In appreciation of small town life

You take certain things for granted when you live in a small town. The streets are usually quiet, kids can cross them without fear. Construction permits keep adding to the size of the neighborhoods, but there are patrol cars driving through them often. Most of the time the biggest disagreement is about grass clippings in the street from yards kept neatly manicured or the audacity of Walmart refusing to give us a cashier rather than making everyone use the self checkout.

I’m not a person who makes friends easily. I don’t make a point of knowing my neighbors. We’ve lived in this little town nine years and I know four or five people’s names on my street. Doesn’t matter though. When we see each other, we smile and wave. Sometimes a “how you doing?” and “you guys okay?” A nod of the head at the gas station, paying for someone’s drink at Sonic. It’s what we do. We live in a small town.

I told my father when my family moved out here I had found my Mayberry. I meant it. When our kids were in school, the teachers knew who they were. I know the names of the coaches. The town shows up on Friday nights for football. The local paper gives snippets about all of the kids in town when something happens in sports. The mayor and I have known each other for years, even before we became residents of this little town. A few years ago after a church service I told him if the street department put up a stoplight I’d be there in the middle of the night with a chainsaw to cut it down. He didn’t bat an eye as he replied “I wouldn’t be surprised”.

One of the best things about a small town is we see the presence of the local police department. We see the fire fighters as well. We all go to the same restaurant to eat on Sunday. We get to watch them line up for all the parades. We also trust in the fact we can call on them. I have some of their personal numbers in my phone. When you see an officer driving through the neighborhood, more often than not they will stop just to say hello.

On Saturday, six blocks from where my family lives, a police officer gave his life doing his job. I had seen him driving the neighborhoods, riding in the parades, keeping this little town safe. You see, that’s one of the things we take for granted the most. We know when we go to sleep at night there’s very little chance a major crime might happen. Mishaps, at times, but rarely anything that would be life threatening. We back the blue. We appreciate the fact they live in our neighborhoods and their kids attend the same schools.

I wasn’t home. I’m working on many weekends but I rely on the fact my family is safe. My town is safe. I know it is because there are many people here who make sure of it. Officer Kevin Apple was one of those people. On my way home this evening, I couldn’t get here fast enough. However, just before I turn into my neighborhood I can always see the police station. I knew there would be a catch in my throat when I saw it tonight and I had to turn in, get out of the truck and pay my respects at the memorial there. I walked over to Officer Apple’s car, saw the flowers and signs, the blue lights, the American flags flying. A couple of officers from area departments were going in and out of the department building. Our guys are off and grieving.

When I first heard of the incident, I immediately was searching for answers. Who was the officer, how did it happen, where was it? As news trickled to me, one of the guys working with me said a name. I broke down in tears. The name was my neighbor. Then, no, that’s not the name of the fallen officer. It’s someone else. Do I know him? I can’t place the face. Soon enough I found the picture and I knew. Yes, I know this man. Not well. He isn’t the neighbor I give a hard time to for trying to keep up with his kids as they walk the block. He hasn’t been here long. Doesn’t matter though. He’s one of us.

I stood at the memorial. Looked at his car. By now, I’ve read every piece of information I can find online. I know why that front fender is smashed. Tears began to flow down my cheeks. Not because I know this man and have a great sense of personal loss. I do not. Simply, tears began to fall because I thought “I wasn’t home. I didn’t have to be worried about the safety of my family because this man was on duty.”

You have to understand, I don’t take the word “home” lightly. I’ve grown to love this little town and it has become a home I never really knew. My children graduated high school here. I have friends here. My parents lived in this small town when they both passed away. I have both wonderful and sad memories here.

Officer Kevin Apple, I don’t think we ever spoke to each other. Sir, I owe you a debt of gratitude. You put your life on the line every day to keep my family safe. You lived with honor and worked hard to keep my town safe. For whatever reason, your life was required this time. I’d like for you to know I appreciate it.

I’ll take this watch. I’m home now. The time will come again when your fellow officers are tasked with keeping the same streets you patrolled safe. I’ll do everything I can to help ensure they make it home. You guys never know it, but I always pull over when I see you have someone stopped. I wait until a second officer has arrived on scene. When you are filling your vehicle’s fuel tank I wait at the end of the parking lot until I see you are ready to drive off. I’m not the only one. I could name several others who do the same.

1212, you’re off duty sir. Thank you for your service. To the officers you served with: I’ve got your six.

•••

Editor’s note: Ray Burwell, a current resident of Pea Ridge and graduate of Benton County Christian School, is a fast-pitch softball umpire and owner of a small construction company. He can be reached at rayb1221@yahoo.com.