If you ever wanted to head out your door to work and found your way blocked by an alligator on your front porch, you'd know how the guy who called one morning felt. He opened his front door to find a hissing, smiling, tail flicking spitfire about 3 ft. long.
Not a big gator but still it had an attitude that kept a wise person from tempting fate. Just enough to get the rookie's feet wet a little. They carry a bacteria in their mouth that can cause serious infection and death. So even a small scratch from a seemingly small gator can be lethal. And it would hurt too!
We had just finished our coffee and donuts when the call came out. I was training a recruit and I was gleefully looking forward to seeing how this Polish kid from the outskirts of Chicago would do on this call. I had been an FTO (Field Training Officer) for about 10 years. In that time about 20 recruits had passed thru the front seat of my cruiser. I'd guided, trained, coached, scolded, counseled, evaluated and critiqued.
The success rate for a recruit was about 50%. My flunk rate was a bit higher. My reputation as being the Axe Lady was notorious at the academy and every recruit dreaded being assigned to me.
Little did they know I was not so much an axe wielding man slayer as a good evaluation writer. The recruits that had already been anticipated as not having the 'right stuff' were usually assigned to me because management knew my daily observation reports (D.O.R.'s) would stand up if the recruit challenged their termination.
But, about half the recruits I worked with were destined to be very good cops. Timmy was a good kid, smart, nice, and possessed the three most important qualities a police officer needed in those days. Honesty to a fault, abundance of common sense and a sense of humor. He was a bit naive but definitely a keeper.
All he needed was exposure to a variety of calls and some orientation. A gator on the porch would be good experience. If he could get this one I knew he could handle the snakes, rats, cats, dogs, tarantulas, raccoons, possums, and all the other fuzzy, furry, reptilian, hissing, pissing, biting animal calls he would some day have to handle.
When I attended the academy we had to pass a gator trapping exercise, the gator we practiced on was about 6ft. It takes two or people, a rope, a long pole like a broom handle, duct or electrical tape and handcuffs to secure a gator of that size on dry land. If they are in the water it's time to call the Frog Marshall. It's really not complicated when it goes right.
When we arrived the gator was waiting in full gape, hissing, bowing and displaying for us as we approached. I might have only been 3 ft. long but like a Chihuahua that thinks it's a German Shepard, this little guy thought he was a bad ass.
Timmy asked me what to do. I suggested he break in his brand spanking new night stick. (The department used to issue hickory, then ash or oak, but recently a load of soft light weight wood sticks had made it into circulation, which is what had been issued to him).
He mustered his wits and his courage and put the stick out. The gator lunged and clamped down instinctively. I noosed it's snout and wrapped the rope around it until we could get him taped up. There was only one problem for Timmy. Now he had to get his stick back.
That brand new, gleaming, shiny, perfectly stained mahogany red stick had to be pulled from the vice grip of the thoroughly pissed off gator. It took some doing but it came forth with a multitude of scratches and scrapes. Timmy's bottom lip pouted out as he saw his new stick was marked for life.
"Cheer up kid, those are battle scars."
After that he proudly displayed his skinned up stick for days.
From time to time over the next few years I would see Timmy at shift change. I'd check to see if he still carried the same stick. He would grin and display it for me. I think he was proud of those scars and glad they were on the stick and not him.
He became such a good officer the department gave him a Harley Davidson Street King, complete with lights and siren to play with. I was very proud of him.
I hated it when they took the sticks and replaced them with ASPS. Those things are worthless. Some times new is not better.
Not a big gator but still it had an attitude that kept a wise person from tempting fate. Just enough to get the rookie's feet wet a little. They carry a bacteria in their mouth that can cause serious infection and death. So even a small scratch from a seemingly small gator can be lethal. And it would hurt too!
We had just finished our coffee and donuts when the call came out. I was training a recruit and I was gleefully looking forward to seeing how this Polish kid from the outskirts of Chicago would do on this call. I had been an FTO (Field Training Officer) for about 10 years. In that time about 20 recruits had passed thru the front seat of my cruiser. I'd guided, trained, coached, scolded, counseled, evaluated and critiqued.
The success rate for a recruit was about 50%. My flunk rate was a bit higher. My reputation as being the Axe Lady was notorious at the academy and every recruit dreaded being assigned to me.
Little did they know I was not so much an axe wielding man slayer as a good evaluation writer. The recruits that had already been anticipated as not having the 'right stuff' were usually assigned to me because management knew my daily observation reports (D.O.R.'s) would stand up if the recruit challenged their termination.
But, about half the recruits I worked with were destined to be very good cops. Timmy was a good kid, smart, nice, and possessed the three most important qualities a police officer needed in those days. Honesty to a fault, abundance of common sense and a sense of humor. He was a bit naive but definitely a keeper.
All he needed was exposure to a variety of calls and some orientation. A gator on the porch would be good experience. If he could get this one I knew he could handle the snakes, rats, cats, dogs, tarantulas, raccoons, possums, and all the other fuzzy, furry, reptilian, hissing, pissing, biting animal calls he would some day have to handle.
When I attended the academy we had to pass a gator trapping exercise, the gator we practiced on was about 6ft. It takes two or people, a rope, a long pole like a broom handle, duct or electrical tape and handcuffs to secure a gator of that size on dry land. If they are in the water it's time to call the Frog Marshall. It's really not complicated when it goes right.
- First you get them to bite down on the broom handle;
- Second you get the rope into a noose around their snout until you can tape it shut;
- Then you either tape or cuff their front legs behind their back;
- And last but not least - Road Trip! Some where out in BFE.............
When we arrived the gator was waiting in full gape, hissing, bowing and displaying for us as we approached. I might have only been 3 ft. long but like a Chihuahua that thinks it's a German Shepard, this little guy thought he was a bad ass.
Timmy asked me what to do. I suggested he break in his brand spanking new night stick. (The department used to issue hickory, then ash or oak, but recently a load of soft light weight wood sticks had made it into circulation, which is what had been issued to him).
He mustered his wits and his courage and put the stick out. The gator lunged and clamped down instinctively. I noosed it's snout and wrapped the rope around it until we could get him taped up. There was only one problem for Timmy. Now he had to get his stick back.
That brand new, gleaming, shiny, perfectly stained mahogany red stick had to be pulled from the vice grip of the thoroughly pissed off gator. It took some doing but it came forth with a multitude of scratches and scrapes. Timmy's bottom lip pouted out as he saw his new stick was marked for life.
"Cheer up kid, those are battle scars."
After that he proudly displayed his skinned up stick for days.
From time to time over the next few years I would see Timmy at shift change. I'd check to see if he still carried the same stick. He would grin and display it for me. I think he was proud of those scars and glad they were on the stick and not him.
He became such a good officer the department gave him a Harley Davidson Street King, complete with lights and siren to play with. I was very proud of him.
I hated it when they took the sticks and replaced them with ASPS. Those things are worthless. Some times new is not better.
