Be Kind

Arriving at the battered trailer home, I wasn’t expecting much. Domestic calls were routine in this mobile home park, and the caller, a downtrodden looking woman about 35 years of age, had requested assistance getting her boyfriend and his brother to leave the trailer after they had all started arguing about the boyfriend’s drinking. “They’re both in there,” she said, gesturing towards the front door with a wave of her hand. “I just want them out, he’s been drinking all day and I know what that means for later.” After confirming how many people were inside the trailer and the status of any weapons secreted within, I asked the woman to wait down the street, and with her permission I opened the front door and stepped inside, announcing my presence as I did so. 

     As I entered, the familiar smell of deeply ingrained dirt, spoiled food, and pet odors assaulted my nose. I quickly spotted the woman’s boyfriend seated at a small kitchen table. He was a rodent-faced, slightly built man, with a half-finished bottle of beer in front of him and a sullen look on his weathered face. “Who else is here,” I asked, looking around the dim interior. “Nobody,” he replied, setting off alarm bells in my head as I recalled his girlfriend’s accounting of who was in the house. I asked him a second time, and without looking at me, he responded again that he was alone. As I began to question him further a deep voice boomed from the bedroom at the rear of the trailer. “I’m in here, boss.” Telling the boyfriend to wait outside, I walked down the short hallway to the last door, nudging it open with my foot as I stood back from the opening. 

   Carefully looking in I saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, his massive frame causing the mattress to sag noticeably in the center. He was at least 300 pounds, perhaps six feet tall, blue-black prison tattoos peeking from his collar and long-sleeved sweatshirt sleeves.  “Sorry, boss wasn’t trying to hide out on you or nothing.” I watched his eyes as he sized me up. Still a new officer, and at a point in my career where I was filled with the foolish confidence of youth, I was not intimidated by many people. But this guy was built like an NFL lineman, and his telltale use of the term “boss” told me he had done prison time, as inmates often used that term for correctional officers. After getting his name and birthday from his license, I decided to be cautious, cheerfully but forcefully telling him there was no trouble but he would have to leave the trailer. To my surprise, he complied, raising his considerable bulk from the bed and walking ahead of me down the narrow hall to the door. To our surprise, his brother had already left. He stood outside the trailer looking down the road for a moment, then slowly trudged off towards the park exit.

     Once he was safely out of earshot, I radioed dispatch and gave them his information, asking for a “29 check” which is radio jargon for criminal history. A short time later the dispatcher called on the radio, asking me if my suspect was within hearing distance. After I advised her that he was not, she informed me of an outstanding parole warrant my suspect had. I requested another car to meet me near the entrance. After a few minutes my backup was there, a highly capable officer I was always happy to see, especially when circumstances might turn sour. We headed for the road where my warrant suspect had walked shortly before, quickly locating him at the exit to the highway. He looked at me with some surprise as I pulled up, clearly sizing me up again and looking at the second deputy with detached interest. Telling him he had a parole warrant, I told him to turn around and put his hands behind his back. To my surprise, he did so after only a moment of hesitation.

Later, as I completed the prisoner data sheet to be completed whenever a custodial arrest is made, I asked him about his prison history, and what he had served time for. He explained without emotion that he had just finished serving 18 years in various New York State prisons after he had shot someone in a home invasion robbery. He went on to say that all of his time had been served in so-called “gladiator schools,” a prison term for facilities known for their high level of violence. Asking if he had any notable tattoos, he proudly showed me the markings of the prison gang for which he had served as an enforcer, carrying out stabbings and beatings on the behalf of the “shot callers” above him. When I asked him about any identifying scars, he laughed and said, “too many to count.” “Biggest one,’ I replied. He looked at me without expression then wordlessly tilted his head back, exposing an ear-to-ear scar on his throat, clearly the result of an assault. Genuinely curious, I asked him who could have possibly accomplished this given his formidable size and fearsome reputation. He laughed again and said it was a “5 foot 5 Puerto Rican dude with a razor blade” who had done it, then showed me several more scars, all the result of prison assaults. For the next hour, he regaled me with hair-raising prison stories while we awaited the arrival of his parole officer with the warrant. At one point, I asked him why he had not resisted arrest, as he was easily a match for two cops given his tremendous size and obviously extensive experience with deadly violence. He looked at me through the cage and responded simply; “you talked to me like a man, you treated me with respect.” I nodded and returned to my paperwork. Soon after, his parole officer arrived and we were off to the jail for booking. Thankful for the non-violent outcome of our interaction, I left him there a short time later, reflecting as I did so on how the smallest interactions can spiral into so many different possible endings.

Respect, such a simple concept, is often difficult to give on both sides of the line in policing. Constantly dealing with angry, intoxicated, stressed, scared people can leave you raw and angry yourself, sometimes unable to see the people you deal with as mostly the same as you, human, despite their behavior. This of course does not preclude caution, and respecting the basic dignity of others must always be balanced with a keen eye for one’s own safety, but the old adage “tread lightly on old toes” brings added significance here. A veteran sergeant once told me, “A little respect will get you a long way in this job. Leave your ego at the door, and remember, you never know whose toes you’re stepping on, so be kind, until it’s time not to be.”