Tolyn's Journal

Website
I've created a website and have posted some of the archived stories from my live journal there. Feel free to check it out at www.tolynsworld.com. I'll eventually have all the stories posted there. Didn't realize I had written that many so it takes time. :)

Evals and the Cop Mentality
Jenn and I recently went through our marriage preparation classes for getting married in the Catholic Church. It was a worthwhile weekend even though Jenn had to work Friday and Saturday night resulting her attending the classes on just a few hours sleep. It's hard when you get off work at 2 am and then have to be in class by 8:30 am but she managed. Better than me as a matter of fact. I think her elbow was getting sore from nudging me awake.

Her being tired does make for some entertaining answers to the questions asked. The way this worked was we would sit through an hour-long presentation and at the end of the presentation the teachers would give us a questionnaire that we would answer on our own and then get together to discuss those answers. Those questions and answers were something like this:

Question: What would help to make your experience here this weekend more beneficial.
Response: A nap.

Question: What would help open the lines of communication between you and your spouse-to-be?
Response: Alcohol.

Question: Would you like to be more creative in your love life and if yes, how would you go about doing so?
Response: Hell yeah! Can you say Karma Sutra?

On Sunday, towards the end of the day, the teachers handed out the class evaluations for us to complete and tell them what we thought about the class.

A little side note about police officers and class evaluations. In the law enforcement community, the class evaluation is handed out at the end of class. That means when you receive it, class is over. It does not mean that you will go through two more segments. That type of thing is strictly forbidden in the cop code of conduct. It's the LAW and you do not mess around with cops and the LAW.

When we got the evaluations to complete, both Jenn and I were glad that class was over. Immediately we start filling them out in an attempt to be on our way home that much quicker. Imagine our shock when we were told that no only did we have to go to a special Mass put on for the participants of the class but that there was one more segment after Mass that we also had to attend.

I wanted the evaluation back. They obviously did not understand the rules and I wanted to explain it to them. Jenn, being tired, mumbled something about being lucky we were on holy ground.

I'm sure we pouted during the last class. Or maybe not, I was most likely asleep as I distinctly recall Jenn's elbow in my rib cage a few times.

What are the chances?
What are the chances?

That in a city of 450,000 people where public housing residents make up less then 2% of the population that the vehicle that decides to run when my officers go to stop it would be tied to one of our properties?

In this case, extremely likely. Officers observed the vehicle traveling in the opposite direction from them at a high rate of speed and with no plates. When the officers swung around to pull it over, the vehicle’s driver decided to make a run for it. He skidded across Telegraph Avenue and ran into a pole. As soon as I determined that the want on the vehicle was for traffic violations and a property hit and run only, I canceled any pursuit. Helpful citizens though led the officers to the car, now empty of its occupants. Upon tripping the VIN, the vehicle came back registered to one of our properties in the area but without an apartment number attached to it. An astute officer asked to check it against the problem unit for that building and got a match. A few minutes and a knock on the door later, the driver was in custody. He of course attempted to deny it but the positive ID by the officers aside; he also had the keys to the vehicle still in his pocket. Score one for the home team.

What are the chances?

That in one evening, in the complex where I live as the resident officer, there would be a burglary, a man setting things on fire, a family fight where the son went sidewise on mom, a drug recovery and a medical call all inside of an hour?

Generally, not even a consideration but on Tuesday, the cards must of have been stacked against my officers. While on my way to have dinner with my fiancée’ and my future in-laws I received a call from one of my neighbors advising me that her house had been burglarized. I’m out of town so I call dispatch and ask if they have an officer available to head over to that unit for the investigation and report. I’m in luck, an officer is in the green (clear) and dispatch sends them out. While en route, they get a priority call that a man is setting things on fire in front of another unit in the same complex as the burglary. They break and head to that. While on scene at the fire starter incident, one of the neighbors runs out of their apartment and yells at the officers that “Larry” has gone crazy and is beating up his mom. They break from the fire thing and go investigate that. That subject is gone but while attempting to decipher what happened, the Sergeant on scene is approached by a lady who promptly holds out her hand and declares she just bought these… in her palm are two pieces of suspected rock cocaine. That doesn’t happen very often. Well, actually, to my knowledge its never happened but hey, I’ve only been around for 15 years.

The officers finally make it over to the burglary call. While canvassing the neighbors for any possible witnesses, the officer knocks on a door and when it opens she’s greeted by an hysterical occupant, “Oh thank god you’re here, he’s about to die and has gone into a diabetic coma!”

When it rains it pours.

Strange Conversations
Strange Conversations

Oakland just opened up it’s first Wal-Mart store in August. Why it took so long for a city of 450,000+ people to get one discount store is beyond me. The other day I’m in Wal-Mart getting the oil in my truck changed and picking up a few items. Some of the items I needed were new pillows for my bedroom. I was looking for some pillowcases for them when I was approached by an older man who struck up a conversation.

OM: “New pillows. You’re either a bachelor or you’re newly married.”

Me (smiled): “Neither sir. I’m halfway in between. I’m engaged.”

OM: “Oh wonderful. Hope she’s a good woman.”

Me: “She’s the best.”

OM: “Glad to hear it. Congratulations.”

Me: “Thank you sir.”

OM: “How old are you? 25? 26?”

Me (laughing): “No sir. Try 36 but thanks for the compliment.”

OM: “36? Really? I would have guessed much younger. I assume you don’t have any problems performing.”

Me: “Uhhh….”

OM: “What size shoes do you wear?”

Still trying to puzzle out the comment about my “performing”, I responded. “These are 11 ½’s.”

OM: “Hold out your hand.”

My mind at this point hadn’t quite caught up to the switch in the conversation so I obediently held out my hand.

OM: “My, my. Look at the size of your hand. You know what that means don’t you?”

Me: “That I need big gloves?” (Thanks Taamar, without you I still would have been stuck trying to figure out how to respond, lol).

OM: “No, no. They say that there is a correlation between the size of man’s feet and hands to the size of his penis.”

OK, I saw that one coming. I was hoping it wouldn’t, we were after all in the middle of Wal-Mart and I was talking with a stranger, but there it was.

Me (lamely): “I’ve heard that before.”

OM: “What are you? Part German?”

Woot! Change of topic and it couldn’t have come a moment too soon.

Me: “No. Scottish and Cherokee.”

OM: “Oh my. Well, both the Scots and Cherokee are renowned for the size of their penises. Bet you can’t wear a kilt.”

Damn!

Me: “Didn’t know that.”

OM: “It’s true. So, when did you come out?”

Come out? I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Come out as in “out of the closet?” I’m not gay. Never felt compelled to be in the closet over being straight so I was a tad confused (seemed to be the trend during this encounter.)

Me: “Not sure I follow sir.”

OM: “When did you start playing the field?”

Me: “Ahhh, I didn’t really start dating dating until I was in my 30’s. I wouldn’t really call it playing the field though.”

OM: “Oh, don’t worry about it. I didn’t start seeing women till I was older too. No shame in that.”

Me: “I discovered women earlier then my 30’s sir.”

OM (holding up his hand): “Discovered this maybe. No shame in that. Americans have always been prudish about their sexuality compared to Europeans.”

Me: “Hmmmm….”

OM: “Well it was nice talking to you and congratulations again on your engagement.”

Me: “Ahhh, thank you sir.”

Slightly befuddled I shook his hand and watched him walk away. I ran into him later in the service department when he told me that he and his wife had been married for 52 years. He was a nice man, just a strange choice of conversational topics and now he's convinced that I was a 30 year old virgin. I do attract the oddest situations.

Little Sleep and No Coffee
I had made an appointment to have Dexter groomed. Originally I was thinking that I was working day shift and therefore when the lady gave me an 8:30 am appointment I thought it would be fine. That way I could drop him off before going into work. What I had forgot was that I was working nightshift the day before. I got to be at around 3 am. A few hours sleep and I stumbled out of bed to take Dex to the groomers.

Perhaps I shouldn't be let out of the house on a few hours sleep and no coffee. I'm standing there waiting for the shop to open and a lady who is walking down the street see's Dexter.

"OH MY GOD! HOW CUTE!" It was said in the perfect inflection of a Valley Girl accent. She was perky and bubbly and I swear to goodness that she bounced and clapped her hands together. I raised an eyebrow. I hated her. "Thanks." I mumbled.

With her hands still pressed together in front of her she bent over and made little baby noises at the dog. He stiffened. He hated her too or maybe he was just picking that up from me. "Oh he likes me." A big smile.

Likes you? His muscles are so tense you could bend a steel bar across his back. Obviously the lady isn't very skilled at reading a dog's body language.

Lady: "What kind of dog is he?"

Me: "He's a little dog."

Lady (giggles): "No. I mean what breed?"

I knew what she meant but I was hoping sarcasm would end the conversation. I should have known better. "He's a Moronaranian."

Lady: "Really? I've never heard of that breed."

Me: "Very rare these days but they were popular in the late 13th Century. They were specially bred for the Sultan of Wisass (pronounced Why-sass) as an unique gift for him to give to his 40 wives."

Lady: "Wow. How fascinating. I have a dog at home that looks just like him. She's just a mixed breed though. A poodle-terrier mix is what the vet said. I named her Baby."

Me: "You would."

Lady: "What?"

Me: "Nothing."

Lady: "Maybe she's a, what did you call it again?"

Me: "He's a Moronaranian. They're in the same family as Pomeranians."

Lady: "Oh, well, that makes sense. Maybe she's one."

Me: "Possibly. It's a common mistake. Check with your vet the next time you take her in."

Lady: "I will. Thank you."

About this time the groomer opens and I try and make my escape. She bends over again and makes little cooing noises at Dexter and says something about what a cute little boy he is. He bares his teeth. He's not happy about being dragged out of bed for his haircut any more then I am. She thinks he's smiling at her. At least I didn't encourage her to pet him. That would have been negligent.

I shouldn't be allowed out of the house on a few hours sleep and no coffee. I'm just plain mean.

Looking for Don and other awkwardness
After eleven years with our department, Officer Don Johnson (the original) has retired and moved on to other things. I would definitely call moving to Bakersfield “other things.” I remember when Don was first hired. I was 24 years old at the time and only a year or two out of the Marine Corps. Don had just retired from the Navy after 23 years and was looking to get started on his second career. I’m sure during his tenure as a sailor that he had dealt with any number of young, hard-nosed Marines but never one that was his Field Training Officer. Despite having spent all those years in the Navy though he turned out to be one of the best officers to ever where our badge. When he was hired, the Chief told me that, with Don being older, he would bring some needed maturity to a very young department. The Chief was right of course but it also provided me with years of jokes about his age.

On Thursday we had his retirement party. The Police Officers’ Association picked a good location and it was a nice party. By the time I was done conducting training at what has affectionately been referred to as our “Ghetto Dojo”, Don and a number of other people were already there. I took a seat and was carrying on a conversation with one of the people from Resident and Community Services when our dispatcher, Alex, walked in with the cake. After setting the cake on the table, she was standing near me and looking right at Don. Actually, let me correct that, she was looking in Don’s direction but apparently didn't see him. Her asking when Don was going to arrive prompted the reason I differentiate between the two statements. I look at Don and then look at Alex before saying, “He should be here pretty quick. When he walks in, we’re all going to yell surprise. Would you do me a favor Alex and go stand by the door and tell us when he comes in?”

“Sure Sarge.” Alex goes and stands by the door and every few seconds, spurred on by me constantly asking if he’s coming yet, looks towards the front of the restaurant. Other people catch on and start adding their own comments. Things like, “He should be coming in Class A’s Alex,” and, “Make sure he doesn’t see you.” This continued until Don finally asked me who it was Alex was waiting on. “You.” I replied. Don ruined our amusement by telling Alex he was already there and had been since she walked through the door.

That fun being done with I continue to mingle with the people there and notice a young lady who had hereto escaped my notice. I remember her distinctly as one member of a group of juveniles that were party to a large fight and assault on 72nd Avenue not that long ago. When told to leave the property they wanted to lecture me on how this was “their neighborhood” and they could go where they wanted. They didn’t leave. That was a day and a time when it wasn’t good to try and tell me what you will and won’t do particularly when what I need you to do is move and what you want to do is stay.

One of the things I learned early on in my career is that I don’t carry enough handcuffs to hook up everyone in these types of situations. The other thing I learned is that I don’t have to. One person will usually suffice as a message to everyone else. When I started walking towards the group, the group started backing away and she was the slowest. As a result, she got to spend some time in the rear seat of a patrol car. Amazingly, the rest of the group dispersed. Mission accomplished.

Turns out she is the granddaughter of an OHA employee and here she was at the retirement party. Could be a little awkward. I don’t generally like to socialize with people that I’ve put handcuffs on in an official capacity but it’s not my party and Mr. Community Policing, Jerry Williams, was over talking to her. After he carries on a brief conversation with her he comes over to me and asks if I remember her and tells me that she remembers me as “Robo-cop.” I’m not sure how that reference applies to me but I’m sure that it isn’t a positive comparison. I tell him that I do remember and he motions her over. I introduce myself as Jerold figuring that not using official titles may make things go a little smoother. To my surprise, she turns out to be a very pleasant young lady.

I’ll miss Don. He’s a great officer and an excellent investigator. More then that though, he had that rare combination of being older then me and having been a sailor. That kind of joke material is very hard to replace.

Choke Defense?
Every week a small group of my officers and supervisors go through weaponless defense training. This training includes hand-to-hand combat, self-defense, arrest control and compliance, searching and ground fighting. This particular class we were working on a self-defense technique for being choked.

I was working with a group of students when I hear one of the other students make a weird kind of uggghh-ouch noise. I look over and see Jim rubbing his neck.

Me: You ok?

Jim (continuing to rub his neck): Yeah.

Me: What happened?

Jim: He choked me.

Well, yeah, that is kind of the point of the exercise.

Mis-speaks
Yesterday, Ramon and I were conducting weaponless defense training with a few of the officers. In addition to the standard arrest control techniques, control holds, takedowns, etc., we also teach Krav Maga, the Israeli self-defense/hand-to-hand combat system. We had been covering personal weapons and defenses and Ramon was explaining to one of the students how over-extending his blocks leaves him open to counter-attacks.

Ramon: When you over-extend your arm here, you're open here and BAM!, I can hit you with the left cross. If you over-extend your arm this way then you're open here and BAM!, I can hit you with the right cross. See, either way I can hit you with the opposite hand. Now, not everyone trains with both hands but I'm amphibious so I'm cool like that.

Like myself, Ramon is a former Marine and there is a part of our un-official creed that goes, "I am a green, amphibious monster made of blood and guts who arose from the sea, festering on anti-Americans throughout the globe." So, yeah, I'll give him the amphibious part out of respect for our shared Marine Corps heritage but I'm positive that's not what he meant.

In his defense, Ramon did claim to have read that in a magazine and thought it was funny so he used it; unlike an officer I heard about in a neighboring jurisdiction who, when faced with the possibility of disciplinary action, called in sick by saying he had "ammonia."

Yeah, ok, lay off the smelling salts boss and that should clear right up.

The Long Drive Home
When I lived out in Patterson, it was a long commute back and forth every day. 150 miles round trip although as the police car flies, that's only a little over an hour each way (barring traffic congestion which on a Friday night usually meant I left the station at 6 and didn't get home till around 8:30 to 9 pm at night). Despite the fact that I was in a police car, as previously mentioned, it was unmarked so most people didn't pay any attention to me. This was fine in my book. I was off duty and unless it was a matter of public safety, I didn't really car if you were speeding. Nonetheless, there were times when people would annoy the hell out of me...

One day I was on my way home and was moving along at a nice clip of about 75 mph (the posted speed limit was 70 mph so I wasn't going that far over) when a sedan comes zooming up behind me in the other lane, passes me and then, without signaling to let me know he was coming over, changes lanes to pass a car in his lane, about 2 feet from my front bumper causing me to brake hard to make sure there isn't an inadvertent collision. The Marine in me creeps up to the surface and there was a string of cursing that would have made a DI nod his head with approval.

You don't always realize the influence your mother has on you (if you have a great relationship with her like I do with mine). Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear my mom's voice telling me, "You know they can't hear."

Growing up, my dad, also a former Marine, had this particular habit of yelling at people when we were driving from Ellicot into town (town being Colorado Springs, Ellicot wasn't a town, it occupied four corners of the road, on one corner was the gas station, the other the blacksmith shop, then the Dickerson Ranch HQ and then someone's house, probably the guy who owned the gas station). My mom would always tell him, "Sam, you know that can't hear you but the kids can." This, generally speaking, had a calming influence on my dad who would remain silent until the next person annoyed him and the whole scene would replay itself (of course there was that time he said, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing out here with all the other idiots on the road." which started a running commentary from the back seat, said with all innocence, how I didn't think that my father was an idiot at all which turned my dad's full attention to me and started a conversation going back and forth that eventually had my mom giving us the LOOK - the LOOK is capitalized for a reason, only mom's have it, perfected by years of disciplining children in public places where a backhand would just be considered uncivilized).

The echo of my mom's voice in my head made me chuckle as I reminisced. Still, this guy had cut me off and how I wished that he could hear me...oh wait, I'm in a police car, I have a PA. I speed up as I pick up the mic and blaring out across I-5 comes the that slightly mechanical voice that can only be done with a voice amplification device.

"SIR, YOU IN THE GRAY CAR. YES YOU, THE ONE WHO CUT OFF A POLICE CAR. THERE IS A LEVER ON THE LEFT SIDE OF YOUR STEERING COLUMN. IT'S CALLED A BLINKER AND IT'S USED TO LET OTHER DRIVERS KNOW WHEN YOU ARE CHANGING LANES. LEARN IT. LOVE IT. USE IT LIKE YOUR DRIVING PRIVILEGES DEPENDED ON IT BECAUSE THEY DO."

The driver is looking up in the rear view mirror with a look somewhere between disbelief and guilt. He slows down to 65 mph. Just to ensure that my message came across loud and clear, I stay behind him. He continues to do 65 mph for the next 20 miles and every time we passed a truck, he used his blinker.

My job here is done.

I'm Friendly Like That
It was 2:30 am on a Saturday morning and I was on my way home from a 12-hour day at work. I like this time of night. First, I’m going home after a 12-hour day at work. Second, Oakland is peaceful at that time of night. My stereo was turned off; the police radio is quiet because all my officers have gone home. My window is rolled down and the only thing to break the silence is a quick serious of gunshots and the wail of a siren off in the far distance.

I’m stopped at a stoplight waiting for the green when an older model Toyota pulls in behind me. I glance up when the headlights hit my rearview mirror and see three occupants in the car. Their windows were down too and I could hear their conversation clearly.

Driver: “Man, put it out. There’s a cop in front of us.”

Passenger 2 (from the backseat): “Man that ain’t no cop. That’s security or something. They’re like patrol.”

Side note: I drive an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria. It’s not an undercover car and if you know what you’re looking at, you can tell right away it’s a police car. The blue lights are generally a give away. Other emergency vehicles driven by paramedics and fire have red lights but only law enforcement (in California any way) have the blue.

Driver: “Are you sure?”

Passenger 1: “Yeah. He’s right. He isn’t a cop. He can’t do jack to us.”

I look into my rearview mirror yet again and see them pass a lighted, cigarette type object from the rear passenger to the front passenger. I’ve never been a smoker but I know based on my training and experience that people don’t generally pass cigarettes around like that. Marijuana is a different story. Not sure what it is about weed that makes people think that putting your nasty lips in the same place that someone else just put their nasty lips is “cool”, but they do.

The light turns green and as soon as we’re through, they speed up, whip around me and as they drive by, they all wave and grin like fools. I smile and wave back. I’m friendly like that. As they make it past me I accelerate, move over in behind them and activate my lights.

There is this demented part of me that really, really wanted to be in that car when the red and blue lights flashed on and the siren cycled through. I could see the panicked scrambling around in the car but not the looks on their faces. I wanted to see the looks on their faces. Nonetheless, I did derive a certain amount of enjoyment out of the exaggerated attempts to fan the car’s interior clear of the smoke.

Me: “I’m Sergeant Coats with the Oakland Housing Authority Police. The reason I pulled you over was for changing lanes without signaling and for suspected involvement with drugs. As I can smell the marijuana, we’ll skip the suspected part and get right down to you telling me where the rest of the weed is.”

The occupants of the vehicle give me blanks looks. It’s the kind of look that tells you that there is a whole lot of fantasy going on behind those eyes. You just know they’re thinking, “If we ignore him, he will go away.” I sigh.

Me: “Look, it’s been a long day and I’m ready to go home. If you give me the weed, I’ll give you a ticket and you’ll be on your way. If I have to go looking for it, I’m going to take you all to jail and tow your ride.”

There’s some nervous wiggling around and then they start telling me where the weed is. They’re not dealers. Just some low-grade users that thought a little marijuana on a Friday night, early Saturday morning was a good thing. I get two sacks, one from each of the passengers. Everyone gets a ticket and I’m back on my way home inside of 20 minutes with a little admonishment.

As we get up to next light they’ve some how ended up behind me. As they pull up, I smile and wave at them. I’m friendly like that. Funny that they didn’t smile and wave back.

Jenn was patrolling in the marina district when she caught the glimpse of
something odd out of the corner of her eye. A man was trying to flag her
down. That in and of itself isn't odd. Happens to us all the time. I'm still
firmly convinced that if I were to park my patrol car in the geological
center of the Sahara desert that someone would find me and ask for
directions. No, what made this odd was the fact that the man was naked from
the waist down.

According to him, he had parked his car and was confronted by several men
who tried to take his car, robbed him of his money and apparently, had a
pants fetish. As the story progressed, the men multiplied, became bigger and
one eventually had a gun. The whole incident was becoming slightly far
fetched.

She's a great cop and like any great cop, she has that bizarre sense of curiosity
that drives us to dig deeper into the weird and unusual. Following him over to
his car she observes a number of things that catch her attention. First, his
seat is laid back. Second, there's a condom wrapper on the floorboard of the
car. Finally, there are his pants, skivvies and belt lying there. She asks
him again to tell her his story. This time, he's down there "visiting" with
his friend Trixy when he gets jumped by 15 body builders armed with AK-47's
which he single handedly fights off by using his pants as a make shift
weapon. When they all fled at his skillful display of the ancient art of
Depansing-do, he immediately went to find the proper authorities to make his
report.

Ok, maybe that last is my own bit of exaggeration but come on, you don't
expect the guy to admit that some prostitute managed to get his pants off,
"distracted" him momentarily and then made off with his wallet do you?

Our poor daughter
When I was in high school, the father of the young lady I took to our school’s junior/senior prom was a police officer in Colorado Springs. That night when I picked her up, he was sitting in his chair with a 12 ga. Shotgun across his lap. He reminded me that he was a police officer (like I would have forgot) and that there would be no drinking and driving, no hanky-panky, and I WOULD have his daughter back at the house by 6 am (we had an after-prom swimming party that was chaperoned by the school that went till then). I had once watched this man lift a big block V-8 engine out of a car without the help of a cherry picker. The shotgun was completely unnecessary as I figured he could probably just crush my skull with his hand. However, the shotgun made a very suitable impression on me and in fact, scared me so bad that at the end of the night, I didn’t even kiss her goodbye. I only found out later that he was just messing with me.

That incident has stayed with me all these years, and when I became a police officer myself, I dreamed of the day that I may have my own daughter and be able to do the same to some poor boy who had arrived at my house to take her out.

My fiancée (also a cop) and I were discussing having kids when, without me saying anything, she told me that, if we had a daughter, I couldn’t be sitting in the living room cleaning my gun when a boy came by to take her out on a date. I was exceedingly disappointed in this proclamation. As previously stated, I had always envisioned deriving a great deal of enjoyment out of messing with some poor kid’s head whose only crime in life was to take my daughter out on a date. When I asked why she would want to deprive me of this pleasure she responded, “Because, it would have much more of an impact if I were the one sitting in the living room cleaning the gun.”

Ohhh, maybe we could both be cleaning our guns. That should guarantee my daughter will remain a virgin at least till she goes to college.

I feel sorry for our children.

Hugs?
My fiancee' works patrol in a neighboring city. Prior to her and I dating, I would have told you that Berkeley had some odd politics but was otherwise a quiet little college town. When we started dating, I found out differently. Berkeley is off the hook. At first I thought maybe it was Oakland's corrupting influence. Oakland has always seemed to have more crime then is reasonably necessary and the idea was, that perhaps it was spilling over into neighboring jurisdictions. These days, I think that Berkeley suffers from what so many of our cities suffer from, a lack of Darwinian intervention that has diluted the gene pool to the point that idiocy is a far too common occurrence.

Case in point. This evening she spots a pick-up truck driving erratically with no plates and the markings from the tow yard still etched in yellow chalk on the windshield. Her curiosity piqued, she does her duty as a law enforcement professional and conducts a vehicle enforcement stop. The driver is under the influence and probably would have blown a .08 had some other officers not performed a felony stop in close proximity to her's and forced her and her perp to take cover as the other officers pointed their guns in her general direction while taking their suspect into custody. By the time that whole thing is straightened out, the driver only blows a .06. Under the legal limit for a DUI but good enough to earn him a few violations on a citation, a towed car for driving on a suspended license and the confiscation of his Remy Martin. As she takes the alcohol out of his car he asks if he can have it back. After all, he's already been cited for possession of an open container while driving so he feels it's his right to polish off the bottle. She tells him no. "What if I give you a hug?"

Well, the offer was thoughtful even if the execution would have landed him a nice, shiny pair of matching bracelets and an overnight stay in the fine accommodations at the Berkeley City Jail.

Line-up Quips
During line-up, the Executive Director was there to present a 5-year pin to our investigation unit’s administrative assistant. At the conclusion of the presentation he asked if any of us had any questions so I raised my hand.

Me: Yes, Jim was wondering when our medical plan was going to cover Rogaine treatments?

Jim: And Jerold would like to know when the prescription benefit will cover Viagra.

OK, I deserved that…

ID Please
I've had some interesting forms of identification presented to me before. Naturally I've had the typical check cashing cards, probation papers, bills, etc but two of my favorites had to be a CD cover and the girl with her name and date of birth tattooed on her stomach.

Me: Ma'am, do you have some ID? A driver's license or similar?

Jamira: Can you read?

Of course my first thought was to respond with something like, "No. I actually got this job based on my good looks and charming personality and my uncanny ability to put up with bullshit responses."

Me (a little flat): Yes.

She points to her stomach where tattooed neatly is Jamira Jones 10/11/85. How cute.

On a car stop I asked a gentleman for his driver's license and registration.

Man: Ahhhh, I don't have a driver's license.

Me: You have a California ID?

Man: Not on me.

Me: You have anything with your name on it?

Man: Ahhhh, yeah. I have this.

He hands me a CD cover with his face on it titled, "Gansta Rap with DZ Kidd" (that wasn't the actual name but it was along those lines).

Me: Wow! You're DZ Kidd?

Man (a little smug): Yeah. You've heard of me?

Me: No. Just seemed like an appropriate response. A CD cover isn't considered exceptable ID and I doubt your parents named you DZ. You have anything else?

Man: No. Just that. It's me. Really. Just look at it.

I look at the CD cover again. Not that it will change anything but what the heck. I flip it over and look at the list of songs. Number one on the program, "Cop Killa."

Me: Sir, for your safety and mine, could you please step out of the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.

I know where you live
Having got off work at 3 am this morning and getting to bed around 4 am, you can imagine that I was a little annoyed when my phone rang at 8:30 am. Reflex kicked in and before my sleep muddled mind could register the fact that I could ignore said phone I had already picked it up, flipped it open and slurred out my typical greeting..."Sergeant Coats."

Lady: Sergeant Jerold, Sergeant Jerold. There is a stolen car here behind the building and there are some homeless people stripping it and they're fighting over who gets to take the parts and waving tire irons around at each other.

I'm thinking, ohhh, a stolen car, people fighting, tire irons. I don't have to ask what building. Even though my mind hasn't cleared, I recognize her voice and know where to go. Nothing like a little rowdiness to wake you up in the morning, almost as good as coffee at Nikkos. I tell her that I'll be out in a minute, hang up the phone, roll out of bed and put on my off-duty gear which consists of a gun belt and a jacket with pull down "POLICE" identifiers and head out the door.

Apparently I'm too well known out here. Even out of uniform I'm a block away and can see people messing with the car (the housing authority complex where I live is several blocks large and this was on the complete opposite side from where my apartment is), when two of the would-be car strippers raise up and spot me. The old saying about no honor among thieves remains true to this day. They immediately start running northbound away from me but neglected to tell their friend that I was approaching. He continues to work diligently at removing whatever part he was working on taking off the car.

I'm within half a block when the lone remaining thief raises up and realizes he's all alone. He looks around and sees me. He also recognizes me. Unfortunately for him, I also recognize him. This is what happens when you live next to a cop. He gets to know you, know your family, and has a tendency to remember these little details. For whatever reason though, he decides to run.

I haven't had my coffee yet so I'm not going to run after him but I do yell out, "Jerome, come back over here."

Jerome: NO!

Me: Jerome, come back over here. You're not in any trouble. (ok, he was in some trouble but unless he had actually removed something from the car he most likely wouldn't go to jail, I know he didn't steal the car as that would require some skill and Jerome is a lot of things but skilled doesn't come to mind as one of them).

Jerome: No! You'll have to do a lot of running to catch me.

Run?! I yell back at him across the block's distance that seperates us.

Me: Jerome. I don't have to run after you. I know where you live. I know your mama. I can get you later.

He runs any way. I go talk to mom. 20 minutes later, Jerome and I are having a conversation and I never had to break a sweat to catch him. Wish it worked like this all the time.

Cop Clues
Several years ago I was on patrol and had just completed a follow-up at a Section 8 address up above MacArthur Blvd. As I was driving down the street, OPD patrol channel put out a call regarding a burglary in progress where the complainant advised that the suspect was fighting with the occupant of the apartment, an elderly lady.

I was right there when the call came out so I put myself out and as I was approaching the apartment I saw a male running northbound up a hill away from the unit. Putting out the description and initiating the foot pursuit lasted only so long as it took the subject to make the top of the hill where he was promptly taken into custody by OPD officers responding to the call.

I went back to the apartment and after knocking on the door for several minutes without a response, made entry in to the unit to check on the welfare of the resident. What I found was a tad gruesome. The suspect, having broke into the unit and discovering it occupied, appeared to have engaged in a struggle with the resident and ended up fatally stabbing her. There was blood every where and the resident, obviously deceased (although I did check to be sure and called for paramedics), still had the knife sticking in her chest.

Not a minute after I walked in, another officer came in behind me. He looked at the pooling blood on the floor and covering the walls and then where the victim was laying on the floor with a knife sticking out of her chest and asked, “We do we have here?”

Now I’m sure he was asking just to break the silence at what is otherwise a sad scene but I’m thinking that it was kind of obvious, what we have is a freak cooking accident where the victim was cutting some carrots and slipped with the knife. *bonk* Ah, yes, Alex, I’ll take “Obvious Clues” for $500.

Then two weeks ago I was at the scene of an assault with a deadly weapon where a young lady was beat by several other young ladies with a baseball bat, a stick and a hammer (she had some bruises and bumps but was otherwise ok). The scene was still hot. People were everywhere. There must have been 50 people standing around trading insults. Our victim’s family was instigating additional fighting and our suspects were trying to hide from us (the primary suspect was actually found hiding under a blanket in a closet in her house where, according to her, she had been doing laundry and just passed out into the closet which of course conveniently, the blanket covered her and the closet doors partially obscured her from view).

I’m requiring other officers to respond. People are yelling loud enough that responding units can hear them over the radio as I transmit. Right in the middle of this someone attempts to call me. I ignore the phone. I have my hands full. After a few minutes dispatch requests that I switch over to OHA-2. “Are you busy? I was trying to call.” Ahhh, no. I’m just chillin’ on 72nd Avenue drinking my Starbucks and playing tiddlywinks with the guys. Hell yeah I’m busy.

I’ll take “Obvious Clues” for $1000. Oh wow, a daily double!

Disneyland
I recently went to Disneyland for the first time and had a great time. I went with my fianceé, her parents and her 9-year old niece. At the end of our second day my future father-in-law decided that we needed a nightcap and the two of us headed down to the hotel bar where he ordered four gin and tonics and I ordered a Bloody Mary and a beer. With the addition of two sodas, we had our hands full so my fianceé’s dad went to get a tray from the room. As I’m standing there waiting, a different bartender from the one who served us came up and asked if I needed any help. “No.”, I replied. “I’ll be done with them in a minute.”

I heard a quote recently that went something like, “Cops have the humor they do because reality creates it.”

I also learned that the Anaheim Police Department patrols what’s known as Downtown Disney. A shopping center centrally located to the parks and hotels. They have these little supped up golf carts complete with decals and lights that they drive around. I kept imagining what types of calls for service they must respond during the course of a shift...

Dispatch: 10Adam12, respond to a Four Fifteen Family (family disturbance) on Fairy Dust lane. Complainant, Peter Pan, is advising that the suspect, Tinker Bell, is HBD (has been drinking) and creating.

Dispatch: 10Adam12, need you to break and respond to Fantasyland. We have reports of a six-year old having a meltdown on the Dumbo ride. No further information. Advise on cover.

10Adam12: Show us on a walking stop on one and on your list for a warrant check on a last of Duck, first of Donald. And can we have a duck speaking officer respond for translation? *mumbles* Can’t understand a word he’s saying.

My Goatee
About a month ago, the Chief approved the wearing of goatees by officers. Initially, I was personally opposed to the idea but I didn’t have any professional arguments against it. The Chief also didn’t personally like it but couldn’t think of any reason why officers shouldn’t be able to have a goatee and so the special order allowing them was signed and distributed. My fianceé encouraged me to grow one so I did and have since received several positive comments regarding it. One of my neighbors commented that I now looked like a “player”, which for him is probably one of the highest compliments he could pay. Others have commented that I look wiser and/or cooler. Yet another one of my neighbors commented that I looked more dignified but that I still had no ass.

I really thought we had settled the ass argument. I have an ass. If I didn’t have an ass, sitting down would be exceedingly difficult as would keeping my pants up. And, consequently, if I have no ass, why does she keep looking for one to materialize? It isn’t like facial hair, I can’t grow an ass in three days and even if I could, I probably wouldn’t. It’s my ass, I don’t have to see it and as long as it’s there when I sit down, I’m a happy man.

Day One
Since the death of New York City Deputy Sheriff Isaac Smith became the first recorded death of a law enforcement officer on May 17, 1792, more than 17,000 peace officers have died in the line of duty. In 2004, 154 law enforcement officers died in the line of duty. Each year around May 15th is National Police Week which includes the addition of the names of officers killed to the Law Enforcement Memorial in Washington DC. This year, bicyclists riding in the Police Unity Tour headed to the Memorial had the added benefit of being escorted by some of Oakland's finest motor officers. The emails I have posted here tell the story of the officers who drove from Oakland, CA to the east coast in order to participate in this event. My appreciation to Mike for letting me post them.

Email:

Hello all:

This email is going to a ton of people so some of you may only be interested
or care about parts or none at all.

We arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah tonight at about 2130 Mountain Time..just
in time for dinner and a nice hotel room. We left this morning from
Pleasanton at about 0830. The six motorcycle trailer and our Ford F450
rolled right along with no trouble..even up the long hills and up to 7000
feet over a mountain range in Nevada west of Wells. Once we left Sparks, we
didn't have any Nextel Service..once into Utah, we were back up and running.
We have plenty of other electronics onboard...GPS, XM Satellite Radio and
Cellular Internet (when there is cell coverage). We did about 725 miles
today.

We haven't seen many folks on the road...pretty quite on 80. Not even much
sign of the Highway Man.

Depending on who is driving, we are getting about 8 MPG...I think someone in
the truck thinks we are driving Miss Daisy instead of Harley Davidson's.
The weather has been great..just 5 minutes of light rain in Nevada. We've
been by some nice prisons, but didn't see anyone hitchhiking. We haven't
shot any video yet since it all pretty much looks the same - lanes,
tumbleweeds, trucks pulling triples and some salt. I've uploaded some
photos to the OPENLine Yahoogroup and will post more tomorrow.

Haven't decided on tomorrows destination yet, but we will let you know, so
you can come along for the ride. We need the company....I can only talk to
Jamie about the meaning of life so many times. We have had several
questions about what we are doing so far from home..people have been very
impressed with our mission.

We heard the OPD Memorial went well and have received numerous phone calls
and email keeping us up to date. Thanks.

Until tomorrow,

Mike Nichelini

Jamie Buna

Finally made it to some area of the country that knows what the Internet is. This email is little long, but I thought I'd get everyone caught up. Again, this email goes to a large group of people and different groups - you may be getting it multiple times. If you'd just like to see the pictures we have taken, go to: http://photos.yahoo.com/mnichelini

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