From Jimmy

Dear Broken Springs citizens (and rabble rousers),

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter from my hammock in the northern part of Florida, sipping a Corona and smoking a big fat Cuban cigar which I’m sure isn’t doing my bad heart any favors. My attorney has just phoned me to advise me that during my temporary hiatus, Lt. Roy Smegley will take over my duties as Police Chief. I have the utmost faith in him to handle all the responsibilities left up to the head position, from mowing out of control grass on the riverbank, to chasing twelve year olds off the streets after curfew. There is no one better capable for this job, other than me. But I unfortunately have a very contagious condition that disables me from performing my duties as the best Police Chief ever.

Fret not, my small town friends (and enemies). My condition is not life threatening, only job threatening. My many doctors have assured me that I am the only one susceptible to this rare disease, which they’ve named “Bonii and Brucitus” after those who’ve given me the serious affliction. Once I recover, if I do recover fully, I’ll still retain the present day 60% of my brain capacities and 32% of my motor functions.

I don’t intend to blame my absence from duty completely on my condition, but I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t notice the first symptoms near the time those three complaints were filed at the Township Hall. Still, I performed my duties to the best of my ability until another - much more common - affliction caused me to accidentally miss Monday night’s Police Committee Meeting, for which I was crucified by local blogs and “newspapers.”

As an aging man in my (ahem) middle forties, I sometimes suffer from CRS. If you need it spelled out, you’ve never had it. Truth be told, and I’m rather ashamed to admit this, I forgot to remind my wife to set the clocks up an hour for Daylights Savings Time the previous Saturday night. I have several witnesses who saw me strolling into church an hour late Sunday morning, right around the end of the Preacher’s sermon. I knew it was nearly over because I could hear Gladys Spitzer snoring in the corner. My wife, bless her platinum blond soul, took the blame for my oversight. And because she’s always right, I didn’t disagree. I just let her redeem herself by setting the clocks ahead after we got home from church. But the silly woman forgot again and come Monday morning I was wondering why the seven o’clock news came on at six.

I wandered in early to the seven o’clock police committee meeting at a quarter to eight, but Katie told me they’d already adjourned and that Ernie was hotter than a premenstrual hornet because I was not there. When I called him later, I figured it was in my best interest to be at least two states away, so I headed to Florida. I had my lawyer call in sick for me at work and that’s where we presently stand.

I expect a full recovery and when I’m reinstated with a proper and much deserved pay increase, I’ll be happy to clear up all those questions concerning Police Manuals and redacted phone logs. Those complications can also be explained away as simply as my temporary leave of absence. In the meantime, Broken Springs, I hope you miss me ten times as much as I miss you. How could you not? In a few more days I bet even my critics will be begging for my return. And being the good hearted soul I am, I’ll never turn my back on our fair town.

God Bless,
James E. Kingston