Korey L. Sparrow, 26, and Jaron A. Mullins, 22, were arrested at a mobile home at 5139 S County Road 1000 E, Crothersville shortly after 10 p.m. last Wednesday, Aug. 25.
Crothersville Chief of Police Vurlin McIntosh said that Crothersville officer Richard Hansler was assisting the Scott County Probation Department with a probation inspection at the Sparrow home.
“When entering the trailer the officers found an active meth lab. They immediately exited and called for the Haz Mat Team and obtained a search warrant to re-enter the residence,” said McIntosh.
The Indiana State Police Haz-Mat team responded to remove the active meth lab, he said.
Sparrow was arrested for maintaining a common nuisance, possession of paraphernalia, possession of hypodermic syringe, and manufacturing methamphetamine. Probation violation charges are pending in Scott County, McIntosh said/
Mullins was arrested for visiting a common nuisance, manufacturing methamphetanmine, possession hypodermic syringes, possession of precursors.
Both were booked into Jackson County Jail where they remain on a $50,000 bond.

Sheriff Marc Lahrman accepts expired pharmaceuticals from Alice Burke of Crothersville during Saturday’s “Recycle-Mania” held at the Dollar General Store parking lot.
Over five gallons of expired prescription pills were turned in for proper disposal, according to Debbie Hackman, director of Jackson County Recycling District which sponsored the event.
Around 46 area residents showed up to recycle electronics, pharmaceuticals, household hazardous waste and have documents shredded during the four-hour recycling event.
—photo courtesy Debbie Hackman

We in the media (and usually when we are talked about there is a qualifying adjective expletive or two in front of media) get frequently blasted that we never carry any good news.
That isn’t true because we do publish the church happenings, the organization news, honor rolls, the achievement of school and students, when local folks receive honors.
I suggest that the reason we don’t get credit for publishing the good news is nobody cares about it.
Oh, we say we do, but in reality we like to know the grit, the dark side, the scandalous events of others. Get them privately off to the side, even my Baptist friends acknowledge they like reading about the travails of others…but, of course, only so they can be placed on a prayer list.
Would you really subscribe to a paper that just printed good news? What if week after week, we told you “All the school buses arrived safely today”, or “No one’s house burned down last week”, or “Police report no crime in Crothersville over the weekend”.
If we did that, before long you would find the Crothersville Times along side the names of the Crothersville Herald, Crothersville Index as former local publications.
Having run this newspaper for durn near 30 years, (it just seems like all my life) I can make some anecdotal observations. Even though we have 14 churches in the township, a front page story about sex, drugs or murder sells. And sells big time.
And contrary to some folks who read news they don’t like and claim they don’t believe it, we don’t make up stuff on the front page. We report when police arrest, fire departments extinguish, and state agencies admonish.
We do confess that at times, literary license is invoked in this column space. But not this time and never on the front page.
We print good news because it is a part of coummunity’s chronicle even though you may not remember it. We print bad news because it too is a part of the community fabric. And bad news does sell newspapers and that is why we are in business. And since bad news sells, you must be wanting to read it.
So please keep buying the newspaper and we’ll just keep this little secret between us.

I felt something shaking my foot through the covers of my bed. I really didn’t want to open my eyes because it seemed they had only drifted off to sleep just moments before.
Then there was that foot shaking again followed by a raspy half-whisper so not to awaken by brother sleeping in the next bed over “You going to go huntin’?” my dad asked.
Immediately my eyes popped open. That was why I couldn’t fall asleep. Knowing Dad & I were going squirrel hunting the next morning had wired my 10-year-old mind better than any caffeine could have. Sleep just wouldn’t come in anticipation of my first squirrel hunt.
I threw back the bed sheet on that early mid-August day nearly 50 years ago, grabbed my hunting clothes which I had laid out the night before.
As I got to the kitchen, Dad was going through an early squirrel hunting morning ritual. “You want some coffee?” he asked as he let the hot water run from the tap and dumped a spoonful of instant coffee into a cup.
Figuring that was what all hunters did as a part of their pre-hunt ritual, I yawned with a sleepy-eyed “Yeah.”
He put the guns in the old Dodge truck, and as we drove to Grandpa’s woods, I drank the bitter, tepid beverage hoping that maybe someday I’d get accustomed the taste.
We always hunted Grandpa’s woods near Dudleytown. It was nearly level, plenty of beech and hickory trees, and Grandpa kept it mowed to keep a good pasture for the cows he had grazing throughout the summer.
There was plenty of food for the squirrels, the walking and moving was easy and we didn’t have to worry too much about making excessive noise because the squirrels were accustomed to all the cows.
Dad used a 12 ga. pump shotgun. He handed me a .22/.410 over and under. “If you can get a good bead on one use the rifle. If you miss, bust him out with the shotgun,” he told me.
We had talked for days before and he told me the best way to hunt was to find a comfortable place to sit so I could see several likely trees and wait for the limbs to start moving or cuttings to start falling and follow them up to find the squirrel.
He went over gun safety and making sure not to shoot at anything on the ground or running up a tree and to be sure of my target before squeezing the trigger.
“Be careful and good luck” he said as he creeped through the woods to his favorite spot to hunt.
The late-summer early dawn air was thick with humidity and sweet with the smell of ripening corn just a field away. The dew was so heavy my pants had been soaked from the knees down before we got halfway from the truck to the woods.
I sat at the base of a tall hickory tree, cradled by the sprawling roots and waited for some more sunlight to arrive. I looked to the treetops and, being new at hunting, wasn’t real sure just what I was looking for.
But I would remember over and over what Gramp and my Dad had told me: “Listen for the sound of water dripping through the leaves. It’s either a squirrel cutting on a nut or a squirrel moving through the tree branches.”
It wouldn’t be long before I heard that sound and could add another possibility its cause: birds. Birds could get a squirrel hunter’s adrenaline flowing only to end up being a fickle lover when you found their true identity.
Sometimes when you try to concentrate on the silence of the woods, listening for a faint giveaway sound of game, you hear things that aren’t there.
Like that sound of water dripping through the trees that I was hearing…or thought I was hearing. No, I was hearing it.
I searched the nearby treetops moving only my eyes looking for its source. Finally I acquiesced and moved my head around trying to see where that sound was coming from.
Then some white and green tinged shreddings of hickory nut hull fell just within arm’s reach of me. I contorted my head and eventually my whole body—at least as much as an 10-year-old who has never hunted can—to search for that squirrel.
Finally, with my body stretched out at an impossible angle to hold for a steady shot, I saw a bit of bushy brown tail.
And my heart began pounding even harder. Knowing that if I moved for a better shot angle the squirrel would be gone. I decided to lie flat on my back on the ground. I could seek a bushy tail flick as more and more hickory hulls peppered all around me. But with the iron sights, I couldn’t see any part of the squirrel to take a shot.
“Be sure of your target” I remember Dad telling me.
Not wanting to be embarrassed by missing the first squirrel I ever spotted while officially hunting, I made what I thought was a pretty logical decision for my age and experience: use the shotgun.
So I clicked down to the .410 barrel, laid back flat on the ground, and after a bit of wavering, drew a solid bead on the general location of the vital parts of the squirrel.
BLAM!
It would not be for several years later in Mr. Bard’s physics class that I would be introduced to Newton’s laws of motion. specifically about any action requiring an equal and opposite reaction. The ground doesn’t move with the recoil of a small shotgun.
All I knew at the time was my arm, my shoulder, my collar bone hurt like the dickens. But up I jumped as soon as I heard a nearby thud on the ground.
Dad said as he walked up all he saw was a broad, beaming smile picking up his first squirrel.