February 9th, 2008 06:03 PM
One more fix:
WADE!!!!! WHAT?? Come on the Cap whats to see us, What the hell ya do now? Funny boy I was getting ready to say the same.. We walked down the hall and turned into the Cap's office , noticed he was setting with on of the local farmers and a Marshall out from Leavenworth way.
We sat down and listen as the two "guest" explained about a small problem they had,,seems the Marshall was this guys brother, and the farmer had a son who was running grass up from Kentucky and hiding it in the pig pens.
Boys I want you to go out to Mr. So and So's farm and scoop out the problem,lets see if we can catch him red handed,and DAMN"IT DON"T SHOOT NO ONE!!!
So later that night Wade and I drove out that way in his mothers Suburban and went through the back part of the farm up into the pig pens. Mr. So and So had put the pigs over in the other one and we found a couple of hidiy holes in the corn cribs to back into. Hour , goes by then two and Wade starts in with this ,,DAMN ITS HOT IN HERE,,HOW LONG WE STAYING!!!!
Shut up Wade, keep watching the Ole man said the boy should be by about sun down.. BUT ITS HOT AND SMELLS LIKE PIGS!!!! Well hell Wade its a pig pen,,haven't you ever been around pigs before???? No you dirt diggen SOB I was raised in the cities. I started laughing.
Time goes by and mid night rolls around and the biggest full moon you have ever saw, most call it a harvest moon , but we always called it the ware wolf moon.. All night Wade has kept up his belly achen about this place and I had had enough..
Hey Wade you ever seen a shoat?? A WHAT?? A baby pig you dilbert. No I haven't,, Well you should take a look at one their real cute and fuzzy like,, go on and step over in the next pen and pick one up .
What about the momma?? AH don't worry about her, and soon as she hears the little one squeal it will be aright..
Soooooooooo Wade steps over in the muck and mud cry'en about pig waste on his Tony Lamas and I'm about to split a cut, ..Hey Dave the mama is looking at me,, GO on ya pansy , she ain't going hurt ya.
Well just so happens there was a runt that had been shoved out of the pile and was laying over next to the feed trough. Wade bent down picked it up and the little one came too and let out the highest pitched squeal from a pig I have ever hear.
MOMMA!! GRUNTED!! Came to and went after Ole Wade like Sherman through Atlanta, Wade had one hand on the shoat and the other in the air waving back and forth yelling for help,, MAMA! Was right on his heels and around and around the pen they went, Wade jumped up into the feed trough and she knocked it over, He jumped up on the fence and she blew right though it. By this time Mr. So and So showed up and was madder then a wet hornet,then he got to laughing with me.
We let Wade run around for about 10-15 minutes, then yelled out to drop the piggie
MOMMA! Stopped and Wade walked over covered in mud, pig waste and slop.
Mrs.Nottingham,,This is Dave ,just wanted to let ya know me and Wade will be just a tad late,,I'll be driving the burban so don't shoot me when I pull in ,,Wade had a little trouble with a Sow and Shoat!!!!
Mrs. Nottingham told me later she wished she had seen her mama's boy running with the piggie
"Just another day in Oz"
February 9th, 2008 08:48 PM
I was not a cop for long. I quit before I was fired. Anyway in 1974 I was early morning shift at a California University from which one can see the ocean. I am in the kiosk at about 0130 and a dark blue van pulls up. I see the government plates and am not worried, just curious at that point. The Air Sergeant driving says his shotgun wants to visit his girlfriend. This was not an awfully weird request at the time, although the time was darn late. I have them park, pull the gate down, and we go inside to figure it out. The girlfriend has a direct line in the dorm, and after checking with her they are good to go, except for their sidearms. We have a small lockup in the station there and they have no problem trading their govt. issued 1911's for a wild night. I give them directions to the dorm and, as if he were brought up right, shotgun asks if it is ok to bring the other guns on campus. Turns out they are AF armorers on the way to Travis with a pot full of M-16's with issues. We end up putting maybe 3 dozen rifles in our only cell, and I spend the next 6 hours with my peashooter at hand, jumping at shadows, and imagining the SLA, black panthers, and a bunch of other people showing up. According to my relief, who couldn't believe what I had left him when the sun came up, they left about 1100, smelling of various enhancements, with shotgun smiling and the AS bragging about the many, many coeds he had introduced to the doghouse of that Econoline van.
February 15th, 2008 05:18 PM
This is where I had to stop reading for a long while before I could come back and finish. My daughter is also two years old. -Jay
Originally Posted by SIXTO
February 15th, 2008 10:42 PM
On a warm June night in 1993, a newpaper delivery guy finds a male lying in a post office parking lot, and phones in an assault call. Jerry and Eric arrive, and realize it is an suicide attempt, with the guy lying still, seemingly unconscious with a knife in one hand, and another knife next to the other, empty hand. Jerry stands on the guy's knife-bearing arm, to pin it down, while Eric reaches to take the knife. As soon as Eric's hand contacts the knife, the guy suddenly becomes animated, and clamps down on Eric's hand and the knife. The fight is on.
The struggle is general for a few seconds, and Eric manages to get on the radio, asking for assistance, saying the bad guy had a knife, and also Eric's flashlight. I had already directed my rookie to drive toward the scene, before Eric's call for help, and now this was bumped up to a Code One Assist-the-Officer call. Lights and siren. We arrived to find the situation had calmed. Several backup units arrived at about the same time, along with an ambulance and a couple of wrecker drivers, who listen to our frequency, and will help us if they can. Mr. Suicide was just laying there, looking up at us. I learned that after the brief struggle, he had layed down again, and started sawing on the front of his neck, to make himself die quicker. By the time help arrived, he was just laying there, I guess waiting to bleed out. He was still holding the knife, and Eric's flashlight, but was no imminent threat to any of us, but the EMT guys could not approach. We agreed to wait for a sergeant to arrive with a Taser; back then only sergeants had Tasers. I started walking back to our patrol car, to make sure my rookie had shut if off and locked it. This could get interesting, and I wanted to make sure the car was secured.
In my peripheral vision, I see movement, and turn my head to see the bloody bad guy (BG) rising to his feet, and officers backing up to create space. I am standing separately, because I had been walking toward the car, and BG turns his attention to me. We lock eyes, and stay "locked-on." I don't remember when I drew my GP100, but it was in my hands now. The knife was held low, chambered for a thrust, while Eric's flashlight was held high, as BG advanced. I don't remember saying anything, but others remembered I said "BACK OFF" and "DROP THE KNIFE!" BG did neither, and advanced at a walking pace. Jerry happened to be beyond the BG, from my perspective, and I clearly heard him say, while running to my left, "Don't shoot me, Rex!" Someone took up a position to my right rear, so I knew I could not move, as I was defending not just myself, but at least one other officer.
BG lurched and turned, then shuffled a few yards along a curved path away from me, bleeding like garden hoses from his sternum area and left armpit. He slowly knelt down, then flopped onto his back. We had to knock the weapons out of his clenched fists so the EMTs could take a look at him. They applied the adhesive things to which they attach their leads, but then shook their heads. No need to check for a flat line this time, as is their usual procedure.
Anyone who says you can't tell the difference in the wound made by anything from a .22 LR to a .45 is simply wrong, This was a BIG, gaping hole all the way to China.
After a few hours in Homicide, writing my statement, and having it reviewed by the union lawyers, I and a friend went to a favorite seafood restaurant, as it was about lunchtime. I ate well and then slept well. Life is good. Death is not so good. Better to be alive than dead.
Last edited by Rexster; February 16th, 2008 at 09:22 AM.
February 15th, 2008 11:21 PM
We owe you a beer
and a lot more, thanks for your service Rex (and the rest of you too!)
February 16th, 2008 09:30 AM
BTW, I used a Federal 125-grain .357 JHP, the full-pressure silver-box load, termed the "Classic" for a while, now marketed under a different name, but still in the silver-colored boxes. We found pieces of bullet jacket on the pavement in the pattern of blood spray beyond where the BG was hit, but the main piece(s) of the bullet were found during autopsy in the BG's upper arm. The wound track was sternum to left side, and then into upper left arm. I still like to use this load in my heavier .357 revolvers, and my "Old Warrior" GP100 is not for sale for any sane amount of money.
The "instant hole" terminology above was not meant to be funny. A bullet moves so fast, the appearance of that black hole was indeed instant. The perceived sound of the shot was a muted "pop." Only one shot was fired simply because the effect was instantaneous, and by the time the weapon was back on target, after recoil recovery, the threat was over.
February 16th, 2008 09:38 AM
Very moving story indeed, Rex. It sounds like this guy was intent on ending his own life. I don't know if he really wanted to attack you as much as he wanted you to finish what he had started.
I am so happy that this thread is still going. Thank you everyone who has volunteered their own personal stories for myself and others to read.
February 16th, 2008 11:45 AM
For some reason, "Blue Suicide" seems to be more common than it once was. When it happens its a real tragedy, not only for the officers that didn't want to shoot that were forced too, but for the family's of the deceased as well.
The aftermath can run all the way from from the family understanding the need to shoot, to Momma thinking there was no justification or reason to shoot her kind, loving son,to a full blown dog squalling fit complete with lawsuits,news media coverage, multiple investigations and the whole 9 yards that usually results in a damaged perception of the Dept. from those that believe everything they see and hear on the news without considering the real facts.
I would rather stand against the cannons of the wicked than against the prayers of the righteous.
AR. CHL Instr. 07/02 FFL
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February 17th, 2008 12:02 AM
Blue suicide indeed, but, we should keep in mind that some suicidal people WANT to take others with them, especially those mad at the world. Mas Ayoob has written on this subject in the past. BTW, this was actually my second possible blue suicide incident. A guy stepped into the path of my patrol car, and when I swerved to miss him, he dashed BACK into my path, and even leaned forward to put his head farther into my new path. Assuming he wanted to die, he succeeded. I was glad there were witnesses! It was bizarre. Edited to add: I got shattered glass in my eyes; the guy tumbled along the side of the car, and his shoulder took out the driver's door window. I wear clear Oakleys at night now.
Last edited by Rexster; February 17th, 2008 at 03:24 AM.
February 17th, 2008 02:58 AM
A few years back, I had a bad stretch of luck involving dogs. Here is the story of the last of the series:
Got called to a scene where a citizen reported a vicious dog attempting to attack a child. ATTEMPTED, that is, because the dog ran across the street and knocked the child down before the caller ran it off with a hammer.
Caller got his easts and wests confused, so I went to the wrong address first.
When I arrived at the right one, caller and child are standing behind a car stopped in the street. The dog, a female pit bull, is back in its own unfenced yard, lying in the grass with its puppies. I know the residents of that house. They're hairballs of the lowest order.
Turns out that the dog DID clamp onto the kid's arm, but didn't break the skin. I recalled that only a week or two beforehand, they'd gotten a vicious dog WARNING after the same dog went after a meter reader.
I knew where mama hairball worked, and had dispatch call the place and ask her to come home and secure the dog. Dispatch did so, and advised that she would be on the way.
7 minutes later, by the radio log, and mama hairball had not showed up. Her work was about half a mile away. I got the number from dispatch, and called mama hairball directly, using my cell phone. Mama says she called yet another hairball, not gainfully employed, and that SHE would be coming to secure the dog. THEN, she said, "Why don't you just go knock on the door. My daughter's home." I pointed out that the dog was not restrained. Mama says it'll be okay because she's just such a SWEETIE and would never hurt anybody. I pointed out that recent events suggested otherwise, and I'd not had the best luck with dogs recently. She insisted it'd be okay. I asked if she was SURE. Of course she was.
OK. I take the long, scenic route to the front porch, on the opposite side of the house from where the dog is. It's an elevated concrete porch, just big enough for the screen door to open over, with a wrought iron railing with two horizontal bars around two sides, running down to the end of the two or three concrete steps - which are abutted by a concrete sidewalk. I tap lightly on the door. No response. I tap louder on the door. No response. An upstairs window is open. This is what mama hairball had told me is her daughter's room. I call out just loud enough to be heard through that window, identifying myself and stating that I needed her to secure the dog. No response. I knocked normally on the door, and raised my voice a little.
Elapsed time from reaching the porch: about 1-1.5 minutes.
I heard someone shout something from around the corner. Then, the pit bull comes charging around the corner, growling furiously. It lunges up at the porch on the rail side, closest to the house, sticking its head between the rails. I drew my pistol and shouted at the top of my lungs, "Somebody come get this dog!" The dog continued around to the rail side of the porch, facing the house, and lunged again, snapping. I again shouted, adding an unfortunate adjective. The dog moved a foot or so closer to the sidewalk end and lunged again. While it was still moving, I shouted again, quickly. The original caller stated that at this point, I simply shouted, "Get this DOG!!"
When that pit bull lunged at me the third time, having moved each time, I believed that it would next move around to the step side of the porch, where it would be unimpeded by the lower bar of the railing, and would have CONCRETE instead of DIRT beyond it. I already had my pistol pointed at the dog, and I fired one shot. I don't remember whether or not I used my sights. Probably not. I DO remember seeing a big black hole appear right in the center of the dog's chest, in front, beneath its muzzle. The dog dropped like a rock, and blood started gushing out of the hole immediately thereafter.
Elapsed time, last two paragraphs: about 15-20 seconds.
Before the blood even STARTED coming out, and I believe, WHILE the dog was still dropping, I heard an adult male voice from the window next to me, on the first floor, shout, "Mother#$%@er!!!!". I turned, and there was the face of PAPA hairball in the window.
He came rushing out, demanding to know why I had shot his dog. I asked him why he hadn't come and GOTTEN the dog before I HAD to shoot it. No reasonable response, naturally.
I'm convinced that he watched through that window most of the time, probably laughing it up about me being menaced by his furry tool of intimidation.
I love dogs. I hate scumbags who own and abuse dogs, using them as WEAPONS instead of PETS.
Glock 22, 165 gr Winchester Ranger SXT, if anyone cares.
February 17th, 2008 12:18 PM
Rex, damn shame sounds like you handled it well, know a few Officers whom have had almost similar shootings,,just got to the point where there wasn't any where to go,and or some one was going to get hurt other than the nut case. Our load for the longest time in 357 was still IMO the best one going 145 grain Winchester Silver tip,,"hole"
Sgt.Mac,,dogs??? What can you say it seems the BG world has just gone nuts with them, I have read reports here on every thing from poodles to bull mastiffs, always told my guys if it has teeth be very careful.
Working midnights several years ago I was the duty supervisor for three deep water terminals, night had been fairly quite a few accidents and a couple of injuries on board the ships in port,,along about 0300 hrs I received a call from the Cpl on our smallest terminal.
"Sgt just got a call from the railroad cops,, they need our help, have a guy riding the cars " OK I'm on my way, 45 minutes later I pull in and find the Yard Cop and my guys standing by, we split into 4 two man teams and start out.
YC and myself take the northern rail section,we where working both sides of the car,, 1ST MISTAKE!! I had just passed the 3rd car in line a box car solid on a flat, door was open as is the norm, shined the light up in and out came this guy running, he jumped and bowled me over, Lost the radio and just started yelling for back up, we fought for what seemed like all day, and then I felt a searing pain in my right thigh like a tearing muscle, couldn't see the blood but could fell the knife, I managed to lock his hand and arm in place and drew my SIG we carried 40cal's and fired one one down and through his upper left side down to the belt line I found out latter, He fell back and just gave up the ghost,, YC and my guys showed up, wasn't more than about 5 minutes from the time I yelled out. spent the night in ER having all kinds of testing done, and the next day speaking with the State's shooting team.
Knife was an old Buck 110 folder with the rustiest blade ever, BG was a known member of the "Rail Riders" and had Hepatitis, so it was SHOTS FOR EVERY ONE!!!
Cleared the shooting, survived the shots, and faced a civil court until the judge dismissed with "prejudice"
And kept going back for another 5 years until retirement,,wife always said I was a SLOW LEARNER
February 17th, 2008 03:01 PM
and getting stuck with a rusty blade at that.
I'm told that you are supposed to shoot BEFORE you get stuck, not after !
Yeah I know, sometimes there isn't time. I have had 2 students get stuck with a knife, one killed the aggressor and one didn't. Both were ruled good shoots.
I hate even the thought of getting cut.
I would rather stand against the cannons of the wicked than against the prayers of the righteous.
AR. CHL Instr. 07/02 FFL
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February 17th, 2008 03:11 PM
Good stories....reaffirms my deep-down respect for those of you locals/cty/state boys and girls on the job.
USAF: Loving Our Obscene Amenities Since 1947
February 18th, 2008 04:20 AM
Originally Posted by Dave James
I have a strange way of looking at things. I've been with my current agency for over 14 years, and was an Army MP for another 4. I haven't shot any human beings in the course of my law enforcement duties and, God willing, I'll still be able to make that claim once I've retired. I consider my law enforcement career to be "pure" in that regard.
That's not to say that I haven't had some close calls. I can remember three just off the top of my head: an attempted SBC in which an intoxicated unarmed male did a nearly-convincing-enough imitation of a draw from concealment, an intoxicated female suspected burglar who insisted for a short while in walking toward me holding a knife concealed behind her leg, and a 1.5 hour standoff in an alley with an armed, suicidal DV suspect. All resolved with nobody getting hurt. I'm PROUD of that.
Make that four. An intoxicated male brandishing a machete and getting entirely too close to my PNP partner in Panama City, Panama back in 1990. I was actually taking up the slack on my 1911's trigger when he dropped the machete.
February 18th, 2008 09:19 AM
The worst one:
I had the village as the Marshal was on National Guard duty that weekend.
Got an assist call, injury accident on the four-lane, jurisdictional was tied up on the other end of the county, could I secure the scene until their arrival?
Lit up and put my hoof in the carburetor.
Looking it over as I approached, I saw where the south bound vehicle had crossed the median and must have hit the north bound vehicle in the side, shoved it over into the waiting spear point of the guard rail, in the bad old days before they were bent down into a concrete anchor.
I'd positioned my vehicle and exited before I realized I was looking at my fiancee's car.
The guard rail split its way down the hood, through the wind shield and through her.
Her two year old daughter was in the front seat, seat belted in but no help: on collision it tore her up internally and she had just enough life left to wrap her little hand around my big finger and say "Daddy" before she coughed up blood and lung tissue and died.
I dimly remember the State Trooper dragging me off the at-fault driver.
It was our little girl's second birthday, and I was to meet them later that afternoon once my relief arrived.
Okay, on to something better:
The homeowner was a Yankee Flat Land sort who was all kind of incensed that a skunk was sniffing around on his front porch.
He was fair to jumping up and down stiff legged that this striped marauder was invading his property.
He demanded the skunk be shot.
Right then, right there.
Fetch out the 870. "Anybody in the house?"
"No. Shoot it, shoot it!"
BOOM and a charge of 00 buck sends the skunk to the next life, while the payload continued through the fellow's threshold and dug up an impressive amount of carpet inside his front door.
Funny thing. Once the Mayor got the straight story, he had absolutely no sympathy for the fellow.
Okay, one more.
I was running squad that day and we got a call from a young fellow who said him and his buddy had been wrestling and he fell down and cut himself on a knife. This sounded hinky so we called the S.O. and waited til they rounded the turn, line-of-sight, before we went on in.
Kicked the beer kegs off the sidewalk to get to the front porch of this house trailer.
Beat on the door and yelled "Ambulance crew! Y'all call us?" as it's wise to announce one's presence, one of my green partners didn't and almost got beaned with a frying pan (he ducked).
Young fellow standing there wearing blue jeans and an intoxicated expression said "Yeah, come on in," and I said "Who's cut?"
"Oh, that's me," he said, holding up a skinning knife in a sliced sheath. "I had this in my hip pocket and set down on the floor hard when Ralph tackled me and it cut me."
"Okay, where at?"
About the time my good friend and partner came around the corner, just in time to see this peach fuzz cheeked drunkard drop his drawers and shoot me the moon.
He had a slice on his butt just deep enough to cut through the fat layer and sting and bleed a little bit, so I opened our jump box and pulled out a sanitary napkin. Sterile, individually wrapped and designed to hold a large flow of blood, they're soft, convenient and cheap.
"Whattaya gonna do with that?" he exclaimed.
WHAP! I slapped the pad on his butt, grabbed a handy roll of duct tape and said "Shut up" (zip) "and hold still" (rip) and my buddy the deputy had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from making the sounds of a chicken laying a meteor. He sniggered all the way back to the cruiser.
One more? Okay.
Some low life had the audacity to crank off a round at the Marshal, so he reached over to the red microphone, keyed up and said, (ahem!) HELP! and soon as he let off the key you could hear lots of woo-woo-woo, "WHERE YOU AT, BUD?" from several responding units.
We formed a skirmish line and swept the good Reverend's field from whence came the gunshot; alas, the miscreant evaded our dragnet; we cleared the only building on the acreage, then climbed the bank back up to the road where the cruisers were parked.
I'd partnered in that moment with an old veteran of the force, I won't say his name as his widow is still in that area, and a good deputy she was as well. I worked with her son and he was a fine marshal, went on to be a detective out of state.
I'm hiding names to protect innocent and guilty alike. So far innocent but the next (and last) story is a guilty. Bear with me.
Halfway up the bank I found the single strand of electrified bobwarr fence the good Reverend strung up to keep his horses in.
One barb was at what I will call a Strategic Height.
My partner the deputy said he never in his life saw anyone elevate three foot straight up, three foot straight back, come down ten feet of steep bank skidding and never lose my footing, swearing a fine collection of oaths that rivaled anything he heard in any three years in the Navy, after which I clumb back up the bank, stuck my finger under the Marshal's nose and said "Joe," I said, "Rosie wanted to get some tonight," I said, "and now she ain't a-gonna!"
I thought Joe was going to bust his belt buckle laughing.
That one took me ten years to live down.
Okay. One more. Last one, I promise!
The town marshal got caught in the back seat of his cruiser.
With his baby sitter.
By his wife.
Of course in the back of the cruiser, the doors lock when they close, and the car was on a little bit of a sidehill, and the door swung shut at an inopportune moment...
Names are changed to protect the guilty.
Then there was the little old lady who lived in the gingerbread Victorian house, and gave us a call saying she had an intruder...
Nah. Enough long wind for today!
"Deine Papieren bitte?" or "ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ !"
(Choose only one)
NRA Endowment Member
"I bark at no man's bid. I will never come and go, and fetch and carry, at the whistle of the great man in the White House no matter who he is." -- David Crockett
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