Creative Nonfiction Sample

William Henry Harrison

©2024 by Abbie Johnson Taylor

 

 

William Henry Harrison was a policeman who came to our home a couple of times when I was growing up and made an impression on my younger brother.    In the spring of 1975, my mother was teaching English at the college in Sheridan, Wyoming. I was thirteen, and my brother Andy was six.

One night, my younger brother Andy was in the living room, watching one of his favorite cops shows on television while Mother was helping me with homework in our parents’ adjacent bedroom. Suddenly, Andy burst in, wide-eyed. “Mom, there’s a policeman at the door!”

Not knowing what to think, I followed Mother and Andy to the front hall. I remember Mother telling Dad later that at first, she thought Andy was imagining things. But this was no figment of his imagination. There, standing about six feet tall, dressed in full regalia, was a police officer. Through the screen door, despite limited vision, I spotted the flashing lights of his idling vehicle. “Oh, Bill!” Mother said.

This was different. Nobody on any TV cop show called an officer by his first name.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Johnson,” Bill said. “I missed class today because I needed to be in court. What’s the assignment for next time?”

A policeman was one of Mother’s      students? That was unusual.

“Why don’t you come in?” Mother said.

For once, Andy was only too happy to turn off the television. As Mother briefly went over what was covered in class and gave Bill the homework assignment, Andy, instead of playing with his toys or rushing off to his room, sat quietly on the couch next to me. Finally, as Bill was getting ready to leave, he blurted, “I want to be a cop when I grow up!”

Bill chuckled. “Well, I’ll bring you a badge the next time I come, okay?”

“All right!” Andy said.

Bill was true to his word a few nights later. When he came, I was in my room, off the front hall, getting ready to take a bath. To get to the tub, I had to cross the living room and kitchen. For whatever reason, I had no bathrobe.

The year before, streaking was all the rage, no doubt made popular by Ray Stevens’ hit, “The Streak.” But I’d heard countless reports on local radio about people caught running around in the buff being charged with indecent exposure.

Mother had already started running my bath. What would happen if the tub got too full? Would Bill arrest me if I dashed naked through the living room?

Against my better judgement, I crept out and hid behind a chair near the doorway, working up the courage to make a run for it. I was afraid of tripping over one of Andy’s toys. If that happened, and I fell flat on my face… I lost my nerve and slunk back to my room, hoping Bill didn’t see me.

A few minutes later, he left. Relieved, I started hurrying through the living room. Andy, seeing me, yelled, “uh-oh, I’m a cop. You’re under arrest.” Fortunately, Mother intervened.

I don’t remember Bill returning to the house after that. A few years later, I mentioned him to Mother. She said, “Oh, yes, his name was William Henry Harrison, just like one of our U.S. presidents.”

My brother’s name was Andrew Johnson. That was the name of another former United States President.

Andy never grew up to be President of the United States or a policeman. With a P.H.D. in physics, he now teaches that and computer science at a private high school in North Carolina. He no doubt remembers the cop who encouraged the career choice he made as a six-year-old.

***

I wrote this piece a couple of years ago while taking a memoir-writing class with fellow blogger Glenda Beall. It was recently published in Out on a Limb: Adventures in Storytelling, and you can read Sandy Benson’s post with my story here. Thank you for visiting.

 

New! Living Vicariously in Wyoming: Stories

Copyright 2025 by Abbie Johnson Taylor

Published independently with the help of DLD Books.

 

The scene shows an isolated barn off to the right in a snowy field, probably shortly after sunset. The foreground is a mixture of white, blue, and brown shades. Behind the barn is a line of dense, dark trees, many of them evergreens. The sky is the pink one sometimes sees at sunset, and a full moon hangs above the treetops to the left. The title is in plain black letters against the sky with a white glow behind them. The author’s name is in white letters near the bottom of the cover.

Image Description written by Leonore Dvorkin of DLD Books.

 

As defined in the first story, living vicariously means living your life through someone else’s. You’re invited to live vicariously through the lives of the people in these stories. There’s the lawyer who catches his wife in the act with a nun. A college student identifies with a character in a play. A young woman loses her mother and finds her father. And a high school student’s prudish English teacher strenuously objects to a single word in her paper.

In Wyoming, as in any other state, people fall in love, and sometimes relationships are shattered. Accidents, domestic violence, prejudice, and crimes all occur. Lives are torn apart, and people are reunited. Ordinary people deal with everyday and not–so–everyday situations.

The 25 stories in this collection, most of which are set in Wyoming, are about how the various characters resolve their conflicts—or not.

 

Click here for more information and ordering links.

Abbie wears a blue and white V-neck top with different shades of blue from sky to navy that swirl together with the white. She has short, brown hair and rosy cheeks and smiles at the camera against a black background.

Photo Courtesy of Tess Anderson Photography

Photo Resize and Description

by Two Pentacles Publishing

 

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