| • | September - 2003
It was September of 2003, I hesitantly requested and
received the opportunity to attend DEA’S basic EMT training course in Quantico,
VA. I had spoken with a co-worker who
had previously attended the course, about the difficulty and rigors of the
curriculum. He told me to expect four
weeks, seven days a week of classroom and practical exercises, followed by
weekly exams requiring above average passing grades to continue the
training. For starters, since as far as
I could remember, this kind of academic discipline had not been my forte.
I arrived at Regan National Airport in D.C. late in the
afternoon on a Sunday. I waited for the
Dafre Shuttle to make that ever so eventful, traffic jammed no matter what day
it was, one hour southbound trek on I-95 to Quantico. Knowing like you always do on such training
trips there would be about ten other agents waiting on the same shuttle, I
activated that highly acute government trained sense of observation and
attempted to spot other trained killers like myself that blended into their
surroundings like chameleons. Usually
the bulge about the waist or ankle (attempting to conceal their firearm) was a
good indicator. If that failed, the guy
wearing the khaki 5.11 standard Government Issue pants with the brown Hi-Tech
boots, semi-displaying the DEA belt badge, while wearing the Polo shirt with
the badge that said DEA B.A. class 150 on the left breast was a good place to
start.
As I stood on the curb I had the chance to start up a
conversation with a guy who was extremely nice, funny, and full of
sarcasm. I guessed he was probably a west
coast guy by his sun tanned skin, extremely white teeth, and relaxed
mannerism. Within 30 seconds of meeting
him, I felt like I had known Buckles my whole life. We talked and laughed as we pulled into our
hotel – our home away from home for the next month. I could’ve sworn we just left the
airport. We were assigned roommates
during our stay. Before we had a chance
to meet our respective bunk-mates, we both were trying to scam the desk clerk to
re-assign us to the same room, unsuccessfully.
Buckles put it in his own words, accurately at that, “Fisher, you do
realize we share the same brain.”
Buckles got a rental car for the duration of our stay, and
of course we rode together every day back and forth to our little piece of
paradise called Camp Upsher. I never was
a big coffee drinker, but Buckles quickly introduced me to his east coast
roots, Dunkin Doughnuts coffee. It
wasn’t that it was the best coffee I’d ever had, but I soon became
addicted. This was probably more due to
the fact that my daily route included this mandatory stop on our way to class. Our Quonset-hut classroom had assigned
seating in the shape of a horseshoe. As
luck would have it, I sat across from him.
Now this was good and bad. Good
in the fact that while not seated next to each other prevented us from
returning to our 3rd Grade antics.
Bad in that, 30 seconds into the first speaker I was trying to not laugh
out loud at Buckles’ facial expressions.
Most agents are altogether commonly well versed at one thing
– complaining. During my initial 17 week
basic agent training at Quantico,
it took me about two days to figure out this one. Sure we all missed our family, friends, and
familiar surroundings, but what happened to the thankful attitude for being
allowed the opportunity to have been selected for this job, the chance to meet
new people, learn something new, and be able to earn a very good living doing
something we all wanted to do since a very young age. Not to mention or overlook the gifts and
grace from God to be blessed with the physical and mental ability, that only losing such gifts causes us to
reflect toward thankfulness. I think I
embraced this attitude because I loved every minute of that 1997-1998 winter in
Virginia. I immediately met a like minded friend by the
name of Matt. Every day was spent with
him laughing, enjoying this chance, and the occasional making fun of this and
that instructor. It was obvious to me
that September 2003 was going to be the same way.
Buckles told me about growing up in Pennsylvania and making
the westward migration to Los Angeles.
It was clear to me that he loved his family and called PA his home, but
he embraced the big city of L.A. and the pure enjoyment of working in such a
large office. He told me that he
traveled home on Thanksgiving, but the vast distance between the Pacific and
home made it all too inconvenient for him to get home as often as he would’ve
liked. I told him about my family, wife
Lisa and son Chase who was three at this time.
My DNA configuration prevented me from being capable of sharing too much
with anyone about my personal life, but I felt comfortable with Buckles to talk
about everything. This would be the
lasting bond we would share. Most people
who knew Buckles may not know this, but his sarcasm was only a thin sheet
between his face and his heart.
We somehow survived who knows how many exams during our EMT
course, a hurricane that left us without power for days, and even a few
hangovers. Our last day was our final
exam. I tend to place more stress on
myself when having to take tests, even before the proctor tells you, “Well,
you’ll go home either a goat or a hero after this.” As I sat wondering why did I have that 2nd
cup of Dunkin Doughnut’s coffee, did I really need the extra caffeine to
elevate my anxiety? I heard my
classmates’ chuckles as they passed a piece of paper around the class. When it made it to me, I soon understood
why. Buckles had gone on-line the night
before and printed a picture of Brian Thompson.
For those of you who obviously have better sense than we did, Brian
Thompson is an actor who portrayed a psychotic killer in the Sylvester Stallone
movie “Cobra”. The quote on the paper
said something to likes of, “We all should be lucky to have survived this class
having been here with the NIGHTSLASHER – Tom Fisher!” I took the test with a smile in my heart and
passed as did all my classmates.
Buckles and I said farewell but not goodbye. We scammed the government every chance we
could to attend EMT training courses in San Diego and back in Quantico. We spoke nearly everyday from the day we left
Virginia in September. I’ve learned hard
lessons from my mistakes. I’ve forgotten
my true course from time to time. My
pride has often prevented me from allowing others to teach me. My actions, or lack thereof, have negatively
influenced others, but the past is where those memories will be. Jeff, I tell you now; of all my peers,
pastors, family, and friends during my lifetime, your guidance and
encouragement were the only things that helped me with my struggles and
sadness. You may have been here for only
a short time, but my heart is full of your life. I thank God for his gift to me – Jeff Bockelkamp
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