COMMUNITY
I was working at the Roosevelt County Sheriff’s Office when patrolman Delmar “Butch” Olsen came in with new patrolman Larry Irwin who was reporting to his first station, Wolf Point. It was early 1992. Little did I know I would later be able to tell people I met my husband at the jail.
Larry likes to tell people I asked him out. Butch Olsen has always claimed he matched Larry and me together. In fact, he was Larry’s best man at our wedding. I prefer to stick with Butch’s matchmaker story.
Larry and I went to a high school basketball game, then out for pizza. To show what a small town Wolf Point is Larry began telling the story of dropping off his U-Haul at this ‘cute little mom and pop shop’ where the people were so kind. “That’s my mom and dad,” I said. What a coincidence. Then he told me he grew up on a ranch in Idaho, riding horses most of his younger years. I wanted him to meet my godparents, Barb and Louie Dietrich. They raised quarter horses.
“Louis F. Dietrich?”
“Yes...”
With a grimace on his face, Larry said, “I wrote him a ticket today.”
This was back in the $5 ticket days and Louie was known to clip his driver’s license, registration and several $5 bills together in his visor, “The price of doing business.” He drove many miles as an insurance agent covering northeastern Montana. Already, Larry met the most important people in my life, or in Louie’s case, he met Larry.
Larry and I were married in August 1993. Several patrolmen from the Glendive District attended.
Lt. Mike Frellick from the Great Falls District also attended our wedding. He had family he was visiting in the Wolf Point area but took the time to spend our special day with us. This was my induction into the Montana Highway Patrol family.
Through the next several years, I got to know most of the area highway patrolmen pretty well. I went out to wait on some guy at the counter at the sheriff’s office and was shocked that Buddy Kaul looked way different in civilian clothes. I also embarrassed myself at the same counter carrying on a conversation with Sgt. Ron Johnson, wondering why he was looking at me so puzzled, only to find out it was his twin brother, Rod Johnson, who was also with the patrol.
Just about anywhere in Montana that we traveled, we ran into someone else from the patrol, some on duty, oftentimes a retired patrolman who reached out to us as we were stopped somewhere for dinner. Always, they spoke fondly of their time with the patrol, sharing their badge number and duty stations. I found it intriguing that so many did a short stint in Wolf Point, my hometown.
In May 1995, while my mother lay dying in a Billings hospital, Larry and I stood in the airport waiting for my brother and his wife to arrive when a very tall gentleman asked if I could help him with the payphone he was having trouble with. He noticed Larry’s baseball cap with the Montana Highway Patrol patch on it and said he had been a highway patrolman a long time ago. I asked his name and called Larry over, explaining this gentleman had worked for the patrol, Gordon McDermid. Larry’s face lit up. “I know who you are, sir. We studied your story in the academy when we were covering the history of the patrol. What an honor, sir.” Mr. McDermid stayed with us until my brother and sister-in-law arrived.
Days later, my mom passed away. Mom had answered the switchboard for Roosevelt County on an intermittent basis. This job was located in the sheriff’s office and she also got to know many of the patrolmen during her time there. I can still see them in the back pew of the Catholic Church: Butch Olsen, Sgt. Larry Bergum, Lynn Erickson and Rick Kessner. I cannot explain the overwhelming gratitude I had when every blocked intersection on the way to the cemetery was manned by Montana Highway Patrolmen, lights flashing, each of them outside their cars not only showing respect for my mom but ‘taking care of their own.’ The other wives of patrolmen in the Glendive District were so kind to me. Though their husbands had more years on than Larry, it didn’t matter as these women talked to me, telling stories of how they gathered as couples and families for retirements and Christmas parties. One such Christmas party had the usual gift exchange accompanied by stealing of particular gifts. A set of beautiful wine glasses was stolen by the captain’s daughter leaving just the last gift to be opened, a tub of Gak (slime). It was lightheartedly thrown about the room ... until it came to Larry.
Never one to joke around, he threw it across the room to the captain’s daughter who let go of the beautiful wine glasses, only to watch them shatter on the floor. Instant. End. Of. Party. Larry later replaced the glasses after we located a new set.
There is fear that accompanies being married to someone who works in law enforcement. I spent a late-night hour on the phone with my brother when I knew Larry would be the one to deploy the Stop-Stick during a pursuit which I listened to on our scanner after he was called out.
I also worried as he packed his patrol car with food and winter gear after being assigned shifts in the Jordan area during the Freeman standoff.
Many nights the phone rang for call outs to accidents. “Hello, this is Billings Patrol. Is Larry available?”
“Nope. He’s married.”
She laughed hysterically as she answered, “You still have a sense of humor at four in the morning!” The patrol dispatchers are a lifeline for our spouses. I never minded getting a call at whatever hour checking to make sure Larry was home if ever he forgot to check off shift.
Any traveling across the state introduced me to others with the patrol. I met Tom Butler following a failed camping trip in the Seeley Lake area. Larry saw him at a traffic stop and asked him to coffee in Lincoln. “I went to the academy with Tom.” No matter that I was soaking wet from a fall into the lake that sent us on our way back home because I had no more dry clothes or shoes. I met Colonel Bert Obert in his office as he took the time to visit with us on several trips to Helena. I met Duane Bratland on a traffic stop on the downside of a hill and got the only ticket I’ve ever received.
“I got you going a little fast.”
“I’m glad you got me where you did because I was going a LOT faster on the other side of the hill.”
He looked a little sheepish when I walked into the dispatch center where he stood the next day.
“Don’t worry. I deserved what I got.”
Always there were offers of help, especially when those from the patrol knew Larry would be out of town for longer assignments or schools. Col. Obert inspected a house we were to buy after Larry
