Читать книгу The Adventures of "Dirty Joe" Callihan - Joe Callihan - Страница 4

The year was 1971. I had gotten off active duty with the Navy in 1969, and was in the process of pursuing a degree in business administration at the local St. Petersburg Junior College. Being a full-time student I used the benefit of the G.I. Bill for my tuition. I sought to find a weekend job which would allow me money for the necessities of life, including dating expenses.

However, as it was difficult to attain an employer willing to allow me to schedule my work load in accordance with my needs as a student, the field of possible employers narrowed to only the Little General convenience store. They had agreed with me to cooperate, allowing me time off to study for important exams. Other employers had made it very clear to me that I was to be their slave, demanding I work as scheduled, offering no allowance for my need to study for exams.

As a result I began working weekends only at Little General convenience company stores. During this time of my employment there were two different bad guys going around holding up convenience store operators. One chose to throw diluted muriatic acid into the eyes of the employee, and then came around to help himself to the contents of the register. The other low-grade moron chose to carry a loaded gun. When the store employee, either male or female, willingly gave him the money without any hassle, before he would leave, this imbecile would either shoot the employ in the arm or leg, or would pistol whip them. (Please, if you're the kind of imbecile that believes in doing holdups, and are reading this, don't try doing likewise. I can assure you there is someone like me out there who will blow your stupid head off, and feel happy about it).

Now I didn't have respect for or appreciate either of these morons. Being an Irish Kentuckian, possessing the temper which goes along with that, I felt it was my responsibility should I run into either one, to make them pay a very heavy price for their stupidity, should they try their plan on me?

I like to preface the following by inserting the fact that I was 27 years old at the time this incident took place. Looking back now, I realize what they say is true: you tend to do very stupid things and take chances when you are young. I happened to possess a brace of Colt Derringer's, his having a black chromium barrel with a walnut handle. Hers was gold plated with a pearl handle. The main problem was they were single shot 22 short.

What did that matter to me? I wanted protection which I could easily conceal and I wanted any vicious bad guy who desired making me a victim to pay a very serious price! Little did I realize at the time, but having only one shot against a revolver or an automatic, I'd better make it count really big. Likewise, it did not enter my mind until too late, that a 22 short caliber bullet is not much more than a glorified BB gun. Nevertheless I chose to carry in my pocket for protection his version, which was loaded with one 22 short bullet.

This was the setting for how the legend began, and I received the nickname “Dirty Joe” Callihan. Every word I am about to tell you is true, I need use no exaggeration to tell the factual story of what happened. I was working in a neighborhood which contained lower to middle class families. It was very early on a Sunday morning. In fact, just shortly after 7A.M. the time we opened. Businesses that early on a Sunday was always slow. You hardly ever had the first customer until after 8 A.M.

I had only opened the doors, and had gotten behind the square arrangement of counters, having just an open space for me to get inside and out from behind the rows of counters which were located in the middle of the store. There were two registers, one on the right side the other on the left. I heard the bells jingle, as the front door opened. In walked three hippies, having all of the accoutrements, long stringing hair, grubby beards, and jean vest (not to mention the immediate unpleasant odor).

Two of them immediately went to the magazine stand at the front left side of the store, and began browsing. The third, which had sandy blond hair, and stood about 5 foot 9 inches tall, walked toward the left counter where I was standing. With a big and friendly smile I asked, “How can I help you today?” To which he loudly replied with, “Alright, this is a hold up! Take all the money out of the register now!” As he made his “request,” he moved his right hand, which was behind his back, up and down, but not pulling out a gun.

Noticing this fact, grinning I said, “You’ve got to be kidding?” He only yelled out saying, “There’s no reason for you to be happy. This is a hold up. Now get the money out of the register!” Again, all the while he was moving his right hand up and down behind his back. “You have GOT TO BE PUTTING ME ON!” I said with confidence. Yelling even louder, this time angry, the punk said, “I haven’t got time to talk with you. Get the damn money out of the register, and put it on the counter – NOW!” as he was still moving his hand up and down behind his back.

“I was just wondering when someone was going to come along and take all of this nice money away from me.” (Only $75.00 Idiot! We had just opened, and you morons were my first customers)! At this, he seemed to have lost it. Eyes wide, and stomping his foot on the floor he shouted, “Don’t you believe this is a real hold up?” “No I don’t," I answered. Then I chose to challenge his bluff, thinking, if you don’t have a gun you’re in trouble, because I do! So I said, “If this is a real hold up – where’s your gun?”

Responding to my challenge, he began to pull his hand out slowly. I was thinking, if he has a gun, I’ll take out my car keys and ask if he wants that too. But when he had finished, his hand was empty as he said, “I don’t have one.” “You can’t hold me up without a gun!” I said sarcastically with laughter in my voice. Still, I wanted to make sure neither of the other two that were with him had one.

So I called up to the front, as they had heard his demands, asking: “Hey do either of you have a gun he can borrow? He wants to hold me up!” One said, “I don’t” and the other then said, “I don’t either.” He was looking ahead, watching as they answered. He had not been looking at me, as I took out my loaded derringer and pointed it at his belly button. When he turned around and saw it, I cocked the hammer at half cock and said, “I’ve got an idea, maybe you’d like to borrow mine?”

I honestly have to admit, I did not have any idea that a humans eyes could actually dilate without the use of chemical drops. But sure enough, his eyes got real big, as he sucked in a large gasp of air, moving both arms out to the side. (Now actually I’m kind of glad they did not have video cameras back then, as I technically did not have a permit to carry my gun – but hey! Neither did the bad guys!) Still, I will remember the look on his face, and his actions of fear and panic, till the day I die.

The guy just stood there frozen, holding his breath, with his hands out to his side saying nothing, and not moving an inch. Worse yet, his friends were watching from in front. I’m beginning to think, this looks bad for me. Any moment someone is likely to come walking through the door, and it looks like I am holding him up. I have an illegal gun, and he doesn’t. Besides, there are three of them, and I have a one shot 22 short. If they figure that out, I may be in serious trouble. How can I get myself out of this mess I’ve gotten into? I was asking, when a plan came to me.

Cocking the hammer back a second time, so he would know it was fully ready to fire, I then made another suggestion to the frozen “would be” bad guy. “On second thought, I can’t loan you my gun. But I do have a bullet I would be glad to give you.” This seemed to have the desired effect. He immediately became unfrozen. Looking at me while backing away, placing his hands in a frantic downward waving motion, he said. “I was just joking man. As he was backing away he continued to talk, “I’m leaving now. Please don’t do any thing rash. I promise I’ll never bother you again. Just don’t shoot me – PLEASE!”

I watched as he continued out the door and sat in the passenger seat. He was not the driver. What had happened to the driver? He and the other guy came up to the counter, and each bought a magazine and soft drink from me.

I held the gun in my right hand, rang the items with my left, as I had them back away. Then I said to the first, “O.K. your total is $1.39. Come up and put your money on the counter. He laid down $2.00. O.K. now back away, I said, as I put the two items in a bag, and put 61 cents on the counter. Now come up and get your change, and take your items with you.” I did the same for the other guy.

Both stood there for awhile, looking through the glass window at their friend, who was waving frantically for them to get out, start the car, and drive away. “Look at that idiot!” one of them said. The other chimed in with, “I bet you made him wet his pants, and that’s why he won’t come back in.” Then wishing me a good day, laughing as they departed, they went on their way.

Later, because it was indeed a funny story, and because he was a man who thought like me when it came to bad guys, I told my manager about the incident. He laughed and said, “You just don’t have any respect for these bad guys, do you Joe?” “What’s to respect? I asked. All they are is low grade morons.” To which he said, “You’ve got that right!” Then he gave me my nickname. He said, “I think I’m going to start calling you “Dirty Joe.” We both laughed, and I must admit I rather enjoyed what he was referring to.

You see, back in 1971, Clint Eastwood had introduced a character on the big screen via a police inspector they called “Dirty Harry.” It happened that Harry’s last name was Callihan – the same as mine! That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!