It’s not enough to consider the Brewster County Commissioner’s Court a “can-do” group of people. Attention must also be paid to how things are accomplished on behalf of the citizens. Taxpayers can rightfully ask why Brewster County paid over $200,000 for one acre of land, or borrowed money for the new emergency services buildings without first going to our state and federal elected officials to see what help they could provide for these projects.

It was telling that no Brewster County elected officials were present when Rep. Ciro Rodriguez visited recently, even though Rep. Rodriguez’s assistance in finding funding for local projects, from roads to the airport to the library, is bringing millions of dollars into our county.

The real issue in this election is and will remain creating economic security for Brewster County residents. Our county’s potential for economic development is great, and although it will come in non-traditional ways, we must pursue development that will complement current activities such as ranching, tourism and education, without displacing these industries.

Renewable energy production is coming and could rival counties to our north in tangible benefits, depending on how it’s handled. Encouraging retirement and assisted living communities to locate here will bring revenue, provide good jobs in health care fields, and keep our elders close to family and friends in their twilight years. City-county cooperation  keeps taxes low, encouraging a variety of county-wide small business startups.

The benefits of this economic vision can accrue to provide good jobs and stable incomes to county residents, but only if our county judge can work with local, state, and federal elected officials to pursue these (and other) economic options.  

Brewster County residents can’t do without elected officials who understand this cooperation, before they spend taxpayer money.

I would like to make a public confession. I have been officially indoctrinated into the Big Bend Old Fogies Suspected Terrorist Cell. Seriously.

You have never heard of us? I and the other members of the BBOFSTC are all somewhat elderly, mostly Anglo U.S. citizens and mostly men who have recently had some type of radiation treatment for some form of cancer. We are radioactive. That is the first sign of membership in The Cell. Some of us are virtually on our deathbeds while others, myself included, are hoping for a complete cure. That many of us are also military veterans is of no consequence.

Our official indoctrination into The Cell comes at the hands of our beloved Customs and Border Patrol. Mine was at the check point south of Alpine on October 31 where I was subjected, like a laboratory rat, to non-invasive probes of Geigercounter-like instruments for over an hour. Three other members of The Cell that I know of have been indoctrinated either at the border crossing in Presidio or the checkpoint south of Alpine. And there have been others, I’m sure, at various other check points in West Texas. The length of these indoctrination periods is unknown.

As an organization, though, we exist only in the minds of our aforementioned beloved CBP agents. But they have their “protocol,” a word used several times on October 31. And, we have to remember, they are keeping us safe from all the real terrorists who cram weapons-grade plutonium into their body cavities.  Just a thought, but maybe as a public service,  CBP could provide documentation of the number of people apprehended since 9/11 attempting to smuggle radioactive material in that manner.

Here’s my story: My partner, Mindy, was driving.  At the Border Patrol check point (about 20 miles south of Alpine) we stopped, as always, for the “citizenship” check. The agent asking was the same one who, about two weeks prior, actually introduced himself as “Chris” (the first time in 14 years that an agent has introduced himself by name). We stated our citizenship (U.S.) and then Chris rather abruptly told Mindy to pull over and park. When she asked why in a non-confrontational tone and he replied “I smell marijuana.”

At that I laughed, probably louder than necessary but that response was straight out of “bad cops” movies on TV. Plus, neither of us smoke pot (not since the 70s anyway). And their dope-sniffing dog had already been wandering around the car and showed no interest in it.

We pulled over, got out and presented our TX drivers licenses.  While one agent took the ID’s inside, another asked permission to have their dope-sniffer check out the car again (as if they needed permission; but to their credit they were all polite throughout the entire encounter).  Again, the dog had no interest in the car.

Up to this point everything had been fairly routine (we have been through the various check points many times, with and without the dope sniffers, and on a few occasions actually had our vehicles physically searched) so I wasn’t paying much attention to anything they were doing. We stood around for maybe five minutes while our ID’s were being checked when, just for fun I suppose, one of the agents turned on his belt-mounted Geiger-counter device, a gadget slightly larger than a pack of cigarettes.

During the first couple of minutes of the radioactivity checking, I think one of the agents actually asked if I had had related medical treatment, but by that time I was a bit floored by what was happening and can’t say for sure. It was nevertheless soon established that I had ‘seed’ implants on June 23 (maybe June 24, I forget...).  In the ensuing 5-10 minutes one agent said something about calling my doctor, to which I replied something like “It’s Saturday morning and my doctor is at the V.A. hospital in Seattle....”  Read: Are you nuts?

I produced a card from the Radiation Therapy Clinic of the VA Puget Sound Health Care System, Seattle, where, I think, all the V.A. seed implants are done for people in the western half of the country. Someone took the card inside and made a copy of it.

Then “protocol” came into the conversation. I was told they “had to call Washington, D.C.,” then had to use the second instrument which, as explained, recorded some type of radioactivity identification information which then had to be sent to their “scientist” who examined the info and responded that it was indeed a medical isotope and that I was probably not a terrorist.

They botched the first set of readings so it had to be rerecorded and, I should note, each of these functions took 5-15 minutes. Finally after something over an hour they told us we could go.

During and shortly after my indoctrination I kept telling myself the agents involved were just doing their jobs.  But something kept nagging at my subconscious and after a few days I finally figured out what it was: humiliation. I realized I felt less like a lab rat and more like the star attraction of a carnival freak show, with an audience of BP agents gawking both at me and at their little Geiger-gadgets. Somehow I doubt that total insensitivity toward American citizens with life threatening medical conditions is part of their “protocol.”

However, to show I harbor no ill will toward young, marginally-trained CBP agents or their superiors, I offer my services as a guinea pig.  I will allow groups of trainees to play with their gadgets, point their probes and gawk, all they want. Of course I would expect to be compensated for my time -- $1,000 a day should be adequate (plus expenses, plus access to restroom facilities other than the holding cell offered during my indoctrination).

Whether accepted or not, my offer comes with one caveat: no more freebies. If I am again subjected to roadside humiliation, I will not cooperate. Period.  Should that non-cooperation result in arrest or detention, so be it. That would make great newspaper headlines: West Texas Border Patrol Target Cancer Victims.