25 Years Ago the Cops Tried To Kill Me

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That I’m writing
these words now is due solely to a split-second decision by a stoned
small-time crook. It was fatal to him and his partner, but it saved
me from a closed-casket funeral.

I was driving
home from my job as a public radio producer in Roanoke, Virginia.
I lived then in the tiny town of Floyd, nearly an hour from the
National Public Radio affiliate where I was still relatively new.

As the shadows
lengthened on that mellow late summer evening in the Blue Ridge
mountains, it was impossible to miss the 15 or 20 state troopers
and county mounties stationed along the country road between Roanoke
and Floyd. I wondered what was going on. Just outside the town limits,
I found out.

Topping a rise
north of town at normal highway speed, I discovered a Floyd County
sheriff's deputy crawling along just ahead of me. He pulled left
into the other lane, waving me to stop beside him. I pulled up even
with his cruiser. Between the two of us, both lanes of Route 221
were now blocked.

Puzzled, I
figured I was in trouble for some reason or other and assumed he'd
ask for my license and registration. He didn't. Instead, he hopped
quickly out of his cruiser and stared intently in the direction
from which I'd come. It didn't take long to learn what he was watching

Before I even
had a chance to get out of my car, another vehicle shot over the
gentle rise behind us, moving like a rocket sled at 90 or 100 miles
an hour. In less time than it takes me to type the words, the oncoming
driver, seeing that both lanes were blocked, veered to the left,
flew off the road and smashed into a tree.

By then, the
front seat of my car no longer felt like a safe place to be. I got
out and ran over to the mangled vehicle. One man, whether the driver
or the passenger I don't know, was curled in a fetal position in
the grass along the road's edge, obviously dead. The other man in
the vehicle was dead too.

According to
one cop at the scene, the pair had stolen a car south of Roanoke
and had led police on a high-speed chase through town, out Route
221 and up Bent Mountain and thence nearly to Floyd, where they
encountered the makeshift roadblock the deputy had made me part
of. He also claimed they had been using drugs.

What I remember
best about this incident a quarter of a century later is the duplicity
of law enforcement personnel. I read in the newspaper the next morning
that they "didn't know" why the two perps had gone off
the road.

On the contrary,
they knew exactly why the drivers had swerved off the road. I was
amazed to read such nonsense, and I immediately phoned the reporter
to tell him what really happened. My version appeared the next morning.

The deputy
and I were surrounded at the scene by other county and state cops;
it was obvious to every cop there that, because I'd been press-ganged
into being half of a roadblock, the driver of the stolen car was
forced to choose between a) smashing into the cars on the road,
or b) swerving onto the shoulder.

25 years ago
I was more nave about government and law enforcement. When I was
quoted in The Roanoke Times, I gave the deputy and his colleagues
the benefit of the doubt.

At the time
I was struck by the fact that nobody offered an apology for forcing
me to risk my life. Years later, it's easier to believe. The only
response I got after I blew up the official police alibi was that
I was visited on consecutive days by a state trooper who asked me
to go over the events as I recalled them. It became evident that
he was hoping I'd make a mistake from one telling to the next so
that they could cast doubt on my version of events.

Now, it's almost
certainly true that, had the two perps raced through the tiny town
of Floyd at 100 miles an hour, somebody else would have been killed,
maybe quite a few others. From the deputy's point of view, maybe
it was better that I die than six or eight people in the town be
killed. But shouldn't somebody have asked me if I was OK with this

A quarter century
on, I now know that the Prime Directive in government in CYA. That's
why nobody apologized. To apologize to a Mundane would be to admit
guilt. I might have been the litigious sort, there might have been
lawsuits, jobs would have been imperiled. Better to say nothing.

I no longer
live in Floyd, but I drive by that spot several times a year. Whenever
I do, I remember the day when a cop decided my life was expendable.
It's a lesson about government I won't forget.

Williamson [send him mail]
is a public radio producer who lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains
of Virginia.

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