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.
How appropriate that the traditional gift on a one year anniversary is one of paper.
Today marks one year with Behind the Blue Line, a concept first dreamed about and then brought to fruition.
Even though this blog is read online, the writing itself stems from a need to indulge in the written word, to let flow onto ‘paper’ the thoughts and experiences that shape a profession, and to prove without a doubt the officers of the Vancouver Police Department are good people.
The stories I’ve shared could be told a dozen times over with the names of other officers in the place of mine and perhaps with only a slight change to the circumstances. My stories are not unique, only the telling is.
Policing is a calling, not just a career. I really do hope I’ve made this clear.
I love my job. Most officers I know love their jobs. Even though we often feel under-appreciated and under attack from various levels of the citizenry, we do this job knowing the world is a better place because of it. We are aware of the silent majority who support us and every thankyou and kind word does not go unnoticed.
Indeed, they stay with us always.
This blog started out with tentative baby steps. I felt my way through media reports, current news topics and stories based on experiences from my days at work. I initially tried to blog every day but this proved to be too difficult with a very demanding full-time job. To compromise, I’ve settled into writing 2-3 times a week, which seems to suit most people just fine.
What became abundantly clear was readers (you) had little interest in news they could read/watch elsewhere. Instead, readers wanted the raw story of what happens to an officer behind the wheel of a police car, what happens when a citizen in need calls 911, and what happens behind the blue line that is policing.
From the time I’ve started this blog I’ve discovered there are those who think police officers should not write about their daily happenings, that to do so is sacrilege. I’ve received hate mail and rude comments.
But I’ve also learned there is a great need for people not exposed to the world of policing to be given a front row seat so they may better understand what it is we do and why we do it, because with understanding comes acceptance.
To balance the negative and positive I share what I can and there are topics I will simply not write about – undercover work, current projects, departmental politics or significant news events like the Dziekanski Taser incident. Other stories, ones that will not compromise the safety of my fellow officers, are the ones I can share.
Of those stories told over the last year, the following have garnered the most attention:
Hopefully, the end result of a year’s work is that the curtain has been pulled back, just a little, to allow you a glimpse into what life as a police officer is like.
Thank you to the Vancouver Police Department for their support, to Rob at iContext.com for taking care of the technical and design aspects of the blog and being there for every question I’ve had, and to the Vancouver Sun for choosing to run with some of the topics covered here and for giving me the opportunity of joining their writing team.
My biggest thanks go to you, the reader, for without your continued support and interest this blog would have fallen. Your emails and comments are a measure officers can judge themselves against in hopes of never falling short.
And most of all, thank you for your acceptance of police officers everywhere.
“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
– Martin Luther King, Jr.
When I first started with policing, one of my trainers said something I’ve never forgotten. It was such a valuable piece of wisdom that I repeat it to every recruit who comes out with me for a shift.
“You will see bits of yourself in many officers. Take what is good about the differing styles of police work, and combine them to make your own style – just remember to be yourself.”
One such recruit came out with me about three years ago. She impressed me that night, with her six weeks of police experience, and ever since I’ve paid attention to how she acts when I find myself at one of her calls.
I see a bit of myself in how this police woman conducts herself – she’s confident, calm, street smart, and doesn’t take any crap. She’s also fair.
But for all those similarities, I see what her makes her even better. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself, or the way she deals with suspects, or the way she interacts with the public, but when I observe her working, I learn things. Even though I’ve more than a decade of seniority on her, I find I still learn when observing officers like her. She’s a hell of a good cop.
Of course, now that I’ve written this post, everyone’s going to be trying to figure out who I’m talking about. Comrades close to me know who she is as I’ve told them to pay attention to her work ethic, so I’m not going to embarrass her by identifying her.
Let it be enough that she is an example for all officers, and she stands out just that little bit because she’s such a solid cop. If you’ve had the good fortune to work around her, you know exactly who I’m talking about.
There are many officers like her in this department, so don’t be surprised if you ask me who she is and I reply by giving you a police man’s name who has her same work ethic. I could have used the example of a few police men for their spectacular work habits and the way they too are role models for newer officers, but I’ve been waiting to say,
“You go, girl!”
It’s amazing how well some people can hold it all together until the last possible minute.
Yesterday morning I stopped a car with the suspicion the driver was impaired. He was impaired all right, but not by alcohol. ‘John’ had various narcotics racing through his system, and even at 0600 hrs, he was a jittering and a jiving.
John did his best to not twitch his way off the sidewalk once I asked him to step out of his vehicle. His eyes, which were wide open and the size of hard boiled eggs, seemed to want to pop clear out of his head – thank God they didn’t, as that might have sent me screaming off into the dark. His hands fluttered around like two small birds, as if trying to escape into the early morning sky, and he kept them pressed together at his waist in an effort to stem the flurry of activity.
John’s conversation was very sincere, and he told me the only drug he had consumed was his doctor prescribed Percocet. As if his admission made it okay. The painkiller has several side effects, including restlessness, nervousness, and a flushed face to name a few (thank you, Google).
I suspected John had added at least one street drug to his system based on the evidence clearly visible inside of his car, but by then, I didn’t need more proof - John’s ability to drive was impaired well beyond any test I could administer.
He took his driving prohibition in stride – almost with a sense of relief. Once he had his slip of blue paper in hand and was watching his vehicle get towed, John gave up trying to hold it together. He relaxed and let his hands fly about and let his body do what it wanted to do, which was twitch, and bend, and make sudden jerky movements.
Now that he no longer had to pretend to be sober, he let it all hang out and it was shocking – John’s behaviour was the type I think every preteen and adolescent considering their first joint or crack pipe or line of coke needs to see first hand.
I was sorry I was unable to film him, to show him at a sober moment what drugs do to a person. Because, really, he was one of those people freshly caught in the downward spiral of drug use - he was driving an expensive car, had expensive things, but was already hooked on at least two drugs, not including the Percocet, responsible for the deaths of hundreds. If he gets no help, he’ll lose it all in months, if not weeks.
It was not without a pang of frustration and sadness that I sent John safely on his way. I watched his departing back, his white jacket soon the only thing visible in the gloom. His jacket twitched to the side as if jerked by a maniacal puppeteer, and John stooped into the gutter in search of a cigarette butt, and then finally, he disappeared from view.
I want to help people like John, but the problem is just so huge and I’ve no idea where to start.
A certain part of our society is always in danger of slipping through the web of services, assistance and care designed to keep people healthy, functioning and safe. Be it because of mental health issues, lack of economic income or by choice, this percentage of our citizenry is constantly monitored.
But still, they slip through, even if only for a short time.
Years ago, my partner and I were sent on a call to cover our Mental Health Car, a unit pairing of a police officer and a mental health nurse. They were checking up on a patient who had been deemed ‘appropriate for outside living’ as long as he was monitored bi-weekly. The unit had received a call from the building manager of the rooming house where the man lived, complaining of the weird noises and smell coming from the man’s room.
Upon our arrival at the front desk, it was clear the manager was glad to see all of us. He further explained that he had not been able to get John (not his real name, but it’ll do for this post) to answer his door in the last several days. With only a sink and no toilet facilities in the room, the manager said the reek coming out from the room was horrible.
John’s room was up two flights of stairs in the T of a long hallway and as we approached my partner turned to me, his nose wrinkled in disgust. We were still 20 ft from John’s door and the manager was right – the stench was awful and I feared John might be dead.
We gathered outside and stood quiet for a few moments. From the other side of the door was a faint buzzing, like a radio tuned to static. The nurse knocked and called out John’s name. The only answer was the muffled shuffle of something moving along the floor, so the nurse knocked again. Nothing. Just another bump.
Taking the key from the manager, one of us unlocked the door, calling out John’s name and telling him we were the Mental Health Car and the police. As the door swung open the stench from inside exploded out in a black cloud. Flies. Hundreds of them.
Not a good sign. So imagine the look my partner gave me when a man’s voice croaked out from inside the room.
John was very much alive.
Tucked into a corner, sitting with his knees bent up to his chin, was John. He looked to have been in the same spot for days; the floor beneath him was stained with urine and feces. His were clothes stiff and filthy. Flies buzzed about him, alighting on his arms and face. The room was in complete disarray, with food rotting in the sink, garbage littered everywhere, and what must have been a honey bucket, tipped over and spilling it’s rancid contents across the floor in a splash. I had never seen such conditions before (or since), and that someone could actually survive for days was a wonder of human tenacity.
The nurse, paying no attention to the smell, went forward, bending low so as not to startle John. The nurse was a big man with a gentle spirit, and he softened his deep tenor voice to speak soothing words to John. In the same way music tames a wild beast, his voice had the same effect on John, and John’s eyes blinked alive.
________________
The smell of death ingrains itself into your skin, your hair, and your clothing. Even after a shower and a change of clothes, the odor of decaying flesh lingers in your sinuses. In this case, John was still with us, and was transported to a hospital for treatment of the gangrenous wounds to his legs caused by poor health and hygiene.
I drove home that night, deep in thought about the future of humanity when such atrocities exist among us. John had slipped through the cracks.
We must do better by one another.
We must.
Being a police officer is an undertaking. Wearing a badge and a gun is not a job to take lightly; doing so can get you killed. You must always be alert and prepared, ready to take action if needed.
But there’s so much more to it than that – policing is not quite like what the shows on TV would have you believe. It’s not all about car chases, shoot-outs and CSI. Even though hot calls still roll in, they tend to be the exception not the rule.
There’s an entire other side to policing, one that doesn’t get as much attention – the life of an officer while off-duty.
Most officers realize how they conduct themselves while not on the current day’s payroll is just as important as how they conduct themselves while wearing the uniform. Of course, there will always be the officer who forgets this and ends up on the evening news, and it is at times like these other officers must remind themselves that they are human, too. People make mistakes – police officers just have to try harder not to make them.
Being a police officer also has greater implications on lifestyle. You are always aware of who your friends are, who you associate with, and the places you frequent. You have to.
You choose friends who live by similar values and who do not judge you for what you do for a living. Your personal and business associates live and work by the same code you do. The places you frequent are pro-family and pro-community.
These ‘rules’, or ’standards’, are not unique to police officers. Most citizen’s strive to live by some sort of code and hold dear to them their importance.
It’s just that as a police officer you have to be hyper vigilant. Some might find this exhausting, but to not be totally and completely aware of who your friends are can be a career-killer.
The police radio is my life-line. Whether it’s on my belt or mounted in the work truck, my radio keeps me tied to other officers, and more importantly, to the dispatcher. When a call goes sideways or gets a little haywire I know help is only one broadcast away.
When another police unit calls for cover and I can tell by the sound of the officer’s voice that all is definitely not okay my heart does a whump-whump. When this happens, the dispatcher gives out the officer’s location, a supervisor usually confirms it and tells other units to get there, and a few units might broadcast their response so the officer calling for help knows it’s coming. Everyone else just goes.
Much worse is when an officer calls for help but makes no additional broadcasts. The lack of updates is deafening, and I know the speed of my vehicle gets exponentially faster with every passing second of silence when I’m responding to such a call.
But while I have the benefit of arriving at the call and and physically seeing the officer, the dispatcher does not. After responding units arrive at the scene there are very few radio updates with the exception of someone eventually saying everything is under control and for additional units to slow down. The lack of updates is not intentional; it’s because cover officers have their hands full. Once the situation is under control, officers usually debrief whatever happened at the roadside. Sans radio, so the dispatcher only knows that the officer is okay, but not what happened.
That would drive me batty – hearing a crazy call is worse than being right in the middle of one. If appropriate, I call the dispatcher afterwards and let them know what happened so they can form some type of ground to deal with whatever they just heard.
The last full moon was Sunday, June 7th. The days leading up to and away from a full moon are usually busy. People do weird things and crimes get a little more violent. This week was no exception.
- Jun 9th – 18 year old Yeon Chul Peter Lee was arrested and charged with theft over $5000, aggravated assault and unlawful confinement after he allegedly attacked a man. The male victim is recovering from several slash wounds after he arranged to meet and show Lee his car-for-sale. At some point during the meeting, Lee allegedly struck the victim with a blunt object, choked him and then slashed his face, neck and chest. In a bizarre twist, Lee then drove the victim (in the victim’s car no less) to the hospital, after which Lee made off with the car. Lee was arrested when he returned home a few hours later.
- June 10th – 30 year old Daniel Kesselring was the 39th person to be flown back to his home province courtesy of our Con Air program. He was arrested in Vancouver after fleeing numerous weapons charges from Waterloo, Ontario.
- June 11th – Vancouver recorded its 14th homicide of 2009 after 28 year old Jefferey Qi Feng Bian was fatally stabbed in a Yaletown apartment. Anyone with information is asked to call investigators at (604)717-2500, or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-222-8477.
- June 11th – two men, age 19 and 22, are in custody after a violent robbery at the 7-11 convenience store located at 6904 Victoria Dr. During the robbery the suspects brandished pepper spray and knife (the clerk was not hurt), but were taken into custody a short time later.
As for the full-moon theory? Some say it’s complete hogwash, that the theory has not stood up to the test of numerous studies saying there is no correlation between the lunar phase and the rates of homicide/traffic accidents/violent altercations/increased emergency room admissions etc, etc.
I beg to differ. Things are always a little wacko when the moon is full.
When the only ones out on the streets are cops and robbers (and those pesky newspaper delivery people…), you cannot help but notice the subtle tension underneath it all when the moon turns her round face towards the earth and shines down on us all.
This post is past due, but after having spent the last several days in an area with no access to modern technology (internet connection, cell phones, television, radio – heck, I couldn’t even get a newspaper, and it was glorious), I’m a little behind on what has been going on in the GVRD. Being in the backwoods of Beautiful British Columbia has that effect on people…
So instead of re-capping the week’s police related news, I’m going to comment on the differences between policing in a major urban center and policing in a rural environment.
My experiences as a police officer for the VPD are going to be very similar to those of officers working for the larger departments across this country. Every day, I am surrounded by dozens and sometimes hundreds of Vancouver police officers, all of us doing what we do best.
We rest assured knowing our comrades are there beside us, and that help is only a few moments away should we need it. We are highly trained, but there are experts readily available if we have a question. We have the experience to back up tactical decisions, but we have the resources of a full time ERT/SWAT section to turn to when a situation dictates a higher response. We are known for always searching out the facts, but we have the best investigators leading our important files.
Then there are police officers who work in very small towns or with very small detachments. Often, these members are the only officer working on a shift. They are the first responder, the tactical decision maker, and the investigator all at the same time.
Last year, I listened to a presentation given by one such officer. This police officer spoke of getting transferred to a one-member detachment in Canada’s far North. The ground was frozen under three feet of permanent snow, transportation was via snow mobile, and all supplies were flown in. It was described as an experience like no other.
The officer reflected back on early meetings with many of the town’s five hundred citizens, most of which were positive and neighborly in the way those of us from the big cities would like to think they would be; the giving of welcoming gifts, a promise of help with the shoveling of snow, an invitation for dinner and coffee.
Then there was one introduction when the officer realized just how lonely a one-member detachment can be.
In a bout of drunkenness, a few of the locals arrived at the officers home in the middle of the night. There was much yelling and door hammering and calling to come out and ‘fight like a man’. The inebriated group continued their barrage of insults and intimidation, eventually losing interest when they thought the officer was not home.
But the officer had been home – armed with a shotgun, barricaded in a room, and unable to radio for help.
You might ask yourself, “Why didn’t the officer just tell them to bug off?”, or “Why didn’t the officer just ignore them?”
I’ll tell you why – the officer was a woman.
Kinda changes the dynamics a bit, doesn’t it?
The officer kept her wits about her, and did what she had to do. She realized there would be no reasoning with a bunch of drunk men, so she sat as quiet as a church mouse and waited for them to leave, which they eventually did.
Smart girl.
This officer’s story put it all in perspective. I work in a big city. I have the luxury of knowing I am never really alone when I’m at work. Any one of my fellow officers would drop whatever it was they were doing if I needed help and called for it. If I had a group of drunks on my front porch trying to goad me into coming out to ‘fight like a man’, my one phone call would have the calvary coming at full charge. Not because the responding officers know me personally, or have worked with me, or are friends of mine, but because we all wear the same uniform.
It also makes me wish I had been there to help out with the other officer’s midnight welcome wagon.
“The greatest test of courage is to bear defeat without losing heart.”
– Robert G. Ingersoll
Again, this applies to what the police do. We do not ‘win’ in every case we investigate, or every crime scene we process. But if we are not successful, we hold our heads up high and learn from our mistakes, knowing that if we make mistakes, at least we are trying to do the best we can and are pushing our own limits in the process.
