The Man

I've been looking at this photo, comparing it to Streetview images and stirring memories of growing up in Natoma. Realizing that my physical connection to the town has disappeared like most of these buildings and every last house my family had ever occupied, I'm left with just the memories. I have plenty of those, but I'll tell you about the time when a neighbor kid showed me his homemade slingshot.

I was about 5 or 6 years old and had never seen such a marvelous object. He showed me how it worked and immediately I begged him to let me have it. Five year old Ronnie was used to getting every trinket he desired because his grandpa loved to spoil him that way. The neighbor kid didn't want to part with his handmade beauty, but offered to make me an identical one for 50 cents. Fair enough, I knew just where to get the money and grandpa didn't let me down. He always gave me pocket change without question. Soon enough I had my very own weapon of mass destruction and in short order it led to my first encounter with the law.

I headed uptown happily slinging pebbles left and right. I was on the main drag having so much fun I didn't even notice Art Pfortmiller, the town marshall approaching. Art drawled, "Whatcha got there, Ronnie?"
"A slingshot!", I beamed and proudly held it up for him to admire. At that point Art simply took it from my hand, turned his back and walked away. When it sunk in I was shocked and dumbfounded. How could he do that? I was determined to find a higher authority who wouldn't let him get away with it. In tears I ran home to tell my mom. In so many words she helped me understand. Cops are The Man.