Most everyone who knows me understands I have spent a significant portion of my adult life carrying the badge, and responsibility, of a law enforcement officer. Often, to an even greater degree than the fire service when you do that job, even in Mayberry, you run the risk of losing your life.
Over the years, by my reckoning, there have been five distinct occasions where if things had gone even slightly differently I wouldn't be here now to write this piece. I've stared down the wrong end of a rifle. I've been shot at and had a guy try to stab me. I was hit by a car driven by a suspect fleeing custody and had a near miss by someone driving with their head up their rear end while I was investigating a traffic accident on a dark night. But as I've done the job for a long time, I've taken every one of those in stride and kept on keeping on, as some might say. I don't dwell on what happened or might have. I focus on what lies ahead because Mrs. BigDog demands rather forcefully that I come home at the end of a patrol shift.
The other thing I've learned, over the years, is to never ignore my intuition. When something deep inside talks to me, I listen no matter what. I've always believed that a line John Wayne had in The Shootist summed it up pretty well...
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Last night wasn't anything close to a full moon and the weather was somewhat fall like, yet there were oodles and boodles of people out and about last night... and I was out there among them plying my trade. While I drove around looking for what I could get into, as I usually do, I noted that a lot of those people were doing simply silly things. I stopped one fellow who was waiting at a railroad crossing just before an intersection as the light up ahead was red and there wasn't enough room for his vehicle between the tracks and the intersection. That was a good thing. Then the crossing signals began to flash and the gates started down, alerting all to the approach of a train. The stop light at the intersection ahead went green, by design, to help clear the railroad crossing and this fellow, in an Explorer with his wife, dogs and a big load of stuff on top drove through the crossing with less than ten seconds to spare and with the falling gate nearly taking the stuff off his roof.
After I had stopped him, his story was that he saw only the green light at the intersection ahead and hadn't seen the red crossing lights.
Then there was some kid walking down the middle of the railroad tracks. A Goth kid, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and dark blue jeans, he was nearly invisible. His story was that it didn't matter because trains didn't run that late. Turn around, I said. "Oh %#&*," he said, when he saw that there was indeed a train bearing down on him.
Then there was some dude who was pulling onto the highway from the opposite side and apparently didn't fully understand what that third lane in the center of the highway was for. He started to pull straight out into my lane... and I darned near rode a Crown Victoria into the ditch. His story was that he thought oncoming traffic, in a 55 MPH zone no less, had to give way to him as he entered the highway. Were he a young California girl I might have almost expected a "Yield to the Princess" license plate frame.
These encounters, and several other curious happenings during the evening, had by 9 PM gotten me thinking that maybe I needed to be extra careful. And so it was when I rolled off the freeway at the north end of town. I was going to check a few of my favorite fishing holes to see what I could turn up. I pulled up to the stop light at the top of the off ramp and signalled for a left turn.
This particular stop light is at the west end of the freeway over crossing. There is an identical set of signals at the east end of the over crossing and a signal controlled four way intersection another 150 feet or so west of the west side where I was. Thanks to the marvels of modern traffic engineering there are three light controlled intersections within far less than a thousand feet of distance... a recipe for confusion. And confusion there has been since those signals all went into operation.
I was the only car on the off ramp, and there were no other cars in the immediate vicinity that I could see. My light turned green, time to go. But something told me not to. I looked left and saw why sitting still was a good idea. Going west, in the lane closest to me was a van. Not just any van but one of those 18 passenger tricked out hotel vans... the big suckers that weigh like three tons. I estimated his speed above 35 and could tell that he wasn't stopping. I looked ahead... my light was green. I leaned forward, looked up and to the right... his light was solid red. I looked back toward the van just in time to see it... and my life, pass right in front of me with no sign of slowing down, let alone stopping. Had I promptly obeyed that green light I'd have gotten him right through the door of my patrol car. Given the speed and weight of his vehicle, there is no doubt in my mind that I almost certainly would have been killed then and there.
I don't know how it is in too many other states, but here in Cali the running of red lights (and the resultant intersection crashes) borders on an epidemic. People in a hurry, not paying attention or just not giving a crap are hurting and killing people all across the state in ever increasing numbers. Because of this, in most counties, the fine runs upwards of $300 for a first offense. And I never much mind writing someone a ticket for a red light because they are, really, an accident looking for a place to happen.
As I turned right, instead of left as I had intended, to follow the van, I could see that the light at the next intersection just ahead was green. The van turned right and within just a moment the only lights he could see were red, blue and in his rear view mirror. As we glided to a stop I noticed that it was indeed a hotel van with the name of one of our nicer local establishments splashed across the back. As I got out of my unit, I was mad... who ever this joker was could've killed me and he was going to get what was coming to him.
The driver, when I contacted him and politely explained the reason for the stop, insisted his light was green. Said he saw me sitting there and that his light was green. Wanted to argue about it with me. Such a response almost always generates a ticket and I was right and ready to do just that. This was the "three fingered bustard" that the Duke talked about.
He was an older gent, probably retired and working at the hotel just to make ends meet. Said he'd never, ever run a red light and was on his way back to the hotel from fueling the van as his shift was nearly over. He continued to insist that his light was green. It was at this point that I decided I had about enough. I was good and mad.
As I examined his driver's license and registration I politely told him exactly what I had seen; that it was the light at the intersection up ahead that had been green, not the one he passed through in front of me. I told him what would have happened had I just pulled out without checking when my light turned green. I motioned to the airbag cover in his steering wheel and told him that although he would have probably gone to the hospital had we crashed, I would have become nothing more than a name on a wall in Sacramento. My wife would have been a widow and since there really wasn't anyone else close enough to have seen what happened, his insistence on having a green light would probably be the only story and all concerned would have been left to wonder why I had pulled out in front of oncoming traffic. I think he finally figured it out... because he started looking like he was going to cry. I believe that he was scaring the crap out of himself as he replayed the event in his mind and the realization sunk in.
One of my hard and fast rules is that you either deliver a lecture or you deliver a ticket; you never deliver both. And as I stood there and quietly fumed, he sat there and quivered. I politely handed him his papers back and said, "Sir, do us both a favor. Take the van back to the hotel and park it." He said, "I'm not getting a ticket?" I said no, I think you and I both understand what happened and that's good enough. I bid him a good evening and sent him on his way. I went back to my car and chalked up the sixth time that I've come that close to losing my life on the job, simple as that and get on with the rest of the shift and the rest of my life.
Today, as it is September 11, I've been spending some time watching several different programs that I've Tivo'ed over the past couple of days concerning the history of that day, reflecting on the events and how they have shaped our lives without giving much thought to my own personal events of the previous evening. One program covered artifacts of the event recovered from the ruins, some of which are still stored in a hangar at JFK airport. Among the items are squashed and burned police cars and fire trucks, which rest in mute testament to the bravery of the public safety people who drove them in response to the attacks on the WTC.
Later, I watched another program about a fellow who helped save a lot of folks from the offices where he was a security supervisor. During that program, one three second piece of video caught my eye. It was a view down a street, not unlike my view of the intersection last night. People were fleeing away from the camera as toward the camera came an FDNY ladder truck , lights blazing and sirens roaring, charging boldly toward the center of the crisis. Almost immediately a flash of recognition poured over me. I flipped the Tivo back on and reloaded the earlier program flashing it forward to the short scene showing some of the wrecked fire equipment still being preserved.
Same damned ladder truck... both films. At least that was how it looked to me. Even if they weren't both the exact same truck, the resonance was staggering.
Just like my quite personal encounter last night, there was life passing right before my eyes. I decided that I was going to have to take a break from expanding my knowledge of history for a while and tossed a movie into the DVD player. It had suddenly become all too personal, and when it gets like that there is nothing else to do but step back, let the feelings happen and, once they pass, drive on.
Thanks to a few words tapped out on a keyboard there is a little more distance now between me and what happened so it's probably a good time to say...
Let's roll.
