5. The Sheriff and the Deputy

        The following Sunday, Louis and I were standing on Main Street well before eleven o’clock when the local high school parade was supposed to begin.  Main Street of Berea was a narrow, two-lane street along the edge of the college campus.  The college chapel, post office and cafeteria and the school-run hotel were all located on Main Street, so it had the highest traffic and pedestrian count in Berea.  

There was a small crowd of mostly local residents lining both sides of Main Street this morning, all waiting for the parade to start.  Some were wearing their Sunday best.  Apparently they had just come out from the morning service of the local church.  At around eleven, we heard the sound of a marching band coming around the corner of the street.  In a short moment, we saw the front of the parade: A girl and a man, each riding a white horse were leading the parade.

They were wearing a matching outfit of creamy white riding pants and jackets over light blue satin shirts, creamy white felt Stetson hats and shiny black riding boots.  Rhinestones were studded here and there on their jackets and pants and boots that glittered in the sun. The man looked around forty, with a strong, square chin and a heavy build.  He looked rather serious.  The girl was diminutive in comparison, with a very pleasant smile and long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders…she was Jane Miller!  

The girl we met in the field the other day was transformed into a Goddess cowgirl, looking spectacular upon her white horse.  I could hear the noise of the horse-shoes hitting the asphalt as they came closer and closer, against the background of the marching band that followed shortly behind.  It was a wonderful sight and sound!

When they got close enough, we waved and shouted at the top of our voice: “JANE MILLER…JANE MILLER!!”  We wanted to make sure we could be heard.

        She could hear us fine because we saw her looking at us, with a faint, barely detectable glean in her eyes.  The man riding along her must have heard us too.  He scanned at us with eyes that were piercing and chilling, that were all the more intimidating as they were looking down from a towering height.  I could tell he didn’t like what he saw.  Both Louis and I stopped waving and wiped the smile off our faces.  I felt like a kid being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The rest of the parade (the high school marching band) was loud and not particularly pleasant to the ears, so we decided that we had enough and started walking back to our dormitories.  When we came to a crosswalk at an intersection, something caught our eyes and we stopped.  It was a poster pinned on a fence on the sidewalk.  It showed the portrait of a man with serious-looking eyes, strong, square chin and a thick, muscular neck wearing a police uniform, and with this big bold caption at the bottom: “Re-elect Sheriff Miller…The Man You Can Trust!”

That was the man on the white horse leading the parade this morning.  Sheriff Miller is running for re-election…and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he was Jane Miller’s father!  We were trying to befriend the daughter of the local sheriff.  That’s definitely looking for trouble if not attempted suicide.

My head was spinning with the thought of what could happen to us.  If we made even the slightest attempt to approach Jane Miller again, Sheriff Miller would no doubt be very happy to yank us into custody, to threaten and torture us until we confessed to sins that we had not even heard of.  

I could imagine the headline in the newspapers: “Two students from Hong Kong arrested for lewd acts directed to sheriff’s daughter…”, “Two sex perverts from Hong Kong confess diabolical scheme to seduce local sheriff’s own pride and joy…”

This would no doubt generate some publicity that could help him with his re-election!  In my strangely warped state of disappointment-turned-paranoia, I felt Sheriff Miller was a despicable, evil man, preying on two innocent, friendly, law-abiding students from Hong Kong, just to help his re-election!  (I was known to have an overactive imagination that flared on occasions and would lead to all sorts of conclusions.)  This villain must be exposed, and I knew just how to do it.  I took out my ball pen, and in a few quick strokes added a Hitler-like moustache on Sheriff Miller’s upper lip.  Now Sheriff Miller looked rather comical in this new improved poster.  I was admiring my own handiwork when I felt a firm tap on my shoulder, and a voice in heavy Kentucky accent: “What are you doing, mister?”

We both turned around and saw a young man, about 6 feet tall with athletic build, wearing police uniform.  He stood arms akimbo, his right hand barely an inch from his gun holster, and staring at me through his mirror-reflective sun-glasses.  “What are you doing, mister?” he repeated slower this time.  His face remained expressionless.

 (Silence)  Neither Louis nor I were breathing at this point.  Our gaze fixed on the deputy’s right hand that was now caressing the butt of his service revolver.

“Do you know defacing this poster is a public misdemeanor and that I can arrest you, mister?”  He seemed to have enjoyed used “mister” a lot.  He was speaking at me, but I could feel Louis shaking like a leaf next to me.  I wasn’t shaking like a leaf…I was scared stiff!  I tried to say something, but my lips wouldn’t move.

“Are you a student at BereaCollege?”  He finally skipped the “mister”.

“Yes, officer,” I finally managed to move my lips.

“I’m going to let you go this time…and do you know why?”

(Silence)   It was obviously a rhetorical question.  I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

“It’s because I graduated from BereaCollege a few years back.”

“Thank you…Officer Boone!”  I saw the name “D. Boone” stitched above his shirt pocket.  I was breathing normally now.

“OK...now you may go…and have a nice day!”

“Thank you, officer!”  We started walking away.  Louis was still a bit shaky in his legs so I had to hold his arm.

“Just a minute, MISTER!”  (Oops!)  We stopped and turned around.  I hoped he hasn’t changed his mind!

“What’s your name?  I need to put it in my records.”

“My name is Charley Chan, officer.”  I said without any hesitation.

“And your friend?”

“William Wong, officer”

“OK. Thanks!”  He scribbled something in his little notepad and walked away.

I suppose to this day, there is still an entry in the records of the Sheriff’s office of Berea made by deputy D. Boone that went something like this: “Two students (male) of BereaCollege were apprehended after defacing a poster of Sheriff Miller.  They were released after verbal reprimand and severe warning.  They identified themselves as Charley Chan and William Wong.”

- To be continued -