Last Updated on May 19, 2012 by Roff Graves

It was on a lonely stretch of highway 4 out of Stockton. I stopped a weaving car, A huge man got out in a rage. With clemched fists
he started for me. Grabbing my nightstick I started for him. I spoke the words that I was going to kill him. The man stopped fast, opened his hand, and held his arms extended. Sometimes words are magical. (memories of an old investigator of when he was a young CHP Officer)—olRoff

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