Homicide - Hussey: The Awakening

What I'm reading: At Close Range, by Tara Taylor Quinn

While I'm regrouping after my trip to the Writers' Police Academy, and en route to the Emerald City Conference, I'm delighted to share the next installment in the "Homicide - Hussey" saga. If you read the previous post last Thursday, you might remember that he enlisted in the Army. Following is his recounting of his early days at Fort Bragg. Enjoy!

I was partnered up with a senior Specialist 4th Class named Clive Satler. Clive had less than a month to go on his hitch. He was content to answer the calls that came crackling across the huge jeep radio, and to not make waves. I, on the other hand, was like a puppy dog. I wanted to investigate everything. I wanted to write tickets, I wanted to ferret out criminal activity and I wanted to bust up bar fights.

I had checked out a hand held radar unit from the sergeant's office. When Clive saw me dragging the gray plastic suitcase holding the radar gun, he groaned, settled down in the passenger's seat of the jeep, and pulled his red beret down over his eyes. "Do whatever you want, but don't wake me up, Cherry." With his eyes closed and as an afterthought he said, "And don't get me into no shit."

I started the M151A1 ¼ ton utility truck (Army nomenclature for jeep), and after advising the desk, officially designated on the radio as Smoker, that unit 2-1 was in service, I headed to the heart of the 82nd Airborne Division Area. I found a spot, in plain view, as mandated by the Supreme Court, and pointed my radar gun north in the hopes of catching a speeder. The speed limit in the division area was 35mph, so it was pretty common that guys would speed on the wide-open four-lane highway. GI's are usually in a hurry. In the 82nd, in the midst of frequent readiness alerts, off-duty time is precious, and troopers like to make the most of it.

I had written several tickets, each one for at least ten miles over the speed limit. My partner continued to snore. I hoped I never got that lazy and worthless. How could he be like this? Police work was so exciting.

My daydreaming was interrupted by the high pitched whine of the radar gun. I excitedly locked in the speed at 57mph. "Holy shit!" I yelled. "Twenty over, a mandatory court appearance." I threw down the radar gun and depressed the clutch, jamming the jeep into first gear and popping the clutch at the same time. The jeep lurched forward, spinning the rear wheels and throwing gravel.

Noises in the Attic

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Today, Detective Hussey continues with another story about his rookie days on the police force.

Mike Butler, whom you met in the previous chapter, was another of those characters who have entered the annals of police history. Mike was one of the most aggressive, physical, honest, contentious cops I have ever met. And he is also one of the craziest bastards it has ever been my pleasure to serve with.

The first time I met Mike was in the locker room of the police department. Several of the veteran cops were talking about going for a beer after work at Zimmerman's bar. "God that would be great," I made the mistake of saying. There was instantaneous quiet and everyone looked my way.

"You ain't invited rookie," Butler said, scowling at me. "And also, you ain't allowed to talk to veterans. Change your clothes and get the hell outa' here."

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I dressed in silence and left. I heard several other comments as I dressed into my street clothes..."That rookies got some balls," one guy said. "Who do these F.N.G.'s think they are?" (F.N.G. Is an acronym for "fucking new guy") another guy asked. "Sure has changed," one said.

On another occasion, after I'd been with the department for several months and was riding alone on patrol, Officer Butler summoned me on the radio. "56 at Lakeshore and the Boulevard."

"10-4," I responded and raced off to the meeting.

Mike needed a form he didn't have to complete a report, and I was glad for the chance to get closer to, or to even be acknowledged by, this veteran officer. Mike was so cool on the radio. I had heard him once after calling out on an armed robbery in progress call. Mike was right on top of the call and after calling out of service on the call, came back on the radio in his same calm voice saying, "Lakeland, roll me a supervisor and a homicide man, I just shot one." The robber survived, but it was just so cool. His composure on hot calls was something every rookie wanted to master.

We exchanged niceties and talked about some calls we had both been on.

"Look what I bought," I offered, holding up a small black canister containing tear gas.

"Where'd you get that?" Butler asked.

"I bought it at the Spur Station on Lakeland Hills."

"Let's see that." He extended his arm. I shoved the small black canister out the driver's window and into the veteran cop's hand. He examined it carefully then asked, "Used it yet?"?

"No, not yet."

What happened then will be forever etched in my mind. Mike Butler brought the canister up level with the top of the window and depressed the button on top, discharging a stream of caustic gas striking me directly in the face.



Mike moved his car and helped me out. He was laughing hysterically as the tears and snot poured from my eyes and nose. "That shit really works, huh", he asked?

"Yeah...guess...it...does." I choked out the words. Mike stayed with me until I had regained my composure. It's just the way he was.

There are so many stories about Mike Butler, and I've been with him on many occasions. My favorite story though involves Joe Reed, an elderly man who was what we called a "regular." He liked to call the police, and nearly every officer on the department had been to his house for one thing or another.

On this particular evening it was noises in the attic. Officer Dewey Pollack, a thin, six-foot-five Navy Vietnam veteran and Mike's best friend was Mike's backup officer.

"I'd like to cure this old fucker," Mike said to Dewey as they walked up to the front door.

"Yeah, but he's harmless," Dewey said.

"But he's a pain in the ass."

Pollack knocked on the door and after some difficulty with the locks, the door popped open.

"Hi officers," Reed said as he held the door open.

"What can we do for ya?" Dewey asked.

"Huh?" the old man yelled.

Jesus, Mike thought. He's deaf as shit.

"Turn on your hearin' aid!" Mike yelled.

"Oh yeah," the old man said, reaching for the device. "I been hearing noises up in the attic."

"How the hell could you do that?" Mike asked in a low voice.

"What's that?" Joe leaned toward the officer.

"Nothin',", Mike said "How would you get into the attic?"

The old man showed the officers a trap door in the ceiling located in the hallway of the home. Joe got a small stepladder and put it up under the hole.

"I'll go," Butler offered. "I'm smaller".

Mike stood only about 5'4" tall. He had been accused at one time by a suspect who was beaten severely by several "vertically challenged" officers of being a member of some "pigmy" patrol.

As Mike looked around in the attic, Dewey and Reed continued their conversation, walking into the living room area of the home. Joe Reed was a colorful old guy. He'd lost his wife several years earlier, and I suspect he called the police sometimes just so he could talk to somebody. He really liked the police. Dewey and Joe were standing facing each other in the center of the living room, when they heard a loud crash. All of a sudden, the air was filled with white dust and tiny fragments of plaster. Dewey looked to his right to find a very dusty Officer Mike Butler standing right next to him. The whole thing resembled a magic act.

There was a person-sized hole in the ceiling above Butler's head.

"There's nobody up there," Mike said rather matter-of-factly. He grabbed the stunned Dewey Pollack by the shirt, said, "Let's go," and headed for the door.

"Thanks a lot," Reed said.

"Don't mention it," Mike said. "Always glad to be of service."

Homicide - Hussey: Cop humor - part 2

Detective Hussey continues to provide glimpses into the sometimes 'off center' world of Law Enforcement.

James Thileson had come to work for the City of Lakeland's Department of Police in the late forties. Jim's family was one of the few that had founded Polk County. Jim's father fought in France in World War One, and lived to tell about it. Jim graduated from the old Lakeland School and joined the Navy during World War Two. He fought valiantly in the south pacific and was decorated for his bravery. When the war ended and Jim was discharged, there was never any question that he would return home. One of Jim's brothers had become a city firefighter. The pay was pretty good and the job had good benefits and a real future.

Jim had always been his own man though, and when he saw an ad in the local newspaper for police officers, he decided that it could be right up his alley. The am radio was abuzz with news of J. Edgar Hoover and his G-Men, and a radio show called "Dragnet" with Jack Webb as Sergeant Joe Friday was very popular. Law enforcement was seen as a glamorous profession. Jim took the test for police officer, passed it and was given a job as a beat policeman downtown.

There were no backup units and no police radios in those days. When the police station, located in the fire department downtown on Cedar Street had a call for an officer, they would flip a switch in the office, which in turn would light a red light, located on a power pole downtown.

When the officer walked by and noticed that the light had been lit, he would go to the pole, unlock the call box with his key, and pick up the telephone receiver. The phone would ring automatically at police headquarters and the officer would be dispatched to the call.

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Thileson worked his way up through the ranks and by the time the late sixties had rolled around, he had reached the rank of Captain. As the nineteen-seventies arrived, Jim's health was failing. He had heart problems and diabetes. He could no longer conduct his duties as captain and as a personal favor to his lifelong friend, the then also ailing Chief of Police, Leo Brooker, promoted Thileson to the rank of Inspector. It was a new rank and one that had never been used before. It has not been used since.

Jim's position was kind of a general assistant to the chief. He attended city commission meetings, made sure maintenance on the new Police building at 20 Lake Wire Drive got done, and in the words of some of the officers, "He should hold the rank of General because all he does is walk around being a general nuisance to everyone."

As Inspector, Thileson's illness worsened, so did his demeanor. He would stop people and chastise them for their haircuts, he would follow guys around and catch them leaving their zone or stopping for coffee, and he would just be plain nasty to everyone. Many a rookie would be screamed at for no apparent reason by the inspector. Whatever good things he had done as a young cop, had been forgotten. Most of the new guys called him "the old asshole" behind his back. Everybody hated him. He was just taking up space.

In 1974, the inspector was diagnosed with terminal cancer and went home for good. The road cops, who are known for being unforgiving, asked if anyone knew where the cancer had come from...perhaps they could get some for some of the other administrators.

In November of 1974, there was a new Chief in town. Herbert William Straley had come from somewhere up North and by all account was a little crazy. He was in the habit of firing the messenger who brought him bad news, and many an unsuspecting cop has been the recipient of an "ass chewing" for something he had no clue he had done. You just didn't tell the Chief he was wrong.

Once he was on his way to work and called the station on the police radio. "One," the voice bellowed across the radio.

"Go ahead, unit one," the rookie dispatcher replied.

"Patch me through to the Sheriff!"

"I'm sorry Chief, but we don't have those capabilities."

"You're fired!" the Chief screamed. "Now get me someone who can do what I want."

Another dispatcher ended up calling the Sheriff on the telephone and holding the receiver next to the keyed mike so the Chief could yell at the Sheriff. His reputation was well known.

Also in November, Sergeant Andy Yatchesky was working internal affairs out of the office of the Chief of Police. Andy was growing accustomed to the chief's daily tirades and was always looking for a way to get on his good side. Officer Billy Hyatt knew that the Sergeant would love some information that no one else had. Billy formulated a plan.....

To be continued ... come back next week.