Ned Hanlon drank at the Railway Hotel bar every night after work.
His job was carting lumber for the hardware store right there in town. Big, muscular, and handsome he was, but nasty tempered, loud and a real bullying man. He went out of his way to abuse and insult people; it seemed that his day was complete if he could provoke another man and then punch him up.
Dunnystop was a tiny town, way out in the country; only about a thousand people (and nearly the same number of dogs, which, when they weren’t barking and howling, raided sheep in the farming area).
Young junior constable Frank Gardiner had recently been assigned to Dunnystop’s one-man police station. Of medium height, thin as a rake but with good muscle, he grew up in the city. Frank had no idea why the powers-that-be had posted him to this remote backwater but there he was; might as well make the most of it. If only there weren’t so many dogs running around loose. Frank hated arresting dogs.
The police station was housed in an old shopfront. It badly needed renovation. Two rooms made up the office which was fitted out with an ugly old desk and some awful looking cupboards. Flakey beige paint covered the walls and ceilings. In the yard was an ancient outhouse attached to a one-room brick lockup.
The Railway Hotel where Ned Hanson did his drinking and fighting was just three doors away on the corner of Main Street. There you have it.
The very week he took charge, Frank heard that Ned Hanlon was bashing two guys in the bar, so he showed up right away to see blood on the floor but no victims. They’d slunk off to nurse their wounds. Frank walked up to Ned Hanlon, “I’m arresting you for assaulting two citizens.” Ned looked Frank up and down and yelled, “You and which army?” Then he rushed at Frank. It wasn’t pretty. Frank was barely able to lay a fist on Ned before he was on the floor bleeding and barely conscious. They took him to the little hospital around the corner where Nurse Mannion sedated him, plastered his wounds, and kept him in bed overnight.
The following Friday, the hotel clerk called Frank because Ned was mauling a young lady. Frank limped into the pub, still sore from the previous week, and said,” Ned, I’m arresting you for assault and for disturbing the peace.” Ned said, “In yer dreams, Frank,” then, he laid into Frank again. This time, before being taken to the hospital, Frank hit Ned on the chin. Skin flew off and the blow left Ned feeling a bit dizzy.
The same sort of thing happened week after week. Each time Constable Frank tried to arrest Ned there was a fight, and Frank had to be helped to the hospital. The nurses soon knew what to expect on Fridays; they got ready with bandages and Rapid gel, which they rubbed into Frank’s many sore spots. Usually, though, Frank would land on Ned a solid punch or two, mostly on the chin.
So it went, month after month, Constable Frank limped into the bar and called for Ned to come quietly. Routinely, Ned refused and fought Frank till the blood flowed, and poor Constable Frank had to be taken to hospital. But then it was noticed that Ned was getting nervous; he wasn’t enjoying his beer and he kept looking at the door lest Frank should come. And Frank always did come.
Near Christmas, months later, Frank walked in as usual and asked Ned to submit to arrest. Ned said, “OK Frank,” and held out his hands for the cuffs. For 35 years, Frank was town constable and no one ever resisted arrest again.
After retiring, Frank took over parking enforcement for the local council. All he had to do was walk the streets, looking stern but smiling easily at those who greeted him, barely ever having to write a ticket.
The power of quiet perseverance!