Well now, Charlotte, bless your heart.
Apparently Harry Storm single-handedly reached backward through a hundred years of McNamara history and destroyed an entire “legacy.”
That is one powerful little blog.
Because according to this theory, Harry forced grown adults to make every decision now being questioned. Harry apparently controlled who deputies worked for, where taxpayer-funded personnel spent their time, what happened at private property, what records were created, what records weren’t created, and every explanation given afterward.
My goodness. Somebody get that man a cape.
Here in the South, we have an old-fashioned understanding of a legacy: you build it yourself.
And unfortunately, you can tear it down yourself, too.
A reporter, blogger, citizen or taxpayer asking uncomfortable questions doesn’t destroy a legacy. If the underlying conduct withstands scrutiny, the questions eventually go away.
But when questions keep piling up?
When public records raise more questions than they answer?
When commissioners are asked to clean things up after the fact?
When taxpayers start wondering whether public employees, public equipment or public authority were used for private benefit?
When the answer to every uncomfortable question becomes attack the person asking it?
Well, sugar, that isn’t Harry ruining your legacy.
That’s called accountability knocking on the front door.
And blaming Harry is particularly convenient because it avoids answering the questions that actually matter:
Were McLennan County Sheriff’s Office employees ever used to perform work benefiting the sheriff or his family on private property?
If so, who authorized it?
Were they being paid by McLennan County while doing it?
What county vehicles, fuel, equipment or other taxpayer-funded resources were involved?
Why was there no MOU already in place governing such an arrangement?
Why was an MOU reportedly pursued only AFTER questions were raised—and why did the commissioners refuse to approve it?
What do payroll records, timesheets, dispatch records, vehicle logs, phone records and other public records show?
Those aren’t gossip questions.
Those are taxpayer questions.
And taxpayers have every right to ask them.
Then there’s the Kenneth McDuff mythology. If somebody wants to claim credit for capturing one of Texas’s most notorious killers, then the historical record ought to support the story being told. Escorting a captured fugitive back to Texas and actually locating and capturing him are two very different things.
Again: Harry didn’t write history. History already happened.
And if there are serious questions surrounding other events described in this article, the answer isn’t to scream, “HARRY RUINED OUR LEGACY!”
Produce the records.
Correct the record.
Explain the facts.
That’s what people confident in their legacy do.
Because here’s the part apparently getting lost between the pearls and the fainting couch:
Public office does not belong to a family.
The McLennan County Sheriff’s Office isn’t an heirloom.
It isn’t the family silver.
It isn’t a ranch handed down from Grandpa.
It belongs to the people of McLennan County, and the people financing it have every right to ask exactly how their money, employees, vehicles, equipment and authority are being used.
So if Charlotte truly believes Harry Storm destroyed a hundred-year McNamara legacy, I have a suggestion:
Quit talking about Harry.
Answer the questions.
Show the records.
Explain the deputies.
Explain the private work.
Explain the timeline.
Explain why an MOU wasn’t already in place.
Explain why one was sought afterward.
And explain why the commissioners wouldn’t approve it.
Because every minute spent blaming Harry is another minute nobody is answering the substance.
And honey, that’s where this whole “legacy” argument falls apart.
You cannot blame the smoke alarm for the fire.
Harry didn’t create these questions.
Harry didn’t make these decisions.
Harry didn’t fill out anybody’s timesheet.
Harry didn’t spend taxpayer money.
Harry didn’t assign a deputy.
Harry didn’t write—or fail to write—an MOU.
And Harry certainly doesn’t possess the supernatural ability to destroy a hundred years of family history with a WordPress password.
If a hundred-year legacy can be destroyed by one old boy with a keyboard asking questions, maybe the problem isn’t the keyboard.
Maybe that legacy wasn’t sitting on quite the foundation everybody thought it was.
So straighten those pearls, pour yourself a sweet tea, and quit blaming the messenger.
Because down here we have another old saying:
When you make your own bed, don’t get mad at the neighbor because somebody finally pulled back the covers.
And as for the McNamara legacy?
Don’t blame Harry.
A legacy isn’t what you tell people your family was.
It’s what the record shows you did when you thought nobody would ever question you.
Bless your heart.
Harry’s only comment: Just like Sherre Johnston, NOTHING is her fault. EVER.
