The Dark Side and the Price Paid Retired Game Warden Bradley Smith is about as East Texas as a body can get. At first glance, he could pass for pretty much any redneck you might encounter anywhere. Most of the times I’ve seen him, he has worn the same thing.
And even though I’m sure, like most people, he has multiple wardrobe options in his closet, most days, he just goes with the denim overalls. I think the only quandary he has about his selection is whether he goes with, or without, a shirt.
He calls them “overhauls” because of all the storage room such apparel provides, and as a finishing touch before heading out, he places a cap on his head, strategically cocked to the side, of course, for added redneck effect.
But once Bradley starts talking, there’s no doubt where he’s from; his slow, East Texas drawl is a dead giveaway.
I mean, he’s got the kind of drawl that, for those of us not from East Texas, would be best understood if he had some sort of close-caption device tied around his neck that translated into clear English, whatever the hell it is he’s trying to say.
On said device, Bradley’s “fittenta” would clearly state, “fixing to”, and the word, “was”, would remain one syllable.
Anyway, Bradley Smith tells one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard, and I’m glad he’s cool with me sharing it. Here goes… Before Bradley got into the 40th Game Warden Academy back in September of 1986, he was a pipefitter for Brown and Root Industrial Services.
He and his soon-to-be first exwife lived in a 70-foot, three-bedroom, two-bath mobile home on some land owned by Bradley’s family.
Bradley had an inkling something was fittenta happen, but he wasn’t sure when.
Bradley said, “I never knew what my wife was gonna do, I guess only God did, but I think she even surprised Him.”
While at work one day, Bradley was summoned to the main office at his work site to return a phone call. It was his neighbor. This couldn’t be good.
“Hey, Bradley… a big truck just showed up, hooked up to your trailer and left you with nothin’ but a porch,” the neighbor said.
Fortunately for Bradley, his porch - an 8 x 12-foot, plyboard- covered introductory space to his abode - had plenty of room for his soon-to-be-ex to leave all his possessions in a heap thereon.
The neighbor continued, “She left a bunch of $#!+ piled up there, but the house is gone.”
That’s a sad country song right there, for sure. Nonplused, Bradley just hung up the phone and went back to work. Such is life.
You might be asking yourself, “What does any of that have to do with being a game warden?”
Well, for a field game warden, not much. But if you’re a game warden who works undercover, which Bradley officially became full-time in 1994, it’s everything. It’s authenticity.
With a story like that, and the ability to weld, you can go into any beer joint, bar, honkytonk, or motel in any small town in Texas and fit right in. BUT - it comes with a cost.
Reflecting on his 15 years as an undercover game warden, Bradley said, “You had to look for the funny stuff in this. We took it serious, but whenever you’re working as an undercover officer, you’re living two different lives. One is a lie. And when your little grandkids don’t recognize you when you get ‘cleaned up’, they’re confused. They figure that I sound like their Papa, but I don’t look like him.”
Bradley continued, “It’s probably harder on the families. It (being undercover) consumes a large part of your life.”
To a man, the undercover officers I’ve spoken with have expressed “time away from family” as their biggest regret.
More on Bradley next week.
