Bad Luck Cadet (8 page)

That evening, Donna typed her letter. This was
psychological torture for her and I watched her cry the entire
time. She wasn’t angry at me. Donna had a six year old son at home,
and addressed the letter to him. She cried for hours and I had a
hard time getting her out of her funk. The letters were never sent
to family members, but it was a hard lesson whether you won or
lost.

Friday was uneventful. There was no
retaliation for my smart ass paper on following orders. But I
didn’t feel as satisfied with my wit any longer. Reality was
crashing down.

I headed home to spend time with my husband.
He was lonely without me and I managed to pull myself out of a pain
induced stupor and take a day trip with him on Saturday. I cleaned
my house on Sunday morning and then headed back to the academy at
noon for some much needed study time.

It was now the beginning of week seven and our
first in a two week driving course. Our classroom time was cut in
half and we headed to the speed track.

Before the training I thought I was a good
driver, but I learned an entirely new way to approach driving
situations at the academy. I never considered the difficulties of
police driving -- that is, having to turn the stirring wheel with
one hand, while holding a microphone in the other and trying to
speak into it, without getting everything twisted up. Like
everything else at the academy, the training was very intensive but
it was fun as well.

The phrase “stopping on a dime” had to have
been invented by cops. We learned to stop, swerve, and make “J”
turns, while being shot at with paintball guns. Our windows had to
be down so we could actually be hit if we didn’t do what we were
shown. It was fun, exciting and for some cadets painful.

Driving instruction made the two weeks speed
by (pun intended), but it didn’t stop our anxiety over the
approaching ninth week. We were facing our three hundred question
midterm test and our first practical tests, where we would have to
act out pretend scenarios with play actors. This was all “do or
die” testing. If we didn’t pass the midterm we would be sent home.
If we didn’t pass the practical tests we would be sent
home.

Oh yeah, we also had our first official POPAT
agility test. We would be given two times to pass POPAT, the first
was week nine, and then a final time one week before
graduation.

I stayed at the academy that weekend
practicing POPAT, studying, and applying ice packs. My stress
levels were at their breaking point.

Chapter 14 Testing Hell Week Begins

Monday morning brought our midterms. It would
take half the day. We all attended the previous evening’s study
session and I had a review at my breakfast table that morning. For
the first time two other tables were pushed closer and about half
our class participated.

It was a long and grueling test, but everyone
passed. Cadet Rodriguez actually did very well and was
twenty-second in the class. I was ninth and not very happy. Our
academic rankings were posted on the wall and I wanted more than
anything to be in the top five. I guess I should have been
satisfied that at least academically I wasn’t in last place, but I
was not happy.

Tuesday was POPAT and our schedules showed no
morning inspection. We were to be at the training field at 0800. We
double timed it over at 0745.

The Police Officers Physical Agility Test
starts with running a ninety-nine yard obstacle course. You next
scale a six-foot chain link fences followed by a six foot solid
fence, then drag a 165 pound "body' 32 feet and when you’re good
and tired you get to run 500 yards. Our POPAT testing lasted until
lunch. I didn’t know if I’d made it or not. The results would be
available that evening.

The rest of the day was spent on defensive
tactics to help prepare us for the practical tests beginning the
next day.

Twenty-two feet is considered the safety zone
for a suspect with a knife. Even when you know he’s going to be
coming at you it’s almost impossible to pull your gun and fire at
the twenty foot range. We were made to stand with our arms at our
sides, with an attacker twenty feet away holding a large rubber
knife. As soon as the attacker starts running towards us, we were
to draw our guns and fire (this is done by making the bang bang
sound). We were all stabbed. Twenty-two feet is not easy either but
at that distance we all managed to shoot. There is no room for
error.

I said "stabbed" not “killed” for a reason.
For the past eight weeks it was drilled into our psyche we would
never die. No matter what happened we were to continue fighting.
This mind set is what will save your life. People have died from
non-life threatening gunshot wounds simply because they knew they’d
been shot. The only exception to this rule had been our fight for
our guns and the "I died today" letters that were written to
family.

That evening we gathered in front of our dorms
when we heard the results for POPAT were in. Cadet Clark made the
announcement that all but one of us had passed. My heart
sank.

“Cadet Chavez, can I speak with you in my
room? All the rest of you did a good job, and scores will be posted
tomorrow in our classroom.”

I’d passed. I couldn’t believe it. This was
the one thing I’d been most worried about. If I was injured and
could not complete the final POPAT this score would stand and I
would graduate. I passed on my first try.

I waited for Rocco. We cried together. He
missed the magic score by twenty-four points. He told me he needed
to lose more weight and he was determined to pass. He wouldn’t be
given the chance until a week before graduation. If he didn’t pass
in week seventeen he would go home. It was heartbreaking. I told
him we would work at POPAT every night and I was not graduating
without him. We’d made that deal the first week at the
academy.

Non-academy personnel began arriving that
evening for the practical tests beginning the following morning.
Some would be staying in empty dorm rooms. They were all police
officers volunteering their time to help us train. I hoped if I
made it through the academy, I would be given the opportunity to
come back and help other cadets.

The officers were nice and relaxed. It was
strange after weeks of being treated like we were less than human.
One officer told me I didn’t need to call him sir. That was
impossible. I now even said, “Thank you sir or mam,” to Starbuck
employees during my weekend splurge.

Wednesday morning it began. We were divided
into different groups and placed in separate "station" waiting
areas. For my first test, I was given a police radio and dispatched
to an unidentified man standing on our parade deck. I was told a
neighbor called him in because she could see him out her front
window and he was making her nervous.

I approached. The man had a large boom box in
his hand. I identified myself and asked what he was doing in the
area. The man simply stared at me. I asked him for some
identification. He lay the boom box down and placed his hand in his
pocket. I could see a bulge in the pocket and I asked him to keep
his hands where I could see them.

He finally spoke, “Then how you spect me to
give you identification?” (He even had the lingo)

I asked if I could pat him down for my safety
and explained I just needed to feel the outside of his pockets for
a weapon. He complied and I asked him to turn around, keep his
hands where I could see them and spread his legs apart. I stepped
forward and performed the pat down. My hands were
shaking.

He had a large wallet in his front pocket and
I asked if his identification was inside. He told me it was. I
stepped back and asked him to retrieve his wallet. He gave me his
identification and I told him a neighbor called because he was
making her nervous.

He then told me he lived down the block and a
friend was picking him up here, on the street corner. The scenario
was ended. The two judges came forward and told me I did a good
job. I was told I should have noticed the bulge in the pocket
earlier but I passed and they liked the way I spoke to my
suspect.

This scenario was meant as a non-violent
confrontation, but it would have turned aggressive if my demeanor
warranted it.

In between scenarios we were sent to our
station waiting areas. Our dorm meeting room was one of the waiting
areas. There was a television, couches and small kitchenette with a
microwave and toaster oven. We cadets didn’t normally use this area
because the college kids used it as a hang out. We were not allowed
to talk about any scenarios we’d finished. So we watched a movie we
were too nervous to pay attention to while we waited for our names
to be called.

There were two scenarios taking place at this
station. I was only able to complete the first before lunch. It was
a man with a baseball bat threatening to kill his ex-wife, while he
was pounding on her apartment door (an empty dorm room).

I drew my gun upon seeing the bat, and had to
talk my suspect down from there. I made an arrest and placed him in
handcuffs.

After the completion of the scenario I was
asked why I drew my weapon. I explained my suspect had a bat and it
was a deadly instrument. I was asked if I would have fired if he
came towards me with the bat. I said yes and was given a pass on my
second scenario.

It was time for lunch. I was excited but
several cadets were upset and said they failed their morning
practical tests. I couldn’t ask which ones they’d taken, but it
made me more nervous about what might be ahead for me. I thought
both my scenarios had been rather easy.

After lunch, there was another domestic
violence scenario at the dorm rooms. I passed it with flying
colors. I’d finished the day and did not need to perform any
remedial training. It had been a good day for me but too many
cadets had failed scenarios.

I knew I probably would not be as lucky on the
second day.

Chapter 15 You’re Not Dead Until I Say You’re
Dead

I wish I could say the next two days of
Practical tests went as smoothly as the first, but they didn't. I
struggled with two of the scenarios, and completely failed one of
them. In the one I failed, I was driving a patrol car and came upon
a vehicle pulled to the side of the road with its hood up and a man
standing with his head buried in the engine. I pulled over behind
the vehicle, activated my emergency lights, and called dispatch
with my location.

I approached the man, asking if I could help.
He straightened up and began shooting at me with a cap gun. The gun
looked and sounded real which scarred the hell out of me. I
stumbled back a few feet trying to remove my gun from my holster as
the man continued walking towards me and firing. I probably took
six bullets directly to the chest, before my gun was in my hand. I
stood my ground, firing two shots, but the guy just stayed where he
was firing back at me. I turned to the instructor and said the
fatal words, “I’m dead.”

All hell broke loose. Sgt. Dickens was
standing to the side of my vehicle, and he blew a
gasket.

“You are not dead, you never stop fighting.
You’re a fucking loser Cadet Ivy, and I should kick your ass out of
the academy right now.”

I stood frozen. I wanted to bury my head in
the dirt and cry. Sgt. Dickens told me to get the fuck out of his
sight and I left. What a disaster.

I felt I was lucky to even be given a second
chance but I was. During the remedial scenario things were changed
up. I walked into a “store”, answering a dispatched call for a
disorderly female customer. I could see the clerk and problem maker
ahead of me but I was stopped by a man coming from behind, placing
his arm around my throat, and putting a gun to my head. The
disorderly female pulled a gun and shot the clerk. I did as I was
trained and grabbed the barrel of the gun at my head, pushing it
away from my head, turning in my captor’s arms, shoving him away
with everything I had, and then running for cover while pulling my
gun.

The significant difference that allowed me to
pass the second scenario was running for cover while removing my
gun. The first time, I had stood frozen, while going for my gun and
never sought to get away or find cover, to continue the fight. In
real life I probably had little chance of surviving either scenario
but the instructors wanted to see our thought process during the
events. Standing my ground and shooting was not what they were
looking for.

It wasn’t until I found out that three
quarters of the class failed that first specific practical, that I
felt somewhat better. I’m surprised Sgt. Dickens had a voice left,
apparently he yelled at all of us and threatened to kick everyone
out.

My other mistake of the day was missing a
small gun while searching a suspect. The gun was on a chain around
her neck, in her cleavage. I managed to grab the gun as she was
pulling it out to shoot me, but I was pissed at myself. I had
performed a bad search on a female suspect of all things. After
that incident, my searches were extremely thorough and I found two
additional guns during the following scenarios. One was literally
underneath a suspect’s penis. I located it, removed it, and found
some satisfaction in shaking everyone’s hand before I was able to
wash the ball sweat off.