Note to the readers of this blog: I interrupt myself once again to not talk about birding – but to instead
relate the details of my latest December 2015 ride-along, with my favorite
member of the police force of San Diego; Officer Rager.
Thanks to a particularly insistent El Nino, this winter in
southern California was turning out to be a wet one. To get down to the San Diego (city) Central
Division station relatively on time; I hurtled south on the rain-slicked
concrete pavement as safely as I could (down “The 15”) slicing through the
foggy air, in a borrowed Toyota Prius. I
say, ‘relatively on time’ as I pulled in to the Central lot a few minutes to
2:00 PM and the official start of Second Watch.
I was running a little later than the 1:50 PM mark I had been asked to strive
for. Crossing the lot with my camera bag
and jacket in hand, Officer Rager met me at an intimidating looking iron gate with
her customary and cheery, “Hi Dad!” and handed me a small white self-stick tag
with the words, “Ride-Along” emblazoned
on it, along with that day’s date and someone’s authorized signature. I proudly removed the back paper (placing it responsibly in my pants pocket so as not to litter in the presence of the law), and slapped the adhesive part to my left chest. She then quickly ushered me into the
building, down the hall to the right and into a large meeting space through a
closed door.
As I stealthily entered the room just behind her, I felt all eyes follow us while
their discussion continued. We found two
open chairs against the wall and sat down.
The fact that I had been a bit tardy in arriving didn’t seem to matter
to the assembled so I relaxed and listened carefully to the speakers. This portion of a typical police shift was
called “line-up” and I felt very fortunate to have been allowed to attend. I looked around the room and counted 34
people either sitting at a large conference type table, or in chairs along the
outside walls on three sides. The
“front” of the room featured a media screen that was in use as I quietly
watched the various presentations from different sections of the police
force. People were dressed in all manner
of clothing from the traditional “police blues” to tee shirts and jeans.
The Sergeant in charge of the meeting went around the room
after his briefing of the day’s possible people of interest, things to watch
out for, and other important information; asking if anyone had anything to
contribute. A pair of suit-wearing
members of something called the Sex Crimes Division, provided a comprehensive
report regarding a few recent successful operations, and also presented a
special award to a particular officer that had worked with their unit. The rest of the room was mostly silent, aside
from a bit of good-natured ribbing that went along with a few names being
called upon. Officer Rager introduced me
and told the assembled that I would be glad to take photos of anyone while I
was there with her that evening. I
grinned and waved my hand sheepishly in recognition; and the pre-shift meeting
adjourned moments later. Leather creaked
in unison as the uniformed grabbed their duffle bags and other gear, to begin
their work day.
After some last minute paperwork associated with having me
along as a “partner” on this day; Officer Rager sat down at a common (shared)
computer in the small Resource Room next to the conference room. She checked her work emails and began filling
out a form related to an invitation for training to a unit known as PERT
(Psychiatric Emergency Response Team - Provides emergency assessment and
referral for individuals with mental illness who come to the attention of law
enforcement through phone calls from community members or in-field law enforcement
request for emergency assistance. PERT pairs licensed mental health clinicians
with uniformed law enforcement officers/deputies. Clinicians work out of
individual law enforcement divisions and respond in the field with their law
enforcement partners. The PERT team evaluates the situation, assesses the
individual's mental health condition and needs, and, if appropriate, transports
individual to a hospital or other treatment center, or referees him/her to a
community-based resource or treatment facility.)
I sat in a chair next to her debating if taking any photos
was both allowed and/or a smart thing to do.
I opted not to at this time and watched instead. Officers conversed with each other, sat at
other computers, picked up their body cameras from a large (wired) wall unit
containing 112 slots for cameras and hardware.
Officer Rager grabbed one and affixed it to herself, explaining that it
was a type that was directional (it went around her shoulders at the neck) to
“aim” it better at whatever needed to be recorded. She motioned for me to follow her as we
exited the building to the police vehicle parking lot. There she walked amongst the various cars,
SUVs, etc. until she found a patrol car she liked - an older, scratched to hell
Crown Victoria; standard and sturdy workhorse of most police departments
everywhere. The number was 6828 and Officer
Rager was 523 Yellow for this shift. She
then loaded her duffel bag full of secret police stuff into the trunk and belted
herself into the driver’s seat. She
turned on all sorts of sophisticated gadgets and typed into a swing-out
computer keyboard before we backed out of the spot and traversed the parking
garage. It was still alternatively misting and raining as we pulled out onto the gritty streets of central San
Diego.
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| See...there IS joy on the job! |
One of the most amazing things about riding
along is witnessing the silent wonder of the way in which the department
communicates with its employees. I’m
from back in the day of, “One Adam Twelve, One Adam Twelve; See the man…”
Everything was on the two-way radio or nothing happened. Today’s cops do still use the radio; but
their on-board computer screens tell them so much more. Officer Rager uses all this fully integrated
technology with more ease that I can make a simple phone call. It is astounding to me the pace at which the
information is transmitted, translated and understood within her world.
Our first “action” of the day was to back-up a
unit that had been responding to the Bayside Apts. where we met an FTO (Field
Training Officer) who was with a “first phase officer” waiting in the lobby. The call was on the 23rd floor, and we were
there to check on an alarm. The manager
of the apartments took us up the elevator (thank God) to the door of the
apartment. The FTO officer yelled “Hello
SDPD” to the closed door, and knocked and rang the bell, while standing safely
to the side of the door. He checked the
handle and it was locked. I stood back a
ways and waited for the cop to kick the door down and shout something
authoritarian before busting in, gun drawn.
It didn’t happen. I guess when
there’s a silent alarm and no one answers the door, and you can’t hear a
struggle from inside; you merely leave and chalk that up to a hiccup in the alarm
system or a cat knocking over a Ming vase or something. Either way; no entrada!
The next call was at the Sandford Hotel (A
downtown San Diego Housing Authority-run, nearly 100-year-old, recently
renovated hotel – consisting of 129 subsidized one-room apartments) – A “Mr. L”
-61 year-old black male; was yelling and swearing and generally obnoxiously threatening
to kill anyone who came into his room 319.
Another officer from a different
squad met us there and we took the elevator to the third floor. Officer Rager rapped on the door HARD and
several moments went by before a groggy-sounding, muffled voice replied; “aww
kaa-min…izz oben.” The other officer
pushed open the door slowly and the two officers looked in.
On the floor, not two feet from the opening
was a man lying prone on the rug. He was
shirtless and wearing just a pair of dirty gray gym shorts. Officer Rager first addressed the man with,
“Mr. L…it looks like you threw up…are you OK?”
I stood outside in the hallway away from the possibility of more. Mr. L indicated that while he was basically
OK, he had spent his rainy Tuesday
polishing off an entire liter of cheap vodka.
The empty plastic bottle stood on the TV stand. Both officers went through a series of
questions relative to his well-being
, as Mr. L swore expletives in every
direction with no apparent coherent message.
He generally seemed like an angry person with an axe to grind with every
manner of race, creed, religion, gender, and profession. Basically the guy was blasted and butt-ornery. The kicker was that he was complaining about
his back and that he now wanted to go to a hospital. A call was
placed on the radio to the paramedics and the four of us waited for their
arrival. Mr. L was happy to wait on the
floor in his vomit; swearing a blue streak to no one in particular.
Eventually the two-person paramedic team
arrived with their snazzy self-rising Stryker gurney, strapped Mr. L on board,
waited for him to hurl again on the hallway carpeting, and brought him through
the lobby to the street level. The front
desk staff stood there shaking their heads as the officers explained the
disposition of the call. Mr. L was eventually
loaded onboard the red ambulance as we pulled away from the curb.
Next up was a visit to an area of downtown
where someone had reported that there was supposedly an unconscious female with
a black male standing over her. We and another squad circled the
blocks around and around where the 3rd hand information had indicated. Nothing,
[no one] was found.
As we rounded the corner at Island and 16th,
Officer Rager witnessed what she called a 415 “disturbance” on the sidewalk involving
a group of transients, who were lined up along the wall. She flipped on lights
and pulled over as two homeless men were visibly arguing and upset. They were standing outside a food dispersal called
God's Extended Hand. Their website says, “God's Extended Hand is a
place of evangelical ministry aimed at showing the homeless population of San
Diego the Love of God. We endeavor to do this by providing a gathering place
where they can come and experience a sit down restaurant style meal in a peace
filled Christ focused environment. All meals and services are offered free and
without any charge on a first come first served basis. This is a place where
hatred and anger is left outside and the word of God is given with each meal to
encourage and offer hope…”
Well, the
hatred and anger were definitely outside, but it seemed to be escalating. Another unit pulled up. I sat in
the squad and watched as IDs were run through the different databases to see
which of the actors might have had any outstanding warrants, etc. They were eventually left to wander and told
not to be in each other’s personal space (I’m paraphrasing now), and that was
that. I’m not sure if either combatant even got
to experience a sit down restaurant style meal that evening.
While pulling up to the next call near the New
Vistas Crises Center, a white male in his 50s walked up to me and started to
ask if I had a minute. He took one long
look at my official, rectangular, white; ride-along sticker positioned high on
my left chest and lamented, “Oh you can’t help me.” I was crestfallen. Officer Rager exited the car and he went to
her to ask if she could find out whether his car was towed or was stolen. She
asked him what his plate number was. He
didn't know his plate number. He was carrying a stack of paper and
folders clutched to his chest with both arms.
The man started to rattle off a litany of issues he was having with his
wife, how his life had been in a shambles lately, and now how he can’t even
locate his car. Officer Rager raised an
eyebrow when he admitted that his wife has several restraining orders against
him, and suggested that the man call a special phone number to ask if they
could assist him in finding his car, once he retrieved the plate number to tell
them what it was.
Walking down the street from where we had parked the squad,
we arrived at a smallish non-descript dwelling.
The call had been for a possible 5150
(Danger to property, danger to others, and danger to themselves) at the
address of the New Vistas. A
30-something woman with long, poofy-kinky blondish hair worriedly met us at the door to the
place to explain the situation to Officer Rager. I stood back so as not to catch any details,
because the woman looked positively spooked by the possibility that anyone’s privacy
was being invaded. I did gather that the
5150 was a young black male with a plethora of concerns which have been
worrying the staff. Apparently the guy had been peeing in a bottle
in his room instead of using the bathroom, boiling eggnog for hours at a time,
etc. We entered the house and the
anxious woman and Officer Rager split off into another room to have a
conversation with the oddly acting young man who was the reason for our
visit. I stood in the hallway and
chatted with a guy who was passing by who had noticed my ride-along
sticker. He thought it was incredibly
cool and wanted to talk about the experience.
He asked how he too could accompany a San Diego officer at some point. Finally; some overdue street-cred for me and
my sticker.
At approximately 13th and Commercial an officer
was trying to stop a white male who had a warrant. We were minding
our own business when a call came over the radio that the man had "rabbited"
(ran). Before I knew what was happening
Officer Rager flipped on the lights and siren and floored it across two empty
parking lots. I kept quiet and enjoyed
the up-tempo police car ride as we rounded a corner with our car lights
illuminating the sidewalk where another officer had a man on the ground. Several more squads with their lights
twirling were also on the scene as we approached them. There was basically “nothing to see here
ma’am,” because of all the other uniformed people assembled had this under
control. I did however meet another guy exiting
his police car sporting a similar official ride-along sticker on his left
chest. I said hello. He said nothing. We left.
Again, how in the hell Officer Rager deciphered what was going down so
quickly with such little information and actually arrived at the scene in
minutes; was completely beyond me.
We took another call to backup another officer
who was responding to a US Bank silent alarm call. Hoping for a full-fledged bank robbery, I
eagerly exited the vehicle with my camera in hand. The bank manager asked me to kindly not take
pictures in his bank, after I had already ripped off a few good shots. As it turned out there was nothing. Darn.
A call came in after that for 450 J Street –
we took the elevator up to a fancy apt. A woman who really should
have decided to put on a brassiere before opening the door to police came out
of the apartment and into the hallway. Apparently
a man (her husband) was threatening to harm himself [5150] and his wife [5150] had
called the police the past two nights. Officer Rager and the other
officer went with the woman back into the apartment to speak with the
distraught man. A smell of some sort of wacky tobacky drifted out the
door. No, (thanks) I didn’t want to come
in too. After a long talk, the man would
be going to the hospital voluntarily, with his (bra-less) wife.
We then responded to the St. Vincent De Paul
homeless
shelter regarding another [5150] addled (…ahh...the blessed
and peaceful holidays…) young man named
Aaron was having severe suicidal thoughts. Officer G met us at the
shelter. Again I stayed in the hallway and waited as Officer Rager slowly
dissected and transposed the soft spoken, angry 28 year-old’s angst into
something that the SDPD could actually do
about it. It was becoming obvious to me
that uniformed officers must get a crap-load of these types of social work-like
calls every day. What this has to do
with law and order is a mystery to me. I
really feel for the men and women of the force, and how far afield their charge
has drifted. Officer Rager is really quite
amazing at responding with compassion and caring to each of these; but there
must be another agency that can handle these non-violent 5150s from the start;
rather than tying up the police. We
eventually coaxed the depressed, angry, young man (handcuffed) into the back of
the squad (it’s the law), to take the ride to a crowded and busy Scripps Mercy
Hospital. He was complaining of chronic scoliosis and a ruptured
couple of discs on top of desiring to kill himself, just because he hated
himself. That’s sad…I have a young son
his age who (without a decent upbringing and his own will to succeed) could
have drifted down a similar sorry path.
We waited about an hour while Aaron laid on a hallway gurney on his
back; his knees in a crouch and his knit hat pulled down over his eyes against
the bright light of the hospital.
Officer Rager did the necessary paperwork against the wall, in order to
keep him there for a minimum of 24 hours.
I wonder what eventually became of him.
It was time for dinner, so Officer Rager stopped
at a Panda Express drive-thru and bought the both of us orange chicken and
Asian noodles. We stood at the warm hood
of the idling car in a quiet area and ate.
Officer Rager was also multi-tasking and doing some additional paperwork
on her computer.
After the short break we responded to a call in
Logan Heights about a loud party. We found (heard) nothing. One of
the other responding officers asked if I would mind taking his photo. I got out of the car and took a photo of him
looking out his car window. I emailed it
to the cop and one to Officer Rager.
We were then moving through her typical
coverage area when she took another call to respond to a non-emergency cover
while an officer ran the ID of two black males in the east village. These two black males were having a good old
time as they smoked their cigarettes and bantered about how they had done
nothing wrong and that we’d soon see after we checked. The first officer used the computer to run a
check on the older looking one and seemed to have found something. He approached the guy and said that he had a
parole violation. The guy became wild
and emphatically stated that his name was the same as his cousin and did the
officer use the right middle initial.
The officer ran the ID again and the black male in question had been
correct; no warrants. The gleeful man
was cheerily vindicated and told us all so.
They were excused to do whatever they had been planning.
Our last call of the night was to cover an
officer who had done a traffic stop on someone.
He had the car on an on-ramp and was just finishing whatever he had
started when we arrived. We headed for
the City gas pumps to courteously fill-up for the next person who chose that
particular vehicle for their shift. All in a day’s work ma’am; thank you very
much!
Back at Central; the sergeant needed to be gone,
so he’d appointed a young woman to be the interim. This fact seemed to delight the officers in a
teasingly (brown-nosingly) way. The
chosen officer was required to perform a (10-17) sign-off of the reports that
each unit had for their shift. The woman
feigned being annoyed by the selection of her; but I could tell that she still
felt the honor of the temporary designation.
After the necessary double-checking of the work, Officer Rager reversed
the loading of the car and bid me safe travels back to Escondido. It was late and it felt like two hours
later. Once again; I was left with an
incredible appreciation of the life of a police officer and in particular for
Officer Rager and her abilities.
I look
forward to the next ride-along....and hey; I
still have my awesome, official sticker.
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| Definitely America's Finest! |
The area of California I most often find myself in lately is
in San Diego County. If you know anything about California; you know that it is in the southernmost part of the
state, close to Mexico and snuggled up next to the Pacific Ocean. While I have far better reasons for being
there than bird watching; I do enjoy the times I get to go out and take a look
see. The two main places I visit with Barbara, are Kit Carson Park and Lake Hodges. I actually scored three more life birds on this trip; the Gilded flicker, California quail, and the Orange-crowned warbler!
The reservoir is fed by San Dieguito Creek and features one
of the largest watersheds of all the local reservoirs. The San Dieguito River
Valley, occupied for centuries by the Kumeyaay people, was also home to earlier
Native Americans – the Harris Site located downstream from the Lake Hodges Dam
dates back to as early as 7000 B.C. – and when surveying was completed back in
1916 and construction began on the Lake Hodges Dam, there were documented
protests of Indian tribe warnings about a river creature. The “San Diego
Union” newspaper ascribed it to attempts to stop the project.
