I enjoy talking to strangers. You never know if it will be a one time encounter, the beginning of a new friendship, or a difficult entanglement. However it turns out, I have heard some fascinating stories by talking to strangers. I have promised you one of them that I am finally delivering: the sledgehammer story.

Last March I had the ultimate Construction Girl vacation at the beach. If you have been with me for a while, you may have read about it somewhere back in March. I happened upon a construction site right on the beach and ended up having lunch with Jeff, one of the heavy equipment operators. He told me this story over pizza. I had to stop eating because my jaw was dropped open. (I swallowed first.) I saw him again when I went to traffic court and asked his permission to tell you this story. He had so many details that I’m sure it is true. Here it is.



Jeff prepared for his career as a crane operator as most heavy equipment operators do: he studied Art in college. One summer vacation in the 80’s, Jeff toured Europe with a group of college buddies. The young men took a ferry from Gibraltar, Spain over to Morocco to try their prowess at cliff diving. Jeff described Morocco as a beautiful country but a hole full of poverty. They landed in Tanger, Morocco, bright and colorful with a gorgeous fountain in the center of the plaza where tourists could buy all things Moroccan. The merchants always seemed to be shouting in Arabic. Quiet conversation did not seem the norm. Away from the tourist areas, the desert landscape of the Moroccan countryside seemed risky for tourists. Jeff saw a Dutch tourist poking at a cobra in the underbrush, ignorant of the risk his curiosity was creating. Tourists and cobras, however, were not the only ones at risk in Morocco.

The young travelers lodged with a variety of European tourists in an enclosed campground. The campground was surrounded by a high fence for the purpose of keeping the poverty stricken locals from nicking the tourists’ belonging. The fence wasn’t quite high enough on the night Jeff was there.

Exhausted from jumping off and scrambling up cliffs all day, Jeff and his buddies fell asleep shortly after nightfall. A commotion in the campground, more angry Arabic shouting, woke them around 10 o’clock. They left their tents and joined a growing crowd that had gathered near the main gate of the campground. The agitated campground owner was speaking excitedly to one of the nine Moroccan police officers who were guarding four men draped in native garb who were caught in the campground stealing from the tourists’ tents. The boys were the only Americans in the group and they tried to find someone to translate the angry shouts zinging between these Moroccans. Before they found a bilingual Spaniard among the onlookers to translate, Jeff witnessed the swift process of Moroccan justice.

Two policemen wrestled one robber so that the thief’s arm was stretched out over a log. The one officer not holding a criminal produced a five pound sledgehammer and approached the subdued tent raider. Without any ceremony, the officer held the sledge hammer low on its three foot long handle and swung the steel head in a full circle, landing a blow on the man’s upper arm.

It was the sound of the man’s arm being shattered, not the man’s screams that Jeff says he will never forget. The hollow wet thud sounded like a melon splatting on concrete. Without hesitation, the officer delivered another blow to the man’s lower arm and then again on his elbow. In the poorly lit campground, Jeff could not see any bones sticking out and remarkably there was little blood. He could see bends where they were not supposed to be. When the man got up, the arm hung at a sickening angle. At that moment Jeff knew that he was glad to be an American citizen. Jail looked extremely reasonable.

No one in the crowd intervened on behalf of the thieves. Despite the nausea from the repulsive scene, no one could look away either. Everyone was shocked.

The Moroccan officers dealt with the other robbers in the same fashion. Then everyone left. No paperwork. No jail time. I’m guessing no repeat offenders.