Something About Sammy. Blaine Sims
other drug. Our sex life exemplified voracious passion. There were times we performed sex thrice in a day. I’ve read and heard sex is vital to those born under the Scorpio sign. I’ll vouch for it.
As with Cody, our connection regressed, albeit sooner. She left and filed for divorce. She owned her reasons, and yes, two sides of the story exist.
Her leaving generated a profound effect on me. Over three decades passed without contact. She wished to remain friends and stay in touch. I made the choice to sever interaction. I still had Cody.
In the fall of 2016, I faced the decision to have my beloved Kitty Kat euthanized. I mourned his loss with a heavy heart. But the sorrow diminished knowing it best — he suffered, and his physical life wouldn’t last much longer.
I took care of what needed doing and braved forward, the loss comforted by the loving benevolence of co-workers and friends. I’ll never forget him or the joy he gave.
Of the stories I’ve told concerning him, a particular tale comes to mind. On a quiet and uneventful night, a new female officer worked with me. Her instant fondness of Kitty Kat apparent, questions began to flow. I shared his history, and we conversed.
She asked if anyone disliked Kitty Kat.
“By and far, most staff and inmates over here adored him,” I said. “Now, since you brought it up, one major who wasn’t in the position long disliked cats.”
I continued with a serious tone and expression.
“Three months after transferring in,” I continued. “He strutted into work one morning. With a cat-like hiss, he broadcast, ‘It’s either the cat or me!’ and marched to his office.”
“Two days later, he received a phone call from the Office of the Commissioner,” I added. “The commissioner’s assistant informed him to report the following Monday to a prison located far from Little Oak Work Camp for reassignment.”
This officer fell for it at first. After a brief period, she caught on, and we laughed.
Forward to January 2017. The major informed us of a significant, mandatory meeting scheduled with the warden the next day. He instructed us to wear our Class A uniform.
I took extreme pride in my uniform appearance. I wore it with honor and professionalism, be it Class A, B or C. Many noticed — co-workers, brass from other institutions, even inmates. Many inmates respect an officer who carries a professional demeanor.
The meeting brought shock and dismay. The Georgia Department of Corrections decided to close Little Oak Isle Work Camp after sixty years in operation. The warden advised we could put in for a transfer to another facility or institution. He told us the county sheriff’s department agreed to hire any certified officer who passed their application process.
They set April 20th as the tentative closing date. Due to retire October 31st, it made no sense to transfer. Come October 31st, I’d have to leave and move to Bluewater Springs.
Although I had little to look forward to, intention lingered because of familiarity with the area. My daughter-in-law wouldn’t even return calls or messages. We never formed a bond as a result of Cody. I recall the saying: “It’s a nice place to visit!”
To sign on with the sheriff’s department wasn’t an option, as they’re in the same retirement system. I’d have to leave October 31st. To me, the logical choice constituted changing retirement to March 31st. I’d forfeit $10,000 gross of lump sum payout, and $30hirty-dollars per month in pension.
In February, I took time to travel to Bluewater Springs and search for an apartment. Cody already moved back to Virginia. A multitude of other reasons prevailed, but with more meat on his bones than me; insulated like his mom, he missed the colder winter weather of Virginia and fancied snow.
He set out not long after his divorce finalized in April 2016.
On the first day, I stopped at an apartment complex located in a convenient area of town. I hadn’t even checked in to the motel. After speaking with a representative and receiving a tour, I determined I wanted to reside in this gated community with three pools and a host of amenities. I signed the deal. The move occurred in April.
Chapter Three
Born Samuel Kevin Wilson in Bismarck, North Dakota, on November 13, 1992, 34 years and five days after me, he is a fellow Scorpio.
His mother was 18. I’m not aware if she gave birth out of wedlock, if Sammy met his father, or how his childhood panned out. As do I, he has blue eyes.
While a minor, his family moved to Georgia. They lived in Bluewater. Before the move, his mother married a Nicholas Pangborn.
Uncertain if this took place before or after the relocation, I discovered a criminal court record for a Nicholas Pangborn in Bismarck, North Dakota, so it had to be prior. This man adopted Sammy, and his legal name changed to Samuel Kevin Pangborn.
After graduating elementary school, Sammy attended Bluewater High school and enrolled in the college preparatory program. One of the first schools in the state of Georgia to offer a computer science and information technology curriculum, he jumped at the opportunity to sign in his junior year. He decided to pursue his degree on-line through Georgia Southern University.
The marriage didn’t go well. Domestic violence occurred, and the marriage ended in a bitter divorce. I have wondered if Sammy suffered physical or sexual abuse from this man. I think his relationship with his mom is stable.
On occasion, I heard Allison refer to him as “Little Samuel,” not to him, but me and others. While a record from an arrest in 2013 at 20 lists his height and weight, he’s put on a few pounds. By no means fat, he’s what people call solid. He carries a bit of a belly (from the beer), yet in no way is he flabby.
“He works at Wal-Mart,” Allison mentioned a few times in general conversation.
As it turns out, a few years passed, and he now works for an information technology company.
To my understanding, he’s talented at his job. He graduated from college with a Bachelor’s Degree in information technology and comes across as above average in intelligence. Of course, intelligence does not correlate with common sense.
In the summer of 2018, a new bartender worked a Saturday to cover for Allison on her regular scheduled off day. I visited the local Bison Lodge earlier, an infrequent occurrence.
I experienced a cooped-up perception at home, and the lodge opened two hours before Rusty’s. After three beers, it was off to Rusty’s. This new bartender is stands over six feet tall, a sizeable lady, and well endowed.
She’s in her fifties and transmits an attitude she’s God’s gift to the world. I am not fond of her, and neither are a slew of others, including Allison and Sammy.
When it came time to leave, I got in my car. I parked close to a curb, as the car to the left extended over the line. As I backed out, the front passenger tire hit the curb. I pulled forward and tried again, concentrating on not colliding with the curb.
I cleared the area but hit a pickup truck parked in the row behind me. The right-side bumper struck the right front side of this vehicle’s bumper. I did not hit it hard, and it amounted to more of a rub. I parked and returned inside.
The bartender saw me coming.
“Who owns the black pickup truck?” I asked with trepidation.
“It’s mine,” she said. “Why, did you hit it?”
I confirmed I had, and we stepped outside. She glanced at her truck.
“We’ll talk later,” she said.
I could not see any damage to her vehicle, and mine didn’t appear to have much.
The next day and on, I took light-hearted ribbing from others, Allison, and Sammy included. Now, my car is a black 2017 Toyota Camry. Sammy’s is a white 2013 Hyundai