Back in the early '70's, when my hair was long and there were still draft dodgers, I hitchhiked up to my old hometown of Blaine, where I had gone through elementary school and had had all kinds of adventures.
But I was stopped and questioned by the Border Patrol, then later a Blaine cop, and when I was finally leaving and hitchhiking south out of town, a Washington State patrolman stopped to question me.
I lost my temper and blew up at him: "Blaine is my hometown, where I went through grade school! My dad was a minister here! Now when after a lot of years I come to see the town again, you're the third cop to stop and question me!"
He gave me a studying look, and said, "Get in."
"Right!" I said, seething. Now I'm going to get taken to the station and harassed more than ever, I thought to myself, for revisiting my favorite town. I got into the back seat of his patrol car and slammed the door.
With neither of us saying a word, he drove further south down the highway a few miles, then pulled off on an off-ramp and stopped at the top. He motioned to the on-ramp and said, "You should have no trouble getting a ride here, and no cops ever come by here."
My fury turned into a smile and a hand-shake. And he was right. A friendly driver picked me up within minutes. And I headed home, thinking, Blaine's still a pretty neat place.
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For the complete contents of the Butter Rum Cartoon, click HERE.
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