DATE: Sunday, August 3, 1997                TAG: 9708030090

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA 

SOURCE: JEFFREY S. HAMPTON, STAFF WRITER 

DATELINE: ELIZABETH CITY                    LENGTH:  111 lines

HE'S RULED OUTDOORS SINCE 1972 RETIRED OFFICER HELPED START HUNTER SAFETY CLASSES IN DARE AND CURRITUCK.

With darkness approaching, North Carolina Wildlife Officer Terry Lee Waterfield crept through the marsh, trying to nab a group of hunters shooting ducks after sundown.

Waterfield paused behind some bushes, ready to make an arrest. As he eased a little closer, the bushes rattled, startling the hunters.

``Whoever is over there had better come out,'' the hunters shouted.

Waterfield, who retired July 1 after 25 years as a wildlife officer, recalled the story while relaxing in his living room last week. A polo shirt, casual slacks and boat shoes replaced the sharply pressed uniform, campaign hat and badge he had worn for a quarter-century.

``I held still, hoping the hunters would settle down,'' he said of the incident. He needed to see the hunters shoot a duck before he issued a ticket.

The edgy hunters fired their shotguns directly over Waterfield's head. He eased away, unharmed, and waited for the hunters to come out a little while later.

His quarry turned out to be teen-age boys. As they left the woods, Waterfield, a lanky 6 feet 2 inches tall, approached the unnerved youths and stood over them. Rather than give them a ticket, he lectured them in his sternest voice.

He felt a tongue-lashing was more effective than a ticket - at least in that case.

``The amount of tickets you give out is not important,'' Waterfield said. ``I believe law officers should be able to follow common sense instead of a strict set of rules. You want the public treated fairly.''

Not that he was a pushover.

Waterfield once caught a man who had just shot a doe out of season.

``He kept telling me I was exciting him and that he had heart trouble,'' Waterfield recalled. ``He said it so much I was suspicious.''

Waterfield politely offered to call an ambulance, then told the man he could give him a ticket now or at the hospital, whichever was his choice. The man's heart attack symptoms subsided. And he accepted his ticket on the spot.

``There's a way you can talk to folks,'' said Howard Forbes, a retired wildlife officer who helped train Waterfield when he was a new officer. ``You don't leave them completely happy with you, but you don't leave them mad, either. Terry Lee had that knack.''

``Terry has a way with people,'' agreed James Alston, a retired wildlife officer who once was Waterfield's supervisor. ``He can deal just as well with politicians or rednecks.''

Waterfield, 51, is a Currituck native who grew up hunting and fishing on the Currituck Sound. He came to know and respect the game wardens. And he chose to join their ranks in 1972 after serving a hitch in the Coast Guard.

Waterfield made his mark early. He tried to be fair - but was tough on anybody who knowingly violated the law, he said. He was instrumental in starting the popular Hunter Safety courses in Dare and Currituck counties in the early '70s. Because of his efforts, he was honored as District One Wildlife Officer of the Year in 1974.

Waterfield chased poachers through miles of farm paths in the middle of the night. He risked his life to save hunters trapped on a marsh during a fierce winter storm. He once made arrests in the Dismal Swamp and in a Weeksville corn field, all in one night.

He often had to talk drunk and angry hunters into giving up their guns.

``That happened so much you didn't even think about getting shot,'' Waterfield said. ``Ninety-five percent of them are good people. Five percent of them are dangerous - and those are the ones you have to be careful with.''

Like all game wardens, Waterfield struggled against the elements as much as he did with the lawbreakers. He spent his share of days sweating in the woods on hot fall afternoons and nearly freezing to death in the winter winds on the open sound.

Once, he stepped on a rotten board while checking a duck blind in the Pamlico Sound and fell into the frigid water. The water and wet clothing froze to his body before he could return to shore, seven miles away. He got warm by changing into a deputy's coveralls in a Hatteras jail.

The low point of Waterfield's career came in 1989 when politics on the North Carolina Wildlife Commission almost prevented him from being promoted to lieutenant. Waterfield's superiors had recommended him for the position. But a member on the commission wanted somebody else.

Waterfield spent 10 months appealing all the way to the governor. The commissioner ultimately got his way - and his man in the post. But it cost him his position on the board.

Former Gov. James Martin dissolved the Wildlife Commission and reorganized it. Waterfield got his promotion and had to move to Morganton in the western part of the state. It was a tough tour of duty.

``I was out of my element there,'' Waterfield said. ``It was a different world.''

He found out he'd rather trudge through a marsh in hip boots than ease down a steep mountainside hugging trees. He never could get used to going fast over a hilltop, where you can't see what's coming the other way. Whenever he went on a case with fellow officers, they insisted on driving.

``Nobody would ride with me,'' he said, laughing.

Waterfield worked in Morganton until 1991, when he became a captain and returned to his home to lead District I. He used his new position to lobby for clearly marked boats for game wardens. He believed it was a way to reduce violations.

``I'm a believer in preventative law enforcement,'' he said. ``I felt like law enforcement boats should be marked. I've made some people mad over that.''

Waterfield's latest challenge came just a week after he retired, when a doctor found cancer in his liver. An operation was successful. Waterfield is doing well and starting to pursue another goal - politics.

State Senate President Pro Tem Marc Basnight, D-Manteo, already has nominated Waterfield to serve on North Carolina's Criminal Justice and Educational Standards Commission.

In looking back over his career, Waterfield said he regrets spending long hours in the field instead of with his family. He hopes to make up for some of that now by doing more things with his wife, Gwen, and their two sons.

But he takes pride in how he did his job.

``If I wasn't sure, I believed in giving the guy the benefit of the doubt,'' Waterfield said. ``That's why I could remain here 23 out of 25 years and stay friends with people. When I caught them, I had them dead to rights.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo

Terry Lee Waterfield

Send Suggestions or Comments to webmaster@scholar.lib.vt.edu