The Future of Police Work is a Return to the Old Days - Reactionary not Proactive Policing

I've been reading about the police shooting and subsequent rioting in Milwaukee and all I can think to myself is "Why?"

Why is any cop, in any jurisdiction being proactive these days?

It was a traffic stop and two occupants ran from the vehicle. Screw it, let them run. Hell, why are we even enforcing traffic rules at this point anyway?

The news is not on the cop's side. They never were and certainly aren't now

Here's a link to the AP's ongoing thread on the incident in Milwaulkee. I'd like to point something out that is repeated throughout the thread:

The unrest broke out hours after an officer shot a man who police say fled a traffic stop. Police say the man was armed, but it wasn't clear if he pointed a gun at or shot at the officer. The races of the man and officer haven't been released.

Are cops supposed to be shot at before stopping the threat of someone armed with a gun? Is that where we are now as a society?

He was told to drop the firearm. He didn't. He was killed. Another black man killed by a cop. A black cop.

Doesn't matter the circumstance anymore. As a cop, you're guilty until proven innocent in a court of media sensationalism that is fanning the flames of social injustice, even when there is no injustice to be found.

If I were active, I'd be telling my officers to only respond to calls received from central. The majority of these shooting incidents are because active cops are following their instincts and interacting with a criminal element. These are the encounters most likely to go sideways, and the perp suspects you know what he did (or is going to do) and the cop most likely does not. Traffic stops are the most dangerous part of the job for the reasons I just stated. The advantage always goes to the perp.

So, stop trying to prevent crime. It's dangerous and thankless, and more likely than any other part of the job to cost one your employment, your liberty or your life.

DC Metro Police Officer charged with aiding ISIS

Put this in in both the WTF? and I'm not Surprised categories (link to story at the Washington Post):

A Metro Transit police officer has been arrested and charged with attempting to provide material support to the Islamic State. 

Nicholas Young, 36, of Fairfax, was arrested Wednesday morning at Metropolitan Police Headquarters. Last week, according to an indictment filed in Alexandria federal court, a law enforcement source convinced Young to send him codes for mobile messaging cards that Young believed would be used by Islamic State fighters overseas to communicate. 

Authorities said there was never any credible or specific threat to the Metro system. 

According to authorities, Young has been with the Metro police since 2003. He has been monitored by the FBI since September 2010.

First thing that really catches my attention is that the FBI has been watching this cop for nearly 6 years. For those 6 years, he was apparently full duty - firearms and authority. Mind boggling.

I'm going to guess that his social media had flagged somewhere 6 years ago.

It's not just ISIS sympathizers. I know for a fact that we've had gang members and drug dealers become cops in the NYPD. And I personally knew (he worked directly for me for a time) a cop that was arrested by the feds for the sexual molestation of his martial arts students. He's dead now, cancer took him, so there is justice on a higher level.

We really need to do a better job at vetting cops.

Some Thoughts on Body Cameras for Police Officers

Let me start out by saying when I first heard of them, I was against them with all my being. The idea that every interaction with the public (and possibly even the usual banter between police officers on patrol) would be recorded was simply too much Big Brother for me.

I held that thought for a long time. Even as the NYPD was experimenting with it with a handful of cops in a half dozen patrol commands I thought no good could come of it.

I was so wrong.

It wasn't until I was knee deep in watching complaints made against police officers come in realtime did I see the value that I had missed. Overwhelmingly, complaints made against officers wearing body cameras were found to simply not be true. Maybe the complainant misremembered the incident or maybe they figured a complaint against a cop was a great way to get back at the cop that gave them a ticket or arrested them. Doesn't matter. Body cameras show what happened and let you hear what was actually said. It also keeps cops on their best behavior.

Maybe that's why the coalition that comprises Black Lives Matter wants to do away with body cameras (see demand #7 on the linked list). I would think that the truth would be an important thing to capture, but without a video and audio reference, reality isn't nearly as real as we would like to think.

It's true with cops too. We misremember things all the time, which is why we have to constantly update our activity log / memo book so that there is a written record of every job and interaction of note with the public.

When I came on the job and hit my first command, the 42 Precinct in the South Bronx, an old timer looked over my first week of activity in my memo book and told me "Kid, less is more. You write too much. You're gonna get yourself in trouble with all these details. Stop killing paper."

Body cameras make it obvious as to what went on. Good, bad, warts and all. Not just the cops' warts either. The public's too.

Body cameras. Keeping reality real.

NYPD Lexicon - The Words Defined, For Those that Want to Know

Perp - Perpetrator, the one that committed the crime

Bus - Ambulance (probably rooted in the concept that in poor neighborhoods, most doc visits are via ambulance to an Emergency Room)

Wheel Gun - revolver

Heater - perp's gun

Skel - druggies and other "low lifes" - probably rooted in the idea that many heroin addicts are thin and skeleton like

RMP - Radio Motor Patrol - patrol vehicle - police car

Po Po - police officer as he is often referred to on the street

Tin - Police Officer's badge / shield

Shield - Police Officer's badge

Square Badge - Private security / store securing

One Way - a cop that only looks out for themself only

Summons Whore - a cop who writes lots of summonses, thinking it will get them a detail

Detail (Precinct) - a position that is off patrol in a precinct

Detail (Event) - getting detailed to an event, like a parade, New Year's Eve, a protest, etc

Hats and Bats - often noted on a detail notification - bring your nightstick and helmet

Wood Shampoo, Bronx Party Hat, Turbanized- hitting someone in the head with a nightstick

In the Bag - in uniform - "I'm not doing anti-crime tonight, I'm in the bag"

Boss - Sergeant or above. Any rank above you

Collar - Arrest

On the Job - you're a cop

The Job - the police department

Shakebox - a supervisor that has trouble making a decision

Shakey - a cop that follows the patrol guide too closely and is inflexible in how he polices

Christmas Lights - a patrol car's emergency lighting

Mope - criminal, usually on the low end of the scale

The House - the stationhouse

63 - out for meal

House Mouse - cop with an inside job, off the streets and not dealing with perps

Ground Ball - easy to do or complete

Swing - your days off - "I'm swinging out for two days"

Scratch - Signature

Step on your Dick - mess up

Bag of Shit - a situation that is just going to get worse before it gets better. A case with no leads.

Shoo Fly - Duty Captain on the evening or midnight shift who makes the rounds of all the precincts in his or her patrol boro - "Shoe Fly heading to the Four One"

Green Paper - Command Discipline. An official reprimand.

Kangaroo Court - The Department's Trial Room

On the Level - trustworthy, team player

Hairbag - A lazy, unkept cop

Looking - looking to make an arrest - "Guys, I'm looking today, so if you find something you don't want, I'll take it"

Flying - working your tour on patrol in another command

One P P, Puzzle Palace - NYPD Police Headquarters

One Under - perpetrator is under arrest

Sector - subdivision of a precinct, defines the area an RMP or Sector Car should patrol

Land Pirates - FDNY

Floater - DOA in water

Making a Collar - making an arrest

Collars for Dollars - making an arrest near the end of tour, thus incurring overtime

RDO - Regular Day Off

Tool - cop that's an asshole

28 / UF-28 - Request for unscheduled Day Off

Rat - someone that calls Internal Affairs / POs and Detectives assigned to Internal Affairs

Rat Squad - Internal Affairs

Draftee - most supervisors in IAB / Internal Affairs

Dinosaur - a cop with over 20 years on the job

Day Tours or 8 by 4 - day time shift, generally 0705 x 1540

Evening Tours or 4 by 12 - evening shift, generally 1530 x 2355

Midnight Tours or 12 by 8 - overnight shift, 2345 x 0720

So, The Plan Last Saturday was to Revisit my Old Stomping Grounds in Hunt's Point

Yep, that was the plan. Go to some of the more memorable locations in my old South Bronx commands and take some picture, from the outside, of the more memorable locations.

Didn't happen.

This past weekend was too damn hot.

Instead, I virtually explored it via Google Maps and Street Views. I found myself constant drawn to the same location. Actually, it's four locations, but it's treated as one. Four attached buildings. Two common courtyards. One large, connected roof.

621, 623, 625 and 627 Manida Street. Confines of the 41 Precinct, deep in Hunt's Point. We used to refer to it as The Well.

I have a couple of stories to tell from that location and would appreciate some feedback as which to tell first. The choices are:

1- 34 Under, Central! (34 arrests made in about 45 minutes - all walking into 625/627 to buy crack)

2 - Don't Choot! Don't Choot! I takin' a Chit! (the closest I ever came to shooting someone)

3 - Officer, You are Under Arrest! (4 Y/O "Fat Boy" arrests Officer Tenkar)

4 - That Ain't no Cop! That's the Retard from Around the Corner (my first time doing observations on a narco set)

5 - This Bike has No Breaks! (Riding a crackhead's bike back to the station house - and not being told until I'm already going downhill that it had no breaks)

Let me know here, G+ or on Facebook - I'll have the post in question ready by the weekend.

Excellent Analysis of the Alton Sterling and Philando Castile Police Involved Shootings

Since I've retired I've been checking out some police related podcasts as I'm considering doing one myself at some point. You would have thought I would have dug into the world of police podcasts while I was actually commuting to the job.

One of the best I've found so far is the Police Academy Podcast. It does an amazing breakdown and analysis of the Alton Sterling and Philando Castile police involved shootings.

You can listen to the audio or watch the videos below. I ask you do one or the other. They were an eye opener for me.

Add the Police Academy Podcast to you podcast app.

Alton Sterling:

Philando Castile

Eight-ball on the Corner Mailbox

It was a late winter night in early 98 when we heard the gunshots "POP! POP! POP!" followed by at least a half dozen more. We were traveling west on Westchester Ave, just past the intersection of Southern Blvd and the gunshots were from behind us.

We turned on the Christmas Tree lights and did a sharp u-turn at which point the job came over the radio: "Confines of the 41 Precinct, shots fired Bryant and Westchester. Unit to respond?"

"One Tracer Five Three Oh Five. Show us responding. Two blocks out. Will advise when 84."

And just like that we were on the scene. There was only one person there, a black male, early 20s, about 5' 9" and almost as large around. He was leaning face front on a mailbox, almost draped on it.

"Yo, my man, you ok? You see anything?" His jacket was black with an eight-ball on the back.

"Officer!" he exclaimed, turing his head without moving his body. Upon getting close to him I could smell the iron in the air. His jacket was wet from blood seeping out of an unknown number of bullet wounds.

Shit! "One Tracer. Get me a bus to my location forthwith! Male shot, multiple wounds."

"Guy, you're going to be okay. I've got an ambulance coming, just stay with me."

"Tell me the truth officer. How bad is it? I got's to know."

What do you say to a man with multiple bullets in his back? The only reason he was still alive was that the fat on his back kept the damage from being lethal.

"You were shot multiple times. Just be cool. EMS is almost here." You could hear the sirens from the ambulance, they were close.

"No man! My eight-ball jacket! How bad is it? Will it wash out?"

I stood there, stunned for a second. Here's a man with multiple bullets in his back and he's concerned about whether or not the blood will wash out from his jacket.

"Don't let them cut my jacket officer! Please, promise me you won't let them."

I asked the EMTs to let him take his jacket off before they loaded him up for the hospital. As he held up his jacket, I could plainly see five bullet holes. Blood was going to be the least of his jacket issues.

Assasination Attempt on Two NYPD Cops Last Night

I caught the news last night as I was laying in bed. Confines of the 70 Precinct in Brooklyn.

Dear Fellow Sergeant 

Tonight in the confines of the 70th precinct at the corner of Ditmas avenue and E 23rd street. Two NYPD officers in uniform were walking their patrol post when a dark colored sedan with tinted windows slowly approached them made a statement about getting them and proceeded to fire shots at the officers. The vehicle was occupied by (4) four male blacks, fled the scene and was subsequently dumped in the confines of the 67th precinct. Perps are still not apprehended. 

Please remain alert at all times. The SBA will utilize every resource to defend your action. Your safety and the safety of your officers is paramount. 

Stay safe
Ed Mullins

The bridges leaving Brooklyn were shut down in an attempt to locate the perps. Vehicle was recovered but no perps in custody at this time.

The following letter was sent last Wednesday by my union:

Dear Fellow Sergeant, 

The widespread violence directed at the law enforcement community was exacerbated this week when the Louisiana State Police uncovered a plot by numerous males, including several juveniles, to attack police officers with the sole intention of killing as many cops as possible.

Had the plot been carried out, a high-ranking State Police official said it would have caused “substantial harm to the police in the Baton Rouge area,” where a controversial police shooting took place last week.

As I have said many times before, we cannot afford to be complacent here in New York. This is perhaps the most dangerous time in history to be a police officer, regardless of the geographical location.

SBA personnel, as well as all NYPD officers, are urged to utilize extreme caution in everything you do both on and off duty. While on-duty, do not stare at your cell phones and be aware of your surroundings every minute of your tour.

Do not do anything alone, including taking meal or personal breaks. If using a bathroom in a public place, always have a fellow officer in close proximity to you.

Wear your bullet-resistant vests and carry extra ammunition at all times. Do not respond to any assignments, regardless of how seemingly routine, without backup. Scan the street or the location where you are headed before embarking down that road.

Enter all buildings strategically and realize that you must prepare for the unexpected at all times. The reality is that during these dangerous and daunting times, there is no such thing as anything routine.

While off duty, I urge you and your family members to not wear any police related items such as T-shirts or chains that suggest a connection to the law enforcement community. I would also suggest removing police family member stickers from your personal vehicles.

The hatred directed toward the police could not be more real. Some educated people have even described the Dallas man who shot 12 police officers – killing 5 - as a martyr.

I am not overreacting when I tell you to be careful – everywhere you go and in everything you do, whether on or off duty. The stakes are too high, and New York is always a favorite target of dissenters and terrorists.

When we were sworn in as police officers, we vowed to do whatever is necessary to keep the public safe. That is a vow we all take very seriously, but we must also be committed to keeping ourselves safe amid ever-increasing dangers.

We and our families, as well as our colleagues and the millions of law-abiding people that we protect on a daily basis, deserve nothing less.

Fraternally,
Ed Mullins

If you are active, retired or a family member, now is not the time to advertise or advocate for the profession of law enforcement. I had my wife remove the gold charm of my sergeant's shield after reading this email, and my buff and memorial shirts are going deep in a drawer. I don't know when, let alone if, they will be worn again in public.

Remove decals from your personal vehicles and I strongly suggest trading in any FOP plates for standard state issued plates, especially if your family also drives the car in question. Unlike you, they will not be armed if the car is targeted.

It's a sad world we live in.

My Black Lives Matter Moment in Time - Part 1, The Organized Chaos

On December 3rd, 2014 the Staten Island Grand Jury, came to the end of their investigation to the police related the death of Eric Garner. While I personally never thought what the cops in this situation did was criminal, it was in my opinion, poor tactics. It might not look good on camera striking someone resisting arrest in the knees to bring them down, but it certainly is following procedure. Jumping on the guy's back? Not good tactics.

On December 4th, 2014 I reported to work at my usual start time - 6 AM. By 830 that morning, I was suiting up with one of the detectives from my office - we were being detailed for expected protests. Little did I know at the time I wouldn't get back to my office until 11 AM the next morning and wouldn't head home until 1130 AM on December 5th.

Much of policing is "hurry up and wait", and we sat in an unmarked vehicle until nearly 430 PM on the 4th, waiting for things to actually happen. With the exception of the detective from my office, no one besides my had crowd control training beyond the basics given in the academy. My old unit, a Bronx Tracer Unit when I was a rookie, was trained for two days in "disorder control". I tried to impart some of that basic knowledge to the 8 cops and detectives assigned to me, but I shouldn't have bothered. What would follow that night was not what I had trained for. It wasn't "disorder" but "organized chaos."

When the protestors started streaming into the park at Foley Square, you could tell, if you paid attention, that this was not going to be an ordinary protest. As they marched us single file to the square, a white lady, somewhere in her 70's, ran up to me and screamed in my face "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" I was surprised to say the least. I felt her breath in my face as she made her pronouncement. She then ran off, back into the mingling crowd of protesters.

I didn't think too much of it and I've certainly been called worse. It was when the second little old white lady came running up to me that it struck me that it was a tactic being used by some part of the protesters. This woman didn't get quite as close, as I knew what to expect this time and turned to confront her. "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" New lady, same line. I thanked her for expressing her opinion in such a courteous manner. She stared at me dumbfounded and stumbled back in the direction of the crowd.

I turned to the cop behind me in line and said: "See what you get when you put stripes on? The love of little old ladies. I really feel like I earned my stripes today."

The tactics of the protesters was really slick. The leadership broke off from Foley Park in different directions, requiring the NYPD to splinter into seperate units to follow and escort. The NYPD didnt seem to have much of a plan aside from running along side the protesters. Which lead to chaos when these splinters would sweep around and intersect each other, such as they did at Houston and Broadway. They intermingled two such groups and then broke off in 4 directions. Social media was their tool and they used it well. The NYPD was played and the night was still young.

Most of the chanting was "no justice, no peace. no racist, po-lice!" which was fine. A few "fuck the police" thrown in for good measure and of course, "hands up, don't shoot!" My sister actually saw me on the BBC news feed, running along with these idiots.

Part 2 will be The Line is Drawn. Wherein I make my first and only arrest as a Sergeant, because no one was taking the NYPD "for real."

Small aside. I just ordered these gloves as the video is pretty striking. Slash proof gloves. Not stab proof. I'm not sure how tactical they are (I suspect it wouldn't be great while frisking a subject but might work well in handling protesters), but I'm a klutz in the kitchen (and retirement means more time in the kitchen), and at 10 bucks for 2 pairs I'm giving it a shot.

Not the Way I Wanted to Remember My Last "Active" Day in Law Enforcement

I had lots of plans on how I was going to re-kick the Saturday Knight Special blog. Mourning the loss of yet more members of law enforcement was not it.

Three officers dead in Baton Rogue. Three others shot. Another military vet is the shooter, this time with links to the Nation of Islam.

The assasination of five officers in Dallas on July 7th was already going to change the direction of this blog, or at least add more depth to it.

It will still be stories of my time on patrol, but not just my rookie time, but later patrol time as both an officer and a sergeant. It will also touch on current events that are relevant to law enforcement. It will carry my opinion on these events and what can be done to keep us from the death spiral we appear to be on in this nation.

The angry wind that's blowing, fueled by the media and those with agendas, needs to shift. There isn't a cop in the nation that starts their tour or shift with the idea of "I want to kill someone today." The most common thought, after figuring out where and what your meal will be, is getting to the end of that tour safely. Going home to your family.

I still remember, as a newly promoted Sergeant, mentioning that my tour, the 5th one of the week, was "my last one." Jimmy, a black cop with well over 20 years on the job at the time, still carrying his six-shooter in a swivel holster, reprimanded me in his slight southern drawl.

"Sarge, your last tour is the one ya don't go home from. I ain't never gonna hear you say those words again. We clear?"

Clear as glass Jimmy.

There are 31 deaths of law enforcement officers by gunfire so far this year, an increase of 94% over the same time last year.

It's not the guns that are killing cops. Guns are certainly the method of choice, the instrument if you will, but they aren't doing the killing. Guns didn't kill 362 this year so far in Chicago or 168 this year so far in NYC. People killed them.

And those inner city deaths, you know who cares about those numbers? Not the feds. Not the media. Apparently, not the Democrats or the Republicans, Progressives or Conservatives, not the activists nor the racists. Those that care are the family members and the cops. I saw way too much death in my 20 years. Innocents and gangbangers. Cops and perps. I carry every death I witnessed with me and will continue to do so until my own passing.

Because cops do care. And bleed. And die. For you and your's.

Saturday Knight Special to Return to Semi Regular Posting April 2016

Yep, the rumors of the death of Saturday Knight Special were greatly exaggerated. Well, maybe not "greatly" but it is coming back.

I'm currently on "pre separation leave" leading ip to actual retirement in July. Time, you might say, is now on my side.

If all goes well there will be a new post up before the end of March, but I'm saying April just to be sure. Aiming for twice a month posting, but who know how the muse will strike.

In the meantime, enjoy the anthem of my Field Training Unit when I was a rookie in the 42 Precinct :)

Untangling the Lines of Communication

The biggest thing to learn about police work is not the laws, not police procedures, it's not how to fire a gun (case in point - I've only fired mine twice a year at the NYPD Firing Range for the last 16 years), it isn't boxing or wrestling moves... all of that doesn't mean shit if you can't deal with people. Or, maybe even more importantly, by knowing how to deal with people, how to relate to them, you need to rely on the other stuff less.  You learn to correct a situation before action needs to be taken.

It was late spring and we had one of those warm spring nights.  The advantage to those types of nights when you have a foot post is that you know won't be freezing your ass off,  like you tend to do on the cold spring nights.  The disadvantage is that every skell and their mother is out on the streets, enjoying the same beautiful weather you are.

This night in particular went bad shortly after sunset.  Two young wanna be gangsters decided to stick up the Taco Bell on the 44 Precinct side of Webster Avenue.  I think I previously mentioned the dearth of fast food establishments in and around the 42 Precinct, my command at the time.  We had a White Castle /  Church's Chicken on our side of Webster, the 44 had the only Taco Bell in miles.  At the same time these two knuckleheads were holding up the cashier, one of the South Bronx Narcotics Modules were entering Taco Bell in order to get dinner.  Needless to say, things went downhill from there.

Apparently, the proper response to "Police!  Don't Move!" is to fire in the direction of the voice while simultaneously attempting to flee the location.  The gun battle proceeded to the street, and ended with one perp dead and one perp fleeing the scene to be apprehended later.  No cops were inured, score one for the good guys.  Except they couldn't find the shooter's gun.

This is where me and my fellow rookies came in.  There were two of us walking the 42 side of Webster Ave and another two walking Park Ave as their posts.  Our sergeant rounded us up to assist with the crime scene, as all shootings become such.  The other three rookies were assigned to assist in the search of the missing fire arm.  My job?  Crowd control, as a bunch of curious onlookers and other assorted locals were milling about in the street on the 42 side of Webster Ave.

At this point, I need to paint a picture.  The picture is this:  Webster Ave at the location we were was approximately seven lanes wide.  One parking lane and two lanes of traffic going north and the same going south.  In between was a marked off area of pavement just about a lane wide giving us a total of seven lanes.  My gawkers on the 42 side, the lanes going north, were not just standing in the parking lane, they weren't just blocking the right lane of traffic, but a handful were wandering into the left lane of traffic.  I counted easily over 30 people when I glanced over after being given my assignment and the numbers were increasing even as I walked over.

I approached the crowd, which wasn't hard, as the fringe was basically meeting me nearly halfway.

"Folks, I need you to get back onto the sidewalk."  Calm, polite, respectful... I was all that and more.  The fringe backed up to clear one lane of traffic, the right lane, but there seemed to be a constant stream of people to add to the mass in front of me.  I turned back to look at my sergeant.  He had a shooing motion with his hands.  Obviously my single lane of victory was not enough.

"Excuse me!  Folks, i really need you to step back onto the sidewalk!  Please!"  A few heads glanced in my direction, but the events going on across the street were more exciting.  Crime scene tape, big trucks with huge lights, lots of cops scrambling around looking for something.  It all meant more then the lone rookie cop in front of them.  I was being ignored.

I was getting frustrated.  I was doing everything by the book, engaging the populace in a polite yet authoritative tone, and it was getting me nowhere.  A simple assignment, and I was fucking it to pieces.

In a panic, I tried something that was against every bit of academy training I had received.  I improvised.

"Yo!  I needs you to get off the street!  The street belongs to the PoPo!  The sidewalks belongs to you'se! Gets off my street!  I won't step on your sidewalk and you don't step on my street!"  And they did it.  Slowly at first, but with further words of encouragement reminding them who the street belonged to, and who the sidewalk belonged to, they actually cleared the street in less than a minute. Parking lane too!  I was dumbfounded.  What shouldn't have worked not only worked, it worked beyond my greatest hope.

I was still a bit stunned when an even more surprising event happened.  Four young male blacks (as was 90% of the crowd) came upon the crowd, and desiring to see what was transpiring across the street, stepped in front of the crowd that was now wholly on the sidewalk.

Before I could say a word I heard from the front of the crowd: "Yo!  Get off the street!  It belong to the PoPo.  We got's the sidewalk."  The newcomers obeyed the instructions and joined the crowd on the sidewalk.

Policing was never the same for me after that.  I had learned that to talk to people, you had to talk their language... even if you both technically spoke the same language.

A Simple Cup of Coffee

I'm not a coffee drinker. Never have been, never will be. I can count the cups of coffee I've drunk in my lifetime in one hand. Strange, I know, with the stereotype of cops, coffee and dounuts.

It was a cold night in March of '97. My partner and I had a footpost on Fulton Street and it was cold and we were underdressed.

The Job, in it's infinite wisdom, had changed the approved uniformed winter jacket. They went from a longer, heavier jacket to what was referred to as an RMP jacket, that had elastic at the waist. If you came on before my academy class, you were grandfathered in for the old jacket, but for new jacks like us, this POS didn't keep us very warm, so we improvised.

Temperatures were in the low teens, and we both were wearing thermals, a turtleneck, a commando sweater and a neck warmer. We had the rain cover for our hats inside the uniform cap to keep some semblance of warmth on our heads, small ear muffs so our ears wouldn't drop off and we wore our white dress gloves inside our black leather gloves. We were still fucking cold.

Our beat was about 5 blocks long, running North to South along Fulton. To break up the monotony, we would go a block East or West of our post. There is only so much to see in a 5 block stretch.

By the time it hit 1130 at nite, the temperature was down to the single digits, and the thin snot from my runny nose was freezing at the tip. We stood in doorways where we could, but there wasn't a single store front on the stretch of our post.

Then we met out angel. Looking like a church lady taken from any movie's stereotypical Black Southern Baptist Church, she came out of one of the private houses from one of the side streets we were patrolling for the umpteenth time that night. If she was a day under 80 I'd be very surprised.

"Officers, that's my house over there. I seen you walking and I'm so happy to see you. The neighborhood needs folks like you."

My partner grunted something in embarrassment, and I said something to the effect of "that's why we are here", but to tell the truth, all I could think of was the bitter cold and how much worse it felt when we were standing still talking when we should have been walking.

"I'm up late every night. When you are out here, ring my doorbell and I'll buzz you in. I'll have a pot of coffee and some cups for you in the hallway. Warm yourselves. Don't worry about locking the door, it closes and locks on its own."

I must have given her a queer look, as she called me on it real quick.

"Don't look like that. It's the least I can do. We're happy your here. We need you here."

With that, she said her goodnites and walked back to her home across the street.

"Don't be expecting me to serve you. Now help yourselves to coffee."

So we did. It was good and hot. I put way too much sugar in it, but that helped me forget it was coffee. The woman, our angel, said goodnite again and walked upstairs, locking a door behind her.

There are good people everywhere, and if I ever doubted why I did the work I did, faced the dangers and dealt with angry members of the community, I remembered this woman. This angel.

With a cup of coffee she opened my eyes, and allowed me to see. The cold never seemed so bad after that.

Getting Out From Under

After washing my hands (yes, were are still at the apartment with the guy with a discolored grapefruit sized ball sack) my Sergeant explained to me the rest of the process for dealing with the recently deceased.

The deceased's family had arrived (they were waiting in the living room) and I was to bring one into the deceased's bedroom to remove his ring (because we knew where his hands had been, but they didn't need to know).  After the family left, and if they didn't leave fairly promptly I was to encourage them to do so, I was to await the "Meat Wagon".  The guy from the Medical Examiner's Office that takes away the recently deceased.  That wait could be hours, as in a city of over 8 million people, folks are constantly dying and the "Meat Wagons" rolls 24/7.

The Sergeant mentioned on his way out that one of the CPOP Cops (a Police Officer that walks a Community Beat) was going to drop off the "Toe Tag".  That's the piece of paper you see in movies and the occasional cop show, tied to some dead guy in the morgue's big toe.  The body can't be moved without a "Toes Tag", and after filling it and having the guy from the "Meat Wagon" sign it, I was to tear off the end and return it to the desk officer at the station house upon my return.  Oh, and he'd also be bringing me a door seal, which I would attach to the door frame and door after the body was removed from the bedroom.

I was beginning to learn that dead folks were a heck of a lot of work.

The family ushered  themselves out fairly quickly.  They were pleasant and apologetic, which made me feel guilty, as it wasn't really anyones fault that the guy had died.  I told them the EMTs had unclothed him in an attempt to save him, but he was already gone.  The sheet was to ensure his modesty.  They didn't need the image of his self gratification as their last sight of him.  Come to think of it, neither did I, but at least he wasn't a relative of mine.

I settled in on the couch, watching TV.  As South Bronx apartments went, it was fairly clean and wasn't totally roach infested.  Not to say there weren't roaches, but unlike the worst offending apartments, whatever roaches there were avoided light and open spaces.

About an hour or so the cop came with the "Toe Tag" and the door seal arrived.  He had about 10 years on and genuinely enjoyed his job.  He also had no problem giving a rookie free advice, and I am ever glad that he did.

"Just to let you know, he's gonna ask you to take the bottom.  Don't!"  he told me.

I made a face, not quite sure what he was referring to.

"When the ghoul from the M.E.'s Office gets here, he's going to tell you he needs help carrying the body out.  Don't  worry, he'll body bag it on his own, but he'll ask for help carrying.  He'll suggest you take the bottom, as it's lighter.  Don't do it."

"But if it's lighter, he's doing me a favor..." I let myself trail off, as I observed a head shaking no.

"If you take the bottom, he's going to let the body slip and the shit's gonna take you down a flight of stairs and he'll just laugh his ass off as you try and crawl out from under."

I thought this was probably bullshit just to get the rookie paranoid.  But then maybe not.  I figured I'd await the M.E.'s Office and decide then.

The "Meat Wagon" actually came about 15 minutes after the other cop left.  I guess not too many folks were dying in The Bronx that day.

The ghoul (and he was a ghoul if you ask me) was about 5' 5" and all neck.  Seriously, he reminded me of a wide fire plug.  All business as he came in, I showed him the bedroom and he quickly went to bagging the deceased.  It seems like he was done in less then 2 minutes.  It really was that fast.

He wheeled him out of the bedroom on one of those collapsible gurneys you see on ambulances.  I sealed the door with the seal and gave the ghoul the "Toe Tag", which he stuck into a pocket on the body bag and gave me my receipt.  Then the moment came.

"Listen, I can't use the gurney to take this guy down the stairs, so we are going to have to carry him.  You can take the bottom, it's lighter."

Holy shit!  The CPOP guy was right!  This fucker wanted to see me go backwards down a flight of stairs with "Mr I Jerked Myself to Death" on top of me!  Wasn't going to happen.

"It's okay, I've been sitting around for hours, I'm pretty rested.  I'll take the top."

"You sure?  The top can get kind of tricky.  The bottoms better."  If he was a cat, he'd have had that "I just ate the canary" kinda sheepish look.

"I've got the top.  Just don't go too fast, I wouldn't want to drop him."

More Posts Forthcoming

Yeah, I was kinda laid out since the 5th.  Not totally, tho I did take 3 days off from work (and the weekend in between).  It's just that you need to be in the right mindset to write these pieces, and being on antibiotics and fighting off an illness certainly isn't the right mindset.

I'm feeling more like myself, so hopefully later today or tomorrow I'll have another piece up.  The Tavern might also get a new Dragon video today.   I'll see how far I can push myself ;)

Pleased to Death

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52 Year Old Prostitute Still Working the Point (I Collared Her Back in the Day)

52, and Still Working the Streets

Julie Glassberg for The New York Times

Barbara Terry, 52, has worked nearly her entire adult life as a prostitute in the Hunts Point section of the Bronx. She hopes to retire in a year or so to a house she bought upstate.

By COREY KILGANNON

Published: December 30, 2011

LIKE many single mothers, Barbara Terry, 52, scrounged for baby sitters and leaned on her own mother while raising her four children and working the night shift.

But Ms. Terry is a prostitute who has worked nearly her entire adult life on the streets of Hunts Point, in the Bronx..

“When they were old enough to understand, I would tell them the truth,” said Ms. Terry, whose daughter and three sons are now grown. “I’d say, ‘This is how I’m supporting you.’ For me, it’s a business, a regular job.”

Yes, she said, she was arrested more than 100 times, sometimes landing at Rikers Island for several days or weeks — but that never deterred her from returning to this area of industrial warehouses and repair shops off the Bruckner Expressway.

By day, heavy industrial traffic fills the streets. By night, the traffic comes for other reasons. Years back, this prostitutes’ “track” bustled with working women, and Ms. Terry was front and center in garter belts and high heels and fur coats.

“It was beautiful out here then,” she said. “There was so much money out here, you wouldn’t believe it.”

The area is less active now than in the 1990s, when HBO made its “Hookers at the Point” documentaries, in which Ms. Terry appeared under a street name, Cleo, and flashed a youthful, toothy smile.

Those great teeth are gone, lost to diabetes, Ms. Terry said. She mostly works days now and dresses more conservatively. “Most women don’t make it to my age out here,” she said. “I call myself the last of the survivors.”

While it is impossible to corroborate all the details of an eventful life in a profession often synonymous with drug abuse, violence and tragic outcomes, the Correction Department confirmed that Ms. Terry had been jailed many times for prostitution over her career.

Today, Ms. Terry lives nearby in the Bronx, but she hopes to retire in a year or so to a house she bought upstate, she said on Tuesday at her usual spot on Whittier Street. She had a supply of condoms in her purse, a plastic cup of vodka and orange juice in her hand and a cellphone for steady customers.

Those customers, dates or tricks, can be lawyers, city workers, husbands, fathers or truckers heading in and out of the sprawling Hunts Point food markets.

Then there are the psychos. All the women out here have had friends attacked or cut or dumped dead somewhere. Last year, a man was arrested, and recently sentenced, for terrorizing prostitutes in the Bronx with a razor.

“I’ve survived because God was with me,” Ms. Terry said. “Every Sunday, my mother and grandmother prayed for me out here.”

She has shown younger workers the ropes: how to jump in a Dumpster to hide from the police, and how to stay alive. First, never enter a car with more than one person in it, and never let someone drive you out of the area. Get your money up front — Ms. Terry charges $50 or $100 — and try to work with a buddy.

“You look for weapons, you check the back seat, and you go by your vibes,” she said. “If they look strange, you stay away.”

There have been close calls, like the time a trucker locked her in and tried to rape her.

“I never did drugs and never worked for a pimp for protection,” she said. “What protection? If I’m in someone’s car, about to die, ain’t no pimp in there helping me.”

“I never carried a blade,” said Ms. Terry, who grew up in the Red Hook Houses in Brooklyn before her family moved to North Carolina for her teenage years. “My fists were my weapons. I learned to fight growing up with nine younger brothers.”

Ms. Terry said she completed two years of college, training to be a medical lab technician, but by the time she was 21, her husband had left her and she had two children to support. All she knew about prostitutes was what she saw on “Starsky & Hutch,” but she knew about the Hunts Point action and came out on her own. She admits she became addicted to the stimulation of the street life.

“I love the excitement of coming out here and seeing all these beautiful people I know,” she said. “Even my dates are a comfort. This place has made me strong. It keeps you young.”

But she has slowed down. A year ago, she was in a bad accident and was hospitalized with a broken jaw and neck injuries. Her children, two of whom she says she put through college, beg her to get off the street.

“I’m the mother, so they can’t say anything,” she said. “When I’m ready to get off, I’ll get off.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/01/nyregion/at-52-a-prostitute-still-working-the-streets.html?src=me&ref=nyregion

It's Just a Numbers Game

The job is a numbers game. I know, because the end of the year is when all the numbers get tallied up. It's a busy time, and I've been busy getting my unit's numbers together to present at the beginning of the new year (just in case you are wondering why there have been no new posts in the last week).

The numbers game starts the moment you hit the streets. They expect a book (20) or more parking summonses per month per rookie, a handful of moving violations and one or two Criminal Court ( C ) summonses. Oh, and an arrest a month. Get on the sheet early kid, or you'll be hunting for that collar (arrest) as the month winds down.

As a rookie, I had a day where I wrote a book of parking summonses before meal time. There was a spot that was a ticket well of sorts - an automotive parts store without a parking lot. It had a bus stop and a fire hydrant in front of it. Both were places that you weren't allowed to park. It's not a secret. Everybody knew, they just didn't care. They paid it so little mind, they would see me standing near the bus stop sign, park right in front of me and walk into the store. It wasn't fishing in a barrel. It was the fish taking the hook in the own fins and piercing their own lips.

Easy numbers. Rookies rarely got in trouble for making or exceeding their numbers. Senior guys understood the rooks were on probation and they had to produce. If I had 2 years or more on and pulled a book of parkers in 3 hours, my locker would have found its way into the shower, upside down. Cops police themselves.

The job is always a struggle between management, that has "productivity goals" (because a quota would be against the law) and the rank and file, that tend to rebel against the idea that in addition to answering jobs, making reports, assisting EMS and whatnot, they are expected to write summonses / tickets.

What management sees as a tool to evaluate productivity, the cop sees as a turning him from his role as a police officer to one of a revenue generator. Most cops see a ticket as a way to correct a poor action by another, and in many cases would rather not issue it (although I hear things may be different in the Commonwealth of Virginia).

Still, in the end, it's just another number. Crimes, arrests, summonses issued, stop/question/frisk reports written, vertical patrols, checkpoints (and the summonses written), traffic court cases won and lost, days on patrol, days in court, days out sick, overtime earned (cash and time separately counted) - all these and more define both the department and it's employees. Heck, you are even identified by two numbers: your shield number and a six digit tax number.

You are just a number, made up of other numbers - at least, that's how it seems you are looked upon as the higher ranks look down. The higher the rank, the more you look like a number. Except for the handful of bosses that rise through the ranks, and still see their cops for what they are. Not just numbers but names.

Ah well, I need to go back to my numbers. ;)

Of Three Legged Dogs and Non Existent Pigeons

Station House Security is probably one of the most boring posts one can receive as a cop. It's your job to make sure that unauthorized individuals aren't allowed to walk right up to the desk officer. It's kinda like being a Walmart Greeter, but with a gun and without the shopping cart.

I've done my fair share of station house security.  Most were monotonous and boring.  There are moments, however, that do stick out.

I was killing time at my post talking to one of the squad detectives. He was an old timer, complete with chewed up cigar, and punctuated many of his sentences with "back in the day." Still, he was a good guy, a rarity if you will, as he enjoyed passing on his knowledge to the new kids in the precinct, and it was worthwhile knowledge to receive. In any case, every couple of minutes as we are talking, grit would fall from above us, off of the station house. I didn't think much of it right away, but by the third time I remarked: "It must be annoying having pigeons by the squad room windows all the time."

"Kid, this house ain't got pigeons. Are you referring to the crap that keeps falling?"

"Yeah, what else would be knocking dirt off of the window ledges?"

"Alright. Look straight ahead, then turn to 1 oclock. Ya' see the housing projects about 1/2 mile or so away? Ya do?   Good.   Move your gaze to the roof.  What do you see?"

"I see someone playing with a lighter I think. Yeah, the flash of a lighter."

"Nah kid, that's the muzzle flash of a 22. They're shootin' at the house. At this range, they're lucky to hit the building at all. That's where your grit comes from, rounds hitting above us. Heck, the rounds don't even nick the window glass. Pretty harmless. It's what some folks do for nightly entertainment around here."

"Okay... Uhm, lets move our conversation inside if you don't mind." And we did.

Another time I had the duty, the precinct dog was hanging out with me. He was a three legged mutt, and spent the day usually running around with his harem of female strays, but when the sun went down, he came back to the precinct for food, water and warmth (he would often sleep in the vestibule).

He knew cops. I mean, really knew them. He also knew those that didn't belong in the precinct - everyone but cops. If he was by the door, and you worked in the precinct, even in civilian attire, he would approach for a head scratch. Same for a cop in uniform, even outside commands. A civilian making a complaint or reporting a loss? Teeth would be bared and his viscous growl was something to behold. Many a report was taken outside on the hood of a patrol car when he was on post.

On the night in question, I was on post when the Duty Captain came by to inspect the station house, which pretty much entails scratching the book at the desk and leaving just as fast. He was in a suit and overcoat. In other words, he looked like a civilian.

I gave him a nod as he approached and the precinct mutt went right into action. He got up on all 3 legs and did that watchdog growl.

"Officer, tell your dog to stand down!"

Was he kidding? Did he really think it was my dog?

"Boss, show him your shield. He likes cops. Everyone else he doesn't let in."

The captain gave me the 'you must think I'm an easy mark to try that' kinda look, but with the dog not standing down, and the Captain obviously not going anywhere, he finally relented and took his shield out of his pocket. He actually thrusted it forward for the dog to see.

The mutt turned his head to the side slightly, then moved forward to sniff the shield. Once he was satisfied, he lowered his head for the Captain to pet him (which he did) after which he went back to sitting across from me.

The Captain entered the station house without saying another word. When he left 2 minutes later, he paused to to scratch the mutt's head again before driving off to the next command.  I doubt the next command had a 3 legged dog doing station house security.

Miserable and Working

I have a cold from hell right now.  It's from one of the outer layers of hell, but it's still hellish.  It has, however sapped my ability to write anything fairly coherent.  Besides, all my energy is going to actually dragging my ass to work.

Here's the deal with my job.  We have unlimited sick time.  You can be out for 11 months and still draw your salary (I know, I did it).  There is this whole formula that is used to determine if you are "Chronic Sick" or not.  Let's just say I've never hit that list and have no intention to.

Sick is for those "holy shit, i'm dying over here!  I may actually need to see a doctor!" as opposed to the "I feel like shit.  I'd love to stay home, watch some TV, maybe work in the garden" type of sick.

It's just how I am.  There's lots of cops like me on my job.  Every year we get what is affectionately known as the "Retard Award" (not politically correct, but cops aren't known for their political correctness).  In other words, your Perfect Attendance Award.  I think if I can last another year I get a pen.  Wheeeee!

In any case, I'll try to get a good night sleep tonight and hopefully I'll be adding another chapter to the Rookie Saga tomorrow.  Time for me to share my cold with my wife now.  Misery loves company ;)