Chapter 2

Walts induction into the Police Academy

Chapter 2

 

 

I live in Kansas City, Missouri, a large metropolitan area, and the police department is run strictly by the book.  There are height and weight requirements and, unfortunately, age restrictions.  Rules are made to be broken.

 Right?

My ace in the hole was Captain Dwayne Short.  We were friends in high school.  Both Dwayne and I were of the same physical proportions, slender, but not skinny, wiry, but not muscular.  I was 5’9” and Dwayne was a mere 5’6”.  Hence, the nickname that was bestowed on him by our ever-compassionate classmates, ‘Shorty’.  While I have stayed basically the same throughout my life, Dwayne experienced a growth spurt in his senior year and is currently a robust 6-foot tall.  Nevertheless, the nickname stuck.

  None of the men in his command dare call him Shorty, at least to his face.  That honor is reserved for those of us who knew him when he really was ‘Shorty.’ 

We remained friends over the years and I had occasion to do Shorty some favors from time to time.  While he could be tough as nails, he also had a compassionate side.  I have received many calls from him looking for a place for some poor soul to live while trying to straighten out their lives. 

Now that’s real justice.

I vividly recall the day I sauntered into his office took a seat and blurted out “Shorty, I want to be a cop!” 

Shorty’s my age and will soon retire, and here I am sitting across from him ready to begin a new career.

“You crazy old fool.  You can’t be a cop,” he said.  “You’re too damn old.”

 “You’re as old as you feel,” I replied, “and I feel like its time to really make a difference with my life.”

“Look,” I said, “I know I’m not the typical recruit, but look me in the eye and tell me there is no place where a man of my age and experience can make a contribution.”

 He thought for a minute and said, “You really want to do this?”

“More than anything,” I replied.

“I may have a way,” he said.  “The department is putting together a program inviting citizen involvement.  Certain hand picked civilians are selected for the program.  While there are no age restrictions, the program was designed for young men and women who are interested in law enforcement.  They must go through the academy and learn police procedure.  Then they may be paired with an officer in a squad car.  Technically, you’re not really a cop, but it’s pretty close.”

“I’ll take it,” I said.

The purpose of the CPP, that’s the Civilian Police Patrol, is threefold:  to involve the local community in law enforcement and invite cooperation and understanding, to find young adults who may become interested in a law enforcement career, and to add extra bodies in uniform to the streets without having to pay salaries from the tight city budget.

 I don’t think a 65 year old, grey haired senior citizen was their demographic when they designed the program.  However, not anticipating that any old farts would apply, the restrictions were minimal.  If you could walk upright and breathe and weren’t a convicted felon, you could apply.  

‘Apply’ is the critical word here.  As I said, most anyone could apply, but to be an accredited member of the CPP one had to pass all of the entrance requirements of a normal police recruit.  This involved a written exam, a physical and an oral review board.  This, of course, was designed to weed out the insincere, the uncommitted, the faint of heart and old farts who didn’t know how to act their age. 

The written exam was a piece of cake.  I sailed through that with flying colors.  Of the twenty-seven original applicants, sixteen of us passed and were scheduled for our physicals the next day.  Elated by my exam success, I returned to my apartment.  I wanted to get plenty of rest, and as my Grandma used to say: “get up early, bright eyed and bushy tailed” and be ready for my physical.

I arrived at the Police Academy at 8:00 A.M. sharp along with the fifteen other recruits.  I’ve had a few physicals in my day and I envisioned a kindly old doctor sitting down with me after a sweet young nurse has taken my temperature and blood pressure. 

WRONG!

We were all herded into a locker room, assigned a locker and told to strip down to our shorts.

No problem.

It was then I noticed that the ambient temperature in the room was approaching that of a meat locker.

As we all stood around in our undies, the door opened and a uniformed officer entered. “All right men,” he barked, “form a single line, drop ‘em and stand at attention.” 

Say What!!

I have to admit that I hadn’t been totally naked in a roomful of men since my locker room days in high school, but what the hell.  So I dropped them.

  There’s a funny thing about guys and their manhood.  There seems to be an inborn curiosity about how they stack up compared to the next guy.  But it’s not polite to look.  You will see ten guys lined up side by side at the urinals at the ballpark and if you watch closely they will always try to sneak a peek.

So there we were, sixteen guys, standing at attention buck-naked trying not to look at the fellow standing next to us.

Now remember, I’m 65 years old.  Body parts tend to shrink as you age.  It’s a medical fact.  I weigh all of 145 pounds and I’m standing in a friggin’ meat locker.  I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the 22-year-old stud standing next to me. I looked down and ‘YIKES’ when did I become a eunuch?  As if that wasn’t bad enough, I also noted that I was the only one in line whose pubic hair was grey. 

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the door flew open and in stepped Nurse Ratchet.  It had to be her.  Straight out of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.  “Oh S**t,” I thought, I couldn’t believe I could shrink up any more, but somehow, I did.  It didn’t make me feel any better when I saw her snap on a pair of rubber gloves. 

This can’t be good. 

She stepped up to the first guy in line, looked in his eyes, ears and mouth then squatted down and in one smooth motion grabbed the guy’s balls and shoved them up into his groin.  “Turn your head and cough,” she ordered.  A gasp of horror was heard all down the line.  “Now, turn around, bend over and spread ‘em,” she ordered.

Spread What?

I was the next to last guy in the line so I got to wait and watch the humiliation as she proceeded down the line.  After examining fourteen young, fit, nubile specimens of manhood, she came to me.  Eyes, ears, throat.  Then she bent down and I held my breath as I awaited my fate.  I looked down and she was grinning from ear to ear.  She looked up, gave me a wink and plunged.  I guess I had made her day. 

There’s nothing like being naked in front of strangers and having your body parts probed by a Neanderthal in rubber gloves to give one a sense of humility.  As I left the Academy, I was feeling pretty humble.  But I had passed.  Two down and one to go. 

All that was left was the oral exam by the review board.  I had received a call from Shorty asking me to come by his office.  He frankly told me that the review board had concerns about my admittance.  They thought I would have washed out by now, but having passed the written and physical exams, all that stood between me and the CPP was the review board.  “Walt,” he said, “you know you have my support and several of the other Captains are on the fence, but Captain Harrington wants you out.  He’s going to give you a rough time at the review.  If you can’t provide answers to his questions, you’ll be out.”

Shorty explained that it was the boards’ job to make sure that any new recruit could handle himself in dangerous or life threatening situations and he gave me a few hints as to what questions would be asked.

Most cops you see on the street are young, strong and physically capable of handling the confrontations they face on a daily basis.  I’m none of those things.  But if you’re going to succeed, you use the tools that God has given you.  If you can’t beat them up, you’d better be able to outsmart them. 

At home that evening, I shared my trepidations with the Professor.  He thought for a moment about my upcoming confrontation with Captain Harrington and simply said:  “Wise man never play leapfrog with unicorn.”

What I needed was an equalizer.

I arrived at the Academy and was escorted to the conference room.  Seated around the table were the Captains of the various squads, narcotics, vice, canine, foot patrol, etc.  Shorty introduced me and each Captain in turn asked me questions about my background and my motivation for being part of the CPP.

So far, so good.

Finally it was Captain Harrington’s turn.  “Mr. Williams,” he began, “it is my opinion that you have no business taking part in this program.  First, you’re too damn old. My father is your age, for chrissakes. If you are so determined to give public service you should volunteer at the senior center.  All you are going to do is get in the way and get yourself hurt.”

I noticed the other Captains had lowered their heads and were embarrassed by his belligerent attitude. 

“Think about it old man,” he continued. “Let’s say you are making a routine traffic stop.  You ask the driver for his license and registration and he says, ‘F**k you.’  You ask him to step out of the vehicle and he does, all 250 pounds of him and he’s got a blade in his hand.  Whadda you gonna do?” he bellowed. “Whadda you gonna do old man? Whadda you gonna do?”  And he jumped up from his seat and started toward me. 

“Well, it’s all or nothing,” I thought. And without a word, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a Benford #5 taser, aimed and pulled the trigger. 

Two small probes attached to the taser by high voltage insulated wire struck the Captain squarely in the chest and delivered a 50,000-volt electric shock.  His body tensed, his eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the ground like a sack of dog food.  The other captains looked on in horror as Harrington lay writhing on the floor.  In a moment their shock subsided and I thought I detected a smile forming on their lips.  Suddenly their smiles turned to outright laughter and a round of applause circled the table. 

At that moment, one of the Professor’s witticisms popped into my mind:  “Man who behaves like an a*s will be the butt of those who crack jokes.”

Shorty stood, took my hand in his and said. “Congratulations Walt, and welcome to the CPP.”