More Street Stories

You’re Not A Cop Until You Taste Them (A Rookie’s Story)

This article is re-posted from one of my favorite sites: The Badge of Life Canada

Author Bernie Moss is a “Senior officer for the Corpus Christi Police Department.
The department was all astir, there was a lot of laughing and joking due to all the new officers, myself included, hitting the streets today for the first time. After months of seemingly endless amounts of classes, paperwork, and lectures we were finally done with the Police Academy and ready to join the ranks of our department. All you could see were rows of cadets with huge smiles and polished badges. As we sat in the briefing room, we could barely sit still anxiously awaiting our turn to be introduced and given our beat assignment or, for the lay person, our own portion of the city to “serve and protect.”

It was then that he walked in. A statue of a man – 6 foot 3 and 230 pounds of solid muscle, he had black hair with highlights of gray and steely eyes that make you feel nervous even when he wasn’t looking at you. He had a reputation for being the biggest and the smartest officer to ever work our fair city. He had been on the department for longer than anyone could remember and those years of service had made him into somewhat of a legend. The new guys, or “rookies” as he called us, both respected and feared him. When he spoke even, the most seasoned officers paid attention. It was almost a privilege when one the rookies got to be around when he would tell one of his police stories about the old days. But we knew our place and never interrupted for fear of being shooed away. He was respected and revered by all who knew him. After my first year on the department I still had never heard or saw him speak to any of the rookies for any length of time. When he did speak to them all he would say was, “So, you want to be a policeman do you hero? I’ll tell you what, when you can tell me what they taste like, then you can call yourself a real policeman.” This particular phrase I had heard dozens of times. Me and my buddies all had bets about “what they taste like” actually referred to. Some believed it referred to the taste of your own blood after a hard fight. Others thought it referred to the taste of sweat after a long day’s work. Being on the department for a year, I thought I knew just about everyone and everything.

So one afternoon, I mustered up the courage and walked up to him. When he looked down at me, I said “You know, I think I’ve paid my dues. I’ve been in plenty of fights, made dozens of arrests, and sweated my butt off just like everyone else. So what does that little saying of yours mean anyway?” With that, he merely stated, “Well, seeing as how you’ve said and done it all, you tell me what it means, hero.” When I had no answer, he shook his head and snickered, “rookies,” and walked away.

The next evening was to be the worst one to date. The night started out slow, but as the evening wore on, the calls became more frequent and dangerous. I made several small arrests and then had a real knock down drag out fight. However, I was able to make the arrest without hurting the suspect or myself. After that, I was looking forward to just letting the shift wind down and getting home to my wife and daughter. I had just glanced at my watch and it was 11:55, five more minutes and I would be on my way to the house. I don’t know if it was fatigue or just my imagination, but as I drove down one of the streets on my beat, I thought I saw my daughter standing on someone else’s porch. I looked again but it was not my daughter as I had first thought but merely a small child about her age. She was probably only six or seven years old and dressed in an oversized shirt that hung to her feet. She was clutching an old rag doll in her arms that looked older than me. I immediately stopped my patrol car to see what she was doing outside her house at such an hour by herself. When I approached, there seemed to be a sigh of relief on her face. I had to laugh to myself, thinking she sees the hero policeman come to save the day. I knelt at her side and asked what she was doing outside. She said “My mommy and daddy just had a really big fight and now mommy won’t wake up.” My mind was reeling. Now what do I do? I instantly called for backup and ran to the nearest window. As I looked inside I saw a man standing over a lady with his hands covered in blood, her blood. I kicked open the door, pushed the man aside and checked for a pulse, but unable to find one. I immediately cuffed the man and began doing CPR on the lady. It was then I heard a small voice from behind me, “Mr. Policeman, please make my mommy wake up.” I continued to perform CPR until my backup and medics arrived but they said it was too late. She was dead. I then looked at the man. He said, “I don’t know what happened. She was yelling at me to stop drinking and go get a job and I had just had enough. I just shoved her so she would leave me alone and she fell and hit her head.” As I walked the man out to the car in handcuffs, I again saw that little girl. In the five minutes that has passed, I went from hero to monster. Not only was I unable to wake up her mommy, but now I was taking daddy away too. Before I left the scene, I thought I would talk to the little girl. To say what, I don’t know. Maybe just to tell her I was sorry about her mommy and daddy. But as I approached, she turned away and I knew it was useless and I would probably make it worse. As I sat in the locker room at the station, I kept replaying the whole thing in my mind. Maybe if I would have been faster or done something different, just maybe that little girl would still have her mother. And even though it may sound selfish, I would still be the hero.

It was then that I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I heard that all too familiar question again, “Well, hero, what do they taste like?” But before I could get mad or shout some sarcastic remark, I realized that all the pent up emotions had flooded the surface and there was a steady stream of tears cascading down my face. It was at that moment that I realized what the answer to his question was. Tears. With that, he began to walk away, but he stopped. “You know, there was nothing you could have done differently,” he said. “Sometimes you can do everything right and still the outcome is the same. You may not be the hero you once thought you were, but now you ARE a police officer.”


More Street Stories Writer's Notes

Off Duty

This past week, I polled some of my law enforcement buddies to find out some “situations” that have arisen in social settings because of their career choice. I’m certain that doctors, accountants, attorneys and others are cornered at cocktail parties for “a little advice.” Everyone has their own way to handle these circumstances; some are processes that evolve over the years.
For instance, my early years in law enforcement were as a Parking Enforcement Officer–yes, a meter maid. Rest assured, I’ve been called everything. But in uniform at the ripe young age of 21-24, I seemed to be fodder for all the jokes: “Hey, lovely Rita…” you know the song, right? Well, I have a sense of humor, dammit. I laughed right along with them…for a while. When it got tiresome, it became one of those things about the job that I had to ignore. We all have our way of coping.

San Rafael PD Meter Maids c1973 Marie Morris, Sharon Bunker, Thonie Mulcahy (Hevron)

Take a coffee break, for instance. Picture this: you’re on patrol, in uniform and you’ve taken three burglary reports already. It’s not even 9am. You scan the calls for service on your mobile digital computer and see that you don’t have any pending calls. It’s time for a coffee break! Fifteen minutes of peace and a good cup of java. You’ve looked forward to this all morning. You find your favorite Starbucks, order your drink (you don’t dare order a donut in public) and find a quiet table in the back. You’re sitting there, sipping and checking your email on your phone, when a “Joe Citizen” from across the room meets your gaze. He smiles, you smile back, and return to your coffee.
Then, “JC” is on his feet, motoring toward you. Your return smile was all the encouragement he needed. “JC” pulls up a chair, plops down and says something like, “I’d like to run something by you and see you what you would do…” And, as they say at the races, he’s off! The story is about a moving ticket he got last month from some quota-hungry, gung-ho cop in the next town over. The details vary from each telling, but the point is the same. He got the ticket and he believes he was wronged. When you politely decline to second-guess Officer Quota Hungry, “JC’s” voice grows a little stronger. You tell him that court is his best remedy–that’s what it’s for. It is his chance to convince the judge the ticket was unmerited. You try to explain all the variables involved in assessing the need for a citation, but “JC” doesn’t want to hear it. He wants an ally and at the moment, you are public property.
You aren’t an ally. You can’t be. If you take up his cause, it will be your name the Judge and Officer Quota Hungry hear in court while “JC” is discounting the merit of the ticket. The Judge will be merely annoyed but Officer Quota Hungry and every other cop in the courtroom will know that you didn’t back a fellow cop. It doesn’t matter if the officer was wrong; it is simply not another cop’s place to subvert his judgment.
And, you’ve burned your 15 minute coffee break.
Relieved that dispatch is calling, you turn aside politely, speak into the mike, then tell “JC” you’ve got a call waiting and have to go.
You make a mental note: next time use the drive-thru and sip your coffee at a local fire station.
Technically, you are on the clock while on a break. As a cop, you are always on duty, but particularly while in uniform on patrol, you are subject to being called for any urgent situation.
Another point that needs to be made here is cops bad-mouth other cops regularly–often directly to their face. It is part of the life: you have to be tough-skinned not only for the public but your peers. However, the unwritten rule is, no one, especially “Joe Citizen” can talk trash about another man (or woman) in blue. It’s part of the “brotherhood” mentality which is pervasive, even necessary, in law enforcement. It says, we are all in this together and we have to stick together.
As with everything, there are variations and exceptions, the above is general. When you are reading or writing about a police officer, there are inherent standards of conduct that aren’t written down anywhere. We just “learn” them by modeling, paying attention and listening to the old farts.
Part 2 of this post next week.

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