was an early Navy version which became the E/L Model I flew at ASTREA. The Navy needed Hueys to support the riverine operations on the Mekong Delta and the Navy Seals during the Vietnam War.

AH1 Huey Cobra

They initially borrowed Army Hueys and subsequently had Bell swap out the main rotor head of the Bell Huey Cobra with it's "diving board" main rotor blades to give it extra lift in the hot steamy marshes of the south. These Navy forces were known as Helicopter Attack (LIGHT) Squadron Three (HA(L)3) called the  "Seawolves". From April 1966 to their decommissioning in March 1972, they flew approximately 120,000 combat missions and is the most decorated Navy Squadron in the Navy's history.

P 40 Warhawk

F4U Corsair

Being a aviation junkie, I am always intrigued with the idea of refurbishing an old war plane and then flying it. Like all those car buffs that spend years meticulously disassembling, reworking, repainting and redoing interiors until they get it looking factory fresh right off the assembly line. It takes serious money to make that a reality but especially with antique aircraft. Military aircraft, especially during wartime, were never intended to last more than a few years. The engineers were just told to design an aircraft that a 20 something could fly and a 19 year old could easily service. In a time where money was no object, nobody cared if engines and other mechanical parts got used up. American manufacturing was on a wartime footing and produced engines and mechanical parts by the train load. If it broke, you just replaced it.

ME 109

Spitfire

Today, finding parts for some of these aircraft is getting harder and harder. Many times, parts have to be made from scratch using the original blue prints. That makes it that much more expensive and difficult for individuals and even museums to afford to keep these beauties flying and on display. My hat is off to the Cavanaugh Flight Museum for keeping these beautiful planes alive for old dogs to stare at and new generations to admire and see fly.

Valentine's Day 2012

Furnaces of flaming death

It has plagued mankind for centuries. What to do for Valentine’s Day. If you’ve been in a relationship for any length of time, soon after New Year’s, you’re faced with the prospect of coming up with something unique that will pluck at her heart strings and make her fall in love with you again. Well at least for that day.

In that spirit, I approached Valentine’s Day 2012 with a two-pronged attack. The first was the obligatory dozen roses personally delivered to her work. As many of you have discovered, it’s not necessarily about the flowers. It’s about the reaction of her co-workers (mostly women) to see their bosses luck in having an adoring husband who first of all remembers Valentine’s Day and then took the time to personally deliver the tribute to their love.

The next was a little tougher. Dianna is a big arts and crafts person and has an entire upstairs bedroom (and an entire wall of the garage) dedicated to beads, fabric, scrap booking, decoupage, glue guns, polymer, paper mache…well you get the idea. So I saw an email from Vetro Glass Blowing art center in Grapevine, Texas advertising for a Valentine’s Day Special. One price per couple includes a light meal, wine and dessert and each person gets to assist in making a glass flower or heart. I signed us up.

On the day in question, we arrived 30 minutes before our reservation to prepare for our session. We had to review a full typed page of rules and a liability statement. By signing the form, we understood we could be killed or maimed by molten glass with a temperature in excess of 2000 degrees and we had to follow our host’s instructions to the letter and would hold them harmless and couldn’t sue them for any transgressions. Kind of took the romance out of the whole thing.

The Great Kenneth

But now fortified with chicken pasta with broccoli, a glass of red wine (the wine really threw me, after all, upon hearing of the dire consequences of having molten glass, the temperature of the Sun, cascading over some extremity, I wouldn’t have guessed they would allow people to consume alcohol, had they cleared that with their attorney?) and really tasty chocolate covered strawberries, we made our way up front where we met Kenneth, one of the glass blowers, to choose our art and colors. Some of you may know that glass doesn’t naturally come in various colors to mix into whatever you want it to be.

The color is derived from metal oxides like copper, zinc and potassium. It can also be added from small recycled pieces of colored glass that become fused in the intense heat and create coloring, streaks and patterns depending on the skill and design of the glass blower.

Glassblowing is a glass forming technique that involves inflating clear molten glass (melted silica sand) into a bubble, or parison, with the aid of a blowpipe, or blow tube. A person who blows glass is called a glassblower, glassmith, or gaffer.

The molten glass is attached to a stainless steel or iron rod called a punty (or a punty rod, a pontil, or a mandrel) for shaping and transferring the hollow piece from the blowpipe to provide an opening and/or to finalize the top. There are many ways to apply patterns and color to blown glass, including rolling molten glass in powdered color or larger pieces of colored glass called frit.

Glassblowing involves three furnaces. The first, which contains a crucible of molten glass (remember the final scene from Terminator? Yeah, I know that was molten steel but you get the idea), is simply referred to as "the furnace." The second is called the "glory hole" (yeah, I liked that one too), and is used to reheat a piece (that’s what we artists call a work in progress) in between steps of working with it. The final furnace is called the "lehr" or "annealer", and is used to slowly cool the glass, over a period of a few hours to a few days, depending on the size of the pieces. This keeps the glass from cracking due to thermal stress.

Dianna went first and got into the blazing heat of the furnace to roll and color her glass to make her heart. She chose her favorite color purple and, on the advice of Kenneth our glass blower, added a little contrasting blue. I picked red and yellow swirl. She really got into it. Glass blowing is pretty intense having to always keep the glass moving so it doesn’t get out of shape and fall off the rod. Each of the furnaces are blasting out white hot temps and there is only a small shield to shade you as you stand before the opening.

After we had heated up our bubble of glass, we had to dip it into the first color powder (yes we wore sunglasses like Kenneth to be able to look into the furnace), reheat it to fuse the color into our bubble, then add the second color and reheat it too. We then sat at the work bench to use large tweezers to twist and mix the colors to give it a swirl effect. We then wisely handed our creations to Kenneth who massaged the bubble with wet newspaper (seriously....wet news print) to round it out then work it into its final shape. Each time we did something to our blob of glass, we had to go back and reheat it before working it some more.

I asked Kenneth how long he had been a glass blower. He said he had been doing it for about 9 years. I asked him how he got in to the business. Kenneth said he knew the first time he watched a glass blower that he wanted to become one. He really loves the art form and being creative with the glass.

I asked him if they get injured often. Kenneth said they get occasional burns and cuts from the glass. I asked him what his worst injury had been. Kenneth said he had been standing next to the bench as they were manipulating a piece that had a pointy end to it. The glass broke off the rod and the pointy end fell straight down onto the top of his shoe. It burned through his shoe and pierced his toes. He said that hurt a lot. 2000 degrees of molten glass, yeah, I would say so.

After getting it mixed properly, Kenneth then used a metal spatula to flatten out the glass and pushed it into its final heart-shaped form. He then torched it to elongate the stem so he could separate it from the rod and push the final product onto a wooden paddle to transport it for cooling into the annealer. We’ll be able to pick them up in a couple of days after they’ve completely cooled ( my heart isn't red because of the added color if you know what I mean).

My Heart

Dianna's Heart

Now able to return to the cool fresh air of downtown Grapevine, we wandered down S. Main Street to locate a café to sit and recount the evening’s events. As you may recall we have walked the same street for GrapeFest in September. Completely different street on a Tuesday night in Winter. Most of the stores were closed but we found Napoli’s Cafe & Confectionery, a fine Italian bakery, adjacent to Napoli’s Fine Italian Restaurant. We got some coffee and like the best slice of White Chocolate Cheesecake I’ve had the pleasure to taste. It had an outstanding graham cracker and Oreo cookie crust with a big blob of whipped creme on top.

The coffee mellowed us out enough to hike back to the car and wind our way back to Frisco. There was work to return to the following day and we got back just in time for my bedtime.

Washington Rebuttal

One of my personal heros is my former partner, world traveler and co-hort Dana Gassaway. He also reads this blog and in doing so took exception to my D.C. posting about the depiction of his "Road Trip" haydays. I am here to set the record straight. In my ceaseless efforts to be fair and balanced, I wish to post his "Letter to the Editor" in full and my response:

Dana standing on another rock

Gassaway's Adventures  has left a new comment on your post "Washington, D.C.":

"After reading your latest entry on your blog, I felt compelled to respond to your comments about my prowess in garnering investigative trips across the land.  Although most of what you said is true, especially the part about me being a legend, there were several errors that I feel must be corrected for your readers.  We wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea, now would we?

I have never been to Nome, Alaska, but I did manage to spend 4 days in Ketchikan at a training conference at which I was paid for speaking.  Also the Miami Beach extradition never occurred.  Perhaps you confused it with the extradition to Maui (emphasis is mine).  Not wanting to waste the free airfare for my ticket, I actually paid for my wife’s ticket and we spent a week on the beach using some vacation time.  A little R&R was well deserved for my investigative skills in knowing to wait until the crook was in the State of Hawaii before notifying the local authorities.

Yes, there were lots of road trips, but not all to garden spots.  How about Yuma, AZ Williston, ND, Lovelock, NV not to mention scores of trips up the coast LA.  That’s not to say other trips weren’t to some pretty nice places, but hey, someone had to do it."

My response:

Ok....Let me see if I've got this right. You commented on my blog to verify you have been to all kinds of cool places on the company dime and that you're a legend. And that you've also invited your wife along on your "work related" trips. Oh yeah, you've never been to Nome. I stand corrected....I think.

Thanks for the correction. Message received. I think the statute of limitations may be up on these too.

Washington, D.C.

Among my many duties at the Frisco Police Department, I am a part of a team of humble grant writers. We have been relatively successful and have brought in about three million dollars to bring much needed training and equipment to the Department.

One of our U. S. Department of Justice grants we recently won was something called the Smart Policing Initiative. Our plan puts a dedicated walking beat officer into a large apartment complex where the officer works on-site with the management and the residents one-on-one and hopefully will reduce the occurrence of crime and reduce the fear of crime in that complex and the surrounding neighborhood. Sort of like being the Sheriff of the block. The project (and the money) is for two years and we think it will be a great template for future enforcement of similar developments in the years to come.

One of the requirements was for the project team to attend two to three meetings with the grant management group, CNA in Washington, D.C. Now, many of you of my Law Enforcement friends know we  refer to this as a “road trip”. My “road trip” mentor (and reader of this humble blog) is Dana Gassaway. Dana was, like me, a former Deputy Sheriff and retired District Attorney Investigator.  Dana was (and is today) a legend in our County for his ability to ferret out a road trip to anywhere on the planet on any given case. Whether it was to do the interview on the bartender in Nome, Alaska or the extradition of the most dangerous felon in his caseload from Miami Beach, Dana utilized the travel departments of both agencies like his personal travel consultants. I and many of my contemporaries often sought out Dana for his travel advice for our trips. He was on a first-name basis with the Finance Department too.

Thus I find myself, once again, harkening back to those days of my road trips and the cool places I have been to in my career (if you could call it that, some might not). Although we knew about the trip from writing the grant, we got the notification to travel just two weeks prior to the meeting in Alexandria, Virginia (that’s the Feds for you). Much of the hoopla had to do with the new DOJ rules about spending at grant related conferences.

Through President Obama’s “transparency” rules, many in the press made PIRs (public information requests) to the various Federal agencies to see how they were spending the infamous “stimulus money” Mr. Obama sent out to create jobs and move the economy forward. Well they came back with tall tales of “$15 dollar muffins” and some outrageous expenditures for training conferences and the like.

Like the “Tail Hook” convention days (and those pesky $50 dollar hammers), the press went crazy and labeled the whole “stimulus plan” as nothing but a boondoggle and an excuse by some to not spend the money the way it was intended. The President sent forth the message to thwart such spending and, as usual, used the shotgun method of discipline, everybody had to suffer the consequences. Luckily, dear readers, we were not guilty of such charges, we actually spent our stimulus money on the things we said we would spend it on. This SPI grant was not part of the stimulus package, but DOJ was still holding us to the same rules.

Thus we found ourselves making very late preparations and arrangements for airplanes, rental car and rooms. As you can imagine, when we had originally budgeted for the grant back in February 2011, the prices were not so bad. Try that two weeks before a departure date. We had to seriously dip into the coffers to get there.

Our team consisted of Tonia, Officer Chad, and I. Tonia is our Department Victim Advocate and Grant Coordinator for the Department and Chad is the SPI Officer assigned to the apartment complex. I am the other part of the grant writing team and had spearheaded the initial research and writing of the grant’s research component. “Research component” you ask? Yes, the grant requires a researcher to monitor our efforts and report on its success at the end of two years. We have teamed with Dr. John from University of Texas at Dallas (Hook ‘em Horns). Dr. John is the head of the Criminology Department, a teaching professor, is editor of Police Quarterly and is associate director for research of the W.W. Caruth Dallas Police Institute and has a bunch of published work out there. He was making his own arrangements to get there.

DFW on a Monday afternoon is not so bad. We departed on-time with American Airlines after lunching at TGIF Fridays in a cool shopping mall inside the new Terminal “D”. Ok, security is always a hassle but DFW now has the new “stand-in-place” metal detector booth, which really moves things along. Kind of looks like the Transporter on the Enterprise. It’s still true though, come in with as little as possible and you won’t draw the ire of the TSA…well, as long as you don’t bring something that has wires dangling from it in a bag. This will set off alarms and TSA members into overdrive and you to secondary. Thank God we didn’t have any liquids over 3 oz. That gets you a stern talking-to and a tossing of your $60 dollar hand lotion before your very eyes.

The landing in D.C. went well but our Captain came in a little "hot" and we kind of slammed down on the mains. He gamely brought what was left of the aircraft deftly to the terminal and we exited. Many of you know I was a pilot and have had my share of hard landings. On the way out, I thanked the flight attendant and (remember my Tourettes sense of humor) asked if the Captain was a former Navy pilot. I said it looked like he was trying to trap the third wire (on a Carrier, you only have three cables to catch before you "bolter" and have to go around for another try, Ok.... it sounded funny at the time).

Her eyes got wide and she did one of those quick eye movements left like in the movies when the leading lady signals the good guy the bad guy is about to hit him. Being a tactical guy, I too glanced to my right and there was our brave Captain staring at me from the cockpit door. Without missing a beat, I turned, shook his hand, thanked him for a great flight and darted out the cabin door before he could call security. You see, I foster a certain relationship with the people I live and work with. I train them to intercede when I'm about to make an ass of myself. Unfortunately, my wife was home, Tonia and Chad had already left the scene of the crime as the words exited my brain and entered my mouth. I really need to work on that more.

We got our luggage and successfully got our rental car. I must say, bringing my GPS “Patty” was one of the smartest things I did that week. If you’re not familiar with “the District” or the surrounding Virginia and Maryland area, it’s a God send.

We got accomodations (Government Rate, Dana) at the Mark Center Hilton in Alexandria, the site of the Conference, right along the I-395 and a stone’s throw from the Potomac, the Capitol and historic downtown Alexandria. On our first night, we got to do a little drive-by touring. It’s funny, you see D.C. on CNN and various movies and TV shows every night but when you get there, it’s still a breath-taking site. On the way to the hotel, I was following Patty’s directions to the hotel and while tooling down the S/B I-395, I suddenly caught a glimpse of something familiar. Holy Cow, it’s the Pentagon rolling by. It was their rush hour and the parking lot(s) were lit up like Christmas with what seemed like thousands of cars, some with important looking flashing strobes, wending their way to their homes in who-knows-where.

That was typical of many of our excursions. It seemed like there were important looking limos and blacked out SUVs rolling everywhere we went. The whole thing had a Tom Clancy air about the place. We often sat in restaurants where we were wondering if some kind of political intrigue was taking place around us. At one point, on our walk around the Mall toward the Lincoln Memorial, one of those long motorcades of blacked out SUVs and brightly lit D.C. police cruisers came flying by. As it passed, I could see the lead SUV’s front passenger had the window rolled down and I could clearly see the butt of an H&K MP5 sampling the wind like a kid with his hand out. It could have been somebody important or the guys were just late getting to the donut shop. That’s the fascination with the whole thing.

After checking in, we ventured out to find dinner at a place I had recently seen on the Diners, Drive-ins and Dives show on the Food Network, Metro 29 Diner in Alexandria. The restaurant is a modern 50’s style Diner (lots of chrome) just outside of old Alexandria. The meals were, as advertised, delicious and really big portions for a very reasonable price. Heck, they even had a full bar (no, Chief, we didn’t order drinks). The pièce de résistance was a piece of Chocolate Crème Pie Tonia and I shared. Now the picture is kind of what it looked like because I had temporarily lost my mind and forgot to take the shot.  I can tell you it was good, very good. There was a thick top layer of crème, which was butter thick, and the chocolate layer was a dense mass of dark chocolate swimming in streaks of caramel. It was like pushing through a chocolate bar. You could put your fork in it and it stood straight up refusing to topple over. You didn’t just spoon it up; you carved out a piece to eat.

The first day at the Conference was typical for training conferences. If any of you have been to law enforcement meetings, you know the drill. Cops get together and tell war stories while the training staff try to get passionate about their very dry subjects while the cops use their dry subtle humor, only they understand, about the presentations. Fun times.

The first night we committed to getting to the National Mall and seeing what we could in the dying light and rush-hour traffic. Chad was driving (worth a whole blog entry of its own) and we struck gold when we discovered on street metered parking right across from the mall at the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. We hopped out to discover the temperature hovering around 39 degrees and I with the light jacket I used in the hotel conference room. I soldiered on because, after all, this was the Capitol, D.C., how often do you get there? I wasn’t going to sulk in the inviting warmth of the car; I was out to tour if it killed me.

We made the rounds of the walkway to the base of the Washington Memorial and were somewhat surprised at the obvious cracks from the recent earthquake. They need to get a Mason and some mortar up there. Those cracks were substantial.

We wound our way west toward the Lincoln Memorial in the failing light. The mall is very scenic and a great place to take in the whole Capitol area. Everywhere you look, is an important building or monument. Following the tour map of downtown D.C. has you glancing up every few yards and denoting some Cabinet level office like the Department of Labor, Interior, U.S. Mint and a smattering of Consulates and Embassies.

The trouble is the joggers and bicyclists. This is the joggingist town I have ever been to. Mind you, it’s about freezing and all these hundreds of joggers and gaily lit bicyclists are stealthily darting about the walkways. We had to dodge so many, it was just safer to walk in a line at the side of the walkway or be run over by a health nut.

We walked quietly by the new oval shaped WWII memorial depicting all the theaters of the war and exemplifying the struggle of the American soldiers in that conflict. Truly America’s Greatest Generation, which my Dad was a member of. We moved further west and passed by the Korean War Memorial with its ghostly platoon walking through the names of the fallen in combat spread, rifles at the ready.

Then came the magic moment when I set eyes on the Lincoln Memorial. Some of you may know I am an eternal history buff with facts and figures at the ready to inform and educate those within earshot. When I rounded the corner and saw the Memorial I was momentarily stunned to silence. To say the Lincoln Memorial is massive in scope doesn’t do it justice. It not only represents the life of a famous person but puts a spotlight on three terrible periods of our history, slavery, the Civil War and the death of Lincoln. The seated President looks down at us as a reminder that our great nation was founded on the concept of individual liberty and we should never let anything get in the way of Democracy. It’s our way of life and politicians can’t hand it to us, it must be won by the hearts and minds of a united people.

The walk up the steps where, in 1939, in defiance of the Daughters of the American Revolution refusal to allow the African-American contralto Marian Anderson to perform before an integrated audience at the organization's Constitution Hall, Eleanor Roosevelt arranged for a performance on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, to a live audience of 70,000, and a nationwide radio audience. Where Martin Luther King gave his “I have a dream” speech in 1963 and that fool Glenn Beck raised eyebrows (and his voice) in 2010.

Surrounded by 36 columns depicting the 36 states of the Union at the time of Lincoln’s administration and death you are, at once, surprised and in awe of the 19-foot tall and 19 foot width of the statue on top of Tennessee marble lit almost in relief before you. On the north wall is inscribed his second inaugural address and to the south his Gettysburg address.

Stepping out onto the top step, looking east, is the grandest view of a city I have every taken in. Walking to the south corner, I took the shot with my cell phone of the view all the way to the Capitol in the background. A note about taking pictures. I pride myself in packing all the essentials even counting the underwear I anticipate wearing (yeah, I know TMI) but I relay this only because knowing I would be going on one of the most important road trips of my life, I forgot to pack my very expensive “Rocks in my Sandals” fricking camera! So I was relegated to using my iPhone 4 camera, which, though adequate in standard light, sucks at night. Oh well.

We ended our tour at the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. Constructed in 1981, dedicated in 1982 and completed in 1982 and completed in 1983, made from a design by Chinese-American Maya Lin, the 246 ft wall documents the names of 58,272 names, including 8 women service members who died from November 1955 to May 1975, the official end of the war, in southeast Asia.

You begin at the “Three Soldiers” statue and then the memorial walks you down into a valley, below street level. The farther you go, the more you can almost see the faces of those names looking back at you in the polished Indian marble.Some 1,200 of these are listed as missing (MIAs, POWs, and others), denoted with a cross. The wall starts as thin triangles at each end peaking at the center of the two walls at over 10 feet. Soft floor lighting rises up to embrace the wall. You decend as though you're leaving the politics and the controversy of the living world above into the depth of loss and suffering thats just beyond that black wall that we, the lucky living ones, can only imagine on our side of the wall. A great tribute to those who gave their lives for their fellow soldiers and countrymen. A very humbling experience.

We did make it to a really neat place we were told about to eat, Ted’s Montana Grille in Alexandria. I had Salmon (new health kick), Tonia had the soup and Chad had the Pot Roast. It would have all been good if they hadn’t seated us next to an over-served drunk who began making disparaging remarks about cowboys and John Wayne in particular. We did get reseated and an apology which included a FREE DESSERT of our choosing. Happy faces all around.

After a second day of training and trying desperately to stay awake, the coffee stopped flowing promptly at 10 a.m., did they not know they had cops in the audience? What were they thinking? That second cold and rainy night, Chad and I made our way back to the Capitol to visit the  National Peace Officer Memorial on the east side of town.  Dedicated in 1991, it’s a really well done memorial literally built on top of one of the DC Metro Rail stations, the block-wide park has an oval shape lined with over 19,000 names of fallen peace officers from all over the United States and its territories since 1791. There is a lion theme consisting of 4 lion statues, which refer to one of the carvings: 

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are as bold as a lion."
—Proverbs 28:1

We were able to locate our fallen officer from Frisco, Joe Murphy, brother of Audie Murphy, who was killed responding to a call in 1968.

On the way back to pick up Tonia for dinner, we had a chance to drive by the Capitol building. Ya know you here the term “Capitol Hill” all the time but hey, guess what, it is on a hill. You can’t drive up to it anymore but from 3^rd St. NW, it rises up in front of you. It’s a lot bigger in scale than those file shots on CNN. It’s enormous with both houses jutting forward as the Capitol Dome reaches for the sky. It was dark and we both wondered aloud if they kept the lights on to fool the public into thinking there was actually work going on in those offices.

We made our way down to old Alexandria and to a neat place we were told to hit, Murphy’s Grand Irish Pub on King Street on the west side of the Potomac. Did I mention we parked our car in front of Robert E. Lee’s dad’s house? How cool was that? The whole of King Street is all kinds of shops and eateries with cross streets of colonial row houses in brick and clabbered exteriors. Almost everybody had a little plaque depicting some past historic owner or occupier.

It turns out Murphy’s is a favorite of our Chief who makes the pilgrimage every time he’s in D.C. I now understand why. Apparently, every cop who comes through town makes it to Murphy’s. There are agency shoulder patches all over the walls surrounding the bar. Ours was supposed to be there but we couldn’t discern them from all the others in the dim light. It was packed but we retreated upstairs and were greeted by a fireplace and a really full menu. The special that night, 35-cent buffalo chicken wings. I had a Tilapia fish dish, Chad had the Sheppard’s Pie and Tonia had the Stew. Great atmosphere and service from a very busy server as the place really filled up soon after we got there.

The following morning found us preparing for a return to Reagan and the flight home. Reagan is a beautiful airport terminal. Like Chicago O’Hare’s cathedral-like vaulted arching ceilings, Reagan has lots of glass and open spaces but very quiet as airports go. Security was fun as we watched as TSA prepared to search a couple from Argentina in wheelchairs. I am not a fan of the TSA but I wouldn’t recommend that job to my worst enemy.

Back home to family and work. Yes, we did bring something back from the conference, not all good. But we look forward to our next conference meeting in D.C. in 2013.

Grapevine Wineries

As Texas cools down and the holidays are now finally behind us, we decided on a little hop to Grapevine, Texas to visit the historic downtown area, grab a bite to eat and sample some wine. We have been to Grapevine several times. It is the home of the Gaylord Texas, one of our favorite places for a getaway weekend, as well as Grapefest where they close down Main Street into a pedestrian mall and you can find the best food and Texas wines around.

On this beautiful Saturday, we learned a co-worker of Dianna’s, Kara, had cousins in town visiting from Kansas City and were touring wineries around Grapevine. They offered to meet at one of their stopping points to grab something to eat and sample some wine.

When we arrived, they were still on the outskirts of town making the rounds at the tasting rooms. We were starving and had to make a visit to Tolbert’s restaurant for lunch. Dianna had one of her Texas favorites, Frito Chili Pie, I had the Teacher’s Salad (not sure why they call it that) and, on my latest health kick, had a slab of grilled Salmon on top.

Tolbert's Restaurant first opened in Dallas in 1976. The restaurant was started by Frank X. Tolbert Sr. (1912-1984) and his son, Frank X the 2nd. Frank Sr. was a Texas journalist, historian, storyteller and Chili aficionado. His books on Texas history, novels and short stories were his distinctive contributions to the literature of the Southwest. He was also co-founder of the famous Terlingua Chili Cook-off, which is held the first Saturday in November, in the Big Bend Area of Texas.

The chili was a tad spicy and it made one unable to discern the various flavors like the beef, onions and cheese and almost overwhelmed the Fritos as if the concoction had been simmering in the brew for some time. Perhaps a fresh batch would have been an improvement. When I took a taste, it just tasted like jalapeño soup. But we like spice…this was the kind that continued to burn your lips long after the chili was gone.

My salad was very fresh with a giant slab of grilled Salmon on top. Grilled just right where the fish was consistently pink throughout with just a little crunch on the exterior from the hot grill treatment. No rubs or coatings for this baby, it was just a load of heart healthy Omega-3s. The salad was a good mix of greens with a couple of slices of Avocado to boot.

Full up from Tolbert’s, we wandered down to one of the many antique/boutique mini malls along downtown, called the Main Street Station. Main Street Station was constructed in 1916 by local builder Frank Estill. The building is historically referred to as the Western Auto Store, which moved into the business in 1937 and operated there for many years. The building is characteristic of automobile sales and service centers of the early 20th century. The cavernous inside still shows off the original pressed metal ceiling. Usually, weather permitting, you will find Navajo Joe on the front porch relaxing in his rocker, always ready to greet shoppers and other passers-by.

Dianna stating the obvious

Owner since April of 2000, Doris Solomon is a rather special woman in her own right. After graduating in Baumholder, Germany, she served in the US Navy as a Parachute Rigger. After leaving the service, she became one of the first women to be a cable TV installer in the great state of Nebraska (that had to be a cold and thankless job in winter). Now she calls Main St Station home. Doris' business philosophy is simple. Keep the feeling of a small hometown store where your customers feel at home. Make it fun and create the desire for your customers to come back and stay a while.

The cool part is walking around to all the little vendor booths and checking out the wacky collections and creations of the artists who sell there.

While tooling around Main Street, we finally got a text from Kara that they were heading to La Buena Vida Winery on E. College Street. A short walk from Main Street into Grapevines old residential neighborhood just east of downtown. Turn the corner and you move back to a place where most of the homes date back to the late 1890’s. The coolest thing is the area is zoned for residential/commercial mix. Because of this, there are wineries right next door to regular homes. What a concept, if you forgot that bottle of Zinfandel for dinner, you can walk next door and pick up one. What a great country!

We made our way to La Buena Vida to the sounds of live music and dancing children in a large courtyard facing the street. We entered the store and located a bottle of Red Haired Step-Child. This is a Texas Sangria sweet wine with a squeeze of lemon juice in the mix from La Buena Vida’s winery in Bryan, Texas.

The owner, Gina Puente-Bracato, started supporting her family’s concessions business at DFW airport after graduating Texas Christian University (TCU go “Horned Frogs”) in 1991. Apprentice to her Dad, she got the entrepreneurial bug and decided to open a wine business at DFW and opened La Bodega, the first wine fully functioning winery in an airport. As she became more successful, she began La Buena Vida Vineyards in Bryan, Texas to support the wineries she had at DFW (now two) and La Buena Vida in Grapevine.

We sat listening to the Jet Poets, a guitar duet singing mostly rock classics from the 80’s and 90’s. As they brought our Tuscan Board cheese and salami plate out to us, Kara and her cousin’s Becky and Teresa walked up to our table. Mind you, they had already been following Grapevine’s winery tour list and had been sampling wine for about two hours before they got to La Buena Vida (#7 on the tour list).

Kara and Teresa seemed to be holding up well, but Becky was clearly feeling no pain. They ordered a Mediterranean platter (with ginormous Italian olives) and got an excellent bottle of sparkling wine. Well, it was a champagne style wine. As you know, you can’t call it champagne unless it’s been made from 100% Pinot noir, Chardonnay and Pinot Meunier grapes from the Champagne “appellation” region of France. the name Champagne is legally protected by the Treaty of Madrid (1891). Those French people ruin everything.

Becky and Teresa are both teachers back home and we got into a spirited discussion of the vagaries of teaching and the thankless but sometimes rewarding job it can be. Kara also aspired to teach at one point and we got to hear about her substitute teaching experiences. Kara recently moved back here from Kansas City. Kara had been working with Bank of America here in Texas and had transferred back to Kansas City for a time but had just moved back to Plano and back to the Plano office where Dianna works. She is Italian through and through and is a “no holds barred” girl after a couple of glasses of wine if you know what I mean.

As the sun set and the temperature followed, Kara and crew wanted to hit one more stop on their winery tour, Homestead Winery on E. Fort Worth. Another neighborhood winery, Homestead is housed in a former family home built in 1895. The owners report they are beginning a remodel to bring the home back to its earlier Prairie style clabbered home. When we arrived, we could see it was in need of repair and propping up. Many homes in Texas suffer from settling. 211 E. Fort Worth Street was no exception.

Homestead’s floors were sagging so badly, it made walking (and standing for that matter) difficult for poor ole’ Becky. Becky didn’t have her sea legs on this trip. Like watching someone try to navigate the tilted floor at the fun house with the deliberate walk of the inebriated (come on, you all know what I’m talking about). The ground floors sagged in the middle creating a valley, which required you to walk down then up to get to the other side of the room. Becky tried her best but Teresa came had to come to her aid to save her from falling. Then there was the awkward moment in the bathroom where Becky entered but the uneven floor made it almost impossible for Becky to gain a perch on the throne and the door unable to close because it was eschew like the floor caused some uncontrollable little girl giggling…well it was pure entertainment.



Kara, Becky and Teresa at Homestead Winery

After downing several more “samples” of great tasting Texas wines, we called it a night and after pouring Becky into the front seat of Kara’s car, sent them on their way back to Plano to wear off the day. We too made our way back to our own car and home.