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Under the Affluence of Incahol, part 2

By Gerry Goldshine

 

“Ma’am, have you consumed any alcoholic beverages tonight?”

“Yes, I had some wine with dinner.”

“How many glasses of wine did you have?”

“I believe it was two glasses.”

Two; for some unfathomable reason when asked how many beers, glasses of wine or shots they had consumed prior to my stopping them, nearly every driver who had been drinking answered, “two”. It didn’t seem to matter whether they understood English or not, the answer was most always “dos”, “zwei”, “deux” or some other form of the number two. Both ride-a-longs and trainees always expressed skepticism when I told them of this little curiosity right up until I asked that magic question only to be told, “Why I had just two beers, officer.”

One night, after a DUI subject’s breathalyzer test results showed him having a blood alcohol concentration of .25% – more than three times the legal limit in California – I asked the surprisingly happy and talkative man why he told me that he had consumed only two beers. Though this is hardly a scientific analysis, he told me, “I figured if I said I’d only had one beer, you probably wouldn’t believe me. Three beers seemed too many, so I settled on two.” I had to admit that his response did have a certain amount of inebriated logic to it.

In the cult movie “The Man With Two Brains”, Steve Martin’s character, Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr, is stopped by a Austrian police officer for speeding. Suspicious that Dr. Hfuhruhurr may have been driving while intoxicated, the officer gives him a series of increasingly impossible Field Sobriety Tests, culminating with his having to juggle three balls, tap dance and sing the Catalina Magdalena Luptenschteiner Volunbeiner song all at the same time – “The Man With Two Brains” Field Sobriety Test Scene. Though many people may perceive actual Field Sobriety Tests – also known as FSTs – to be as complex and arbitrary as those Steve Martin was asked to do, they have actually been designed following research sponsored by the Federal Highway Traffic Safety Administration to measure an individual’s ability to perform divided attention type of tasks. I don’t want to go into too much detail here on the subject of detection and apprehension of impaired drivers; however, it will be helpful to understand why officers do some of the things when checking on a possible impaired driver.

If you think about it, driving a vehicle requires you to divide your attention among a multiplicity of tasks, such as how hard to press on the accelerator, how hard to brake and when, judging your speed, making steering inputs and checking traffic ahead. These are just a few of the moment by moment operational tasks upon which we split our attention, almost without thinking, as we drive down a street. The ingestion of alcoholic beverages reduces a person’s ability to focus on more than one task at a time. What an officer tries to gauge by administering these “tests” is not whether a person can pass every single task but rather, does their overall performance on all of the tests, combined with the observed physical signs of intoxication indicate impairment. An additional factor which may be considered is the driving behavior that attracted the officer’s attention, though sometimes the stop may be for something as innocuous as an inoperative headlight.

I found that observing how a person maneuvered themselves out from behind the wheel of their car to the nearby sidewalk to be a pretty good initial indicator of how impaired their ability to drive was. How I wish I had some of the video tools available now because words alone can’t do complete justice to some of the conduct I witnessed over the years. More than a few times, a driver would open his car door, only to look at me ashen-faced as his exit was preceded by the noisy clatter of empty beer cans cascading out of the vehicle and into the street. Frequently, this was then followed by the driver also noisily spilling out of the car onto his fundament amidst the spent beer cans. Obviously, the fanny plant into the pile of recyclable cans was akin to a “Blue’s Clue” that something was amiss.

Argus Courier photo taken 12/15/1986 showing the author (Gerry) giving a DUI  suspect FSTs. That is actually me trying to keep my balance for the camera.
Argus Courier photo taken 12/15/1986 showing the author (Gerry) giving a DUI suspect FSTs. That is actually me trying to keep my balance for the camera.

Sometimes, just getting to the sidewalk was an exciting adventure itself. There were those who attempted to conceal their unsteady state by keeping at least one hand on their car for balance as they slowly worked their way to the sidewalk. There is nothing quite as amusing as a drunk trying to be nonchalant, especially when they know a police officer is watching them. For many an intoxicated subject, a supporting hand wasn’t enough. In some of those instances, the driver would have to rest their derrière against their car and then slide their way to the curb, leaving a nice, butt high, clean streak in their wake.  Once and awhile, I would stop a heavily intoxicated driver who, after nearly falling out of their car, made their way to the sidewalk using a gait I called the “trip, stumble and stagger”. They generally needed assistance to find their way to the sidewalk as well as to keep from lurching out into traffic.

Once we were on the sidewalk, I always made sure that the person did not have any physical infirmities that would explain any observed difficulties in walking or might interfere with their ability to perform some basic balance and coordination tests. Once in awhile I did run into someone who was having a diabetic crisis or who had an artificial limb or joint. One officer tried to stop someone for driving recklessly and following a short pursuit, discovered the man had no legs. There were also those who claimed an assortment of sprains, muscle pulls and the like. In an effort to be fair to them, I would tailor which tests I administered to compensate for whatever infirmity they happened to have or claimed to have. Invariably, someone would tell me, “My doctor says I’m uncoordinated so I can’t do any of your tests.” Of course this claim was generally suspect since I hadn’t yet explained what I wanted them to do. Trying to elicit details as to the condition causing said “uncoordination” usually proved to be an exercise in futility. Still, I had ways to work around even that challenge.

Perhaps more entertaining were those who would defiantly announce, “My lawyer says I don’t have to take any of your field tests. So, I’m not doing them.” Perhaps they thought by not taking any field sobriety tests they couldn’t be arrested. Usually by that point, most officers have observed enough of their physical symptoms of intoxication along with their balance and coordination as they walked from the car and stood on the sidewalk that they could articulate more than enough facts to satisfy probable cause. On the other hand, I had several people look at me, shrug their shoulders and then say, “Ah hell. I know I’ve I had too much to drink. I’m drunk and shouldn’t have been driving. So go ahead, arrest me and save us all some time.” They were always right.

Part 3 will post this week. It’ll be worth the wait, even if it requires an adult audience!

    

Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine circa 1985
Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine circa 1985

Gerry was born in Providence, Rhode Island but raised in Southern California. 

Upon graduating from California State University, Los Angeles, Gerry enlisted in

the Army and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. After leaving active duty

in 1979, he worked for Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office. From 1980 until his retirement

in 1996, he was a patrol officer, traffic officer, and a trainer at Petaluma Police Department.

Gerry is married, has a daughter and lives in Sonoma County, California.

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Oh, What A Night!

Guest post by Gerry Goldshine

 

You all know that ethereal place between consciousness and sleep? That’s where I thought I was when I heard the sirens. Getting louder. Growing closer. Jeez, can’t a guy get some sleep?

Gerry, hang in there buddy! They’re going to get you out of there.”

I recognize that slow Southern drawl. It was Jim Wesson, my Sergeant. While I liked working for Jim, dreaming about him, well that was just odd. Odder still was what he had said and that didn’t makes any sense. And why did he sound so worried?

You’re gonna be okay, Gerry We’re gonna get you out of there real soon.

Wait, now that was Phil Sutsos, a Petaluma Fire Paramedic. I’d know that voice anywhere. Why wouldn’t I be okay?  Get me out? Why wasn’t anyone making any sense? Why does everything look all blurry? Crap, where are my glasses? How can I go to work without them? Why does the windshield look all cracked? Windshield? Well, that’s strange. I know I’m asleep but if I don’t wake up, I’m going to be late for work. Wait, now what’s that noise? I think I recognize that sound, but what is it? It’s like a go-kart engine, revving up then slowing down, repeatedly. There was another noise, similar but at a constant level. What were they? I hear someone else shouting but I can’t make out what they’re saying. What is going on? What did I eat before going to bed to cause a dream this bizarre?

Darkness….

Petaluma, Medic 91. We’ll be enroute Santa Rosa Memorial, Code three with one patient.”

Code Three to Memorial Hospital? Boy, someone must really be a mess if they’re taking to Memorial Hospital instead of Petaluma Valley Hospital and Code Three to boot. I wonder what happened. Whatever, it just means more paperwork for me. I can hear another siren…but this one is very muted. Who keeps asking me these silly questions? I think I answer but then I forget the question. Okay, what am I doing inside an ambulance?

Darkness

“Gerry, can you hear me?”

Of course I can hear you. Stop yelling! Why wouldn’t I be able to hear you? Who the hell are you anyways? How come my bladder feels so full? Hey, why can’t I move?

“Hey, I need to pee!”

I am surprised at the sound of my own voice.

“Gerry, you’ve been in a bad car accident. You’re on a back board. We can’t let you move.”

An accident? I don’t understand. What accident? Why won’t they let me pee? I really need to pee. If they don’t let me go pee, it’s going to be unpleasant. I don’t particularly want to wet my uniform pants. Wait, where are my pants?

Darkness

Gerry, your wife is here. Try not to talk. You have a broken jaw.”

Broken jaw? What was she talking about? For that matter, who was she? Then, into my line of sight stepped my wife, Linda. Out of the corner of my eye, I see what appears to be my closest friend, Officer Tim Aboudara, but for some reason, I can’t turn my head to look at him. Something was holding my head in place, keeping me from moving. I sense that they both are worried. Very worried. Hold on, Tim’s in civilian clothes? Shouldn’t he be in uniform?

“Would somebody please tell me what happened?”

I’m starting to get frustrated and I’m not sure who answered; I think it was Tim who replied, “You’ve been in a car accident. Someone crashed into your patrol car. You’re at Memorial Hospital.”

An accident? Didn’t someone tell me something about an accident? Patrol car? That makes sense; I’m a police officer. But something’s not right. Why am I having so much trouble talking? Why can’t I move? Why don’t I understand any of this? I can’t figure this out and I don’t like that.

Darkness

“Gerry? Linda is here.”

Here? Where am I? This is not making any sense.

“Where am I? What happened?”

“You’ve been in a car accident. You were at work and someone hit your patrol car head-on. You’re hurt and you’re at Memorial Hospital.”

Was that Tim? Yeah, that was Tim. What’s he doing here? Wait, didn’t he say something about a car accident. Crap; that was a brand new patrol car. Who is hurt? No, I’m fine. Right? Okay let me see if I got this straight.

“You’re saying someone ran into me, in my patrol car? My new patrol car?”

That’s right.”

Well, doesn’t that just suck! I was in a car accident and in a brand new patrol car. Shit! The brass isn’t gonna be happy with me. Dammit, why was I so confused? Wait a second! A car accident? Right, that’s my job. I investigate them. Insurance. What? Yeah, what about insurance? Oh no, no. Don’t let this happen to me.

“Please. Tell me I wasn’t hit by an unlicensed, uninsured driver on their way to the Petaluma Mushroom farm.”

I heard several people chuckle but I certainly wasn’t trying to be funny. Mushrooms? Why did I just mention the mushroom farm? Oh yeah, I think I had just investigated an accident where the guy who caused it was unlicensed, uninsured and on his way to the mushroom farm just outside of town. What did that matter to me?

No. They had a license and they have insurance.”

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How bad is my new car?”

“Totaled.”

I smiled.

“Looks like I’ll be able to buy a new house now, right?”

More laughter. Buy a house? What was I thinking about? Ow! Never mind that, why does my face suddenly feel like someone hit me with a baseball bat? My head hurts too. Hold on; so do my knees. And my shoulders. You know, there is pain everywhere; my whole body hurts! It hurts a lot. Okay this is getting very scary now and I’m not laughing. I am getting really afraid.

“Hey, um…somebody. Hello? I’m starting to feel a whole lot of pain here…”

“I’m sorry but we can’t give you anything for pain until you have a CAT Scan. You’ve had a pretty bad head injury.”

Who said that? No. No. No. You don’t understand; this REALLY hurts a lot! It hurts real bad! Wait, did I say that out loud or just think it? Why does it hurt so much? What happened to me? I don’t understand. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes but I don’t care.

PPD traffic unit after collision
PPD traffic unit after collision

 

Be sure to check back in for Part 2 which will be posted mid-week. It’s worth the wait!

Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine circa 1985
Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine circa 1985

Gerry Goldshine

Born in Providence, Rhode Island but raised in Southern California.

Upon graduating California State University, Los Angeles, Gerry

enlisted in the Army and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant.

After leaving active duty in 1979, he worked for the Sonoma County

Sheriff’s Office. From 1980 until his retirement in 1996, he was a patrol

officer, traffic officer and at Petaluma Police Department.

He’s married, has a daughter and lives in Sonoma County, California.