In both videos, police officers face off with resistant subjects and the officers resort to using force to try and resolve the situations. In both incidents, Tasers are deployed. Why the Taser deployments were ineffective is something Smith covers in his article so I’m not going to comment on it here. I’m also not going to comment on the actions of the officers involved as I do not know all the circumstances surrounding each incident.
The reason I’m posting these two videos is to show how difficult it can be to arrest a resistant subject and how quickly situations can go from bad to worse. Both videos are a good representation of what officers face on a daily basis, and why officers have to stay on their toes.
The first video is a great example of a resistant suspect vs an assaultive suspect, and shows two officers trying to arrest a man on an outstanding warrant. The officers are very patient with the suspect, but in the end he eventually gets away from them. I’ll agree with you in the observation that the man was not being assaultive, but he was goal oriented none the less.
The second video is from the camera mounted in the car of a Davenport (Iowa) police officer. It captures Officer Clif Anderson’s attempt to arrest a very goal oriented suspect. Watch the suspect’s body language as he climbs over the railing – you can see a visible change in how he carries himself.
This suspect’s resistance turns into an attack on Officer Anderson, during which both men go out of view of the camera. Detective Jim Weakley, who just happened to be driving by on the bridge, jumps in to assist. During the ensuing life and death struggle, the suspect takes Officer Anderson to the ground, bites Officer Anderson’s eyebrow off and slams his head against the concrete before Officer Anderson is able to shoot the suspect twice.
Just a warning…the second video is graphic and may not be suitable for all viewers.
Video #1
Video #2 – fast forward to the 00:30 time mark
For the full story on Video #2, please read The Quad-City Times article, outlining the events in their entirety and to view photos of the injuries sustained by Officer Anderson.
To all the officers reading this – Let the experiences of the officers in the videos serve as a reminder to always stay alert, train hard, and treat each call with the seriousness it deserves.
As Officer Smith says in his article – watch each video and then imagine what you would do in the same situation.
Some of our best witnesses in recent months have been citizens who just happen to be in the area when a serious crime takes place. From a motorist driving by and witnessing an abduction in broad daylight, to a woman on her way to work and seeing masked and armed suspects storm a bank, to the spouse of an officer calling in a shots fired.
So, with all these cases in mind, I had a conversation with my kids about what to do if we were driving along and something happened right in front of us. I explained that if the situation were such that I could safely leave them in the car or in a nearby business, I would do so and then assist with whatever was happening.
We had this conversation in the car, and we talked about what our course of action would be. We also practiced what to say if they ever had to call 911, with the most important fact being location, location, location. Even though my cell phone is GPS enabled, theirs is not.
I taught them how to read street signs, and to know what city we were in as we regularly drive through about five different jurisdictions.
We practiced calling 911, with me acting as the call taker. As we were already in the car, I stopped at different locations and gave each of the kids a scenario.
First up was my daughter. I stopped at a residential intersection and said a man was breaking into a house, and then I pointed out a random house with the homeowner working in the front yard. We went from there, and it sounded something like this:
daughter ‘calls’ 911
Me: 911. Police, ambulance or fire?
Daughter: Police, please.
Me: For what city?
Daughter: Vancouver
Me: Just wait a moment while I put you through….
pause
Me: Vancouver Police, what’s your emergency?
Daughter: A man is breaking into a house (she is looking around for the street signs by this time)
Me: Alright, can you tell me where?
Daughter: It’s a blue house by the intersection of E 54th St and Sherbrooke St.
Me: Can you see the address?
Daughter: No
Me: Alright. Is the house on 54th or on Sherbrooke?
Daughter: Um, Sherbrooke St
Me: Alright. What did the man do?
Daughter: (she looks at me and I pantomime kicking in a door) He broke the front door down.
Me: Alright, can you describe him?
Daughter: (she looks at the homeowner as he unknowingly becomes a player in our scenario) He’s old, with gray hair, a blue t-shirt and shorts.
For the next scenario, I told my son the people in the car ahead of us had robbed a store. After the regular preamble with getting to speak to police dispatch, the call went like this:
Son: We’re following some guys who just robbed a store
Me: What store?
Son: I don’t know. A corner store back there.
Me: Alright. Where are you now?
Son: (he almost gives himself whiplash trying to read the passing street signs). We are on E 57th St.
Me: Which cross street?
Son: We are almost at Knight St.
Me: Are you walking or in a car?
Son: We are in a car and so are they. It’s a red Honda.
Me: Can you see the license plate?
Son: Yup. 5-5-5-A-B-C
Me: 5-5-5-A-B-V?
Son: No, C, like cat.
We had finished with the ‘game’, which is what the kids called it, and they were chattering away about license plates and street signs, and how cool it was to pretend to be a witness when our lane of traffic came to a screeching halt. My tires locked up, all our seatbelts proved they were able to hold us in our seats and there was the awful sound of crunching and disintegrating metal up ahead of us and just out of sight.
Then, in between the line of stopped and zig zagged cars I could see the tangled remains of a motorcycle and the figure of the rider writhing around on the ground. At least he was moving. The kids were silent but very alert and they looked at me with the question of what had happened in their wide eyes. I pulled over to the side of the road, saw that about six people were already on their cell phones, and told the kids there had just been an accident.
Both of them looked for and found the street signs, and my daughter reached for the cell phone as my son waved his hand at my door in a ‘well, aren’t you going to go help’ gesture. I had to laugh, and told them to stay put, that this time they didn’t have to call 911 as lots of people were already calling. Then I proceeded to get out and went to see if I could be of any help.
Later, when I returned to the car, I told the kids the motorcyclist had been broadsided by car. The fellow had a broken leg, but his motorcycle had taken most of the impact. He was going to be fine.
My son, the one of dry wit and constant observation, piped up that what had happened was spooky as we had just been talking about how to call 911. I told them it was Murphy’s Law.
One of the top stories on the news during the past week has been that of accused murderer Ryan Jenkins and his slain ex-wife. The story reached international status when Jenkins was thought to have crossed the border into Canada last week.
Then, just an hour ago, the Surrey RCMP held a news conference saying Jenkins had been found dead in a hotel in the Hope, BC area in what appeared to be a suicide.
I’m relieved the hunt is over. Last night my kids asked if they could sleep in the backyard in a tent and I said no. We live not too far from where Jenkins crossed the border, and I did not want my children outside in the middle of the night - even with a police dog and an off-duty officer sleeping beside them.
Now that the case is ‘over’, I’m not sure whether to be glad Jenkins is dead (at least now there won’t be years of extradition hearings) or to feel sorry for him. I definitely feel for the loved ones of the woman he is alleged to have murdered, Jasmine Fiore, as they are now going through the hell of burying a woman gone before her time.
I think, for the most part, I’m glad he’s dead.
Case closed.
No political wrangling. No cross-border deliberations on how to best treat a Canadian accused in the heinous death of an American. No footage of a grieving family trying to bring their loved ones killer to justice.
I have been fielding many questions and emails about the recruiting process for the Vancouver Police Department and what the general requirements are to become a police officer. As a result, the FAQ’s section has more links to the VPD’s Recruiting website where most of those questions can be answered.
Some of the questions I have been asked do not relate directly to the application process itself, but are about my experiences in the actual job. Questions like “Do you like your job?” to “Do you regret ever becoming an officer?” to “What is it like to be a woman in what many still consider a male dominated profession?”
Hopefully, by reading this blog, most of those questions can be answered as well. But to take it further, reader ‘Jane Doe’ (I promised I wouldn’t reveal her identity) recently sent me an email. A portion of her letter and my response are copied below, and may fill in a few more of the blanks I am slowly trying to fill.
Dear Constable Sandra Glendinning,
I am looking into a career in policing. I’ve been to information sessions here in Ontario and have spoken to recruiters, but I still feel I am missing some information. I have all the black and white information, but perhaps the gray is missing. Perhaps you can give me some advice.
Do you ever regret entering policing?
What sort of questions should I be asking myself about policing?
Every officer I’ve spoken to here in Ontario say “they like what they do, that there are good days and bad.” They all say for me to go to an information session and then ‘we’ll talk’.
I know a supportive family helps, and I am ready to train and give 100%. Cst. Glendinning, can you give me some insight?
Thank you for your time,
‘Jane Doe’
Here was my response:
Hello Jane,
Thank you for sending your email, and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.
Policing is a career I never regret getting into. I first considered policing after listening to a police woman speak about her job during a ‘Career Night’ at my high school many years ago – Thank you, Linda Stewart. I knew from her stories and my personality that policing would be a good fit.
The officers you have spoken to in Ontario are right – there are good days and then there are bad, just like any other job. But I really do think the good days in policing are better than the good days at other most other places of employment.
Good days in policing are when a call ends well, when a victim is rescued, when a serial robber or rapist is finally caught. Good days in policing happen after officers put not just their energy and experience into solving a case, but also some of their emotion and their heart. Good days are when you really have made a difference in someones life. The elation can last for weeks, and a ‘good’ case usually becomes a favorite to retell years later.
On the flip side, bad days in policing are, for the most part, much worse than those in other jobs. Because of the emotion, blood, sweat and tears put into some cases there are dark days when such a case ends poorly or without the desired result. When a victim is found dead, when a bad guy slips through our net, when an officer is injured or killed. Those are dark days indeed.
Someone once told me that working in K9 would be an extension of that – as K9 officers we experience the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows. I’ve been through both ends of the spectrum, and I can tell you the person who told me that was right. Some of my best moments in policing have been experienced during my time as a K9 officer. Some of my most difficult times have been as a K9 officer as well, but even then, I have never once regretted my career choice. Policing is in my blood, and I could not imagine doing anything else.
So when looking into a career in policing, you have to ask yourself if your personality is a good fit. Are you able to think on your feet? Are you willing to train and work hard and be a team player? Are you able to understand that there will be bad days and that you will have to come up with a coping strategy to get you through them? Are you able to understand that there will also be good days, and those days will be made so much sweeter by the hell you witness on a regular basis?
The rules and laws of Canada are in black and white, but the beauty of policing is all in the shades of gray. Your recruiters are right – go to an info session. Speak to as many officers as you can. Try and get on a ride along (if permitted in your area), or volunteer at the police station. Spend time evaluating your own personality, and if you truly believe you are a good fit for policing, then stick with it.
Best of luck, and thanks for reading,
Sandra
It’s the gray bits everyone wants to know about, but they are also the bits hardest to put into words.
It’s easy to explain why I gave someone a speeding ticket, or why I arrested a person for assault as those are infractions and crimes clearly laid out in our criminal justice system. It’s all the stuff in between the lines that make this job what it is, and often, you have to have been there to be really appreciate the subtleties.
By sharing some of my experiences, which in essence are experiences shared by almost all officers, I’m hoping to bring the ‘have to have been there’ aspect to a bigger audience to show that police officers are regular people who have simply been exposed to more of life’s underbelly.
I’m often asked how I’m able to keep doing this job without becoming overly jaded, biased or cynical.
My answer is this - balance. There is a time for work and a time for play.
Some days, the last place I want to be is at work. Yet on other days, particularly if it has been busy, I don’t want to leave work for fear of missing a big call.
Then there are days like today.
It’s a day off. A day of rest. And as far as my partner is concerned, it’s a day to chase bubbles.
The wind cuts against your bare legs as you struggle to stay balanced in the hell called stilettos. A wisp of clothing covers your breasts, the fabric torn and stitched together with trembling fingers. The full moon rides the sky, seeking sanctuary behind racing storm clouds as you bend towards an open window.
You did not ask for this life, to be treated like this. To be a slave to the desires of those who stop and speak to you, their features cast like stone in the glare of a dome light.
And still, your own needs drive you out to lay waste to a habit that has overcome.
————————-
Vice Squad. Working to put pimps in jail and to get sex trade workers headed towards a life of safety and opportunity.
I will always have time for those who walk our streets, but the pimps are the reason I turned down a position in Vice a few years ago. At the time I could not imagine trying to ‘befriend’ a pimp in an interview. At the time I found their behaviour so incredibly disgusting that I did not trust myself.
#
Last winter, I managed to get into a local coffee bar just before closing. The girl behind the counter asked if I wanted a free sandwich along with my beverage as the sandwiches were at the ’sell by’ date. If I didn’t want one the food was going to end up in the garbage. I could have my pick, she said, as there were half a dozen slated for disposal.
“No, thank you,” I said. I bid her good night, took my coffee and headed out to my police car.
And there I sat.
A minute later, the girl answered my knock at the locked glass door.
“I’d like to take you up on your offer,” I said, “Can I have all of them?”
#
In the following hours I scoured the Downtown Eastside looking for sex trade workers to give the sandwiches to. I couldn’t approach a woman standing in a crowd, as she would surely be beaten for ‘ratting out to the cops’. I checked and rechecked for pimps, not wanting to bring any harm while trying to bring a little good.
It took forever.
Most were grateful. I stayed and chatted with one woman for twenty minutes. Her children were three, six and seven. All wards of the Ministry. She hoped to clean up. I gave her my ear and left her a part of my heart. It still stings.
Another woman ran from me, her eyes huge and her hands pressed up to her face as if I were the proverbial boogie monster come to catch her from under the bed of her childhood.
#
I never drive through the Skids without really looking. I keep track of who is still there, who the newcomers are, and who have fallen to the needle or the serial killer.
Georgina. She had the most wonderful laugh. Hearty and from the belly. She is gone now, as is her friend Teresa. One fell prey, and the other I covered with a sheet, her lifeless body on the floor, the needle marks still fresh in her arm.
#
All of this serves as a reminder – these wome have lives, loved ones, friends and dreams. We had best not forget.
Have you ever wanted to ignore the alarm, roll over, jam the pillow over your head and go back to sleep? If so, you know exactly how I feel every time I have to get up at a set time.
Like yesterday morning.
I had gone to sleep at 8:15 pm the night before, with my alarm set to wake me at 2:45 am. That’s a little earlier than usual but the mornings have been very busy at work, and you know what they say about the ‘early bird’.
Anyways, the alarm went off. I sat up, saw the light was on and that my hubby had woken up as well. He apologised about the light, shut it off and he went back to sleep. I got up, wandered into the kitchen, turned the coffee on, and continued on to the shower.
Apres shower found me staring at the clock, towel wrapped turban style around my head.
10:18 pm.
Damn thing. Time to replace the batteries.
That’s when I looked at my Blackberry, which was perched on my work bag. Its battery was on full charge, and it also said 10:18 pm.
You have got to be kidding.
Just to be sure, I checked another clock and it too did not lie. 10:18 pm.
Good grief. I had only been asleep for two hours. I snuck back into the bedroom and examined both alarm clocks (two shift workers means we each have our own clock). What had awakened me was my dear hubby setting his clock for the next morning as he came to bed. In my sleep-altered state I had mistaken it for my alarm telling me to get up for the day.
With the mystery solved and feeling just a tad bit of glee at being able to hit the sack again, I turned the coffee off, shut the lights out, got back into my pj’s and climbed back into bed. When the alarm went off a few hours later, I made sure to double check the time.
A call of a woman in distress. Asking for help. Very faint. I am in the block.
A concerned neighbour points out the window. A history of health problems, he says, the ambulance is there on a regular basis. He lets me cut through his suite, shows me her door. It is unlocked.
A small apartment at a home for war vets. Dialysis machine on my right, an empty wheelchair on my left.
Her body is on the floor, crumpled by the phone, her legs pinned under the chair. I pull it out of the way to get at her.
I start – she is not pinned. Her legs are gone. From some long passed war.
Lips tinged blue, slack face. Her chest is still. No radial pulse.
The spot on her neck up under her jaw is warm to the touch. Silence under my fingertips.
Roll the ambulance Code Three, then roll her on her back. Take a second to close her robe, give her some dignity.
A two finger count up her sternum, lace my hands together on her chest, lean into it and pump her heart into action. Her body is warm, much different than doing this to a blue plastic training torso.
Radio calls for an update. I keep pumping, blow my hair out of my face. I talk to her, call her sweetheart, tell her to hang on.
Heavy footfalls in the hallway and then in the room. Yellow fire boots at my side.
Relief.
Standing, I move out of the way. Let them take over. Machines are hooked up, the room fills with medical personel.
Another police unit arrives. I slip away, not wanting to be there as she passes on.
#
Hours later, an officer gets a hold me. The woman has pulled through. Critical condition in hospital, but alive.
A weight from my shoulders, a new found respect for those whose job it is to do this everyday. To try and literally save lives with medical intervention.
Today was the Police Service Dog competition at the 2009 World Police & Fire Games. Twenty-two dog teams representing police agencies from as far away as California competed for medals in obedience, agility, box search and protection work.
Ken Greenleaf and PD Vader
In the ‘overall’ category, three teams were awarded the coveted medals for being top dog:
Congrats to all the competitors – it was a fun day to watch, and if the “ooo’s” and “ahhh’s” were any indication, I think the dogs really impressed the crowd. All results will soon be available on the WPFG website under RESULTS (top bar menu).
Personal kudos to Rico and Derrick. These two guys have what it takes – they train hard, they work hard, they play hard. And it shows.
