My wife told me that I had to let the incident between Gates and me go, or I might potentially ruin everything. My argument against that was simply one of trying to live in a state of helplessness. Following Vietnam, I was being made to feel like an important man by the department, the Western White House and even Tom Thorkelson and Chuck Bartok with the insurance business, but my importance was tied neatly to a sense of impotence and helplessness when it came to controlling either the sourcing or the true direction of any of the things, I was involved in. I didn’t, and couldn’t, tell her that Gates’ little arm-wrestling bit of deliberately applied violence wasn’t something I could tolerate down in the very core of my being. I had run or hidden three times in combat. I learned that running in combat might keep me alive for the short term, but the long term was another matter entirely. On top of that, or at the very foundations of that, the definition of living had totally changed inside my very being by the time I was carried out of the valley.

I couldn’t continue my work with the police department without somehow resolving the relationship that had formed between Gates and me. I couldn’t run as I had no place to run to. I couldn’t avoid him. I had to go right at him, yet I couldn’t seem to be able to think of a plan that might accomplish what I was trying to accomplish that had any chance of a happy ending, for he or me.

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