Cooperative Living June 2016 - 42

Rural Living | by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
State Trooper Days: Puppies,
Turkeys, Stranded Motorists
I have always been in love with the Virginia State Police. When I was 2 or 3,
I remember being taken to the VSP substation, and treated like royalty.
Someone would prop me up on a desk. Someone else would sneak me candy.
I
came across the digits " 382 " today, and
was thrust down Memory Lane. My
father's Virginia State Police call
number was 382. Back as early as I can
remember, the words " 382 Culpeper "
meant Daddy was calling the office.
Back then, it was not verboten for
state troopers to have their kids in the
patrol car, if need be. We weren't
actually on patrol, but since Mom didn't
drive, if we had to go to the doctor's or
something, Daddy would pick us up in
his blue-and-gray car and take us for a
ride. Now and then, something exciting
would happen, and we'd sit back there
as he raced through the streets with the
lights and siren blaring. (Please don't
write a letter about how unsafe this is;
it does not happen today, but back in
the late 1950s, it did.)
I have always been in love with the
Virginia State Police. When I was 2 or 3,
I remember being taken to the VSP
substation up near Occoquan, and
treated like royalty. Someone would prop
me up on a desk. Someone else would
sneak me candy. Everyone loved me, and
I returned the sentiment. Other state
troopers were the only people with
whom my parents socialized. One of my
favorite family photos is a black-andwhite
shot of a group of troopers and
their dolled-up wives, laughing at a big
table at " The Nightingale, " their favorite
nightclub. Everyone looks beautiful and
sophisticated, especially my mother.
Here are some of my favorite
memories of Daddy's early trooper days.
First and foremost: The ride to the
circus. Daddy was " working " the circus
in Hot Springs. He'd gotten a bunch
of free tickets, so he rounded up the
neighborhood kids, and loaded them
and us in the patrol car. We were 17 in
40 | Cooperative Living | June 2016
number, piled four-deep in the back seat.
As we labored up the road, we passed the
reporter, Johnny Gazzola, walking up the
hill. Daddy slowed, rolled down his
window, and called, " Need a ride, John? "
I laugh about it to this day.
We never knew just what
Daddy might be bringing
home from the road.
Once, he found an
injured turkey.
Always a friend to
animals, he
wrestled it into
the back of his
cruiser and
carted it home.
He settled the
turkey in our
basement in
Alexandria. All the
city kids flocked to see
it. I was quite popular
while the turkey was in
residence, although he was not there
for long.
Daddy was
'working' the circus in Hot
Springs. He'd gotten a bunch of
free tickets, so he rounded up
the neighborhood kids, and
loaded them and us in the
patrol car.
dinner. Often, they spent the night in
our bedroom, and we slept on the living
room floor. I always volunteered to
sleep on the floor. Please don't ask me
to do it today.
More than once, I managed to fall
down and skin my knees
running to meet Daddy
when he got home.
No worries. There
was a first-aid kit
in the cruiser; I
got a Band-Aid,
and a little
extra
attention. I
managed to
fall down a lot.
In my 20s,
I never worried
about being pulled
over and given a
ticket. As soon as the
troopers saw my license,
Daddy got in a little trouble for that.
The turkey made quite a mess in the
back seat. Daddy, who was high on the
trooper totem pole, simply turned that
car in for another one. Days later, a new
trooper said to him, " Dave, I don't know
what you did in that cruiser, but it smells
like (something awful)! "
Another time, he was about to wheel
around a box in the middle of the road
when it moved. He investigated, and
thus we had a new puppy named
Snapper.
Most of all, he brought home people.
Stranded motorists never needed to fear
if David McCollum was on duty. Mom
welcomed a steady stream of strangers;
she happily fried another chicken for
they'd say, " Are you Dave McCollum's
daughter? " And then, I'd be on my way
with (yet another) stern warning.
Funny, but it didn't matter where in
Virginia I was; Daddy was a legend in
his time.
Sadly, Daddy's time is long gone. I
rarely engage in driving behavior that
elicits being pulled over by a trooper
these days. But the one time I did, the
name " Margo McCollum Oxendine "
didn't mean a thing to the trooper. He
was probably 35 years younger than I.
My guess is, he just didn't want to ruin
a little old lady's day. 
To order Margo Oxendine's A Party
of One, email recorder@ htcnet.org,
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from 9-5.
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Cooperative Living June 2016

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