CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

It should come as no surprise to anyone that shit always rolls down hill.   This applies to the workings of police departments everywhere.  The irate citizen shares his grievance with the City Manager or a member of the city’s governing body.  They contact the Chief of Police wanting the problem to go away. 

The chief calls his minions together for regular staff meetings and tells  the patrol commanders what the issues du jour are and orders them to take care of the problems.  The commanders disseminate the recent wish list to the sergeants who are responsible for delivering the news to the troops and cracking the whip. 

Finally, living in the valley of the shadow of shit, are the patrol officers whose job it is to actually go out and get their hands dirty- thank heaven they 'fear no evil'.

And so it was that the stinking collection of rag tag winos and weenie wagers came to be confronted on the lovely shores of our beautiful quaint fishing village’s bay front.  They had taken up residence under a visqueen tarp just above the high water line. 

Their waterfront condo with the million dollar view was barely 100 yards from a popular tourist attraction and within 50 feet of a sidewalk that was popular with joggers and cyclists.  A park with a wading fountain for children was within eyeshot, too. 

Lacking the usual amenities of their high rise neighbors, these street urchins would have to settle for a mangrove bush as their latrine.  The unsuspecting biking and jogging citizenry were often treated to an unwelcome mooning, or worse.

These gents got their daily exercise strolling over to the local soup kitchen for their breakfast. Then they'd stop by their favorite convenience store to shoplift their daily ration of MD 20-20 or beer on their way back ‘home’. 

Their tent site was afoul with broken and empty wine and liquor bottles, beer cans, rotting clothing and the smell of trench warfare.  Not to mention the flurry of 'indecent exposure' complaints they had generated over the past few months.

The shift meeting started out with the usual.  Roll call, people making sure they got their vacation and holiday requests approved.  The BOLOs were read.  Then I broke the news that hobo evictions were on the daily to do list. The supply of rubber gloves was refreshed and a suggestion to carry some kind of squirt hand cleaner was made.  The pissing and moaning feedback was shared and we headed out to clean up our little corner of the city.

The upper command of a department usually only visit street activity if it is a major scene, like homicide, a hostage situation or unruly crowds.  Shift commanders will usually take a morning spin around their territory on their way to breakfast, before they spend their day at a desk putting out fires. 

Sergeants on the other hand are expected to be everywhere at once.  In the office reviewing and correcting officer’s reports and returning phone calls from people who just want you to know what that mean officer said to them.  All the while monitoring their radio and running to the car to get to hot calls.  A good sergeant can listen to two radio frequencies, talk on a cell phone, listen to music, type on a lap top, drive fast with the lights and siren, take notes and not spill their coffee – all at the same time.

It so happened I was grading papers in the office when the bum camp sweep started.  Two of my best guys spotted the camp had occupants and stopped to deliver the ‘time to move on’ lecture.

While cell phones were not provided to any department members below the rank of sergeant most of the men carried their own. Consequently mine rang constantly through the day, officers preferring to circumvent the party-line environment on the common radio channel.  They could be less professional than the radio required, using colorful language, expressing opinions and describing their situations in real talk, not something welcomed on a radio meeting FCC rules and regulations. Not to mention the fact the radio transmissions are all taped for CNN.

The officers made their way thru the bushes to confront the occupants of the visqueen tent. Upon contact the residents were highly indignant at the prospect of leaving their luxury accommodations and demanded to appeal the matter to  their supervisor. Well, my guys knew me like a book so they were more than happy to offer the gentlemen the opportunity for direct communication with me. 

My cell phone rang and I answered it.

“Sarge, we’re out on the hobo camp.  They don’t want to leave.  They want to talk to you.”  Of course my men knew they could have just loaded these guys up, they just want to have a little fun first and I knew it.  So I decided to play along, hey, Sarge needs entertainment too........

“Really?”  I said in a gleefully sarcastic tone.  “all rightey then, let’s just put them on speaker phone”.

I was going to get to have fun too and I didn’t even have to un-ass my desk chair. 

“So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“You the boss?” one asked.

“Yeah, I am – I understand you are looking for a second opinion,”  I said.

“Well these guys want us to pack up and go somewhere else”, the man replied.

“You are correct sir”, I said trying to sound like Ed McMahon on Johnny Carson.  I could hear my men giggling in the background.

“Well, tell them we can stay”, came the response.

“Sorry, no can do, you guys have to leave, that’s private property and it's go away or go to jail.” I told him.

“We ain’t leavin’, we got rights”!  I could hear a couple of them saying.

Man, I wish I’d run over there, I soooo wanted to be there in person.  But I’d just have to settle for phone gratification.  “Well fellas, just want to make sure we understand each other, can you hear me good?”

“Not too good, the traffic is noisy” came the reply.

I waited a minute 'till it sounded quieter, “can you hear me now?”

“Oh, yeah.” Came the response.

“You’re all under arrest!"

 "Load ‘em up”.

Thoroughly delighted, like little boys burning ants with a magnifying glass, my men did their job.

I walked across the street shortly thereafter to greet their arrival at booking.

We all sleep under the blanket of the protection my men provide.  These guy's get a blanket, a delousing, a shower, 3 hots and a cot, indoor plumbing  and a portrait. 

And I got to arrest three boneheads without leaving the office.

Damn I love this job!