Bear Grease - Ep. 155: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - 32 Years and 7 Months

Episode Date: October 20, 2023

After 32 years Brent's hanging up his badge and retiring. In this episode, he talks about some events that happened that have had a lasting effect on his life. Probably not gonna be a lot of these police story episodes so if you want to hear them, here's your chance. Regulators, mount up! We're fighting crime this week on MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast. Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease Merch https://gootf.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

First Lights fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.com.

Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eat Eater's Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I've got a thing or two to teach you.

32 years and seven months. 32 years and seven months is how long I've been in law enforcement. And at the end of this month, I'm going to retire. It's been quite a rewarding and costly journey. And as I reach the end of my career behind the badge, I'm going to share a little bit about what that's meant. So this one's going to be a little different than my regular episodes. It's such a significant milestone in my life and one that I felt I should have

even if briefly. Just a lesson or two that I learned along the way. But first, I'm going to tell you a story. I feel it necessary to give a warning on this episode. This first story may be a little intense for the young folks that normally listen, so mom and dad, y'all check it out first before the little ones do. It's very important to me, and I take a lot of pride in hearing from y'all that listen with your kids, so I would never do anything.

that might upset them or you. With that said, here we go. Back in the mid-noughties, I was working uniform patrol late one weekend and got a call from the dispatcher that a lady was being held against her will inside a gated compound. Now, this was a rural area, and there were only three of us on duty that night, and I was the supervisor. I called the other deputies from their assigned patrol areas, and we met in the small community in the south part of the county where the 911 address was listed. Dispatcher was on the phone with a caller,

and she said she was hiding behind the living room couch while her kidnapper was in the other end of the home. She said he was armed with a shotgun. He said that he was going to kill anyone that came inside, and he was going to kill her if she tried to call for help. These are the kind of situations you train for. You don't ever want them to happen, but when they do, and you're the guy that's responsible for making the immediate decisions that are going to affect everyone involved forever, it can get a little tense.

Now, we've got someone calling for help that's scared. We've got someone who's saying that they're going to hurt us and her if we come in and help her. Or if he catches her calling 911. So what do you do? You have to make the decision right then and there. And that decision you have to make in the blink of an eye will be judged forever at everyone else's convenience. If you're the guy with the badge that took the oath, you don't have that luxury. Also, I had the responsibility of ordering the two other officers to follow me in that house.

And if they got hurt, that was going to all be on me. Now, in the time it's taken me to go this far in the story, I briefed those officers on what was going on. and that we were going in to get this lady out, and they never hesitated. We parked just down the street from the reported address, and we could see that the residents had an eight-foot chain-link fence around it with three strands of bobwire on the top. There was a double gate that was locked with a big chain and a padlock

that would have had to been cut off with a torch. Even if we could have used a set of bolt cutters, the nightlight had that part of the yard, and illuminated and we would have been in easy range of the front door with no cover or protection. We also didn't have any bolt cutters in our patrol cars and didn't have time to go get any. We had to go right now for her safety. I told the dispatcher to tell the lady that we were coming in and to stay hidden. The dispatcher said that the lady told her that she'd unlocked the back door.

Well, I told her we were going radio silent. and we turned off all our radio so the bad guy couldn't hear them and two of us walked beside one of the patrol cars as the officer pulled up to the edge of the yard furthest away from the house right beside the fence which

it was about 25 yards we took a blanket out of the trunk of the car and laid it across the bob wire and one by one we crawled on top of the patrol car on top of the bar lights climbed the fence over the bob wire and dropped into the yard

I went first while they covered the house. I let go with the wire, and before my feet hit the ground inside, I realized I'd forgotten to ask if they had a dog. Now, this was about to get really loud if they did, but the only sound I heard was the other two sets of boots hitting the ground behind me, almost at the same time as I held cover on a window at the end of the house. The lady said the kidnapper was in. No dog.

That was a plus, but we still had a hostage situation to deal with. The house laid north and south, and she said she'd unlocked the back door, which was on the west side of the house, opposite from where we were. From what she told the dispatcher, the man armed with a shotgun was in the south end of the house. So, the back door was on the back third of the house, and if we'd breached that door, we could have been walking right into his lap. As bad as I hate to say it, if you want to hurt a police officer, you don't even have to leave your house. All you have to do is call them. They'll drive right up in your yard. Things like that have happened before.

And all of these things, along with what was reported was going through my mind, was this an elaborately planned ambush or a legitimate hostage situation? I didn't know, but I did know I wasn't going through the back door. None of us knew either one of the people involved in this call, so we were dealing only with the 911 operator's version of what was happening. I could do a whole year of podcasts about dispatchers. They've kept me alive more than once, and this dispatcher, she was one of the best. We slipped up to the porch and eased up the steps, everyone covering a different window that could have seen us in the glow of the nightlight. I told the other two officers that I would take point, and when we made entry, we weren't stopping until we secured everyone in the house regardless of what that entailed. I placed my hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, and surprisingly, it opened.

As I slowly opened the door, I could see the top of a woman's blonde hair in a bun behind the couch, and I could hear her whispering on the phone to our dispatcher. The room was lit by dim light over the stove in the kitchen, and for whatever reason, that lady poked her head up, and when she did, she saw me standing in the door, pointing my pistol down the hallway toward where she'd said her kidnapper was. She dropped a phone and ran straight for me with her arms outstretched to hug me, and I grabbed her with one hand and passed her back to the officer behind me, who did the same, and the third officer grabbed her and ran her across the yard

and took cover with her at the other end of the house. Hostage safe, check that box. Now, we've got to go get the bad guy. The officer behind me that handed her off to the last officer asked her as she was going by where the suspect was. She sat in the back and pointed in the direction where we'd expected him to be. He also confirmed from her that there was only one weapon in the house. He walked up behind me and whispered only one weapon.

He squeezed in my shoulder to let me know he was with me, and we went in the house. We moved through the small living room, and I stopped at the edge of the kitchen where the hall began, taking cover against the wall while looking down the short hallway into the darkness that was the bedroom and where the suspect was supposed to be. I could see the barrel of a shotgun lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and a man's bare right foot on top of the bed, as if he was laying on his back. The light that came into the room from the kitchen

was cut off beyond that, and I whispered to my partner to turn his flashlight on and secure the weapon when we entered the room, and I'd deal with the suspect. From that moment, when we squeezed to my shoulder and we entered that room, it was slow motion. I crossed the threshold and was holding cover on the bed in the darkness, time stood still and it seemed like it took forever for him to turn on that flashlight.

In reality, I hadn't stopped moving when my partner was standing on that shotgun and blinded the man that was sleeping in the bed with his flashlight. That man bolted upright in the bed and his arms went straight out in front of him. His hands were empty, but it was like he was reaching for something. I quickly holstered my weapon and using his momentum, my monkey flipped him out of that bed and onto the floor with me right on top of him. When I did that, I was immediately tangled up in a mass of wires and tubes, and the man was screaming, what's going on? What's going on? Where's my wife? Is she okay? Well, I handcuffed him,

and I untangled myself from all the wires. I turned my radio on and reported that the hostage and suspect were secure, and all the officers were okay. I started reading the man, rights and after I finished he kept asking me is my wife okay what's going on and I told him he was under arrest for kidnapping he asked who he'd kidnapped I told him the blonde lady that was in the house he said that's my wife is she okay I said she's fine but it doesn't matter who she is when you hold someone forcibly against their will that's kidnapping I asked him what all these wires and hoses before they were hooked up to him. He said, I'm taking dialysis. Dialysis. This is weird. I said, what about this shotgun?

He said that it was supposed to be locked in a closet and that he didn't get it out. It was his fathers and there weren't even any shells on that property for it. My partner checked it and it was unloaded. He was starting to make sense, but this whole situation was far. from making sense. I set him up on the bed and he said, my wife is off her medication. All you have to do is talk to her and you'll see. Just go talk to her.

I told him, buddy, we've been talking to her for almost an hour on 911. She's the reason we're here. He was calm and collected. He said, just go talk to her and ask her who her parents are. So that's what I did. I had the other officer bring her inside to the other end of the house, and I told her we needed to get some information for the report. So I asked her her name, and she told me.

I asked her date of birth and her address, and without missing a beat, she said it. I didn't expect her to look at me sideways when I asked her this question, but I did it anyway. What are your parents' names and their address? Well, she told me that they were both deceased. and she looked sad when she said it. I didn't know where this was going, but I said, well, tell me their names and where they used to live.

She looked up at me and with the most sincerest expression, she said, my dad's name is Elvis. And I said, Presley? She said, yes, sir. And my mother was Grace Kelly. She was killed in a car wreck. Now, some may find some humor in this, but it's. It's really not funny. According to her husband, this lady had done irreparable damage to her brain while abusing drugs,

but it finally beat the addiction. But the effects had lasted forever and would last forever, apparently. And he was struggling to keep her on her medications at times and also take care of himself. That big chain-link fence around their house was to keep her from wandering off and being in the shape he was in, it was the only way he could keep her safe. He had an emergency contact for a clinic that she was a patient of,

and we contacted them and provided her transportation to that facility that night. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong that night, and I've thought about him a million times. What if we'd arrested him, took him to jail, ignored him about what he was saying that his wife had mental issues,

What if we left her there alone thinking we'd saved her only to have her harm herself because her husband wasn't there to help her? What if she laid that shotgun across his lap instead of in the floor that she finally admitted to? And he sat up with that when I entered the room. What if this happened or what if that happened? But I told her the lesson away from there that night. The lesson that you can't take everything at face value. and giving people the benefit of the doubt can lead you to what's really going on. Sometimes.

I wish I could tell you how that story ended, but I don't know. That was the last time I saw either one of them. And in this job, you run across people in situations that are fleeting. Most are sad, and when the report is done, you may never see that person again, ever. But you always wonder, I do anyway. And that's just how that happened. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls and building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts.

Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to.

I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Rinella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning calls. who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action.

I got into this job to help people. 100% that was my goal. So a couple of weeks into the Police Academy, when an instructor posed a question to the 100 or so cadets in the class of why did you choose this profession, he followed it up with before any of you say, because you want to help people. You need to save it because that's,

a lie. You want to do it for the power and the authority. He said, you get called to preach. You don't get called to enforce the law. I just looked at him and thought this guy's an idiot. I was telling Clay Newcomb about that the other day. He said, maybe he was making you evaluate the real reason that you were there. Well, maybe he was, but I still think he was an idiot. I absolutely. I absolutely wanted to help folks. It's all I ever wanted to do. And it had nothing to do with kicking in a door, or driving a car fast, or putting someone in jail. And there were people in this world that needed help and protection, and I was going to do both. Now, don't get me wrong. I did all that stuff. It was fun driving cars fast. It was fun putting bad guys in jail. And it was fun kicking in doors.

Except for one time that comes to mind. I was selected to be the breacher on a drug house warrant we were running, and it was my first search warrant. I was a little pumped into briefing. The order was Reeves breaches the door, and everyone enters the house, detains anyone inside, and we search for drugs and a contraband. Brent, want to take the ram? No, I'm good. I've been to go through that door like Yosemite Sam. By the time y'all get in there, I'll be sitting on the couch watching TV with the dope dealers.

They all laughed. We loaded up and drove to the address, piled out of the cars like a stepped on firing bed, and stacked up at the door. I got to nod to breach it. I looked at the door and I could see it was metal, so instead of kicking it in, I backed up about five steps and hit it with my shoulder going as hard and fast as I could go. To my surprise, and to those around me, I went through that door like it wasn't there.

for a split second that seemed like an eternity, I was the only guy in that house full of drug addicts and dope dealers that wasn't one of either. I shouted search warrant. I took a running step toward a table where several bags of narcotics were piled up and the people were sitting around it and I tripped over a 10-speed bicycle that was laying in the floor that I didn't see. I was watching them watch me as I nose-dived into that. bicycle. It was like a scene out of a comedy. Time was frozen and they were looking at this clown

that had just knocked the door off their hinges, hollering search warrant that was now getting his butt kicked by a bicycle. They didn't move. They were just staring at me. The rest of the troops came in and secured the house and the folks in it and helped me get out of that 10-speed booby-trap someone that sat in the kitchen. I took the ram on the next one. There are so many stories. There are so many stories that I could tell. Unfortunately, a lot of them are sad. But for the better part of my life, my job was seeing even the best people on their worst day. And it's been a pretty heavy burden at times.

Memories of things I wish I could forget and not knowing how things turned out for people that still haunt me to a degree, even today, especially the children. I've seen so many little folks that didn't deserve the hands that they were dealt. And it was for them that I dedicated my life's work. It was ingrained in me in an early age that you take care of the folks that can't take care of themselves and children before anything else. At the height of the methamphetamine epidemic, it wasn't uncommon for us to arrest parents with malnourished children that had no stable family members to look after them. them. So they became wards of the state in temporary homes

where vetted volunteer families took these children in and cared for them until their parents could get squared away, which rarely happened. There were a few, but we had a lot of return clients. After social

services were called, we never knew what happened to the children. It was for their protection, and while I understood the need for secrecy, it was still hard, not knowing how they ended up. I don't know how many I dealt with, but at one time, I was told I held the record for removing the most children from meth labs and drug homes in the state.

Did the parents eventually get them back? You just never know. I'd ask the caseworkers, and they couldn't tell me. So I just wondered. One of the last cases I worked that involved removing a child from a drug house would keep me up at night for years. I remembered how scared she looked and how quiet she was while I tried to comfort her waiting on the social worker to come get her.

She looked at me for help, and I wanted to take her home forever. So she sat in my lap at the sheriff's office while we waited for the social worker to get there. A couple hours went by. I entertained her as best I could, telling her stories and drawing pictures, and finally the caseworker came and picked her up, and I never saw her again. I'd call the social worker and ask her, you know, how she was doing, and all she would say was she's doing fine, and that's how it went for years. I relied on what she told me.

She's doing fine. I thought about her often, and anything and everything would make me think about her. I realized that I'd really never know her fate. I didn't live anywhere near where that happened anymore and didn't work remotely in a law enforcement job that would allow me access to even ask anyone about her. And then one day, far away from the city where it happened, my wife Alexis met a lady and a young girl in the most obscure way,

and they started talking. Alexis was supposed to have left work for that day, but she and this lady and young girl having such a good visit that she stayed late. She even called me and said she'd be a little late leaving work and getting home because she was helping some folks with some information. Now one thing led to another, and they started talking about where they were from. I told Alexis about this little girl many times and how I wish that I could see her and how she was doing.

and about five minutes into their conversation of talking about where they were from and what they'd been doing and how they became a family, Alexis told me she knew she was looking at the little girl I had been telling her about all this time. We connected on social media, and for the last 11 years, I've gotten to watch her grow up. I've worked a lot of cases, some of them covered in the national media, some record-setting drugs, seizures and arrests, apprehended some high-profile criminals, but that little girl is the pinnacle of my career. There's never been a doubt in my mind that all I had to go through, all those years was only preparing me for the day that I got to take her out of where she was and help her get to where she is. And she's in a good place. I think about 32 years and 7 months

and what that means, and it brings to mind an old Jimmy Buffett song that has a line in it that says some of its magic, some of it's tragic, but I had a good life all the way. And I did. I told you this one was going to be a little different. I hope it gives you a little insight to the cat and overalls that's telling you all these tales every week. And until next week, I thank you so much for listening. This is Brent Reeves, signing off. Y'all be careful.

First Lights field wear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days and real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldware gear at firstlight.com.