This is not an autobiography. The names and events are a product of my imagination although I am certain that things such as I have described happen everyday somewhere. Many thanks to the men and women who form the thin blue line between us and anarchy.
Ever since I was a little boy I always wanted to be a policeman. It started when I saw an old black and white photo of my dad and grandfather standing together when dad joined the police force. My name is Eric Geiger but everyone calls me Rick. When I was born my older sister Beth, who was two at the time, had trouble with the long e sound so she just called me Rick and it stuck.
In the fourth grade we had an assignment to write about what we wanted to be when we grew up and then had to read it to the rest of the class. A lot of the guys wrote that they wanted to be cowboys or astronauts. Of course, I said I wanted to be a policeman.
On the playground, at recess that, day Stanley McCormick started teasing me about being a policeman. He called my daddy a pig and I was a piglet. "Oink, oink. Here piggy, piggy," he kept yelling.
I told him to stop but he kept it up yelling louder and louder. When he shoved me down I got up and punched him in the face. He grabbed his bleeding nose and ran to the teachers crying. I got to sit in the principal's office until mom came to school and picked me up.
Once we were in the car I told her what had happened and all she said was that dad would talk to me the next morning. Pop was working the three to eleven shift and had left before we got home. I didn't sleep well that night. The next morning, after breakfast, dad asked me what had happened at school and I told him everything.
"Rick, I appreciate you sticking up for me but I've been called a lot worse. I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself. You shouldn't have hit Stanley for calling me names. But sometimes you have to defend yourself against bullies who hit you first. I'm going to take you to school this morning so get ready to go now."
Just before I walked into my classroom, Stanley came up to me and said he was sorry for calling me names and shoving me. "My sister saw everything that happened and told my mom and dad. They were not too happy with me," he said. "My dad told me I had to come to school today and apologize to you."
Extending his hand he asked, "Can we be friends?"
"Yes," I replied. We have been best friends ever since that day.
Now fast forward eight years to a couple of days after graduation from high school. Stan was over at my house and we were trying to figure out what we would do for the rest of the summer.
Dad came home from work and had something for me.
"Rick," he said. "The city is starting a Police Cadet program. I have an application in my briefcase if you're interested. You'll get paid and be given cadet uniforms if you are selected. If you do well when you are twenty-one years old you can go to the Police Academy. Graduate from there and you will be hired by the Police Department."
"Boy that sounds like a good deal Dad," I said.
"It sure does", echoed Stan. Yep. Stan had come around to my way of thinking about a future career. "Can I get an application, too?" He asked my father.
"You sure can," Dad replied taking another application from his briefcase.
To make a long story short we both filled out the application and gave them back to my dad. Ten days later we found ourselves being tested both physically as well as psychologically and then had a final interview by some senior officers of the police department. Two days after all that happened dad came home with good news for both of us. We had made the cut and now were officially Fort Lauderdale Police Cadets.
For the next few years Stan and I learned a lot working as Police Cadets. When Stan and I reached our twenty-first birthdays we were enrolled in the Police Academy. The training was intensive. In addition to the classroom, we received physical and more psychological training. We spent a lot time on the pistol range becoming, more than just, proficient with our weapons.
Finally after sixteen weeks in the academy, graduation day came. I now have a photograph of my dad pinning my badge on me just like grandpa did with him so many years ago.
Six months after that photo was taken dad retired from the force. He and mom moved to Pensacola, Florida, to be closer to my sister and her two little girls. Beth's husband, Pete, had been a pilot in the Navy and now was a civilian contractor working at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola.
My probationary period was for six months. I was paired up with an experienced officer to reinforce what I had been taught at the academy. Stan received the same treatment.
Ten weeks before my twenty-second birthday I was on my own, with my own call sign 'Bravo 6' and assigned to patrol the north end of the beach. The North Beach Zone stretched from Sunrise Boulevard, on the south, north to the city limits of Lauderdale-By-The-Sea and from the Atlantic Ocean on the east to the Inter-coastal Waterway on the west. It was a mix of residential neighborhoods, motels, hotels and businesses.
Chapter Two
Six Months Later
'Bravo 6'. 10-94 (back up unit) 'Bravo 8'. Signal 38 (domestic disturbance) 5555 North East 33rd Avenue. Bravo 8 on scene. Dispatch radioed me.
"10-4, dispatch. 'Bravo 6', 10-51 (en-route). 10-52 (ETA) 90 seconds." I answered.
Domestic disturbances are tricky. You never know what you are going to walk into so it's just good practice to call for back up before confronting the situation.
"Dispatch. 'Bravo 6', 10-97 (on scene)." I radioed as I pulled up behind 'Bravo 8's squad car.
"What do you have?" I asked Stan McCormick, my long time friend, who's call sign was 'Bravo 8'.
"This is Margret Dickerson," Stan answered, nodding toward a obviously distressed woman standing beside him.
"She told me that a former acquaintance of hers showed up about 20 minutes ago. He was drunk or strung out on drugs so she didn't want to let him in the house. He pushed past her and produced a gun. When her daughter came into the room he grabbed her and threw Mrs. Dickerson out. She ran to her neighbor and called us. That's all I know right now," he finished.
"Before he pushed me out he said he was going to make my daughter a woman. You've have to stop him, she's only fifteen years old," Mrs. Dickerson cried to us.
"Ok, calm down and wait here." I told her just as we heard a young girl screaming from inside the house.
"There's no time to get a hostage negotiator here, Stan. You take the front and I'll go around back. Give me a minute before you go inside. Try and use that silver tongue of yours and see if you can diffuse this," I told him.
