All cops should have written a book, it would be stranger than fiction, more passionate than
a love story, funnier than the best comedy act, a real tear jerker novel, the stories and the lies that were told, and yes
the GOOD times we had as cops.
We are just a bunch of cops sitting around with a couple of “CHILLIES” (cold
beer) talking trash, cop stories, war stories and some true confessions. Tell it all…..Brother....... Get it off
your chest, we are all waiting...
The difference between a fairy tale and a Police war story:
One starts out "Once upon a time"
The other starts off "You guys ain't going to believe this CRAP"
My old grandpa said to me son, 'there comes a time in every mans
life when he stops bustin' knuckles and starts bustin' caps and
usually it's when he becomes too old to take an ass whoopin'.
I don't carry a gun to kill people. I carry a gun to keep from being
killed.
I don't carry a gun to scare people. I carry a gun because sometimes
this world can be a scary place.
I don't carry a gun because I'm paranoid. I carry a gun because
there are real threats in the world.
I don't carry a gun because I'm evil. I carry a gun because I have
lived long enough to see the evil in the world.
I don't carry a gun because I hate the government. I carry a gun
because I understand the limitations of government.
I don't carry a gun because I'm angry. I carry a gun so that I don't
have to spend the rest of my life hating myself for failing to be
prepared.
I don't carry a gun because I want to shoot someone. I carry a gun
because I want to die at a ripe old age in my bed, and not on a
sidewalk somewhere tomorrow afternoon.
I don't carry a gun because I'm a cowboy. I carry a gun because,
when I die and go to heaven, I want to be a cowboy.
I don't carry a gun to make me feel like a man. I carry a gun
because men know how to take care of themselves and the ones they
love.
I don't carry a gun because I feel inadequate. I carry a gun because
unarmed and facing three armed thugs, I am inadequate.
I don't carry a gun because I love it. I carry a gun because I love
life and the people who make it meaningful to me.
Police Protection is an oxymoron. Free citizens must protect
themselves.
Police do not protect you from crime, they usually just investigate
the crime after it happens and then call someone in to clean up the
mess.
Personally, I carry a gun because I'm too young to die and too old
to take an ass whoopin'.
'Be who you are and say what you feel...Because those that
matter...don't mind...And those that mind...don't matter.
Actual stories furnish by some of Baltimore’s Finest.
Enjoy, I hope the statute of limitations has expired on some of these incidents.
STORY 1
While working a midnight shift an officer was caught by one of his side partners sleeping
in the wee hours of the morning. Several squad members were gathered to watch as Bernie Sullivan, God rest his soul, was about
to be lit up, LITERALLY.
One of the guys sneaked up on Bernie and poured lighter fluid across his windshield,
torched it and then began hollering and screaming and banging on the car doors for Bernie to wake up. Imagine waking up to
a wall of fire!!!!
It’s a wonder Bernie did not have a heart attack.
Bernie was fine, the car was fine, and Burnie from then on slept with one eye open.
STORY 2
Sundays were traditionally slow especially on day shift.
After roll call several of us would meet behind a school for coffee and donuts and to read
the paper.
I was elected to get the coffee & donuts another was chosen to get the Sunday paper.
While I was getting 4 coffees and donuts, one of my
good buddies was filling my car door handles with jelly. I believe it was our 1972 Fords had the door handles that you had
to reach in and pull up.
Imagine juggling 4 coffees and a box of donuts, you
reach for the door handle and wind up with slimy jelly on your hand. Almost lost all the goodies, but managed to preserve
the POLICE FOOD, OK.
Later that day I found the car of my buddy that I suspected
of sliming my door handle. His car was parked and unlocked. I took several Sunday newspapers, balled them up and filled his
car from ceiling to floor, front to back.
He learned to lock his radio car, and I learned to check
my door handles.
STORY 3
One early morning while working the wagon in the Southeast Dist, received a 10-14, don’t
remember exactly where, upon my arrival observed an officer with 2 black female arrest.
They were placed in the wagon and transported to the Northeast Dist. (woman’s
detention) Upon arrival both were taken before the desk Sergeant who was apparently extremely busy working the cross word
puzzle. With just barely a glance he said Officer they belong in your district, they are not what you think they are, they
got adam’s apples. Both of the so called females broke out laughing.
They were quickly placed back in the wagon for the ride of their lives back to the proper
district . Needless to say both lost their wigs and crushed maybe a few other things along the way. They were not laughing
upon arrival at the Southeast District. BOOKED as 2 black males………
STORY 4
Leon
One day, as I attempted to enter the
old Northern District Station House, which many of you will remember had an enclosed unroofed area, whose entrance was on
34th street, I walked by Leon, who was talking with a bunch of other cops.
We were always doing odd things to each
other, to get a laugh, and as I walked by him, he took my nightstick from its holder, and threw it all the way down the other
end of the yard. He then stood there, and simply smiled.
Now Leon stood about 6/4, and at that time weight about 240lbs.
Not someone a 5/10 140 lb guy argues with. So I just turned around and walked down the yard and got the stick.
When
I came back, Leon had gone into the men’s room, which had an open window through which you could observe anyone inside.
He was standing at the urinal, with his manhood in his hand, looking at the ceiling.
Now this being in the early part
of July, and myself having some confiscated cherry bombs in my pocket, and a lit cigarette in my mouth, the temptation to
retaliate was simply too great to resist. After all, one good deed deserves another, and since the same group of cops were
still standing there, waiting to see if I had the balls to get back at him, I had to do it.
I lit the fuse, tossed
it in the window, and watched it roll between his legs. It came to rest, very near the heal of his shoe. I never intended
for it to land that close to him, and I called out, “Leon look out.” He turned his head towards my direction,
and thinking since I was outside, I could not be a threat, said “f*(* you splinter.”
In horror, I watched
the thing explode, saw him leap in terror, and scream in surprise. I did not stay around. I ran like hell, up to the Police
Academy which was on the second floor of the station house, and let things cool down a while.
When I came back down,
I found that Leon’s shoe lost a heel, and when the cherry bomb went off, he was in the process of putting his manhood
back where it belonged. It, his manhood, acquired a nasty tear, and he was still white faced from shock. Oh, and his pants
were wet.
We were about to start roll call, and there were probably forty guys standing around. In those days we had
five bailiwicks in the district, and we were always fully staffed. As soon as I was noticed, everyone started clapping, and
patting me on the back.
It was then that I saw Leon approaching me. Not knowing what to expect, the hair on the back
of my head started to rise, but with all the guys I worked with watching, I had to stand my ground. Then I noticed a smile
on his face, and realized that he knew he had gotten what he deserved, and thought it truly was funny. I also knew that I
would live in fear, until he found a way to get back at me. And he surely would.
Leon later rose to the rank of Col,
and was one of the most respected bosses the department ever had. But most importantly he was my side partner, and a good
friend. He passed away a few years ago, and remains a legend to this day.
Sgt. Nick Caprinolo
STORY 5
WHY COPS HATE YOU
Lt. CHUCK MILAND
BALTIMORE CITY POLICE
Have you ever been stopped by a traffic cop, and while he was writing a ticket or giving
you a warning, you got the feeling that he would just love to yank you out of the car, right through the window, and smash
your face into the front fender?
Have you ever had a noisy little spat with someone, and a cop cruising by
calls, "Everything all right over there?"
Did you maybe sense that he really hoped everything was not all right, that
he wanted one of you to answer, "No officer, this idiot's bothering me"? That all he was looking for was an excuse to launch
himself from the cruiser and play a drum solo on your skull with his nightstick?
Did you ever call the cops to report a crime - maybe someone stole something
from your car or broke into your home - and the cops act as if it were your fault? That they were sorry the crook didn't rip
you off for more? That instead of looking for the culprit, they'd rather give you a shot in the chops for bothering them in
the first place?
If you've picked up on this attitude from your local sworn protectors, it's
not just paranoia. They actually don't like you. In fact, the cops don't just dislike you, they hate your guts! Incidentally,
for a number of very good reasons.
First of all, civilians are so damn stupid. They leave things laying around,
just begging thieves to steal them. They park cars in high crime areas and leave portable TVs, cameras, wallets, purses, coats,
luggage, grocery bags and briefcases in plain view on the seat. Oh sure, maybe they'll remember to close all the windows and
lock all the doors, but do you know how easy it is to bust a car window? How fast it can be done? A ten year old can do it
in less than six seconds! And a poor cop has another larceny from auto on his hands. Another crime to write a report on, waste
another half hour on. Another crime to make him look bad.
Meanwhile, the idiot who left the family heirlooms on the back seat in the
first place is raising hell about where were the cops when the car was being looted. He's planning to write letters to the
mayor and police commissioner about what a lousy police force you have here; they can't even keep my car from getting ripped
off! What, were they drinking coffee somewhere?
And the cops are saying to themselves, Let me tell you, jerk-weed, we were
seven blocks away, taking another stupid report from another idiot civilian about his stupid car being broken into because
he left his stuff on the back seat too.
These civilians can't figure out that maybe they shouldn't leave stuff laying
around unattended where anybody can just pick it up and boogie.
Maybe they should put the stuff in the trunk, where no one but Superman is
gonna see it. Maybe they should do that before they get to where they're going, just in case some riffraff is hanging around
watching them while the car is being secured.
Another thing that drives cops wild is the "surely this
doesn't apply to me" syndrome, which never fails to reveal itself at scenes of sniper or barricade incidents.
There's always some idiot walking down the street (or jogging or driving)
who thinks the police cars blocking off the area, the ropes marked POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS, the cops crouched behind cars
pointing revolvers, carbines, shotguns, and bazookas at some building, all of this has nothing whatsoever to do with him -
so he weasels around the barricades or slithers under the restraining ropes and blithely continues on his way, right into
the line of fire.
The result is that some cop risks his ass (or hers - don't forget, the cops
include women now) to go after the cretin, and drag him, usually under protest, back to safety.
All of these cops, including the one risking his ass, devoutly hope that
the sniper will get off one miraculous shot and drill the idiot right between the horns, which would have two immediate effects:
The quiche for brains civilian would be dispatched to the next world, and
every cop on the scene would instantaneously be licensed to kill the scumbag doing the sniping. Whereupon the cops would destroy
the whole freaking building, sniper and all, in about 30 seconds, which is what they wanted to do in the first place, except
the brass wouldn't let them because the idiot hadn't killed anybody yet.
An allied phenomenon is the "my isn't this amusing"
behavior exhibited, usually by Yuppies or other members of high society, at some emergency scenes. For example, a group
of trendy types will be strolling down the street when a squad car with lights flashing and siren on screeches up to a building.
They'll watch the cops yank out their guns and run up to the door, flatten themselves against the wall and peep into the place
cautiously. Now if you think about it, something serious could be happening here. Cops usually don't pull their revolvers
to go get a cup of coffee. They usually don't hug the sides of buildings just before dropping in to say hello.
Any five year old ghetto kid can tell you these cops are definitely ready
to cap somebody. But do our society friends perceive this? Do they stay out of the cops' way? Of course not! They think it's
vastly amusing. And of course, since they're not involved in the funny little game the cops are playing, they think nothing
can happen to them.
While the ghetto kid is hiding behind a car waiting for the shooting to start,
Muffy, Chip, and Biffy are continuing their stroll, right up to the officers, tittering among
themselves about how silly the cops look, all scrunched up against the wall, trying to look in through the door without stopping
bullets with their foreheads.
What the cops are hoping, at this point, is for a homicidal holdup man to
come busting out the door with a sawed-off shotgun. They're hoping he has it loaded with elephant shot, and that he immediately
identifies our socialites as serious threats to his personal well-being. They're hoping he has just enough ammunition to blast
the hell out of the gigglers, but not enough to return fire when the cops open up on him.
Of course if that actually happens, the poor cops will be in a world of trouble
for not protecting the "innocent bystanders". The brass wouldn't even want to hear that the idiots
probably didn't have enough sense to come in out of an acid rain. Somebody ought to tell the quiche eaters out there to stand
back when they encounter someone with a gun in his hand, whether he happens to be wearing a badge or a ski mask.
Civilians also aggravate cops in a number of other ways. One of their favorite
games is, "Officer can you tell me...?" A cop knows he's been selected to play this game whenever someone
approaches and utters those magic words. Now it's okay if they continue with, "...how to get to so and so street?" or "...where
such and such a place is located?" After all, cops should be familiar with the area in which they work. But it eats the lining
of their stomachs when some idiot asks, "Where can I catch the fifty-four bus?" Or, "Where can I find a telephone?"
Cops look forward to their last day before retirement, when they can safely
give these idiots the answer they've been choking back for 20 years: "No maggot,
I can't tell ya where the fifty-four bus runs! What does this look like, an MTA uniform? Go ask a bus driver! And no, dog
breath, I don't know where ya can find a phone, except wherever your eyes see one! Take your head out of your ass and
look for one!"
And cops just love to find a guy parking his car in a crosswalk next
to a fire hydrant at a bus stop posted with a sign saying, "Don't Even Think About Stopping, Standing, or
Parking Here. Cars Towed Away, Forfeited to the Government, and Sold at Public Auction,"
and the jerk asks, "Officer, may I park here a minute?"
"What are ya nuts? Of course ya can park here. As long as ya like! Leave
it all day! Ya don't see anything that says ya can't, do ya? You're welcome. See ya later." The cop then drives around the
corner and calls for a tow truck to remove the vehicle.
Later, in traffic court, the idiot will be whining to the judge, "But your
honor, I asked an officer if I could park there, and he said I could! No I don't know which officer, but I did ask! Honest!
No wait judge, I can't afford five hundred dollars! This isn't fair! I'm not creating a disturbance! I've got rights! Get
your hands off me! Where are you taking me? What do you mean ten days for contempt of court? What did I do? Wait, wait..."
If you should happen to see a cop humming contentedly and smiling to himself for no apparent reason, he may have won this
game.
Wildly, unrealistic civilian expectations
also contribute to a cop's distaste for the general citizenry. An officer can be running
his ass off all day or night, handling call after call and writing volumes of police reports, but everybody thinks their problem
is the only thing he has to work on.
The policeman may have a few worries too. Ever think of that? The sergeant
is on him because he's been late for roll call a few days; he's been battling like a badger with his wife, who's just about
to leave him because he never takes her anywhere and doesn't spend enough time at home and the kids need braces and the station
wagon needs a major engine overhaul and where are we going to get the money to pay for all that and we haven't had a real
vacation for years and all you do is hang around with other cops and you've been drinking too much lately and I could've married
that wonderful guy I was going with when I met you and lived happily ever after and why don't you get a regular job with regular
days off and no night shifts and decent pay and a chance for advancement and no one throwing bottles or taking wild potshots
at you?
Meanwhile, that sweet young thing he met on a call last month says her period
is late. Internal Affairs is investigating him on a disorderly arrest last week; the captain is pissed at him for tagging
a councilman's car; a burglar's tearing up the businesses on his post; and he's already handled two robberies, three family
fights, a stolen auto, and a half dozen juvenile complaints today.
Now here he is on another juvenile call, trying to explain to some bimbo,
who's president of her neighborhood improvement association, that the security of western civilization is not really threatened
all that much by the kids who hang around on the corner by her house.
"Yes officer, I know they're not there now. They always leave whenever you
come by. But right after you're gone, they come right back, don't you see, and continue their disturbance. It's intolerable!
I'm so upset, I can barely sleep at night!"
By now the cop's eyes have glazed over. "What we need here officer," she
continues vehemently, "is greater attention to this matter by the police. You and some other officers should hide and stake
out that corner so those renegades wouldn't see you. Then you could catch them in the act!"
"Yes ma'am, we'd love to stake out that corner a few hours every night, since
we don't have anything else to do, but I've got a better idea," he'd like to say. "Here's a box of fragmentation grenades
the Department obtained from the army just for situations like this. The next time you see those little crumb snatchers out
there, just lob a couple of these into the crowd and get down!"
Or he's got an artsy-craftsy
type who's just moved into a tough, rundown neighborhood and decides it's gotta be cleaned up. You know, "Urban
Pioneers."
The cops see a lot of them now. The cops call them volunteer victims. Most
of them are intelligent, talented, hard-working, well-paid folks with masochistic chromosomes interspersed among their otherwise
normal genes. They have nice jobs, live in nice homes, and have a lot of nice material possessions, and they somehow decide
that it would be just a marvelous idea to move into a slum and get yoked, roped, looted, and pillaged on a regular basis.
What else do they expect? Peace and harmony? It's like tossing a juicy little
pig into a piranha tank.
Moving day: Here come the pioneers, dropping all their groovy gear from their
Volvo station wagon, setting it on the sidewalk so everyone on the block can get a good look at the food processor, the microwave,
the stereo system, the color TV, the tape deck, etc.
At the same time, the local burglars are appraising the goods, unofficially,
and calculating how much they can get for the TV down at the corner bar, how much the stereo will bring at Joe's Garage, who
might want the tape deck at the barbershop, and maybe mama can use the microwave herself.
When the pioneers get ripped off, the cops figure they asked for it,
and they got it. You want to poke your arm in a tiger cage? Don't be amazed when he eats it for lunch. The cops regard it
as naive for trendies to move into crime zones and conduct their lives the same way they did up on Society Hill.
In fact, they can't fathom why anyone who didn't have to would want to move
there at all, regardless of how they want to live or how prepared they might be to adapt their behavior.
That's probably because the cops are intimately acquainted with all those
petty but disturbing crimes and nasty little incidents that never make the newspapers but profoundly effect the quality of
life in a particular area.
Something else that causes premature aging among cops is the "I don't know who to call, so I'll call the police" ploy.
Why, the cops ask themselves, do they get so many
calls for things like water leaks, sick cases, bats in houses, and the like--things that have nothing whatsoever to do with
law enforcement or the maintenance of public order?
They figure it's because civilians are getting more and more accustomed to
having the government solving problems for them, and the local P.D. is the only government agency that'll even answer the
phone at 3:00 A.M., let alone send anybody.
So when the call comes over the radio to go to such-and-such an address for
a water leak, the assigned officer rolls his eyes, acknowledges, responds, surveys the problem, and tells the complainant,
"Yep, that's a water leak all right! No doubt about it. Ya oughta call a plumber! And it might not be a bad idea to turn off
your main valve for awhile." Or, "Yep, your Aunt Minnie's sick all right!. Ya probably oughta get'er to a doctor tomorrow
if she doesn't get any better by then." Or, "Yep, that's a bat all right! Maybe ya oughta open the windows so it can fly outside
again!"
In the meantime, while our hero is wasting time on this nothing call, maybe
somebody is having a real problem out there, like getting raped, robbed, or killed.
Street cops would like to work the phones just once and catch a few of these
idiotic complaints: "A bat in your house? No need to send an officer when I can tell ya what to do right here on the phone,
pal! Close all your doors and windows right away. Pour gasoline all over your furniture. That's it. Now set it on fire and
get everybody outside! Yeah, you'll get that little critter for sure! That's okay; call us anytime."
Probably the most serious beef cops have with civilians relates to those
situations in which the use of force becomes necessary to deal with some desperado who may have just robbed a bank, iced somebody,
beat up his wife and kids, or wounded some cop, and now he's caught, but won't give up.
He's not going to be taken alive, he's going to take some cops with him.,
and you better say your prayers, you pig. Naturally, if the chump's armed with any kind of weapon, the cops are going to shoot
the crap out of him so bad they'll be able to open up his body later as a lead mine.
If he's not armed, and the cops aren't creative enough to find a weapon for
him, they'll just beat him into raw meat and hope he spends the net few weeks in traction.
They view it as a learning experience for the moron. You mess up somebody,
you find out what it feels like to get messed up. Don't like it? Don't do it again! It's called "street justice," and civilians
approve of it as much as cops do--even if they don't admit it.
Remember how the audience cheered when Charles Bronson messed up the bad
guys in Death Wish?
How they scream with joy every time Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry makes his
day by blowing up some rotten scumball with his .44 magnum?
What they applaud is the administration of street justice. The old eye-for-an-eye
concept, one of mankind's most primal instincts.
All of us have it, especially cops.
It severely offends and deeply hurts cops when they administer a dose of
good old-fashioned street justice only to have some bleeding-heart do-gooder happen upon the scene
at the last minute, when the hairbag is at last getting his just desserts, and start hollering about police brutality.
Cops regard that as very serious business indeed. Brutality can get them
fired. Get fired from one police department, and it's tough to get a job as a cop anywhere else ever again.
Brutality exposes the cop to civil liability as well, Also his superior officers,
the police department as an agency, and maybe even the local government itself.
You've seen 60 Minutes, right? Some cop screws up, gets sued along with everybody
else in the department who ever had anything to do with him, and the city or county ends up paying the plaintiff umpty-ump
million dollars, raising taxes and hocking its fire engines in the process.
What do you think happens to the cop who screwed up in the first place? He's
done for.
On many occasions when the cops are accused of excessive force, the apparent
brutality is a misperception by some observer who isn't acquainted with the realities of police work.
For example, do you have any idea how hard it is to handcuff someone who
really doesn't want to be handcuffed? Without hurting them? It's almost impossible for one cop to accomplish by himself unless
he beats the hell out of the prisoner first--which would also be viewed as brutality!
It frequently takes three or four cops to handcuff one son of a bitch who's
absolutely determined to battle them.
In situations like that, it's not unusual for the cops to hear someone in
the crowd of onlookers comment on how they're ganging up on the poor bastard, and beating him unnecessarily.
This makes them feel like telling the complainer, "Hey idiot, you think you can handcuff
this unruly by yourself without killing him first? C'mere! You're deputized! Now, go ahead and do it!"
The problem is that, in addition to being unfamiliar with how difficult it
is in the real world to physically control someone without beating his ass, last minute observers usually don't have the opportunity
to see for themselves, like they do in the movies and on TV, what a monster the suspect might be.
If they did, they'd probably holler at the cops to beat his ass some more.
They might even want to help!
The best thing for civilians to do if they see the cops rough up somebody
too much is to keep their mouths shut at the scene, and to make inquires of the police brass later on.
There might be ample justification for the degree of force used that just
wasn't apparent at the time of the arrest. If not, the brass will be very interested in the complaint. If one of their cops
went over the deep end, they'll want to know about it.
Most of this comes down to common sense, a characteristic the cops feel most
civilians lack. One of the elements of common sense is thinking before opening one's yap or taking other action.
Just a brief moment of thought will often prevent the utterance of something
stupid or the commission of idiotic acts that will, among other things, generate nothing but contempt from the average street
cop.
Think--and it might
mean getting a warning instead of a traffic ticket. Or getting sent on your way rather than being arrested.
Or continuing on to your original destination instead of to the hospital.
It might mean getting some real assistance instead of the run-around. The very least it'll get you is a measure of respect
cops seldom show civilians.
Act like you've got just a little sense, and even if the cops don't
like you, they at least won't hate you.
STORY 6
Andy
A long time ago, I was a Sergeant in the
Eastern District, assigned to the operations squad. Most of the cops in those days were former Viet Nam Veterans. Andy was
a former Paratrooper, and was the epitome of military bearing, and a terrific cop, who could always be counted on to do the
right thing. Now sometimes he would try my patience, which for some reason, I have forgotten now, he did on this day.
As
I was trying to make my point with him, he started to explain his position, and since he felt that he had did nothing wrong,
he refused to see my point of view.
Finally I lost my temper, and called him to attention. I knew he would immediately
snap to, as I had used this trick with him before.
Now we are on the second floor of the Eastern District, inside
the Operations Office, and there are about ten others officers there. I then proceed to hoop and holler at Andy, getting right
up in his face, just like a Marine Drill Sergeant. Andy is getting red in the face, and I knew he was about to crack, so I
decided that if I wanted to continue to breath and walk, I had better stop. I left him standing there, and walked behind
my desk, and sat down. I then told him he was dismissed, at which point he did an about face and left the room.
Right
outside the office, was the locker room, and I could hear Andy screaming at the top of his lungs. This went on for a minute
or so, and everyone in the office was laughing and marveling at his self control during my ass chewing. All of a sudden, there
is a loud crash, and we all knew something had been destroyed. When we rushed out to see what had happened, we found that
Andy had picked the full sized professional scale, and threw it against the wall. It was destroyed. Andy had a sheepish smile
on his face, and came over to me, putting his arm around my shoulder, and said, “You know I love you Sarg, but sometimes
I could kill you. I feel better now.”
We all pitched in and clean up the mess, carrying out the pieces, putting
them in the dumpster. Thinking the incident was over, and that no one else would find out about it, we went on about the business
at hand.
The next day, when I arrived at work, Andy is waiting for me. He tells me that a certain Lt. Bill who is
the Administration Lt, is making a lot of commotion about the scale, and knows that Andy destroyed it. Should have known that
the story could not be kept a secret. Lt. Bill wants to charge Andy with destroying the scale. Of course we all deny that
it happened, and do not know how the scale disappeared. We even mount a search for the scale.
Now as the Eastern District
Officers work at Hopkins Hospital, while off duty, and Andy is well known down there, he and the wagon man Joe, take a trip
to the hospital. He knew that as in most hospitals there is a scale in every corner. They simply put a scale on a gurney,
cover it with a blanket, and wheel it out of the emergency room. I think they might have some help from the hospital staff,
as Andy was a lover, and the nurses there adored him.
The next day, Lt Bill is still ramping and raving about Andy
and the scale. I am called to come to the Majors office, and there is Lt. Bill telling the Major that Andy needs to be made
an example of.
I ask Lt. Bill just what scale he is talking about. He tells me I know very well which one it is, it
is the one that Andy destroyed. That is when I drop my bomb. I ask him if he is talking about the one in the locker room.
He says yes that’s the one. I then tell the Major that I do not understand, because the scale is still there. With this,
Lt. Bill tears out of the Majors office, and storms up the steps, with the rest of us following. After we catch up with him,
we find that he is standing there looking at an almost duplicate of the scale that had been there previously. Lt. Bill’s
mouth is wide open. He is trying to say something, but he can’t seem to form the words.
The Major asks us to
return to his office, which we all do. After we get there, we all sit down, and the Major asks if anyone has any information
they would like to share with him about all of this. Lt. Bill starts to talk, saying that this must be a different scale.
I remember the Major to this day, looking over the top of a pair of reading glasses, at the irate and nervous Lt. Bill, telling
him that he looks tired, and probably should give it a little thought before he said any more about the scale. Incident closed,
and life in the Eastern went on. God what a great place it was to work. Every day it was a joy to report for duty.
Post
script:
Lt Bill was not the ogre this incident would lead one to believe. He actually was a great Lt, and stood by
his men. He came to us from IID, and really knew how to write. Tell him what happened, and he would steer you in the right
direction. I might add that he was the daily brunt of someone’s joke, and he would always laugh after it was over. He
drove a Volkswagen, and more than once, he would go to the parking lot, and find that we had picked it up and put it between
two filled dumpsters. He would then have to beg for help to get it out. Further he participated in a lot pranks played on
others him. He is still in the department today, and is a good friend. For reasons which I may explain, in another storey,
my wife called him the “Animal”.
Andy is just one of many great Eastern cops. He was can do kind of guy,
and the word fear never entered his vocabulary. To this day, I would go through any door with him. We are still friends and
he still affectionately calls me Sarg...
Nick Caprinolo
STORY 7
I remember when I was in IID that a "good" citizen went into
the CD commanders office and made a complaint about how he had been disrespected by a Chinese police sergeant. I end up with
having to handle the complaint, but from everything I was getting from the "good" citizen and his "reliable" witneses, the
guy they were complaiining about was Anglo.... We didn't have any oriential officers on the jopb at that time.
Well,
to make a long story short, I ascertained that the CID Narcotic unit had conducted a raid on Park Ave. The supervisor had
drpped a few profanities to get the attention of the "good citizens". Our original complainant was some what "LIT" and when
he asked the supervisor for his name, the cop said, 'TOM-LIN"..... of course that was Leon TOMLIN. .....and those who
knew him know that he was not oriental in any form or fashion...... although he did like yockmein ......
Pete Baker
STORY 8
While less than a newbee in the department, holding the rank of “CADET”
I was working the phone switchboard at the Tactical Section, the old SWD. A call came through, a rough, gruff, throaty voice
on the other end say “THIS IS THE CHIEF , GIVE ME THE CAPTAIN.” CAPTAIN Avara had just emphasized that no
calls were to be put into his office unless he knew who was calling and authorized the call.
Being a CADET and a young dumb country boy straight out of high school, not knowing
what a chief was other than an Indian with feathers. Again being dumber than I probably looked, politely asked “CHIEF
WHAT!!!!” At which time the person on the other end stated that he was “Lt. COLONEL FRANK J. BATTAGLIA, CHIEF
OF PATROL”
Captain Avara just happened to be standing in the area, so I turned to him and stated
some guy is on the phone asking to speak to you, says he is the chief!!!!! Avara quickly ran into his office and took the
call.
He came out afterwards and told me that the “CHIEF” was his BOSS and at
first HOT over my asking “CHIEF WHAT”
But later settled down from off the ceiling and laughed, after the Captain told him
I was a new cadet.
He agreed that I was doing my job and asking who was calling and also very polite.
Captain Avara, took a liking to me from my first day on the job. He often took me with
him in the car when he had to go somewhere. He often let me drive the unmarked car and his marked District Commander car,
me not knowing that I was not authorized to drive a departmental car.
He took me to the Civic Center one time when there was a big event going on and most
of TACTICAL was detailed there.
We were walking around and spotted an officer with a lot more GOLD than my Captain had.
Captain Avara talked with this “HIGH RANKING MEMBER of THE POLICE DEPARTMENT for a while, as I just stood by.
A few moments later Captain Avara said I want you to meet the KADET that called you
“CHIEF WHAT.”
Now feeling lower than whale crap, a KADET face to face with a real live “CHIEF.”
I was hoping that maybe he had forgot all about that, WHY did my Captain want to remind him????
The Colonel was very nice about the incident and told me I will go far in this outfit
if all that Captain Avara had told him about me was true.
Not quite sure what Avara had told him, but I remained on the job for almost 30 years.
What makes this story stranger is that this was back in the late 60’s when as
I found out much later, that patrolman were not really able to talk with a Sergeant on a personal level, much less a KADET
with a Captain and a Lt. COLONEL.
How times have changed......
Yours truly, Bill Hackley
STORY 9
When I was a cadet I was picking up the mail from the "old" Central District when I
heard a faint voice by the elevator. I walked down the hall to where I needed to go and was down there about 10 minutes before
I left. As I went by the elevator again I heard that faint voice. It was saying ..."HELP...HELP...". I thought someone was
stuck on the elevator so I put my ear up to the door and I could clearly hear moaning from inside the elevator. I summonsed
help and stepped back. It took a while but at the bottom of the shaft, which was only 1 story down, was Tom Pavis, laying
by the stop post. He had broken a leg.
The story started when he was awaiting the elevator and was deeply engrossed in reading something
in a case folder. He heard the elevator door open and he simply stepped in.... little did he know that the elevator was stuck
on an upper floor and the 1st floor elevator door opened when he pushed the button.
Just goes to show you.... pay attention!
Pete Baker..
STORY 10
Olde Thyme Balmer Po lice’n
My Uncle used to tell me about the tricks that BPD Officers used to survive.
Tell-tales:
Placing a cotton thread along the front of a row of store fronts, if your string remained taunt,
no one got in on you.
Twigs up against doors or windows, again if the twig was in place your business establishment
had not been broken into.
Hiding from the Sergeant:
Taking your reefer(the heavy coat) off and putting it in a refrigerator or cold storage area,
or even leaving it outside to keep it cold, that way if your Sergeant met up with you after you had hidden for a while, your
coat, badge and buttons would still be cold.
A Sergeants trick to see if you had been outside on patrol was to feel your badge.
Folding your rain coat, wetting it down or again leaving it out side, so it would remain wet
while taking a break.
If you smoked, cupping the cigarette around your hand so no one could see it.
Having your side partner or a civilian make or answer your recall-light on the call box.
Each Officer was required to make an hourly call or answer the flashing light on the call box.
Riding around in a scout car( the old name for a police car), when they had no heaters, with
a bucket of steaming hot water to keep warm.
Having your local garage put the radio car up on the lift, running the engine and transmission
in gear, so to put mileage on the car, if you had not done much cruising that evening.
If you had a minor accident, using a toilet plunger to pop out the dents.
Rubbing compound to remove scratches and dings.
Self Protection:
When going into a situation, have your gun in your hand inside your coat pocket or pants pocket.
Police Work:
In the olden days most patrol was done on foot.
In domestic situations, officers used to have the bickering spouses place their hands on his
badge and the officer would pronounce them divorced, and after things settled the next day, remarry them using the same technique.
Ground Rent, was the money left on the ground after you snuck up on a illegal crap game.
Taking booze away from drunks, giving it to bums or derelicts for street information.
Catching a juvenile in some sort of minor incident, the strap of the night sick across their
butts, then taking them home to the parents.
Learning to twirl the night stick, to break up hours of being bored.
Tapping the night stick on the sidewalk( holding the strap and bouncing the stick on the street
made a peculiar sound), to attract attention of your side partner.
Standing on or near the street steam vents to keep warm.
When going on an armed person call, if there was a hallway or an alley that made a turn, stoop
down before looking around the corner, if a gunman was waiting for you, he would have his gun aimed at a normal height, not
expecting you to be several feet lower than he anticipated. This would allow you to back away before the suspect could lower
his weapon.
While sitting in the patrol car upon shift change, hold your hat with the hat device to see
the reflection of the revolving light on the roof.
On car stops using the spotlight to light up the inside of the suspect vehicle, also blinded
them, giving you an advantage.
Using the spotlight to check business establishments to see if the dead bold was between the
doors and locked.
Turning the spotlight around to reflect off your headliner to be able to see to write reports
Having a drunk that maybe you had received several calls on, transport him out to the county
and drop him off.
One time the Sergeant backed into another police car causing minor but noticeable damage to
the struck vehicle. That vehicle was then jacked up, tire removed, brake drum removed and the wheel cylinder popped and brake
fluid pumped out. Everything was then put back together and moved away from the soiled area. Upon starting the car up, the
brake light on the dash board lit, indicating bad brakes. The car was then towed away and no one was ever the wiser to the
accident.
STORY 11
Man arrested, cuffed after using $2 bills.....
A man trying to pay a fee using $2 bills was
arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail after clerks at a Best Buy store questioned the currency's legitimacy and called police.
According to an account in the Baltimore Sun, 57-year-old Mike Bolesta was shocked to find himself
taken to the Baltimore County lockup in Cockeysville, Md., where he was handcuffed to a pole for three hours while the U.S.
Secret Service was called to weigh in on the case.
Bolesta told the Sun: "I am 6 feet 5 inches tall, and I felt like 8 inches high. To be handcuffed,
to have all those people looking on, to be cuffed to a pole – and to know you haven't done anything wrong. And me, with
a brother, Joe, who spent 33 years on the Baltimore City Police force. It was humiliating."
After Best Buy personnel reportedly told Bolesta he would not be charged for the installation
of a stereo in his son's car, he received a call from the store saying it was in fact charging him the fee.
As a means of protest, Bolesta decided to pay the $114 bill using 57 crisp, new $2 bills.
As the owner of Capital City Student Tours, the Baltimore resident has a hearty supply of the
uncommon currency. He often gives the bills to students who take his tours for meal money.
"The kids don't see that many $2 bills, so they think this is the greatest thing in the world,"
Bolesta says. "They don't want to spend 'em. They want to save 'em. I've been doing this since I started the company. So I'm
thinking, 'I'll stage my little comic protest. I'll pay the $114 with $2 bills.'"
Bolesta explained what happened when he presented the bills to the cashier at Best Buy Feb.
20, 2005
"She looked at the $2 bills and told me, 'I don't have to take these if I don't want to.' I
said, 'If you don't, I'm leaving. I've tried to pay my bill twice. You don't want these bills, you can sue me.' So she took
the money – like she's doing me a favor."
Bolesta says the cashier marked each bill with a pen. Other store employees began to gather,
a few of them asking, "Are these real?"
"Of course they are," Bolesta said. "They're legal tender."
According to the Sun report, the police arrest report noted one employee noticed some smearing
of ink on the bills. That's when the cops were called.
One officer reportedly noticed the bills ran in sequential order.
Said Bolesta: "I told them, 'I'm a tour operator. I've got thousands of these bills. I get them
from my bank. You got a problem, call the bank.' I'm sitting there in a chair. The store's full of people watching this. All
of a sudden, he's standing me up and handcuffing me behind my back, telling me, 'We have to do this until we get it straightened
out.'
"Meanwhile, everybody's looking at me. I've lived here 18 years. I'm hoping my kids don't walk
in and see this. And I'm saying, 'I can't believe you're doing this. I'm paying with legal American money.'"
Bolesta was taken to the lockup, where he sat handcuffed to a pole and in leg irons while the
Secret Service was called.
"At this point," he says, "I'm a mass murderer."
Secret Service agent Leigh Turner eventually arrived and declared the bills legitimate, adding,
according to the police report, "Sometimes ink on money can smear."
STORY 12
+
First Aid Training +
A group Baltimore Police Officers were taking a refresher course on first aid.
Following an involved lesson on making splints, dressing wounds and applying tourniquets to
stop bleeding, the instructor decided to determine how well the class had grasped the information given.
"Jones," he said, pointing to one of the officers, "say your sergeant sustains a head injury
during a street fight. What do you do about it?"
"That's easy, Sir," said Jones. "I wrap a tourniquet around his neck and tighten it until the
bleeding stops."
Story 13
It was the early seventies in February, I was working the midnight shift assigned patrol car
332 out of sector 3, filling in for Officer Bernie Hartlove who was off. It was freezing cold that night and I’m sure
it was zero degrees. My sergeant was George Colvin who instructed me at roll call to try-up “Gassinger Furniture Store”,
located on the NW corner at Patterson Park Ave. and Gay St. due to recent burglaries. Just after the bars closed, I decided
to make my first try-up at Gassinger’s. I parked my blue and white on Patterson Park Ave, near the N.E. corner of Gay
St. I walked over to Gassigner’s and completed my first try-up noting the business was secured. As I was walking across
Patterson Park Ave. towards my patrol car I had an urge to urinate. Since there were many vacant row homes on Gay St., I decided
to walk up the behind the odd side of the 1900 blk. N. Gay St to urinate and stay in service. As I walked up to an area I
felt comfortable to urinate I heard moaning sounds of what sounded like cold dogs moaning in the night. I completed my mission
and was walking back to my car again hearing this moaning sound. I retrieve my flashlight from the patrol car and went to
investigate. Needless to say, my six sense kicked in and I apprehended three individuals at gunpoint who were raping a teenage
girl on a piece of cardboard. The girl was later found to be retarded. These individuals were convicted and sentence to life
in prison. Two individuals were later killed in prison. As for me I was awarded a bronze star for my diligent actions all
because I had to pee.
Officer Bill Bertazon (Big Squirt)
Story 14
Ira Roth
In 1978, I had the fortune of working under the command of a great man, Lt. Daryle Duggins.
I was brand new to the TAC section and QRT. During the first week there, Lt. Duggins and I
were walking together at the inner harbor when a little boy approached us and asked, " Mister, why do you have a white hat
with gold, and he has a blue one?" Lt. Duggins looked down at the kid and replied, " Son, it just means I've been here a lot
longer than he has", and immediately continued to walk down the path. R.I.P. Sir.
STORY 15
Sgt Bill Gordon (Ret)
It was in the early 1990s when the AIDS epidemic was just beginning. For some reason
the department thought that adult police officers still may not know how to put a condom on.
The unpleasant duty of demonstrating this to In-Service classes fell on Lt. Joe Darchicourt.
The good Lt, seriously and with a straight face demonstrated by putting a condom over three of his fingers. Keeping a straight
face was quite a feat with the comments and laughter from the class.
Later that day we had a class that was supposed to help us learn how to speak to a group.
I dont remember the instructors name, but she assigned everyone in the class a word. You were required to give a 30 second
talk on it immediately and then return the next day and give a 5 minute talk on it. Some of the works were really out there.
Ron Roof got Chia Pet. Others were more conventional. With the luck of the draw I got rubber.
During my initial 30 seconds I spoke about rubber tires, floor mats and other normal
stuff.
After class that day I went and prepared my speech and my props. The next day when my turn
came around it went something like this:
Everyone remembers the class we had yesterday with Lt Darchicourt. Now I hate to belittle
him, but after seeing him put on his rubber I can tell you he isnt a real man. At that I took out my first prop, an elephant
condom bought at the gag store. I'll show you how a real man puts on a rubber I said as I rolled the condom up my arm to my
shoulder!
The class went wild, the instructor turned red. But wait, Im not finished yet. For
you guys on a tight budget I also have the poor mans rubber. With this I took out a rubber glove on which I had written a
day of the week on each finger. The beauty of this is, if you are lucky enough to use up all five before the week is done,
you can turn it inside out, rinse it off and start again!
That was all the instructor could take. She rushed up and ordered me to cease and desist and
take my seat.
Poor Ron had a rough time following this with his Chia Pet talk.
Police Run Out Of Pants For Officers
POSTED: 11:23 am EDT June 21, 2007 BALTIMORE -- City police are looking for a few good pairs
of pants.
The Baltimore Police Department has run out of two popular sizes of the custom-made navy blue
uniform pants it provides to every officer, a department spokesman said Wednesday.
Officers who wear size 36 or 38 will have to wait for new pants until a special order comes
through.
"We are officially out," said Officer Troy Harris, a police spokesman. "We're putting in an
emergency order for those two sizes."
One officer said he was recently turned away from the office of the quartermaster, who is in
charge of supplies, when he requested a new pair of size-36 uniform pants. The officer spoke to The (Baltimore) Sun on condition
of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk about the issue.
"When you go to get pants, they look at you as if you're asking for a newborn," he said. "Pants
are a hot commodity. When I asked for pants they just laughed."
Out of desperation, the officer said he took an old pair of pants to his tailor. Harris said
the supply unit will take care of adjustments, but the officer said he couldn't afford to wait weeks for his pants to be mended.
The department attributed the shortage to the recent hiring of 240 new officers. But city police
union president Paul Blair blamed a new initiative that requires plainclothes detectives to walk periodic foot patrols in
uniform.
Cadets receive four pairs of pants when they leave the police academy. When officers need a
new pair, they get them free but are required to turn in their old ones.
"If (the pants) can be saved, they'll be cleaned and put back into rotation," Harris said.
Comments, Questions, Stories
2001 Space Odyssey
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