A call for dead cops

I have a real problem understanding how rioting, burning, looting, assaults, threats, beatings, vandalism, destruction of property, etc., are considered means of peaceful protests. They’re not. Far from it, actually.

But I do, even though I’m mostly white, understand racism. No, not because my mother’s side of the family has deep Native American roots. Nor is my understanding because other family members owned a house that Harriott Tubman used as part of the Underground Railroad, helping people escape slavery (something, by the way, I had absolutely nothing to do with, ever).

Yes, I remember the signs above business doors—“White Only” at the front entrances, and “Coloreds Only” above side or rear entrances. The same was so at a local movie theater. Main Floor – Whites Only

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And let’s not forget the segregated drinking fountains with signs above to direct “Coloreds” to the typical not-so-clean fountain that was often in disrepair. The doctors’ offices with separate waiting rooms. Restaurants that wouldn’t serve “the darkies.”

And then came the integration of schools. The South went nuts, with many white parents sending their kids to private schools to avoid having their children associating with black children. Yet, many of those parents employed black maids who cooked, cleaned, ironed, and raised the white children until they went to school. Now that’s a head-scratcher if ever there was one.

I was born in the North, having moved to the South with my parents (job transfer) when I was young. What a culture shock that was, especially seeing the rising flames and smoke in the distance from the Friday night cross-burnings in the field behind the old drive-in movie theater. I had no idea what that was all about at the time because way up north that just didn’t happen. At least not that I’d seen.

I sometimes caught glimpses of those white sheets and hoods. In fact, I once saw a man remove his hood to speak with a friend…in public, smack dab on the sidewalk in the city. I would see him again many years later, and I was shocked to learn that he held a job of great importance.

I get it. This was horrible. I despised it as a child and I despise it now.

But back to my understanding of racism. You see, it’s a two-way street. I’m hated, yes hated, merely because of the color of my skin, and because of the uniform I once wore.

So these next words are to those people who hate me for what I am.

You may not know me, but I’ve been to your house to stop your nephews, nieces, husbands, wives, friends, lovers, neighbors, and children from killing you and your family.

I pulled you from a burning house while you were too high to get out on your own.

When you overdosed on cocaine and alcohol, I placed my lips on yours to give you the breath that allowed you to live another day.

I bought Christmas presents for your kids because you didn’t have a dime to your name, even though I was struggling financially as a single parent.

I helped you find a job so you could stop selling crack cocaine as a means to feed your kids.

I brought groceries for you when your cabinets were bare.

I bought kerosene for your heaters when you were cold.

I stopped gang members from abusing the elderly on your street.

When it was raining, I gave you a ride to the store, or to work.

I got your kid into rehab when you did nothing to help.

When the school year rolled around I bought your kids pencils, paper, books, lunch boxes, and even clothing and shoes, because you spent your money on drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes.

I gave up my hard-earned money (I worked three jobs at once) so your kid could go on a school trip with her friends, a group that included my daughter.

You and your kids have been welcome in my home.

I stepped between you and a knife-wielding attacker. I bled. You did not.

Still, I’ve been stabbed, by you, while you spit at me and called me a “white mother f****r. Your wives, mothers, and girlfriends have spit on me. You’ve punched me, kicked me, slapped me, and bit me. You and your kids have shot at me. You even shot through a window in my home, endangering my family.

I tracked down the men and women (of all races) who killed your children (of all races), and I sometimes took a beating while arresting them. Yet, you call me a racist? Me, the officer who’s been stabbed, beaten, cut, punched, slapped, kicked, spit on, and shot at…by people of all races?

But I was still there, wasn’t I? Day in and day out, working through it all to protect you and your property. And you’re angry at me? Me?

But you were my friend when your friends weren’t around. And you never hesitated to call on me when you needed me or something I had. You knew that if you were hungry you could show up at my doorstep, or stop me when I passed through your neighborhood, and I would feed you, or slip you a few dollars so you could feed your hungry kids.

Again, I get it. You’re still being treated unfairly in too many instances. And that needs to change. It really does.

But this…to march down the street destroying property, attacking police officers simply because they’re police officers, especially white police officers, is wrong, my friends. Do the protestors not understand that this is simply another form of racism/discrimination?

And to see hundreds of people marching while chanting, “What do we want? Dead Cops.” Followed by, “When do we want it? Now?

Well, that’s no different than burning cross in someone’s front yard, or draping a rope across a big, fat tree limb. No different at all. Don’t you see that?

By the way, this chanting about wanting dead cops took place during Sharpton’s organized, “peaceful” march where police officers were attacked and beaten. Remember, Sharpton is an adviser on race relations to the president of the United States.

 

 

This post is solely an opinion based on my own experiences, and it does not reflect the views of anyone other than me. So NO cop-bashing, kill whitey, etc. I will delete those comments. However, an honest, thoughtful DISCUSSION is welcome.

 *One final thought, and this is in case some are not aware that police officers have absolutely nothing to do with a Grand Jury decision.

Law enforcement officers do not have even a tiny speck of control over what the Grand Jury does or how they reach their conclusion(s), which, by the way, is based on FACT, not emotion. So to fault every cop in the country for a decision reached by your very own friends, family, and/or neighbors is blame misplaced. After all, it is they, the Grand Jury, who choose to indict, or not. Not the police.

When jumping rope

The house was small by any standard. Just four rooms, neither of which was a bathroom. Inside, were two children, a boy of five and a tiny girl—a toddler—who was just getting the hang of walking and talking. A small kerosene heater sat in the center of what the family called the front room. Its tank was empty and the flame had long ago burned out. Icicles dangled from the decaying front porch overhang. The dirt yard, what I could see of it, was a resting spot for junk cars, non-working appliances, tattered furniture, old tires, and a pitiful and old mixed breed dog chained to an engine block. I knew the place almost as well as I know the back of my hand, because this was at least the umpteenth time I’d been there, for various reasons. She stabbed me. He hit me. They beat the kids. Shoplifting. Cocaine. Shots fired. Stolen property. Armed robbery. Prostitution. Yes, I knew it well.

I received the call just after midnight. “A concerned neighbor reported two small children left alone in the house while the mother is out buying crack. The father is there, outside, but he’s so intoxicated he can’t stand up. The neighbor says she heard loud arguing followed by two gunshots. That’s when she called. She also said her husband said to ask that you be the one to respond, if possible.”

I parked my patrol car next to a dented vintage Cadillac that sat atop four cinder-blocks. Its tires had been removed, a sight that, for some unknown reason, reminded me of a toothless old person. I was behind that very car when the owner crashed it while driving drunk and trying to outrun the police (me). The driver immediately jumped out and ran stumbled quickly across a small field and into the backyard of a small church. I caught him when he reached a chain-link fence and tried to dive over. He vigorously resisted my attempts to handcuff him, including a couple of nasty bites to my hand and arm. That was a long time ago, but some things, and people, never change.

When I stepped outside into the cold to check on the kids, I glanced around at the other houses lining the street. All were similar—four rooms, lacking paint, yards devoid of grass, and filled with the same despair as the one before me. I’d “visited” most of those, as well. Many times. The area was as close to hell on earth as you could get, and poverty was only the tip of the troubles.

Standing in the streets at various locations in the neighborhood, were an assortment of drug runners—the guys who hold small amounts of crack cocaine while the larger supplies are held inside one of the houses. There was absolutely no shame in their games as they stood there blocking the roadway when a police car approached. Some they moved for and others they didn’t. I was one of the officers who, for some reason, they allowed to pass without confrontation. Mainly, I suppose, they knew I wouldn’t stand for it. Not for a second. After all, standing in the street, interfering with traffic is illegal, and dangerous.

This was “the trouble spot” in the county. Far more crime occurred there than anywhere else in the jurisdiction. Murders, rapes, robberies, B&E’s, assaults, shots fired, stabbings, shootings, beatings, domestic violence, child abuse, animal abuse, and arson. Bullet holes in patrol cars were a constant reminder of what could happen and sometimes did.

Managers of the apartment complexes in the area offered free rent to any police officer who was willing to move in and park their patrol car out front as a means to at least slow the crime rate. A couple of officers tried to make it work but the department had to stop the program due to the destruction of police cars and equipment, and the danger presented to the participating officers. They were sometimes shot at when coming or going.

I’ve always been a firm believer in community policing and developing relationships with residents. More often than not, I and a few other officers, parked our police cars, got out, and walked the neighborhoods. There’s no better method of policing than knowing your beat as well as the people who live there.

I’d sit on front porches, sometimes having a glass of iced tea (I’d been offered something stronger) where I’d chat with the homeowners and other occupants. We discussed everything from sports scores to community affairs to racism. No subject was ever taboo. I even stopped to chat with the drug dealers, and I often offered to help them find real jobs (a couple actually accepted the offers).

I made time to toss footballs with young boys and girls, and I’ve turned quite a few jump ropes in my day, while in uniform working my shift. By the way, those kids were amazing. They didn’t see me as a police officer. Instead, I was one of them…just another person having fun playing a game with other people. Of course, they weren’t satisfied until they saw me step in to jump with pistol, handcuffs, and other do-dads on my duty belt bouncing up and down. Their laughter was priceless.

I spent a great deal of my time working patrol in that small section of the jurisdiction. Then, when I became a detective I spent even more time there because that, unfortunately, was the hub of major criminal activity. I was on a first name basis with nearly everyone there, and they knew I would be there for them if they needed something, and the same was true in reverse for many of the residents.

Several children came running each time they saw my car turn the corner, because they knew I always had some sort of treat for them. When I first started patrolling there the kids would yell “5-0” to alert everyone that a police officer had entered the area. Then they’d run off in the opposite direction. Big change in a relatively short time.

Of course, one question always popped up when I was chatting with the criminals. “Why are you always in our neighborhood and not “over there?” (referring to a different section of the jurisdiction). My answer was always the same. “We go where we’re needed and we do what we need to do to keep everyone safe. When homes in other areas become the targets for thieves, and the residents there start shooting, robbing, raping, and selling drugs in the streets, we’ll be the first officers there to arrest the bad guys. Until that time comes, though, this neighborhood is where we need to be.”

Officials within my department, along with elected officials, received numerous letters and calls from the citizens in that particular area. The letters expressed the gratitude of the law-abiding residents for the job we were doing in their neighborhood, and it was a good feeling to be appreciated for our efforts.

What made this work so well was that it was a two-way street with dialog and trust between the police and the citizens. To make it work, though, required real effort and desire. I won’t mislead you by saying this was a smooth and fast transition, because it wasn’t. Not even close. But no one ever drew a line of any type in the sand. Instead, everyone listened, learned, and acted appropriately.

And that’s how it’s done, folks. Not by violence. Not by the media fanning the flames. Not by Monday morning armchair cops and crooks. Instead, good things happen when good people come together and talk. Talk, not yell and scream accusations.

Yesterday is gone. Now it’s time to jump rope. I challenge you to try.

Swedish message day

A funny thing happened on the way here this morning. My day started as usual, with me turning on my computer, checking emails, a quick peek at Facebook, a hurried glance over the day’s headlines, and logging into my site.

Imagine my surprise when, as I reached my log-in page, I bumped into a pimple-faced young man wearing thick, round spectacles, a sky blue button up shirt (pocket filled with an assortment of pens and mechanical pencils), faded jeans, and white sneakers.

The stranger’s pale complexion flushed bright pink when he turned and saw me behind him. Of course, I immediately asked what he was doing at the entrance to my website with his ear tightly smashed against the juice glass he held to the door. Well, let me tell you, that nervous young fellow commenced to stuttering and stammering and banging his tongue and lips together as if they were completely out of synch. And, since his right ear was the color of over-ripe cherries, it was obvious that he’d been listening to our conversations. That’s right, he was listening to you and me as we discussed the latest cop stuff.

On the floor next to the geek’s feet were a dozen or papers, all laying at various angles, like he’d been shuffling through trying to find a particular page. Before the odd man could object, I reached down and grabbed a couple of the lined sheets, and I was startled by what I saw written in bold, blue ink—The Graveyard Shift. Past keywords…guns, ammunition, dead bodies, rigor mortis, police, bad guys, terrorists….

Being the clever detective that I am, I immediately figured out the guy was spying on my website and its readers. Another glance down the page and I discovered my cell number. And then I saw credit card activity, email addresses, passwords, and NSA… Hey, that’s the National Security Agency. The Feds. I had to look away because this was making me ill. Not only was the guy spying on my website, he’d been monitoring my every move, which explained the bump I heard on the front porch last night (he was probably outside our windows, peering in to count the number of blueberries I’d placed on top of my 8pm snack of yogurt and fresh fruit).

I knew I had nothing to hide, but the thought of government computer-geek secret-agents watching me as I go about my daily business is a bit troubling to say the least. I started to think…hard. Were they also monitoring my water usage? Are they counting my flushes? How about watching me in the shower? Do I use too much shampoo for so few hairs? Am I a…a…(gulp), water-waster?

Do the NSA super-secret squirrels know about the piece of chocolate I ate yesterday. I know it’s against doctor’s orders, but it was calling my name. After all, it was that delicious dark chocolate from Trader Joes that I like so much.

You know, I’m all for keeping U.S. citizens safe, and I’m willing to go the extra mile to do so. But we already have TSA agents feeling up old ladies and pawing through our unmentionables. We’ve been forced to become the timid and submissive air traveler who cannot “cluck” too loudly about crappy service out of fear of being booted off a flight or being placed on a no-fly list.

We’re herded through airport security lines like cattle or chickens on the way to slaughter. We stand by silently and passively while our luggage is mutilated, mangled, or tossed into the bottomless black hole that surely exists somewhere in the bowels of all airports. We don’t talk back to the people in the blue shirts when they order us to remove our shoes, display our personal belongings to everyone in the line behind us, and hold our arms up and reach for the sky while “security” officers ogle our “sensitive” areas and blow a puff of air aimed at our armpits, feet, and crotches.

We have cameras at every street corner, on nearly every telephone pole, spy drones that look like hummingbirds, and satellite photography that’s so powerful it can zoom in on the hair on a gnat’s rear end.

We’re told what and how much to eat, and our favorite TV shows are interrupted so someone can tell us this is all for our own good. You know the drill. Eggs are bad. Eggs are good. Milk is bad. Soda is in. Soda is out. Green beans are good. Green beans are contaminated. All meat is poison. Brown rice is good. White rice is bad. No potatoes. No alcohol. And, whatever you do, don’t smoke the mary-j-wanna even if the plant can help cancer patients and people who suffer from chronic pain or epilepsy.

White people are bad. Black people are bad. Cops are bad. Pitbulls are bad. Gas-guzzling cars are bad. Our air is bad. Kids are bad. BAD. BAD. BAD. Everything these days is absolutely and unequivocally B.A.D.

Sure, taxpayer money multiplies freely and quickly, without end (yeah, right). Our dollars are always standing by ready for the plucking, and that’s what the government does best…pluck our hard-earned money directly from our wallets and purses.

So I have an idea. Instead of wasting so much time battling hard-working, honest Americans, how about finding out why it is that we’re forced to pay crazy-high taxes so politicians and the IRS can spend the money on lavish parties, conventions, trips, and gifts for themselves. The government spends our money like there’s a never-ending supply of the stuff (Their philosophy…don’t worry, if we run out of cash we’ll simply raise taxes on the people who make less than we do). Pluck those wallets!

And then there are the dollars spent on worthwhile projects like these chin-scratchers, ones that should cause the average person to pause for a quick, “Hmmm…”

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– $856,000 to teach mountain lions how to walk on treadmills.

– more than $200,000 to a research project that is trying to determine how and why Wikipedia is sexist.

– $30 million spent on catfish inspections by two separate agencies, while Homeland Security spent $66 million to do the same thing on the same catfish. Why not hire a couple of the noodlers we see on TV? Those folks make a weekend out of playing in muddy water, reaching their ham-hock size hands beneath stumps and logs to retrieve catfish the size of small rhino’s. And they do it for free, and I’ll bet they know just as much if not more about catfish than the average guv’ment man or woman.

– $10,000 to monitor the growth rate of saltmarsh grass.

– The military spends more than $1 billion each year on 159 contractors that translate foreign languages. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to buy assorted copies of Rosetta Stone and distribute them to some of the catfish-counters who might then have a real job?

– a $371,026 study to see if mothers love dogs as much as they love kids.

– $804,254 to develop a smartphone game called “Kiddio: Food Fight” The game was designed to show parents how to convince their children to make new healthier food choices.

– The National Technical Information Service sells reports to other federal agencies, 75% of which can be found online for FREE!

– $387,000 to study the effects of Swedish massages on rabbits.

And, of course, there are the pocket change items, like the $90,000 spent to upgrade security at a spring training camp for professional baseball players.

I have an excellent idea for you U.S. government spy-on-me-folks. How about turning the camera lenses around and let the citizens watch you guys for a change. Then again, I don’t think I want to see what you guys do behind closed doors. It’s already bad enough seeing what’s made public.

Tina Mott

Tina Mott’s brief time on earth ended when her boyfriend Timothy Bradford—the father of her child—slit her throat with a fillet knife. The attack was nothing short of vicious. The killer then set about the task of dismembering Tina’s body.

Bradford claims the attack was an accident. He told police that he and Tina were arguing and she charged at him. Instinct and self defense, he said, was the reason he used the hand holding the weapon to lash out at his girlfriend.

Then, out of fear of spending the rest of his life in prison, Bradford used 19 different knives, a meat cleaver, and a hacksaw to methodically skin, behead, and cut Tina’s body into pieces small enough to fit into garbage bags. Some pieces (internal organs and skin) he flushed down the toilet. Bradford’s next task was to cradle Tina’s severed head in his lap where he used a pair of needle nose pliers to extract her teeth (he knew DNA could be found there and then used to identify the skull, if discovered).

Bradford then took those heavy garbage bags to a sewage treatment plant where he hid the remains on the property surrounding the facility.

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A short distance away, Bradford tossed Tina’s head and teeth into a lake where they remained until two young boys accidentally hooked the skull while fishing. By this time, months later, the elements and aquatic life had removed all details that could identify Tina.

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A coroner’s investigator points to the spot where he found Tina’s skull, subsequent to the two boys leaving it there after catching it with a fishing line.

It was the combination of excellent police work along with the persistence and skills of world-renowned forensic anthropologist Elizabeth (Beth) Murray that finally identified the skull and subsequently led police to Timothy Bradford. Unfortunately, officials were unable to locate the rest of Tina’s remains.

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Detective Jim Nugent, Dr. Elizabeth (Beth) Murray, and Sergeant Ed Buns. Writers’ Police Academy attendees will remember Dr. Murray’s presentation a few years ago.

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Police divers search the lake for Tina’s remains.

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Bathtub where Bradford skinned and dismembered Tina’s body. I took this photo a few years after the murder.

Tim Bradford agreed to confess and to lead investigators to Tina’s remains IF they agreed to charge him with something other than murder, a charge for which he could spend the rest of his life in prison. Anxious to give Tina a proper burial (she had no close family members), the prosecutor agreed to Bradford’s terms. He pled guilty to voluntary manslaughter, abuse of a corpse, felony theft and misuse of a credit card (Bradford used Tina’s card to make purchases after her death).

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Timothy Bradford is now eligible for parole, again. He’s been denied freedom at past parole hearings, but as time comes closer to his mandatory release date his chances of parole increase.

With no family to speak at the parole hearing, Tina’s close friends are once again rallying to keep her killer in prison. They feel that his punishment—12 – 25 years—for such a heinous and despicable act does not fit the crime. Many believe that Bradford is the worst sort of monster and should never be allowed to roam freely among us.

This case is especially near and dear to my heart. I wrote about it in a true crime anthology, and while conducting the research I met everyone involved—Tina’s family, friends, investigators, judges, attorneys, coroner, forensic experts, neighbor, and family and friends of the killer.

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Discussing the case with Detective Jim Nugent.

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With Coroner’s Investigator Andy Willis at the site where Bradford hid Tina’s remains.

During the research and writing of the story I began to feel as if I’d known Tina all my life. She was beautiful, mentally and physically. She was loving, caring, and kind. She adored the baby son left behind when Tim Bradford took her life. She did not deserve the horror that ended her life.

How can you help? For that, I’ve called on one of Tina’s closest friends and tireless advocate, Jennifer Pilon, to explain. Jennifer is asking friends, family, and all concerned to please write to the parole board requesting a denial of Bradford’s release. The tactic has worked in the past and she hopes it will again.

Here’s Jennifer’s plea to you…

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Jennifer Pilon

My first impression of Tina was that she was very shy, almost timid. But as I got to know her, I realized that she was not timid at all, just soft-spoken. Tina was a beautiful, free-spirited girl, who did things in good faith. I have very strong memories of how much she liked singing. Karaoke was something a group of us girls did a lot to pass the time. Tina’s favorite song was The Rose—and she did not need to hear any music in order to sing it. In fact, she was always singing The Rose….always. Every time I hear that song, memories of Tina come rushing back. I can still hear the sound of Tina’s laughter, see her smile, and smell her hair spray. I cannot tell you how lucky I was to have known her. I often wonder what Bradford sees or hears or smells when he thinks about Tina.

Unfortunately, Tina’s youth was one full of hardships. She had no real family, none competent or mentally strong, anyway. So when Bradford comes up for parole again very soon, he’ll probably think that nobody cares enough to raise their voice and protest. If that’s the case, then he couldn’t be more wrong—Tina was and still is loved by many.

Tina touched the lives of so many people in her short existence, and so much could have been learned from her. Tina had a heart of gold and a love for life (despite her trials). She was the softest, sweetest, kindest individual I knew, and have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Resiliency was her best quality: she came from nothing and had nothing, terrible things have happened to her throughout her entire life, yet she was determined to make it on her own and displayed so much spirit while she did it.

Her friends, here in Buffalo, were her family. I am her family, her sister, and many others feel the same. And I want to make her proud. She’s not been forgotten. . . I feel that any release before the maximum time the law allots would be an unspeakable and inexcusable offense to society at large, as well as it would be another crime committed against Tina.

Here’s my simple request to each of you. Please, please, please help keep this murderer where he belongs, in prison.

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Tina celebrating one of her few birthdays

For details and more about Tina, please visit the Facebook page, In Memory of Tina Mott.

Tina loved to write, especially poetry. It’s possible she foresaw her own demise and expressed those feelings in one of her poems. Here’s an excerpt.

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Each year, Detective Jim Nugent, the investigator who solved the case, places flowers on Tina’s grave site. Jim took this case personally, working  tirelessly for Tina.

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The arrest that made me cry

Working the graveyard shift on weekends comes with a special worry—bar closings. Along with the last call and not-so-subtle brightening of the overhead lights comes the traditional fight. You know the ones I’m talking about… “You looked at my woman,” (or man, depending upon the situation), “Stop breathing my air,” etc.

Sometimes these alcohol-induced brawls are nothing more than shouting and shoving matches. However, there are times when the action involves weapons and bloodshed. And there are times when the fight involves multiple people. Such was the case one particularly warm Friday night (early Saturday morning) at 2am.

My partner and I had just worked a drug deal in a pretty bad section of town when we heard the call come in for patrol officers. “10-10 in progress. Bad Ass Bar and Grill (name changed to protect the guilty). Weapons involved. Shots fired.”

By the way, in our area 10-10 was the code for a fight. In the neighboring area 10-10 was code for “negative.” See why many agencies have moved away from 10 codes?

We were pretty close to the scene so we activated our emergency equipment (That’s high-tech secret cop speak for, “We turned on our blue lights and siren.”) and headed to the bar.

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When I turned the final corner and the bar came into view, I could hardly believe my eyes. Several small fights of two to four people, and one large fight—at least thirty people in a big, undulating pile of arms and legs—were in full swing.

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I pulled my unmarked car into the middle of the lot and gave a couple blasts of the siren. This action typically clears out a few people, especially those who are holding contraband, such as dope and illegal weapons. It also sends the probation and parole violators, and the people with outstanding warrants, running like scared rabbits. It’s an easy and effective way to cull the herd.

I parked my car near the large pile of fighters. They looked like an army of worms, all squirming and struggling to get inside a single tunnel.

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We tried to peel off the outside layer of people, but didn’t have much luck because new and fresh punchers and kickers dove onto the pile every few seconds. So, we began to spray the entire pile with pepper spray. In fact, we let loose like we were spraying a large infestation of insects.

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A nice, slow and steady side-to-side motion seemed to work really well, because the mound of people slowly began to dissipate. Lots of moaning and groaning, tears, and mucus. Now, before anyone starts to scream, “Police brutality! You should have politely asked them to stop stabbing each other,” remember, there were two of us and at least a megazillion of them. We had to even the odds.

When that group finally had enough we turned our attention to a smaller, but just as deadly fight that had erupted to our right, near the front door of the club. An older, biker-looking guy was waving a knife of sword-like proportion at two younger men. My partner and I gave our nearly-empty cans of pepper spray a couple of good shakes to make sure all the good stuff hadn’t settled to the bottom, and headed toward biker dude.

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We’d worked together for so long that our arrest techniques came naturally. I went for the knife hand (I’m still not sure how I always got stuck with this duty, but I did), and my partner went for the other. Luckily, I managed to quickly disarmed the guy and take control of the knife, but he was much stronger than I’d anticipated Actually, he was a lot stronger than I’d bargained for because, as they say, it was on! We had a real struggle on our hands. Getting cuffs on that clown was really tough to do.

Fortunately, like the finely tuned arrest team that we were, we each went for our pepper spray. Unfortunately, the biker dude saw it coming and ducked. Yep, we sprayed each other squarely in the face.

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Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever been pepper-sprayed, but let me be the first to say it ain’t pretty.

In addition to the tears, noses like open faucets, and blubbering like babies, neither of us could see. So we just held on tightly to our guy and slowly eased our bodies to the ground and waited for backup to arrive. Of course, our fellow officers gave us a really hard time. After all, the first thing they saw upon arrival was three grown men sitting on the ground, weeping like someone whose favorite soap opera of all times had just been cancelled.

I don’t think I’ll ever live that one down.

Why the heavy fire power?

 

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Reporters who make up S...

A few days ago, Huffington Post columnist Sabrina Siddiqui wrote a story titled When Cops Shoot, They’re Trained To Kill. They Never Shoot To Wound. In this piece, Siddiqui wrote, “ Officers have long been trained to shoot to kill because that is the only way they say they can neutralize a threat.”

In the very next paragraph she quotes John Firman, director of research, programs, and professional services at the International Association of Chiefs of Police, who clearly stated that police officers do not shoot to kill. Firman also went on to explain why officers are also not trained to “shoot to wound,” as I’ve also detailed on this blog and others, many, many times. In fact, just yesterday I posted an article titled Cops Are Not Trained To Kill.

The title of Siddiqui’s article was extremely misleading, was wholly inaccurate, and was quite possibly an attempt to further stoke the fire surrounding the shooting of Michael Brown. I’d rather believe, though, that Ms. Siddiqui, like many people, simply doesn’t know any better. I’m sure she’s never been exposed to these deadly situations and that’s why her opinion is so obviously skewed. And I’m here to help her understand, if, that is, she’s open to learning (I can recommend a great book about police procedure).

Anyway, yesterday, Siddiqui’s story and headline was revised. Apparently someone deep in the bowels of HuffPo realized the story title was basically a false statement. So it was changed to Why Do Cops So Often Shoot To Kill? The rewrite of it and parts of the article were no better, though—fact-twisted at best. A big squiggle of misleading non-truth included the line, “When faced with a perceived threat, why is it that many officers shoot to kill, rather than simply to wound?” Immediately following the new sentence with the same meaning as the old, Siddiqui again quoted John Firman who shoots down (pun intended) the meaning behind the author’s attention-grabbing headline.

In a possible attempt to further sensationalize police-involved shootings, Ms. Siddiqui waded into the recent police shooting of a knife-wielding St. Louis man. This incident, too, has the public outraged because police shot and killed the suspect who threatened their lives. The outcry over the St. Louis shooting is because much of the public feels that officers should have opted for TASERS instead of firearms. Well, TASERS are not for use when the situation calls for deadly force.

As my former mentor, a salty old sheriff’s captain, once told me, “Never bring a knife to a gun fight, son. You’re bound to lose a perfectly good knife.”

*For everyone out there who has no experience with suspects who charge you while pointing the sharp end of a knife at your midsection, I’m including (below) a copy of an article I wrote about how and why police defend themselves against edged weapon attacks.

As a last attempt to fan the race card flames and poke all cops in the eye, Siddiqui wrote this comment, “Studies have found that police officers are more likely to use excessive force toward black men than toward whites.”

A well-written and unbiased story would have included why this occurs, if it does. So, out of professional curiosity, I followed up on Siddiqui’s source for this comment and found it was an article published by an online magazine called New Republic.

New Republic’s stats were obtained from a college experiment where students were exposed to various video situations. The undergraduates pressed a button when they thought a suspect had “the weapon.” Students in the college study consistently thought a black man had the weapon as opposed to a white man.

HOWEVER, when mostly white police officers were brought in to participate in a similar study…well, I’ll quote the article. “According to a comprehensive comparison of police vs. civilian shooting rates published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, training makes an even clearer difference. Though police officers took longer to decide whether to shoot if the person was black, that analysis found trained officers weren’t influenced by race when it actually came to pulling the trigger.”

Not quite the same study result that Siddiqui wrote, is it?

Okay, I’ve rambled enough. Here’s the article on knife-wielding attackers.

Shoot or Not To Shoot: The 21 Foot Rule

As a long-time police academy instructor and instructor trainer for defensive tactics, officer survival, and weapons retention and disarmament, I feel more than qualified to answer a question I’ve seen popping up on a few expert loops in the recent days. The original question was, “What kind of martial arts technique is best to disarm a knife-wielding suspect who is on the attack.? The answer is quite simple. There is no foolproof technique. The suspect has initiated deadly force and that force must be responded to with the amount of force that’s necessary to stop the threat to the officer’s safety. The officer must defend himself with deadly force, if possible.

There is a long-standing, proven rule that an officer cannot draw, point, and fire his/her weapon if the attacker starts the assault from a distance of 21 away from from the officer (not 25 feet, and not 30 feet), such as in the photo above. We measured this distance to be exactly 21 feet from the attacker’s front foot to the officer’ front foot.

However, if the officer already has his weapon drawn, in the ready position, he’ll be able to effectively fire a round to stop the threat. Remember, officers are taught to shoot center mass, not shoot to kill, or to shoot a weapon from the attacker’s hand. That stuff is for TV.

In the photo above, the officer’s weapon is still in the officer’s holster and he should be contemplating other means of survival, such as running for cover, or preparing to go into a defensive tactics mode – hand-hand combat, with the almost certainty of being cut. I have nasty scars on all five fingers on my right hand, and my head, as proof of this tactic.

In the two photos above the officer would easily be able to stop the threat by firing a round or two.

Now, let’s go back to Sabrina Siddiqui. I think it would be a fantastic idea for each and every one of you to send her a brief email message stating that her story titles are extremely misleading, false, and, well you get the idea. Also, please encourage her to accept my invitation to attend the Writers’ Police Academy. I’d love for her to have the opportunity to see and experience first-hand the things about which she so cluelessly writes. After all, the purpose of the WPA is to educate writers about all things cops and robbers, right?

So here’s my invitation to Sabrina Siddiqui – You are invited, as my guest, to attend the wildly popular Writer’s Police Academy taking place on September 4-7, 2014 in Jamestown, N.C. The WPA is a hands-on event where writers from across the world attend an actual police academy to train and learn about all things cops and robbers in order to bring realism to their stories. I will personally see that you have a spot in the firearms simulation training so you can experience what it’s like to be in an officer’s shoes during an actual shooting or edged weapon situation. The ball is in your court. I look forward to hearing from you. Please contact me, Lee Lofland, at lofland32@msn.com to confirm.

At the very least, it would be a great story – everyone’s favorite authors driving, shooting, handcuffing, investigating murders, and much more.

Here’s Siddiqui’s email address. Please write her today. Right now. Flood her inbox with my invitation to attend the Writers’ Police Academy. I think she needs our help, and we’d love to have her help educate the public. She’s a wonderful writer who could really do the country a lot of good right now.

sabrina.siddiqui@huffingtonpost.com

 *By the way, the title of today’s article was made up s*** to grab your attention. I posted it to prove a point.

Did a police officer murder Michael Brown?

Michael Brown’s death is a disturbing tale, one that I’d expect to read in a work of fiction.

Not familiar with with this case? Here’s the background, according to the media and Brown’s family, friends, police, and eyewitnesses. The police aren’t saying much, though. After all, this is a death investigation and Brown’s demise was caused by police gunfire…several rounds.

By the way, as is true in all police investigations, it wouldn’t be appropriate for law enforcement to publicly discuss details of any criminal case until they have the facts in hand. However, the norm today is for media and family to demand instant answers, results, etc., especially when police officers are involved in a shooting situation.

Well, the last time I checked, everyone in this country has the right to a fair trial in a court of law. Vigilante justice is not what we as Americans should be screaming for at the top of our lungs from the top of city hall steps before the breeze has had the chance to blow away the odor of gunpowder. Proper investigations take time.

Anyway, back to Michael Brown, a young man who was shot to death by a Ferguson, Missouri police officer whose name and race is still being withheld (with the anger surrounding this case the officer’s safety would be a concern). Witnesses to the shooting say the officer is white.

According to various news reports and some witness statements, Brown and a friend (both African Americans) were strolling along in the middle of the street, minding their own law-abiding business, when a white police officer in a marked patrol car pulled alongside. The officer told the pair to get out of the street and use the sidewalk. The two men said they were near their destination and they’d get out of the street when they arrived there (or something to that effect). I think everyone, even the police, agrees this much is true—a police car pulled up beside Brown and his friend. After that…well, the stories of what happened couldn’t be further apart.

The police say the officer got out of his car, or tried to get out, but was shoved back inside by Brown. The two struggled with Brown attempting to take the officer’s gun, and a shot was fired while the two were still inside the vehicle. At some point the two men ended up outside where Brown was hit with several rounds from the officer’s weapon. Brown was 35 feet from the patrol car when he was shot.

On the other hand, Brown’s friend, Dorian Johnson, says (again, this is according to several media reports) they and the officer exchanged a few words about walking in the street and then the officer stepped out of his car and immediately fired a shot. Johnson and Brown ran. The officer fired again. Johnson hid behind a car but Brown stopped in the street and held up his hands to give up and to show he wasn’t armed, which he wasn’t, and that’s a fact we do know. The officer then, according to Johnson, shot Brown twice. As Brown was going to the ground the officer approached him and fired several more rounds into Brown’s body. Brown died.

Witnesses to the shooting also say they saw Brown with his hands in the air when the officer fired his weapon. They say they saw the officer gun down the unarmed 18-year-old Michael Brown.

Now, I cannot speak to this situation with any authority because I wasn’t there. Didn’t see anything and I know nothing more than what I’ve read. The same is true for the people—protesters—who took to the streets after the shooting, looting stores and stealing whatever they could get their hands on at the time. The same is also true for the those people, the Monday morning quarterbacks, climbing on the bandwagon to write and preach about the shooting. None of the aforementioned people, including me, know the actual facts of the case.

One person—again, she wasn’t there—wrote that the police department waited to make a public announcement about the incident so they’d have time to “…omit and tamper and vilify, time to label the shooting as anything but misconduct, as “manslaughter” and not ‘entirely preventable murder’.” That’s a pretty damning statement to make about an entire department. Sure, things are looking a bit dark and bleak where this one officer is concerned, but to say that an entire police agency would condone and hide facts that support a possible illegal/deadly act…well, that’s totally and utterly ridiculous. Stupid is probably a better term. Ignorant would be an even better one.

As you all know I deal only in facts. So lets go back and look at this incident from a fact-only point of view. Remember, though, our “facts” are only what we’ve read.

1. Michael Brown and his friend were walking in the street, an unsafe act.

2. A police officer stopped and told them to move to the sidewalk.

3. According to Johnson, they told the officer they would leave the street when it was convenient for them, or something like that. They could have politely made the statement…I don’t know. But it was Johnson who said they told the officer they were not moving to the sidewalk since they were near their destination.

4. At some point Brown and the officer struggled. Police officials say the physical contact began inside the police car. To make this statement it’s pretty much a given they have evidence to support the comment.

5. Brown was fatally shot 35 feet from the patrol car.

6. Several witnesses say Brown had his hands in the air when he was shot and killed by the officer.

7. All rounds fired were fired by the officer’s gun. This does NOT mean the officer was responsible for firing each round. It’s possible that during the struggle the suspect pulled the trigger, or not. We do not know anything further.

8. Brown was unarmed at the time he was shot.

9. During a deadly force encounter, police officers are taught to shoot until the threat is terminated, meaning the suspect is no longer a danger to the officer or anyone else. When the threat ceases to exist, so should police gunfire.

10. A suspect who’s stopped moving and is holding his hands in the air is not an immediate threat.

11. An unarmed suspect who’s wounded and has no means of gaining control of a weapon or harming others is not an immediate threat.

12. Police can shoot a fleeing suspect if they believe that person will and/or is likely to cause serious harm or death to others. It is unlikely that an unarmed man who has surrendered is an imminent threat to others.

Finally, to read between any of the above lines would be a huge error. Evaluate only the facts, which are few at this point. Based on what we know, though, I’d love to hear your opinions.

Please do not bring race, gun control, politics, and hatred for all police into the discussion. Think like an investigator and leave personal beliefs and biases out of the equations. Did the officer murder Michael Brown, gunning him down in the street? Or, is there another explanation?

 

 

What to do if you're stopped

We’ve all experienced that moment of anxiety and apprehension when we look in our rear view mirrors and see a police car following closely behind. The sweating. The knot in the stomach. Not to mention the “what did I do’s” flashing though your mind like a slide show on speed. Oh no, did I say speed? How fast was I going? They don’t give tickets for twenty miles-per-hour over the limit, do they? I mean, the law says they have to at least allow a margin of 10mph, right?

You glance in the mirror again.

No matter how fast or how slow you go, it’s there, in stealth mode, with headlights glowing like the eyes of a demon. The driver’s monster-size dark silhouette sits unwavering behind the wheel. You can’t see them, but you know the driver-creature’s eyes have met yours. It knows, and you know it knows. It’s probed deep into your soul, the place where you keep all your dark secrets. Yes, it knows what what you’ve done and what you’re thinking. It knows you rolled through that intersection, brazenly ignoring the stop sign. And it knows about the day when time had run out on the parking meter, but you threw caution to the wind and left your car there for ten extra minutes, slapping Big Brother in the face with your devil-may-care attitude. But you knew it is was only a matter of time before…

Yes, IT is coming for you.

Okay, that’s a little overboard, but I think the feelings we get when we see a police car in our rear view mirrors are pretty darn intense. And all that intensity, anxiety, and trepidation often leads to trouble in the form of saying too much and doing all the wrong things at all the wrong times. And, no matter how calm and cool you think you are, this tongue-tangling often occurs when approached by police officers…even when we’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.

So what should you say when approached by a police officer? Or, what shouldn’t you say?

Okay, let’s start with a few basics. First of all, if the officer is aiming a .12 gauge at you like Officer Crawford in the top photo, well, you should definitely obey any and all of his commands. That is not the time to argue.

However, under normal circumstances, if you are stopped by the police you should be aware of:

1. Body language/mannerisms – It’s a good idea to not make any threatening gestures, like suddenly reaching into your pockets or placing your hands behind your back, unless you’ve been ordered to do so by the officer. Let’s face it, if you’re at the point when the officer has asked you to place your hands behind your back, much of what follows is moot.

2. What you say and how you say it – Arguing with the officer will earn you no favors. He/she wants the incident to be over and done as quickly and easily as possible. They don’t want to get hurt, nor do they want to hurt you. However, arguing automatically brings about a hostile atmosphere, an act that places the officer on guard. Therefore, simple things that normally wouldn’t seem harmful suddenly become potential threats in the eyes of the officer. Besides, anything you say can and WILL be used against you in a…yada, yada, yada…

Also, asking to see the officer’s supervisor is a silly thing to say while you’re arguing with him/her, because , if you’ve been hostile and combative, you’re probably a matter of seconds away from meeting the supervisor and the four or five other officers who’re on the way to help arrest you.

3. Your hands – Keep them to yourself. The officer does not know you or what your intentions are toward him. Do NOT touch the officer. Do not pretend you’re going to touch the officer. Believe me, this is not the time to play Tickle Me Elmo or “Got Your Nose”.

4. When operating a motor vehicle, you ARE required to present your driver’s license and registration when asked. By the way, if you are arrested/detained, you are required to give the officer your correct name. Failure to do so could result in an additional charge against you.

5. You do not have to give permission to search you or your property.

6. You should not physically resist a pat-down search. If you think the officer is overstepping his bounds then file a complaint with his supervisor at the police station.

7. You can be arrested if you don’t sign a traffic ticket. Your signature on the summons is like a bond, and the officer is allowing you to go free if you sign promising to appear in court on the date designated on the ticket. By not signing, the officer has no choice but to think you’re refusing to appear in court. Next up…handcuffs. Remember, driving is a privilege, not a right.

8. If you are arrested and you ask for an attorney, that does not mean Perry Mason will drop what he’s doing and immediately drive over to the jail. It might be several hours, or even days, before you see a lawyer. In fact, your first meeting with an appointed attorney could take place at the courthouse mere seconds/minutes before you go before the judge. This is not TV.

9. You will get a phone call (after arrest) but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to make that call the second you hit the jail floor. Booking and processing will probably be completed before you’re allowed to make the call. Sometimes, it’s hours before an officer has the time to get you to a phone. They have many other things going on, and bringing a telephone to a screaming, angry, blubbering drunk is not high on their to-do list.

10. Use your common sense, and for goodness sake, don’t quote law and police procedure based on what you’ve seen on TV.

Finally, do not operate a riding lawnmower on the roadway, especially while drinking alcohol.

 

 

Savannah-Chatham

When we think of U.S. cities with high murder rates, Detroit, Los Angeles, New York City, and Chicago come to mind. In fact, Chicago has seen more than it’s fair share of senseless killings over the past few years. But a new town has surpassed the windy city’s rate of bloody violence —Savannah, Georgia.

Yes, Savannah, the southern tourist city that’s known for its Spanish moss, ghosts of the civil war, Johnny Mercer, carriage rides, River Street, Paula Deen the butter queen, and “that book,” sees three times as many shootings (per capita) as Chicago. In fact, just yesterday there was a triple shooting in Savannah, the 15th shooting within a two week span.

Savannah’s violence isn’t limited to a particular area. Not at all. Homicides have occurred within walking distance to Armstrong State University, in the tourist and historic district, downtown, midtown, near the front doors of businesses, in the shopping districts, local parks, and in various residential neighborhoods throughout the city.

What, or who’s to blame for Savannah’s bloodshed?

Well, theories about it are like skeletons…every human has one. But there may be an underlying factor that should be addressed. First, though, let’s examine the comment made yesterday to WTOC news by Savannah-Chatham police spokesperson Julian Miller. Miller said, “Obviously, everybody’s concerned about this, and it kind of shows what is going on, not just this community, but nationwide and worldwide, and this isn’t something that a police department can solve on its own, this is something the entire community’s got to work with.”

I agree with Mr. Miller in that solving and reducing crime often does take the cooperation of police, city leaders, and community residents. However, if police want the assistance of the general public, the public must trust the members of their police department, from the chief all the way down to the newest officer on the streets. The same is true for city officials. Citizens must feel that city leaders are doing all they can to help their community, and that the community’s best interests are behind every action taken.

In addition, for a police agency to succeed, rank and file employees must also trust their leaders, including civilian city officials—mayor, city manager, etc. When that trust fails, respect for administration becomes nonexistent. And, with trust and respect circling the bottom of the toilet, the performance of police officers and civilian staff suffers greatly.

Police supervisors are often caught between the desires and orders of the “brass” and the decisions and orders they dole out to their own subordinates.

Line officers and ranking officials alike begin to dread coming to work. Employees soon begin to “talk” about other employees. The rumor mill gathers strength. Workers don’t feel secure in their jobs. They have to worry about what they say and who they say it to. It’s just downright unpleasant. And, unfortunately, this dark cloud of uncertainty, backbiting, and mistrust pours out into the streets, leaving citizens not trusting anyone wearing a badge and gun. After all, if they don’t trust one another, then why should the public trust them?

And that’s the situation in Savannah, Ga.—a good deal of the community absolutely does not trust its police department. Sadly, that level of mistrust has been earned by the SCMPD. Why? Well, for starters (the list is long so I’ve picked only a few points)…

– Police Chief Willie Lovett was accused of having an affair with a female detective. She and her husband filed official complaints. Shortly after the allegation was made public, Chief Lovett abruptly resigned/retired. Then, following a federal investigation, a bombshell fell on the community. Lovett was indicted on 7 federal charges, including extortion, participating in an illegal gambling operation, and conspiring to obstruct the enforcement of state criminal laws. Allegedly, he used the power of his office to conceal a gambling operation, and he was paid to do so.

Chief Lovett

Former SCMPD police chief Willie Lovett

– A high ranking police official was accused of helping Lovett conceal his affair with a female employee.

– Lovett gave police badges to two of his friends, both civilian car dealers. One of the men flashed his badge to an officer who stopped him for driving under the influence.

– At least 14 former officers are gearing up to sue the city of Savannah, claiming sexual harassment, corruption, and retaliation.

– 16 SCMPD officers have been accused of sexual harassment.

– SCMPD was investigated for criminal allegations by the Georgia Bureau of Investigation – undermining fellow officers, cover up, and more.

– MDBI International, a Virginia-based private investigation firm, determined that SCMPD Internal Affairs investigations were “inadequate and unprofessional”. The investigation involved two SCMPD officers who were involved in alerting potential drug dealers that their phones were being tapped by police. The two internal affairs investigators who prepared and presented the report about the officers involved in the crime were suddenly transferred back to patrol, working with the two men they’d investigated.

– Officers have been (allegedly) caught breaking the law but were not charged, nor were they suspended from duty.

– SCMPD turnover rate is extremely high—over two dozen officers have recently resigned, bringing the total to 51 officers resigning in 2014. Seventy-six have quit within the past five years. The front door to the department is practically a revolving door, with new officers meeting those who’ve quit on their way out.

Anyway, this list is extremely long, but I’m sure you can see why the public can’t seem to muster respect for a department whose employees don’t respect the job or the meaning of the badge and their oath.

But the troubles don’t stop with the men and women in uniform. Take the incident where a SCMPD officer stopped a Porsche 911 Turbo for speeding—70 in a 40mph zone. The driver of the car also had a suspended drivers license. The officer issued citations for the speed violation and for driving on a suspended license. He also took possession of the drivers license. A short time later the officer was called into his captain’s office and was informed that the driver of the Porsche was the son of Savannah mayor Edna Jackson. The captain then ordered the officer to return the confiscated drivers license. In addition, the two traffic tickets never found their way to court. They’d somehow “magically” disappeared.

And then there’s Officer Frank Andrew Reteguiz who recently resigned from the SCMPD, but not before sending a copy of his resignation letter his 609 fellow employees (a copy of his message and resignation letter are below, and they are interesting).

In 2013, Reteguiz stopped a vehicle for an offense. As he approached the car the driver bolted out of his car, heading toward the officer. At that point Reteguiz did not know the man, and he felt threatened, so he pulled his service weapon from its holster and kept it pointed at the ground. The man then announced to the officer that he was the husband of Savannah city manager, Stephanie Cutter (Cutter was was appointed to her position by Mayor Jackson. She was since hired permanently by the full Savannah administration). Officer Reteguiz issued a summons to Cutter’s husband for a seat belt violation, a charge that was later dismissed. Reteguiz then filed a complaint with Savannah’s Human Resources Department, but it too, was dismissed by a private attorney, a lawyer who was hired by the city.

Even Chatham County is contemplating distancing themselves from the SCMPD by ditching the city police department in favor of establishing their own law enforcement agency to patrol the unincorporated areas.

So, is there any wonder why criminals have no respect/fear of the law in Savannah, when many of the law enforcement officers there don’t respect one another? And the bad guys aren’t too worried about getting caught because they know the local officers are too busy keeping an eye on their brothers and sisters in blue, and/or filling out job applications with other departments.

The SCMPD is a department that’s out of control, and the only way to fix the troubles, I fear, is to “clean house,” starting at the top of the chain. After all, problems generally cannot be solved by the people who cause them.

Personally, I suggest vacationing in other, safer destinations. Unless, of course, Kevlar is part of your vacation attire…

Finally, here are copies of Officer Frank Andrew Reteguiz’s email to his coworkers, and his resignation letter.

New Picture (1)

Frank Reteguiz speaking to WTOC news about his resignation from SCMPD

Reteguiz’s email to coworkers:

Farewell SCMPD,

Tonight was my last night working for the department and I wanted to say goodbye. I will miss most of you. I had a lot of people ask why I am leaving this past week; so to clarify why I am leaving, below is a copy of my Two Weeks Notice that I had submitted. It’s pretty good reading.  Also, I wrote a book called “How to Fail at Dating”. It will be available by next week.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”- Edmund Burke
Good Luck,
Frank Reteguiz

Reteguiz Letter of Resignation

07/06/2014

To Whom It May Concern,

I, Advanced Patrol Officer Frank Andrew Reteguiz, hereby give my two weeks’ notice with this letter of resignation.

I have chosen to leave SCMPD for several reasons:  retaliation, lack of pay, and the no opportunity for advancement.  First, due the incident from last year involving myself, the City Manager’s husband and Internal Affairs, I have been informed that I am blackballed. Various members from inside the department and outside department have informed me that I would not move beyond patrol and I would have to leave to save my career.  This is discouraging and heart-breaking news.  I know now, based off this incident with Mr. Cutter, the one position I have aspired to do for most of my adult life, to work as a Detective, will never happen for me if I stay with this department.  The reason for this is the toxic culture/politics that is still heavily embedded within the department and government.

When the City Manager’s husband jumped out of his car angry and aggressive, I did what I was trained to do for my safety and my partner’s safety.  I followed the rules and my training, but I got punished.

When I am on patrol now I have to live with the fear I might be punished for defending myself or my partner.  I don’t know if I can trust SCMPD will support me when I respond based off of my training and judgment.  This concern could cause me to hesitate or fail to respond to a threat with the training that has become second nature.  I might get killed, or my partner might get killed, because I don’t know if I can trust my training.

I can’t keep living the way I have these past months.  I have been forced to see a counselor and take medication based off of this incident and the response of the SCMPD.   I don’t want to stay medicated in order to deal with the stress and anxiety this incident has brought into my life.  No officer should have to worry about being punished for doing the right thing.

The second reason for my resignation is the lack of pay.  Recently the city boasted on giving city workers a Cost of Living increase (the first in several years) and it was mistaken as a raise.  A raise is an incentive used to reward exceptional work, maintain employee satisfaction and to deter attrition.  A raise is used to give recognition and  a reason for employees with knowledge and experience to stay with an organization. A cost-of-living increase is something an organization does to all its employees to help keep up with inflation and the increase of cost to sustain a living.

Many officers have to work many off-duty jobs and overtime assignments to make ends meet.   All the extra hours of work takes away from spending time from family and increases the likelihood of injury, due to exhaustion from working those hours.

The third reason is that there is no opportunity for advancement in the department.  The culture embedded with this department is inconsistency and unpredictability.  There is no objective criteria used for advancement.  Competent and honest officers are still constantly being passed up for positions and rank advancement because they may have irked someone because they did the right thing. There is also still unfair treatment within the department.

Officers are still being sent to Internal Affairs (a stressful and anxiety-invoking event) because a citizen who may have the Chief’s phone number, or knew a person in power and was not pleased with the outcome with the officer.  These situations occur time and time again, even though the officer was right.  This occurs while other officers who violated policies suffer no repercussions.

An example of this is the former Internal Affairs unit.  Despite the humiliating reports, the multiple lawsuits and the arrest of former officers because they failed to do their jobs; these officers have only been transferred.  They have suffered no other repercussions.  It is demoralizing to work for a department retaining these officers while unfairly reprimanding other officers for committing minor policy violations.

It is broadcasted on the news that there has been improvement within the department. Sadly this is not the case. The changes made within this department have only been cosmetic in nature.  There is still corruption in this department, and the people who have the power to stop it are still turning a blind eye.  These people knew of the corruption that took place under Chief Lovett, but they stood by and did nothing.  They boast about doing the right thing but they do not act on it when they were needed to take action.  These are deplorable and abusive conditions that we have to work under and why I am resigning.

I cannot with good conscious keep working for SCMPD due to these reasons. I wish a real change would come to the department before you lose the honest officers who do make a difference.

Sincerely,

Frank Andrew Reteguiz”