The Great Jewel Theft Caper- Part II

This is not the actual car used by the suspect in this story

From the Cop side: Ok, you all know how I love keeping you in suspense….so here’s Part II.

Caveat: As most of you who’ve worked in law enforcement or the military know, your memory of things sometimes gets fuzzy with years…but these stories are to my best recollection of the events. I do leave out names etc to protect the innocent and to avoid law suits.

As you recall, Officer Baby Feet had just gotten behind the Fat Jewel Bastard (FJB) when FJB accelerated the 64’ Lincoln and started running red traffic lights and driving up on sidewalks and shit… So Baby Feet now had a duty to stop this insane driver before somebody was hurt.

Baby Feet called out what was going on over his radio…(keep in mind, between all the different little police departments, we were all on different frequencies!) We did have a “common” radio freq we could all go to. In those days the old Motorola Radios we had only had 4 channels. They were not like the new digital radios we now have that have 16 zones with 12 channels on each zone (do the math….what’s that add up to?)

So, Baby Feet switched to the common channel and so did I as he called out: “We’re eastbound approaching the Freeway at 60 MPH. 004 are you behind me yet?” (I was 004.)

I got on the radio to Baby Feet, who’s call sign was: “ L 2” and told him I was about a quarter mile behind a set of police lights…which I assumed were his.

I kicked the old Doge in the ass and got it up to 80 MPH and was able to slip through traffic to the Freeway….as the police car that was about a quarter mile in front of me was pulling away…I never did see the suspect’s 1964 Lincoln as I hit the freeway southbound heading towards San Francisco.

Now as I rolled out onto the Freeway, I automatically did a self check of both me and the car I was driving. I was breathing OK, focused on the task…all good. But the POS (Piece Of Shit) car I had was not getting up to the speed I needed. The suspension was good, not bouncing…and the breaks were new, the tires were fair…the steering was good…but I just couldn’t get the damn thing to go any faster….I had a nice open freeway…but the Dodge would not move any faster….as Baby Feet called out his speed: “I’m doing 95 and he’s pulling away…we’re southbound passing the Big Hill exit (the name was changed to protect the innocent).

At this point, I was pushing the gas pedal down with all my might…I was wondering if the floor mat had gotten in the way or something then I remembered I’d already taken the mat out. What else could I do to gain some speed? Start throwing un-needed equipment and passengers overboard? Start talking nice to my car? Nothing was working…. Then the speedometer stated to very so slowly move up a little higher….86-87-88---88---89---89…come on baby a little faster….89----oh crap now I’m coming to a hill….88---87---86….. over the top of the hill and all I could see was the red & blue lights of the police car ahead of me still pulling away….

Then Baby Feet called in again his speed, location…still southbound heading towards San Francisco…

I was really hoping we didn’t actually make it to the Golden Gate Bridge because I heard rumors that the toll collectors actually stop police cars in pursuit and expect them to pay the toll.

Then Baby Feet called in that the Suspect’s Lincoln was slowing down and moving from the #1 lane (fast lane on the left) to the # 4 lane (slow lane on the right) and almost hit a few cars in the maneuver. Then the suspect actually put on his turn signal and stated to take the next off ramp.

The problem was, there was one off ramp just before the one the suspect was taking that did not have a name---we called it the No Name Off Ramp. The Suspect and Baby Feet took the exit south of No Name and by this point I noticed I had another law enforcement patrol car behind mine---which looked like a county deputy but I couldn’t focus long enough on the review mirror to be sure…but I knew it was some kind of cop behind me….

So, I took the No Name Exit…and realized I made a mistake (soon to learn it was actually the best thing I could have done…I just didn’t know it yet.) So, as I take the exit, I hear Baby feet calling out that he was now behind the suspect who was now heading north along the frontage road and about70 MPH…with lots of daytime traffic in this next little town (lets call it Mayberry 5.)  They were north bound heading towards us--going south bound..and a closing rate of about the speed of light.

Then…bad news…Baby Feet called out that the suspect vehicle had crashed into a car with a mom and a bunch of kids…the car mom was driving was smashed badly and the suspect’s Lincoln had major front end damage and a flat left front tire…but still moving north bound…now a little slower. With sparks coming out from under the car.

About this time, I realized I had not been behind Baby Feet, but another cop who never called out on the radio…and a deputy behind me who had also not called out what he was doing. I was the only one who was “right” since I had called in what I was doing. Oh well, not my problem, we now had four different law enforcement agencies involved in the chase and we had driven through a few other agencies jurisdiction and were now in another department’s area. Dang it was all so confusing….but exciting.

Then I look down the frontage road and see what was left of a tan 1964 Lincoln Continental coming at us with major front end damage, a flat left front tire and steam coming from under the hood. It wasn’t going to go far. So, I just stopped my patrol car in the street and the cop in front of me and behind me blocked the road.

The Fat Jewel Bastard came to a stop once he saw he wasn’t going to get past us (we also had our pistols pointing at his fat ass). So, being that he realized there was no way out, he came to a stop.

One of the cops starts yelling at him in a rather unfriendly way (something like get your fucking hands up or I’m going to blow your fucking brains out) and the Fat Bastard actually started to complain. He said: “you don’t have to talk to me like that.”

I looked at him, pointed my Colt 1911 .45 (with 8 185 Grain Jacketed Hollow Points) auto at him and said in a very clear and professional manner: “If you don’t show me your hands, I’m going to shoot you.”

He showed me his empty hands.

Well, Baby Feet called me and said that one of the kids in the car had a small cut from broken glass, but other than that, the folks in the victim car were OK. However, since the Fat Jewel Bastard had left the scene of an accident with injuries---that made it another felony. Forget the about the jewels he had stolen (and still had in the car with him) he had hurt innocent people.

Since he was sooooo fat, the handcuffs were very tight on his fat wrist. He was very uncomfortable all the way to jail. The really sad part of this story was a very nice and clean Lincoln was destroyed in this incident. I only had to write a one page report, Baby Feet got credited with another great arrest and the Fat Jewel Bastard went to jail.

The Great Jewel thief caper....

From the Cop side: This is a cop story about a caper that happened …oh, about maybe 20 years ago…? I lost track. Anyway, the story you are about to hear is true, the names and locations were changed to protect….something or somebody. Remember, all suspects are guilty, I mean innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.

The county I’ve worked in since 1981 is made up of many small police departments, a sheriffs department and the freeways are covered by the California Highway Patrol (CHiPs). When you add in State and Federal Parks and a few other odds and ends…I have no idea how many Law Enforcement agencies we actually have.
In the old days, we used to get into all kinds of pursuits and stuff. In all the pursuits that I was ever involved in, the only persons ever injured were the bad guys…and in each case, they got what they deserved. I still feel if you try to outrun the police, you are putting everybody else on the road in jeopardy and you deserve what you get as punishment. A motor vehicle is a very deadly weapon!

In this caper, there was a “Jewel Thief” who had a habit of going into jewelry stores during business hours, asking to look at expensive things, and then running out of the store with the loot. He was doing it so often and because he was so fat and drove an unusual car, I couldn’t figure out how he had not been caught a lot sooner. We called him the “fat jewel bastard, or FJB for short.

FJB drove a 1964 Lincoln Continental. This car is huge and was so unique…they only made this for a short time---unlike cars nowadays where you can’t tell one year or model from another---today’s cars almost all look the same. But the 64’ Lincoln was a boat! The back doors opened backwards (suicide doors) and the car must have weighted 500 tons. If you knew cars, it would have been an easy one to spot.

The day of this caper, I was working patrol on dayshift in the “valley” area. My beat was 2 miles west of the freeway. If you continued west, the next town was what I call Mayberry One, then further west, the next town was Mayberry Two…then the next town west was Mayberry Three. If you put all of the Mayberrys together, it still wouldn’t make a decent small size city. But each little town liked to have control over the police department, so there were four different jurisdictions.

Now also keep in mind, even though all these little towns were right next to each other, they all used different radio frequencies for each police department. So they often didn’t know what the cop a few blocks away was doing until the dispatchers called each other up and told them.

Now if this all is confusin’ the heck out of you, just think about how screwed up things are on a daily basis. Too often, by the time us cops heard about something that could have just taken place across the street from where we were, it was too late to do anything. And as you can likely see, this waste not only time, but a waste of money. Each department has a chief and a support staff on duty where if you combined all the departments, one chief could run the show.

So, back to the caper. Fat Jewel Bastard had pulled up to a little jewelry store in Mayberry Three. He parked his 500 ton Lincoln in the street---where no cops noticed it. Walked into the jewelry store, where the clerk didn’t notice the Fat Bastard…and he asked to see a few expensive items.

Of course, he grabbed the jewels and ran---as fast as a fat bastard could run---out to his 500 ton Lincoln. If he hadn’t burned rubber leaving, the cop in Mayberry Three wouldn’t have noticed…

So what does cop in Mayberry Three do? Instead of taking off after FJB, he calls it in and ask for the cops in Mayberry Two to stop the guy. Of course, by the time this goes from Mayberry Three dispatch to Mayberry Two, the guy is in Mayberry One---heading towards the freeway.

The cop on duty that day in Mayberry One was “Baby Feet”. Now Baby Feet was a good cop and I like the guy. (He had to retire on a disability many years ago.) Baby Feet tells his dispatcher that he behind a 1964 Lincoln traveling East Bound at a high rate of speed. (in Mayberry One, a “High Rate of Speed” was anything over 35 MPH.)

Now, since Baby Feet was so smart, he quickly figured out that he was behind the Fat Jewel Bastard. So, Baby Feet calls for back up before he does his car stop. He knew I was on duty west of him, so he asked for me.

Then…before Baby Feet could light up the Lincoln, the Fat Bastard takes off. driving up on sidewalks and running red lights and all kinds of crazy shit. So, instead of waiting for back up, now Baby Feet has to stop this asshole before he hurts somebody. Baby Feet calls out “In Pursuit!”

Now, I don’t care who you are, or how long you’ve been a cop…but when you hear those words, you got to do something to help…so off I went. The problem was, we were driving the old P.O.S. Dodge Diplomats and full speed was only about 90 MPH….going after a car that could do 120 MPH.

To be cont.

Yes they can

From the Soldier side:  I was listening to some random news talk thing on the radio today...I didn't catch the name of those talking, but one was a former female soldier who (from what I could gather after having missed some of the show) had served in recent combat. 
She said that she was running for some political office somewhere and some male said that she could not have possibley earned all the medals she had shown the public. 
Now, I didn't see her medals and awards, and she didn't mention what they were...however, I worked with a few female soldiers in Bosnia and Iraq who were going out almost everyday and doing the same shite us male soldiers were doing.  We had female soldiers on the security teams, on the "guns" and driving.  If we had to get out of the Humvees, outside the wire, they were next to us "men." 

Even the troops who never left the camps and FOBs, had the same chances of getting hit by the same random, poorly aimed mortar rounds as the rest of us.  Now the question I have is: "How many folks would be willing to stand up in the gun turret in a Humvee, with a 1/4 of metal in front of you and a little on the sides and be ready to fire up some asshole insurgent trying to attack the convoy.  I did it a few times, and I'll tell you it scared the shit out of me. 

Prep for mission in Baghdad- 50 Cal

Road back to Uglivik, Bosnia in the snow

Yes.  In the modern wars we're fighting now, female troops can earn Bronze Stars, Combat Action Badges and all the other shit that the dudes can earn. 

Coming soon: A cop story- "The great jewlery heist." 

Hire the best you can find....

From the Cop side: When I got out of the Regular Army in the late 1970’s, I figured I could get one of a few types of jobs. Since I had been a highly trained soldier in the Infantry, and as a truck driver, I started looking at:


1.) Being a hit man for the Mafia

2.) Being a truck driver

3.) Being a cop.

I found out the cops had a better medical and retirement plan, so that’s the route I took. …but I had no idea how to get a cop job. So, I asked a few of my buddies from high school who were going to the local Junior College and taking Administration of Justice classes. They said the classes were easy and you could meet girls there. I looked at them after a few minutes of thought and asked: “you mean you’d want to go out with a girl who wants to be a cop? She might kick your ass or something.”

So, using the GI bill I went to college. When I first started, I had no clue what I was getting into. After a few semesters, I started filling out applications for different agencies. In those days, there were lots of departments hiring and even more people trying to get hired.

One department I applied for had 6 openings. The Saturday of the written test there were about 600 people standing outside the room waiting to get in and take the test. I remember this old crusty police sergeant standing in front of everybody and yelling out: “Now listen up. If you are here to take the written police exam, raise your hand.”

All the hands went up. Then he said: “If you have ever been convicted of a felony crime, stand over there.” He pointed to another officer. About 50 people walked over and were told to go away.

Then the sergeant said: “If you have been convicted of the following crimes (he listed a few) or have ever been a drug user, dishonorable discharged from the US military, then step over there.”

About another 100 or so walked over and were told to go away. Then the sergeant said: “If you have any missing fingers, eyes, ears, toes, loss of hearing, vision less than 20/100, have had any of the following illnesses (he read off a few) then step over there.”

A bunch more walked over and were told to go away.

That got it down to about 200 of us to take the written test.
I past all the test, but that department found better people than me to work there...but I didn't give up.

Now days, we have 2 openings and we’re lucky if 10 qualified people apply. Then half of them have mental problems and will never work in police work. We try to pick the best (which makes me wonder how in the hell I ever go hired.)

BOOK EM" DANNO!

From the Cop side: I could tell stories all day long about some really horrible leaders in both law enforcement and the Army.  Too many times in police work, they promote the person who actually has the least knowlege on how to do the job...but is very good at having "nice hair." 

The funny thing is, I like doing police work-- still after 30+ years.  Nothing like solving a case and getting bad guys out of the way. 

So good citizens, when you think the local police are not doing a good job...look at the leadership.  Or as we used to say: "We still do a good job despite the lack of any kind of leadership."

What it takes to be the boss....

From the Cop side: Some of the reasons I’ll never be the Police Chief ....is because I tell it how it is….or at least how it is in real life. Sometimes people don’t want to really know how it really is. They want to know how it could be in a fairy tale world.


When society watches hours and hours of cop shows on TV, they think that everything is solved in an hour. (For those in the US, count how many TV shows have something to do with law enforcement—including the lawyer shows)  I am still amazed when I have a citizen ask: "Isn't CSI coming out to get DNA samples?" 
(this could be off a cell phone stolen from an unlocked car)

One example of Chiefs being kind of slow:  When I started as a cop in 1979, a few of us who actually knew something about guns tried to get our chiefs to let us carry semi automatic handguns on duty. Oh my God. You think we had been talking about pissing on the pope or something. We were treated like madmen and told things like: “I’ve used the revolver for years. It’s a good weapon. You don’ need more than 6 bullets for anything. Them autos just jam." 

Of course, none of these pinheads had ever been in a gun fight or anything like that. They were so against it for years. Then, cops were getting killed fighting bad guys who had better weapons- with more than 6 bullets. So, starting in the 1990’s, many departments started to switch to semi auto handguns. It took a lot of media hype and “consultants” getting paid a lot of money for the chiefs to understand what some of us range master types had been trying to say for years. Now it’s odd to see a revolver in any police holsters in the US.  (but more are showing up again for off duty- please these little .38s are cute, but don't bet your life on one)

Another example: Over the 30 plus years I’ve been a cop, I’ve gone to a lot of schools to improve my skills. The department paid for the training, so when I came back, I’d always go to my boss and tell them what the school taught me that we had to change.

Never going to happen. If an officer or even a sergeant tries to tell the chief “hey, boss, we need to have a policy on bla, bla, bla.” The boss aint’ goin’ do nothing until they hear it from somebody who makes a lot more money than we do.

Many years ago I went to a police driving instructor course. Most of the cops there had been sent because they were shitty drivers and had crashed too many times. I was the only cop there who had NEVER crashed a police car. Wow, that was kind of weird.

So, I came back from the class and wrote the chief a memo explaining some of the things we needed to have in our policy. He said: “well, I don’t think we need to do that.”

I just let it go. Then a year later, that same chief had gone to some “Chief’s convention” where they had some highly paid expert come in and tell the chiefs the same thing I had told ours a year before. Our chief came back from that convention and said: “We need a policy on bla, bla, bla.”

I just looked at him and thought: “NO SHIT.”

The really small county I work in has so many small police departments that sometimes I have to stop and think about how many we have. It would be smart and save lots of money if they reorganized them into a few larger departments. However, the little city councils and the chiefs don’t want to loose the power they have.

So years ago, the Sheriff of the county came up with an idea on how many stars they all should were. He felt only two stars on the collar was enough for each chief to wear, and of course the Sheriff would wear four stars.

Well, this lasted about a week. Then some of the chiefs from little towns like Mayberry, decided that they were just as important as the Sheriff, so they started to were four stars.

Who really cares?

What I figured out is what it takes to be a chief; you have to have a major part of your brain removed. The part that works with common sense.

Like a monkey on crack.....

From the Cop side: Ok, I’ll end the suspense.


Getting back to my “worst rookie” story….

Part II.
Our shift started at 1500 hours (3 pm for normal folks). This was the “swing shift” which is still my favorite shift for actually doing police work. My second favorite shift was when I worked DUIs and started in the evening and worked until 3 am to catch drunk drivers.

In the time of this story, I was also going to college full time—using up the rest of my VA college assistance. In those days I really needed the money, so even though I had no free time, I went to work or school, or studied.

Since I had college classes that day, I hadn’t had time to stop for lunch before going to work. So, I arrived for work, put on my uniform, met the new rookie “C”, talked to him about what I expected and then we got into the car. “C” had already been in training for over a month, so I figured he must have some clue as to what to do. I learned a lot that day…like never assume anything where you life could be on the line. “C” was totally fu--ing clueless in regards to how to be a real live cop.

After we drove around our “beat” for a quick check, I told him to head down to the local diner. I needed food and caffeine or I was not going to make it through the night. At first he looked at me with a confused look, then I repeated: “let’s go to code 7 (dinner break) now.”
He said: “but it’s early, I’m not hungry yet.” To which I responded with a polite: “I am. I didn’t have lunch today.”

So, he pointed the old Dodge in the direction of the diner and off we went. Since I am a driving instructor, I often look over to see how fast a trainee is going. We were in a 35 MPH zone, but I noticed the needle was creeping up to 50 MPH. I gently said: “There’s no rush, follow the speed limit.”

Still, the needle was near 50 MPH. So I repeated: “There’s no rush, keep it at the speed limit. Slow down!” It took a third time to get the message across before “C” slowed the da-- patrol car down. I decided he’d need a class on basic patrol car operations after dinner. This was not going to look good on his DOR (Daily Observation Report).

We somehow made it to the dinner without a crash. We went inside and I looked at the menu and ordered a simple sandwich so we could get back to work right away. Just as soon as I ordered, we herd the dispatcher give another unit a residential alarm call. No big deal, it wasn’t our call. So I took a sip of my caffeine beverage. “C” looked at me and said: “aren’t we going to go?”

I looked at him and said: “It’s not our call. It’s only a residential alarm….it’s just some home owner who came home and set off their stupid a-- alarm…relax.”

Then the patrol unit that was dispatched told the dispatcher that he was coming from a distance and he’d be delayed. So “C” looked at me and said: “Shouldn’t we go?”

I told him: “No, we haven’t been dispatched. Can you relax a little, you’re like a monkey on crack or something.”

Just as my sandwich was served to me, the dispatcher got back on the air and asked if we were clear to respond to the alarm call. “C” looked at me and it appeared that he had stopped breathing. This was a bad sign. I know that the human brain must have oxygen to properly function. Those who deprive their brains of this valuable element, often do really stupid sh--. (Stand by for stupid sh--.)

I told “C” that I’d show him how to answer the dispatcher: “Control, we’re at Z diner on break. We’ll be delayed in that response by a few minutes.” The dispatcher acknowledges our answer, and I could tell that they were less concerned about the alarm call than I was.
(a little back ground. I had responded to this stupid a-- residential alarm about 15 times in the last month. The home owner was too stupid to use it correctly, so we’d put it on our “don’t give a sh--” list.”)



Part III

(so I won’t keep you in any more suspense.)

I inhaled my sandwich and we walked out to the car after paying the bill. I could tell that “C” was really over excited, so I told him: “It’s an alarm we’ve been to 15 times in the last few weeks, don’t get too excited, but handle it like it’s real.”

I sat in the car and put on my seat belt, but “C” started to drive without his on. I suggested that he put it on. He didn’t move for it. By now all the commute drivers were coming home from the “city” and clogging up the streets. The speed limit was 35 MPH, but most could only get up to 10 or 15 MPH for a block or two before stopping. “C” had turned on the emergency lights and started tapping the siren.

I thought this was a little too much, so I suggested he not try to go so fast. I looked over at the speed needle and saw that he was up to 50 MPH again. I could see that traffic was not moving up ahead and we were heading for a crash. I YELLED: “Slow down!”

Now I was actually starting to get worried. This rookie really had stopped breathing, but somehow he was like a monkey on crack. If we didn’t have doors and a roof on the car, I think he would have sprung out of the car! He slammed on the breaks just as he realized that yes, traffic was stopped….then he move from the #1 (left lane) to the #2 (right lane) while he still had the emergency lights on.

Let me point out a critical bit of safety information here before I continue. I the state of California, emergency vehicles that are using their emergency lights MUST stay in the far left lane and allow traffic to move to the right. This is Basic Emergency Driving 101 that is taught in the basic police academy.

I almost got car sick. That is not something a rookie cop should make his/ her FTO do. If I get car sick, I’m going to puke on whoever is doing the sh--y driving. I told him: “drive smooth, not fast. If you have the emergency lights on, you MUST stay in the left lane.”

He started to argue with me and he said: “I can get there faster if I pass around the cars.”

I looked at him, now using my old Army Sergeant Voice (ASV) and said: “Are you fu--ing arguing with me? Now, do what I fu--ing say, or pull the fu--ing car over.”

He slowed down a little, then started to gain speed. I repeated: “Slow the fu-- down now! Slow down or I’m driving the rest of the shift by myself!”

He only slowed a little, and still passed on the left and the right. I finally said: “Slow this fu--ing car down now, or I’m going to kick your stupid fu--ing ass. Are you a retard?”

That got his attention. And yes, we used to talk to rookies like that if they were that stupid.

He got up to an intersection where we needed to turn left…but he continued in the going straight lane, then like a spaz, made a hard left turn. We almost got hit by two cars who’s drivers were totally caught off guard. I yelled: “what thefuckwasthat? You should turn in the turn lane. This isn’t a life or death call.”

I was thinking about pulling my .357 magnum revolver out and using that to get his attention. I was in great fear of my life at that point. (I was considering how I was going to write the use of deadly force report)  But he began to slow down as he was looking for the address of the alarm call.

I got back into my FTO mode and tried to salvage the situation, even as fouled up as it was. I gently said: “OK, it’s a residential alarm. How do you want to approach the house? What equipment do you need? What do you tell the dispatcher when you get there?”

No answer. OK. I guessed he heard what I had said and he was contemplating it over in his feeble mind. Remember, no oxygen had been supplied to his brain for over 10 minutes now…so brain damage was setting in….

He pulled up right smack dab in front of the house. No cover for me. It was just starting to get dark, and as he left the patrol car, he left the keys in the ignition, left the headlight on and left the emergency lights on. I grabbed the keys so some kid wouldn’t steal our patrol car.

“C” ran to the front door and looked very much like a monkey on crack---now with his head cut off. He was actually jumping up and down looking around for an answer to what he was supposed to do. I suggested: “why don’t you check the front door, then work your way around the house.”

He did that, but when he got to a back door that was unlocked (again) he really looked confused. I knew that this would be a great learning experience for him, so I said nothing. He looked at me and said: “I forgot my flashlight, can I have yours?”

I said: “Pretend like I’m not here.” And he walked into the house without a light. I knew the back room had no lights since it was under remodel….so the dumbass stumbled around a while in the dark. I have no idea what he though he was doing, but it was so funny I couldn’t control myself. About then he realized that he really needed a flashlight, and he came back out…but he couldn’t get back into the patrol car because I took the keys and locked the doors (but left all the lights on).

Finally, we took care of the call. The house was “cleared” and we went back to the office with me driving. When I sat “C” down and tried to explain what he had done right (nothing) and what he had done wrong (everything), he actually began to argue with me and try to justify why he did the dumb shit he did.

I looked at him, then pulled out the training manual. I pointed to the section where it said something about the trainee should not argue with the FTO. He still argued. I told him to sit in the office the rest of the shift and read the manual.

I went into work early the next day to talk to the boss about the dumbass rookie. I said: “Sergeant, I have never seen somebody who is so fu--ing stupid in my life.” I explained everything he had done wrong and how he argued with me.

The sergeant said: “Oh, you’re being too hard on him. I think you just need a few more days with him.”

…and this is why it took me so long to get promoted…I said: “There is no fu--ing way I am having that idiot in the car with me ever again. He is not trainable. If you keep him on, we are going to get more citizen’s complaints than ever, he’ll get us sued and he’s going to get himself or somebody else hurt bad. He’s not ever going to be a real cop! I refuse to be his FTO.”


They put “C” in a car with anther FTO. He made it through probation, and he had an average of one citizen’s complaint a month, crashed several car and got our department sued and finally had to be fired when a more competent chief was hired later.