Homicide - Hussey: Just Funny Stuff

(Note: I switched to the 'new and improved' editing feature at blogger. Please accept my apologies if things don't work right at first. This post is the first one I've tried.)

This week, Detective Hussey chats with us about a cop's sense of humor.

Some things are just funny. Humor is something relative. In a cop’s world, everything gets distorted, including his sense of humor. Things that would have made him ill or repulsed him when he was younger, are sources of hilarity as he becomes a seasoned veteran. If you don’t find the following passages particularly humorous, I'm sorry. Trust me, after several years on the job, you would be roaring with laughter.

I was driving an unmarked car once, when I observed in front of me, a car which had obviously been struck in the rear by another vehicle. The trunk was pushed up and to the right. The trunk lock had been broken, but the collision had welded the trunk door in place, with a 10 inch gap between the door sill and the trunk lid. The taillight fixtures were covered with red transparent tape in order to comply with the law.


The gouges and creases in the metal had begun to rust, which meant that the accident occurred some time in the past, and the owner was in no hurry to repair it. On the mangled bumper of this bucket of bolts, was a fluorescent orange bumper sticker which had the words, “THIS VEHICLE HAS BEEN INVOLVED IN OVER 20,000 FATAL REAR END COLLISIONS”.

Pretty funny I thought, and chuckled to myself. This was not to be the end of the joke. As the traffic began to move, we made it around a corner and the traffic light changed from green to yellow. A white, Isuzu Rodeo stopped abruptly in traffic. The war wagon with the bumper sticker was unable to make the stop, and plowed into the rear of the white SUV.

“Oh my God.” I laughed out loud, “Twenty-thousand and one!”

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A good friend of mine, Dewey Pollock, whom you met in an earlier chapter, was on patrol one dreary, rainy morning, when he happened upon a parked car with its windows open. The car was parked behind the old fire training tower, on the shore of Lake Parker, with its lights on. It was not unusual to find boys and girls parked in cars in this area late at night for the purposes of watching the “submarine races”. For someone to be here in the daylight, with windows open, was something different. It looked almost like the driver had run off the dirt road.

Perhaps a heart-attack, Dewey thought. He stopped the patrol car behind the suspect vehicle, and positioning his police hat with the rain cover on his head, he got out and walked toward the car. As Dewey got closer, he could hear rock and roll music playing softly inside the car. As he carefully approached, one hand on his gun, he noticed motion, then was able to view the entire interior of the car. He could see then that there was a couple inside, a man on top of a woman. The two were having sexual intercourse.

Officer Pollack yelled into the car, “Hey, sorry to bother you, but you’ve left your lights on.”

The man looked over his shoulder, and without stopping his up and down motion, said calmly, “Don’t worry officer, I’ve got a DIE HARD.”

Dewey thought for a moment, then returned to his car. “Guess he does at that."

***

Cops are called upon to do a variety of jobs during their careers. You may find yourself having to defend your life or the life of a fellow officer or a citizen previously unknown to you. It may require you to take that person’s life, or to sacrifice your own.

Most of the time though, the tasks are less lethal and more skill oriented. You may be called to get a snake out of a garage, or a cat out of a tree. You may have to administer CPR or first aid to dying person, or to deliver a baby in the back seat of a patrol car or taxi cab. You may need to make decisions regarding the welfare of children and small animals.

You have to have limited knowledge in nearly every field because sooner or later, you will be called upon to discuss some subject you know little or nothing about. You’ll have to be able to BS your way through it. Cops are expected to be the experts on everything from pre-marital sex to comparative religion, from chemical warfare to baby care. You may even be called upon from time to time to “unofficially” dabble in areas of civil law, which are generally restricted to persons who have doctoral degrees in Jurisprudence.

One such case, and I know now that there have been many, took place at the Dakota Apartments one cold winter night just before New Years. I was the backup officer on a family disturbance call. Officer Herb Koffler arrived just ahead of me. As we approached the door to the apartment, we could hear a heated verbal argument going on inside. Herb leaned toward the door for a moment and listened before using his Kell light to rap on the door. The yelling and screaming ceased, and the door opened just a crack.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Herb asked.

“Me and my ol’ lady havin’ a argument,” the little bald man replied.

“Bout what?” Herb inquired, pushing his hat back on his head. “Like I really give a shit,” he said under his breath.

“I’m tired a livin’ like dis here,” the old man replied.

“Me too,” the woman added.

“Why don’t you two get divorced?" I asked

Herb shot me look, like “Dumb ass rookie.”

“We can’t afford no lawyer.” The old gentleman lowered his eyes.

“Lawyer? You don’t need a lawyer. I’ll divorce you right now.” Herb smiled. The two older folks looked suspiciously at the officer.

“How you do dat?” the man asked.

“Easy. Do both of you want to get divorced?"

They nodded emphatically to the affirmative.

“Well then," he said. “Place both of your right hands on my badge.”

The man and woman complied.

“Repeat after me,” Herb said, lowering his voice in a reverent manner. “I do hereby divorce you, in the name of the Father, the son and the Holy Ghost.”

The astounded couple repeated the concocted vows.

“Congratulations,” Herb yelled loud enough to male me jump. “You’re divorced, now get the hell out of here.”

The old man began laughing and jumping with glee as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He grabbed a pillowcase and stopped here and there, picking up clothes and putting them into the makeshift suitcase. “Finally, I done wit’ you bitch,” he said.

“Well I’m done wit yo’ black ass too”, the woman said.

“Thanks officers.” The man grinned shaking both of our hands vigorously on his way out the front door.

“Okay, lock your door and have a good one,” Herb said to the lady.

“Sho will,” she said happily.

As we walked back to the car I asked the veteran officer if he had ever done that before.

“Sure, lots of times, marriages too. Exorcisms, séances, and last rights. We do it all. Protect and serve is a broad-band statement.”

I thought about how happy the couple was. It wasn’t like they had any property or child custody disputes, so why make the attorneys and the courts rich? We had provided another valuable service at a government rate.

Homicide - Hussey: Afternoon Delight

Detective Mark Hussey continues to entertain with stories from his early days in law enforcement. In "Afternoon Delight" prankster Billy Hyatt returns. If you haven't met Billy yet, check out the posts on March 6, 13, and 20th.

One Friday afternoon in late September, the first signs of autumn were creeping into Lakeland. The days were getting shorter and residents were enjoying their first break from the hellish heat of summer.

Detectives Billy Hyatt and Kenny Wnuk were working an under cover assignment at the Holiday Inn on Memorial Boulevard. They'd been on a stakeout looking for drug dealers for nearly eighteen hours. "The Great Pooh Bear" (aka Ken Wnuk) was seriously getting on the nerves of his partner, Billy Hyatt.
The two were discussing whether or not cops should have the power to administer roadside executions for traffic violations, when they noticed a very new red Mercedes convertible, driving slowly through the parking lot.

"I think if there's two cops, and both agree, we should be able to shoot the asshole right there," Billy said, picking a piece of "Jimbo's Barbecue" from his teeth with a toothpick.


"I think you'd have to at least have a Sergeant or above as the executioner," Pooh said thoughtfully. Both men stopped talking and watched as the Mercedes went by them slowly, with the middle-aged, balding driver looking up at the room numbers.

"Think he's our boy?" Billy asked as he slid down in the seat of the dilapidated old Camero.

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"Nah, guy we're lookin' for is a kid, 18, 19 years old."

The pair watched as the convertible parked, and a well dressed "businessman" got out of the car and went to a room on the second floor. He unlocked the door to 214 and went inside. Though the car and the guy were kind of out of place, the detectives soon lost interest.

The two cops continued their conversation, but were soon interrupted by a second strange visitor. A white BMW drove slowly past. The driver was a knockout blonde, and was also looking for room numbers. The Beemer parked next to the Mercedes and the woman, whom Pooh noted had "legs all the way up to her ass," knocked on the door of room 214, and after looking around suspiciously, quickly entered.

Billy was the younger of the two detectives, by two years, but he actually looked a little older. He was 5'9" with a thin, wiry build. He was mostly bald, but had let the wisps of hair grow long at the sides of his head, and looked for all the world like Bozo the Clown. The Pooh Bear, aptly nicknamed by his throngs of lady friends, was Billy's exact opposite. He was "Mutt" to Billy's "Jeff." The bear was short, about 5'4" and weighed about 185 pounds. He was an avid power lifter and his muscular tanned build rippled around his tank top shirt. With his bushy beard and his long, coal-black hair combed straight back over his head, he resembled Lon Cheney in the Wolfman movies.

As the woman disappeared inside the hotel room, the two detectives looked at each other and it was Hyatt who grinned first.

"Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Ken asked as he slapped his knee.

"Probably," Hyatt said. He fished for the handheld police radio. "Lakeland, I need twenty-eight on a Florida tag, 7-5-4-3-1-7."

A few minutes later, the information crackled across the radio. "That tag appears on a 1983 BMW, registered to Paul and Eileen Collins, 314 Palmola Drive in Lakeland. "Wonder if Paul knows that Eilene is bumpin' uglies with the boss?" Billy said.

"Just a little afternoon delight," Pooh said.

Billy ripped the page with the registration information from his notebook and bounded out of the car, heading toward the motel office. "Listen for me on your radio and let me know what happens," he said as he jogged away.

The Pooh Bear nodded and turned on his handset.

In the hotel lobby, Billy quickly found the house phone and dialed room 214. When a male voice answered the phone, Billy screamed into the receiver, "You no good son of a bitch, this is Paul and that's my wife you're fuckin' in there. When you come outa' there, I'll kill ya." Billy then hung the phone up and called the Pooh on the radio. "Anything happenin'?"

"No, not...wait a minute, holy shit, the girl's comin' out carryin' her clothes." Eileen, clad only in turquoise panties and matching brassiere, and carrying the rest of her clothing, was running down the stairs for the parking lot. After some difficulty and dropping several things, she managed to get the car door open and throw the rest of her things inside. The BMW's engine roared to life, and as she squealed past the startled detective, she lost control and glanced off a VW bug which was parked next to the surveillance vehicle.

A grinning Billy Hyatt came back to the car and slid in behind the wheel.

"What the hell did you do?" Pooh asked.

"I just told the old geezer I was Eileen's husband and I was on my way to kick his ass."

The two detectives roared with laughter at the thought of the lady rushing home half-naked and confronting the unsuspecting husband. What a hoot.

Now they waited for the second half to come out. They waited and they waited. After about two hours of silence, Hyatt nervously said, "I sure hope the old bastard didn't have the big one in there."

"Yeah, could be bad," Pooh said as he watched a uniform cop investigating the hit and run to the Volkswagen.

Just then, the door to room 214 opened and a still frightened, balding head peered out. After looking in both directions, the man with his suit coat draped over one arm, rushed from the room and scurried to his red Mercedes.

"He's a little nervous," a relieved Wnuk said.

"Yeah guess he'll be lookin' over his shoulder for a while."

The dope dealer never did show up, but the stakeout certainly wasn't a total loss. Detectives Hyatt and Wnuk learned that sometimes, the phone can be a valuable tool in the fight against boredom.

Homicide - Hussey:: "KC on the Boulevard"

First - The winner of Linda Swift's contest from Tuesday is ... Kathleen from Canada. Kathleen, email Linda at swift2208@yahoo.com to claim your prize.

Friday is here again, and along with it comes another chapter from the tales of Detective Mark Hussey, Pull up a chair, grab some coffee, and join him at K.C. on the Boulevard for some cop stories.

Kissen’ Kuzzin’s Restaurant was somewhat of a cultural center for local law enforcement. K.C. On The Boulevard as it was called, or just K.C., became a 24-hour hangout for the cops and anyone looking for the cops. On the day shift, it was not unusual to find members of the LPD brass in the restaurant eating breakfast or lunch.

The evening shift usually made up the majority of the clientele for dinner.

The midnight shift however, got interesting. You never knew who might show up. The drunks would come in (sometimes the drunks would be off-duty cops), the troopers from the Florida Highway Patrol would come in, the Deputies from the Polk County Sheriff’s Department would come in, the LPD road cops would be there and then, last but not least, the unending cast of characters who followed this traveling road show.

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K.C. Served home cooked fare, and of course, the food was half price with free coffee. Breakfast was served twenty-four hours a day, with potato pancakes topping the list of favorites. For dinner, the choice was usually the K.C. Strip steak, which was marinated in some “secret sauce”. I found out in later years that the secret sauce was Italian dressing. The steaks were nonetheless delicious.

The restaurant manager once told me, “Giving you guys half price is the cheapest insurance policy I can buy.” It seemed to be true. Although he had occasional "drunk" problems, which were swiftly dealt with, to my knowledge the restaurant was never robbed.

Sometimes on the weekends, the guys would meet their wives and families there for dinner or breakfast. Usually there were clandestine rendezvous with girlfriends or contacts. Mostly though, it was the “cop’s” restaurant. K.C. was our place and anyone who entered there and remained, did so at our pleasure, whether they realized it or not.

The midnight shift was the most unusual shift of all. Most of the crimes that did happen were substantial ones, meaning they were serious felony type crimes, rapes, murders and robberies. The best fights happened on that shift when the bars were closing. It was said, you didn’t have to have a score card to tell the players. Usually people that were out roaming the streets that hour of the morning were up to no good. One old timer used to say, after midnight there are two kinds of people out on the streets: Cops and Crooks, and I don’t see your badge.

If anything was going to happen, it usually happened in that window from midnight to eight. Usually though, nothing happened. After about three a.m., the radio would go dead and if you didn’t feel like finding a place to hide from the supervisor and sleep, you found something to do. That “something” usually consisted of some activity that was against departmental policy or of the practical joke nature. Many of these escapades began or ended at K.C. On The Boulevard.

One such morning, Sergeant Delton E. “Pistol Pete” Petersen had just called out at the restaurant for his usual four o’clock breakfast and coffee.

“Five-nine,” the radio crackled. “Five-nine go ahead.”

“I’ll be forty-two K.C.” Pete was so predictable. He ordered his usual breakfast: cheese omelet, bacon and toast, with black coffee.

The breakfast was delivered and the fun began. Pete lifted his fork and attempted to cut a small piece of the two egg omelet with his fork. The eggs seemed a little tough this morning. As he wriggled the fork back and forth to no avail, he noticed something unusual in the egg near his fork. Taking the end of his spoon and holding down the opposite end of the omelet, he pulled at the clear, rubbery object with his fork. It slowly gave way and then was completely visible.

“Butler you son-of-a-bitch,” he whispered under his breath. The latex condom dangled from the end of the fork as a couple of the waitresses looked on, giggling good-naturedly. Then, Pete let out a thunderous laugh. He’d been had. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but revenge would be forthcoming.

On another morning the shift, Lieutenant Clarence "Sonney" Sharrett sat down to breakfast and ordered his eggs. Several minutes later the meal was delivered to his table under a metal cover. If he didn’t think this was unusual enough, the dish seemed to be beeping. As he lifted the cover, he was greeted by two yellow baby chickens.

Peep—peep—peep.

“I think the eggs are a little overcooked," the lieutenant said.

You could count on your car being tampered with too. Everybody in the department had a key to this year's fleet of cars. In other words, your key fit all the police cars.

Unlike some of the big cities who had the “Indianapolis plan,” which meant they took their assigned cars home, we had what we called the “Mulberry plan”(Mulberry is a small town south of Lakeland). We got to take our keys home.

It was not unusual to come back to your car after breakfast and find something in your car that had not been in there before. Sometimes you would turn your ignition key to find that someone had filled the air conditioner vents with flour or baby powder and turned the fan to the “high” position. This would result in you being covered with white powder.

Sometimes the backseat would be gone completely. On one occasion, an officer and his trainee returned to their police car to find that someone had written the words “Caution K-9” on the windows with white shoe polish. When they opened the car door a most unpleasant odor slammed into their nostrils. A large, rotting, oozing dog carcass had been tenderly placed on the back seat of the police car. The senior officer shot a glance across the street to find another police car, strategically placed for careful surveillance.

Sometimes the pranks backfired, causing ramifications that resulted in internal affairs investigations. They rarely found out who actually pulled the pranks. The men just wouldn’t cooperate with the head hunters. Once, somebody brought a wino, or homeless person as they are called today, from downtown somewhere. Along the way a stop was made to fill the intoxicated man’s pockets with fresh dog shit. The man was then placed in the back of a patrol car in the parking lot of K.C. When the officer came back to his car, the man was gasping for breath and an ambulance had to be summoned.

Another time, during the day shift, a large dead dog was tied to the rear bumper of one officers car with a short length of rope. The dog and rope were then concealed under the rear of the police car. When the officer got back in his car and headed west on Memorial Boulevard, the dog reluctantly followed. Getting caught briefly on a manhole cover, he bounced unnaturally down the street behind the car. The officer turned the car south on Florida Avenue past a crowd of yelling people, wildly flailing their arms and yelling. The officer thought they were waving and waived back. The phone calls started to come in.

“One of your deplorable cops is dragging a poor dog behind his car. He should be shot,” one woman said.

“Is that how you guys punish your K-9’s now?” another inquired.

Another caller claimed to have seen the dog running, trying to catch up to the car, before being pulled to his death. And so it went.

K.C is gone now. A realtor’s “Available” sign hangs out front. It was our sanctuary. Our home away from home. It was neutral ground. It was safe haven.

And today, while Detective Hussey has been entertaining you, I'm in Cairo -- virtually anyway. Jenyfer Matthews and I shared space on her blog today as part of my participation in the Go Green, Read e project. Please check it out.

Homicide - Hussey: Cop humor - Blue Moon

And here's the conclusion of the chapter Detective Hussey entitled "Blue Moon". It was a very long chapter, so I broke it into 4 parts. Billy is back again -- if you haven't read the first three segments, I suggest you do so first.

Several years after the death of John Thileson, on a brutally hot Friday night in August, a sixteen-year-old girl was spending the night with her girlfriend. According to police reports, the girlfriend's step-father crept into the guest room and sexually assaulted Cynthia Parnell. It was a crying Cynthia who called her father at 1:10AM and brought him and several officers from the police department.

Shortly after the step-father's arrest for sexual battery, a sleepy Lieutenant Andy Yatchesky, who was now in charge of the department's Criminal Investigation Bureau, fumbled for the telephone. "No, I just got to sleep," he wearily told the dispatcher. "I'll be right down."

The midnight shift was now in charge, and one of the colorful and sometimes unbalanced members of that shift was Officer Billy Hyatt. He had recently transferred to the night shift so he could be left alone. Tonight was Billy's turn to answer the PBX switchboard and man the front desk. Usually the desk was worked by a trainee, someone who was injured, or in this case, the next man in the rotation. It was considered mundane duty, and no policeman worth his salt wanted to be inside on the midnight shift.

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It was nearly 2:30 when Lieutenant Yetchesky came in—bleary eyed, carrying his jumbo cup of 7-11 coffee. He nodded at Officer Hyatt and climbed the stairs to the bureau offices. Andy unlocked the door, turned on the lights and took a seat at the secretary's desk.

The old C.I.B. offices were located at the top of a stairway on the second floor of the police department. When you got to the top of the stairs you saw an opaque glass door with "Criminal Investigations" emblazoned in large orange letter. To the left of the door were two 4'x 8' clear glass windows, painted green from the floor to about 3 feet high. This allowed people coming up the stairs to see the secretary seated at her desk, and in turn it allowed the secretary to see anyone who might be approaching the C.I.B. offices. Also in this office vestibule were two metal chairs. The backs of the chairs were placed against the glass windows, facing the secretary's desk. This allowed the secretary to continue watching for anyone coming in, while keeping an eye on suspects and witness who might be seated in the chairs, waiting to see detectives.

It was at this secretary's desk that Lieutenant Yetchesky had positioned himself. His office was cluttered with paperwork from the day before, and although he would normally have conducted an interview in what would undoubtedly be a high profile case there, he was relatively sure he would be undisturbed this time of the morning.

One of the new patrol officers escorted the victim and her father upstairs to the detective bureau. Andy did not know the patrolman. God, they look so young, Andy thought.

The girl and her father were ushered into the chairs in front of the desk. Both looked as if they'd been crying. Andy knew it would be a long night.
The interview continued well into the morning. It was painful for all involved, and Andy was unsure of the time. He was however, vaguely aware of some movement on the stairwell landing outside the windows. He was deep into the interview.

As the lieutenant looked up to ask another pertinent question, he realized what he had heard. There, in the window, between the heads of the victim and witness was the face of a balding, veteran police officer. It wasn't his normal face though—it was contorted, tongue lolling from one side of his mouth and—What the hell was hanging from his nose?

This is all I need, Andy thought. Billy Hyatt continued to change his facial expressions from one to another. The lieutenant continued the interview, trying not to acknowledge the presence of the officer outside the window.

Now one thing Billy hated worse than anything was being ignored. It hadn't worked at home when he was a kid, it hadn't worked in school, and it didn't work now. Billy had always been a force to be reckoned with. He wasn't happy until someone was begging him to stop.

Andy actually had more questions, but decided to cut the interview short. "Do you have anything to add?" Andy inquired of the victim's father? Billy's face had left the window. Thank God, Andy thought, breathing a sigh of relief. He'd have to have a talk with Officer Hyatt.

As the father continued to describe the fate he hoped awaited the rapist of his daughter, the Lieutenant noticed more movement outside the windows. Hyatt was back. This time he had pushed the back of a chair, carefully and quietly, up against the window. What the hell was he up to now?

Andy didn't have to wait long to find out. A feeling of sickness traveled through him. It seemed like the temperature in that room had gone down twenty degrees. He could no longer concentrate on the words of the witness. There, outside the glass windows of the C.I.B. offices, a police officer in full uniform had removed his gun belt and was undoing his pants.

"I can't fuckin' believe it," Andy muttered to himself.

"What?"the startled father asked.

"Nothing," Andy said quickly.

All of a sudden Andy Yatchesky's worst fears were realized. There, in the window, and at the same level of the faces of the people he was interviewing, was the hairy, naked backside of Officer William Hyatt.

The Lieutenant panicked. He was biting his lip, he was shuffling papers, he was trying to think. Maybe he could get them into the back without them seeing it. No, surely when they stood up they'd see it. How would he explain it?

Of course when all was said and done, Andy realized it would end up his responsibility.

The sweaty, brown asshole remained pressed against the glass for what seemed to Andy like an eternity. His mouth was dry by now, and he had resigned himself to the fact that any minute, the little girl would look up, see the unthinkable, scream, and his career would be over. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared, the rear end was gone. As Billy climbed down, the back of the chair banged against the window. Cindy's father turned his head to the glass.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Don't know," Andy said hoarsely, looking down, wiping his brow, and knowing his career was over.

The interview was concluded and a very shaky, weary, Lieutenant Yatchesky locked the door to the bureau and escorted the Parnells downstairs. Officer Hyatt was seated back at the desk and talking on the phone. As they passed by, Billy waved and said, "Have a good night."

Mr. Parnell remarked what a nice officer he was.

"Oh yeah, a real peach." Blue Moon.

Homicide - Hussey: Cop humor - part 3

Welcome back to the continuation of last week's post from Homicide Detective Hussey. If you missed it, you'll want to read it first to refresh your memory about Billy, the practical joker and the rest of the players And perhaps it's a fitting post for a Friday the 13th--the second in two months.

Where we left off ... 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.....

"Mornin Sarge," Billy said as he met Yatchesky in the lobby.

"Officer Hyatt, how are you?"

"Okay," Billy replied, "but did you hear about Inspector Thileson?"

"No." The Sergeant looked interested.

"He died this morning." Billy's voice trailed off and he tried to look sad.

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"Who told you?"

"His wife called me early this morning. He just fell asleep and didn't wake up. We were really close." Billy's face was stone sober as he laid it on.

"I'd better tell the Chief," Andy said and walked briskly away.

Billy found some paperwork to keep busy until the Sergeant returned.

"Thank you for the information, Billy," Andy said. "The Chief hadn't heard the news. He called the City Manager and funeral arrangements are being made."

"Holy shit." Billy jumped up out of his chair. "You didn't tell the Chief that shit did you?"

Andy turned ghost white. "What are you saying? Oh my God Billy, I'm not taking the fall for this. If this is another one of your sick jokes, you're through. I'll kill you."

Billy didn't hear the rest. He was running out the back door and getting into his car. The sergeant was still screaming when Billy squealed out of the parking lot at 9:05 am.

A number of calls were left with Billy's wife that day with instructions to call as soon as he returned. An APB was broadcast to all units with orders to bring Officer Hyatt to the station immediately upon contact (DEAD OR ALIVE). But Billy Hyatt was nowhere to be found. He had just disappeared.

That afternoon at 3:28 PM, in the oncology ward of the Lakeland General Hospital, Inspector Jim Thileson "succumbed to a prolonged illness," or so the obituary read.

Andy Yatchesky will tell you, though he has no proof, he believes Officer Hyatt, who has no alibi to this day for his activities of that fateful afternoon, had a hand in the coincidental death of the much maligned Inspector.

Andy wasn't too upset though, because the Chief and the City Manager had the funeral plans already in the works and came off like the heads up guys that they were. Although the Chief saw the time on the death certificate and remarked to his secretary that it must be a mistake, he never questioned it. Sergeant Andy Yatchesky became Lieutenant Andy Yatchesky and decided to keep his mouth shut too.

The men of the Lakeland Police Department especially the midnight shift got their revenge also. After taking a ten-eight, they would drive to the Spur gas station, where they would consume copious amounts of black coffee. Between two and three AM, when their bladders could stand the pressure no longer, they would make their way to the city cemetery.


As they drove through the large wrought iron gates, they would kill the lights to their cruisers and stealthily coast to the rear of the cemetery and find the final resting place of Inspector Thileson. Each night without fail, several of the faithful would gather there to relieve themselves on the grass and headstone, which bore the inspector's name. Sometimes there would be a line. It became a ritual among those who had known him well.

As one patrolman said, "It is a fitting tribute."

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.

Homicide - Hussey: Cop humor - part 1

Since I'm on my way to SleuthFest, I've moved "Homicide - Hussey" up a day. I hope you enjoy seeing the lighter side of cop work. I don't have time to mess with the IE coding troubles, so again, if you can use Firefox, it should be better. Comments don't seem to be working in IE today.

Billy Hyatt's exploits as an officer with the Lakeland Police Department are legendary. Never in the history of this agency or any other that I know of, have so many classic practical jokes been played on so many. The list of unbelievers who have challenged the "Great One" is endless. Shortly they would come begging for a truce, sometimes they would be afforded mercy, sometimes not.

Often times the prank would be rather harmless, like the one he played on Glenn Seacrest.

Glenn got into his patrol car one evening and smelled the unmistakable smell of feces. He checked his shoes, he checked under the seats, he checked under the mats he looked everywhere. The smell remained. Glenn returned to the station when he could bear the smell no longer, and switched cruisers. The smell would not go away. Glenn just got used to smelling it and went to work.

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About halfway through the shift, a little old lady ran the red light at Florida and the Boulevard. Glenn stopped her and began issuing the citation. As he wrote, he could see the old woman sniffing the air like a bloodhound trying to get his bearings. Glenn smelled it too. It was that damn dog shit smell. It seemed to be getting stronger. It just wouldn't go away. Glenn completed the ticket and explained it to the motorist as she continued to snort and sniff. After tearing off the women's copy, he opened the ticket book to stow away the pink copy. That's when he found the carefully placed, small brown lump of excrement. The lady saw it too. They looked at each other, neither knowing what to say.

Glenn said, "Have a nice day."

"Oh I will," said the lady."

Or you might go to work on Monday morning, after working all weekend on your beautiful lawn, weeding, fertilizing, watering, mowing, and raking, and come home that evening to find that someone has delivered a dump truck load of fill-dirt onto your lawn. Those things would happen to you if Billy liked you. If he didn't like you, nothing was out of the question.

Billy was a top-notch practical joker, but he was also a top-notch cop. His experience and knowledge regarding police work was second to none. Billy knew a little about everything. When he and Ken Wnuk were under cover, no finer UC team ever worked the streets anywhere. He was a friend to all, and good husband and father. Then there was the other side.

This chapter in Detective Hussey's manuscript is a long one--I'll be posting it in installments. To make sure you don't miss any, you can sign up to follow the blog. As always, I'll share what I learn at conference workshops and panels when I return next week.