“A car behind me honked its horn and I noticed that I had slowed down to under thirty miles an hour. It occurred to me that with clever gadgetry you could easily chart the emotional state of a driver from his variations in speed and aggression at the wheel.
I considered the idea of cars having sensors installed which would pick up driving inconsistencies and calculate their cause by reference to some electronic table compiled by a competent psychologist. The data collected from this table would then send signals to a display on the roof.
‘Attention! The driver of this car has just had a terrible row with his wife.’
‘This driver is besotted with his new mistress.’
‘This driver is in a foul bate after being unable to find his spectacles this morning.’
‘This driver is in an even, equatable temper.’ “
I was convinced, as that retired police commissioner used to say, that it would constitute a major contribution to road safety.”
– Stephen Fry, The Hippopotamus
Even in a work of fiction it appears our driving habits are an issue. I simply love the gadget idea as described by Mr. Fry, particularly the bit about having a sensor that picks up on driving inconsistencies. If only it were so easy!
A few years ago a research group conducted a study on VPD officers. On duty officers were hooked up to heart rate and blood pressure monitors, the readings of which were recorded over the course of the entire shift. As expected, heart rate and blood pressure went up, sometimes way up, when officers responded to a priority call and readings remained elevated for quite some time afterwards. I touched on this earlier this year when I attended a medical checkup thirty minutes after being involved in a pursuit. Even though I felt relaxed and calm, my blood pressure was still elevated.
I wonder what Fry’s gadget above my police car would have said?
A study I would like to see is one where the eye movements of police officers are measured to try and get a read on how much of the road in front of them they scan. I know I’m constantly scanning the road ahead of my vehicle looking out for everything from other drivers, pedestrians, cyclists, obstacles and suspects. My scanning goes into overdrive when driving Code Three, where my safety, the safety of other people on the road and the safety of the citizens I’m trying to help is paramount – I’m no use to anyone if I don’t make it to the call because I’ve been involved in an accident.
Then I’d like to see the study compared to a similar one of drivers with a high-crash ratio. What don’t those drivers see? Are they really only looking at the ten foot section of road directly in front of their vehicle? Are they looking at their mp3 player, cell phone or the pretty woman/handsome man on the sidewalk? Or do they sit hunched over their steering wheel staring at the bumper of the car in front of them, completely oblivious to everything around them?
Inquiring minds would like to know.
Now that it’s Christmas Eve I thought I’d share a few heartwarming stories from Christmas’s past:
- One year while working in the Downtown Eastside on Christmas Day, my partner and I wore Santa hats for the duration of our shift. Approved head wear? Not in the least, but the hats scored us some big points with the area residents.
- Another year my squad mates and I helped deliver food hampers to families in need. It was a pretty cool day. All of the families were amazing, and one little old couple had set up an entire miniature Christmas town in their apartment in the Skeena Terrace area. We were invited back for a cup of tea on the condition we extended the invitation to all the other officers working that night. Over the course of the next few days at least thirty officers filed through their apartment to admire their handiwork. The couple were over the moon.
- The amount of volunteers who come out to serve up dinner to hundreds in the less affluent areas of town is simply amazing. If we were all so giving this world would be a different place.
- Early on one snowy Christmas morning, I swear I heard the jingle of sleigh bells above our house. The heavy snow must have attributed to the acoustics because I think the bells were tinkling from far up in the sky.
- Have you ever seen a dog play in the snow? Well, you should have seen my dog the first time he saw it. He went from police-dog-in-training to a complete goof ball in about three seconds flat.
- And of course, the best thing about Christmas is watching the kid’s eyes when they get up in the morning and see their stockings.
Do you have a good story from Christmas? If you do, please feel free to share! Your story/memory doesn’t have to be related to police work (as you can see from above a few of mine have nothing to do with my job), Just something that gives you a warm feeling inside your chest.
To everyone, have a very Merry Christmas!
My first eight years as a police officer were spent working in the Downtown Eastside. Besides being a community with a diverse population it is one that deals with drug use, criminal activity and prostitution. But even in amongst all of this there are good people, great people, who call this area home. By happenstance or by choice, some of them simply do not have a roof over their heads.
One of the first lessons I learned as a new officer was to treat everyone with dignity and respect, regardless of the area you were assigned to. When I look back on the lessons learned from my more senior and experienced squad mates an excellent example comes to mind.
One winter night my trainer and I stepped out of the Vancouver jail, which exited into the t-lane directly behind the police station on Main Street. Up at the far end of the lane I could just make out the silhouette of an officer pushing a man in a wheelchair and asked my trainer what the officer was doing.
My trainer explained the man in the wheelchair, John (not his real name), was well known in the Downtown Eastside as being an easygoing, affable man, and one who chose to live on the street. When the cold proved to be too much for his aging body, John would wheel himself into the lane behind the station and, lacking the strength to wheel himself up the steep incline, would wait near a ramp.
Before long, an officer coming out of the jail would see him and would help by pushing John up the incline so he could position his wheelchair under a vent at the top. Warm air blowing from the vent would envelope John, allowing him to ride out the night chill.
He had been doing this for a long time, my trainer said, and if the officer ahead of us hadn’t been there it would have us pushing John to the top. When asked, my trainer did not know why John didn’t go to a shelter, saying, “Maybe he doesn’t want to.”
A few hours later we stopped in to check on him only to find other officers had just come and gone, proof of which was the steaming styrofoam cup clasped between John’s hands. He gave us a toothy grin when we walked by, and we raised a hand in return.
By morning, John was gone from the ramp and on to whatever he did during the day, taking with him the dignity of his own choices.
Christmas is a season filled with a sense of purpose for gift-giving. Citizens donate food and clothing, corporations give money to charities and those with little financial backing give of their time to ensure the less fortunate have a hot turkey dinner on the 25th of December.
Of all this, I’ve been there to witness the act of giving, and not just during the holiday season.
When I was first on the job my partner and I responded to a call of a domestic disturbance. Neighbors called in to report the husband and wife in the next apartment were having a heck of a row with much throwing of dishes and audible crying. The ruckus had calmed down by the time we got there and we found a man and woman sitting on the couch in deep conversation. Only the dried tears on both their faces and the pots and pans littering the kitchen floor gave a hint at the tension only then dissipating.
The couple were clearly upset about something and as we started to talk to them, two small children crept out of a near by bedroom and crawled into their parent’s laps. Their big eyes and thumbs tucked firmly into mouths made my heart break a little, and it quickly became apparent that even though this family had very little, what they did have was looked after with love. The children were well fed and clean in their hand-me-down clothes. The apartment was neat and tidy, the floors were swept and the few pictures on the walls were of their family.
It wasn’t until the father, while clasping his wife’s hand and kissing the top of the head of the child in his lap, broke down in sobs that we knew this wasn’t a regular call. His wife was able to tell us her husband had been laid off work, he had an injury preventing him from seeking different employment, and money for necessities had run out. She held her husband’s hand tight in hers and pointed to a box on the table, telling us to look inside.
What we saw were five diapers. When we looked back at her, the mother told us those were all the diapers they had left. There was no more baby food, groceries, or change left to wash the few cloth diapers they had, and they still had to get though another seven days before they could apply for emergency funds through the Ministry.
My partner spent the next half and hour talking to the father, man to man, while the mother gave me a tour of their small apartment. Indeed, it was obvious this couple lived for their children and made no excuses for their predicament. The mother said her husband would have to stay home with the kids while she looked for work and this arrangement was what had led to their loud and vocal disagreement. He did not think it right that he could not provide for his family. She said they had no choice. She either went to work or they would end up homeless.
By the time we left the small apartment a sense of calm had returned. The father put his arm around his wife and kissed her cheek, saying he was okay with being Mr. Mom for a while.
Back in the patrol car my partner and I were silent. Here was a family trying to make it, to provide for their children, to make an honest living against some pretty steep odds, and we were essentially helpless to do anything other than give them our temporary emotional support. So when my partner pulled the car to a stop in front of a store and got out, I thought it was to take a minute so we could grab a coffee and debrief the call.
Without a word, my partner entered the store but instead of heading to the coffee bar he went into the aisles. For the next few minutes I followed him around as he filled his shopping basket with baby food, diapers, wipes, coffee, and canned food. My repeated questions as to what he was doing went unanswered, so I simply held out my arms to take the second box of diapers he pulled down off the shelf. A lump formed in my throat because I knew exactly what he was up to.
Half an hour later, weighed down by boxes and bags of supplies, we were back at the family’s apartment. The couple was shocked to see us and tried to refuse the items my partner placed on their table, but a shake of my partner’s head told them he was leaving everything for them.
“This is not an act of charity,” my partner told them, “but an opportunity for you to make it through the next seven days.”
My partner expected them to find work, whatever type of job they could handle, and to continue to be the loving parents they so obviously were.
The father, his eyes now dry, took my partner’s hand in both of his and issued a silent a thank you. There was a subtle tilt to the man’s chin, one that read of confidence renewed.
For me? My confidence was renewed as well, not because of what my fellow officers have to do, but for what they don’t have to and yet still do.
There is a big difference between Prairie snow and West Coast snow.
Prairie snow is fluffy, dry and fairly easy to drive in. Unless, of course, the weather plummets to -28 C with relentless wind resulting in limited visibility like it was today in Calgary, Alberta. In that case it’s the rest of Mother Nature’s fury you have to deal with.
Then there is West Coast snow.
The blankets of white are gorgeous for about 24 hours before the tinges and splashes of grey slush take over. Our snow, at least down near sea level, is heavy, wet and slippery. It’s hell to drive in and wrecks havoc when temperatures drop below zero turning everything into an Olympic size skating rink.
Vancouver drivers tend to be the laughing stock of Canada when it snows. Prairie folk and those from out East poke fun at our inability to drive in only one centimeter of the white stuff. Yes, a lot of drivers need to slow down when it snows, and just because a person is behind the wheel of a four wheel drive or an all wheel drive vehicle does not make them immune to slipping and sliding all over the road. But it’s not just the drivers, it’s the snow!
Our snow is like the evil little step-child of the Canadian snow family – at first glance it’s pretty in all it’s sparkling splendor, but before you can say, “How charming!” the evil little step-child has turned the road beneath your wheels into a merry-go-round with no way for you to get off the ride.
Today saw the first snowfall of the season and I woke to a snow-covered neighborhood. The road in front of our house was packed solid. My truck’s four wheel drive and appropriate tires came in handy, but I still putted down the street knowing I could end up in the ditch if I wasn’t careful.
Remember the stop sign by my house? You’ll never guess what happened there this afternoon.
If I was a game show host and your guess was ‘an accident’, you would be going home a winner. Someone was going too fast, couldn’t stop at the stop sign, slid through the intersection and t-boned a neighbour of ours. No one was hurt but both vehicles sustained significant damage and had to be towed away.
So please, forget about our Prairie and East Coast friends laughing at us. Because really, they can’t laugh at our inability to drive in this snow until they’ve come out here and tried it themselves.
Just slow down, ensure your vehicle is properly equipped for winter driving, take your corners with care, watch out for pedestrians forced into the roadway by snowed-in sidewalks, don’t slam on the brakes at the top of a snow covered hill and take extra time to get to your destination.
With a little patience and a lot of care we will all get to where we need to go.
“Chief Dispatcher to all units, we have a report of a robbery in progress at the Post Office located in XXX Mall. Reports are there is a male suspect inside the premise with a gun.”
Multiple units responded as dispatch kept us updated with what was happening. Several people were inside the Post Office when a man walked in, pulled out a gun and started to scream at the cashier to hand over the money. The customers could not get out as the gunman had them all under his control, but thankfully, the gunman wasn’t looking to take hostages and he had not chosen that particular day to make his stand against the world.
Once the cashier filled his bag with all the money available from the safe, the gunman burst out through the door and ran away, quickly disappearing around the side of the building.
A short time later my cell phone shrilled from my duty bag sitting on the passenger seat. Almost without exception I ignore my phone when on the way to a call, but this time, for some reason, I groped around on the seat, located my phone and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“It’s mom! A man had a gun! At the Post Office!”
My breath wooshed out as if I’d been punched in the gut and I peppered mom with questions.
“Where are you? Are you safe? Did you call 911?”
Mom was able to answer affirmative to all of the above. Thank God for small miracles.
————
My mother had gone to the Post Office and was waiting in line when a young man came through the door. Mom said she thought the young man worked there as he walked in like he owned the place. Mom even moved out of the way to allow him access the counter.
Then, to my mother’s horror, the young man lifted up his shirt, removed a silver handgun from his waistband and pointed it at the head of the woman behind the counter.
Knowing her day had gone from routine to very, very bad, mom turned on her heel, took two quick steps and pushed out through the door. She was the only to make it out of the Post Office and she said she likely got away with it because the man’s attention was on the cashier. When outside she realized her cell phone was still in her car so mom hurried to the parking lot while warning others to stay away from the Post Office as there was a man inside with a gun.
A minute later the 911 call taker asked her if the suspect was still there, but from where mom was seated in her car she could not see into the Post Office. So mom started up her car and changed her location in the lot to get a better view.
“No, he’s gone. He’s not inside the Post Office anymore. I don’t know where he is or where he went.”
And with that, my mom told the call taker she was leaving the parking lot as there was a mad gunman running around somewhere and she didn’t feel like being carjacked.
————
Knowing my mom had been one of the up close witnesses to the robbery was very unsettling.
According to statistics, I am the person in my family most at risk for not coming home at the end of my shift. Well, truthfully, my husband is at a high risk as well, but his adversaries are heat, fire, and collapsing buildings, not armed suspect intent on doing him harm.
Even though officers respond to similar calls as this one on a weekly basis, knowing a family member is involved always changes the dynamics of how we treat these calls. Our family members are not suppose to be witnesses to armed robberies. Our loved ones are not supposed to be victimized – it just goes against everything we as officers train for and upsets the balance many of us feel we have gained by offering our services in exchange for the safety of our families. Rational thought? Not really, but it’s the way many of us feel.
In this case, no one was physically injured and my mom now has an exciting story to tell. But it still socks it home that life is so incredibly fragile and unpredictable.
A friend of mine sent me an email with this photo attached – some fellow says he out did himself this year with his Christmas decorations, but he ended up having to take down the fake ‘person’ as too many people were trying to rescue ‘him’, including one 55 year old lady who just about killed herself trying to lift a 75 lb ladder. Apparently, the police told him to take the ‘person’ down, as ‘he’ was going to cause an accident.
I’m not sure if the story is true, but the photo brought to my friend’s mind a call we both attended to just before Halloween.
The call came in to 911 from a frantic citizen about a body hanging from a tree. The caller was hysterical, and even though the police department, fire department and paramedics were on the way, the caller refused to go near the body to check how the person was doing. It looked like a suicide by hanging, but because the tree was located on a residential street, we all knew the suicide had likely just happened and the troops were en masse.
As luck would have it I was very close to the call and ended up being the first one there. My heart did a little double-step in my chest when the body came in to view – the feet were dangling six feet above the ground and the body was swaying gently as if finally coming to rest from a violent death. I parked and was in a full sprint towards the tree when the upper portion of the ‘corpse’ came into view.
Instead of a ghastly swollen human face staring down at me, there was a tiny little pumpkin head with a painted jack o’lantern grin.
Good one.
Even the officers in the next car to arrive (my friend who sent me the email) were convinced the body was real until they saw the pumpkin face.
The original caller to 911, still parked down the street in his truck, was disgusted and relieved the body was a fake. He left the area, angry that someone would play such a cruel joke, saying, “Stuff like this is hard on my heart.”
The actual owners of the body lived in the house adjacent to the tree. Indeed, their house was completely decorated for the occasion, and they were shocked their Halloween prop had caused such a stir. They had not intended for anyone to think the body was real, which was evident by the pumpkin head. We told them to take it down for fear of someone else would injure themselves by trying to save pumpkin-man. A compromise was reached, and they laid the body down in their front yard.
I always love a good joke and can always appreciate the unique flair some show when getting their homes ready for the holidays, and I do think the attached photo is hilariously ingenious. But sometimes, decorations can be too realistic for everyone’s good.
The passing of one of our beloved police dogs always leaves a hole in the Vancouver Police K9 section, and in the last year, several retired dogs have passed over to Rainbow Bridge.
While most expect the dog’s handler to be devastated, many do not realize the impact these four legged officers have on the handler’s loved ones. These dogs are not just working animals, they are an important part in the everyday lives of the entire family.
Retired PD Jake recently lost his short battle with a very aggressive form of cancer. Not only did his handler grieve when PD Jake died, but so did his wife. When faced with early retirement as a result of a back injury, Jake became Lori’s dog and learned to turn the title of ‘In Service Police Dog’ over to his handler’s new partner, PD Teak. The two dogs even became buddies with one ruling the roost at home while the other continued to serve the citizens of Vancouver.
You may wonder why I’m going on about Jake when at other times I pay only a short tribute when a police dog dies. Well, you see, Jake was a part of my family as well. From the time he was a seven week old ball of fluff with needle teeth to the time he was ready to train as a police dog, Jake lived with my family. He spent his days playing with our young children, terrorizing the cat and chewing every single shrub in our garden. He was a complete joy to have around.
He was also one hell of a police dog.
In his first year of service PD Jake was responsible for 49 arrests, with a final total of 150 arrests by the time he was forced to retire. His will to catch bad guys never wavered, only his body’s ability to do so did. Even then, his friendly disposition made him a favorite for dog shows, and he seemed to love the attention of a dozen little hands petting him when surrounded by children.
PD Jake – you will never be forgotten.
Jake at 8 wks
Yesterday afternoon I met with other police officers in one of our local coffee houses.
As I waited in line I had a brief conversation with the very nice man behind me about the Lakewood Police Department tragedy. He made the comment that officers had better have guns drawn simply to go for coffee, even in Vancouver, and he thanked me for the service the Vancouver Police Department gave on a daily basis.
A few minutes later, I was seated at a table with three male officers. The similarities in victimization was not lost on us, and I reached down to knock on the wooden chair leg beneath me.
To all officers out there - stay safe, stay alert, and do not for one minute let your guard down.
To the families, comrades and friends of the four fallen officers, the thoughts and prayers of the men and women of the VPD are with you in this very difficult time.
To Sgt. Mark Renniger, Officer Ronald Owens, Officer Tina Griswold and Officer Greg Richards - may you rest in peace.
