Page Twenty Eight - Sgt TC's Story (Copcast #143)

Welcome to this special edition of George’s Pocketbook, where our colleagues around the world take time to share their experiences of what being a Law Enforcement Officer means to them, where they work. The incidents portrayed are real but where necessary, names and places have been changed in order to protect the innocent, the not so innocent and the plain stupid.

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Sergeant TC has a war story to tell that others may enjoy, I have my doubts however about the individual at the centre this story and suspect that the good Sergeant may be being a little modest about how deeply he is involved. Oh and Sarge, I know I should apologise for the theme song I gave you but I'm afraid I just couldn't resist.

Where Sergeant TC used to work as a despatcher they had a city councilman who was reputed to be, among other things, a drunk and he somehow always seemed to get on the police radio to report things as he was going home. He would report the most mundane things like a traffic light not working etc. All the councilman in that city had police radios in their cars and this particular councilman was given the callsign "Car Ocean 11" to use on the air.

He became a real pain for the dispatchers but like with many other things they just put up with him. As time went by however an anonymous cop on the radio began to pretend he was the councilman and get on the radio sounding like a drunk for fun. This was before the times that your radio ID could be identified.

The anonymous cop, sounding drunk would say things like, "Ocean 11", wait a few seconds and then say, "Oh never mind" (sounding rather intoxicated). The other officers would all get a laugh out of it.

One night our anonymous cop got on the air and said, "Ocean 11" and dispatch answered. A few seconds went by and he said, "Ocean 11 ah ... if youuu get aaaa ... callllll on aaa man down at 13th and Broadway ..." then there was silence for a few seconds. The dispatcher called over and over "Ocean 11, Ocean 11", with no answer. Then the prankster cop came back on the air and said, "Ooocean 11 ah ... neverrrr mind... I got up"

One cold winter night with almost no traffic on the radio the same cop came on the air and just said, "I'm going crazzzzyyyy!" The dispatcher answered back, "Car calling? Car calling?" There was silence for several minutes and then a repeat on the radio, "I'm going Craaaaazzzy!" and dispatcher answered again, "Car calling? Car calling? " with once again no answer.

After about the fourth time he yet again said "I'm going crazzzzyyyy!" and the dispatcher, sounding very mad, asked again, in a mean tone, "Car Calling identify yourself!" A few more seconds went by and the cop come back on the air and said "I'm not THAT crazy!"

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Page Twenty Seven - Kung Fu Panda (Copcast #142)

Years ago a lot of effort was put into teaching new police officers a variety of holds, grabs and takedowns. Some of these holds were so complex that a degree in human anatomy was required to implement them, as was a fair degree of luck when trying to apply them to your quarry. George still remembers those late nights in the gym at Training School, practising an array of thumb-locks, arm holds and handcuff takedowns prior to the practical assessments the next day.

There is no doubt that some of these skills have proved to be effective during his service but he still has to suppress a grin when he sees two or three bobbies piled on top of a struggling prisoner. He’s not laughing at them, it's just that the reality of restraining someone is to get them on the floor at the earliest opportunity and to keep the sharp bitey bits from your soft fleshy parts and he’s never a textbook thumb lock.

The most effective way to implement this is to execute a front or rear leg sweep followed by the ‘Kung Fu Panda’ static restraint method otherwise described as sitting on the suspect. Once this method of restraint has been applied, the prisoner can be handcuffed, limb strapped and will be firmly under no illusion that he had been detained. There is little room for complex thumb locks in this real world, so much so that someone at the Training School has finally realised this and most of those holds are no longer taught.

Recently George was on duty with a probationer, Sam was a mere slip of a girl and just 19 years old but loved to get ‘stuck in’. It was late evening and they were called to a disturbance in the street. Reports were coming in of a male trying to attack vehicles with a tree branch in the middle of the road.

Sure enough upon arrival they saw a number of cars trying to turn around and a man screaming at the top of his voice. "I want to ascend" he was shouting, along with threats to kill himself. George and Sam ran over to the man who had fortunately discarded his hefty tree branch by leaving it on the roof of a stationary vehicle, it's driver clearly intent on not getting out.

George grabbed hold of the man by his collar and started to drag him to the side of the road, as there were far too many moving vehicles in it for his liking. Reasoning with him was not an option.

His probationer was trying to force the man’s right arm up his back to gain control, but this wasn't working. They eventually dragged him to side of the police car where George forced him against the boot. He was shouting at him to calm down, but the man responded by throwing a punch George’s way, which he successfully dodged.

With size and sanity on his side George executed a text-book-perfect front leg sweep taking the violent and disturbed man to the floor. He struggled and kept shouting to be let go, so that he could 'ascend' to a higher place. The only place to go in George’s mind was a cell or a Secure Psychiatric Assessment Unit.

The man continued to struggle then tried spit at Sam. The only way to deal with this guy was to get his face closer to the pavement, which meant George having to place his full body weight on the thrashing prisoner whilst holding him in a half nelson. This gave his probationer an opportunity to secure him in limb restraints. A few minutes later the male, successfully subdued and restrained, was helped into the rear of a caged van that took him to hospital having been detained under the Mental Health Act.

The whole incident had only lasted a few minutes but both George and his probationer were exhausted. It just goes to show that when it all kicks off the rules and ju-jitsu type nose holds go out the window.

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Page Twenty Six - Cat Minge (Copcast #141)

George and his old mate Mark were posted as the Early Turn van crew and as even more of a rarity George was posted as the operator and not the driver. The banter between the two was usually fairly predictable, Mark would be baiting George over his stocky build and George in return usually found some way to mock Mark's bald and shaved head.

The two friends had been working on the the same team together for years but didn't often get a chance to work together and the supersticious among their team-mates preferred things that way. You see, George and Mark had a reputation for being grief-magnets, that is to say when they worked together then the shift was not going to go well and somewhere along the way the wheel was going to come off.

Fairly soon after parade and that all-important first coffee of the shift, it seemed as if the worst might come true. The first call the van was assigned to was a sudden death. Never the most pleasant of taksings to be given, it became evident immediately after their arrival that this was going to be even less pleasant than normal.

The recently deceased turned out to be the the local cat-lady and they had been called by her 44 year old son who had found her when he came to see her for his weekly visit. Every town has a cat-lady and this one followed all the stereotypes faithfully. Her house was over run by around twenty-five cats, all of whom appeared to be shedding fur with abandon and none of whom appeared to ever leave the house for any reason, especially to use the toilet. The house was filthy, there were unwashed dishes all over the kitchen and the whole place reeked of stale cat urine.

The cats themselves were undernourished, dishevelled and neurotic, there didn't seem to be a single healthy specimen among them and they somehow managed to be everywhere at once. They were sprawled over shelves and tables, seats and cushions and particularly on every space on the floor where either George or Mark tried to set foot.

While they made arrangements for the coroner and the undertaker to attend and deal with the body of the old lady, Mark made sure that the RSPCA (the main UK animal welfare organisation) was informed. Within the hour a lady RSPCA Inspector turned up to attend to the cats. She identified one that had the worst open wounds and decided that that one was her priority and removed it from Cat City. Mark almost ran out of the with with her then returned to the van where George was waiting and desperately gulping some fresh air into his lungs.

“How many is she taking?” asked George.
“Just one for now. She’ll be sorting the rest tomorrow. She’s worried about that one. It’s got open wounds and minge,” said Mark.
“Minge?” queried George.
“Yeah! A skin disease that animals get,” Mark confirmed.
“You mean mange, you fool” said George.
“Oh yeah,” said Mark, “I wondered why she was looking at me a bit funny when I started going on about minge.”
“You might get away with that Mark,” said George, “so long as you called them cats and not pussies.”

Eventually they both returned to the police station, scratching themselves vigorously. Whether it was because they had attracted cats fleas through their prolonged contact to that house filled with mange ridden cats or whether it was just the thought of the fleas they did not know, but Inspector Brigstock was on hand to give advice to the pair on how to eradicate cat fleas.

While he was doing so, Mark was scratching the top of his shining and smoothly shaved scalp. It was then that Mr Brigstock pointed out that fleas lived in hairy or furry places and not on bare, hairless skin.

“But Guv!” cried George, “Mark’s ones are wearing ice skates. Look!”

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