Never Underestimate The Stupidity Of Your Fellow Man

Since I've been accused of "slacking" I figgered I'd tell another story about small town 5-0. You've all heard dumb criminal stories, I guess I'll give you a stupid cop story.

I've done lots of things in my life that some might describe as ill-advised. For instance I rode bulls for about six years. Faint of heart, I ain't. To say I have never been afraid isn't entirely accurate. Usually, in bull riding, as in law enforcement, dangerous things go down so fast that fight-or-flight syndrome kicks in and you're not really afraid until after things are over. Very seldom do you have time to think about what's going on, and be afraid while it's happening. There was one time this wasn't the case.

There was once a bar located in one of the municipalities in my parish. See, in Louisiana we have parishes. They are equivalent to what you yankee types call counties. Anyhoo, this bar was a rather seedy establishment. Lots of crimes in that area were carried over from events that took place at that bar. When the bar would close, we would have to go into the city and sit in parking lots to deter the shootings and stabbings, and various other forms of ass-hattery.

The city never really had enough officers to handle this job themselves. I mean, it's not really a "city". It's a town that is incorporated and probably has 6 officers on duty any given night. In addition, for some reason most of the city cops were relunctant to snatch a knot in somebody's head when they were begging for it. We, however, were not.

This bar was located in a predominately african-american section of town, and was frequented almost exclusively by african-americans. Keep in mind that I had been a deputy for about one year. (these point will be material in a moment).

One night, for whatever reason, there was only one officer in that part of town. This officer decide to rub a couple of braincells together and go sit in the parking lot of this bar at closing time to prevent any problems. I guess somebody said something about somebody's momma, and there was some derision amongst the patrons of this establishment. Bubba decides to push the panic button and call in the calvary, so we went in force...err well, 3. If you can call that force. 2 and a half if you don't count the trainee as a whole deputy.

Upon our arrival, we notice that nothing really nasty is ensuing. We broadcast our typical warning with the PA systems, "Leave or go to jail." Everybody is leaving, and nobody is brandishing firearms, or saying ugly things about each other's maternal parent, cool.

Well, I say cool, but it was not to last. One of the bar patrons was playing loud rap music in his car as he was leaving. We had a saying about these kinds of things. It went, "You can whatever you want walking away." Apparently officer Bubba hadn't heard this little pearl of wisdom. Had he ever heard this saying, the following events might have never taken place.

Officer Bubba shouts at the offending patron, "Turn that $#it down, BOY!" Looking back, I'm not sure the patron even heard this. In any event, he didn't turn down his music. Officer Bubba grows a set of oversized gonads and leaps into this guys window for some reason known only to officer Bubba. Did I mention officer Bubba was about 6 feet tall and weighed about a metric ton? Anyhoo, the patron, startled I am sure, punches the gas, and Bubba falls out the window and on to the ground. He shouts into his radio as he lifts his enormous torso off the ground, "Officer Down!" So in a heartbeat we switch from cool observant mode into turbo-whoopass mode. We mount up, and engage in a highspeed pursuit with this suspected illegal whaler through the parking lot, about 20 feet to the South, through the U-turn lane, and maybe 40 feet back to the intersection. Well, I say high-speed pursuit, but we probably never got over 20 mph.

The guy stops, and we initiate felony takedown procedures. In a felony takedown, the suspect is to be proned out, and cuffed from the prone position. This guy wasn't interested in being in a prone position. The closest he got to prone was the front lean and rest (push up) position. One of the other deputies approached the suspect, and kicked one of his hands out from under him, so we could cuff him from the prone position. Now, in defense of the deputy, he didn't kick the guy, he kicked his hand so he'd get prone as procedure dictates. In defense of anybody that wasn't standing right there, there was a lot of loose dirt right there that flew up, and it probably looked like he just got kicked square in the head.

Have you ever been in one of those situations where you just knew $#it was bad and was only gonna get worse? Yeah, me too.

This whips the crowd into a frenzy. They begin to surround us shouting all sorts of things, but honestly, I couldn't hear the crowd. Let me set this scene for you. We were standing in the median of a four lane highway (US 61 to be exact), the crowd surrounded us, and stretched from one shoulder of the highway to the other, and probably six or seven people deep. We were all standing back to back, and the crowd was closing in. Uhhh, the rest of his hit the panic button, and called for some real calvary. I think at one point I said on the radio, "Send everybody. Mobilize the National Gaurd if you can." Yes, I am still a smartass when my life is in danger.

The radio chatter kept me from completely going into brain lock. I could hear everybody signaling that they were en route, and that State Police was coming. I remember hearing one of the troopers saying, "Hang on guys we're enroute." I'm completely in fight-or-flight mode, but the guy in front of me who was threatening to kill me, and completely ignoring the .40 Glock Model 23 pointed at his face asked a really dumb question, "What? You gonna shoot me if I keep walking?" I replied, "Step and find out." He wasn't completely crazy because I have no doubt in my mind that had he taken one more step, he'd be ventilated, and existing at room temperature. God only knows what would have happened after that.

I never heard the sirens. I don't know how much time passed until our back-up got there. This place was way out in the boondocks. It might have been five minutes, or five seconds. I don't remember anything until I heard the action on a Remington 870 12 GA. and the words, "GET THE &&&& BACK!!!" Nothing like a Remington 870 chambering a round to disperse a crowd. That's a sweet sound to the ears. It makes a hostile mob look like a swarm of cockroaches when the lights come on.

The crowd dispersed without further incident. Since we were inside the city, Bubba made the command decision as to what should be done with the offending patron. He wrote him a misdemeanor summons (Like a traffic a ticket) and turned him loose. Bubba, to this day, claims that guy ran over him. WTF? I'm not sure that guy did anything intentionally, but if that's your position, how do you write a summons and let the guy go? Jackass. Lying M'erF'er. That dumbass almost got at least five people killed, and didn't even arrest this guy. I have hated him ever since. That's what we'd call a punk in a cop suit.

I have never been so scared in all my life. Not even the times I got "hung up" in my bullriding days. Not even the time the dealers thouight it would be a good idea to "shoot and scoot" everytime a cop passed. Besides the fact that I might have gotten killed, I was never sure the guy did anything wrong. I mean, when you got a cop screaming like a beyotch, "Officer Down!" you can't very well, not do anything, but still. That's what I have heard described as a "cluster-goat-&&&&" or in radio code, "Charlie-Foxtrot."

I can't say it enough: I have never been so scared in all my life. Heh, then we went back to work.