For those of you working this evening, a message from an old school friend.
Enjoy this clip from back in the day.
The P.O.P. Factor
- Older School
- "Just the facts, ma'am." More often than not, politically correct bullshit won't be found here. Pardon me while I exercise my 1st amendment right! I welcome all to my little world of bitches, moans, gripes and complaints, and sometimes, the downright freakin' odd. Take a seat and join me. I love a good story.
Friday, December 31, 2010
The Susan Smith saga continues....thanks to Harpo
In October 1994, Susan Smith of Union, SC reported to the police that a black male car jacked her, kidnapping her 2 young sons that were still in the car. For days, she made well publicized and somewhat tearful pleas to the public seeking the safe return of her children. After about 9 days, she eventually admitted to police that she had let her car roll in to the John D. Long Lake while her 2 sons were strapped inside. They both drowned.
Some say that her media statements were cold and automated, with no signs of emotional distress or concern for the whereabouts of her children. It wasn't until she was eventually arrested for 2 counts of murder that any emotions were finally revealed.
When it finally came to light that she had lied about a black man stealing her car with her sons inside, a racially charged media circus was ignited. The volunteers, family and the public that supported her, all felt betrayed.
She stated she had disposed of her sons because of her interest in a wealthy man who had no interest in her or her ready made family. It was never known if she had even considered relinquishing custody of her sons to her ex husband, the children's father.
She pleaded not guilty, and used the mental disease/defect defense. Many bizarre things came to light during her trial. She admitted to having been sexually assaulted by her step father as a child. The step father admitted to it under oath and then claimed their sex was consensual well in to her adulthood. Ok, so she had a bizarre childhood, even trying to commit suicide twice, but still...SHE MURDERED HER CHILDREN!
The Solcitor [DA] asked for the death penalty in this case but the jury spared her and she got a life sentence with the eligibility for parole after 30 years. She will be eligible for parole when she is 53 years old in 2024.
During her incarceration, she develops a sexually transmitted disease which led to the discovery that she was having sex with 2 correctional officers. The CO's not only lost their jobs, but were also arrested and charged with misconduct in office. As a result, she was transferred to another correctional facility.
She also gained some publicity for posting her picture (see below) and profile on a new website called writeaprisoner.com. After a good deal of public outcry, her profile was pulled and the website later dissolved.
Fast forwarding to the present, Oprah Winfrey admits on her show recently that she's been trying to get an interview with Susan Smith for years. It's the final year for her show and this interview is on her bucket list.
Winfrey petitioned Governor elect, Nikki Haley, to be allowed to interview Susan Smith.
The SC Dept. of Corrections has a strict and long standing policy about not allowing prisoners to be interviewed. Gov. elect Haley denied Winfrey's request, stating everyone had suffered enough from this tragedy and she has no intention of changing the rules.
I cannot believe that Winfrey would even want to consider giving this woman any kind of forum - all for the sake of ratings and notoriety. Susan Smith is a narcissistic child killer who should have gotten the death penalty. Oprah Winfrey should be ashamed and embarrassed for even asking.
Some say that her media statements were cold and automated, with no signs of emotional distress or concern for the whereabouts of her children. It wasn't until she was eventually arrested for 2 counts of murder that any emotions were finally revealed.
When it finally came to light that she had lied about a black man stealing her car with her sons inside, a racially charged media circus was ignited. The volunteers, family and the public that supported her, all felt betrayed.
She stated she had disposed of her sons because of her interest in a wealthy man who had no interest in her or her ready made family. It was never known if she had even considered relinquishing custody of her sons to her ex husband, the children's father.
She pleaded not guilty, and used the mental disease/defect defense. Many bizarre things came to light during her trial. She admitted to having been sexually assaulted by her step father as a child. The step father admitted to it under oath and then claimed their sex was consensual well in to her adulthood. Ok, so she had a bizarre childhood, even trying to commit suicide twice, but still...SHE MURDERED HER CHILDREN!
The Solcitor [DA] asked for the death penalty in this case but the jury spared her and she got a life sentence with the eligibility for parole after 30 years. She will be eligible for parole when she is 53 years old in 2024.
During her incarceration, she develops a sexually transmitted disease which led to the discovery that she was having sex with 2 correctional officers. The CO's not only lost their jobs, but were also arrested and charged with misconduct in office. As a result, she was transferred to another correctional facility.
She also gained some publicity for posting her picture (see below) and profile on a new website called writeaprisoner.com. After a good deal of public outcry, her profile was pulled and the website later dissolved.
Fast forwarding to the present, Oprah Winfrey admits on her show recently that she's been trying to get an interview with Susan Smith for years. It's the final year for her show and this interview is on her bucket list.
Winfrey petitioned Governor elect, Nikki Haley, to be allowed to interview Susan Smith.
The SC Dept. of Corrections has a strict and long standing policy about not allowing prisoners to be interviewed. Gov. elect Haley denied Winfrey's request, stating everyone had suffered enough from this tragedy and she has no intention of changing the rules.
I cannot believe that Winfrey would even want to consider giving this woman any kind of forum - all for the sake of ratings and notoriety. Susan Smith is a narcissistic child killer who should have gotten the death penalty. Oprah Winfrey should be ashamed and embarrassed for even asking.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Cough due to cold?
Ah yes, cold and flu season is upon us and it's safe to say that some of us will avoid going to the doctor at any cost. In fact, that's the problem -- it costs.
There is no cure for the common cold so we know the schpiel -
drink plenty of fluids, get plenty of rest, eat Mom's chicken soup, and fight off the symptoms with any number of over the counter cold remedies.
I have developed a cough, that I can only hope won't manifest itself in to bronchitis. After a very lengthy holiday road trip, I decide to take a quick stop at my local CVS to pick up some cough syrup and some milk before going home and crawling in to bed.
I made 2 mistakes:
1. I foolishly believed that I could just run in real quick for my 2 items like it was your local stop 'n rob.
2. I also left everything in the car and grabbed only a $20.00 bill. [Yes, some people do occasionally use cash these days.]
This drug store was the busiest I've ever seen it on a Monday evening and there's only 2 employees working in the store. One in the pharmacy - and it's packed with people back there, and one on the front register. The young man running the register is about 25-30 years old, and is wearing a shirt and tie, not the usual blue CVS shirt. I take it he's an Assistant Manager - or Assistant Manager in training - or an Assistant Manager in training to be a pain in my ass.
I get in line with my 2 items. It was a strange, haphazard line and there are 3 people ahead of me. What bothers me most is that he [the cashier/Asst. Manager] is spending an inordinate amount of time chatting up this pretty little blonde that he's checking out. Granted, she has quite a bit of merchandise, but the usual 18-21 year olds I see working in here can always manage to make that line move a whole hell of a lot faster.
I'm tired. Time is ticking. I'm shifting my weight on either foot. He's not getting her phone number, but he sure is kissing her ass. This guy is being so disgustingly pleasant that you just want to knock some ugly in to him! Ok finally....she's out. Next guy. Blah, blah. Next guy...he wants cigarettes. He's clearly younger than me. The Assistant Ass is being a bit solicitous to him too in that they don't have his brand and their delivery truck is expected tomorrow, but we have the shorter version. Doesn't ask for ID to make sure he's old enough and responsible enough to smoke tobacco. FINALLY! My turn! My turn!
I put my stuff on the counter and hand over my $20.00. He rings up the items and is bagging them when he comes up with this brilliant comment that about floored me.....I'll need to see some ID to purchase the cough syrup? ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME? He says he's not. By this time, the check out line is snaking around an aisle and I just want to get the flock out of there! I replied, quite loudly, "You want me to show you my ID to buy cough syrup?" I'm looking out the corner of my eye, possibly looking for some affirmation or hope, or understanding from the other poor saps behind me. It ain't happenin'.
I asked (with indignant sarcasm) if he'd hold up the line just for me so I could hustle on out to my car and get my ID. "Sure" he says ever so pleasantly. I still wanna slap the smug off this guy's face.
I bring it back, show him my ID and he glances at it. OH HELL NO! I asked him what point that served...it's obvious I'm over 21 and I'm only buying one bottle. He starts stammering this crap about it's federal law and store policy, blah blah. I suggest they get some signs put up because I've never heard of such a thing. I'm too tired to argue and I hear some grumbling behind me so I take my lumps and exit the store.
So now, it's the next day and I've been to another major grocery store chain with a pharmacy and asked about this so called law. The pharmacist says that a consumer must be over 18 and can only purchase one bottle at a time. They do not check your ID unless they have some doubts. I buy some Mucinex that contains a higher amount of Dextromethorphan than the cough syrup I bought yesterday. No one asked for my ID.
I call another retail chain pharmacy and pose the same question. This time, I get a giggly young girl who flat out says that they use discretion, but stores like Target and CVS do check ID's. Holy shit!
After all that, I come across this article.
Then I found the Dextromethorphan Reduction Act simply requires the purchaser be over 18. This statement about our big government interference just puts it all in perspective.
Now I ask you, does this serve any purpose? Who is winning the war on drugs?
Shall we start asking for ID from people whenever they purchase an aerosol product just so we can make a concerted effort to deter "huffing" by teenagers?
There's a moral to this story, but I'm too sick to figure it out.
There is no cure for the common cold so we know the schpiel -
drink plenty of fluids, get plenty of rest, eat Mom's chicken soup, and fight off the symptoms with any number of over the counter cold remedies.
I have developed a cough, that I can only hope won't manifest itself in to bronchitis. After a very lengthy holiday road trip, I decide to take a quick stop at my local CVS to pick up some cough syrup and some milk before going home and crawling in to bed.
I made 2 mistakes:
1. I foolishly believed that I could just run in real quick for my 2 items like it was your local stop 'n rob.
2. I also left everything in the car and grabbed only a $20.00 bill. [Yes, some people do occasionally use cash these days.]
This drug store was the busiest I've ever seen it on a Monday evening and there's only 2 employees working in the store. One in the pharmacy - and it's packed with people back there, and one on the front register. The young man running the register is about 25-30 years old, and is wearing a shirt and tie, not the usual blue CVS shirt. I take it he's an Assistant Manager - or Assistant Manager in training - or an Assistant Manager in training to be a pain in my ass.
I get in line with my 2 items. It was a strange, haphazard line and there are 3 people ahead of me. What bothers me most is that he [the cashier/Asst. Manager] is spending an inordinate amount of time chatting up this pretty little blonde that he's checking out. Granted, she has quite a bit of merchandise, but the usual 18-21 year olds I see working in here can always manage to make that line move a whole hell of a lot faster.
I'm tired. Time is ticking. I'm shifting my weight on either foot. He's not getting her phone number, but he sure is kissing her ass. This guy is being so disgustingly pleasant that you just want to knock some ugly in to him! Ok finally....she's out. Next guy. Blah, blah. Next guy...he wants cigarettes. He's clearly younger than me. The Assistant Ass is being a bit solicitous to him too in that they don't have his brand and their delivery truck is expected tomorrow, but we have the shorter version. Doesn't ask for ID to make sure he's old enough and responsible enough to smoke tobacco. FINALLY! My turn! My turn!
I put my stuff on the counter and hand over my $20.00. He rings up the items and is bagging them when he comes up with this brilliant comment that about floored me.....I'll need to see some ID to purchase the cough syrup? ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME? He says he's not. By this time, the check out line is snaking around an aisle and I just want to get the flock out of there! I replied, quite loudly, "You want me to show you my ID to buy cough syrup?" I'm looking out the corner of my eye, possibly looking for some affirmation or hope, or understanding from the other poor saps behind me. It ain't happenin'.
I asked (with indignant sarcasm) if he'd hold up the line just for me so I could hustle on out to my car and get my ID. "Sure" he says ever so pleasantly. I still wanna slap the smug off this guy's face.
I bring it back, show him my ID and he glances at it. OH HELL NO! I asked him what point that served...it's obvious I'm over 21 and I'm only buying one bottle. He starts stammering this crap about it's federal law and store policy, blah blah. I suggest they get some signs put up because I've never heard of such a thing. I'm too tired to argue and I hear some grumbling behind me so I take my lumps and exit the store.
So now, it's the next day and I've been to another major grocery store chain with a pharmacy and asked about this so called law. The pharmacist says that a consumer must be over 18 and can only purchase one bottle at a time. They do not check your ID unless they have some doubts. I buy some Mucinex that contains a higher amount of Dextromethorphan than the cough syrup I bought yesterday. No one asked for my ID.
I call another retail chain pharmacy and pose the same question. This time, I get a giggly young girl who flat out says that they use discretion, but stores like Target and CVS do check ID's. Holy shit!
After all that, I come across this article.
Then I found the Dextromethorphan Reduction Act simply requires the purchaser be over 18. This statement about our big government interference just puts it all in perspective.
Now I ask you, does this serve any purpose? Who is winning the war on drugs?
Shall we start asking for ID from people whenever they purchase an aerosol product just so we can make a concerted effort to deter "huffing" by teenagers?
There's a moral to this story, but I'm too sick to figure it out.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Don't Ask
In what seemed like another Democratic campaign promise push, President Obama hastily signed in to law the repeal of the military's Don't Ask Don't Tell policy that was once enacted by fellow Democrat, Pres. Bill Clinton.
As for Don't Ask Don't Tell.....
Yes, the Obama man is seemingly cleaning off his desk before the holiday break.
The one bill he seems to be dragging his feet on is the 9/11 First Responder benefit package.
This one should have taken priority.
Why is he stalling?
As for Don't Ask Don't Tell.....
Does it matter?
Saturday, December 18, 2010
California Dreaming: A War Story
I was dispatched to an ATM kiosk to assist a state trooper with an unruly subject. An unusual location, but I haul ass over there cause, you know, another cop needs assistance.
When I get there, a trooper is trying to explain something to an individual about posting money for a traffic citation he had just received. The gentlemen wasn't even trying to understand what was being explained to him, and probably didn't want to.
As the trooper explains it, the traffic offender has a California driver's license and he was charged with speeding, 20 mph over the posted speed. Since California is not a member of the Non Resident Violator's compact [NRVC], he must post bond immediately or go directly to jail. Since this guy was active duty Air Force, the trooper was doing him a favor by following him over to an ATM to withdraw the funds.
This traffic offender wasn't buying the story. In fact, he was doing all he could to push the trooper's buttons. He was trying my patience too.
Since we weren't too far from the local Air Base grounds and we had a good working relationship with their military police personnel, I have dispatch see if they'll send a patrol unit over to try and reason with the guy.
They actually respond and 2 Air base police officers make a half assed attempt to explain the situation to him. He just won't buy this story no way, no how. His reasoning is that all stupid, redneck cops in the south are on the take and there's no such thing as the "compact."
This bone head member of the Air force has orders to ship out in the morning. He's still convinced we're just out to get his money. The Air base police explain once again that if he doesn't pay, he will go to jail, miss his MAC flight in the morning and then be UA for reporting to his new duty station. This stupid SOB just doesn't give up. The Air Base police get his info, hand his military ID over to me, and tell me he's all mine. Oh wow, put a bow on it, baby! I give the guy one last chance to do the right thing or face the consequences.
[Neither of us really wanted to lock up an active duty member of the military, but he was starting to get on our nerves and becoming annoyingly stupid.]
Well, since he's loud and boisterous within the city limits, I have to arrest him for disorderly conduct. The stupid son of bitch is now trying to resist. The trooper and I go at with this guy, with me showing his cheek the sidewalk. The trooper just has him on the traffic offense but now I have him on dis con and resisting. We're going to court in the morning folks and this little piece of shit just put me past my shift.
Ain't it always the way? We don't get OT either.
We get him in the back seat of my car and I have to transport him over to county lock up. His mouth is just going all the way. He says his Dad is a CHiP and knows all the things they do to people. Slamming on the brakes for those invisible dogs or cats so that he'll fall forward and get a screen test. He knows the trick about slamming his head on the top of the car and then making him trip. Oh yea, he knows them all....his Dad's a cop. Well, I tell him that pretty soon that cat will run out in front of me if he doesn't shut the fuck up!
He also needs to consider his actions when his Father does find out about this. He will not be pleased.
He keeps running his mouth and I get so pissed that I turn up the car AM/FM radio full blast. He gets the hint and closes his mouth the rest of the way.
He's sullen now and calmed down a bit. I turn down the radio and we're about half mile from the jail, when a damn cat does run out in front of me! Ah, the irony. He falls forward just a bit, but he didn't get a screen test. I could have hit the brakes a lot harder than I did.
In central booking he starts running his mouth once again and I hand over his ID's to the intake officers. First thing out of their mouth is, "California DL. I can only imagine what happened." I tell him the worst part is he's active duty military with orders to be at another air base by a specific time tomorrow afternoon. Well, looks like you're not gonna make it, Mr. California. Now, just hand over all your personal belongings and we'll get on with this. He gets an attitude with them and well....they usually strip you and show you the Presidential suite but they signed him in and I wanted out of there before they changed their minds.
Next morning, the Trooper and myself are in city court with this guy, who I might add, isn't looking so hot. I don't think he got much sleep the night before. His eyes are all puffy and red, he's got a little scrape on his cheek, probably from where I showed him the sidewalk. He just looks like a nightmare. Poor baby.
Well, the Trooper and I regale the judge with our tale of 3 different law enforcement jurisdictions trying to explain NRVC to him and that we all were doing everything in our power to work with a member of our active duty armed forces, but he didn't see it that way. He was loud, belligerent, uncooperative, he resisted arrest and refused to post bond on his citation. The judge shakes his head and tells the guy that he brought all this on himself. His attitude and actions just bought him a hefty fine and 10 days. You're AWOL, son!
You done fucked up!
Late that afternoon, I report in for my regular shift and the watch commander calls me over to his office. He wants to know if I arrested one guy in the Air Force. Seems his Dad really is a CHiP and he and the Lt. go back. The Lt. says that he would ask me about what happened and talk about the charges. But he already told his Father that if I had arrested him, he had to seriously fuck up. I give him the brief run down, and before I even finish, he says, "That's enough. Fuck the asshole. His old man said he probably deserved it anyhow!"
Well I'm relatively sure that pretty boy enjoyed his 10 days of R & R -- courtesy of my city and county.
When I get there, a trooper is trying to explain something to an individual about posting money for a traffic citation he had just received. The gentlemen wasn't even trying to understand what was being explained to him, and probably didn't want to.
As the trooper explains it, the traffic offender has a California driver's license and he was charged with speeding, 20 mph over the posted speed. Since California is not a member of the Non Resident Violator's compact [NRVC], he must post bond immediately or go directly to jail. Since this guy was active duty Air Force, the trooper was doing him a favor by following him over to an ATM to withdraw the funds.
This traffic offender wasn't buying the story. In fact, he was doing all he could to push the trooper's buttons. He was trying my patience too.
Since we weren't too far from the local Air Base grounds and we had a good working relationship with their military police personnel, I have dispatch see if they'll send a patrol unit over to try and reason with the guy.
They actually respond and 2 Air base police officers make a half assed attempt to explain the situation to him. He just won't buy this story no way, no how. His reasoning is that all stupid, redneck cops in the south are on the take and there's no such thing as the "compact."
This bone head member of the Air force has orders to ship out in the morning. He's still convinced we're just out to get his money. The Air base police explain once again that if he doesn't pay, he will go to jail, miss his MAC flight in the morning and then be UA for reporting to his new duty station. This stupid SOB just doesn't give up. The Air Base police get his info, hand his military ID over to me, and tell me he's all mine. Oh wow, put a bow on it, baby! I give the guy one last chance to do the right thing or face the consequences.
[Neither of us really wanted to lock up an active duty member of the military, but he was starting to get on our nerves and becoming annoyingly stupid.]
Well, since he's loud and boisterous within the city limits, I have to arrest him for disorderly conduct. The stupid son of bitch is now trying to resist. The trooper and I go at with this guy, with me showing his cheek the sidewalk. The trooper just has him on the traffic offense but now I have him on dis con and resisting. We're going to court in the morning folks and this little piece of shit just put me past my shift.
Ain't it always the way? We don't get OT either.
We get him in the back seat of my car and I have to transport him over to county lock up. His mouth is just going all the way. He says his Dad is a CHiP and knows all the things they do to people. Slamming on the brakes for those invisible dogs or cats so that he'll fall forward and get a screen test. He knows the trick about slamming his head on the top of the car and then making him trip. Oh yea, he knows them all....his Dad's a cop. Well, I tell him that pretty soon that cat will run out in front of me if he doesn't shut the fuck up!
He also needs to consider his actions when his Father does find out about this. He will not be pleased.
He keeps running his mouth and I get so pissed that I turn up the car AM/FM radio full blast. He gets the hint and closes his mouth the rest of the way.
He's sullen now and calmed down a bit. I turn down the radio and we're about half mile from the jail, when a damn cat does run out in front of me! Ah, the irony. He falls forward just a bit, but he didn't get a screen test. I could have hit the brakes a lot harder than I did.
In central booking he starts running his mouth once again and I hand over his ID's to the intake officers. First thing out of their mouth is, "California DL. I can only imagine what happened." I tell him the worst part is he's active duty military with orders to be at another air base by a specific time tomorrow afternoon. Well, looks like you're not gonna make it, Mr. California. Now, just hand over all your personal belongings and we'll get on with this. He gets an attitude with them and well....they usually strip you and show you the Presidential suite but they signed him in and I wanted out of there before they changed their minds.
Next morning, the Trooper and myself are in city court with this guy, who I might add, isn't looking so hot. I don't think he got much sleep the night before. His eyes are all puffy and red, he's got a little scrape on his cheek, probably from where I showed him the sidewalk. He just looks like a nightmare. Poor baby.
Well, the Trooper and I regale the judge with our tale of 3 different law enforcement jurisdictions trying to explain NRVC to him and that we all were doing everything in our power to work with a member of our active duty armed forces, but he didn't see it that way. He was loud, belligerent, uncooperative, he resisted arrest and refused to post bond on his citation. The judge shakes his head and tells the guy that he brought all this on himself. His attitude and actions just bought him a hefty fine and 10 days. You're AWOL, son!
You done fucked up!
Late that afternoon, I report in for my regular shift and the watch commander calls me over to his office. He wants to know if I arrested one guy in the Air Force. Seems his Dad really is a CHiP and he and the Lt. go back. The Lt. says that he would ask me about what happened and talk about the charges. But he already told his Father that if I had arrested him, he had to seriously fuck up. I give him the brief run down, and before I even finish, he says, "That's enough. Fuck the asshole. His old man said he probably deserved it anyhow!"
Well I'm relatively sure that pretty boy enjoyed his 10 days of R & R -- courtesy of my city and county.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Pancakes, Sausage and Eggs
I just can't help letting go of what I think is the most costly and less than satisfactory means of attempting to make the friendly skies safer.
It is only a matter of time before some malevolent individual learns a way to defy the full body image scanner. Well, it's recently been discovered that there's a way to deceive the images of the TSA's scanner by using an item that will conceal any number of weapons or other contraband. With this added cover, the viewing agent sees only someone who could stand to lose a few pounds.
Curious to know what that concealing device is? Pancakes. That's right, you heard me.
They are PETN pancakes. Pentaerythritol tetranitrate. A powerfully high explosive molded and shaped like a pancake and when applied to the skin, it can conceal any number of things from box cutters to wires.
To refresh, this is the same substance used by the Shoe Bomber, the Christmas day bomb plot and most recently, the cargo plane bomb plot that used toner cartridges.
It is very clear that while the "pancake" can conceal many items, it should be easily discovered by the standard physical pat down performed by the agents themselves. However, the agents appear more concerned about those 3.5 fl oz bottles than they are about handguns slipping through the screening process. The ABC Evening News recently reported that many agents are "asleep at the wheel" when it comes to the discovery of a .40 caliber handgun. Certainly not a small handgun, by any means. Repeated tests have shown that they are failing miserably and receive little more than verbal or written reprimands when it comes to serious infractions in their job performance.
The human element is not infallible. Worse yet, the multi million dollar high tech machinery has now been proven useless for certain explosives.
This scanner defying pancake mixture is a serious problem to our already ineffectual airline security protocols.
But as always, our own comedy channel hero has devised a plan to use a pancake mixture that would envy the suits at IHOP.
Just follow the quote...
"From now on, we can use strategically placed pancakes to cover our sausage and eggs."
-- Stephen Colbert--
It is only a matter of time before some malevolent individual learns a way to defy the full body image scanner. Well, it's recently been discovered that there's a way to deceive the images of the TSA's scanner by using an item that will conceal any number of weapons or other contraband. With this added cover, the viewing agent sees only someone who could stand to lose a few pounds.
Curious to know what that concealing device is? Pancakes. That's right, you heard me.
They are PETN pancakes. Pentaerythritol tetranitrate. A powerfully high explosive molded and shaped like a pancake and when applied to the skin, it can conceal any number of things from box cutters to wires.
To refresh, this is the same substance used by the Shoe Bomber, the Christmas day bomb plot and most recently, the cargo plane bomb plot that used toner cartridges.
It is very clear that while the "pancake" can conceal many items, it should be easily discovered by the standard physical pat down performed by the agents themselves. However, the agents appear more concerned about those 3.5 fl oz bottles than they are about handguns slipping through the screening process. The ABC Evening News recently reported that many agents are "asleep at the wheel" when it comes to the discovery of a .40 caliber handgun. Certainly not a small handgun, by any means. Repeated tests have shown that they are failing miserably and receive little more than verbal or written reprimands when it comes to serious infractions in their job performance.
The human element is not infallible. Worse yet, the multi million dollar high tech machinery has now been proven useless for certain explosives.
This scanner defying pancake mixture is a serious problem to our already ineffectual airline security protocols.
But as always, our own comedy channel hero has devised a plan to use a pancake mixture that would envy the suits at IHOP.
Just follow the quote...
"From now on, we can use strategically placed pancakes to cover our sausage and eggs."
-- Stephen Colbert--
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Can't do it yourself?
Yes indeedee, it's that time of the year where the odds are really high that you'll be dumped. Whether it's a simple end of a relationship or a divorce. If you're not man or woman enough to do it yourself, you can pay anywhere from $10.00 to $50.00 to have it done for you.
If it's too complicated or dramatic, "I dump 4U" will do it for you! I dump will make the call and tell all.
All you have to do is give them the reasons and what you want to say to the dumpee.
They proudly proclaim themselves as "assholes." Each and every break up is recorded, and sometimes used as examples in their advertising campaign. Just go to their website and listen to some of their recorded break ups. While some of these stories appear to be fodder for the Jerry Springer show, you just can't help wanting to listen to someone else's drama.
"A small price to pay for piece of mind."
If it's too complicated or dramatic, "I dump 4U" will do it for you! I dump will make the call and tell all.
All you have to do is give them the reasons and what you want to say to the dumpee.
They proudly proclaim themselves as "assholes." Each and every break up is recorded, and sometimes used as examples in their advertising campaign. Just go to their website and listen to some of their recorded break ups. While some of these stories appear to be fodder for the Jerry Springer show, you just can't help wanting to listen to someone else's drama.
"A small price to pay for piece of mind."
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Hats
I hate hats.
When you wear a military or quasi-military uniform, there's always a hat. A pesky, sweat inducing, hair mussing, hat. Granted, they serve their purposes.
They kept the rain off my head.
They kept the sun from frying my brain, but in 100 deg. heat, they only served to ignite a furnace on my scalp.
The things I did to that hat. You could say I had a reckless disregard for that hat.
I once had to get a new hat. While I was on vacation, I left my hat sitting in a chair with some other police equipment for a few days.
My cat sat on my hat. More than once.
We had a new police chief who came from another large, metropolitan police department in the southeast. He was big on hats. In fact, he considered us out of uniform unless we were wearing that hat the minute we got out of the car. Most of us kept that hat jammed up against the cage or tossed carelessly in the trunk. Generally, we just kept it only for our dress uniform or other special occasion situations.
Getting out of the car and reaching for your hat, seemed kind of down on the list of priorities when we needed a flashlight or PR-24 first. (Unlike now, those big bulky things did not retract and fit on your utility belt. We generally shoved them in the door handles or some chose behind the head rest. The headrest proved dangerous and awkward.)
We were also angry that our department did not see fit to assist or provide us with any kind of funding towards body armor. An average vest was several hundred dollars and if we wanted one, we were required to purchase it ourselves. That was something we bitched about to our new Chief, but he was more interested in hats.
The Chief went on this tangent about ensuring uniform officers were always wearing their hats. We had to bring the thing with us in to squad meetings or roll call. Sgts. and Lts. were required to duly note whenever an officer was out of uniform and punish those appropriately for violating said uniform regulations. There was no written set of standards or directives yet when it came to doling out these "punishments." Supervisors were initially pleading with us to cooperate, but then they started devising ingenious ways of reminding us what they have to do to satisfy their bosses. If they had to wear their damn hat, so did we.
One particular occasion, I was running a bit late for roll call and flew in only minutes before the briefing was to begin. I saw hats. Shit! Mine was in the car. I didn't have time to fly downstairs and to the other side of the parking lot and retrieve it. I would have to suck it up. Heck, maybe he wouldn't notice.
The Sgt. had us line up. Oh crap. I wasn't in the mood to hear it, but I'll just suck it up like the good little officer that I was.
The Sgt. says; "Where's your hat, Officer ____?"
In my car, sir.
"Why?"
I forgot it, sir.
"You forgot it?"
Yes sir. I forgot it.
"For that, we will find you a special assignment to ensure that you don't do that again."
Yes, sir.
The briefing carries on and before dismissing everyone with the standard, "Be careful out there," the Sgt. makes it a point to tell everyone what my special assignment is for the evening.
I shall be walking a beat in the most crime infested area of town. I shall be doing this solo. So Officer Brown will give you a ride over to this area and leave you there until further notice. You have a walkie and you will check in with dispatch at least every 30 minutes.
Everyone is snorting, chuckling, snickering and one even felt sorry for me. {Sarcastically, of course}
Fortunately, the weather wasn't too bad and I was on the evening shift so there was still a few hours of daylight. I got my stupid hat and whatever else that would fit in my pockets and was dropped off by Officer Brown. He told me not to worry about it, the Sarge was just in a foul mood and it would blow over in a couple of hours. Eh. I took it in stride. It happens when you're the one with the least seniority.
I wasn't really all that concerned, even if the projects were a block down the street and this area was notorious for drug deals, prostitution, shoplifters, etc. I saw a couple of potential places to keep a low profile.
Needless to say, I was never alone for long. They brought me soda and coffee, would have me sit in their car, grabbing some AC. It was about 2 hours in to my little punishment when we heard the Lt. on the radio say something to Officer Brown about breaking up that little party we had going on and letting {my radio call #} do their job as they were directed. Brown says "yes, sir" and pulls out. I walk my happy little beat on my not so happy big feet. Obviously, the Lt. was monitoring my progress as well.
After about 4 hours, the Lt. directed Officer Brown to pick me up and bring me to HQ and get a car. I was to resume normal radio dispatch patrol. Whoooppee!
At the end of the watch, the Sarge asks me if I learned anything.
I replied that I had.
"And what was it that you learned, Officer _____?"
That I need new shoes. Could I have a requisition form?
"Get the hell out of here and bring your damn hat tomorrow!"
The hat regulation continued and I was having some issues with what I thought was dandruff. I was using all those over the counter shampoos to try and stop the itching and flaking, to no avail. It was constantly embarrassing when you're wearing dark blues. I was forever brushing the stuff off my shoulders.
I sought treatment from a dermatologist. He gave me some nasty prescription medicated shampoo and creams to put on my scalp. In the meantime, don't wear any hats until this clears up. Ummm.....
So I got a Doctor's excuse. The first person ever, in the history of the department, to get a Doctor's excuse for not wearing a hat. Seems I set a precedent.
I also got the impression the Chief didn't believe it. He approached me in the hall one day and asked how my scalp was. (Gees, is there anyone in the whole department that doesn't know?) All I could say is that it's starting to clear up and not itching as much anymore. About all he could do was say, "good to hear" and pat me on the back.
For what seemed like an eternity, I heard more wise cracks, smart ass comments and even some suggestions on what I could do with my scalp problem. In fact, some wanted to know how to get it so they didn't have to wear their hats. Unfortunately, it's genetic. Eventually, the hat situation died down and the body armor cause came to the forefront - as it should have been.
And yes, when I became an FTO, I made sure the rookies always had their hats at roll call and squad briefings.
When you wear a military or quasi-military uniform, there's always a hat. A pesky, sweat inducing, hair mussing, hat. Granted, they serve their purposes.
They kept the sun from frying my brain, but in 100 deg. heat, they only served to ignite a furnace on my scalp.
The things I did to that hat. You could say I had a reckless disregard for that hat.
I once had to get a new hat. While I was on vacation, I left my hat sitting in a chair with some other police equipment for a few days.
My cat sat on my hat. More than once.
We had a new police chief who came from another large, metropolitan police department in the southeast. He was big on hats. In fact, he considered us out of uniform unless we were wearing that hat the minute we got out of the car. Most of us kept that hat jammed up against the cage or tossed carelessly in the trunk. Generally, we just kept it only for our dress uniform or other special occasion situations.
Getting out of the car and reaching for your hat, seemed kind of down on the list of priorities when we needed a flashlight or PR-24 first. (Unlike now, those big bulky things did not retract and fit on your utility belt. We generally shoved them in the door handles or some chose behind the head rest. The headrest proved dangerous and awkward.)
We were also angry that our department did not see fit to assist or provide us with any kind of funding towards body armor. An average vest was several hundred dollars and if we wanted one, we were required to purchase it ourselves. That was something we bitched about to our new Chief, but he was more interested in hats.
The Chief went on this tangent about ensuring uniform officers were always wearing their hats. We had to bring the thing with us in to squad meetings or roll call. Sgts. and Lts. were required to duly note whenever an officer was out of uniform and punish those appropriately for violating said uniform regulations. There was no written set of standards or directives yet when it came to doling out these "punishments." Supervisors were initially pleading with us to cooperate, but then they started devising ingenious ways of reminding us what they have to do to satisfy their bosses. If they had to wear their damn hat, so did we.
One particular occasion, I was running a bit late for roll call and flew in only minutes before the briefing was to begin. I saw hats. Shit! Mine was in the car. I didn't have time to fly downstairs and to the other side of the parking lot and retrieve it. I would have to suck it up. Heck, maybe he wouldn't notice.
The Sgt. had us line up. Oh crap. I wasn't in the mood to hear it, but I'll just suck it up like the good little officer that I was.
The Sgt. says; "Where's your hat, Officer ____?"
In my car, sir.
"Why?"
I forgot it, sir.
"You forgot it?"
Yes sir. I forgot it.
"For that, we will find you a special assignment to ensure that you don't do that again."
Yes, sir.
The briefing carries on and before dismissing everyone with the standard, "Be careful out there," the Sgt. makes it a point to tell everyone what my special assignment is for the evening.
I shall be walking a beat in the most crime infested area of town. I shall be doing this solo. So Officer Brown will give you a ride over to this area and leave you there until further notice. You have a walkie and you will check in with dispatch at least every 30 minutes.
Everyone is snorting, chuckling, snickering and one even felt sorry for me. {Sarcastically, of course}
Fortunately, the weather wasn't too bad and I was on the evening shift so there was still a few hours of daylight. I got my stupid hat and whatever else that would fit in my pockets and was dropped off by Officer Brown. He told me not to worry about it, the Sarge was just in a foul mood and it would blow over in a couple of hours. Eh. I took it in stride. It happens when you're the one with the least seniority.
I wasn't really all that concerned, even if the projects were a block down the street and this area was notorious for drug deals, prostitution, shoplifters, etc. I saw a couple of potential places to keep a low profile.
Needless to say, I was never alone for long. They brought me soda and coffee, would have me sit in their car, grabbing some AC. It was about 2 hours in to my little punishment when we heard the Lt. on the radio say something to Officer Brown about breaking up that little party we had going on and letting {my radio call #} do their job as they were directed. Brown says "yes, sir" and pulls out. I walk my happy little beat on my not so happy big feet. Obviously, the Lt. was monitoring my progress as well.
After about 4 hours, the Lt. directed Officer Brown to pick me up and bring me to HQ and get a car. I was to resume normal radio dispatch patrol. Whoooppee!
At the end of the watch, the Sarge asks me if I learned anything.
I replied that I had.
"And what was it that you learned, Officer _____?"
That I need new shoes. Could I have a requisition form?
"Get the hell out of here and bring your damn hat tomorrow!"
The hat regulation continued and I was having some issues with what I thought was dandruff. I was using all those over the counter shampoos to try and stop the itching and flaking, to no avail. It was constantly embarrassing when you're wearing dark blues. I was forever brushing the stuff off my shoulders.
I sought treatment from a dermatologist. He gave me some nasty prescription medicated shampoo and creams to put on my scalp. In the meantime, don't wear any hats until this clears up. Ummm.....
So I got a Doctor's excuse. The first person ever, in the history of the department, to get a Doctor's excuse for not wearing a hat. Seems I set a precedent.
I also got the impression the Chief didn't believe it. He approached me in the hall one day and asked how my scalp was. (Gees, is there anyone in the whole department that doesn't know?) All I could say is that it's starting to clear up and not itching as much anymore. About all he could do was say, "good to hear" and pat me on the back.
For what seemed like an eternity, I heard more wise cracks, smart ass comments and even some suggestions on what I could do with my scalp problem. In fact, some wanted to know how to get it so they didn't have to wear their hats. Unfortunately, it's genetic. Eventually, the hat situation died down and the body armor cause came to the forefront - as it should have been.
And yes, when I became an FTO, I made sure the rookies always had their hats at roll call and squad briefings.
TSA - Failure again?
With all the bad press lately about full body scans and body pat downs, this little tidbit of news scares me.
Here we are, literally searching every passenger inside and out, to ensure the safety of the commercial flying public. We do this in a somewhat half-assed attempt to prevent terroristic plots from being carried out. Yet, someone still manages to get on to an airliner illegally.
That's right, a 16 year old managed to find a way to stow away in the wheel well of a commercial airliner bound for Boston. Now, if a determined, and more than likely troubled, teenager can get past the security at Charlotte Douglas Airport in Charlotte, NC, what can a highly motivated terrorist accomplish in a major hub such as NYC or Atlanta?
There's really no way of knowing that answer, is there?
While it ended badly for the teenager, the outcome could have been far worse if he were in fact someone who had more sinister intentions.
While no one will probably ever know the reason behind this kid's attempt to get to Boston quickly, it's a very sad state of affairs in many respects.
Come on TSA, wake up!
Here we are, literally searching every passenger inside and out, to ensure the safety of the commercial flying public. We do this in a somewhat half-assed attempt to prevent terroristic plots from being carried out. Yet, someone still manages to get on to an airliner illegally.
That's right, a 16 year old managed to find a way to stow away in the wheel well of a commercial airliner bound for Boston. Now, if a determined, and more than likely troubled, teenager can get past the security at Charlotte Douglas Airport in Charlotte, NC, what can a highly motivated terrorist accomplish in a major hub such as NYC or Atlanta?
There's really no way of knowing that answer, is there?
While it ended badly for the teenager, the outcome could have been far worse if he were in fact someone who had more sinister intentions.
While no one will probably ever know the reason behind this kid's attempt to get to Boston quickly, it's a very sad state of affairs in many respects.
Come on TSA, wake up!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Practical Joker
There's one in every squad. The one who has a smart ass remark for everyone and everything. Sometimes the wise cracks come fast and furious and you just can't keep up because you're laughing so hard. Even the supervisors have difficulty keeping the comedian in check, but can't help laughing in spite of themselves. Sometimes, the joker could even quell a hot situation just by some short comment that made people forget why they were angry.
No one is immune from the zingers, wise cracks, nicknames/pet names, monikers, and practical jokes. If you didn't have a sense of humor, you better develop one fast otherwise, you would be an endless target.
You've got to have thick skin in this chosen career field as it is, but you've also got to be resilient when it comes to peer pressure. And believe me, there IS peer pressure.
If you had a weakness, the practical joker would find it and use it to his advantage. Like for instance, I hate snakes. The only good snake is a dead snake. The fact that I have a 'thing' for snakes, took our joker friend awhile to figure out, so you know there just had to be an incident.....but I'll save the snake story for another time.
The practical joker made it a point to see how far he could push the rookies or new transfers. He would often search his entire repertoire in an effort to find your soft spot.
Shortly after joining this department, I was assigned to a squad that seemed to have a bit of a joker competition going on. I was new and I was the next victim.....
They hit me with the easy stuff first;
*pulling the hubcaps off the tires and putting pebbles in them so that it made a horrendous noise.
My kid brother did that to me once or twice. Very old joke.
*taking a slim jim to your car and placing a tape player inside. The tape had a selection of items ranging from wolves howling to ghoulish voices calling your name.
I have a good ear. I recognized the voice on the tape and it was a truly bad tape recording.
*placing raw eggs strategically in the crease of the driver's seat. When you sit on it...very messy.
I always look before I park my butt anywhere.
* Take a slim jim and put a few crawly things in your car. Usually something nasty from a local bait shop.
I was somehow spared this one.
*Sneaking up behind your parked car and hitting the back end of your car with their push bars, thereby making the entire car jerk and seriously scaring the crap out of you. Timing was everything on that. Drinking coffee, maybe writing a report, was just a little icing on the cake.
I learned long ago that you want a wall at your back.
*Sneaking up on you and your car, bombarding you with raw eggs. Requires you wash the car.
Who had the money to waste on eggs they weren't going to eat? That one wasn't all that popular, except at Halloween.
*Dispatching you to night time calls at the cemetery. Oh yea, this would originally require some assistance from a dispatcher, but when the dispatching system changed, our jokers had to adapt. Ah yes, the old 911 pay phone hang up.
Day or night- cemeteries don't bother me. They tried it twice and I have no problem getting out and checking buildings, sheds or whatever to ensure security. I never found them creepy. In fact, the history of the occupants always intrigued me.
*New female officers were always indoctrinated by having to search a tranny. Their reasoning was that you couldn't be sure, so better to have a woman do it.
They already knew, but they wanted to enjoy the look on the rookie's face during the search and discovery.
*Move your patrol car. [My personal favorite] This required someone getting access to the spare keys or have a key made.
Try explaining to your supervisor where you left your patrol car. And yes, I was the recipient of that one. I merely got on my walkie and told the offender, in appropriate police code, to meet me at my location and bring the item. The worst part is that it was raining and I was getting wet.
*Booby trapping your locker. Usually with something very gooey or slimy.
I rarely used my locker, but one time there was a crusty substance all over the lock. I really don't know what it was but I borrowed some bolt cutters and got another lock.
The list just goes on, but it sure does break the monotony.
No one is immune from the zingers, wise cracks, nicknames/pet names, monikers, and practical jokes. If you didn't have a sense of humor, you better develop one fast otherwise, you would be an endless target.
You've got to have thick skin in this chosen career field as it is, but you've also got to be resilient when it comes to peer pressure. And believe me, there IS peer pressure.
If you had a weakness, the practical joker would find it and use it to his advantage. Like for instance, I hate snakes. The only good snake is a dead snake. The fact that I have a 'thing' for snakes, took our joker friend awhile to figure out, so you know there just had to be an incident.....but I'll save the snake story for another time.
The practical joker made it a point to see how far he could push the rookies or new transfers. He would often search his entire repertoire in an effort to find your soft spot.
Shortly after joining this department, I was assigned to a squad that seemed to have a bit of a joker competition going on. I was new and I was the next victim.....
They hit me with the easy stuff first;
*pulling the hubcaps off the tires and putting pebbles in them so that it made a horrendous noise.
My kid brother did that to me once or twice. Very old joke.
*taking a slim jim to your car and placing a tape player inside. The tape had a selection of items ranging from wolves howling to ghoulish voices calling your name.
I have a good ear. I recognized the voice on the tape and it was a truly bad tape recording.
*placing raw eggs strategically in the crease of the driver's seat. When you sit on it...very messy.
I always look before I park my butt anywhere.
* Take a slim jim and put a few crawly things in your car. Usually something nasty from a local bait shop.
I was somehow spared this one.
*Sneaking up behind your parked car and hitting the back end of your car with their push bars, thereby making the entire car jerk and seriously scaring the crap out of you. Timing was everything on that. Drinking coffee, maybe writing a report, was just a little icing on the cake.
I learned long ago that you want a wall at your back.
*Sneaking up on you and your car, bombarding you with raw eggs. Requires you wash the car.
Who had the money to waste on eggs they weren't going to eat? That one wasn't all that popular, except at Halloween.
*Dispatching you to night time calls at the cemetery. Oh yea, this would originally require some assistance from a dispatcher, but when the dispatching system changed, our jokers had to adapt. Ah yes, the old 911 pay phone hang up.
Day or night- cemeteries don't bother me. They tried it twice and I have no problem getting out and checking buildings, sheds or whatever to ensure security. I never found them creepy. In fact, the history of the occupants always intrigued me.
*New female officers were always indoctrinated by having to search a tranny. Their reasoning was that you couldn't be sure, so better to have a woman do it.
They already knew, but they wanted to enjoy the look on the rookie's face during the search and discovery.
*Move your patrol car. [My personal favorite] This required someone getting access to the spare keys or have a key made.
Try explaining to your supervisor where you left your patrol car. And yes, I was the recipient of that one. I merely got on my walkie and told the offender, in appropriate police code, to meet me at my location and bring the item. The worst part is that it was raining and I was getting wet.
*Booby trapping your locker. Usually with something very gooey or slimy.
I rarely used my locker, but one time there was a crusty substance all over the lock. I really don't know what it was but I borrowed some bolt cutters and got another lock.
The list just goes on, but it sure does break the monotony.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Flashlight: A War Story
I had a rookie. A 6'2" female whose stature alone was intimidating. Those Crown Vics had bench seats and she was the first trainee I ever had who sat with the seat all the way back. Ahhhh....no knees in the glove box when she's driving. She learned the city quickly so I wasn't hesitant about letting her drive early on in her training. No GPS in those days and I swear this woman had a road map in her head. She was analytical, asking out loud if this street or that was the easiest. She was also former Navy SP. Got a bar room brawl? She could swing that PR-24 and cuff faster than you can say the words "cuff and stuff."
There had been a number of incidents involving metal flashlights. Our department didn't provide flashlights so officers bought their own. More than likely, it was a mag light and those things were handy for other things besides just seeing in the dark. There were too many incidents of using the flashlight to make a point, and it was usually up side some idiot's head. Unpaid suspensions were handed out as punishment to those who used unnecessary force, but the department went a step further.
ANY AND ALL metal and personal flashlights were banned. The department now issued a black plastic flashlight with the words, NORTH PODUNCK POLICE DEPT. written on the side of it. What a freakin' joke. You had to bang on the thing to make them work. If you dropped it, it may or may not be working when you picked it up. If it got wet, forget it. 2 C cell batteries and no adjustable beam. Even the road supervisors agreed they were worthless pieces of shit.
I was on the evening shift with my rookie, but I was driving. We had an hour or so left in our shift and had just returned back to our sector via the interstate. This exit had a high curb and sharp turn. A moron in a Mercedes jumped the curb and just kept going along the grass and on to the adjoining street. Kind of like he was taking a short cut to avoid the traffic light. I hit the blues and pull him over about 2 blocks up.
Before we exit the patrol car, I put the spotlight on the driver's rear view to blind him. Then this black male gets out of the car without being told. Both the rookie and I have our doors open but we are in the cover area and she tells him in an authoritative voice to stop and stand between our cars.
We both approach him and then she breaks off a little to the right watching me, and then looking inside the car. She tells me with body language that there's no one else in the car. My first observation is that he's more nervous and I don't smell alcohol. That sorry ass excuse for a flashlight is in my left hand and I ask the guy for all his paperwork. He says the car isn't his, but starts reaching for his wallet so I slow him down. I get his DL in my hand and I'm noticing my partner has gone off on a little investigation of her own, but she's still being observant of what's transpiring with me and the driver. The driver's side window is open so she subtly reaches in and removes the keys. She just puts them on the dashboard. {To this day, she can't explain why she did that.}
So I'm trying to have a civilized conversation with this dude and he doesn't want any part of it. He's in a hurry. So you know what happens with the citizen with attitude that tells you that they're in a hurry.....time slows to a crawl. I'm asking why he saw fit to jump the curb and drive on the grass.
"I'm in kind of a hurry."
Does he know that's illegal?
"Well no."
Who owns the car?
"My friend."
What's your friend's name?
Silence.
Does the person who owns this car know you have it?
"Of course she does!" [rather indignantly]
What is her name and address?
My stance during this questioning of Mr. Idiot Driver is body bladed, flashlight in left hand and his DL is in my right. He wants to go.
"It was a mistake and I'm not drunk, so if you're through with me, I'll be moving along now." He tries reaching for his DL out of my hand.
You will leave when I decide this is over. Now I need the paperwork from the car, where is it, the glove box?
"I don't know, I guess. I'll get it."
He bolts and runs in to the car. He's looking for the keys and then goes to the glove box, trying to find something. He grabs something and gets out of the car.
The rookie and I have our guns drawn and are both telling him to get on the ground. He refuses and runs like hell. Without hesitation, I throw that piece of shit flashlight at the maggot with my left hand. It hits him square in the back, falling to the ground in pieces. It doesn't slow him down much. I have his DL and put it in my pocket and chase after him. The rookie stays behind with the cars and gets on the radio that I'm in a foot pursuit.
This guy could run, but had no idea where he was going. I get him cornered 2 times with weapon drawn and he is not the least bit deterred by a gun pointed in his face. I'm asked by radio if he's armed, but I can't say because he reached in the glove box and got something out of his car. I just don't know what it is that was in his hand when he ran away.
He's making me work for this, jumping across a ditch that had standing water. I wasn't deterred by it, but didn't quite have the jump factor working in my favor so I got wet. Now I'm even more pissed.
We're now some 3 blocks away and back up has found me and Mr. Idiot. Mr. Idiot doesn't surrender until there are 3 guns pointed at him. We get him cuffed and in another officer's car while the other officer gives me a lift back to the scene.
The Sarge is there with my rookie and I see him walking along the road picking up pieces of my flashlight and putting it together. He tests it a couple of times and damn if it doesn't work. He asks who's flashlight and I tell him mine. How did it get on the ground? I told the truth. I threw it at the maggot when he ran. He asked me if I hit him. Yea, left handed too! He slaps me on the back and give me the old atta boy. Cool.
During the chase, Mr. Idiot dropped a couple of things that turned out to be photographs. Very explicit sexual photographs of him along with a pretty white female in various positions. We find about 6 of them and this woman later turned out the be the owner of the car and she couldn't deny she didn't know him, but she was going to have to go bail out her pretty little Benz.
Amazingly, Mr. Idiot didn't have a criminal record and no traffic offenses on his record. We arrest him for reckless driving and resisting arrest.
When we go to court, Idiot doesn't want a jury trial, he wants the judge to hear it now. I give the Judge the rundown and Idiot doesn't deny it, but reiterates he was in a hurry and offers up an apology. The Judge said that wasn't good enough and that he brought it all upon himself. Had he cooperated, he wouldn't be facing 30 days for resisting and 6 points on his DL. Guilty-guilty.
Fun in the big city.
There had been a number of incidents involving metal flashlights. Our department didn't provide flashlights so officers bought their own. More than likely, it was a mag light and those things were handy for other things besides just seeing in the dark. There were too many incidents of using the flashlight to make a point, and it was usually up side some idiot's head. Unpaid suspensions were handed out as punishment to those who used unnecessary force, but the department went a step further.
ANY AND ALL metal and personal flashlights were banned. The department now issued a black plastic flashlight with the words, NORTH PODUNCK POLICE DEPT. written on the side of it. What a freakin' joke. You had to bang on the thing to make them work. If you dropped it, it may or may not be working when you picked it up. If it got wet, forget it. 2 C cell batteries and no adjustable beam. Even the road supervisors agreed they were worthless pieces of shit.
I was on the evening shift with my rookie, but I was driving. We had an hour or so left in our shift and had just returned back to our sector via the interstate. This exit had a high curb and sharp turn. A moron in a Mercedes jumped the curb and just kept going along the grass and on to the adjoining street. Kind of like he was taking a short cut to avoid the traffic light. I hit the blues and pull him over about 2 blocks up.
Before we exit the patrol car, I put the spotlight on the driver's rear view to blind him. Then this black male gets out of the car without being told. Both the rookie and I have our doors open but we are in the cover area and she tells him in an authoritative voice to stop and stand between our cars.
We both approach him and then she breaks off a little to the right watching me, and then looking inside the car. She tells me with body language that there's no one else in the car. My first observation is that he's more nervous and I don't smell alcohol. That sorry ass excuse for a flashlight is in my left hand and I ask the guy for all his paperwork. He says the car isn't his, but starts reaching for his wallet so I slow him down. I get his DL in my hand and I'm noticing my partner has gone off on a little investigation of her own, but she's still being observant of what's transpiring with me and the driver. The driver's side window is open so she subtly reaches in and removes the keys. She just puts them on the dashboard. {To this day, she can't explain why she did that.}
So I'm trying to have a civilized conversation with this dude and he doesn't want any part of it. He's in a hurry. So you know what happens with the citizen with attitude that tells you that they're in a hurry.....time slows to a crawl. I'm asking why he saw fit to jump the curb and drive on the grass.
"I'm in kind of a hurry."
Does he know that's illegal?
"Well no."
Who owns the car?
"My friend."
What's your friend's name?
Silence.
Does the person who owns this car know you have it?
"Of course she does!" [rather indignantly]
What is her name and address?
My stance during this questioning of Mr. Idiot Driver is body bladed, flashlight in left hand and his DL is in my right. He wants to go.
"It was a mistake and I'm not drunk, so if you're through with me, I'll be moving along now." He tries reaching for his DL out of my hand.
You will leave when I decide this is over. Now I need the paperwork from the car, where is it, the glove box?
"I don't know, I guess. I'll get it."
He bolts and runs in to the car. He's looking for the keys and then goes to the glove box, trying to find something. He grabs something and gets out of the car.
The rookie and I have our guns drawn and are both telling him to get on the ground. He refuses and runs like hell. Without hesitation, I throw that piece of shit flashlight at the maggot with my left hand. It hits him square in the back, falling to the ground in pieces. It doesn't slow him down much. I have his DL and put it in my pocket and chase after him. The rookie stays behind with the cars and gets on the radio that I'm in a foot pursuit.
This guy could run, but had no idea where he was going. I get him cornered 2 times with weapon drawn and he is not the least bit deterred by a gun pointed in his face. I'm asked by radio if he's armed, but I can't say because he reached in the glove box and got something out of his car. I just don't know what it is that was in his hand when he ran away.
He's making me work for this, jumping across a ditch that had standing water. I wasn't deterred by it, but didn't quite have the jump factor working in my favor so I got wet. Now I'm even more pissed.
We're now some 3 blocks away and back up has found me and Mr. Idiot. Mr. Idiot doesn't surrender until there are 3 guns pointed at him. We get him cuffed and in another officer's car while the other officer gives me a lift back to the scene.
The Sarge is there with my rookie and I see him walking along the road picking up pieces of my flashlight and putting it together. He tests it a couple of times and damn if it doesn't work. He asks who's flashlight and I tell him mine. How did it get on the ground? I told the truth. I threw it at the maggot when he ran. He asked me if I hit him. Yea, left handed too! He slaps me on the back and give me the old atta boy. Cool.
During the chase, Mr. Idiot dropped a couple of things that turned out to be photographs. Very explicit sexual photographs of him along with a pretty white female in various positions. We find about 6 of them and this woman later turned out the be the owner of the car and she couldn't deny she didn't know him, but she was going to have to go bail out her pretty little Benz.
Amazingly, Mr. Idiot didn't have a criminal record and no traffic offenses on his record. We arrest him for reckless driving and resisting arrest.
When we go to court, Idiot doesn't want a jury trial, he wants the judge to hear it now. I give the Judge the rundown and Idiot doesn't deny it, but reiterates he was in a hurry and offers up an apology. The Judge said that wasn't good enough and that he brought it all upon himself. Had he cooperated, he wouldn't be facing 30 days for resisting and 6 points on his DL. Guilty-guilty.
Fun in the big city.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Pissing Off Drug Dealers is Fun: A War Story
There was a half mile section of our city, we'll call it "The Farm," that was definitely not a safe place to be after dark, unless you were looking for some drugs or prostitution. More so the former.
The land itself first belonged to freed slaves and was then passed down through generations. Many of the residential homes on the land now, were 60-100 years old and the tenants were mostly people who just wanted to live quiet, peaceful lives. It was a scary place if you were elderly and that was the majority of the populace.
Then came new apartments built for section 8 housing and then many homes were now being abandoned and then these homes began to deteriorate. The section 8 housing did nothing but attract the sorriest scum of our fair city. I always wondered how they managed to get housing subsidies and drive a Caddy. I was a working stiff who could barely afford a mid size car.
The drug dealers were brazen and bold and had no conscious. They had no respect for anyone or anything. They would clearly and flagrantly stand on street corners selling their wares and used threats and intimidation if you stood in their way. The older tenants would often call the police, but didn't want the police at their door for fear of reprisals. No matter how many undercover buys you made or 'warrant sweeps' you conducted, within hours, they were back in business. We got tired of the citizen complaints and we did whatever we could to eliminate this problem and all within the legal limits of the law.
The old Stop and Frisk rule was becoming our basic tool. We could stop, detain, frisk for weapons. If we got lucky and found an illegal weapon, they were busted. They quickly adapted and kept their guns and other toys carefully hidden but within reach. Drugs were often stashed in trees and on the porches of abandoned houses. They were very good runners and would strategically drop their goods while running from the police. They often used children as their runners so that their goods could get around quicker and without police detection.
We saturated The Farm 12 hours a day for 4 days straight. We would stop, frisk, detain for warrant checks, etc. If we had no probable cause to arrest, but found drugs, we would seize the drugs, thereby putting a dent in their business. We also learned where the drug stashes were and would randomly stop and check them. Sometimes we got lucky. Word was out and they were getting pissed because we were on their ass day and night. Having cops around is not good for business.
We let up for a day or so and had received word from various informants that a police ambush was being set up. Calls were occasionally received from pay phones or other untraceable means, and they seemed to be from people who were convincingly in distress and needed police. One unit would show, only to be pelted with beer bottles and rocks. Any kind of strange call now warranted 2 units. [We were often single officer cars]
Days passed and things were quiet and tense.
One midnight shift watch and I was solo for the night. It had been a relatively quiet week night. I was cruising down the main street of The Farm at about 4 a.m. and during my drive through I noticed activity was non-existent. Or so I thought.
I was driving about 30 mph and heard a loud POP! I instinctively ducked down and gunned the engine. As I was basically retreating, I calmly told dispatch that I had heard a shot fired in the Farm. I was presently checking my unit at the corner of East and West Streets. After I parked it about 3 blocks away, I got out and looked over my car. Holy crap! My blue light bar had a hole in it. It was NOT there when I checked on duty. It looked like a .22 cal had hit the bar and made a clear and distinctive hole in the plastic outer coating of it.
The Sarge calls and asks if I'm ok. I'm fine of course, but I cannot give any description of a suspect.
Well, pissing off the police again usually ends badly for the sender. We saturate the Farm until the sun comes up - leaving only to answer calls, which were almost none. Starting the following afternoon and continuing in no discernible pattern, for weeks on end.....the stop and frisks continued. Word was out that a bad shot was meant for a cop and that cops don't take too kindly to those types of things.
Just about everyone was stopped, detained, frisked, questioned and identified. Sometimes there was just one slight bit of attitude and an arrest would be made. I think it's safe to say that when in doubt, Disorderly Conduct will suffice and it was often used in those weeks.
Then somebody got a lawyer, the ACLU made some calls.....ah hell, the party was over.
The land itself first belonged to freed slaves and was then passed down through generations. Many of the residential homes on the land now, were 60-100 years old and the tenants were mostly people who just wanted to live quiet, peaceful lives. It was a scary place if you were elderly and that was the majority of the populace.
Then came new apartments built for section 8 housing and then many homes were now being abandoned and then these homes began to deteriorate. The section 8 housing did nothing but attract the sorriest scum of our fair city. I always wondered how they managed to get housing subsidies and drive a Caddy. I was a working stiff who could barely afford a mid size car.
The drug dealers were brazen and bold and had no conscious. They had no respect for anyone or anything. They would clearly and flagrantly stand on street corners selling their wares and used threats and intimidation if you stood in their way. The older tenants would often call the police, but didn't want the police at their door for fear of reprisals. No matter how many undercover buys you made or 'warrant sweeps' you conducted, within hours, they were back in business. We got tired of the citizen complaints and we did whatever we could to eliminate this problem and all within the legal limits of the law.
The old Stop and Frisk rule was becoming our basic tool. We could stop, detain, frisk for weapons. If we got lucky and found an illegal weapon, they were busted. They quickly adapted and kept their guns and other toys carefully hidden but within reach. Drugs were often stashed in trees and on the porches of abandoned houses. They were very good runners and would strategically drop their goods while running from the police. They often used children as their runners so that their goods could get around quicker and without police detection.
We saturated The Farm 12 hours a day for 4 days straight. We would stop, frisk, detain for warrant checks, etc. If we had no probable cause to arrest, but found drugs, we would seize the drugs, thereby putting a dent in their business. We also learned where the drug stashes were and would randomly stop and check them. Sometimes we got lucky. Word was out and they were getting pissed because we were on their ass day and night. Having cops around is not good for business.
We let up for a day or so and had received word from various informants that a police ambush was being set up. Calls were occasionally received from pay phones or other untraceable means, and they seemed to be from people who were convincingly in distress and needed police. One unit would show, only to be pelted with beer bottles and rocks. Any kind of strange call now warranted 2 units. [We were often single officer cars]
Days passed and things were quiet and tense.
One midnight shift watch and I was solo for the night. It had been a relatively quiet week night. I was cruising down the main street of The Farm at about 4 a.m. and during my drive through I noticed activity was non-existent. Or so I thought.
I was driving about 30 mph and heard a loud POP! I instinctively ducked down and gunned the engine. As I was basically retreating, I calmly told dispatch that I had heard a shot fired in the Farm. I was presently checking my unit at the corner of East and West Streets. After I parked it about 3 blocks away, I got out and looked over my car. Holy crap! My blue light bar had a hole in it. It was NOT there when I checked on duty. It looked like a .22 cal had hit the bar and made a clear and distinctive hole in the plastic outer coating of it.
The Sarge calls and asks if I'm ok. I'm fine of course, but I cannot give any description of a suspect.
Well, pissing off the police again usually ends badly for the sender. We saturate the Farm until the sun comes up - leaving only to answer calls, which were almost none. Starting the following afternoon and continuing in no discernible pattern, for weeks on end.....the stop and frisks continued. Word was out that a bad shot was meant for a cop and that cops don't take too kindly to those types of things.
Just about everyone was stopped, detained, frisked, questioned and identified. Sometimes there was just one slight bit of attitude and an arrest would be made. I think it's safe to say that when in doubt, Disorderly Conduct will suffice and it was often used in those weeks.
Then somebody got a lawyer, the ACLU made some calls.....ah hell, the party was over.
Have we gone too far?
Are we a nation filled with paranoia from 9/11 and have we lost our religious tolerance?
Our country was founded on the basic principles of the Constitution, including the 1st amendment right to freedom of religion. However, members of the Islamic religion are complaining that we are intolerant of their religion and that we stereotype Muslims as violent religious fanatics. Perhaps we may have a right to be.
Who has killed innocent Americans? How much more extreme can you be when you use innocent women and children as suicide bombers to kill the American infidel all in the name of your twisted religious beliefs?
Under the 1st amendment is also the right to free speech. Our freedom of the press tends to satirize all religions equally...but heaven forbid, we make any kind of remark about Islam, the Koran or Mohammad and we are being hypocritical and stereotyping their religion. Here we go....pandering to one religion all in the name of political correctness.
When will it ever end?
Our country was founded on the basic principles of the Constitution, including the 1st amendment right to freedom of religion. However, members of the Islamic religion are complaining that we are intolerant of their religion and that we stereotype Muslims as violent religious fanatics. Perhaps we may have a right to be.
Who has killed innocent Americans? How much more extreme can you be when you use innocent women and children as suicide bombers to kill the American infidel all in the name of your twisted religious beliefs?
Under the 1st amendment is also the right to free speech. Our freedom of the press tends to satirize all religions equally...but heaven forbid, we make any kind of remark about Islam, the Koran or Mohammad and we are being hypocritical and stereotyping their religion. Here we go....pandering to one religion all in the name of political correctness.
When will it ever end?
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Swampy Surrender: A War Story
We had a big problem with vehicle thefts. Oddly enough, most were juvenile joy rides. Some actually stripped and shipped to local chop shops. Finding the chop shops was the biggest obstacle.
I go in to work one night knowing full well I should have stayed home. I know I was battling bronchitis and having coughing fits. I was doing my best to stay out of trouble. Until some fool always ruins it....
I initiate a traffic stop because this fool is driving down the road with no lights and changes lanes with no signal. Once I hit my blue lights, the chase was on. [In those days, the supervisor called the shots on the pursuit policy. If they determined it wasn't worth the risk, we were ordered to break it off.] I've already called in the plate to dispatch and a few minutes later, they report it is stolen. Now the supervisor is closely monitoring my radio communications. I note that there's at least 3 people total in the car, most likely all juvies.
The timing of this car chase couldn't have been any better. The night shift was just signing on duty, and now that they've heard a pursuit, adrenaline is pumping and everybody wants in.
This pursuit doesn't last long and the occupants find a large parking lot to make a break for it. On one side of the parking lot is an all night restaurant that is the only decent place to eat in this sector after midnight. On the other side is a small little building that at that time, was a family operated music store. What's behind the parking lot is a heavily wooded area. I've never had the desire to go exploring in these woods, so I had no idea what was in there. Turns out, I wasn't the only one.
Once the vehicle slows down enough, these 3 juvies bail out, running in 3 different directions. 2 of them head for the woods. Meanwhile, the stolen car is still rolling and is headed back out in to the street. I have to try and stop it before someone gets hurt. Now there's already 3 marked units near me and I give a description of the suspects and where they headed. 2 patrol cars move over to the woods and after I got the car stopped and in park, I noticed that there was someone crouching down in the bushes by the music store. I pull my weapon, point it at the bushes and tell the kid to get his ass out of there, with his hands up! He complied and it was an altogether easy arrest. He was only 13 and scared to death. Naturally, he's not going to snitch on his friends.
All his excitement is starting to aggravate my bronchitis and I have a coughing fit.
The Sgt. and Lt. show up at the scene and we're all trying to determine where the woods lead. A few officers ventured forth only to find it swampy. Snakes are very prevalent and then there's always alligators to contend with. Who wants to wake a sleeping gator? Everybody backs out and we do an assessment. We've made contact with the local Rescue Squad because they have a boat and their house is about 5 miles away.
In a short period of time, 2 Rescue people arrive with their boat in tow. They also have a terrain map.
While the 2 bosses consult with the rescue people, 4 of us conspire and we now have a plan. We've done enough warnings, threats, and pleas for the little brats to surrender and we don't even know if they're still in there.
As we planned, we all go as silent as we can for a few minutes and then one officer gets on his PA system and shouts in a very panicked voice, "GATOR! BACK AWAY EVERYBODY!"
Suddenly, there are a couple of terror filled, girly screams heard and 2 young males come running out of the woods begging to get in a police car.
They're immediately taken in to custody and I'm laughing so hard, I have another coughing fit.
Both the supervisors are also having a hard time keeping a straight face with the Lt. asking why no one thought of it sooner.
Rescue pulls out and the Lt. leaves the rest to the Sgt. We have separated the juvies and I was going to transport one, when I realized I had a flat tire. [Yep, no garage available so we have to change them ourselves] Another officer agrees to transport the juvie and the Sgt., myself and another officer are left. The other officer, "Rich" grabs the jack and I grab the spare tire out of the trunk of my Crown Vic.
Another coughing fit.
Officer "Rich" has loosened the lug nuts for me and has started jacking it up. Rich is busting my ass and is only assisting cause I'm sick....but it will cost me. ....blah, blah. The Sarge warns me that if I'm still sick tomorrow and show for work, he'll kick my ass out the door.
I notice something. I start to say it, but instead, I'm coughing uncontrollably. I'm standing behind Rich who is squatting down by the tire. The car wobbles on the jack. I pull on Rich's shoulders, while I'm hacking horribly, and pull him back until he falls on his ass. The look on the Sarge's face is priceless as he must think that things are about to get a little physical between us. Within seconds, the Ford falls off the jack and plops down hard.
I say, "Sorry man -cough-cough but I couldn't get the words out." The Sarge says to Rich, "I told you - you didn't do it right."
I go in to work one night knowing full well I should have stayed home. I know I was battling bronchitis and having coughing fits. I was doing my best to stay out of trouble. Until some fool always ruins it....
I initiate a traffic stop because this fool is driving down the road with no lights and changes lanes with no signal. Once I hit my blue lights, the chase was on. [In those days, the supervisor called the shots on the pursuit policy. If they determined it wasn't worth the risk, we were ordered to break it off.] I've already called in the plate to dispatch and a few minutes later, they report it is stolen. Now the supervisor is closely monitoring my radio communications. I note that there's at least 3 people total in the car, most likely all juvies.
The timing of this car chase couldn't have been any better. The night shift was just signing on duty, and now that they've heard a pursuit, adrenaline is pumping and everybody wants in.
This pursuit doesn't last long and the occupants find a large parking lot to make a break for it. On one side of the parking lot is an all night restaurant that is the only decent place to eat in this sector after midnight. On the other side is a small little building that at that time, was a family operated music store. What's behind the parking lot is a heavily wooded area. I've never had the desire to go exploring in these woods, so I had no idea what was in there. Turns out, I wasn't the only one.
Once the vehicle slows down enough, these 3 juvies bail out, running in 3 different directions. 2 of them head for the woods. Meanwhile, the stolen car is still rolling and is headed back out in to the street. I have to try and stop it before someone gets hurt. Now there's already 3 marked units near me and I give a description of the suspects and where they headed. 2 patrol cars move over to the woods and after I got the car stopped and in park, I noticed that there was someone crouching down in the bushes by the music store. I pull my weapon, point it at the bushes and tell the kid to get his ass out of there, with his hands up! He complied and it was an altogether easy arrest. He was only 13 and scared to death. Naturally, he's not going to snitch on his friends.
All his excitement is starting to aggravate my bronchitis and I have a coughing fit.
The Sgt. and Lt. show up at the scene and we're all trying to determine where the woods lead. A few officers ventured forth only to find it swampy. Snakes are very prevalent and then there's always alligators to contend with. Who wants to wake a sleeping gator? Everybody backs out and we do an assessment. We've made contact with the local Rescue Squad because they have a boat and their house is about 5 miles away.
In a short period of time, 2 Rescue people arrive with their boat in tow. They also have a terrain map.
While the 2 bosses consult with the rescue people, 4 of us conspire and we now have a plan. We've done enough warnings, threats, and pleas for the little brats to surrender and we don't even know if they're still in there.
As we planned, we all go as silent as we can for a few minutes and then one officer gets on his PA system and shouts in a very panicked voice, "GATOR! BACK AWAY EVERYBODY!"
Suddenly, there are a couple of terror filled, girly screams heard and 2 young males come running out of the woods begging to get in a police car.
They're immediately taken in to custody and I'm laughing so hard, I have another coughing fit.
Both the supervisors are also having a hard time keeping a straight face with the Lt. asking why no one thought of it sooner.
Rescue pulls out and the Lt. leaves the rest to the Sgt. We have separated the juvies and I was going to transport one, when I realized I had a flat tire. [Yep, no garage available so we have to change them ourselves] Another officer agrees to transport the juvie and the Sgt., myself and another officer are left. The other officer, "Rich" grabs the jack and I grab the spare tire out of the trunk of my Crown Vic.
Another coughing fit.
Officer "Rich" has loosened the lug nuts for me and has started jacking it up. Rich is busting my ass and is only assisting cause I'm sick....but it will cost me. ....blah, blah. The Sarge warns me that if I'm still sick tomorrow and show for work, he'll kick my ass out the door.
I notice something. I start to say it, but instead, I'm coughing uncontrollably. I'm standing behind Rich who is squatting down by the tire. The car wobbles on the jack. I pull on Rich's shoulders, while I'm hacking horribly, and pull him back until he falls on his ass. The look on the Sarge's face is priceless as he must think that things are about to get a little physical between us. Within seconds, the Ford falls off the jack and plops down hard.
I say, "Sorry man -cough-cough but I couldn't get the words out." The Sarge says to Rich, "I told you - you didn't do it right."
Friday, December 3, 2010
How to Piss off the Police: A War Story
After normal business hours, our city garage was closed and if we had a minor issue, we could go to this local service station that had a contract with the city. My headlight wasn't working so I went there, hoping it was just a light bulb. I'm standing around waiting for the service tech to deliver his prognosis and watching this 20 something white female go to the pay phone and make a call. [Yea, I know - pay phone -] She was on the other side of the parking lot, but I could tell from her actions that she was quite upset and fidgety. While she's on the pay phone, she turns, sees me, turns back and hangs up the phone. Just as she's walking, dispatch is calling me advising that there's a 911 hang up on the pay phone of my location, could I handle it? By that time, we're standing in front of each other. I advise dispatch I've got it.
It was a story no cop wants to hear....
She was upset, angry, shocked...you name it. She started crying about her baby. I calm her down and ask her where the baby is. She says she's at home with her Mom, she's safe and her house is just around the corner. My complainant says that she's been dating this guy for a couple of months or so and well....she couldn't explain it. She handed me half dozen Polaroid photos. [Oh yea, this is a really old story, isn't it?]
In all of these photos were pictures of her beautiful blond 4 year old daughter posed in various stages of undress and in provocative positions. She said she found the photos accidentally when she picked up her boyfriend's duffel bag. I am more than sickened by these photos.
Situations like this require immediate supervisor notification. I advise him briefly via radio that I had a sexual assault reported and that I am presently at the service station with the complainant. He responds to my location and I ask the service tech to step it up. He can't find what's wrong. Screw it! Just give me the keys.
We go to her house and Grandma is there with this little sweet faced cherub. The child appears to be a normal and inquisitive 4 year old. She's very shy around everyone and doesn't feel like talking now. We're required to get statements from both the Mom and then....the poor girl will need be examined to determine if there's any further physical injuries.
Grandma is staying at the house as the boyfriend is expected to come by shortly. Granny's pretty pissed and looks like she could kick some serious ass. I have to ask her if she's got any weapons in the house or plans on getting ugly. She won't. She agrees to do as instructed and will notify us once he arrives. We plant an unmarked unit nearby and the supervisor will also wait in the area.
Word is traveling fast....
I transport Mom and daughter to HQ and take them upstairs to the Detective Division. 4 Detectives and the Watch Commander are all waiting for me. Right away, men are all cooing over our little sweetheart and soda and candy are appearing. The Lt. has to shoo some away because it is over-whelming her a bit. Sweetheart bonds right away with one of our toughest and meanest dinosaur detectives. He has 2 daughters of his own.
We're getting statements and making arrangements for the child to be examined. Since it involves a juvenile, a Detective from that division is now handling it. I make the initial report only. Before I leave, I am about to hand over the photos to the Juvenile Detective, when others are breathing down my neck and they want to see them. I hear some uncouth words, I see anger and I see disgust boiling up inside 4 other men. They all want to go to the house and wait for the scum to come home.
About an hour or so later, we get the call that boyfriend has arrived. I race down there because I know what's going to happen. I get there just as the Detectives are cuffing him. The uniform Sgt. is making sure that we're cool. They put him in my marked unit and we proceed to HQ.
Mom and daughter have been transported to a medical facility for follow up so it's safe to bring him up. Well, safe for the girl and Mom.
I take the scumbag upstairs and basically do the perp walk through the bull pen. Jesus, if looks could kill. I hear one Detective say, "is that the Son of a Bitch?" "That M.F. perv so much as looks at me funny, he's gonna know pain...." And on it went.
The Detectives Mirandize and then question him. No one coerced a confession out of him, but the SOB knew that his best bet was to move the process along and cooperate. 5 people were now glaring at him. We get all the paperwork processed. including his confession, and I then set out to transport him to the county lock up to await his bond hearing.
Ordinarily, 1 uniform would be sufficient to escort a prisoner downstairs. Unless he was a real bad ass, then maybe 2. This guy....had 4 detectives and myself. He was sweating. He said that everyone was treating him like he was a mass murderer or something. The "or something" was it. A child molester is a higher form of scum. I sensed everyone was hoping that his asshole would break bad. Any excuse. As it was, a door might have accidentally knocked him on his ass and perhaps someone may have forgotten to tell him to watch his head when he got in to the police car.
I have to convince them to back off. I don't want to have to go to the hospital with this pedophile bastard. Any signs of injury, and the jail will refuse intake.
It was fortunate - the medical exam and through some questioning of our little angel, it appears the sick bastard had done only what the pictures proved and that disgusting shit was more than enough.
Now that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how you piss off the police!
It was a story no cop wants to hear....
She was upset, angry, shocked...you name it. She started crying about her baby. I calm her down and ask her where the baby is. She says she's at home with her Mom, she's safe and her house is just around the corner. My complainant says that she's been dating this guy for a couple of months or so and well....she couldn't explain it. She handed me half dozen Polaroid photos. [Oh yea, this is a really old story, isn't it?]
In all of these photos were pictures of her beautiful blond 4 year old daughter posed in various stages of undress and in provocative positions. She said she found the photos accidentally when she picked up her boyfriend's duffel bag. I am more than sickened by these photos.
Situations like this require immediate supervisor notification. I advise him briefly via radio that I had a sexual assault reported and that I am presently at the service station with the complainant. He responds to my location and I ask the service tech to step it up. He can't find what's wrong. Screw it! Just give me the keys.
We go to her house and Grandma is there with this little sweet faced cherub. The child appears to be a normal and inquisitive 4 year old. She's very shy around everyone and doesn't feel like talking now. We're required to get statements from both the Mom and then....the poor girl will need be examined to determine if there's any further physical injuries.
Grandma is staying at the house as the boyfriend is expected to come by shortly. Granny's pretty pissed and looks like she could kick some serious ass. I have to ask her if she's got any weapons in the house or plans on getting ugly. She won't. She agrees to do as instructed and will notify us once he arrives. We plant an unmarked unit nearby and the supervisor will also wait in the area.
Word is traveling fast....
I transport Mom and daughter to HQ and take them upstairs to the Detective Division. 4 Detectives and the Watch Commander are all waiting for me. Right away, men are all cooing over our little sweetheart and soda and candy are appearing. The Lt. has to shoo some away because it is over-whelming her a bit. Sweetheart bonds right away with one of our toughest and meanest dinosaur detectives. He has 2 daughters of his own.
We're getting statements and making arrangements for the child to be examined. Since it involves a juvenile, a Detective from that division is now handling it. I make the initial report only. Before I leave, I am about to hand over the photos to the Juvenile Detective, when others are breathing down my neck and they want to see them. I hear some uncouth words, I see anger and I see disgust boiling up inside 4 other men. They all want to go to the house and wait for the scum to come home.
About an hour or so later, we get the call that boyfriend has arrived. I race down there because I know what's going to happen. I get there just as the Detectives are cuffing him. The uniform Sgt. is making sure that we're cool. They put him in my marked unit and we proceed to HQ.
Mom and daughter have been transported to a medical facility for follow up so it's safe to bring him up. Well, safe for the girl and Mom.
I take the scumbag upstairs and basically do the perp walk through the bull pen. Jesus, if looks could kill. I hear one Detective say, "is that the Son of a Bitch?" "That M.F. perv so much as looks at me funny, he's gonna know pain...." And on it went.
The Detectives Mirandize and then question him. No one coerced a confession out of him, but the SOB knew that his best bet was to move the process along and cooperate. 5 people were now glaring at him. We get all the paperwork processed. including his confession, and I then set out to transport him to the county lock up to await his bond hearing.
Ordinarily, 1 uniform would be sufficient to escort a prisoner downstairs. Unless he was a real bad ass, then maybe 2. This guy....had 4 detectives and myself. He was sweating. He said that everyone was treating him like he was a mass murderer or something. The "or something" was it. A child molester is a higher form of scum. I sensed everyone was hoping that his asshole would break bad. Any excuse. As it was, a door might have accidentally knocked him on his ass and perhaps someone may have forgotten to tell him to watch his head when he got in to the police car.
I have to convince them to back off. I don't want to have to go to the hospital with this pedophile bastard. Any signs of injury, and the jail will refuse intake.
It was fortunate - the medical exam and through some questioning of our little angel, it appears the sick bastard had done only what the pictures proved and that disgusting shit was more than enough.
Now that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how you piss off the police!
White Guy in the Projects: A war story
I moved down to the southeast after several years at a mid size police dept. in the northeast. I spent 2 years at a Public Safety Dept. and loathed it. I was never so bored. I yearned for real police work again. I took a position with an urban city police dept. that was, at the time, a struggling city trying to find its own identity. It was quite a culture shock from my northern home state. This was a whole different animal and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't apprehensive, but it was what I had yearned for and I thrived on the excitement. If you wanted or needed a definition of "urban jungle," this city was it. These streets were full of prostitution, drug deals, juveniles who can steal a car faster than you can snap your fingers, shootings, stabbings, robberies, burglaries, and our homicide rate averaged 50-60 per year. This city also had its 'projects' that were spread out over 400 square acres.
I was assigned to one of our "hot" zones where sometimes you just went from call to call, clearing them as quickly as you can because they're backing up faster than dispatchers can get them on the air. Tonight I had a ride along. In those days, it was common practice for a dispatcher to ride a long a couple of times in various sectors, to get to know the territory and see what it's like in this big bad city.
My dispatcher ride along tonight, "Linda" was a small woman with a sweet, calming voice, and a quick, dry wit. [She'll need it] She was young [hey, so was I once] and was initially cautious, but I tried to put her at ease and we were cracking jokes after about 15 minutes. The great thing about a dispatch ride along, is that it frees you up from one of the other 9 things you're trying to do while driving.
We had been on a couple of minor calls and it was getting dark. We were near the projects and I was headed that way to give her the tour, when some idiot in a Buick blows the stop sign right in front of me. DAM!
I hit the lights and siren and this guy stomps on it! The driver is short, so it's safe to say he's not old enough to have a driver's license and it looks like there's another juvie in the car with him. They head straight for the projects. Dispatcher Linda is calling the shots on the radio for me; initiating a vehicle stop call to what then becomes a pursuit. This little punk doesn't want to stop for the po-leece!
The rug rat heads right straight into the main street of the projects. Section 8 and low income housing. Our tax dollars. Now we all know what happens when there's pretty little police lights and sirens in the projects....yep, houses empty. There's always people and kids hanging at or near the street anyway, but something like this brings mob action.
This moron takes a last minute right turn and the driver and passenger doors fly open simultaneously. Oh yea, they're bailing. They get out of the car, running in 2 different directions and the poor Buick rolls in to a light pole.
Meanwhile, Linda is talking care of radio business while I focus on trying to catch the bad guys. I can hear radio traffic and back up is en route. When you had a call in the projects, you never went alone, no matter what the call. Not having been on the department long, I hadn't met everyone yet but heard a Detective say he was in the area and headed in that way.
Once they bailed, I parked the car, I told Linda to lock herself in, and I went in foot pursuit of the driver. There were 5 buildings in a row, all with about 5 town house type apartments. They had a front and back door and clothes lines in every yard. I chased after the driver who was zigging and zagging through the apartment buildings. I had my weapon in my hand and came to the end of a building to do a quick peek before proceeding. As I rounded the corner - there was a face and I yelled, "POLICE! FREEZE!"
I was pointing my gun in to the face of a white male, who was wearing a shirt and tie and had a gun of his own. He said, "I'm Detective T-t-t-iii-t-t-t us. Don't shoot the white guy in a tie!"
That's it....we both lost it....and started giggling like little school girls. Oh hell, we already lost the bad guy. Other officers were in the area and now that there were so many people every where, the odds of apprehending the little bastards were slim to none. Another officer had picked up Linda and taken her out of there for her safety and someone had already ordered a tow truck. We were going to process this scene quickly and then get out.
For many years after, Det. T. and I would always great each other with him throwing his hands in the air saying, "Don't shoot" and my responding with my finger pointed at him, saying "White guy in a tie."
I was assigned to one of our "hot" zones where sometimes you just went from call to call, clearing them as quickly as you can because they're backing up faster than dispatchers can get them on the air. Tonight I had a ride along. In those days, it was common practice for a dispatcher to ride a long a couple of times in various sectors, to get to know the territory and see what it's like in this big bad city.
My dispatcher ride along tonight, "Linda" was a small woman with a sweet, calming voice, and a quick, dry wit. [She'll need it] She was young [hey, so was I once] and was initially cautious, but I tried to put her at ease and we were cracking jokes after about 15 minutes. The great thing about a dispatch ride along, is that it frees you up from one of the other 9 things you're trying to do while driving.
We had been on a couple of minor calls and it was getting dark. We were near the projects and I was headed that way to give her the tour, when some idiot in a Buick blows the stop sign right in front of me. DAM!
I hit the lights and siren and this guy stomps on it! The driver is short, so it's safe to say he's not old enough to have a driver's license and it looks like there's another juvie in the car with him. They head straight for the projects. Dispatcher Linda is calling the shots on the radio for me; initiating a vehicle stop call to what then becomes a pursuit. This little punk doesn't want to stop for the po-leece!
The rug rat heads right straight into the main street of the projects. Section 8 and low income housing. Our tax dollars. Now we all know what happens when there's pretty little police lights and sirens in the projects....yep, houses empty. There's always people and kids hanging at or near the street anyway, but something like this brings mob action.
This moron takes a last minute right turn and the driver and passenger doors fly open simultaneously. Oh yea, they're bailing. They get out of the car, running in 2 different directions and the poor Buick rolls in to a light pole.
Meanwhile, Linda is talking care of radio business while I focus on trying to catch the bad guys. I can hear radio traffic and back up is en route. When you had a call in the projects, you never went alone, no matter what the call. Not having been on the department long, I hadn't met everyone yet but heard a Detective say he was in the area and headed in that way.
Once they bailed, I parked the car, I told Linda to lock herself in, and I went in foot pursuit of the driver. There were 5 buildings in a row, all with about 5 town house type apartments. They had a front and back door and clothes lines in every yard. I chased after the driver who was zigging and zagging through the apartment buildings. I had my weapon in my hand and came to the end of a building to do a quick peek before proceeding. As I rounded the corner - there was a face and I yelled, "POLICE! FREEZE!"
I was pointing my gun in to the face of a white male, who was wearing a shirt and tie and had a gun of his own. He said, "I'm Detective T-t-t-iii-t-t-t us. Don't shoot the white guy in a tie!"
That's it....we both lost it....and started giggling like little school girls. Oh hell, we already lost the bad guy. Other officers were in the area and now that there were so many people every where, the odds of apprehending the little bastards were slim to none. Another officer had picked up Linda and taken her out of there for her safety and someone had already ordered a tow truck. We were going to process this scene quickly and then get out.
For many years after, Det. T. and I would always great each other with him throwing his hands in the air saying, "Don't shoot" and my responding with my finger pointed at him, saying "White guy in a tie."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Things You See
A reassignment put me on the midnight shift and I was working in an area that generally has a high call volume. Not on this night. It was a very frigid January in the southeast. Unusually cold temps were hovering around freezing. After about 2 a.m., there was literally no radio traffic to speak of. A city of roughly 80,000 had about 7 cops and 2 supervisors working that night. It was eerily quiet.
I was patrolling up the main street area of our fair city, literally looking for something to do. I happened to be sitting at a traffic light. This is a 7 point intersection so there's quite a wait for a green light, no matter your direction. I was facing northwest.
I glanced up and at my 1 o'clock position I saw a very odd thing in the sky. It literally darted from left to right and then hovered in the same position for seconds. Its lights were twinkling and the object was oblong shaped, but was wider on the front and then narrowed to the rear. It was a brilliant blue color in a cloudy, starless night sky. After hovering, it then darted in a vertical path, flying up first. I was so mesmerized by this object that I sat through my green light. In fact, I grabbed for the car mic, but thought to myself, "What the hell do I say? I think I've got a UFO near Broadway and Main?" Yeah, sure. That's a guaranteed trip to the shrink.
For just a split second, I took my eye off it and it darted from my right to the left, disappearing in to the sky.
I peered out through my windshield and even opened the drivers window to try and get a better look. It had disappeared.
I see in my side view mirror that there is a car moving around me to go through the green light. That means I've sat at this intersection over 5 minutes.
I look at my watch. It's 3:40 a.m. and there's no one else around me that saw what I saw. It's best I just dismiss this as 'abnormal weather conditions.'
2 days later, a small mention in the local newspaper about some calls to the airport tower. Some people reported seeing an unusual object in the sky around 3:35 a.m. Their statement to the press read in part; "that there were no commercial flights after midnight and the Air Force denies they had anything flying in the sky that night."
The things you see....
I was patrolling up the main street area of our fair city, literally looking for something to do. I happened to be sitting at a traffic light. This is a 7 point intersection so there's quite a wait for a green light, no matter your direction. I was facing northwest.
I glanced up and at my 1 o'clock position I saw a very odd thing in the sky. It literally darted from left to right and then hovered in the same position for seconds. Its lights were twinkling and the object was oblong shaped, but was wider on the front and then narrowed to the rear. It was a brilliant blue color in a cloudy, starless night sky. After hovering, it then darted in a vertical path, flying up first. I was so mesmerized by this object that I sat through my green light. In fact, I grabbed for the car mic, but thought to myself, "What the hell do I say? I think I've got a UFO near Broadway and Main?" Yeah, sure. That's a guaranteed trip to the shrink.
For just a split second, I took my eye off it and it darted from my right to the left, disappearing in to the sky.
I peered out through my windshield and even opened the drivers window to try and get a better look. It had disappeared.
I see in my side view mirror that there is a car moving around me to go through the green light. That means I've sat at this intersection over 5 minutes.
I look at my watch. It's 3:40 a.m. and there's no one else around me that saw what I saw. It's best I just dismiss this as 'abnormal weather conditions.'
2 days later, a small mention in the local newspaper about some calls to the airport tower. Some people reported seeing an unusual object in the sky around 3:35 a.m. Their statement to the press read in part; "that there were no commercial flights after midnight and the Air Force denies they had anything flying in the sky that night."
The things you see....
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