Trooper Down! (29 page)

*

A lot of people think we're on a ticket-writing quota, but we're not. If you sell vacuum cleaners, you're measured by the number of cleaners you sell. We're measured by the number of tickets we write, the drunk drivers we arrest, the accidents we investigate, how we're thought of by the community, the courts, and our peers.

There's no other way to grade us. But I don't mind. Because I've never written a citation I didn't feel good about. I'm a “company man,” but I do what I think is right.

*

There are different trooper “types.”

Some troopers like to be the apple of the sergeant's eye. If he tells them to stay out all night and write fifty tickets, they'll do it just to make themselves look good. Other troopers like to “tell” on fellow troopers because it takes the heat off them if they themselves are doing something wrong. Yet that same type of officer makes sure he's the first one on the scene when the media covers a story about a trooper saving a life.

Some guys don't like to stop and help stranded motorists, or associate with people less fortunate than they are, because they think it's a waste of time. They are a stumbling block in the community rather than a pillar.

But most troopers are the type that quietly go about their business, work their eight hours, and head home. They're sincere family men. They are the ones who will help you and other troopers on the road. They treat everyone they stop with respect.

And they are the ones who best represent the highway patrol.

*

I'm a radical trooper. That's different from a troublemaker. The troublemaker is setting out to cause disruption, to tear things down. A radical asks, “Why? Why are we doing this?” in an effort to make things better.

But because he's a little out of the mainstream, not strictly a company man or a yes-man, he suffers for it. He has to be a team player if he wants to get ahead in this organization.

*

The thing that bothers me most about the highway patrol is the cynicism that prevails. The supervisors don't believe anything we say, just as we don't believe anything the public says.

When I find myself believing somebody, I go, “God, I think he's actually telling the truth! How strange!”

*

Ever since drugs became so prevalent in our society, our job has become a lot more dangerous. It honestly makes me consider changing careers. I'm getting prematurely gray. My blood pressure is sky-high. At night, I look at the ceiling and can't go to sleep.

Is it worth it? That's what I keep asking myself.

*

One trooper I know down east got into a fight with a guy who had a knife. The trooper should have shot him. But he didn't.

He fought with him, wrestled with him, and got cut up pretty bad. Later, when I asked him why he didn't shoot the man, he said, “All I could think of was that I've got a family here, my wife's got a job here. I'm happy where I am. I knew if I'd shot him, there'd be an investigation and they'd probably transfer me.”

And he was probably right. But I think it's really sad.

*

I like the image we project. It makes me feel good when little boys come up to me and say they want to be a highway patrolman. How many kids walk up to an adult and say, “I want to be a certified public accountant?”

I also like the feeling I get when I go into public places and people turn around to look. Or when kids say, “Can I touch your badge? Your gun? Can I look in your car?”

It's an ego trip, of course. But it pumps me up like nothing else can.

*

Troopers hate it when parents tell their kids, “You better be good or that cop over there is gonna put you in jail.”

Every time that happens to me, I tell the child, “No, I won't do that to you. But I'll put your parents in jail if they don't take care of you.”

*

We're always in the limelight. I can do something wrong and it's not “John Smith did so-and-so.” It's “that patrolman” did something. It puts a lot of pressure on us.

Good, dedicated troopers make the effort. And that's the kind of trooper I want to be.

*

In my opinion, dealing with the court system is one of the worst frustrations a trooper faces.

It gets so discouraging when you take your time and—in some cases—your life in your hands to arrest someone, build a good case, then go into court and watch them fiddle it away on technicalities. You sometimes get to the point where you want to give up.

*

An officer on the road has to make split-second decisions about whether or not someone has broken the law. But attorneys and judges have days, weeks to prepare a case.

I do the best I can out here and then go to court and stand a good chance of losing the case.

Once I was sent to a wreck where the vehicle had gone into the creek and several people had been injured. I arrested the guy for drunk driving, came to court, and he was found not guilty—even though he registered well over the legal limit on the breathalyzer.
He told the court that before I arrived at the scene, he drank half a pint of whiskey, but that it was
after 
the wreck had occurred.

The judge said the “time element” in the case bothered him and that's why he pronounced the man not guilty.

In other words, had I arrived at the scene quicker, I might have been able to make a better judgment on the man's driving condition.

But I can't be everywhere at once. And for that, we may have let a drunk driver on the loose.

*

Generally, the public thinks of us as “Clint Eastwood, shoot-em-up” types.

But I've found in my twenty-three years on patrol that our best officers are some of the kindest, most forgiving people you'll ever meet. They have a genuine love for mankind and want to help people.

*

Middle-class people are our best supporters. They know the difference between right and wrong and give us the least amount of trouble. They seldom violate the law and when they do, they accept it when they're wrong.

We see a lot of the negative aspects of humanity. The people we usually come into contact with are down on their luck, drunk drivers, or those involved in criminal activities. It can affect our point of view, give us tunnel vision.

But we realize there are a lot of good people out there too.

*

People think a trooper has a glorious job, that we get all this recognition. And some officers do. But for most of us, it's a thankless task.

You can't do this work properly if you worry about the publicity or what you're going to get out of it.

But I wish we were better understood.

I've stopped cars many times to tell someone a member of their family is sick or dead. I've run seventy or eighty miles an hour to transport human blood, or take a life-sustaining organ to a hospital. Yet I'm sure people I passed thought I was on my way to get a cup of coffee.

They have no idea what I really do or what might be lying in the seat beside me.

*

It pisses me off to be treated different just because I'm a trooper. I go into McDonald's and I'm standing in line to order when the cashier says, “No charge.”

I want to pay just like everyone else in line. Hell, I'm probably in a better financial position than half of the people standing behind me!

It's embarrassing when that happens. So what I usually do is throw the money down before anyone has time to say anything.

*

What I like most about being a trooper—and this may sound corny—is doing good. We're a much-needed organization. I see what causes accidents out there, and I'd hate to think what it would be like if there was no highway patrol.

*

I like the independence that goes along with being a trooper. I go to work at 6:00
P.M. 
and have no idea what I'll be doing.

I go where I want to, do what I want to, write a ticket to whoever I want—with no one standing over me. If I feel bad, I can ride eight hours without stopping anyone and no one says anything about it.

I meet all kinds of people. I'm in touch with judges, lawyers, governors, people in high office.

After twenty-one years, I still have motivation and a willingness to work on my own.

Not too many people can say those things about their job.

*

What I dislike is having to deal with some of these disgusting damn people on the road.

Once I stopped a couple from out of state.

“We were just admiring the area, how beautiful it is,” said the woman, as I was writing her husband a ticket for speeding.

“Thank you, ma'am,” I said.

Just as I was pulling away, she got out of her car and walked back to the cruiser. I rolled the window down to see what she wanted.

“We were looking for a place to stay . . .” she began, and I was just about to tell her how to get to the nearest hotel when she came out with “But, you son of a bitch, you've
ruined
our vacation and we'll never come back through here again!”

Now here's the difference between being on the patrol a year and being on for twelve years. At one year, I would have said, “Fuck you, lady.”

But, after twelve years as a trooper, I just laughed and drove away. That made her angrier than ever.

When you walk up and say, “Good afternoon, ma'am,” and try to be pleasant and they respond with, “What in the hell are you stopping me for?” it makes you react accordingly.

“Hey, come on,” I want to tell them. “I haven't talked bad to you. I haven't been rude or disrespectful. I don't get paid enough to put up with this crap.”

You realize that people will sometimes come across that way. But it makes you mad and you just want to knock the hell out of them.

*

What I like about being a trooper is that when somebody asks me to help them, I can.

What I hate are the internal politics and the people who think they are above the law.

I've stopped senators, governors, mayors, you name it. I tell every one of them, “I don't give a damn if you get this dismissed tomorrow. I'm doing my job tonight.”

*

We're all critics. We'll be sitting around and somebody will start talking about why he gave a man a ticket for sixty-five miles per hour on the interstate.

Then another trooper says, “Sixty-five on I-40? While you're writing that ticket, someone else is going past you at eighty!”

And the guy starts thinking, “Maybe I'm cutting it too close.”

It can affect his attitude towards the job and the public.

*

Most of us are people who truly enjoy the job, seldom dread going to work, believe strongly in the organization, have good initiative, and if we had it to do all over again, would rejoin the highway patrol.

I'll never make any real money doing this. But after twelve years, I still like being a trooper. To me, that's what counts.

*

Troopers sit down with other troopers who aren't doing their job and try to help them. If he doesn't listen or shape up, he's left to sink on his own.

I was pretty well marked when I came to town. I had been “beaten down” by an experience and people questioned whether or not I could do the job. Even some troopers were saying I was no good anymore.

When I'd take a break, they'd tell me what I was doing wrong, and that I was close to being fired. I knew I could do the job, but that I was gonna have to alter my ways.

What saved me were those guys coming to me and telling me, “Your job is on the line.”

They stuck by me and, sure enough, I proved that I could change. Because I'm still around.

*

My long-range goal is to be in Internal Aflairs. I can move up in that department. I can work regular hours. I can travel across the state. All of that appeals to me.

And I think I'd be good at it.

My belief is that anyone who denigrates the highway patrol has no business being in it.

“I'm personally in favor of Internal Affairs because I don't want to work with a bunch of low-lifes. Troopers in North Carolina are generally well-regarded by the public, and to maintain that, we must have clean laundry.” —
Officer with seven years on the patrol

It can happen at any time during a trooper's career. Personal problems begin to interfere with the job. Or the stress becomes too great. Sometimes the individual is one of the few undesirables who, despite the patrol's intensive screening process, manage to slip through the net. Whatever the cause, there are some troopers—and they are definitely a minority—who become an embarrassment to the organization. They began as “good” guys who went “bad.”

His name is not important. But his story is. Because it illustrates what can happen when a highway patrolman disregards the code of ethics to which all law enforcement officers are bound.

That night, he was patrolling on a remote section of road in a national forest when he saw a van with no license plate. Signaling the driver to pull over, he stopped and got out of his patrol car. The driver stepped out too, but so did a passenger, who calmly walked up and shot the trooper four times point blank in the chest. Then the two men jumped back in the van and fled.

None of the bullets penetrated the officer because he was wearing a bulletproof vest. Still, he was bruised and shaken. He called for help on the radio and another trooper responded. Shortly after, he was taken to the hospital where he was listed in good condition and told how lucky he was to have survived.

Within an hour, roadblocks were in place and a search under way for the van and its occupants. By the next morning, more than a hundred state and local officers were patrolling the roads. A heli
copter and private aircraft were brought in to assist. A command post was established and the patrol's $100,000 mobile radio van was set up to handle communications.

It was a major manhunt, one that would last three days and cost the state more than $12,000 in patrol salaries and other expenses.