The Badge Part Two
Sample Chapters
New Guy Old Guy
As I sit here with my laptop">
The Badge Part Two
Sample Chapters
New Guy Old Guy
As I sit here with my laptop, well, in my lap, my dogs are playfully attacking one another and my oldest boy is making my coffee (bless him). Mrs. Geeting and our youngest lad are enjoying some well deserved extra sleep. Mrs. G just completed parent-teacher conferences and with that, all of the emotion she feels for her students; while the lad and his older brother just turned in another honor role performance. I am blessed with such good people in my life, and, as it happens, today marks my 48th lap around the sun and I feel good about all that my Creator has allowed me. As always, I pray He holds my hands as I write these words of wit!
Age, now that I mention it, can be both an ally and a foe, depending on the need. In the life of a police officer, age used to also signify experience, but today, that’s not always the case.
There are men and women in law enforcement today, who were rookies at the age of 40 or even 45! People are coming into the field as a second career, after retiring from their first. Military men and women are common to this, as are homemakers, teachers and carpenters; just about anyone, who has grown tired of that life, and want some action for real, rather than watching it on TV. Many soon learn, however, the taxing physical training and stress are best faced young, or at least, when a first career involved heavy physical activity. The academy can be a real “buzz kill” as my boys put it, if you’re not ready to run, run, and run. And run some more.
On the other end, it is a sad irony that like most who’ve reached the threshold of retirement from police work, I was just getting to where I felt a “master” of criminal justice and, that I could handle just about any question or situation tossed my way regarding the enforcement of law. I felt good and sound in my understanding and practice of custody control, use of force, civil liabilities, criminal procedure and most importantly, public relations and fostering the support of the civilians around me.
This last one seems to be the toughest aspect for the younger police officer to master—the securing of good will of the public through just the right amount of authority over them, toned way down with neighborly and agreeable personal contact. The recent addition of “older” rookies however, has indeed brought with it temperance gained only from life experience. These older “newbies” seem to already understand the public is with them, while this concept still seems to take years and years for younger hands to grasp.
Sadly, some cops, no matter their age never do “get it.” They carry themselves through a shift or sometimes a career, as though they are just a bit higher, cleaner, smarter or just better, than those they serve. The professional peace officers who must work side by side with these types resent their ill conceived attitude even more than the public. But, they are powerless to stop them.
Thankfully, this type of cop is becoming less and less abundant in modern policing and recruits are lessoned well in fostering the best back-up they’ll ever have.
You.
He’s Touching Me
"He's touching me! He's touching me!" A common rant between your kids, stuck too closely together in the backseat of the family car, also happens to be a common complaint lodged against police. Improper, unwarranted or rough "touching" of suspects.
So when is touching, abusing? What does "pat down" really mean? Or a "frisk?" There are many terms used in describing different levels of physical contact between police and their people and it is important that all citizens understand the basics.
The least intrusive and thus, that needing the least justification, is "soft hands" contact. This might be a simple taking of the arm in directing or escorting a person in a desired direction in a crowd or, a gentle placing of the hand on a shoulder. This might also be the firm but painless touching in a pat down or "frisk" type search. This type of contact is the absolute minimum when a physical contact is needed; sometimes simply for officer safety and sometimes, to convey control or desired conduct. It is painless, light and somewhat casual, without threat or implied possible injury. It usually works without incident on what we call "yes" suspects—those who have shown complete cooperation and no signs of resistance or violence. Then, there are the "no" suspects—those who insist on making you work to gain their attention.
Bring on the "hard hands." Still minimal, yet more forceful and very painful compliance techniques which are harmless and do not hurt if the citizen does as is they are told and submits to the officer's lawful authority over them. Once compliance seems to be taking place, the force or "torque" applied to the hold or technique can be eased a bit or adjusted. In the event control is still not gained, excruciating pain and yes, even minor injuries can occur and in fact be fully justified if that injury occurs when the force used was the minimum the officer perceived he needed to control the situation. The moment force goes from defensive to offensive, the line has been crossed. All professional peace officers have a clear understanding of just where that line is just as you would if you were placed in a relative situation.
Let's say a neighborhood teenaged bully approached your little boy out in the front yard of your home where your boy was playing. Let's say that bully had given him a bloody nose and had your boy's face down in the dirt in a headlock, hurting him badly.
Of course, you run out there as fast as you can shouting for him to get off, but he won't. You step in and, twisting his ear, pull the bully off of your son. You are infuriated and could very easily rip the ear off of the bully. You feel the internal hemorrhaging in your own mind as your "defensive parent” fights off the "offensive parent” within you, who wants to not only rip off that little ear, but then pummel the little brat into oblivion for hurting your child. See? The line is clear, isn't it? Once you have controlled the situation, to step over it would clearly be illegal and, suddenly, you are in the wrong. Not the bully. You!
Police face bullies like this each and every day in any number of scenarios—albeit far more dangerous. I can assure you, at times they must fight off that urge to step over the line and give back just a little bit extra, to the folks that really deserve it.
That's why you hired them. Trained them. To always stay on the good side of that line and, to always have just the right touch.
A Trip Down DWUI Lane
Man have I got a deal for you! I’m going to treat you to an experience you will never forget! Without ever leaving the comfort of wherever you are at this moment, I am going to “arrest” you for DWUI and run you through the process, so you can decide if you ever want to try it out for real.
You are an average woman—say 5’8” 120 lbs. You feel pretty good and go into the bar at 6:00 p.m., after a hard day at work and have “a few” cocktails with some friends and co-workers. Turns out a “few” were actually three double Pena Coladas! Man, they are so good!
The time is now 10:00 p.m. and you need to get home. You figured you were safe—a drink an hour. But, did you really do the math? Did you count each double as two drinks?
Each drink increased your blood alcohol .03% and you had 6 drinks. Each hour reduced the alcohol influence by .015%. After juggling the numbers you figure you’re legal to drive home. You’re wrong. Logic is the first thing to go with this drug. Your blood alcohol level is still .12% at best, well above the .08% presumptive level of intoxication in Wyoming. As an experienced but strictly casual drinker you feel you are in complete control and can drive just fine.
I am driving down the street and see a car—your car—ooze through a stop sign and turn in my direction. Your speed is fine—even slower than it should be—and you have no idea there is anything wrong. You drift about halfway into the lane next to you and then casually drift back. Thankfully traffic is light and this time, no one else is at risk. We cross paths and I turn in behind to watch you drive but you haven’t even noticed because you are paying such close attention to the road. You’re already on the way to jail; you just don’t know it yet.
I stop you and walk up to your window, where I see your face is a bit flushed and your eyes are glassy or droopy or bloodshot. I smell what smells like some type of alcoholic beverage coming from inside your car but I’m not sure what kind. And, even though the wad of five pieces of bubble gum you are chewing would make for a killer bubble, I can still smell it on your breath. You are so busted, but still, I must go through the motions. No problem.
I ask you if you’ve been drinking and you are honest—well—sort of. You say yes, that you had a drink—one drink—with your friends after work! “Must have been a huge drink,” I think to myself.
I check your eyes for horizontal gaze nystagmus—an involuntary fluttering of your eyeballs you cannot control—brought on when the alcohol you have consumed affects you inner ear and balance mechanisms in your central nervous system. You have it.
I check you ability to listen to my instructions and demonstrate your balance by walking heel to toe in two directions. You fail miserably.
I have you simply raise a leg and hold your balance while counting backward from thirty as you do so. You get to twenty-four before you lose your balance.
I have seen enough. Just when you think you blew me away, I advise you that you are under arrest for driving while under the influence of alcohol. Your heart stops. You are in shock as the cold steel locks your wrists behind your back. You panic and plead for mercy! You beg me to reconsider or and take you home. I am not moved.
You are embarrassed and completely humiliated as I pat you down (yes—women get frisked too) for weapons. Then, I open my rear door and seat you in my back seat—behind and within a metal prisoner cage.
Once inside the cage you see your car on the rear of a tow truck being pulled away for safe keeping. I read you the Implied Consent law and you are asked to provide a sample of your breath for analysis. To avoid losing your license you agree to take the breath test. You are sad and depressed, in complete disbelief that this has happened to you.
The air in my patrol car is thick with the disgusting smell of alcoholic beverage emanating from your breath and perspiration. We arrive at the county jail and you blow into the testing instrument, revealing as I thought, that you are well beyond any legal doubt of intoxication. I explain this to you and you are then questioned and booked in by the detention officers. They fingerprint and photograph you, inspect all of your personal belongings and search you completely. There is no more complete humiliation on earth.
I leave and bid you good luck and I go back to work. For me, this is over. But for you, it has just begun. There will still be court, your name in the paper, increased insurance rates and whispers about you all over the office for weeks to come.
Wasn’t this fun? Let’s hope it convinced you to pass on the real deal.