Coffeehouse Chronicles: The Legend of SAM-1 Hits Texas

Yes, it's me. Sam One.

What up, Chroniclers? Got yer cup? Let's go.

Now before we get into graduation, I need to tell you about Papi Churro's journey into the great State of Texas.

As many of you know, Papi encountered a few members of law enforcement along the way.

By last count, three contacts total.

But apparently once he crossed into Texas, Papi developed a new introduction.

The conversation would allegedly go something like this:

"Good afternoon, sir. License and registration."

Papi would nod professionally.

"Certainly, Officer. Before we begin, allow me to introduce myself. I'm SAM-1."

Dead silence.

The DPS officer would blink.

"Okay..."

Papi would continue.

"Retired. Legendary Los Angeles County copper. Tactical advisor. Legend in certain circles."

Again.

Dead silence.

The trooper would stare at him for several seconds before asking the only reasonable question.

"Do you know why I stopped you?"

Papi would smile.

"Because you recognized SAM-1?"

The trooper reportedly did not.

In fact, none of the Texas DPS officers appeared familiar with the vast legend of SAM-1.

Frankly, Chroniclers, it was disappointing.

For Papi.

Not for the troopers.

Graduation day arrived, and of course Papi had to get dressed in his Class As.

Not some of his accoutrements.

All of them.

If there was brass, it got polished.

If there was a ribbon, it got mounted.

If there was a badge, it got displayed.

When Papi finished getting dressed, small aircraft were reportedly using him for navigation.

As he walked around greeting officers, he would casually insert "SAM-1" into every conversation.

"Beautiful ceremony."

"Thank you."

"I'm SAM-1."

"Okay."

"Retired twelve years."

"Okay."

"Still available for consultation."

"Okay."

Most of the officers were too polite to walk away.

Hiya Chief. Yup, Sam One. Good to meet ya.

Eventually he shook hands with his son's new chief.

The chief greeted him politely.

Another mistake.

Papi immediately leaned in.

"Chief, do you realize who just shook your hand?"

The chief looked concerned.

"No?"

"I'm SAM-1."

The chief looked even more confused.

"You've never heard of SAM-1?"

The chief admitted he had not.

Papi looked like someone had just informed him they had never heard of baseball.

"Well, if you ever need tactical advice, operational guidance, leadership consulting, or stories about patrol in the 1980s, I'm only one phone call and a two-day drive away."

As he walked away, Papi began evaluating the agency.

"These small departments..."

He shook his head.

"I don't know how good I had it."

Don't worry, Chroniclers.

This lasted approximately nine seconds.

By second ten he remembered all the things he hated about the job.

By second eleven he was explaining them.

By second twelve he was telling a rookie how lucky he was.

By second thirteen he finished with:

"But then again, I'm SAM-1."

The rookie had no response.

He was still trying to figure out who SAM-1 was.

Now let's discuss the camcorder.

You remember the camcorder.

The one I told him not to bring.

The one old enough to have witnessed several administrations.

Sure enough, Papi shows up carrying it like classified equipment.

When he opened the case, a dust cloud emerged with enough force to qualify as a weather event.

An officer sitting nearby immediately sneezed.

A younger cop looked at the camcorder and said:

"Wow. That's old school."

Papi smiled.

"Thank you."

The young officer said, "No, I mean REALLY old school."

Papi nodded proudly.

"Well, remember who you're talking to."

"SAM-1?"

"Exactly."

The officer wasn't sure how he guessed correctly.

Neither was Papi.

Then came the badge pinning ceremony.

Papi's middle child was asked who would be pinning on his badge.

For about two seconds there was silence.

Witnesses described seeing Papi tense in his seat like an Olympic sprinter hearing the starter pistol.

Then he exploded upward.

"WHY SAM-1 OF COURSE!"

People nearly spilled their coffee.

One person thought there was an emergency.

No emergency.

Just Papi making sure nobody forgot why he'd spent an hour polishing brass and putting on

white gloves.

As Papi would later explain:

"You don't get all gussied up looking like this for somebody else to steal your moment."

Once the ceremony ended, Papi officially declared his month-long fast over.

Not quietly.

Officially.

Like a presidential proclamation.

The first plate disappeared.

The second plate disappeared.

The third plate went missing under suspicious circumstances.

Somebody commented:

"Wow, you're hungry."

Papi nodded.

"A month-long fast."

Then after a pause:

"And I'm SAM-1."

Apparently he believed that explained everything.

Then came the call to Prescott Valley Fitness.

The poor employee answered the phone thinking it would be a normal customer service call.

It was not.

After listening to a lengthy explanation involving retirement, Texas, graduation, life choices, gym memberships, and who knows what else, the kid finally heard the grand finale.

"You can kiss my lily-white backside!"

Click.

The kid put down the phone.

Looked over at the smoothie counter.

"Who's SAM-1?"

The girl shrugged.

"I don't know."

The kid nodded.

"Well, apparently he's angry."

"I gathered that."

"And apparently Texas knows who he is."

"No."

"You're right. Doesn't sound like Texas knows either."

The last verified sighting of Papi Churro occurred shortly after the graduation festivities.

After pinning on the badge, consuming enough food to end a month-long fast, and declaring victory over Prescott Valley Fitness, Papi was observed leaning back in a chair, sipping coffee, and surveying the room.

A young officer walked by and politely asked,

"Sir, are you enjoying Texas?"

Papi nodded.

"Yes. Matter of fact, I am."

Then he pointed a finger.

"But remember..."

The officer froze.

"...I'm SAM-1."

The officer slowly nodded and continued walking.

Sources indicate he had absolutely no idea what that meant.

Neither do most of Texas.

Meanwhile, Papi remains in Texas.

Current activities reportedly include:

• Evaluating barbecue establishments for "quality control purposes."

• Introducing himself to complete strangers as SAM-1.

• Reminding his children how easy they have it.

• Reminding his children how hard he had it.

• Looking for opportunities to wear his Class As one more time "since they're already pressed."

• Telling anyone within earshot that he's retired.

Followed immediately by stories proving he never actually retired.

At this time, Chroniclers, authorities cannot accurately predict Papi's next move.

The odds of him finding another audience for a patrol story are currently estimated at 100%.

The odds of someone hearing the phrase "But I'm SAM-1" before the end of the week are even higher.

As always, we will continue to monitor this developing situation.

Until next time, Chroniclers, keep your heads on a swivel, your coffee cups full, and remember: somewhere in Texas, someone is hearing a story that starts with, "Back when I was working patrol..." and ends with, "...but then again, I'm SAM-1."

Drink 'em if you got 'em.

#coffeehousechronicles