Jake Taught Me Honey Was the Key
How game wardens, fish and wildlife officers, a river, and an old VW Beetle taught me more about law enforcement than any classroom ever could.
CJ529 — “Hope”
The river will remain unnamed. The deep water which ran cold between the glacier-formed, sweeping east then west, hillsides of the river — perhaps known, perhaps guessed.
What was such a human pleasure when visiting this river was the unwritten boundary of its lower 10–12 miles, where especially cold water met warmer currents. To the northern stretch were the casual recreational fishermen seeking their three months of pleasant after-work evenings, stringing their catch for freezing and backyard dining for upcoming weekends.
Myself, an average fisherman, taught by a family friend of the basic knots, rod angle, depth of lure, their presentation — and the etiquette of lake and river fishing. As a young boy I would enjoy the early morning Volkswagen Beetle pickup just beyond the city bus stop on the far corner of our housing project. Enjoying (we’ll call him “Jake”) Jake’s offering of a small carton of milk and lukewarm scrambled eggs in a plastic bowl.
The high pitch of the air-cooled engine, strained belts, and hard shifting “Bugs” are known for, headed for the southern border of our city — the muddy, tire-filled, Bohemian beer can-strewn (perhaps a body or two from one of the three crime families active during this time), refinery-stenched river which was “our spot.”
Yes, even in such conditions, fish were there — and goodness did city folks know how to fish. Land a “lunker” out of this oil-sheen water and consider yourself a fisherman of unique qualities.
The location we fished was strictly city folk — white, Black, a fair amount of Korean and Hispanic men, kids, teens — who had learned what did and didn’t work for their objectives. All the same, we coexisted with nothing but friendly conversation and (of course) stories of “you should have seen…”
Here, it was polluted, without docks, just rock and washed-up twisted metal from which to enjoy a day. Here, there was no cold vs. warm water. Here, there was no such thing as commercial fishing, commercial boats, or net settings.
My exposure to these things would come later in life, as an FBI agent.
Far from the long-distant city and its nostril-lingering river water, I would learn that the ten-mile stretch of beautiful, clean, nutrient-rich water and its surrounding inhabitants didn’t coexist as we did when I was a youngster. This river was too dense in its available catch, creating an ongoing struggle between earning a living or fishing for the sake of generational pleasure.
The former didn’t always play by the rules.
FBI agents work investigations of commonly known matters — bank robbery, white-collar crime, public corruption, international and domestic terrorism — these are the cases most collectively understood. However, depending on where an agent is assigned, a whole universe of diverse investigative possibilities exists.
Once exposed to this new reality, any decent agent quickly finds the relationships formed with the multitude of other law enforcement agencies become paramount in the successful outcome of these diverse — and seemingly unusual — FBI-attached cases.
The southern miles of the river were open to commercial fishing boats and their setting of long netting sets. Such sets could line a half-mile of circle-traveled enclosure. The bounty of their catch was closely inspected for sample sizing, numbers, and any restricted species caught by their deck storage.
The lead agency monitoring these commercial businesses was a combination of Fish and Wildlife Game Wardens and Natural Resource Police.
The fishing season had a strict opening and closing date, set by the Resource Management Department’s analysis of the previous season’s catch. Without becoming bogged down in science and analysis, these commercial businesses absolutely understood these dates, terms, and yearly published restrictions.
The office location from where I worked was walking distance to a Resource Management office, providing me the opportunity to have coffee and simply sit and share stories with their field investigators and Wardens. No “Feds vs. Locals,” just experienced professionals — person to person — “how can we help one another” relationships.
Where local law enforcement sometimes lacks resources and technology, the FBI does not.
Approached by a DNR officer and a game warden from Fish and Wildlife, I was provided background they had developed from a local tip. The allegation involved nighttime net sets that were hidden between a small spit of river island and a rocky shelf of land. They explained their gathered information included the finding of net pieces and an accumulation of dead fish floating in the eddies surrounding the shoreline.
They had developed a particular commercial fishing group as the ones illegally setting the nets both beyond legal hours and out of season. Their request: FBI technology to prove their claims.
While the operation to use this technology cannot be offered here, I can state the United States Attorney’s Office was brought in. Legal “paper” (a court order signed by a judge) enabled the use of the technology, and it ultimately matched their suspect business with the illegal fishing and depopulation of the river.
I didn’t participate in their operational planning and execution, but merely observed.
Here is where I learned how good, effective, personal communication — and expertise in handling the delicate balance of “their own” — was conducted. To put it simply: they held their authority as very real, while using their unique perspective of their community to elicit the business’s admission of responsibility.
What could have been a loud, “us (recreational) vs. them (commercial),” drawn-out, community-dividing court case… became a symbol of being a member of the community. A presence of support — for the river, for wildlife protection, for conservation for all — simply by being invested as part of the public at large.
Today, as I live my retired life, I am sure these ground-level law enforcement efforts continue. However, I also see a growing disparity between law enforcement and their communities.
Is it a breakdown of the interagency relationships described above?
Has it become a one- or two-generation loss of communal communication and knowledge, removed from their brethren?
Perhaps it is a lack of interest in learning the nuances which exist among the diverse citizen culture groups which they represent and serve?
A symptom and symbol for our generalized social divisiveness?
Or perhaps, their respective agencies simply desire statistical accomplishments through easier-to-recruit officers, wardens, agents, etc.?
All possible. Some possible.
I don’t hold the answer(s), only ask a question from a final thought:
Don’t we tend to get more ground of agreement using honey rather than poison?
Jake taught me honey was the key.
CJ529
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