Officer days, before Sergeant days

This was a seriously fast car!  Had it up over 110 a few times. 
Ah, the good old days.  You'd get time off for that now days!!!

Guest Author, Rod Duke,

 is a friend who was a police officer

in the Chicago Housing Authority. 

Since retired, he is writing a book

and has graciously allowed me

 to share a sample of his work.



Rod Duke

Hunter/Prey

 In the 70’s, Mutual of Omaha sponsored a nature based television show called “Wild Kingdom.” My most prominent memory of the show is of a cheetah chasing a gazelle. There is a fluidity, and rhythmic dance between the hunter and prey as the chase ensues. The gazelle gallops quickly, zigzagging to change directions as the cheetah closes the distance with every stride. The cheetah effortlessly pounces onto the gazelle and brings it crashing into the dust. Claws grip sheering muscles and fangs sink into tensed sinew. The violent thrashing of the two forms become lost in the dirty haze as the hunter savors its fallen prey.

 The chase was always my favorite part of policing. I wanted to rid my areas of patrol of its criminal element, but I didn’t want it to be easy. I didn’t care if they wouldn’t go quietly. Secretly, I wanted them to run. I silently dared them to. The younger they were, the more likely they were to try you. To a teenager, a twenty, to thirty year old is an “old man.” They think that they can out run you. They think that if they challenged your authority in a foot race that they would be victorious. Isn’t it the folly of youth that they believe that they are invincible, immortal?

 The young never seem to fathom that their elders once believed that we were gods too, but eventually had to face their own mortality. It was the chase that returned my youth, my vitality, and my power!

Whenever I arrived on the scene, I’d access the body language of those I approached. Watching their hands for sudden movement and looking for cues to pinpoint who was considering flight.

 Another telltale sign of a runner was when their face is turned towards you, but their body is slightly shifted in the direction of an exit. For this subject, I would slowly move towards the direction their body telegraphed and wait.

 When their body lines up, the sprint starts and the hunt begins. I was always quick, but the Marine Corps and the police academy gave me endurance. While on foot patrol, we were exiting northbound from 4950 S. State Street and entering the playground that was centered between 50, XXXXX4947 S. Federal.

A lone teen wearing black from head to toe slowly started walking backwards as we were moving towards him. As unusual as it was for him to be standing in the middle of the playground at eight-ish in the morning, it was not a crime. However, his attire, which made him non-descriptive and his sudden decision to move way from us made him look suspicious.

 Drug dealers and shooters are normally adorned in basic black. It is their uniform of the day. I smile as he slowly increases his backwards paces.

 “Good Morning! Going somewhere?” I call out through my grin. He lets out a giggle as he returns my smile and turns his body slightly leftward and towards the gallery of the adjacent building.

We are within the first quarter of the playground, but he has trotted into the opposite edge and approximately 20 feet from the building’s opening. I have almost double that distance to close on him if I want to catch him.

 I call out to him once more. “Hey, don’t make me chase you!” I shouted through my grin and slight chuckle, but he did not heed my warning. I liked that. His head and the rest of his body swiftly swiveled around as I pulled out my wooden baton and drew in a lung filling breath.

The chase was on. The first steps we took in sync but I watched his feet and doubled my stride to intercept him. He wasn’t as fast as he thought he was because I had made it through the playground before he was within ten feet of the breezeway.

I was feeling the burn in my thighs as I dug into the unyielding pavement. He could hear me closing in.

My prey tried to trick me as he entered the building. He stomped his feet and zigzagged to feint a decision to run towards the stairs and lead the chase upwards. I mimicked his movement and stomped as loudly as he did to let him know how much ground I’d gained and that I was upon him.

“You know I’ve got you don’t you!” My voice echoed as we dashed through the building and towards the next. “Ahhh! Ahhhhh! Was all he could utter.

“Come here! I growled as I leapt upon his back as he tried to change direction in the final seconds of our chase.

 “Ahhhhhh! Momma!” He screamed as our bodies hit the moist grass.

Still riding his back, I held onto his coat collar.

“Boop.” Was the sound his head made when I lightly tapped him onto the back of it with my baton.

“I told you not to run from me didn’t I?”

 I cuffed him and rolled him over. During my protective pat down I found a 50 pack of rock cocaine on his person.

This was a nice pinch that would carry us easily until lunch.

Memoir Chapter...

3/15/2011 9:21:07 AM 

 

Cop for A Day - Video

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DAD!

If he wasn't in heaven he would be 98 today!

Miss you dad, love you..

Hemet Field, Calif.  WWII instructor pilot

My dad and Aunt June-  She Died when she was 18, shortly after this photo

Margie & Don

THE PENNY JAR

The penny jar

Every police officer knows that there is a gun at every call they respond to.  It’s on their hip.

Not every person who is placed under arrest just says ‘ok,’ and renders themselves up for handcuffing.  People will resist violently for no apparent reason, to the most minor of charges.

While not every resisting arrestee can be subdued easily that does not mean they get a free pass.  We can’t just say, ‘ok, you don’t want to go to jail, go and sin no more’.  Yet the offense/situation does not rise to the level that shooting is an option.

When a struggle ensues to accomplish handcuffing it exposes the officer and the subject to injury; it also means the possibility of their gaining control of your firearm.  Too many officers have been killed with their own weapon while trying to detain someone for a minor offense.

One of the greatest dilemmas facing law enforcement is the need for an intermediary ‘disabling’ tool.  What is needed is something that is less than lethal and can stop resistance in its tracks.   Police science has struggled to find the perfect intermediate weapon. 

So it was with great appreciation we received the first delivery of pepper spray.  Finally, something that would stun a resisting person long enough to apply handcuffs, yet you didn’t have to inflict blows with a night stick or get up close and personal to wrestle or fight.  And the best part – keeping your firearm far enough away from snatching hands.   

After orientation, an unpleasant personal experience with the substance ‘oleoresin capsicum’, and the rules of engagement our department settled on, it was issued for use. 

 Finally, something that could stop a fist fight instantly.  It was nicknamed ‘ass-whipping’ in a can’.

I was an FTO (field training officer).  The first thing you realize when you train new officers is that they fall into three categories:

·        The natural born officer:  They instinctively get it and all you’re called upon to do is orient them to the city geography, department procedures, rules and policies. 

·        The created officer:  Ones that didn’t get it thru DNA but they pick it up pretty good.  You have to add explain the 'why and how’ to the aforementioned training needs. 

·        And finally, the never gonna get it, gonna get washed out non-cop.  These are the ones that are totally lacking in common sense, no aptitude what so ever.  They are either going to get killed or get someone else killed.  It’s just a matter of who and when.

And it’s your job to explain that in volumes of reports to justify why they are not suited for this kind of work.

***

So it’s the first night on patrol with my new recruit.  It’s the first night on patrol with a can of pepper spray on my gun belt. 

The recruit is a pleasant looking, good size young man with a reserved demeanor who had obviously been frightened by locker room warnings about what a holy terror of an FTO I was.  He looked something like a deer in the headlights.  His tactical / survival plan was to lay low, agree with whatever I said and hope I approved of him.

I spent the first part of the shift showing him the perimeter of our zone, assessing his willingness to learn and how quickly he picked up on things.  He was bright and pleasant but remained cautious.  I knew he was afraid of me.  That’s ok, I had his attention and this is not a popularity contest.

It started out quiet, not many calls and those were mundane.  Then around 0300 we got a loud music complaint at a local apartment complex.  When we arrived the person who’d called was an off duty state trooper.  The apartment complex had a policy of discounting rent to law enforcement officers in exchange for them being willing to intervene in minor neighbor disputes. 

One of the residents in his building called him to report her neighbor was playing his guitar and singing so loud she could not get to sleep.  When the trooper asked the performer to knock it off for the night the guitarist told him where he could stick it.  So the trooper backed off and decided the guitarist needed ‘on duty’ persuasion.

This was a perfect call for my recruit to spread his wings a bit.  Just knock on the door, ask pretty please be quiet, take a few names, run them thru the system and say nitey-nite.

Well, we all know there is no such thing as a routine call.  I couldn’t wait to see how this easy one was going to go south in nothing flat.

We approach the door and can clearly hear the guitar and singing.  The apartment is the kind with interior doors to an interior hallway.  The doors are hollow core, no threshold so sound and light emit from the units into the common hall. 

Recruit knocks.  No answer.  Recruit knocks louder.  We hear discussion in the room but it is undecipherable.

Finally a young man opens the door, “Vat u vant?” he says in a thick Russian accent.

Recruit, “Your music is disturbing the neighbors, can you call it a night please?”

“Dis is free country, I play if I vant.  Police can no tell me what to do, dis is FREE country!” and slams the door in our faces.

Recruit looks at me, I could read his face…. Ok, now what do I do?

I nod at the door, he knocks again.  A young woman opens the door.  “I am sorry,” she says, “he is new here.  He does not like police.”

“We need to make him understand that it’s very late and the neighbors want to sleep” we told her.  She invited us inside.  He was on the sofa stroking his guitar and singing some kind of Russian folk song.  (Not bad either but it was not for me to say).

The Recruit tries again to charm the Russian, “sir, please, no more music tonight.  You can play tomorrow”.

“Fuck You, I come to free country, I can play if I vant”.  Clearly he had learned some American slang, and now the aroma of metabolized Vodka was wafting toward us.

He jumped up off the sofa and began to shove my trainee to get him out the door.  Well, I’m pretty sure that in Russia if you start shoving the cops around you end up bruised, bloody and in the gulag for a very long time.  Something we certainly have in common.

So it was on.....

We are in the process of switching from being shoved out the door, to dragging him out into the hall for handcuffing.  When we got to the door he head butted my recruit into the door.  Unbeknown to us in the corner behind the door was a huge onion shaped bottle.  If full of water, it could have held 5 gallons easily.  However it was half full of loose change. Mostly pennies.  There were thousands of them.  

Run thru a Coin-Star machine there was probably enough to buy this nit-wit a one way ticket back to Moscow.

Well, as the recruit was pushed into the door, the door was pushed into the jar.  There was a big loud popping noise almost an explosion as the glass burst and pennies flowed like liquid onto the ceramic tile foyer.  In a situation like this you have two immediate problems, glass to get cut on if you fall down, and the pennies acted like ball bearings, they were a slippery as KY jelly!

Ok, no more fooling around.  We managed to drag this guy, slipping and sliding across the penny slick tile out the door and onto carpet-firma in the hall.  We had him pinned down but he was squirming and bowing to avoid the handcuffs. 

My recruit looked to me for a hint at our next move.  I pointed to my brand new can of cap-stun and said ‘you or me?’  He said I want to do it.  (Good boy, he was not afraid to get his feet wet). 

The freshly issued protocol called for us to step back and announce pepper spray would be used if they refused to submit.  When we stepped back the Russian looked bewildered.  He’d never seen a wrestling match end or what the ‘though’ was end, in quite such an abrupt and inexplicable way. 

He was still trying to figure out why the stupid police had let go of him when my recruit told him to put his hands behind his back or he would be sprayed.  Well, this guy was not about to comply and had no clue what getting sprayed meant.  Too bad.  As he tried to get up he said his final “fuck you”.  Just then the recruit gave him a full face soaking.

It worked like a charm.  All the attitude and fight melted out of this idiot instantly.  He fell back on the floor and couldn’t wait to follow my recruit’s instructions.  He walked out to our car like a whipped puppy.

The unfortunate aftermath of pepper spray is many fold.  First you are not immune to it.  It burns your skin, eyes, nose and mouth.  It hangs in the air, clings your hair, clothing and the interior of your cruiser.    It can linger on for hours and sometimes days.

Needless to say the decision to use cap-stun is tempered with the knowledge that the user will have a price to pay, thus this decision is entered into with some prudence.

Back to our Russian. 

The full scope of the pepper spray deployment dawned on us gradually.  As we were stuffing him into the back seat of our car his companions emerged from the apartment like rats fleeing a sinking ship.  This didn’t surprise us. 

However, when old ladies in night robes and hair curlers began emerging from the far end of the building we realized that the positive air pressure of the hallway had driven the fumes into all the adjoining apartments-- the entire length of the hall.  Thus effecting 20 apartments. 

 Within 10 minutes the parking lot was filling with angry, sleepdeprived residents.  


Well, part of our job is problem solving.  We had solved the case of the defiant Rusky guitarist and now we had to solve the problem of the pepper bombed apartment building.

We summoned the fire department who responds, as always, lights and siren.  Waking all the residents of the other half dozen buildings in the complex.

When I explained the situation to the Battalion Chief he laughed, shook his head and deployed vent fans.  Thus our job here was done - we had gone from one sleepless resident to 300+ angry, residents forming like a swarm of bees from  a poked at hive! 

Time for us to bail out and take our prisoner to jail.  A trip made  with all windows down; if the prisoner tried to squirm out his half open window he’d just have to hit the pavement head first at 35mph!  We pulled into the booking sally port and the doors were rolled down.  We entered the booking vestibule, barely able to breathe ourselves. 

During this entire episode my recruit never gave away one expression of what he was thinking.  Dead pan face the entire time.  He is at the counter filling out the paper work and looks up at me without cracking a smile. He gets a little glint in his eye and and a telltale micro curve at the corner of his mouth as he says to me “I think I’m gonna like this job.”

He turned out to be the smartest recruit I ever trained.  He was a natural born cop.  He has done a fantastic job over the years and was a superb detective.  I am very proud to have had a part in his career.

Good job Tom!

Thank You to My Readers!

Thank You

Often when I meet people they are completely taken by surprise when they learn I was a street cop.  I just don't 'look' the part.  First I was a 'girl'.  I am only 5'2", and when I started I weighed in at 125lbs.  I had also been married for 6 years and had a child starting first grade.  Not your average rookie cop in 1976.

At first there were some who tried to run me off by making my life miserable.  Giving me the most difficult and dangerous assignments.  There were those who tried to scare off or make me give up.  Well they were wrong, failure was not an option.  I put in 26 years, 4 months and 13 days.  I retired as a patrol sergeant. 

But my greatest accomplishment was earning the friendship and respect of my officers. My philosopy was simple, don't ask them to do anything I wouldn't do and expect them to do it right.  In order to expect that you have to make sure they have the skills and tools to do it right.

It's simple.  Do what you are supposed to do, the way it's supposed to be done, when it's supposed to be done and as though you were doing it for a loved one.  If you keep that vision it all takes care of itself.  Keep 'officer safety' rules first, maintain your equipment and wear your protective gear.

I kept them on track and out of trouble.  They were highly productive.  Did quality work.  Rendered absolutely superb service to the citizens and did it with compassionate professionalism.  I never saw a single officer abuse a prisoner, verbally or physically.  They took their responsibility seriously and performed with integrity and courage even in the wee hours when no one was looking over their shoulder.

It's not how they 'appear' when in the public eye, it's how they 'are' as people - when no one is looking, that makes a good cop.  I am proud to say every one that worked for me was top notch all the way.  And I am proud to say they called me 'mom'.

Well, I have been off the streets since 2002.  Friends kept saying 'you should write a book'.  I said I didn't think I had a book in me but I sure have a few stories.  Then one day I just decided to write one down.  Then two. Here I am at 30.  They sneak up on me.  They are not intended to be vignettes of macho kick ass police work, although I've been to a few.  Not  exciting pursuits, although I've been in more than a few.  Not the solving of hideous crimes, although I have had a couple of those. 

No, it's about the daily grind.  The way I liked to experience the delight in solving the pickles people find themselves in and how they turned out. There is nothing more interesting to me than people being themselves.  Painting themselves into a corner and calling the cops to help them get out without getting paint on their feet! I prefer the lighter side of the job but there are a few cases so sad or outrageous they beg to be shared.

One day I came across the Blogspot and thought I might post a couple of my stories.  Wow, the response was immediate.  I started this blog on October 26, 2010.  I am still learning how to get it right.  I have no training in writing anything but traffic tickets, probable cause affidavits and police reports.  I have been told my writing style is conversational.  I guess that means I am talking to my reader like they were sitting with me over coffee and a donut, doughnut (whatever).  I like that. 

With 2011 upon us I am setting myself a goal, write at least 2 new stories a week. At least until I can't remember any more or they aren't interesting any more.  Occasionally a friend sends me something in the realm of law enforcement that is worthy of sharing.  I always make sure the reader is aware that it is not my work product. 

As of this writing I have hits from the USA and 22 other countries!  It is truly an adventure to check my site each day and see where my stories have been shared!  Police work is universal.  The culture may vary but the things people do is the same everywhere.

I would like to thank the people in the following countries who have taken a few moments out of their day to read my work.  And take this opportunity to ask you to drop me a note.  I would sincerely love to hear from you!

Kuwait, United Kingdom, Canada, Netherlands, Iraq, British Virgin Islands, United Arab Emirates, Germany, Poland, Russia, France, Italy, Slovenia, Austria, Malaysia, Uganda, Tunisia, New Zealand, Belgium, Greece, Ukraine and Saudi Arabia

Happy New Year to you ALL and Thanks for allowing me to be a small part of your day!!!!!!!!!!!

In Memoriam

They are burying this Trooper today.

His wife and kids will have to live without him now.

Why?

The guy who shot him should have been in Jail!

How many times does this have to happen?

Rest In Peace my Brother in Blue!

30yo.Gregory Favors was more than a repeat offender. He was a serial repeat offender with 19 arrests and 10 convictions.

Because of that last July, after Favors had yet another brush with the law, Fulton County prosecutors wanted the judge to throw the book at him, pushing for a 30-year sentence with four years to serve behind bars.

But the Magistrate in the case disagreed and gave Favors 30-days on top of time served.

In a letter to Fulton County's Chief Judge Cynthia Wright, DA Paul Howard, Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed, and Atlanta Police Chief George Turner said had "Favors been given even half the recommended sentence, he'd still be incarcerated today," instead of facing new charges for allegedly killing state trooper Chadwick LeCroy this week.

The letter also says the Favors case is not believed to be an isolated event but in fact "occurs regularly as part of the Non-complex Criminal Court Division," which was designed to fast-track low-level felonies, often using non-negotiated plea bargains.

The DA says it is apparent that that philosophy of "moving cases is inconsistent with the safety of the Atlanta Fulton-County community, and immediate corrective action should be taken. As such, operations of the Non-Complex Court Division should be temporarily suspended and the cases distributed to the 16 Superior Court Judges."

Howard also says Trooper LeCroy's murder is not the only one to come as a result of these judicial problems. In September, he wrote that stabbing victim "Wayne Jackson died because of a failure in the system." Three months later, Trooper LeCroy would lose his life as well, also "because of a failure in the system."

DA Howard was careful to assure the court that the letter was not a personal attack on the judiciary, but rather a call to action to change the system by which it operates. He wants the Chief Justice of the Georgia Supreme Court to lead a study commission with top state and local criminal justice experts to figure out how to fix the system's deadly "failures."

Why Cops Train So Hard ~ You Never Know Who You'll Have to Fight

Why Cops Train So Hard

 You Never Know Who You'll Have to Fight

Or Why

Ho Ho Ho from Da Po Po Po!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wishing you all

Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year!

Thanks to all 14,000+ of my hits in 16 countries!  May God bless you all!

Szczesliwego Nowego Roku~~~~Frohe Weihnachten und ein frohes neues Jahr ~~~Feliz Navidad y un próspero Año Nuevo~~~С Рождеством Христовым и С наступающим Новым Годом ~~~ Joyeux Noël et bonne année~~~~~Prettige kerstdagen en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar! ~~~~Buon Natale and Felice Anno Nuovo~~~~~أجمل التهاني بمناسبة الميلاد و حلول السنة الجديدة ...~~~Vesel božič in srečno novo leto~~~~Selamat Hari Natal Basque - Zorionak eta Urte Berri On!~~~~MERII KURISUMASU-SHINNEN AKEMASHITE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas ...................

and a safe and happy New Year!

Talk about stereotypes- cop cleche'

First let me preface this by saying this is not my work.  But, it is so funny I just had to share. It came in an email from a friend of mine who worked in two of these units:

Narcotics
-Immediately grow facial hair, tell everybody you were ordered to.
-Start watching every episode of Monster Garage.
-Buy a biker wallet with a big chain.
-Make every case involve overtime $$$.
-Buy bunches of boats, RV's, and motorcycles with that overtime.
-Learn to play golf drunk.

SWAT
-Wear team T-shirts, Oakley sunglasses and boots everyday.
-Try to fit the word breach in to every conversation.
-Have a mirror handy to check hair, if you have hair.
-Never say hello to anyone who is not an operator, just practice your SWAT head nod.
-Subscribe to Soldier of Fortune and Muscle and Fitness.
-Learn to play golf wearing a gun.

Community Service units
-Hate SWAT
-Work to make everybody love you.
-Paint your office in pastel colors.
-Think Feng Shui.
-Subscribe to Psychology Today.
-Learn to play miniature golf.

Traffic units
-Write tickets to EVERYBODY.
-Spend every weekend cleaning your bike and polishing boots.
-Annoy everyone on the radio calling out your stops.
-Talk about nothing but how many tickets you wrote in one day.
-Ride by a building with big windows to see your reflection.
-Golf is lame, motor rodeos are cool.

K-9 Units
-Become sadistic
-Show pictures of your latest dog bite
-Brag about your largest drug find
-Smell like a dog
-Workout 3 times a day
-Show off your bruises

Administrative Units

-Three-hour lunches everyday, tell everybody it's a "meeting".

-Upgrade department cell

phone every month.

-Tell everybody you are published in a national law enforcement magazine.

-Update your revenge list on a weekly basis.

-Golf Rules! Play lots of golf.

Patrol Units
-Has nerves of steel.
-In a terminal state of nausea from department politics.
-Inability to keep mouth shut.
-Has defining tastes in alcohol.
-Is respected by peers.
-Beats the crap out of his caddy on any bogeyed shot


FTO
-Automatically grasps the door handle until knuckles turn white when car is put in gear
-Considers a multiple-victim homicide in progress a “good training opportunity” and asks to take primary
-Considers less than three hours of OT to be a quiet day


Investigators
-Come in at 0800
-"Breakfast" from 0815 to 1030
-Work from 1030 to Noon
-Noon to 1400 Work out and Lunch
-1400-1700 Sit in CID and talk about how many girlfriends you have and how the wife doesn't know. Plan your next RV, fishing, motorcycle trip.


Patrol Sergeant
-Remembers very well "how we used to do do it."
-Always willing to tell his officers the above.
-Tries to fit the word "liability" in to every sentence.
-Talks about "what he's hearing from upstairs."

Court Security
-Say you don’t want to work patrol anyway, but monitor dispatch channel while in courtroom
-Have Jail and courthouse cafeteria menus memorized
-Have seriously thought of entering law school after sitting through three jury trials
-Consider the Public Defenders’ Christmas party the high point of the year


Defensive Tactics Instructors
-Starts stretching before making arrest
-Can spend hours debating the advantages of ASP vs. straight stick
-Has spent more than $50 on a wood baton
-Giggles when a suspect starts to resist

New Corrections Officers - Show up for work 15 minutes early
- Buy only the best ink pens (Pilot G-2)
- Wear T-Shirts of your "dream department" under your uniform
- Wear a full duty belt of gear even though you have to remove everything when you arrive at the facility
- Become friends with every local police officer

Trainee
-Unable to grow facial hair.
-Watches every episode of Cops.
-Worships the ground the SWAT guys walk on.
-Arrives for work three hours early.
-Thinks the sergeant is thrilled to see him.
-Won't drink on the golf course because it violates the open container ordinance.


Feds
- Shave head, and grow goatee (unless you want to be a management weenie, then make sure you are clean shaven, with short almost military style haircut).
- Wear 5.11 pants, and polo with agency logo (unless you want to be a management weenie, then make sure you always have a shirt and pants to which a jacket and tie can be quickly added for when the boss might be around).
- Arrive at work at 8AM, spend one hour answering useless emails, and 30 minutes checking your retirement investments. Then go with another agent to Starbucks "to discuss your a new case."
- After participating in your first warrant service (as outside cover) make plans to join the agency SRT, SWAT, etc., to "properly utilize your superior tactical skills."
- After doing your first buy bust, immediately begin asking the boss about "long term undercover" jobs.
- Refuse to play golf with "the locals."

Snotsicles

T'was a few days before Christmas and it was water ski weather in my part of Florida.  I day dreamed about a white Christmas. Floridians have an ignorant naivete about snow.

Having spent a winter in northern Japan with 12 foot drifts outside my front door I was under no such illusion.  However, like child birth, one forgets the pain and wishes for foolish things, like more kids or snow.  Christmas is so much more fun if it's white and you don't have to shovel it.

The zone I was working had an abundance of middle and low rent apartment complexes.  Sort of an uppity version of trailer-trash. The family fights were commensurate with the economic environment.  Being on the fringe of town my possibility of timely back up was iffy at best.  Still, one must respond and deal with what ever comes your way.

RayBob Dupree liked to smack his kids and sling his woman, Verna Jean, into walls. Just to show 'em who was boss.   He and Verna Jean weren't officially married but they had 4 kids together. She'd been using his last name since he picked her up hitch hiking on the bayou when she was 16 and he was 30.

They'd arrived in Florida due to moving from job to job with a paving company. Verna Jean had him thrown out for whipppn' on her one too many times.  She'd also had enough of his drinking and womanizing.  Tho lord knows what a woman would have been attracted to.

RayBob was all of 5'5", 145 lbs.  He was 40 but looked 60.  He had more tattoos than teeth.  This day he had lost his job as a 'slow-stop' sign holder on the paving crew. He showed up to work late and being hung over one too many times.  I think there was a bit of a Napoleon Complex goin' on there.

So, not being completely bereft of common sense, which had either been knocked into or out of her depending on the situation over the years, she had armed herself with a can of mace.  She knew eventually he would show up at the front door and she was going to be prepared.

On this particular night RayBob had drowned his sorrows with cheap beer when he decided it was time to go back home.  Verna Jean answered the door to their second story apartment with the chain lock on and the can of mace in her hand.  He demanded she let him in.  She told him to go away or she'd call the cops.  He tried to shove his way in.  She put the can of mace out the crack in the door and sprayed him full in the face.

 

He caught the full blast and stepped back, almost falling down the concrete stairs to the ground.  He grabbed the railing and gasped for air.  She slammed the door and called for a squad car to take him away.

When I arrived I saw RayBob standing at the top of the stairs pounding on the door.  As I climbed the stairs I shined my flash light on him. I could see he was suffering the ill effects of some kind of chemical spray. He turned to me as I got to the landing.

 His face was beet red, eyes swollen to gummy slits and he had snotsicles a foot long hanging from both nostrils.  As he turned to me the streams of gooey snot swung like the beaded fringe on a cocktail dress.  The noxious spray hung in the air around him and burned my eyes too.

Verna Jean handed me a copy of her restraining order through the crack in the door.  She didn't want to open it with him still there.  Can't say I blamed her.

Of course, this was before they issued latex gloves and before I was smart enough to by my own leather gloves. So I just had to suck it up and cuff him bare handed.  He'd wiped the first 18 inches of snot with his hands and sleeves.  He was actually working up the second 18 inches when I arrived.

So, pepper/mace laden snot got on my hands and cuffs.  Burned like napalm.  I got him down the stairs gently, though I must confess it would have been easier and more fun to shove him and just scoop him up upon landing.

He was loaded up and I had to leave the windows down to air out the car as I drove him to jail.  Once there the D.O.'s had to strip him down and put him in the delousing cell to hose him off.  Of course no such luxury was afforded me.  I had to fill out the booking paperwork before I could take a shower back in the locker room.  I ended up having to seal my uniform into double plastic bags for the laundry or it would have smoked out the entire 4th floor of the police station.

You might be a redneck if you your best Christmas purchase is a can of pepper spray and you get to use it on your baby's daddy!

That year I cancelled my wish for snow and asked Santa for frisk gloves.

Kids and Cuffs and Snakes - Oh My!

One thing you can look forward to if you select a career patrolling the streets in law enforcement is getting bitten.  During my years on the road I can recall having experienced that treat many times. Biting is an act of desperation when all other means fail to inflict damage on the perceived threat, the Police.

What ever you are summoned to handle in the 'coping' sense of the word eventually means you end up 'handling' it in the grab a hold and don't let go sense.  And some time what ever or who ever you are grabbing a hold of bites.

My first bite was from a teenage girl.  She was a runaway from up north.  Arrived in town on a Greyhound Bus and was panhandling at the bus station.  They reported her and she was brought to the station until we could find an agency to house her until her family could come get her.

She was less than enthusiastic at the prospect of her adventure coming to an end and copped an attitude.  She swung, kicked, twisted around, went limp, bowed up & head butted the two officers who transported her. 

They decided the safest place for her to wait was in the holding cell aka, drunk tank.  Though in this case since she was not drunk we referred to it as the Think Tank.  Sit in there and think about your attitude.  It offered excellent accommodation for someone in her frame of mind.  NOTHING! No mattress, no pillow, no nuthing.  Just a cement room with a cement bench and a flush drain in the floor.

Suicide attempt is a real consideration that has to be anticipated. She was wearing a rolled up bandanna as a belt thru the loops in her jeans.  It needed to be removed. The officers who brought her in decided it would not be appropriate for them to fiddle around trying to get the knot out of it as the knot was perched above her pubic area. So they called for me to do it.

They held her down on the bench while I worked on getting the knot untied. She arched her head up and got me in the under arm.  When I pulled away she dropped back and knocked her noggin on the bench.  I do believe she saw stars.  Took two weeks for my bruise to heal up.  Hurt like a bitch too.

Handcuffs bite too.  I always get a kick watching TV cops put handcuffs on.  Presto - changeo cuffs are on.  The bad guy just offers up his wrists and the cuffs go on lickety split.

Not in real life.  Even a cooperative subject can be difficult to cuff properly.  Some people have arms so big their wrists won't meet close enough in the back and you have to use two sets of cuffs.  I even had one guy that took 3 sets to span from wrist to wrist. 

Cuffs like to get stuck in long sleeves too.  If you happen to snag even a smidgen of cloth it can be a nightmare getting that undone.  Meanwhile the originally cooperative subject has time to reconsider their pickle and often has a change of heart.  Opting to start to struggle.  Once that starts it's on. 

Getting cuffs on someone who wants to fight it is a real treat.  The teeth on the gate of the cuff often take chunks of skin out of the person applying them.  Try taking a pair of scissors and just nipping a little piece out of one of your fingers if you 'd like to simulate that experience.  There isn't a cop on patrol who has not been bitten by his or her own cuffs.  Now days that often results in HIV testing for a year, more fun.

Then there are the animals who don't necessarily appreciate the fact that you are there to help.  Like the rat snake I found taking an asphalt nap at the entrance of the golf course one morning.  It was about 6 am and I knew he'd come out during the night for the warmth of the road.  I figured some duffer with an early T time would squash him just for the fun of it.  So I stopped to shoo him off the road,  I like to save animals, what can I say.

Well, I put on the overheads, got out and thought a little nudge with my night stick would encourage him to move on.  Apparently he was having a bad dream and decided to cop an attitude.  Did you know a harmless little rat snake can lunge the entire length of a night stick?  He didn't have fangs, just little needle teeth that left nice, evenly spaced rows of scratches down the back of my hand.

Since they eat rats I figured it might call for a tetanus shot.  I signed out at the ER for the shot.  One of my fellow officers, sensing something interesting was happening that he didn't want to miss out on arrived shortly thereafter for the show.  When the doc came in to give me the shot I opted for hip rather than arm.  I asked my brother officer to vacate the cubicle while I dropped my gun belt and pants.  He just laughed and said "Not on your life, I'm staying for this!"

Of course this was in the late 1970's when it was just funny. And it was funny. These days it would end up in a law suit for 'sexual harassment or hostile work environment'. 

Whatever.... I say ladies, quit yer bitchin', and suck it up.