"For My Daddy",
Then with Pat and Mamie Ray's friend, Helen ("Mach-1") Bale, they discuss their thoughts:
Remember the day of long ago.
Think about the generations past.
Ask your father, and he will inform you.
Inquire of your elder, and they will tell you.
Tuesday, February 17, 1970 was a good day---as mid-winter days go in Northern California.
The sun shone after several days of sporadic rain, there was a light breeze and a promise of early spring in the new green of trees arching against a blue and white sky.
It was a good day to be alive.
Californai Highway Partolman Raymond Carpenter, was in good spirits as he reported for work.
He quipped with co-workers as he prepared for the day's shift and he moved easily into the familiar routine of patrolling the roadways of western Placer County.
At midafternoon he began a final swing along the concrete ribbon of Interstate 80.
His westbound course would take him past the Roseville area, then back to the east and the Auburn area Highway Patrol station, where his shift would end at 4pm.
But Ray Carpenter never made it back.
At 3:15 pm a routine stop of a suspected stolen car erupted in gunfire and two slugs from a 357 Magnum ripped through his tall frame.
By 4 p.m. Ray Carpenter's shift had ended forever, signed out in blood in the emergency room of the Roseville Hospital.
Less than five miles away, a 20 year old youth lay slumped on the front seat of the stolen car, his hand still clutching the gun which had snuffed out the officer's life---and his own.
If you expect a pat answer, don't read on.
We don't have it.
It isn't enough to say a kid who'd already been in trouble a number of times panicked at the thought of being apprehended again.
or to shake our heads and bemoan the diminishing respect for law and order which seems to infect our society.
What happened on interstate 80 that afternoon, unfortunately, wasn't an isolated, unbelievable situation.
It was reflective of our tendency to settle problems with violence, all problems, large and small, individual and collective.
Perhaps it was reflective, too, of our increasing tendency to draw apart from each other, to categorize human beings in adversary masses.
The generations face each other across a hostile age gap, proponents of varied political beliefs view all but themselves with derision and contempt, we seem to have become an embittered and embattled civilization, and the men who wear the uniforms of law enforcement all too often bear the brunt of our frustration and hostility.
Someway, somehow, there must be a way to forge a bridge of understanding between all the elements of our society.
Someway, somehow, we must fight our way through the jungles of fear, and anger, and antagonism and greed, to reestablish the value of human life and the dignity of all human beings, and the need for a structured society within which we may all dwell in peace.
C.H.P., Valley Division, Auburn Office
I am positive that Ray would like you to know
The Lyrics to "Goin' Home":
Antonin Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 introduced "Goin Home"("From the New World") Op.95.
Goin' home, goin' home,