Never Too Old

Any veteran copper knows to never take any situation for granted. Just because a suspect is handcuffed doesn't mean he is not still dangerous. A copper has to be ready to do battle at an moment's notice.

In the big city, normal conversation is used more often than the 10 series codes used by so many police departments. Telling an officer "a 10-33 in progress" will likely get a "say what?" response.

When an officer is in trouble and needs immediate help all he needs to say is "10-1" and his location. Every copper in the immediate area will fly to the aid of an officer in danger, no matter what agency it is that needs the help.

The other day one such call came over the air and when this big city copper got there there were eight or more officers already on the scene and the offender was on the floor being handcuffed. The situation was under control. Officers not involved drifted away and left the scene. It was in a third floor stairwell where the action had occurred so the arresting officer decided to use the elevator to take the prisoner down rather than walk him down the stairs. Another copper and I decided to stick around to make sure they got in the elevator okay.

The suspect had a friend waiting. The man saw his buddy being walked to the elevator and jumped at the leading officer punching and kicking at him. The handcuffed man head butted and kicked at the second officer. We trailed a few feet behind and saw it coming. I went at the handcuffed guy while the other copper chose the other guy. I was able to avoid his kicks and head butts and helped drag him back to the cement floor. After a brief but intense struggle he stopped fighting. The other coppers managed to control and subdue the second attacker.

We finally got the offenders down to the street and into separate cage cars. None of the officers suffered injuries. Unfortunately, I'll need a new pair of glasses. The frames broke and a lens cracked.

Well I was due a new pair anyway but I'm getting too old to be wrasslin' with bad guys! Hell I didn't even need to use glasses until I turned forty.

Until a copper stops working the street though, he 's never too old to step into crap when it's least expected.

And I'm not ready to give up the street yet.

Close, but no......

A police officer's career is exciting and dangerous. It's not however, all shootouts and frisky women. (A big city copper is polite and doesn't describe it as "bullets and blowjobs" like some officers would.)

There are areas where an officer can go his whole career without ever taking his gun out of his holster except for practice or qualification. There are also towns and cities where the high crime and violence forces officers into gun fights on a more regular basis. Not all gun play results in injury or death. Sometimes, it's a close call that could have gone bad but didn't.

A copper responded to a disturbance call one night. He approached the location and paused to put his flashlight into a baton ring. The door burst open. A woman screamed out "he's got a gun!" She ran out into the street followed seconds later by a man holding a very nasty looking revolver. The copper, in the middle of the street, realized he was still fidgeting with the flashlight. He succeeded in securing the light (they're expensive) then grabbed the .45 he had just purchased a few days earlier and had only just qualified with. (Strange, the things that run through a copper's head during a adrenaline surge.)

The armed man, apparently very intent on the woman, chased her into the street. The woman , screaming, ran behind a parked car. She kept the car between her and the gunman by running back and forth as he chased her.

The copper, gun drawn and leveled at the man, shouted "police, drop it". The man stopped. The copper shouted again. The man turned, looked at the copper for a long second ( the hands, watch the hands, crap, there's bullets in the cylinder, it's loaded, watch the gun, watch the gun,) then said "SHIT" and dropped the gun. The copper ran up, ordered the man against the wall, then stepped into the back of his leg and forced him to his knees. The copper backed away then called for an assist car to take the man into custody.

While off duty and returning to his car after traffic court one day, a copper watched a man approach a car that was pulled over at the mouth of an alley. The man pulled a gun and began to fire into the car. People began screaming. There was a school on the block and the kids were just getting out for the day.

The officer, pulled out his pistol and began to approach the gunman. A woman screamed behind him " AY DIOS MIO, OTRO!" (Oh my God, another one!) The copper couldn't fire. Too many kids and parents were behind the shooter. The gunman continued to shoot as the car screeched away from the curb. The copper yelled "police"! The shooter, a young male, turned and ran into the alley. The copper (remember, off duty so no radio) chased after him. The young man turned into a gangway and disappeared from sight. The copper, slowed down and began to carefully search for the gunman. After several minutes, there was no sign of the man or of any other police. The copper called it in and provided a description of the shooter and the vehicle but no injuries or damage was ever reported.

Cruising in the vicinity of a block party shooting, a big city copper spotted a man fitting the description of the man wanted for the earlier shooting. The man ran into a yard then continued out of the back gate. The copper gave chase and called out the direction of flight to other cars in the area. When the man turned into another yard, the copper immediately turned into a parallel yard and exited the front at the same time as the suspect. Unaware that the officer was approaching from behind him, the man ducked under a porch and pulled out a gun. He was hiding it under some stones when the copper came up and challenged him. The man looked back and saw the officer had a gun pointed at him. He put up his hands and surrendered.

After each of these incidents, the officer involved got the "coulda shoulda woulda's." He was second guessed by other coppers. "I'd have killed him" "You should have shot him" were some of the comments he heard. Like a true professional, the big city copper told them he never felt threatened or not in control of the situation so killing wasn't necessary.

Sometimes a close call is just part of another day in the big city.

Safety first.

I picked up my new bicycle yesterday. While setting it up for riding (better seat, mirror, lights, and my favorite thumbbell), my mind revisited the vision of crashing and flipping over onto the street. My fall was not an accident and fell into the "assholiness" category but it reminded me of an important topic.

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SAFETY! Whether you are a pedestrian, riding on a bicycle, crotch rocket, or a Harley, road safety should be foremost on everybody's mind.

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A pedestrian, in a hurry to cross the street, stepped around a group of people waiting for the light to change. A transit system bus, pulling into the bus stop, struck her head just as she tried to get back on the sidewalk. First on the scene, I approached the woman as she lay on the street. She looked at me and smiled. I told her the ambulance was on the way. A few minutes later, I looked into the ambulance and asked how she was doing. The medic told me she had died shortly after she was struck. I was stunned. She used one of her last living moments to smile at me.

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The injuries I suffered were minor but earlier this summer, a bicycle rider died after getting "doored". The rider was thrown into the street by a driver opening his door into traffic. He was struck and killed by a passing motorist.

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All summer, motorcycles called "crotch rockets" traveled up and down the lakefront highway at high speeds. The riders recklessly hit speeds of over 90 MPH. They often roared past the radar police car in groups. The police, instead of trying to pursue at such dangerous speeds, had to radio ahead and try to catch them at their destination.

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Occasionally, the laws of physics caught them first. One night a rider lost control, veered off the road , and struck a tree. His torso remained attached to the tree limb. His legs and hips were found a hundred feet or so further up the median.

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On another night this big city copper was told by a motorist of a body in the street. Driving up to the location, I noticed a bundle of clothes laying in the road. The pile of rags contained a man laying on his back staring up at the sky. I checked for a pulse in the neck and felt only bones protruding. Checking further, I observed the back pockets of his jeans were also facing upward. After calling in and requesting "everybody", I looked around for the inevitable motorcycle. The cycle was down the street a few yards away. I noticed another dark pile on the parkway. It was a man curled up in the baby position. I felt for a pulse and then heard a groan. As he turned his head his brains began to spill from under his "do rag". He died there on the street.

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Professional police motorcycle riding was also dangerous. Several officers suffered injuries in crashes or in training sessions. A news item told of two officers getting killed while doing motorcade duty for the president.

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Safety first. We'll all hopefully live longer.

Police have normal days too.

A copper working on the street day after day never knows what kind of situation he may encounter. Funny, absurd, bizarre, or even sexual, are just some of the ways to describe a "normal" day.

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An attractive brunette walked into the station during a rainstorm, soaked to the skin, wearing only a tight tee shirt and shorts and asked for help getting into her locked car. The lucky officer who offered to assist her returned later smiling from the "thank you" she gave him, twice, since her husband wasn't home.

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An officer related how he and his partner were met at the door by a woman wearing a see through robe. Cheerfully they, accepted the invitation to enter the apartment. The first copper was led into a room. The partner heard a voice from the other room. Smiling he went in and found an old woman at least 70 years old leaning up on an elbow from the bed. "Please come in officer, I ain't had me a man in over ten years."

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Another copper related that during an interview of a young woman victim of date rape, she was asked if the man had ejaculated. Not understanding , she asked "huh?" She was asked again, "Did he have an orgasm?" The girl replied "Oh no, he had a Monte Carlo."

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Responding to assist a one man car at a disturbance, a sergeant found the officer speaking to two men. One man was in tears and the other was highly agitated. The crying man related he and his friend were having an argument so he left to calm down. When he returned his friend was screaming and behaving strangely. The coppers got both men to go into the apartment. The agitated man was speaking rapidly and his eyes were wild.

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The coppers got them both to sit down. The wild one began to explain that after the argument, his lover walked out so he decided to take a shower then a nap. While sleeping , two black men broke into the apartment and dragged him into the bathroom where they broke the mirror and raped him. The sergeant, stated the man should go to the hospital to get checked out. The man agreed, then continued to say that they had raped him with a piece of broken mirror. "My ass is bleeding" he stated, "Look." He then stood up, yanked his pants down, and bent over.

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Both officer and sergeant started, "NO, DON'T" but it was too late... The officer shone his flashlight. The sergeant looked closer. Nothing. The man was not bleeding at all.

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"There's nothing wrong with your ass! Put your pants on." ordered the officer.

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The coppers decided the wild eyed look was possibly crystal meth intoxication. This was probably causing the delusions. They convinced the calm one to sign his friend into the hospital. The wild one was placed in the cage car and driven to the hospital. The friend and sergeant followed close behind.

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When they arrived at the hospital, the officer opened the door to the car. The man calmly stepped out and immediately took off running. His friend ran after him. No drugs had been found and neither men had committed a crime so the coppers didn't join in the chase.

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"Have you ever looked in a guys ass before, Sarge?"

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"No, how about you?"

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"I won't tell if you don't." They both agreed.

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Ten minutes later, the jokes started on the radio and from passing police cars.

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Coppers can't keep secrets. Is nothing sacred?

Support your local police.

The big city police department has been suffering through bad publicity because a small group of rogue officers chose to tarnish the honor of their profession. Maybe todays mutterings will help readers understand why they should support the many, many good honest coppers who do their best to overcome the daily battles that police endure.

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A former New York City, Anthony Bouza, police chief wrote "Cops work in a world shrouded with mystery and power..."

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For eight hours a day, six days a week coppers encounter everything one could imagine. Every pain, misery, despair and degradation that man can think of inflicting on each other has to be challenged and overcome. Officer's senses get heightened to a level where the adrenaline flows in copious amounts. They witness more traumatic events in one year than an average person will see in several lifetimes. This overloading of the sensory circuits gives the police an outlook of arrogance, superiority, and power that some outsiders recognize but can never understand.

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Police Officers go into the homes of people who have temporarily lost control of their lives. They evaluate the situation, consider the options, then make a decision for those who are unable or unwilling to do on their own. This is often accomplished in a matter of seconds or in some cases, split seconds. Applying these decisions to the situations at hand takes authority and power. Society gives police the power and authority to accomplish this task using whatever force is necessary including the right to subdue, strike, and even kill legally. This enormous power over the citizenry is wielded by even the lowest ranking rookie officer.

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Police are bonded together into a brotherhood brought on by shared danger and self preservation. There is a common feeling that an outsider has no idea of what really goes on in the bowels of the city so it is difficult to relate to anyone but another copper who lives and works in the same environment.

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Whenever a copper sees another officer struggling with an individual, he sees himself or a brother fighting for his life and the pleasure of going home to his family in one piece. To prevent any further injury to his comrade and the offender, he joins in the fight. A passing citizen sees this and cries brutality because there are more police than bad guys. Well, coppers do not fight fair. They don't have to. They have to win at all costs. Society demands it. What would the city be like if the police had to fight one on one with the criminals?

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Police officers are a unique, elite group of individuals. A thousand years ago these people would have been slaying dragons and rescuing princesses. They actively seek out danger and evil. They revel in the capture of violent criminals. Normal people hear shooting and run from it. Coppers feel a surge of adrenaline and go after the gunmen. Why is that? Do they get paid an enormous amount of money? No!! They do it for the honor and the glory of it. There is a certain satisfaction to solving a murder or a robbery, whether it's within minutes or a year later.

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An active aggressive copper can't help but get complaints filed against him. A true professional, he doesn't shy away from his duty for he knows that as long as his actions are within the law he has no fear of a complaint board. Officers will go out and provide service to the best of his ability for the same people who had filed the complaint against him. It's ironic that the same person who vehemently screams of abuse and brutality at the hands of the police is the first to cry "Help Police" when he or she becomes a victim of a crime.

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The intoxicating allure of the street does have a price that has to be paid. There is a tremendous amount of stress involved in police work. Any situation, any encounter can explode into a maddening tooth and nail struggle for life itself. Every darkened alley or hallway is a potential ambush. Every traffic stop is a possible gun battle waiting to erupt. Whenever a copper walks in an open area his eyes never stop moving, ever conscious of the huge target the blue suit makes. Coppers are the only people who never look at each other during a conversation as they must always be aware of their surroundings. They see what other people miss. Where an average person sees dress styles, laughter, and love; the copper sees pickpockets working, psychotics babbling, and couples fighting. They can't help it. They have to wallow in other peoples misery and observe them at their worst. In order to deal with dead children, pools of blood, spilled brain matter, and the pitiful wail of grief stricken families they unconsciously grow callouses over their emotions. The typical gallows humor coppers are famous for is a defense mechanism formed to cope with the sickening violence that man inflicts on his own kind.

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This stress related arrogance, cynicism, and callousness of the heart is not a button that can easily be switched on or off. Many officers take it home with them. Their odd working hours and long shifts wreaks havoc on their home life. Their lives are subject to public scrutiny and everyone knows who the officer is that lives on the block. Coppers dislike going to non police functions because of the attitudes people take when they know he is present. All of this often results in one of the highest divorce rates in the country.

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A higher price that is paid is the many injuries suffered from fights with doped up addicts, violent attacks, and traffic accidents. Yes, coppers bleed, in fact they bleed more than any other profession other than the brave soldiers fighting for our freedom (God bless them). Every officer's heart bleeds a little every time one of their own is murdered while doing his job.

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Being slain on the job should be the ultimate price but it doesn't end there. The suicide rate among police officers is abnormally high. Too many good coppers have taken that escape route while depressed and over stressed.

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Death by retirement is also a job hazard that is almost unique to the profession. The average life span for a police officer is two years less than normal and statistics show that a retired officer collects only 18 months of his pension before he dies. Many coppers have died the first week after "pulling the pin."

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Policing the big city is difficult and dangerous. The men and women who go out and risk their health and safety daily usually get only the gratitude of the victims that have been helped. The actions of a small element of bad cops who abuse the power and insult the honest and decent members of the profession should not result in further loss of support from the public.

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Without the support of the community, the only satisfaction coppers will get will be from peer recognition and their own professionalism. This will only serve to further alienate the police from the society it serves.

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Most Police Officers, whether they are big city coppers or small town's finest, are fiercely proud of their profession and of the men and women that "SERVE AND PROTECT."

No honors today.

A copper was buried today. Quietly. Only family, friends, and those police officers who knew him.

A sergeant who knew him from the early days, wondered why the order for a full honors burial never came out. He hastily arranged for two escort vehicles and a handful of officers to show up at the funeral home for an impromptu honor guard to show the family the respect that was due to their loved one.

The man was a hero. An apparently unsung one but a hero none the less.

A few years ago, the officer was working in a high crime district helping to train a young recruit. While patrolling late one night they came upon a car parked near an industrial area. The man in the car was alone. He had a newspaper in his lap. The officers sensed no danger.

Both officers came up on the same side, realizing the error, the veteran copper waved back the younger officer and approached the driver.

The man stepped from the car but kept the newspaper over his hand. Now aware of the danger, the copper lunged for the man as a nine shot .22 revolver came into view. He grabbed for the gun hand as the offender fired. Four bullets entered under the officers body armor into the officers torso. The officer fell away injured and bleeding.

The man then turned and fired three more shots at the young recruit a few feet away. Struck in the vest, belly, and belt buckle the young copper was able to draw his weapon and fire several times, killing the assailant.

Severely injured, the veteran copper was rushed to the trauma center. He survived the attack.
Coppers know how much damage a .22 slug can do at close range. Even after months of rehab it was determined that the officer would no longer be able to carry out his police duties. He was retired on disability.

Still a young man, he struggled to live his life to the fullest.

He died quietly, a hero.

He was buried quietly, without the honors due him for his sacrifice.

Too Many Heroes Dying

I took a couple of days off to go to a family function out of town. The drive wasn't long, only a couple of hours, just enough to stare off and ponder about life, about mortality. Nothing like a unexpected fright to give a guy a reality check. The scrapes and sore muscles are a painful reminder of how quickly life could end so I relish being alive.

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I arrive home. I go to my favorite sites to see how every one is doing and I find an excellent, heartfelt article posted by the Texas Ghostrider. It's about a comrade who has ended his own life.

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What! Again?

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What is it about coppers and eating bullets? Yes, that is a crude way of describing it but killing one's self is an ugly thing. There is no dignity in death. We, who see it all the time know this. It hurts everybody. Family, friends , comrades, all of us.

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Too many of us have chosen that route. Yes, I realize they are not thinking straight when they make that decision so I agree with Ghostrider. We as fellow officers have to catch the signs. We are so watchful of our backs and environment for "the bad guys" that we fail so see our close friends or loved ones suffering. Some one saw a signal. Something wasn't right about how he was acting. Were you embarrassed to say something?

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Statistically, police officers are way up there on the suicide list. Most of us have known one or more officers that have died this way. That's not right.

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Most, if not all, departments have some kind of employee assistance program. Reach out. Call someone . Be anonymous if you must, but do something. You might embarrass your self if you are wrong but you also may save a family from being torn apart. It's worth it!

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It is too painful to read about yet another police officer committing suicide. 

Interacting with the police sucks

Interaction between the police and the public is at times a tricky thing. Being on the other side of the desk today was eye opening.

On Thursday, the 3rd of September at about one thirty p.m., I was riding my bicycle north on Central Ave at about 59 th. Street. I was legally using the right lane. A Barr & Miles truck # 962 Blasted the horn at me and passed in the right lane that I had the right of way to. I yelled at him to watch it . The driver slammed on his brakes and caused me to strike the right rear tire of the truck. My bike flipped over I struck the truck then the ground rolling and hitting my helmet on the ground. I was stunned. I got up and walked toward the truck. The driver drove away leaving me scraped and scratched. I grabbed my bicycle and began to chase the truck. Luckily the driver had to stop at red lights so I was able to keep the truck in sight. I followed the truck to the company's garage. The driver was surprised to see me and began to shout profanities at me and said I couldn’t prove any thing.

I entered the office and spoke with a manager and told him of the situation. The manager came out with me to the lot. My bicycle was now on the ground damaged so severely I was unable to use it. I did not see who further damaged the bicycle but it was inside the fence and in the garage area.

I followed the truck from the scene of the incident. He clearly tried and succeeded in causing the crash. He fled the scene of a personal injury accident using a company vehicle. State law required him to stop and see if I was injured. Since he failed to do so I have to believe it was intentional

I called 911. The call taker stated , it occurred outside of our town limits ( I crossed the line in the chase.) He transferred me to the city. The city dispatcher wouldn't send a car because I was outside of the city. "Go to the nearest police station" she said. My bike is trashed, how am i going to get there? I had to call for a ride. The trucking company sent their driver in his car. I called the station and asked to delay him till I got there. I identified myself of course.

When I got there he was gone and the very young desk officer is telling me that since I struck the truck I must be at fault. "The striking vehicle isn't necessarily the at fault vehicle," I tried to explain. I spoke with a sergeant,( also very young). No help. Now I'm beginning to understand why the public dislikes the police. Just write the report. I'll deal with the hit and run unit. "But sir the other driver came in so it's not a hit and run." I chased this guy two miles at least. (biking eighteen miles four days a week paid off) That's your story she says. Can you believe it? He beats me to the station so he's now the good guy? Write the report but please say I chased him. I 'll wait to get a copy from records section and deal with it later. Meanwhile, my bike is trashed. I've got tire impressions on my shoulder and general road rash on my legs and hands.

I'm composing a nice letter to the listed company president. I hope he is more responsive. The police department sure left me angry and disappointed. Twenty years ago coppers would have been all over this type of incident. This time I have to agree with some people who say, "police are assholes."

Police work in the projects.

A copper never knew what to expect when going into the projects. The "jets", as they were known, were the most dangerous environment police officers had to work in. The high rise buildings were set up so no one could approach unseen. The gangs had look outs posted on the upper floors as well as in the lobbies. Officer's had been shot down by snipers while walking across the field between buildings. Police cars and officers were targeted as furniture, small appliances, cinder blocks, bricks, or bottles were tossed down from the upper floors. Just approaching the building was like a combat patrol.

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Entering the building had to done cautiously. The job was almost never in a ground level apartment. Coppers learned from other's mistakes. The elevator was not a good option since a good sergeant took a bullet to the chest when the doors opened on an upper floor (luckily for newly issued body armor, he survived). Some guys used the inch worm method. One officer walked up a flight of stairs as the partner covered from below. The partner then walked up as the first officer covered from above. Both officers were never on the stairs between landings at the same time. This was slow and certainly not ambush proof but it was one of the best available tactics. Safety, safety, safety was always the primary concern.

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Most of the residents of the public housing developments were good law abiding citizens trapped by poverty or dire circumstances. These were the people they were there to help. Their apartments were sometimes spotlessly clean and the families embarrassed but grateful for the police service.

The dope dealing gangbangers never called the police. When the circumstances called for a visit to these apartments a state of high alert had to be maintained. The heat was always stifling and the roaches everywhere. The thugs would disappear but there were always signs that they were there. Beer bottles, still ice cold and sweating, reefer stubs in the ashtrays or empty cellophane wrappers were definite clues.

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The trio of coppers assigned strictly to public housing were known to be fearless. They were all over six foot tall and wore long duster coats like the old time lawmen and carried long barreled Colt .45's and .44 magnum revolvers. They were known to strike fear in the gang members. The legend was they "kicked ass and didn't take names". These coppers were a pleasure to have around when having to enter the jets for a disturbance.

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Arresting a victim turned offender was sometimes the outcome. When explaining to the officer how the man had "called her all kinds of bitches and hoes" then "jumped on me" the angry woman pulled a gun and pointed it at him. Quick reactions from both officers prevented a tragedy. They were able to grab and wrestle the gun from her before she could fire a shot.

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This incident earned the officers only an "Honorable Mention" for their personnel jackets since, as the sergeant put it, " What do you want? That's your job!" But as all coppers know , one "aw shit" trumps a whole file full of honorable mentions.

Officer Shot

Every copper knows that a typical day is usually everything but. One minute it's scrounging around for traffic cones and barricades to block off that pothole that's blowing out tires on the drive and the next it's lights and siren because the dispatcher says a police officer is shot and you're only a few blocks away.

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Traffic never moves fast enough when it's important to get somewhere. Is it a false alarm? Is it a crank call? No, this time the call has been made over the radio by other officers. Sirens can be heard from every direction as officers respond. A fellow policeman, a brother, has been attacked!

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Is it bad? Will we be going to yet another funeral? We are good at funerals. Our full honors funerals are a sight to behold. Not a dry eye among the hundreds who show up from all parts of the country. Lots of practice I guess.

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There are police cars every where. There is also a lane open for the ambulance. Police officers know to leave a lane for the ambulance. The scene looks chaotic in a controlled way. Again, too much practice.

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A big sigh of relief, the only body on the ground is not wearing police blue or the body armor of a plainclothes officer.

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Leaning on the hood of a police car with a look of terror and shock on his face is one of us. The man in blue, a brother officer who has survived to serve and protect another day. His shirt is torn where the bullet tried to pierce his always worn, but seldom really appreciated, bullet proof vest.

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The good guys win.

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This time.