Now – The Peace Patrol and a Mission

December 15th, 2020 – Crestone Colorado

I believe every man should have a Mission that is greater than anything else.

A distant horizon, a mountain top, a direction of travel – The place that my path leads me. To be in service to something greater than self or Clan. To find something you can swear an Oath to. The people in my life are important and I would die for them but I always have my Mission.

I have found mine in the Peace Patrol.

Stupa of enlightenment – A place I catch and project Love Beams

I live in a small Colorado mountain town nestled in the wiggly toes of Grandfather mountains. I am embraced and held up by the beauty and Wild Places just outside my front door. This town is unique and often referred to as the spiritual crossroads of the World. Many have been called to this place. It’s a loving community filled with Teachers, Artists, Writers, Hippies and other beautiful people.

I was drawn here like a moth to a flame. One day, when I was volunteering at Orient Land Trust, Rosie asked if I wanted to go to Crestone with her. I was low on supplies and didn’t have anything else to do and thought why not. We covered the backroads between the spring and the town filled with a great conversation about Rosie’s life in Crestone. She was and is well respected and a pillar of the community. She would become my gatekeeper.

Rosie told me of the death of her beloved husband Ed in intimate detail. She then asked me if I wanted to visit the Pyre where he was cremated, it was on our way. I barely knew what a Pyre was but I said yes.

Once inside the circle of bamboo fence and witness to the pyre itself Rosie began to cry and relived for me the open air cremation of her Ed. She told me how the community had gathered around as the sun rose. How she had placed Ed’s guitar on top of him before the fire was lit. How she and Ed’s children had lit the four corners of his pyre. She spoke of magic, tears and love. Hot stinging tears spilled down my face as I thought to myself, “I don’t know what these people are up to but I’ve got to be a part of it”. There and then I made myself a promise to move to this town.

I posted on facebook that I was looking for a room. Rosie vouched for me and Anrahyah took me in. The preverbal wandered had found a home.

Back to a mission and the Peace Patrol

Covid had just struck and I began to have security concerns for my town. The local Sheriff is stretched thin and I knew it. I started asking around if there were any other retired law enforcement or military people willing to stand with me in defense of this town. That led me to Kofi.

Kofi is an ex-gangbanger raised on the streets of Gary Indiana. Our backgrounds could not have been more different. He was to become one of my best partners ever, and I’ve had many great partners, Batman and Robin once again. Kofi is a man of honor and earned respect. Tough as nails with a gentle heart, a rare man who I love.

Slowly we started building a team. There are 15 of us now. Kofi already had a strong group of men surrounding him that had been doing similar work for the past years. We built from there.

We trained and found a foundation of our core values. Kofi brought the 42 Ideals of Ma’at to us which the team adopted as our oath.

We are not Warriors because Warriors need enemies and we have none. We are Protectors and Keepers of the Peace. We are prepared to stand between these people and whoever would threaten or prey on them. We come with open hearts and strong will. We stand together in this work.

We have gathered a group of Grandmothers around us and ask them to Guide us, Lead us and Hold us responsible for our actions.

We met with the Sheriff and received his blessing.

One time Kofi and I identified an active meth house. A woman, who had been at the dope house for three days and nights smoking meth, ended up pounding her knuckles bloody against my door at midnight. When I answered the door I could barely understand her rattled speed freak talk. I did pick up on threats of assault and knew it was tied to the dope house around the corner from me.

I called Kofi to back me up. He was there within five minutes.

Kofi asked the freak if he could smudge her with sage (it’s a hippie thing). She agreed and Kofi smudged her with the wing of a hawk. She did seem to calm down and Kofi moved into the good cop role.

He turned and said to me, “Brother we have to catch this woman. We are called on to protect the women, the children, the elders and the Chief. The Universe delivered her to your doorstep.” In that moment I loved him more.

We spent the next three hours driving this woman all over the valley. No one would take her in. Kofi took her to his home and put her up in his casita. Over the next days Kofi and his wife would take the woman to her mother, who refused to even speak to the her, and two homeless shelters before finding a place for her.

Kofi and I later decided to have a little talk with the meth dealer. I drove up across the street from the dope house just as our primary suspect was driving away. I waved him over to my van. I asked the dealer, “Do you know who I am” as I stared hard into his eyes. He said no. “Have you ever heard of the Peace Patrol”? Again he said no. I told him he should ask around because he had our undivided attention.

I decided to take a different tact. Rather than argue over whether or not he was running a dope house, which I’d already confirmed though numerous informants he was, I went in this direction.

“Young man I’ve done a deep background investigation on you and I want to tell you this. Almost every person I spoke to told me what a fine student and young man you use to be, what happened”. It was the truth.

The dealer, addicted to his own shit, was broken to tears as he said he wanted to be that again. Kofi said, “Young brother let us help pull you back into the light but you gotta stop slinging dope and defiling our women and community with your poison”.

The young man nodded in agreement, having indirectly admitted to selling dope. He invited Kofi and I to visit anytime, unannounced. He closed down his operations shortly and a nice family moved in the once dope house.

Another time I was in town when someone contacted me and related that there was a home invasion in progress in the Baca. The Sheriff had already been notified. It just so happened that two other Peace Patrol members were in town. I swooped them up and we responded to the location. Our intent was to only get eyes on the location and surveil it until the Sheriff arrived. When we got there we discovered the Sheriff’s car in a nearby intersection in a head on configuration with another vehicle. Both vehicles had their driver’s doors wide open. No one was present. The hairs on my neck rose. I told the team we had a new focus, to find the Sheriff and back him up.

Within minutes we located the Sheriff, he was fine and thanked us for our quick response and backup. The case turned out to be more of a squatter.

Another time most of the team was in town right after a meeting. Kofi’s niece came running up to him trembling, eyes brimming with tears, and said that a man in the brewery was calling her a nigger. I looked at Kofi and said, “I’ve got your back”.

As we walked across the street the drunk was already heading out. I stood 6 feet away as Kofi approached him. I could hear the drunk calling Kofi a nigger and saying he uses that word all the time and we should all “Get fucking use to it”. Kofi explained that it wasn’t acceptable here or now.

I saw the drunk take some bridge work out of his mouth and put it in his pocket, a tell for what he was about to do. I closed the distance a little.

The drunk pushed Kofi in the chest and drew back his right fist. Kofi launched him into the middle of the street and was atop him. I dove on the pile and ended up with my left hand around the drunk’s neck, his head pinned to the ground drawing back my right fist to put his lights out when I stopped and said,

“Brother we can still make Peace” and just like that he released his hold on Kofi and I didn’t have to fuck him up. Beautiful, the old me would have never given him that chance.

After the pile was unwound we learned this. While Kofi and I were in the pile with the drunk another drunk, a visitor to the town, pulled a knife and started towards us while we were fully distracted.

An “Outer Team Member”, ex-military of just hard hitters who back us up, saw this and disarmed the perp. I’ve been stabbed before and was thankful it didn’t happen again.

Another time I met a new visitor to town who felt called to be here. He is an Iraq war veteran with a traumatic brain injury and a raging case of PTSD, a three striker. Just being around him triggered my wires but I tried to reach him. We did have a connection and he showed interest in joining me and the Peace Patrol.

One morning this happened. The Iraq Veteran sent an image to my phone of a fixed blade knife in his hand with the message, “Get to Jeff’s now before I start killing some motherfuckers”. It just happens that I know and love Jeff.

First I call the Sheriff’s department and tell them to start rolling something to Crestone, that I didn’t have the address but I gave them some crossroads nearby. Next I call Jeff and get no answer. I sent a message to the Peace Patrol with all the information I had, grab my .45, and bust out the door.

When I arrive at Jeff’s I can hear Tom in a full rage. He is running around the house threatening to kill everyone present. I make a quick call to the Sheriff’s office to update the address and let them know I’ll be out. The dispatcher let me know that backup was 30 minutes out.

Sometimes I’m more hippie that ex-cop and this was one of those moments. As I hung up with the dispatcher I felt Tom’s rage in the air. I suddenly felt that Tom might try to disarm me, he knew I carried all the time and was half my age, or force me to shoot him. Don’t laugh ex-cop buddies but I made the decision to disarm myself and locked my weapon in my van. I was prepared to risk my life to save his. If I was still a Cop the proper tactical approach would have been to fill my hands with the .45 caliber semi-automatic weapon, use available cover, quietly approach, ready.

Then and there I remember another time and wonder why is it always knives. The duality of my Life. Read my chapter Medal of Valor to know where my mind was.

I walked into another shitstorm.

First I was relieved to see the knife back in it’s sheath on his side. Tom was pacing back and forth and would occasionally pick up a baby head size rock and threaten to chuck it at the people he focused his rage on. The Empath could feel his howling pain, how lost he was. In his mind he was a trapped animal wrapped in wire. He was wounded, his past crashing down on him all at once. Two other Peace Patrol members arrived and set an outer perimeter. I was happy to have the back-up.

Tom recognized me. I just kept close to him in case I needed to take him down. I got close to that when he armed himself with a length of lead pipe. I held space for him as he raged up and down the driveway. I kept him from crossing the line and breaking the law, I was the little voice in his ear saying stop. At one point I got him to stop his rage and just hug me. I could only hold him for a minute before he bolted for the nearby woods.

The sheriff arrived and everyone was separated and sent on their way. As wild as this incident was no crime had happened. Our Mission was accomplished, the Peace was held.

Later we tracked down Tom and found him in town. We explained to him that neither Crestone or the Peace Patrol couldn’t help him and his time for leaving had come. He admitted that he was still too violent for our town. We dug in our pockets for the $30 it took to fill his tank, bought him a burrito and a couple of bottles of water and sent him out of town. Money well spent.

In conclusion I think the concept of a community Peace Patrol is just what the Nation needs. I imagine a future with a Sheriff’s department on one side of the building and the other side is the Peace Patrol. Not everything requires a gun. This would free the Police to do their work. We ask our police departments to do to much, to wear too many hats.

My path has lead me to this place, every step. I would rather be with these people, here and now, than anywhere else. So I write my book, plan patrols and wait for the phone to ring – Thankful to be of use.

© 2020 – 2021, Michael Fulcher. All rights reserved.