How do you say ‘no comment’?
San Benito County Sheriff Curtis Hill has the easiest job in the
United States. Whenever asked a question all he says is
”
I am precluded from discussing any aspect of this matter
”
as he hides behind some inane thing called the California Peace
Officers’ Procedural Bill of Rights.
”
Or as I like to call it, the California Peace Officers’ I’m Not
Ratting On My Fellow Officers Cowardly Act.
”
How do you say ‘no comment’?
San Benito County Sheriff Curtis Hill has the easiest job in the United States. Whenever asked a question all he says is “I am precluded from discussing any aspect of this matter” as he hides behind some inane thing called the California Peace Officers’ Procedural Bill of Rights.” Or as I like to call it, the California Peace Officers’ I’m Not Ratting On My Fellow Officers Cowardly Act.”
But what about the taxpayers’ rights? When San Juan Bautista Councilman George Diaz was arrested the deputies couldn’t wait to rat on him to anyone who would listen. But worse, they even wrote letters to the editor damning the councilman.
I suggest the next time a sheriff’s deputy knocks on your door and wants to know about your errant son, husband, neighbor or pot smoking granny that you with a big smile on your face just answer “I am precluded from discussing any aspect of this matter under the California Taxpayers’ Procedural Bill of Rights.” What? The coward’s way of answering questions only applies to those carrying guns, mace and Tasers? Aye chee waa waa. I hate giving you up granny but what can I do? Granny got Tasered at a Christmas party at the old folks’ home for baking cookies with a little more than chocolate chips. Oh chip.
And no, I didn’t walk up the street last week to see the Munchkins receive their star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I’m that rare movie fan who hates “The Wizard of Oz.” As a kid it frightened the hell out of me. Not the Wicked Witch or the flying monkeys who I loved. What frightened me was that butch looking Dorothy and those damned munchkins. Follow the Yellow Brick Road? Not on your tintype girly girl, not even if it were yellow with Mellow Yellow.
Don’t believe those obituaries and that great editorial Mark Paxton wrote in the Pinnacle about the death of Becky McGovern. Becky is not dead. Every time you speak up at a council meeting Becky lives. Every time you call or send a letter of protest to an elected official Becky lives. Every time you publicly question authority Becky lives. And knowing the people in my birthplace and Becky’s home of San Juan Bautista I know Becky will never die.
I was honored to be invited to her legendary Fourth of July backyard celebrations. It was the San Benito County version of sitting around the Algonquin Round Table proving that everyone from former sheriffs, educators, street musicians, authors, used car salesmen could speak about politics and religion without getting mad but always using wit and humor to one upsmanship. When I left Hollister for Hollywood I missed Becky the most. Well, second most to that lady who teaches the horizontal tango. I soon found that Becky is everywhere and now despite her denial her soul will reach more people than ever. She is no longer a citizen of just San Juan Bautista or San Benito County but of the universe and beyond. As a fellow atheist I asked God last night what he had in mind for Becky. God answered “what I have in mind for her? Are you nuts Bobby? It’s what does Becky have in mind for me.” Amen. I never felt sorry for God before.
Love John Bagley’s sports column in the Pinnacle. He is the only columnist in the United States and parts of Puerto Rico who has it right when it comes to the 49ers. Some write about getting rid of the coach. Some say get rid of the owners. Others write that the quarterback and some players must be fired. Not Bagley. He gives great, solid reasons to get rid of them all; coach, players and owners. I’m glad he didn’t include the cheerleaders as I am partial to that third one from the left who is a cross between a young Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot with clothes. Aye chee waa waa.
I still believe in profiling even though I am the victim. I am always being stopped and have to prove I am not who they think I am. Eleven months out of the year everyone runs from me as they think I’m some dirty old hippie, smelly biker or Jerry Garcia. But along comes December and all of a sudden I am Santa Claus, with everyone from 9 to 90 shouting “ho, ho, ho,” and telling me what they want for Christmas. My favorite was the little boy’s mother who saw me at Rock ‘n’ Roll Ralph’s Supermarket putting cases of beer in my grocery cart. “No, that’s not Santa buying beer. He just looks like him.” The precocious little kid answered in no uncertain terms: “No, Mother. He is the real Santa. I remember sitting on his lap last year at Penney’s and he smelled like beer.” Penney’s did not call me this year. Quit laughing as I might be in a mall near you. Ho, ho, ho.
