Guest Post: Abbie Johnson Taylor

I am delighted to have received a guest post from wriiter and blogger, Abbie Johnson Taylor.
She describes it as ‘Creative non-fiction’. I enjoyed it, and I am sure all of you will too.


by Abbie Johnson Taylor

“Somebody stole our lawn chairs!” Dad announced.

For many years during the summer months, my family attended weekly band concerts at Kendrick Park in Sheridan, Wyoming, on Tuesday evenings after dinner. We brought lawn chairs and listened to the community band playing old standards, marches, and popular songs. Afterward, we trekked to a nearby ice cream stand for dessert, leaving our lawn chairs stashed behind a tree out of the way, sure in the knowledge that they would still be there when we returned to claim them before walking home. But now, all we could do was gape at the empty spot where we expected the chairs to be.

It was the summer of 1983, and I was home from college on break between my junior and senior years. My ten-year-old cousin, Shelley, who was visiting from South Dakota with her family, had accompanied Dad and me and our Irish setter Clancy to the park. She said, “Oh, no.”

Clancy had wandered off and was sniffing something nearby, blissfully unaware of this tragedy. Dad finally said, “Well, why don’t you two start walking home? I’ll look around and see if whoever took them dumped them somewhere else.”

With Clancy, he headed off in one direction while Shelley and I sauntered the other way toward home, which was only about a block away. While waiting to cross a busy street, Shelley suddenly cried, “Look, there are our chairs.”

“Where?” I asked, turning my head this way and that. With my limited vision, I couldn’t spot them.

“They were in the back of that pick-up that passed us. One of the guys in the cab just gave us the finger.”

“Let’s wait for Dad,” I suggested.

A few minutes later when he caught up with us, and Shelley told him what she’d seen, he said, “Well, I’ll be darned. Come on. Let’s go home. It’s safe to cross now.”

At home, we found Mother watching television in the living room. When Shelley excitedly told her what had happened, Mother asked her, “Did you see what the truck looked like?”

“Yeah, it was a green truck,” Shelley answered. “and there were two guys in the cab.”

Turning to Dad, Mother said, “Well, you should call the police. With Shelley’s description, they might be able to find the chairs.”

“Yeah,” Shelley cried, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

Clancy, who always got excited when anyone else did, voiced his approval while dancing in circles and wagging his tail.

After shushing the dog, Dad said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” He made his way to the phone in the hall.

That summer, I’d been reading an Ellery Queen murder mystery which featured some police brutality. Not having had much experience with law enforcement, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to call the police about stolen lawn chairs. At least we didn’t have a dead body on our hands.

But Shelley was so excited about the possibility of helping find the lawn chairs. I didn’t want her to be scared. So, I remained silent while Dad made the call.

A few minutes later, when Clancy’s barking announced the arrival of the local constabulary, Shelley and I were sitting on the couch together. She must have read my mind for she moved closer to me, giggling. “You nervous?” she asked.

I should have told her there was nothing to be nervous about. Remembering what I’d heard a thousand times on the television show, Dragnet, I should have advised her to give them just the facts.

Instead, I only laughed nervously as Dad opened the front door while Clancy continued to bark and wag his tail. Grabbing his collar, Dad said, “Let me just put him on the side porch.”

To my relief, instead of an entire crew of policemen who arrived after Ellery Queen reported a murder, there was only one detective. Instead of barking orders at people like Inspector Queen, he introduced himself and engaged us in small talk before asking about the crime.

Shelley was a trooper. She described that pick-up truck and the guys in the cab as best she could, saying, “I didn’t get the license plate number, though.”

“That’s all right,” the officer said, scribbling in his notebook. “That sounds like Ricky Rodriguez’s truck.”

Dad described the lawn chairs and said, “My New Yorker magazine was in one of them.”

“Okay,” the officer said, scribbling some more. “I’ll see what I can do. It was nice meeting you all.”

The next day, Mother received a phone call from the detective. He told her they’d found the chairs, along with other contraband, in the back of that green pick-up. Unfortunately, they needed to keep all found items for evidence, and we didn’t get the chairs back until October. But miracle of miracles, that New Yorker magazine was still folded up in one of those chairs.

Although my paranoia was somewhat abated that night, I still harbor a little mistrust of the law, especially after hearing about numerous instances of white police officers killing black suspects for no reason. I’m thankful I’m not black, but a friend once told me she’d heard of disabled people like me also being victims of police brutality.

But in our small town, there hasn’t been any misconduct on the part of law enforcement personnel. I feel confident that as long as I obey the law, policemen won’t hurt me. I’m also encouraged by the fact that three lawn chairs and a New Yorker magazine reported stolen were found the very next day.


Abbie Johnson Taylor is the author of three novels, two poetry collections, and a memoir. Her latest novel, Why Grandma Doesn’t Know Me, is now available from Amazon and Smashwords in print and eBook formats. Her poems and stories have appeared in Magnets and Ladders, The Avocet, and other publications. Please visit her website at:

Please visit Abbie’s site to read more, and to connect with this very supportive and interesting lady.

42 thoughts on “Guest Post: Abbie Johnson Taylor

  1. I follow Abbie’s blog, we both feature in Stevie Turner’s book, a collection of real life experiences! A great story about the chairs, a pity all crimes don’t have such a happy ending. As a policeman’s wife I know the many times police just help people are not heard about.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for the reblog. Unfortunately, I still can’t get to your site. The link included only takes me to a page that says “Coming Soon.” A while back, you sent a different link to another post you reblogged from a different blog, but that post only took me to the site, and I couldn’t find the post you reblogged. If you can, it would be a good idea to include a direct link to the post so readers can go directly to it without jumping through hoops. I really appreciate you sharing my posts and am glad you’re enjoying them.

      Liked by 2 people

    1. I had three relatives who were policemen, and I worked for the police in London for 12 years before I retired. I never feared the police, though when I was young I respected them, and tried not to attract their attention. 🙂
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 2 people

    2. Hi, Robbi, I’m sure some policemen, like anyone else, can be amazing. But in 1974 when my brother was five, he was playing with matches near an abandoned shack when it caught fire. The police took him into custody and called my parents. He told me he was locked in a jail cell. Although this didn’t seem to scare him, it left an impression on me, even though he deserved it.

      I later learned that Dad told the police to lock him up for a few minutes. Fortunately, unlike Alfred Hitchcock, who’s father did the same thing to him when he was bad, my brother never developed a fear of policemen. In fact, after he lost interest in playing with matches, he thought he might want to be a policeman. But now, he has a P.H.D. in physics and teaches at a private high school. Go figure!

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Many people who live in Las Vegas have yards that consist of xeriscape. So, in order to put the ‘lawn’ in lawn chairs, they take their chairs to the summer theater at Spring Valley Ranch in Red Rock Canyon NCA. Others just take blankets to sit on. The sitting area is a grassy slope in front of an outdoor stage. i wonder if anyone has ever lost their lawn chairs?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m sure people have lost their lawn chairs in that big of a venue. Even now, when I go to the park with friends for the band concerts, I offer to guard our chairs while they make the trek to the ice cream stand. This is usually before the program starts. I give them money, and they bring me back what I want. I’m not missing out on dessert while keeping our lawn chairs safe.

      Liked by 3 people

  3. I enjoyed reading this, Pete. I remember (many years back) someone picking up my pay-as-you-go mobile phone in a pub. It not being on contract, I was tempted just to let it go. However I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to report it stolen and duly did so. Initially the police said I needed to visit a police station to report the matter. However, on mentioning that I was registered blind they issued me with a crime number and I was able to claim the cost of the phone back from my insurance company. In my experience most police are dedicated, although there are, of course bad apples in every barrel. Best wishes. Kevin

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks, Kevin. I worked for the Metropolitan Police in London for 12 years, until I retired at 60. Almost every copper I met just wanted a good career, and to do the right thing. There will always be some that slip through the net of the vetting process though, unfortunately.
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

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