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Spirit Of The Badge Page 7
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As I’m walking the hallways, a gangbanger sneaks into the school and I hear a commotion coming from my former teacher’s classroom. I run into the room and pull out my handgun as I see the robber trying to take off with the teacher’s money. Unfortunately, my gun falls apart, right in my hand! I am embarrassed. I can’t believe this is happening in front of my role-model teacher. The gangster escapes through a window while mooning the class.
I wake up thinking, Damn! Some cop I am!
The next day I am tired but prepared for early morning hallway inspection. This is when all the recruits stand at attention next to the door of their bedrooms while police instructors stop in front of each recruit to inspect them. We know “inspection†is a game. Most of us never take anything personally. Instructors like to yell at you, just to see if you can take it. We simply deal with it.
So, I’m standing by my door with my pistol in my right hand, both arms hanging by my sides. The rule is, as soon the instructor turns to face you, your right hand comes straight up from the elbow, so that your weapon is pointing straight up. The goal is to be sharp and quick about it.
Our new guns are Sig Saur 9MM handguns. I had cleaned mine the night before. Cleaning requires taking it completely apart, dousing it with gun cleaner, brushing it, wiping it, pulling a rod and pad through it, applying oil, and then putting it back together again. No big deal. I had cleaned long guns all my life.
As soon as the instructor faces me, my elbow goes up (quickly and sharply, I might add). In one split-second jerk, the slide flies off like an elongated bullet and hits the instructor square in the NUTS! Oops. I cringe. My fellow peers are snickering.
The whole friggin’ gun falls apart! Every itty-bitty piece tumbles to the floor.
The instructor grabs his groin and I realize my dream has come true. I have embarrassed myself in front of one of my favorite instructors. I wasn’t feeling macho anymore. I had forgotten to lock one simple part.
My dream had warned me, but I didn’t listen. And, I soon realized my nightmare had just begun—I did push-ups for the remainder of Recruit School.
A Mother’s Dream
In March 2004, the Manistique Public Safety Department went through a huge upheaval due to financial difficulties experienced by the city of Manistique. One officer got laid off, the director was forced to retire, and our fulltime dispatcher/ clerk was cut back to four hours a day. This meant that our fulltime department of ten personnel lost twenty-five percent of its workforce. Although my position was still that of sergeant, my title was now the Acting Director of Manistique Public Safety.
One of our desires, as a department, was to change our uniforms. The current uniforms were outdated: light-blue shirts with French-blue pants. We never wore ties, except for court appearances—the uniform looked sloppy. After polling the officers, we unanimously voted to change to a dark-blue uniform—LAPD style. The officers even agreed to purchase the uniforms with their own money.
The new uniforms arrived in time for the annual July Fourth parade and festivities in Manistique. As the commanding officer of our department, it was my duty to lead the parade.
After dressing in the new uniform that morning, I looked in the mirror and was impressed with the way I looked. I then remembered a dream my mother had told me about as tears welled up in my eyes . . .
My mother died in 1995. Throughout my childhood, my sister, father, and I were continually astounded by my mother’s dreams, as many of them often came true.
In 1976, I graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice. After working for several small departments, I joined the Manistique Public Safety Department in 1978 because it was a chance to move back to my hometown. Although I accepted the position, I did not want to stay in Manistique forever and was continually applying to larger departments, including the Michigan State Police. In fact, there were many times I longed to quit my position in Manistique. I always hoped that a dream job would open up—and I was given many other opportunities—the trouble was I could not make up my mind as to where to go.
In 1985, I was accepted by the Michigan State Police and started to make preparations to quit Manistique and enter the State Police Academy. I was not thoroughly convinced that this was a good move, however, and was torn about what to do (I also had another job offer pending with a sheriff’s department). My job situation was causing me a lot of personal turmoil. To make matters more confusing, my boss advised me that if I stayed in Manistique, they were going to give me a detective’s position within the department, and this was something I really wanted.
At the peak of my frustration, I stopped to see my mother for coffee. I had always been close to her and often used her as a sounding board and source of advice. Therefore, she was aware of my current dilemma. She told me that she had a dream about my job problem that she wanted to tell me about.
In her dream she saw me standing at attention with a group of officers. She said something was going on; there was a big “doing,†like a parade or something. I immediately asked Mom where this was happening. She replied that it was in Manistique, though she did not know where. I then asked her what color uniform I was wearing. She replied, “Dark blue.â€
I was relieved because I thought it meant I would become a member of the Michigan State Police and be stationed in Manistique in the future. I said, “I’m with the State Police, right?â€
“No, not the State Police,†Mom said. “I know their uniforms and it is not theirs.†My mother knew all of the uniforms well because my father ran a wrecker service, and Mom was his secretary. City police, state police, and sheriff officers visited their repair shop frequently. I pressed her for more details.
She stated again that the event was in town and we all looked very proud standing at attention. She also said I was the leader of the men and that our uniforms were dark blue, including the shirts, pants, and ties.
I just shook my head. I was absolutely certain Mom was wrong on this one—there was no way this dream could become true. Manistique Public Safety wore light-blue uniforms, and she had said I was not with the State Police. I told Mom she was wrong this time.
She looked at me, smiled, and shook her bony finger at me. “You’ll see. This was a very strong dream. It will come true,†she predicted.
As I stood in front of the mirror that morning, I realized the validity of Mom’s dream so many years ago.
The Psychic Janitor
I was conducting a polygraph examination on a subject named Rudy Oliverze. Rudy was a white male who was related to a homicide suspect named Melvin Garza. Melvin was suspected in the disappearance of his girlfriend, Robin Adams, who was believed to have been murdered. The detective suspected that when the woman was babysitting for a friend, Garza came to the house, took the woman, killed her, and buried her. A few days elapsed before she was reported missing, so the investigation was cold from the beginning.
Rudy was being questioned to see if he had information, involvement, or knowledge concerning Robin’s disappearance. We believed he might have helped Garza get rid of the body.
During my pre-test interview Rudy told me that his real name was Raul Oliverze. In making conversation, Raul described his wife, Kathy. She had long blonde hair, parted in the middle, and pulled back behind her head.
Raul failed the polygraph but made no admissions following the testing. However, once he left the examination room, I found out some interesting things. A detective from the Caro Post, who was sitting behind the window watching the polygraph, had been in touch with several psychics during the investigation. One psychic, who was a janitor at the Gaylord State Police post, approached him one day while he was gassing up his vehicle at the post. The psychic told the detective he had a dream and knew the detective was looking for a missing woman. (This conversation occurred well before I ran the
polygraph.) Although the detective thought this was strange, he listened to the janitor because he was, indeed, conducting a homicide investigation. The janitor stated that the woman was dead and buried. The psychic described a place in the woods, down a dirt road. He said the detective would find the spot if he followed the road and crossed a bridge. He would then need to turn right and go up a hill. He was to follow a fence with unusual white signs, and there, in a clearing, is where the woman was buried. He said the woman was buried in the fetal position and she was lying on her right side.
This psychic janitor also described someone who could have knowledge or may have helped bury the body. His name was Raul Alavez. Raul was married to a woman with long blonde hair that she pulled back on both sides. His wife’s name would be Karen. This man, Raul, would have knowledge that would help solve the case.
The detective then told me that he did not know Rudy’s real name was Raul until he heard it mentioned during the pre-test interview I just conducted. He said he recognized where the psychic said Robin was buried as he had visited the old grounds of the Caro Regional Center that morning. The white signs, fence, road, bridge and clearing he saw that morning matched what the janitor described.
Later, Robin’s body was found near this location—just as the psychic janitor said it would be.
Trusting Your Instincts
As a young trooper, I started my career with the Michigan State Police at the Ypsilanti Post. After two years there, I asked for a transfer to the Upper Peninsula since my elderly parents and in-laws lived on the west end. I was assigned to the Stephenson Post in the Upper Peninsula.
One night my partner and I went to look for an individual for whom we had a warrant for furnishing intoxicants to minors. The wanted subject was known to be at his deer hunting camp as he knew we were looking for him. We went to the camp, only to find it dark, no vehicle around—apparently he was not there. We looked into the windows with flashlights. I could see fresh food on plates in the sink. After looking through several windows, only one more remained which had not been checked. At that point, I had a strong premonition that told me not to look in that window. My partner did not want to look in anymore windows, either. We left without incident.
The following day one of our officers arrested the subject. He told the trooper, “If that trooper last night had looked into the last window, I would have blown him away.†He had been sitting in the dark with a loaded .30-06 waiting to shoot me.
After learning of his intentions, I knew why I had had such a strong feeling to not look in that last window. Apparently, my partner was also uncomfortable at the time, since he instructed me loudly not to investigate any further.
Reuben R. Johnson, Retired Lieutenant
Michigan State Police
The Trooper and the Banker
by Tom Brosman
Charley was a trooper
And he worked his beat with care.
His brother Danny was a banker
And a self-made millionaire.
Danny’s office was in Bellevue
With a mahogany desk and a leather chair,
A twelve thousand dollar couch stood beside the wet bar there
And from twenty stories up he had a million dollar view.
Charley’s office was a troop car
And beside his seat a .12 gauge stood.
He knew his beat from near to far
And he surveyed it across his Crown Vic’s hood.
Danny went on trips to Spain
And Portugal and such.
Charley counted every dime
And after bills there wasn’t much.
With Danny’s pay, even after bills,
He put the bulk in stocks and bonds
And the banker thought about his brother
Who risked his life from dusk til dawn.
“Why on earth does Charley do it,
For so little in return?
He wears that badge so proudly
And for himself shows no concern.
I can drive down through Seattle
In my Jag or big Mercedes fast
And see the buildings that I’ve bankrolled pass
While my brother always faces battle.
What does Charley see in a life
That’s chained to twenty-four by seven,
When he could live a life like mine
That is a double slice of heaven?â€
Every 10th and 25th, Charley banked his trooper check
And thought of Danny who was buried in riches to his neck.
The trooper pondered about his life and living
And decided there wasn’t a lot he was missing.
Yes, Danny dined on shrimp and steak
And Charley was happy for his brother.
But never in the trooper’s dreams,
Would he trade places with the other.
For every building Danny built,
Charley savored his job’s own thrills.
For all the DUIs he’d popped
Before someone was surely killed.
For twenty years Charley had worked
Between the doors and on the road.
He’d rolled to fatals, and crashes bad.
He had comforted the injured, the dying, the sad.
On the roads of his detachment’s sector
His brother and sister troopers kept the peace.
They were law and strong protection
In rain and snow and wind and sleet.
“Why would Danny live a life soft and safe from strife?
With little purpose as far as I can see?
While I am dealing with death and life,
He is choosing between cheddar or brie.â€
I’ve lost all count of those I’ve helped
Or the number of lives I’ve saved.
All the speeders, the nights, the days,
And people stranded on dark highways.
So, my banker brother can think his thoughts
That his house and cars are super.
He can’t comprehend the satisfaction brought,
By being a Washington State Trooper.
“Humor has justly been regarded as the finest perfection of poetic genius.â€
Thomas Carlyle
Healing With Humor
Humor is transpersonal. Comics who make thousands of people laugh at once go beyond one person. Since survival is the key in police work, laughing at ourselves and at human frailties helps lighten our load significantly. Humor is divine.
“What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.â€
Yiddish Proverb
“The human race has only one really effective weapon and that is laughter.â€
Mark Twain
“You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything—even poverty—you can survive it.â€
Bill Cosby
A Reportable Incident
My partner and I were sent on an unknown trouble call to an address in Saginaw. When we arrived we found a severely damaged garage and a man lying in his backyard, moaning and groaning on the ground next to a washer and dryer. Apparently the man had gotten out of the car to open the garage door so that his wife could drive the car into the garage. Her foot must have slipped off the brake and onto the accelerator. She drove her poor husband up onto the hood of the car, through the garage door, and all the way through the garage until it reached the back wall where the washer and dryer were located.
As we surveyed the damage to her husband and the garage his wife said, “I don’t understand it. The harder I pressed on the brake, the faster the car went.â€
Then, she asked, “You don’t suppose we will have to make a report on this, do you?â€
Fresh Meat
One quiet summer night, about 2:00 A.
M., my partner and I are driving in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a soul in sight. To say the least, there is no activity.
As I drive near a state game area I was familiar with, I decided to park the patrol car by an old covered-bridge that crossed over a small stream. The bridge was actually closed for safety reasons; but we could get out and stretch our legs.
I pulled the car to the side of the dirt road about halfway into the brush, and my partner and I got out to enjoy the fresh air and to take a break from driving in unproductive circles. We had been talking for a few minutes when a car came down the roadway toward the bridge. Two couples got out; we could hear their conversation clearly.
One couple decided to walk down the road a bit while the other couple stayed on the bridge. They would each have some time alone with their dates. The two couples agreed to meet back at the car in about forty-five minutes.
My partner and I were standing about twenty-five feet from the couple on the bridge. But it was incredibly dark and they had no idea there were two male troopers nearby.
We listened as the male tried to convince the female to have sex on the bridge. He pleaded and used every line in the book—it was all we could do to stifle our laughter. She kept saying things like “I don’t like it out here. Trolls live under bridges and people get murdered. Just like in the horror movies.â€
He continued to reassure her that the area was safe and he was actually making a little progress toward his goal. He said, “There’s nobody out here for miles. HELLOOO!†His voice echoed in the night.
My partner, who had a deep voice, howled back in his scariest voice, “Fressshhhh meeaatt!!!!!†The couple screamed in terror and ran for the car! They drove away fast, honking the horn for the other couple. We heard car doors slam down the road—but we were laughing too hard to know what was said.