Police

I’ve noticed that where law enforcement is concerned, there is precious little middle ground. People tend to be sharply divided with regard to their opinions and experiences.

No police officer pays for his meal when I’m eating in the same restaurant. When my daughter and I ate at Carrows in El Paso I picked up the tab for a table of six of El Paso’s finest.

I do this for three reasons:

1 – The police are notoriously underpaid for what we expect of them;
2 – It’s my way of saying Thank You at a time when it’s not expected;
3 – In a purely selfish vein, it makes me feel good.

I place the waiter/manager under strict instructions that I’m to remain anonymous, that “an appreciative citizen” was the benefactor. This avoids any awkward moments that may arise if the officers feel obligated to express their thanks, an act which would defeat my purpose.

The manager in El Paso caved to interrogative pressure. My daughter’s eyes grew to dish-plate proportions as we found ourselves surrounded by six large, armed men, clad in black, wishing to express their appreciation.

The everyday police officer is reminiscent of the blue collar worker whose hands are his living; he embodies the nobility of the traditional work ethic: come to work and do your best at your job, draw your pay.

But the work he is expected to do can place him in mortal danger. The majority of us come into contact with him only when we are the target of his attentions.

I eased off the gas of my new Mustang LX as I crested the hill to minimize the blind spot in the road ahead. Suddenly my radar detector complained loudly – but too late – of “instant on” radar. I saw the Arizona Department of Public Safety cruiser out of the corner of my eye as I flew by his off-road hiding place.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were going?”, he asked as I handed him my license.
“What did you clock me at?”
“97 in a 55 zone”.
“That was because of the hill. I was cruising at 125 on the flats”.

At his behest, I popped the hood.

Looking at the new 5 liter, 8 cylinder engine, he shook his head and said, “I would have never caught you had you decided to run.”

“But you have a radio.”

He only grinned.

“Sir”, he said, beginning to write, “I appreciate your cooperation and the fact that you had already begun to pull over by the time I got behind you. I’m going to cite you for exceeding the speed limit by 10 miles per hour.”

He tore off the ticket and as he handed it to me said, slowly and with emphasis, “Merry Christmas.”

Far less frequently we are brought into contact with our police by our own request.

It was 0300. I had just finished some online work and was preparing for bed when a series of shot-like sounds came from outside. Peering through the bedroom blinds, I heard more of the sounds and with each one noticed a bright flash coming from the neighbor’s yard across the street.

To some people’s glance, my house would have rivaled a battalion arms room. But, though prepared for most any eventuality, I had learned long ago that it’s best not to get personally involved in certain affairs.

Four sheriff’s vehicles, headlights off, responded in under 5 minutes to the 911 call. With my wife on the phone to the dispatcher, I visually guided the lead deputy to the correct residence. While I had a good idea as to the source of the disturbance, it struck me that as a result of a phone call a man I had never met was now walking into a potentially volatile – potentially lethal – situation. Suddenly the words “doing his job” rang obscenely hollow.

Fortunately, the culprits were only bored teenagers with, as I’d guessed, firecrackers. The deputies were spared the position of risking their lives…and I was spared the guilt of knowing I had put them there.

Only the naive would think of all police as knights in shining armor. That they can and do harbor corruption and abuse their station is well documented. But the decentralized nature of individual police departments across the country works in favor of “policing the police”, as there is usually an outside investigative authority available. Corruption, once unearthed and publicized, can be (and usually is) dealt with in short order.

For myself, I recall an early morning journey along a particularly lonesome stretch of Interstate 10 in west Texas when a black on white Department of Public Safety cruiser pulled slowly past me, the moonlight glinting dimly off the dormant light rack. Something inside of me relaxed…the sound of my sleeping daughter’s soft breathing from the back seat a fitting backdrop.

I smiled as he slowly melded with the night. I was glad he was there.

~ Dempsey 🌵