Jose

Sunday I received a call of a 911 hang up with a woman screaming in the background. When I arrived, I quickly realized that none of the five or so people in the trailer spoke English. It's strange how, even when you don't know what someone is saying, you can feel terror in their voice. I could hear a woman screaming in the back of the trailer. It was a gut wrenching wail of a scream, one of those that will stay with you for a while. I began pushing my way through the crowd until I get to the back bedroom. I saw a small boy, I would later learn he was three years old, lying on the bed as his father was making a poor attempt at CPR. I don't blame him. If you've never done it, CPR can be terrifying.

As the adrenaline slowed the world, I ran towards the bed. For some reason, I remember quite vividly a black and red jacket on the lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I gathered the boy in my arms and quickly lay him down on the floor so that I could have a solid surface for CPR. I checked his pulse. There was none, so I yelled at my partner to call for medics on an unresponsive child. I began CPR, an endeavor that likely lasted only four minutes yet managed to feel like an eternity while we waited for medics. Pumping over and over and over again, I felt the sweat dampen my brow. The sweat formed into droplets and began to fall.  I watched them dripping on his chest.  I looked up at the young officer with me, and I could see on his face he knew just as well as me how it would end. There was nothing else to do, so I just kept pumping.

I could see the telltale marbling that indicated strangulation appearing on the boys face. The color left his skin; his eyes were open, staring off in the distance at something I couldn't see.  I began to tire to the point that I was becoming ineffective, so I passed off CPR to my partner.   He was a young but capable officer who I learned that day is good under pressure.  He stepped right in and performed admirably.  I was proud of him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the firefighters arrived. The paramedic took one look at the child, gathered him in his arms, and said succinctly  "I need a ride." Out the door we ran, the firefighter diving in the back of the nearest patrol car.  The car rocketed off into the night, racing toward a nearby hospital.  I could hear the sirens fading in the distance as I rushed back to the home to secure the scene.  Such is the life of a police officer.  We have no time to process tragedy, no time to absorb the weight of it all.  Without a word about it, there remains work to be done.  It can be a heavy burden, one not many can bear.

Hours later, I would learn that they were able to restart his heart at the hospital.  I've since heard that it was too late, the lack of oxygen to the brain had taken its toll.  They planned to take him off life support, but I won't have the strength to ask.  I'd rather believe in miracles.  I'd rather believe he was somewhere playing baseball with his older brother.

The detective over the investigation later told me he died two days later, just two weeks before Christmas.  I didn't know him, but he was a beautiful, innocent child.  His death was ruled accidental, which somehow makes it worse.  I suppose its because there is no one to blame, no one to pursue, and no one to punish.  Jose was the second child in as many months I had unsuccessfully tried to save with CPR.  Maybe I can save the next one.

My Thoughts on Gun Control

In light of the recent tragedies in Aurora, Portland, and Newtown, there will be many heated debates on the issues of gun control and questions raised on how to protect our children. One suggested solution is surely to be a unilateral ban on citizens owning or possessing handguns and assault rifles in the United States. I think this is an understandable solution today, but I am convinced it is the wrong one. 

Constitutional arguments aside, making guns illegal does not make them go away. There are millions upon millions of them in this country. We do not have the resources to eliminate them all. In the event of a ban, many good law abiding citizens would immediately surrender their guns, and many other good law abiding citizens would immediately become criminals. The armed, violent criminal element, though, would conduct business as usual. As a comparison for enforcement success, consider the amount of illegal drugs you hear about being seized across this country, the article after article that so-and-so was arrested for possessing and/or dealing drugs. It is estimated that law enforcement seizes about one percent of the drugs that enter this country every year. One percent! Is there any chance that the odds would be better for guns? An estimated 8o million adults own guns in the United States and there are only about 800,000 law enforcement officers. If every law enforcement officer in this country was tasked exclusively with gun control, each officer would be responsible for a thousand gun owners. Sure, many criminals would be caught and arrested, but the average time served on a ten year conviction now is what? Maybe eighteen months. We do not have enough prisons to house them, or enough money to build and staff more. The numbers don't add up. We must come up with other solutions.

Suppose we decided to place armed police in every school in America. According to the federal government, there are almost one hundred and forty thousand schools in America. To place just one law enforcement officer in each school would cover almost eighteen percent of all law enforcement officers. Does anyone think that this nation in its current state could afford this expense? My solution would be to arm and train teachers and school administrators. Not all of them. Some people are not capable of killing another human being, even in defense of themselves or others. Giving individuals like that a gun would only provide an additional source of weapons to those that would commit such heinous acts. I am not disparaging them, it's just a fact of human nature. Also, there are people who do not have the temperament to exercise the necessary restraint to carry a firearm. Why not, though, identify those teachers that are capable, train them, and arm them to defend our children? 

In response to attacks outside the schools, what better than encourage and teach responsible gun ownership to the general public. I have a scenario for you. A guy walks into a crowded mall intent on killing as many innocent people as possible. The guy pulls out his gun and fires at a young woman, injuring her. As the gunman walks toward her to finish the job, a responsible gun owner, properly educated and trained on the use of a firearm, shoots the gunman in the head. Everyone else survives. The end.

Admittedly. my perspective on this issue comes from that of a man who carries a gun at all times. Obviously, I carry a gun at work, but I also have a gun while sitting in a movie theater, while shopping for Christmas gifts at the Galleria, and even while watching HGTV from my easy chair. I understand that this may seem strange to some, but I have sound reasoning for doing so. It does not come from paranoia; it comes from the experience of a life constantly surrounded by violent tragedy. I refuse to be unprepared to defend myself, those that I love, and innocent strangers against violent, armed confrontations. Experience has taught me that police, while they undoubtedly do everything they can, are rarely in the right place at the right time. A common phrase, "When seconds matter, police are just minutes away" is absolutely true.

I know that my views on this subject differ from the views of several of my friends and family. Feel free to agree or disagree with me, and even post comments if you wish. I only ask that you avoid ignorant, inflammatory language when you do. 

Regardless of your views on this issue, I think we can all agree that this senseless act of violence is unbelievable. My heart and prayers go out to those affected, and I sincerely hope that God offers them comfort in this trying time. 

A Good Day

Police are reactionary by nature.  A lot of the time they arrive just a little too late to really make a difference.  There is no foreseeable way to change that fact.  More often than not the response to an emergency is much faster than the public can reasonably expect,  just not fast enough.  There does exist, however, a perfect storm of skill, intuition, divine intervention and just plain luck that shows itself, on occasion in this profession, that lends an officer to be in the right place at the right time.  One such confluence of circumstances occurred within the last twenty-four hours.

            Yesterday, I met a woman named Claire.  She was a twenty-eight year old black woman living alone in an apartment complex in an adjacent city.  Claire spoke with a thick, distinctly French accent that my untrained ear somehow placed as French-Canadian.  We met on a bridge where US Highway 31 travels about forty feet above Interstate 65 in central Alabama.  Claire was trying to kill herself.

            I spend a great deal of my time hunting for illegal drugs.   Yesterday was no different.  As I left a high drug traffic area in my city and turned onto US Highway 31, I was caught in the center turn lane in heavy traffic.  I was in a hurry to get to my next spot, an area known as the bottoms, which was the source of quite a bit of crack cocaine.  I could see a car a few hundred yards away pulling out of the road leading through the bottoms.  I spent a great deal of time in that area and knew most of the vehicles that belong there.  That particular car did not.  I could smell blood in the water. 

            I was watching my rearview mirrors, searching for a hole in the endless stream of cars so that I could break through and chase down a sure dope collar.  Just before I was about to pull into traffic, I saw a person walking toward me on the North side of the bridge, which was in no way uncommon for that particular bridge. The person was too far away to make out any details.  I simply saw a figure, wearing tan, off in the distance walking on the bridge.  Something seemed off.

            The intuition a cop develops over years of reading body language is hard to explain to someone who has not seen it in action.   A mystery writer, Raymond Chandler, once said of those in law enforcement " He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in."  I can't tell you why I thought something  about the figure in the distance wasn't right.  I just knew that something wasn't. 

            I watched the person, who I would later learn was Claire,  on the bridge as I waited for a break in Southbound traffic so I could turn around.  As the traffic poured down the highway I saw Claire lean out over the rail.  An inner voice, the one many veteran cops taught me never to ignore, told me to hurry up.  I took my eyes off of the mirror long enough to force my way through traffic and turn around.  When I finally got through I looked up and she was gone.  My eyes searched up and down the bridge but I could not find her.  I accelerated toward the bridge and as I closed the distance I saw that Claire had removed her tan coat to and was wearing a black shirt underneath.  The clothing switch had thrown me, but a fraction of a second after the change registered, a startling realization clicked in my head.  She was standing outside the rail!

            As I looked on, still too far away to make a difference, Claire gripped the rail and leaned out face forward.  She leaned out far, the interstate traffic below zipping by at seventy miles an hour.  I knew that if she simply let go,  I watch her plummet to her death.  If the fall didn't kill her, the traffic surely would.  I raced my powerful cruiser toward her, but the traffic light between us changed from green to red, halting my progress.    Traffic from the interstate began to flow onto Highway 31.  I tried to squeeze the Crown Vic through, but traffic would not break. As I tried to get through, I rolled down my window and began to yell at her.  I can't remember my exact words, but they were pouring out of my mouth faster than I could think them.  I do remember pleading with her to get back over the rail and begging her not to jump.  I asked her to talk to me.   While I was yelling Claire turned to look at me, so I knew she could hear me.  I was close enough to see the tears streaming down her face, yet I was still too far to do anything to stop her.  I felt helpless to save her.    

            I was infuriated with the traffic.  Why were they failing to get out of my way?  I was inching forward trying to intimidate my way through the red light to no avail.  I got on the radio to relay what I saw and request medics.  I hoped another unit would be close by that might could get to Claire before she could jump.  I didn't want to use the lights or siren because I was afraid they would startle her or make her jump early.  Then I caught a break.  A large tanker truck pulled between us obscuring my view of her and her view of me.  I turned on the lights and pushed through the intersection. Finally, I began to make progress. 

            As the truck moved I saw a welcome sight.  Claire was climbing back over the rail.  While that was good, I knew that one wrong move could put her right back on the ledge or worse.   I jumped out of my car and ran through traffic to get to her. She looked up at  me and began to walk away, back towards the rail.   I ran towards her and grabbed her.  I pulled her away from the rail and held an arm around her shoulders.  She was slightly built and I felt confident that I could prevent her from jumping.  As I held on, I tried to get her to talk.  When I asked her what she was doing, she told me bluntly that she was trying to kill herself.  She said that she had been through too much and she just wanted to die.  She had given up.

            I could see in her eyes that she meant it.  There were tracks across her cheeks where the tears had been running freely.  Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from the all of the crying.  She began glancing around in a manner that warned me that she might try to run.  In her state of mind I thought that she may try to make a break for the rail, so I handcuffed her to make fighting me off more difficult.  Once that was done, I looped one of my arms through hers, grabbed her tightly with the other, and braced my body to pull away from the wall if she tried to go.  I was also preparing myself to let go in the event adrenaline gave her the strength to propel herself over the rail.  I said a silent prayer that it wouldn't come to that. 

            Thankfully, my backup and the medics arrived and we were able to put her safely into an ambulance.  Before she left, I was able to learn her name, which was not really Claire, but surely you understand why I changed it.  After much coaxing, she gave me her mother's phone number.  It was the last thing Claire said to me before she was transported to a local hospital.  The hospital had a psychiatric ward, where, hopefully, she received the help she needed.     

            When I got back to the station I called her mother.  Claire's mother possessed an even heavier French accent, to the point that it was difficult to understand.  I was able to discern that she was at another local police department speaking with officers  and trying to convince them to find her daughter.  She was totally sure that her daughter was going to commit suicide and was desperate for someone to help.  I told her that her daughter was alive and uninjured and related the story of what had occurred.  I could feel her relief through the phone.  Understandably, Claire's mother rushed off the phone.  She had to go to her daughter.   

            I may never speak to either of them again.  I may never knew if Claire worked through her problems or if she ultimately  took her own life.  But that was not what this story was about.  This story, for at least a day, had a happy ending.   Yesterday was  one of the most rewarding experiences of my career.  Yesterday was a good day. 

Day Shift!

I was told that I had until the middle of summer before I went back to patrol.  I stopped by the PD to see a Lt. that I respect.  Chief walks in and tells Lt.  that I will be starting his shift on February 26.  I went from having six months to wrap up my investigations to six weeks!  When I talked to Chief four days before it was still June.  The man can't make up his mind, but I don't care.  At least I'm not going to midnights.

Three Down, a Million More to Go!

I got called out today on a lab.  I tried to ignore the call since I wasn't on-call, but apparently they can't function on a lab scene without me.  They sent a patrolman to beat on my door.  What a wonderful way for my wife to wake up on her birthday!  I have decided that it is impossible to ignore a cop knock at six am.  I went to the scene and boy am I glad I did.  My replacement told me that he could handle it but he needed some vials for samples so I took him some.  When I got there he wasn't wearing PPE and was going to sample the lab without it.  He determined it was safe because they hadn't added lithium to the lab yet.  Two things:

1.  Still not safe.

2.  They had added lithium.

It took me fifteen minutes to sample the lab.  I could have saved five minutes by not suiting up, but I believe five minutes of prep is worth not dying of cancer.  What are these guys going to do when I am gone?  I am the only one that insists on safety, and often get made fun of for it.  Safety will go by the wayside once I go back to patrol. On the bright side, maybe I will get to knock on their doors at six am on their wife's birthday soon! At any rate, three more tweakers bagged and tagged.  Go team!

Ugh...

In the infinite wisdom of the jackass I call chief, one must not work in a narcotics unit too long or you will forget how to write wreck reports and harass soccer moms.  The old bastard hasn't hit the streets in twenty years, yet he knows what's best?  There are a few of us in the task force from my department.  He is pulling all of us out.  I really don't understand his reasoning.  We all love what we are doing and are very good at it.  The task force administration has invested thousands of dollars training us and among us we have about thirty years experience, most of which is in narcotics work. Now we will be wasting our talent, training and experience directing school traffic and shaking doors.  Apparently the chief wants to give other guys a shot at the training and experience.  Yeah, right.  Chief, we have friends in your administration.  Guys with whom we have shed blood, sweat and tears.  Did you really think they wouldn't tell us the truth.  We know that you have a couple of "chief's boys" lined up to take our spot.  Hurry up and retire, asshole, or die.  I don't really care which.

New Year, Old Me

I've had a really great time during the holidays this year.  I've spent some good quality time with family and friends, and I have been able to work on some things too.  Now that the holidays are over, it's back to business.  Starting today I am going back to the guy I used to be.  I'm not really making a New Year's resolution.  Nobody ever sticks to those.  They are just public proclamations to make you feel better about yourself.  I am talking about wholesale lifestyle changes.  Here's the plan:

1.       Get back in shape. 

2.       Grow my business.

3.       Stop dressing like a bum.

4.       Worry about myself more.

5.       Hunt tweakers with a vengeance.

Sounds simple enough.  Time to get to work!