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Texas | Columns | "Wandering"

The FBI and I

by Wanda Orton
Wanda Orton
Newly transferred from the Baytown Sun society section to the news desk, I looked forward to writing my first big crime story - one that would be picked up by the wire services and would turn printer's ink green with envy on those scoop-hungry Houston newspapers.

Managing editor Preston Pendergrass, reflecting the mindset of the times (the 1950s), took a dim view of this "soc" transferee. A woman's place was in the home, he always said, but if she wanted to be a newspaper reporter, her place was in society news.

Give me the police beat, I told Preston. I can do it.

Ignoring my suggestion, he went on to say that I would be writing obits, checking the weather, covering Kiwanis, Rotary …

Before he could continue with the labor-intensive list that clearly did not include the police beat, I interrupted.

"Police beat: Pleeeze."

Finally, he agreed, adding he didn't think it was a good idea. "But we'll see."

Soon after I became a police reporter, a driver zoomed down busy Texas Avenue in Baytown, breaking the speed barrier, heading west. He appeared to be veering toward the Big Oak Tree, the city's historic and most beloved landmark, but officers stopped him just in time.

After jailing the suspect on a DWI charge, they told me he claimed to be an FBI agent.

And he said he was driving fast in pursuit of a criminal.

I wanted to talk first-hand to with this fast driver but by the time I arrived at the jail he was sound asleep.

I couldn't wait to contact the FBI about it. What if he really were an FBI agent and there really was a criminal at large wanted by the FBI. I had to investigate.

Back at my desk, I dialed the FBI number in Houston. "This is Wanda Orton at The Baytown Sun, and a man in jail here says he is an FBI agent …"

A real-life agent on the phone asked me to repeat my name, also where I worked. Then he told me he had gone to Baylor with Sun publisher Fred Hartman.

That's nice, I thought. We're off to a good start that covered where and when I was born, names of my parents, name of my husband, how long I had worked at The Sun and myriad other biographical material. He didn't ask me anything about the man who said he was an FBI agent.

With my desk facing the side-door entrance, I could see people entering the Baytown Sun building, and believe me, I was always on the lookout. In a few hours after my call to the FBI, here they came through the side door - two men in suits plus he Baytown chief in uniform, heading straight toward the newsroom.

I didn't tell Preston where I was going. I just got up quietly and quickly, escaping through the door of the classified ad department and then the front entrance to the building. Free at last, I left a trail of empty coffee cups at every lunch counter in every drug store and café downtown. Finally, as the hour of sundown approached, I went back to work.

"They're gone," Preston announced. "Been gone a long time, got tired of waiting for you."

Come to find out, no charges would be filed against the driver for impersonating an FBI agent. When he woke up in the jail cell, sobered and sorry, he didn't even remember his "excuse" for driving fast. He did pay the price, though, for driving while intoxicated.

Meanwhile, Preston found my fear of the FBI to be amusing. So did Chief Montgomery and probably the FBI agents did, too, especially Mr. Hartman's former college classmate.

Anyway, after waking up and asking the suspect questions, the chief and agents had dropped by the newsroom for a friendly visit. We could have all gone out to coffee together.




© Wanda Orton Baytown Sun Columnist
"Wandering" February 15, 2016 columns

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