Chicago Cop Story
I believe that I have a touch of the masochist about me: I was laying in a nice warm bed, with no alarm clock about to pounce, a couple of good books beside the bed (well they are not that good, but they are all I have right now), and what do I do but pull my body up and out, give the rheumatism reason to scream throughout my complete contraption in order to sit down in front of a blank screen and keyboard, to try to put down a word in front of another word, and then do it again in such a way that it makes some kind of sense. Does this not have the whiff of the lover of pain about it?
Five of us were sitting in the office last night after things had cooled down, sitting and waiting for the phone to ring or the clock to turn another cycle. I told everyone of my recent experience with the video camera on the corner of Ashland and Damen, about the five second rule for a turn on red, that the lesson cost me $100. Then we each related a Chicago cop story, some indignity or harassment by the people in blue; their stories were pretty lame, mine was the good one that I thought I’d try to put down here.
It was late afternoon in the summertime, I had just dropped a banker’s wife in evening dress off at Navy Pier, checking with my dispatcher I was told to head out to O’Hare to meet a flight. My walkie-talkie was still in my hand, hadn’t been set into its holster when I saw that in front of me was a Chicago cop. She was riding a Segway scooter, she was in the left of the two lanes of traffic, going at about a fast walking speed; she was driving no-hands, because she was eating a bag of popcorn, one hand holds the bag of popcorn, the other hand dips and grabs. My overwhelming concern was to not hit the cop, the paperwork following hitting a moving cop is not to be believed; so I am driving carefully, forced to pass on the right because she is in the left lane. I just want to get past and get out of there.
The cop looks over at me and yells through my open window, orders me to pull over to the curb. She follows me over, still on her scooter, still eating popcorn with both hands. This sergeant then threatens to write me up, give me a ticket because the law says that I cannot hold my walkie-talkie in my hand while driving. This from a cop who was driving no hands in the left lane, slowly; did I mention that she wasn’t wearing a safety helmet?
How does one react to this situation? here I am in one of the great democracies of the world, in one of the greatest cities in the world, on a beautiful summer evening–what is the appropriate reaction here? think quickly.
I say nothing, I make my face into an emotionless mask, I set the walkie-talkie in its holster, and again, I say not one word, not a squeak. After what seemed a year or two, or maybe it was a minute, the cop tells me not to do it again, and that I should get out of her sight. I drive away carefully, without reaction of any kind.
I am told by a friend on the force that I need not fear running into this sergeant again, she has been promoted to lieutenant, joining her husband in that rank.
I love this city, it entertains even as it infuriates; it is run by a guy who is pretty good at running a city even while corruption shows up daily in the newspapers, I just love living here.
[...] Roger Johnson sure knows how to captivate the audience. A recent post was published on Chicago Cop StoryHere’s a brief excerpt of what was written: [...]
I would imagine you have limitless untold stories relating to your experiences toting fares of diverse individuals around the streets of Chicago. This
cop tale is especially delightful but I suspect you’ve had some less pleasant encounters with the
gendarme class.
Do keep the memoirs flowing as they are the recollections of exceptional everyday encounters.
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Damn cops. Most of the ones I have had dealings with have been professional, but there are a few that should be “promoted to lieutenant” as your Segway-riding public dis-servant was.
I have always wondered about the type of person who would put on a uniform to become one of society’s mother hens. Many do it to answer the call of justice, but I think there are a lot of cops who just like to boss people around, puffing up their chests and daring citizens to look their bullyness in the eye.
To my shame, I take great satisfaction in carefully pushing the limits when I encounter a cop of the Deputy Fife persuasion. The last time I got pulled over I asked the cop if he had calibrated his radar recently. (This must be done at certain intervals, otherwise the reading can be thrown out in court.) I had no intention of appearing in court, as I got pulled over in Virginia, three or four states away from my home in South Carolina, but it was fun. My girlfriend, who was riding in the passenger seat, was not amused, especially when I chirped the tires as I got back on the road.
I like the fact that the cop will now have to appear in court to prove his equipment was calibrated and I will be at home, probably sleeping in.
Anyway, I think the bully analogy can be extended very easily to certain members of the clergy, politicians, bosses, even parents… any place you find power over people, you will find bullies addicted to the power.
My point? Lemme see if I can find one somewhere. Oh yeah. Focus on the good and antagonize the bad and the ugly. But if you get arrested, you didn’t hear that from me. And if my mom asks you where her trouble-making son is, tell her you don’t know me.
That story brought out strong reactions about police and our encounters with them. I just wanted to tell a comedic story, the kind of story that anyone comes across in a big city, in a place full of people doing all of the things people do.
I ain’t going to comment on Bill’s reactions to cops, except to say that we learned a lot more about Bill than we did about cops.
They are not the enemy, they are the hall monitors of adult life; I was a hall monitor for a week once, it was a different kind of experience, one that I am glad to have had and didn’t feel comfortable continuing.
Remember what I tell Bert out in the home: This is all just a parade, lets sit and watch it go by, experiencing each moment of it.