'MAYBERRY' IS GONE, ALONG WITH GRANT'S POLICE CHIEF

Verlon Lemaster, the murdered police chief of the small mountain town
of Grant, must truly have been something special. The last moment of
his life says that as well as anything.

In Patricia Stumb's story last Sunday, a teenage girl told of Lemaster
coming to her room the previous Friday morning. He was looking for two
teenage boys hiding there - boys he thought had guns.

Lemaster patted Ashli Chaffin on the shoulder and asked how she was
doing. He was calm and friendly, but he was also preparing to ease her
out of the room to safety. You know that, because he'd just eased her
mom down the hall with a similar hand on the shoulder.

That was the last act of Lemaster's life. A gunshot from inside the
room killed him seconds later. He died putting Ashli Chaffin first.

They say Lemaster was like Sheriff Andy of Mayberry, and it's easy to
see why. He didn't come in with a SWAT team, he didn't even have a
drawn weapon. He was a peace officer.

There's enough personal tragedy there to fill a dozen columns - the
loss to his family, to his friends and to his town - but there's
another level, too. You have to wonder how many Sheriff Andys are
strapping on their guns today.

Law enforcement - as a culture - has always held many types. There's
Sheriff Andy, but there's also Inspector Javert and Inspector
Clouseau. There's even Darth Vader, the ultimate enforcer for the Empire.

Darth Vader represents the temptation to cops to surrender to the dark
side, the armor, the hardware, the weaponry. He's The Man - the cop
with the cold, superior stare and the inhuman voice.

That kind will never give a break. He will always kick down the door
and go in with all guns blazing.

But after Lemaster, can you blame him? At least he might make it home
at night.

There are rumors that crystal methamphetamine might have a role in
this story. We won't know for months, but we do know that the main
symptom ascribed to the boys in that room sounds chemical: extreme
paranoia. Paranoia so intense it alters the brain chemistry and
changes the personality.

If you faced that kind of kid, even if you knew him, would you bet
your life that you could talk him down? Would you have faith in your
small-town values, or would you put your faith in SWAT instead?

We hate the idea of police forces staffed by brutal enforcers in dark
uniforms, high boots and mirrored shades. But we have to face the
truth. We're not a world of friendly drunks named Otis who lock
themselves inside their cells, either.

So, if our police change now, we'll have to admit that we changed
first. We have long been about creating the police that we deserve.

Another way to put it is that in 2003, even tiny Grant, pop. 600,
isn't Mayberry.

No place is Mayberry now.

And Sheriff Andy doesn't live here anymore.