In the summer of 1981, I finally got my promotion from Jailer to the Patrol Division. Sheriff Earl D. Lee swore me in as one of his Deputies himself. Previously I had been a “Jailer of Men.” I believe that was the old English. Prisoners, feeding, visitation, book-ins, book-outs, medical call, photograph, roll fingerprints etcetera for 2 years. A jailer didn’t have to be a sworn deputy. More about that stuff later. Back to the story.

It happened on a chilly early spring Sunday morning. It had to be around spring of 1983. I had been out there on patrol for about a year and a half or so.
During roll call, Sergeant Price would emphasize/yell, “Rattle doors! Don’t just drive past!” That morning, I found myself in zone 2, which included the whole eastern side of Douglas County. Upon going 10-8 (active duty) we would check businesses, churches, schools, and such that night shift might have missed. Allen went south on 92 and I went east on 78. I went through the Lithia Springs and Thornton Road area businesses, and I was rattling doors. Front doors were rattled as well as riding around back of the businesses and rattling back doors. In Lithia Springs there were a couple of old shopping centers stretching along Bankhead Highway (78) maybe 20 in all. On Thornton there were several car dealerships, Parkway Regional Hospital, and at the time a small Westfork Business Center. I had nearly finished up my morning business checks and was soon to assume my general patrol duties.
One of my last stops that morning was to check on Beulah Elementary School. All doors to the inside were found to be locked. No damage to the building was seen. However, there was a small car sitting in the parking lot of the school. I gave Radio the location, tag, and description of the suspicious car. I checked to see if the car’s occupant was inside the car or possibly even the school. I looked inside the locked Volkswagen beetle to see if anyone was passed out or dead. I found the bug empty. I felt the rear engine cowling and it was cold. It had been there for a while. As I peered through the car’s window I spotted an open dash ashtray full of what appeared to be marijuana roaches. (Partially smoked marijuana cigarettes) You don’t just throw your roaches away after use, there was still life in them, so to speak. The extended ashtray was so full that the roaches took on a snowball shape, piled up high. I drove to the nearest phone booth and had Radio call me and connect me with the Detective’s Division. On that morning, it was deputy S. Copeland. I requested a search warrant for the Volkswagen. I told him of the marijuana in plain view as probable cause for my search warrant. Loudly and sarcastically, he yelled into his receiver, “I’m not going to wake up a Judge on a Sunday morning for an ashtray full of roaches”!
I was taken somewhat aback. Politics, baby. I shouted back angrily “fine”! I heard his phone smash loudly from my end.
Well… I wasn’t going to let a search warrant deputy stop my righteous investigation into evil drug consumption residue. I took my slim-jim car door opener and popped the lock. I would pop a lock in a heartbeat if I felt warranted. I found the roaches in the ashtray were indeed marijuana. No ownership papers were in the glove compartment. I continued my search and felt around under the driver’s seat, and found what appeared to be a large brick of marijuana. I mean maybe 5 pounds in that block. I became furious again about my request not being taken seriously. I left the brick under the seat. I locked the VW back up and left the school. I called the warrant deputy on the phone again and told him about what I had found.

He yelled into the phone “Tainted Evidence!… Tainted Evidence”! I yelled back, “I know what it is and next time I ask for a warrant, give it to me.” I also said, “This car can sit here and rot for all I care.” All I heard was another loud clang on the phone. I left the bug as I found it and resumed my patrol duties on that chilly Sunday morning. A baby blue rookie will go to great lengths to find action sometimes. I did.