Richard A. Porter gathered his eager grandchildren for a special Family Home Evening. As a former Assistant Chief of Police for the Phoenix Police Department, Brother Porter would enthrall family members and friends alike with colorful tales of criminals and crime, always relating them to gospel principles. A handsome man with a snow-capped crown, tall frame and friendly smile, Brother Porter’s easy manner and bear-hug hands endeared him to all who met him, but on this particular day, his grandchildren would learn an enduring life-lesson to endear Grandpa to generations.
“Let me tell you about Stanley,” Grandpa Porter began, furrowing his brow as he leaned closer to eager ears. “I first met Stanley when I was a rookie cop. He was a good-looking Latino fellow. As a junior, he had been a straight-A student at Phoenix Union High. In those days, it was hard for Anglos and Latinos to mix and mingle. Stanley felt lonely and was often excluded from school social gatherings simply because he was a minority. At lunchtime, Stanley would sit in the corner with no one to talk to. No one put an arm around Stanley–no one made an effort to be his friend.”
“Get to the good stuff, Grandpa,” one of the grandchildren impatiently importuned.
“Yeah, the criminal stuff,” another chimed in.
“I was just getting to that.” Brother Porter stepped closer to eager ears. “One day, a group of troubled boys invited Stanley to downtown Phoenix for a late-night pleasure-trip they called ‘rolling drunks’. The plan was to seek out drunks who had passed out on the street, roll them over, expose their half-consumed bottle of booze and steal it. They would do this to as many drunks as they could find until they had enough hard liquor for a wild party where they would drink themselves silly.”
“Didn’t Stanley know that was wrong, Grandpa?” one of the grandchildren asked.
“He sure did. In fact, Stanley let his desire for friendship and acceptance choose his friends and his behavior. Unfortunately, once he chose to do the wrong things, he lost control over his choice to do the right things.”
“How?” the grandchildren asked in unison.
Grandpa unraveled a scroll of paper seventeen feet long and dramatically laid it at their feet. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. Wide-eyed, the grandchildren stared at the imposing scroll in anticipation of some bloody details laced with bullets and bad guys. “This is Stanley’s rap sheet; one or two lines per arrest. I pasted it together for each time he was arrested. Stanley was my first collar as a rookie cop, but it was his three hundred and fifty-third arrest. You see children, as soon as Stanley tasted alcohol, he was hooked. He craved it. It controlled his waking thoughts, his dreams and his actions. Stanley dropped out of high school. He became a career criminal who would be arrested and jailed over twelve hundred times! And it all started with one decision to do something he knew was wrong because he longed to be loved and accepted.” Grandpa Porter bowed his head, his eyes watering with emotion. “When Stanley was found dead on the streets of Phoenix some years later, the State of Arizona arranged a pauper’s funeral. Exactly six people attended that funeral. All six were Phoenix police officers. We were the only friends Stanley left behind.”
Grandpa Porter rose to his feet and pointed an imposing finger at his hushed grandchildren. “Never, never exclude anyone. Be a friend. Put an arm around the lonely kid. Show love to the unpopular ones. Be an example of the believers. It’s what Christ would do.”
***
A decade later, at Brother Porter’s own funeral, hundreds attended. They were there to honor a man of integrity, a man of faith and a disciple of charity. As Brother Porter would often say, “The difference between Stanley and me…is a true friend. Don’t create another Stanley. Never exclude anyone.”
