One crisp fall night, I was riding shotgun with my shift supervisor Lieutenant Ron Cain. The warmth of the day was fading. It must have been a full moon that night. Patrol units were rushing from call to call. Those of us from the traffic unit would help out when patrol requested. I had already done my time in patrol, handling all those complaints and filling out all those incident reports. Typewritten or handwritten reports were our only options back then. I could do the 2-finger typing style, that’s about it. By this point, I had already gotten my fill of typewriters with all the jail’s paperwork.

Subplot: I had previously wrecked my patrol car in a chase only a week or so before that night. It was in the Body shop, so to speak. That’s why Lieutenant Cain and I were together that night. We had a phrase, “You may outrun the Chevrolet, but you can’t outrun the R.C.A!” Some of you might guess (or know) that means “You can run from us, but you can’t outrun the radios!” So even without my car, I was a coveted shotgun rider for Lt. Cain.

Things were already squirrelly (maybe from the full moon) when a call came over the radio. “All units 10-3, 10-33! Douglasville PD is 10-80 with a red Trans Am north on 92.”

*For interested parties, 10-3 = Stop all radio traffic, 10-33 = Emergency, all units stand by, and 10-80 = Pursuit in progress.

The call continued, “Emergency radio traffic to follow.” Another of a long line of adrenalin dumps occurred. Cop candy. PTSD now. We all began chattering on car-to-car, with all locations waiting to hear directions of the chase. Radio continued, “Be on lookout for a red Trans Am stolen from Gipson’s Bar and Grill, tag number####, etcetera.” Radio continued, “P.D. is currently northbound on 92.”

It’s important to know that Douglasville P.D. had their own radio frequency apart from ours. Our car radios were not equipped to monitor P.D.’s radio traffic, nor theirs. Both our departments had car-to-car which we could talk to each other on. We L.E.O.’s treated the car-to-car as a chat channel. The city, county, and even troop would be chatting away until somebody’s supervisor or such would come on and tell us to knock it off. In radio car-to-car mode, anyone could be listening. Home police scanners were very popular back then.

Lt. Cain and I had been on Lee Road running radar when the call came out. As the chase began, we made a beeline toward Bankhead Highway. North on 92 would lead to railroad tracks, with the only options of going east or west on Bankhead/78. “The City reports a right turn onto Hwy 78 eastbound,” said Radio. As it happened, we were on the east side that night.

That put us right into the path of the chase. It was heading our way. Another adrenalin dump. Cain was trying to get to Bankhead as soon as possible to set up a roadblock in Lithia Springs. Blue light and siren time. Hang on!

As we raced past the rock quarry on County Line Road, we heard another radio report. “City reports a right onto Riley Road off Bankhead”. By that time, we were on the other end of Riley Road. We blew past the little store at McKnown and Riley and came sliding to a stop on one side of a large kudzu patch that grew beside Riley Road. At that particular kudzu patch, Riley Road makes a sharp curve; a dog leg, so to speak. The kudzu patch was in a bit of a hole. It was lower than the roadway.

The red-hot, stolen Trans Am was coming straight towards us. Just in case the driver navigated the dangerous curve, we had blocked the road on the opposite side of the dog leg. On Riley Road, even to this day, there is a smaller version of the kudzu patch still there. (See Map)

As we pulled to a stop on the other side of the Riley Road dog leg, Lt. Cain and I were wondering if the driver knew about the bad curve that lay before him. We warned the city and told them to back off over car-to-car. “Better back off, you’re coming up on a bad curve.” All we heard was some quick “clicking” sounds. Our radio clicks stood for I understand, click-click. Usually, the clicks came if the driver was too busy to pick up the mike. Just reach down and click the mic.

Lt. Cain and I had a bird’s-eye view of what transpired next. We heard them coming. 4-barrels and chorus of sirens. All of a sudden, we saw a red Trans Am go skyward. Evidently, the driver didn’t know about the curve.

As the Trans Am left the road, I did not hear any tires squealing, so he must have been at top speed when he left the roadway. No time for the brakes! The car left the roadway and nosed-dived into a very large kudzu patch. All of a sudden, the car stopped. And I mean, stopped! That Trans Am stopped like it was caught in the net of an aircraft carrier. When the front end of the Trans Am stopped, the rear end flew up, causing the driver to be catapulted through open T-tops. He looked like Evil Knievel being shot out of a cannon. The driver was thrown forward about 20 feet in front of the car.

As we entered the kudzu to complete the arrest, I found that the kudzu was deep, thick, and springy. We found him lying in the kudzu with no apparent injuries. He had landed on a mattress of flora. The Trans Am was slightly scratched on its front bumper. As for his driving speed when he left the road, he was one lucky bastard that a kudzu patch was there to catch him. The driver was placed under arrest by city units and was taken to the City jail. Many of us were standing around laughing about the incident. We told the City units to take off, and that we would wait for their wrecker. (More or less, get back to your relative jurisdiction).

When I arrived at work the next evening, I was told that the car thief didn’t know why he was in jail. He said he didn’t remember anything about a red Trans Am. He was that drunk.

141… 10-7 = Deputy Englett… out of service.