Everybody has to be a legend, even if what they are legendary for is embarrassing. Such, was the case with me, my helmet, and a Cushman three wheeler. During Christmas season in the seventies, the Patrol Shifts would assign someone to the Traffic Division Cushmans. These things were three wheel scooters with a cab mounted on top. With a downhill slope, the wind behind you, the best you could do was 45 mph. The cab was enclosed with a canvas door, with a very unreliable latch, which meant you caught all the cold December wind you wanted, sitting or traveling. There was no seat belt, but, maybe good news, we all had been issued plastic riot helmets. So, maybe, we were prepared to ride this beast. The guy who was assigned to these things was to work the Village Shopping Center and Dellwood Shopping Center. The theory was if you were visible, you deterred crime. You certainly would not catch anyone running from you. Other than a break from routine, there was little to entice you to the duty. So, it was assigned out. Maybe, as punishment, maybe lottery. It came to be my turn. And, like most other officers I tired of beating myself to death cruising the parking lots, achieving nothing. Dellwood especially got our goat, the teen agers knew of our forty five mile speed, so it was a great sport to outrun us. Heck, anyone was faster. The kids were good about stopping if you were in a unit, but, they loved putting it to an officer when they could. And hot rodders at Dellwood was a continual neighborhood complaint. Any time I tried to stop them, off they went. Even worse, dispatch knew where I was working, and any complaints about speeders, reckless driving, or loud exhausts were given to me. If the kids did not stop, there was nothing I could do about it. Then whoever called in complaining was upset because we did nothing. And often the next call they made was to the Chief of Police, and I had to explain that I tried, but a lot of kids would not stop for the scooter. Then, the day came when J.D. was working M-22, which included Dellwood. And, as usual, J. D. came up with a plan which promised to teach the kids a lesson. I would work Dellwood, J. D. try to stay near, and if a kid got away from me, he would stop them for me. We had worked at it a while, thinking the kids would quit thinking it was easy sport for them to get away from me. But, as always, there was a hitch. Maybe, it was just a matter of time, maybe it was my typical luck, no matter, it happened. I was behind one of the kids, full speed in the scooter, the canvas doors pulled tight, my helmet on the seat beside me. As I left the lot and got on Illinois the wind caught the door, both doors blew open, and my helmet popped off the seat, and fell under my back wheels. Of course, J. D. had to see this. The next day at briefing, the entire shift made jokes about me, the only cop to run over his own helmet. Fame isnt what you might think. In fact, it aint much fun at all.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Nov 2014 00:03:57 +0000
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