“It’s Ferguson All Over Again”

Posted on March 17, 2015 by Badge415

You never know when hatred is going to be spewed your way.
Let me first say this. For the most part, the people I deal with are pretty nice. Most of my calls involve normal people who crash into each other and they’re happy to see an officer. And almost everyone says thank you when I give them a card with the report number.

When it comes to having a vehicle impounded, they’re still pretty nice despite the circumstances. They may be upset, but they still hold it together.

They already know they’re in the wrong in the first place for being unlicensed or having a suspended license. It’s pretty cut and dry. Either you have a license or you don’t. There’s not much to debate there.

I wanted to share an unusual call from last Friday night. It was actually more than unusual. It was downright ridiculous. Let me start by giving the facts about the crash.

• This woman made a left turn in front of another vehicle and they collided into each other. She was clearly at fault, but she was upset at the other woman. The best quote up until that point was, “Can’t a person make a left turn without someone hitting them?”
• She didn’t have car insurance.
• She recently purchased the car, but it wasn’t in her name yet.
• Her license was suspended for failure to appear.
• Her failure to appear was for an insurance ticket.
• She moved twice and never notified the DMV of her address change.
• The other driver was transported to the hospital by ambulance.

When it came to driving a car, she was pretty much wrong in every possible category. So, I really didn’t think there was going to be problem when I told her the vehicle was being impounded.

Boy was I wrong.

The first thing the driver told me was I was being racist. That’s when she yelled out, “It’s Ferguson all over again,” as she waved her arms around. It went downhill from there. Her performance was more Golden Globe than Academy Award. It was more PBS than Prime Time.

I couldn’t help but laugh inside at how dumb she sounded.

From there the drama was non-stop while we waited for the tow truck. She yelled and screamed for about twenty minutes. I was surprised she didn’t take a water break at some point.

Her behavior was so over the top it left me shaking my head in disbelief. I was really happy we had the body cameras rolling for this spectacle.

At one point, she actually bent over and yelled into the camera like a crazy woman.

Who does that?

Then her mom showed up and it started all over again. Nothing like having the mother of a twenty-nine year old woman show up at a collision scene and call you a racist too.

The show was finally over when the tow truck left with her car.

It’s still hard to believe she compared her irresponsibility and the impounded of her car to the events that occurred last year in Ferguson, MO.

I understand she only saw the badge. I wasn’t a person, a father, a husband, or a minority to her. I was just a cop.

I didn’t get my feelings hurt or even take anything personally. It’s sometimes part of the job to deal with people like that and there’s nothing I can do that will ever change her mind.

There’s one big difference between she and I.

The difference is I don’t see all citizens as assholes like she sees all cops.

I just see them as regular people that call the police for help. Every once in a while an asshole is thrown in there just to make things interesting though.

She will forever live in her close minded world. She will only see the badge and never see the person behind it.

That’s okay because there are plenty of nice people out there that still make this job worth doing.

I only tell this story to show how crazy, irrational and downright dumb some people can act when they’re mad at the police.

One last closing thought.

Go pound sand lady. I’m still proud to put that badge on and help people.

The Child Who Died On Me

Posted on March 10, 2015 by Badge415

“He’s not breathing!”

That’s the first thing we heard as my partner and I exited our patrol car at a traffic collision last summer.

A group of people waved at us as they pointed to a child lying on his back. We went to the corner and there he was. His eyes were open and empty looking.

Ten minutes before, Matt and I were laughing and telling stories. Now I was standing over a dying child. I got on my knees hoping to feel a heartbeat and see him breathing. That hope was crushed as soon as I touched him.

“Do you feel a pulse?” I asked my partner as he touched the child’s neck.
“No.”

I keyed my radio and said, “I need units code 3 and fire needs to step it up. I have a 9 year old who is not breathing and we’re starting CPR!”

A memory was triggered as I started chest compressions.

For a brief moment I was sent back in time to a backyard pool two months earlier. The face of a sixteen year old flashed into my mind as I remembered performing CPR on him in the dark of night. I tried to save him, but he died.

Now I was performing CPR on a child, which I hoped never to do. With each chest compression I tried to push life back into him.

“Not again,” was all I could say to myself.

As I did the chest compressions, I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. I forced myself to look away and concentrated on the compressions. I couldn’t believe this was happening again.

I could hear people crying behind me and I wondered if his parents were watching.

At one point the child let out a breath. His eyes didn’t move, but his body did as the breath came out. The crowd behind me became hopeful. I expected he would wake up at any moment.

I stopped momentarily and said, “Come on buddy,” as I tried to feel a heartbeat from his chest. My partner had his finger on the child’s neck as he tried to feel a pulse too.

“You feel it?” I asked.
“No.”

I started the chest compressions again as I silently said, “Not again! Not again!”

I could hear the people behind me start to cry louder as the energy of the crowd seemed to fade. “Come on,” I said to myself.

I still believed I would win. I believed he would live. Then he made a breath sound again as his body moved.

I put my hand on his chest again as I said, “Come on buddy. Come on buddy.” I rubbed his chest like I was trying to wake him up from a deep sleep.

That was the last he would ever move again. It felt like I was at that pool all over again.

I was losing the battle with each passing second. I then glanced at his face one final time. His eyes were blank and lifeless still. Those eyes were already looking up to heaven.

I tried, but I lost……Again.

Other officers arrived to help, along with the paramedics. An officer asked if I wanted him to take over. I nodded and got up. The soul of that tiny body had angel wings now.

I walked away and never looked back. I never saw him get loaded into the ambulance. I think that was my way of moving on.

The self-doubt then started as I asked Matt if we did everything we could. I knew we had, but I needed to hear it. He replied we had.

After everything had calmed down it was just me and a few officers at the scene. I looked at the car where the child was sitting. The damage was violent and incredible. I knew he never had a chance. I also knew I never had a chance to save him either.

I made my peace in the middle of that intersection knowing there was nothing I could do.

I didn’t leave work until after sunrise. As I drove home, I thought about his parents and the pain they were going through. I also thought about my daughter, who was the same age. I couldn’t imagine losing a child.

A tear ran down my cheek at the thought of them being told he had died.

When I got home I sat in my car as I took off my sunglasses. The child’s face was in my mind for a brief moment. It seemed like I rubbed my eyes forever as I tried to erase the image.

I walked into the house and was grateful my family was safe. Everyone was sleeping and had no idea what dad saw tonight.

Hours before I was in the middle of chaos. Now I was home and all order was restored.

When I woke up, I made sure to give my kids an extra long hug.

DRE School

Posted on March 3, 2015 by Badge415

What is a DRE?

If you asked me what a DRE was ten years ago I would have said it was an officer who dealt with street drugs and addicts. Those were two subjects that I stayed away from because they didn’t interest me.

Ask me the same question today and I’ll have an entirely different answer. In fact, I’ll talk your head off about the subject and tell you why it is so important.

The first thing I learned at DRE School was how much we take DRE trained officers for granted. The average cop has no idea what they do, or how much training they have been through. That includes the brand new cop all the way up to the chief of police. Unless you’ve been through the training, you have no idea how much work it is.

Say “DRE School” to most cops and they’ll run the other way. I know because I was one of them.

Cops would rather go to an active shooter call at a nuclear power plant meltdown than go to DRE School. Handling a triple fatality collision sounded much more appealing than going to DRE School.

On the first day, the instructors told us this was going to be the hardest advanced officer training class we would ever take. They weren’t lying.

The information was piled onto us with no mercy. It was like a wheel barrel pouring concrete onto a new house foundation. It went everywhere and there was no room to breathe.

My world suddenly revolved around CNS Depressants, CNS Stimulants, Hallucinogens, Dissociative Anesthetics, Narcotic Analgesics, Inhalants, Cannabis, nerves, neurotransmitters, blood pressure and heart rates.

The eyes were now the window to the soul as pupil sizes and reaction to light helped tell the tale of drug use.

By the third night I felt overwhelmed. I thought there was no way I was going to remember all of this stuff. It was like going up a steep mountain in a snowstorm with a strong headwind pounding my face.

There were two choices. Put up the white flag of surrender or I could listen to the “Eye of The Tiger” song from Rocky 3 and gut it out.

The first week of DRE School was like watching a foreign language film with no subtitles. I know I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

At one point the light bulb switched on. It was dim at first, but then got brighter. The drug matrix card started to make sense after a while. It started to become more than just a bunch of boxes with words in them.

Slowly the subtitles started to appear in that foreign language film that made no sense a week before. Then, by some miracle it clicked.

What was once pure nonsense in the first week was now like listening to the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It all came together. If you’ve heard the symphony, then you know what I mean.

Those two weeks of DRE School turned my household upside down. Everything revolved around my class. All scheduling for my kid’s school, childcare, practices and dinner was planned around my school and studying.

Then there was the occasional DRE dream where I was evaluating someone for drug use. Friends in the class told me they also had the dreams.

At the end of the class our main instructor asked us if we were ready to stop alienating our families and having those dreams. I laughed hard because it was so true.

So, what is this DRE class?

The Drug Recognition Expert program had its beginnings with the LAPD in the 1970s.

Before an officer can become a DRE they have to attend two prerequisite training classes, along with the 72 hour DRE School.

You must get 80% or higher to pass the class.

After passing the course, the officer must complete twelve under the influence evaluations with a DRE instructor present. The officer must be able to name which of the seven drug categories the suspect is under the influence of and this must be confirmed through the chemical test. And finally the officer must pass another written test after their drug evaluations have been approved.

This was not a class I signed up for. It was a class I was told I had to go to. I started out being forced to go, but I had an epiphany half way through. I saw just how important this training was for me. I realized how important it was for every officer on the street. I also saw how important it was for public safety.

Say “DUI” and people automatically think of drinking and driving. That’s no longer the case. Marijuana and prescription drug use is on the rise like never before.

And finally, this isn’t the class we should be running away from. This should be the class officers are trying to get into.

Almost every crime we deal with revolves around drugs. The word “drug” doesn’t mean illicit drugs anymore. It also means prescription drugs.

A heroin junkie is just as dangerous behind the wheel as the soccer mom who is abusing Xanax or the person who is stoned on marijuana.

Next time you’re stopped at a red light. Take a look around. Chances are they’re probably next to you. Do you really want to share the road with that person?

I don’t either.

Let’s train more DREs to help stop these people before they hurt someone.