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TRIPPING LIGHTLY
by Carol Eguia

This column expresses the personal opinions/views of the writer. If you would like to express your opinions/views regarding the column, write a SIGNED letter to the editor. Name can be withheld by request with a valid day time and phone number.

A while back when I lived in Missouri City, my neighbor from across the street came over one day and asked me to call the police for her because her next door neighbors were selling dope and smoking pot. She could even smell it. Well, I asked her why she didnít call the police herself and she said that her neighbors would know who called. Didnít make sense to me but I said ok.

So I called the Missouri City Police and the officer who answered took my name, address and all other pertinent information and when I mentioned that there were an unusual number of cars over there he asked me if I could get license plate numbers and car types. I had no problem with license plate numbers, but I donít know one car from another except I do know cars from trucks and vans from RVs, etc. So I decided that I really needed to get close to the cars and read what they were. I got on my bicycle and rode up and down the street and I was able to tell easily if I was looking at a Ford or a Cheve or what. Worked just fine except one blue-over-white-over-blue Blazer made a u-turn and almost squashed me and my 3-speed Raleigh bicycle.

In two hours I called the police back and told them that I had some license plate numbers for them and I could also describe to them who was driving each car by color and sex in most cases, especially that Blazer that u-turned.

He asked me how many cars I had and I told him "14" but I missed a couple because I had to answer my phone. He asked me again, "How many?" And I repeated, "14," in two hours.

After I gave them all the information I had, they said that they would look into the situation, thank you very much. I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of cars sitting around with men sitting in them after that. Later that week I watched while a wrecker brought a car down the street that didnít look damaged to me and pushed it into that driveway and when the people opened the garage doors, pushed it into the garage. The doors were immediately closed behind it.

Since I didnít see any of the cars that I thought would be watching, I called the police and told them what was going on.

All this time there was a mixture of people by age, sex and color and at least four small children living in the house. I had considerable concern for the children involved because the cars were still coming and going.

The next morning, the Missouri City Police came and took everyone away to jail and they also took the car out of the garage, which I heard later was packed full of bottles of Mexican cough syrup. The children I guess went into some type of protective custody and I understand that one of the men that they took to jail, died there, from an overdose of drugs.

The house itself had to have a major clean up. All the carpets and plumbing fixtures were removed including the hot water heater. The floors, the garage and the driveway were steam cleaned and pressured washed. A real job. And the drug dealers were gone from our block!

If the Missouri City Police could do all that by themselves in short order, why canít the Fort Bend County Drug Task Force do the same? If the sheriffís department speaks for the Task Force, why canít the High Sheriff speak to the Task Force and get those boys in line with whatís going on in real law enforcement?

Could it be that we have, by mistake, elected one of those dingbats I mentioned in a previous column? I hope not, but just in case we have, those citizens in Pheasant Creek still have two choices. They could pick up and move to Missouri City where there is a "different drummer," or stay put and find that Drug Task Force a "mother lode," like a car full of bottles of Mexican cough syrup.

Worked for me!


 


 
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   Last Update:  January 29, 2003