Closed Doors & Open Windows

After completing 20-weeks at the police academy, which includes rigorous classroom studies, physical training, along with shooting, driving, defensive tactics and numerous scenarios, you were then assigned a shift. Here, you rode with several different field training officers for another 14 weeks. You were observed, rated, judged and critiqued by your training officer with a daily field report.
It seems like a lot of supervision, and it is, because the life of a patrol officer is indeed a complex one. You never know what’s going to come down the pike on any given day. Everything from routine theft from autos, burglaries, assault on a juvenile by a juvenile, and domestic disputes to the rape, robbery, or murder that just occurred.

Patrol officers are in fact, jacks of all trades and masters at none, although I’ve seen some real miracles performed by savvy, older officers that were indeed masterful, ending tense situations without bloodshed, injury, or assault. After such tense situations, the masterful officer would sheepishly say, “beats the hell out of writing a report, or arresting someone….”

Tank’s First

Roll call was just about over when the dispatcher calls, “car 4 John 1, 4 John 1, go ahead, 4 John 1, take the DOA that just occurred at 3409 Elm St. Mrs. Smith states her elderly mother died in her sleep last night and is standing by.”

Of course, your shift mates are laughing at your bad luck, singing, “Start your day with a DOA, do dah, do dah, start your day with a DOA, all the live long day….” It was my first DOA to handle since being cut loose and all I could think of was “don’t screw anything up!”

The Response

I get to the address quickly, and speak to the complainant, Mrs. Smith. She tells me her mom is upstairs, in her bedroom. I explain everything I have to do, and get all her mom’s information, medicine she’s on, physical condition, etc., to tell the coroner, so he can release the body to the funeral home, assuming no foul play is involved.

Going upstairs, I see the bedroom door is closed. I lightly knock and immediately realize how stupid it was. Or was it? I examine the body, and nothing is suspicious. “Car 4 John 1, confirmed DOA, have Doc Rodgers call me at 301-555-1234.” I then pull the sheet over the face of the deceased and wait for the call. I start filling in the blocks of the report and a few minutes go by. For some reason, I look over to the bed and see the sheet fluttering above the “deceased” face. “Oh my God! Did I just screw-up and declare her dead prematurely?” I think to myself. “The shift will never let me hear the end of it!”

Amidst my near panic attack, I see the drapes flutter from the open window. The same breeze makes the sheet flutter too! In my mind, I start singing, “Happy Days are here Again!” I was never happier for a gentle breeze in all my life. The deceased was still deceased, and my pride was still intact.

Doc Rodgers calls and releases the body. I go downstairs to tell the daughter what’s going on. She apologizes to me, and I can’t understand why. “You poor thing, you’re as white as a sheet. Thank you for being so compassionate.”
If she only knew …

Subscribe To American Handgunner