When your dreams are so real. When you reach for your gun and the bullets just fall out of the chamber to the ground with zero velocity. A cop surviving in prison. A cop who put cops in prison. A cop who's been in the War on Drugs since 1996.
I remember the day I took my oath and the Indiana State Capitol. How I felt wearing the uniform of an Indiana State Trooper. I looked out in the audience and my grandpa Harmon sat in a wheel chair. A man I admired growing up in Indiana. A man who once played baseball with Pee Wee Reese and Cotton Nash. A man who used to take me to see Pete Rose play...he would always walk up to the ticket booth and say, "I need the best tickets you have." Little did I know that my Pop had arranged for me to get a full size poster of Jeff Foster on the actual ball field, as he and the Manager talked about the good ol days.
My Pops also taught me the vices in life of playing cards. I was probably the only 3rd grader who could call a game of 7 people around the table to play "Chase the Ace", "Breed the Heffer", "Low Chicago", "Jacks or Better, trips to win." and of coarse, my Uncle Don's favorite was seven card stud. High card opens.
My pops also taught me to shoot dice. I remember all the green $25 green chips piled in the pockets of his gray slacks at the Imperial Palace in Las Vegas. First I learned the basics of the pass line, then buying some field numbers, trying to press your winnings a few rounds (if possible), then sit back and rake it in, as long as you didn't roll a 7. Patience, though, is how I saw my Pops won the most at the tables. Once the shooter gets his point and the games' started, Pops would bet heavy ($50) on the Come, get his own point, then rake the winnings once that point hit again during the shooters game. He sat back and was patient, not pressing his luck to build the field up. Every so often, He would bet $100 chip on the "Don't Pass" and go with the House. That, too, seemed to work a lot. Either way, I knew we would be hitting the buffet sometime soon. Before every meal, he would pull a wash cloth out of his pants pockets, so he could wrapped his dentures up.
In December 1996, after walking off the stage at the Statehouse, my grandpa and I hugged one another and cried. He had given me his police badge, which said "Chief" -English, IN. I've never told anyone this, but every time I put my bullet proof vest on before my state police uniform shirt, I clipped his badge on the straps of my vest. It seemed to give me a little more protection. The shield of police officer. The symbolism. Just the fact it was my Pops.
Within a few months, I gave my Pop a police escort to his burial. I cried a lot while I was driving that day, just outside of English, Indiana. He fought in WWII, where he met my grandma, who was from Coventry, England. Their love was transported back on the Queen Mary, back to the States to start the Harmon Family.
The Harmon Family were the funniest people in Indiana. They raised the funniest kids in Indiana. No joke was off limits at the family Christmas Parties at my great Grandparent home in Princeton, Indiana. I remember burning cigars, one smoking pipe and a variety of "spirits" mixed with ginger ale, coca-cola, or a Shandy, 1/2 beer mixed with a 7-Up. The best memory of all....how much we laughed.
"Back Home Again in Indiana" has always been my favorite song growing up in the Hoosier State. The many years I worked at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, each time I would hear it, chills would immediately form under the scorching May sun, while we troops stood at the finish line in our shined Bates boots, baking the kiwi wax into the soles, slowly dulling the mirror shine.
Near the Fall of 2011, the political pressure was mounting due to the gubernatorial election and the push for Republican Mike Pence. Finally, being away from the corruption at general headquarters, my brothers & sisters were calling for a gathering on South Shelby Street, where the Indiana State Police Alliance is located (our equivalent of a union), which was adjacent to the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department's FOP Lodge.
For the first time, though, a dominance of "brass" showed up to intimidate the audience, who were there to hear what I had to say. I had a plethora of intelligence collected over the years as the commander of the public corruption section, which our troops wanted to hear firsthand. They wanted to hear and read the proof for themselves...to formulate their own opinions instead of the emails being circulated amongst the "Third Floor" for others to "drink the kool-aid" (a metaphor deriving from the Jim Jones massacre....I actually have copies of these emails, which will follow at a later time). Fox59 News and WISHTV were present, but for some reason no story would be reported...puzzling, huh?
Eric Holcomb was the chairman for the Indiana Republican Party. At the time I emailed him, it was at the urging of a mutual friend of ours, who was a state trooper assigned to protecting then GOP Governor Mitch Daniels. Holcomb stated he would have someone from "Team Pence" circle back to me, but I never expected it to be lead by the Indiana State Police SWAT Team and Lt. Mark French, who is now Colonel Mark French, Assistant Superintendent of the Indiana State Police under the guidance and leadership of Gov. Mike Pence.
The following Spring of 2012. Our mutual friend didn't last much longer on the governor's detail, the last I heard was he was "punished and thrown back in uniform on the road." Little did we know, how much of an actual threat we really were at the time. In both of our hearts, though, we know we are still troopers, who didn't "drink the kool-aid".
Where did Holcomb land after the election of Republican Mike Pence? My sources last told me he is currently serving as the Chief of Staff for Republican Senator Dan Coats in Washington DC. These sources were spot on because now Holcomb is running for Senator on the GOP ticket.
The #MartinsvilleSexScandal had been squashed. During the Fall of 2011, the student/victim, though, was still being sexually abused while the fall elections were taking place. Its not until January 2012, until an arrest would be made. The 65+ year old men's basketball coach was caught in a "state of nudity" with the victim in an Indianapolis City Park, which had the reputation of being a place of nuisance for public nudity. In fact, the sexual abuse and "cover-up" went on for #277 days until this IMPD patrol officer "happened" upon the crime in progress, while the coach, now sex offender, was caught in the act with the student.
It was only a few days after the arrest of the men's basketball coach when Officer Brian Chambers of the Martinsville Police Department drew a case number, although he had known about the abuse for almost a year. Why did he feel the need to hurry up and draw a case report?? Well, to cover his ass and the ass of then Mayor Phil Deckard, who was the public announcer at all the home basketball games.
Where was Captain Mike Snider, the assistant Commander of the Investigations Division of the Indiana State Police? Well, he was placed back in uniform, filing records at general headquarters. Where was Lt. Mike Campbell? Well, he, too, was reassigned to uniform and ordered to file special project paperwork for the Enforcement Division.
Both of these commanders were good friends of mine. In fact, I had the privilege to serve with them for many years. Lt. Campbell was my direct supervisor during my assignment with the US Marshals and before that, working with the FBI's Public Corruption Unit.
When the sex scandal first surfaced in my hometown of Martinsville, Indiana, I had recently retired, or literally "ran for cover" from a corrupt police organization ran by Dr. Paul Whitesell. In fact, I remember, while I was on suspension for an alcohol related incident, which occurred downtown Indianapolis, just months after my marriage fell apart, meeting with the FBI. I met with two Special Agents for nearly 3 hours. I told them if I came up dead, I wanted a video record of this meeting. My attorney at the time was James Voyles, who prides himself as being the best "high profile attorney" going back to the Mike Tyson days.
Jimmy, as I called him, and I first met at the Indiana State Fair, while eating the best apple dumplings. The owner of the apple dumpling stand used to be the chief mechanic for Johnny Rutherford way back in the day. Since the first Apple Dumpling, Jimmy and I were friends. In fact, we would later run into one another during other public corruption cases, while I worked grand jury matters.
Going back to the rally at the Indiana State Police Alliance, Jimmy called me the next day and told me, "Harmon I got a call from the Governor's Office and you need to shut the fuck up!" I responded to Jimmy, "Fuck Mitch Daniels and fuck Paul Whitesell" One think I know for certain is I left the Indiana State Police with my integrity intact. That is something I can take to my grave.
The Indiana State Police wasn't done with me though. I knew that the hunters would continue to hunt. I knew too much. I had intelligence buried all across the State of Indiana, long before RFRA, long before two grown men began molesting a young girl at my alma matter high school.
You see, when I attended Martinsville High School, our athletic coaches would have kicked the shit out of another coach if they were molesting a student.
My dad retired from Martinsville High School as a guidance counselor. He's known as Mr. Harmon by three generations of families in our community, which we still live. My mom and dad are the best parents in this crazy world. They raised two sons. My older brother was a hell of an athlete, who played all 3 sports during high school, went to Ball State to play basketball with Coach Rick Majerus and even made it to the Sweet 16 one year. Rob later graduated with his education degree, served as a graduate assistant at the University of Utah with Coach Majerus and returned to Indiana to marry his high school sweetheart and began coaching basketball at Tri-State University, now called Trine University.
I, on the other hand, didn't obtain a degree in education. I chose criminal justice, when I obtained my B.S. from Indiana University in May 1996. I was going to be a crime fighter and change the world.
I've declined several interviews these past 6 months. I don't know when the right time will present itself to tell more about my story, which has led me to many dark places questioning democracy in America. Policing in America needs fixed. In 1996, I remember what it was like to "serve and protect". I remember our job was not to be the judge, jury and executioner when we came into contact with a situation. Our job was not to shoot people. Our job was not to beat the shit out of someone. Our job was not to de-humanize a person. Our job was not to sick K-9 dogs in the backseats of police cruisers, while the person was in handcuffs.
My job was to do what was right when no one else was around. That is what my grandpa taught me about self-discipline. There's not a day, which goes when I don't think about all the great men and women I served with.
The only burial I missed was Trooper Bartram, who was killed in a traffic accident in Morgan County, Indiana. The day he was buried was the day I was married at the Studebaker Mansion in South Bend. Every funeral I attended, I cried. I knew too many of them. I remember when Major Ray Benn passed away after complications from a blood clot. I remember going back to his home, gathering all the medals and uniform to properly dress him in his casket. I made sure the buffalos were running straight on each of the buttons of his uniform. I made sure to clip any "irish pennants", or frayed strings on his uniform before his funeral showing. Major Ray Benn used to work midnights on I-465 back in 1991-92. I remember my brother's bachelor's party, which began at the Workingman's Friend Tavern with a few poker games, a few shots of tequila, schooners of cold beer and then a strip club, or two. On my way back to Purdue University, I had the privilege to meet Master Trooper Ray Benn, when he stopped me. He administered field sobriety test, even placing me in handcuffs, while I sat in his police cruiser. I was scared. The situation didn't look good for me. I explained to him I was returning to Purdue after my brother's bachelor party. He took the handcuff's off of me and let me go. He used his discretion. Never would I have imagined I would later be hired by the Indiana State Police. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I would be standing over his casket one day, dressing Major Ray Benn before his funeral, while I was the commander of the public corruption section of the Indiana State Police.
I still hold out hope and belief that our Democracy isn't diminishing, but is slowly changing, even if it hurts the way it hurts somedays.
"Back Home Again in Indiana" is still my favorite song, especially on Memorial Day weekend.
Indiana GOP, "The Party of Purpose"
September 18, 2011 to Indiana GOP Chairman Eric Holcomb
