I like to think that I’m a good friend, that I would drop everything I’m doing to help out somebody else that I care about. And, for the most part, I think I am. I have to admit, however, that several years ago I learned what it truly means to be a friend in times of need, and I don’t know if I will ever measure up to that kind of standard.
The guy that taught me what it’s like to really step outside your comfort zone for another person was … my boss.
Tim Twomey was a lieutenant working for the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department. He was assigned to the Rio Cosumnes Correctional Center (Jail) as a Lieutenant. This meant that he was in charge of our shift and answered only to the Captain, although I learned while working there that Tim pretty much answered to nobody but Tim.
I was a brand-new deputy with zero seniority and only a vague idea of what I was doing. A situation that changed very little during the three years I worked in the jail.
One morning, I was attending briefing before my shift started. The shift sergeant had already gone over assignments and scheduled activities for the day and was about to let everyone head out to their posts, when Lt. Twomey stood up and stated that he had an announcement.
“Will the following deputies please meet with me in my office immediately after briefing,” he said. Then he listed five names, including mine.
I had no idea what he wanted, but when the Lieutenant said meet him in his office, you went and met with him in his office. As soon as the sergeant said we were done, the other four deputies and I headed to Tim’s office.
Tim didn’t waste any time. “I’ve been looking into your hiring files and I want to ask you a few questions.”
My next thought was that I was about to get a disciplinary write-up for something. I wasn’t sure exactly for what, but nothing that started with your personnel file ever ended up being a good thing.
“I see that all of you have ‘O’ positive as your blood type. I have a friend that needs blood, and he’s ‘O’ positive. How would you feel about donating your blood?”
This was definitely not what I had expected out of this conversation. I mean, I had no idea, what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it. He was asking us to donate blood?
“When?” asked one of the other deputies.
“Right now.”
“Should we go to the nurse’s station?” asked another.
“Nope. My buddy is in the hospital in San Francisco. We’re going there.”
I thought he was joking. San Francisco was a three-hour drive away, and that’s if traffic wasn’t a complete mess.
Tim was not joking, however. A close friend of his was in the hospital, being treated for Leukemia. He had already gone through several pints of blood and needed more. Tim was determined to help him out any way he could.
Uncertain what to expect next but being up for an adventure (especially one that was going to take me away from work for the entire day), I volunteered to go. Two other deputies in the office also volunteered.
Tim thanked us, then got on the phone to call our sergeants.
Each call sounded a little bit like this:
“I’m taking three deputies for the day, so you are going to be short staffed. I’m sure you can make it work.” The sergeant said something we couldn’t hear. Then, “We’re going to be away from the jail, that’s all you need to know.”
Tim hung up the phone, and five minutes later (still in uniform, by the way), we were in the Lieutenant’s marked department SUV and pulling out of the driveway of the RCCC facility.
I expected the drive to be a long, awkward experience, but it was anything but. During the drive to San Francisco, Tim had us laughing the entire time with stories of the things he did as a young deputy. Not just work-related stories, but several personal tales of mayhem and debauchery as well. I’m not sure I can in good conscious share those stories in this blog, besides it would take a week or more just to write them all down.
He appeared on the Phil Donahue Show and had an article written about him in Playboy just for starters.
Suffice to say, Tim Twomey led a very colorful life. If you talk to anyone who knew him, I’m sure they will have at least one or two stories to share.
We arrived at the hospital and pulled into the parking garage. Ten seconds after going in the underground structure, we hit a low-hanging concrete beam that tore the light bar off of Tim’s vehicle. He climbed out of the car, announced that he never used the light bar much anyway, then threw the broken item into the back compartment of the SUV.
We continued on as if nothing untoward had happened, although I couldn’t stop giggling for about five minutes afterward. I kept thinking that Lieutenant Twomey was going to get fired for this trip and he was going to take all of us down with him. And … strangely, that was perfectly all right. If I got fired for this, I would at least have a hell of a story to tell.
Well, I didn’t get fired, but I still got a great story.
We made quite a picture: Four uniformed and armed Sacramento Sheriff’s deputies marching through the hallways of a hospital in San Francisco. I’m sure we looked as out of place as I felt. We all gave blood, making sure our donations were placed in his friend’s name. While we donated, Tim went to his friend’s room and spent some time with him. About an hour later, we all piled back into the (lightless) Sheriff’s vehicle and headed back home.
I never heard any negative backlash from our adventure, and Tim continued on as our Lieutenant, so I assume everything was fine. Or at least forgiven. I suppose it would have been difficult to fire someone for helping out a sick friend. That kind of story never plays well in the press.
I left the jail to move out to patrol a couple years later and never worked with Tim again. He retired soon after, and then, in 2011, I heard he passed away.
I still think about Tim once in a while. I wish I had gotten the chance to tell him how much of an impact he made on me, personally and professionally, in the short time we worked together. He taught me the lengths we should be willing to go to help out a friend.
I hope I can live up to the example he set.
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