by Ian Parsons
It was said that from that day on, Earthquake was somewhat claustrophobic when inside any vehicle and would never sit in the rear seat of a police cruiser, which, of course, has no inside door handles.
Late one evening while Constable Barry Hawryluk was on shift, 17-year-old Laverna McDonald appeared at the detachment. Her clothing was ripped, and she was in a very emotional state. She disclosed that she had been raped multiple times by a drunken Lionel Lampson. Hawryluk made an immediate patrol of the reserve and discovered Lampson sleeping it off at his residence. Lionel was in his 30s and, true to his Lampson lineage, stood six foot four and weighed well over 300 pounds. Perhaps thanks to his inebriated condition, he dutifully accompanied Hawryluk back to the detachment.
At about 3:00 a.m. I was called to assist Constable Hawryluk. All of Lampson’s clothing was removed, and he was given a set of coveralls to squeeze into. By this time he was sobering up and starting to realize the predicament he was in. He sat in a chair as I stood in front of him. We were almost eye to eye, even though he was seated and I was standing. Making sure that my corporal’s chevrons were very visible to him, I told him that he was under arrest for the rape of Laverna McDonald. A flash of rage appeared in his face. I knew that if Lionel were to become violent, he would tear me, Barry and the detachment into little pieces. In a very firm voice, I demanded that he accompany me into the cells and warned him that any resistance would simply get him in more trouble than he was in already. He rose slowly from his chair and followed me into the cellblock. I closed the cell door firmly, looked at Barry and heaved a sigh of relief. We both knew that if things had gotten out of hand, the only way we could have stopped Lampson was to shoot him.
Even Sergeant Sifton was skeptical of our chances for a conviction. He assured me that if we were successful, he would buy us a bottle of whisky. Lampson was remanded in custody, and the trial date was set. Constable Hawryluk stayed in constant contact with Laverna McDonald, our witness and victim. He coached and counselled her, promising that we would protect her before and after the trial. She had misgivings but bravely persisted. At the trial, she gave excellent evidence, and Lampson was convicted and sentenced to four years in the penitentiary. For the first time in generations, the Lampsons knew they would be held responsible for any sexual assaults they committed on the reserve. Constable Hawryluk and I got our bottle of whisky.
Just when we felt police–community relations were moving in the right direction, Constable Zulak arrived. He was loud, arrogant and brash, openly disliked Native people and had just enough service that his little knowledge was a dangerous thing. Within a few short weeks, the slurs and comments he passed while working on the reserve led to an explosive situation. One sultry summer night, I received a troubling call at my residence indicating that two of our constables were being held hostage in the beverage room of the Corsair Hotel, 12 miles east of Blackfoot Crossing. Jumping into uniform, I headed to the Corsair. When I arrived, a number of people were standing outside the hotel in the street. I entered the beverage room and found it in total disarray. A number of patrons were lined up along one wall, and Constable Zulak and Constable Blanch, our recruit, were standing next to a table where two large young aboriginal men were seated. Zulak’s shirt was partly ripped off, and he was in a state of rage. I told him to calm down and tried to get to the bottom of what had happened.
Apparently the two male patrons had been refused service because of their disruptive behaviour. When they refused to leave the hotel, Constable Zulak and his partner responded. The manager of the hotel, aware of Zulak’s bad reputation, was worried when he entered the bar. Zulak approached the two men aggressively, informing them they were under arrest. The young men were slow to react, and Zulak, exhibiting his well-known impatience, loudly informed them that he would count to three and if they refused to leave, he would move them. After the count, Zulak grabbed one of the men and was thrown to the floor. The bar patrons then closed in on the two constables in a threatening manner and the standoff commenced.
I realized Zulak had made the situation much worse, both through his attitude and through his previous negative encounters. When I asked him to leave the bar, he hesitated, so I told him in no uncertain terms to “get his ass out of there,” and he complied. It was at this point that the residual goodwill between reserve residents and the detachment began to pay off. I focused my attention on the two miscreants, telling them that they had committed several offences, including assaulting a peace officer, and they would have to accompany me. Thankfully, their attitude was almost apologetic. They told me that Zulak’s arrogant attitude had made it impossible for them to cooperate with him, but they eventually accompanied me out of the bar, into the police car and back to the detachment where they were lodged in cells. They were eventually convicted for refusing to leave a licensed premise and causing a disturbance.
Zulak was counselled on his attitude, but it was obvious he was not going to change. He had never established any credibility among the people he was responsible for policing. Sergeant Sifton asked management to transfer Zulak elsewhere, but we were told we would have to continue working with him. We knew he was a flashpoint on the reserve and hesitated to assign him duties where he would cause trouble. We restricted him to office duties, and the other members had to shoulder the extra responsibilities. Over time, we did what one must often do in bureaucracies—we lied. Zulak also desired a transfer, and his ambition was to be a member of the highway patrol. We felt that was a perfect job for him. Sergeant Sifton submitted a report outlining Zulak’s amazing transformation of attitude and the fact that he was desirous of traffic duties. Soon after, our “problem” was transferred.
During the era of Wounded Knee, around 1974, the militant American Indian Movement was active south of the Canadian border in North and South Dakota. Dissidents in many large Canadian reserves were also fomenting insurgency and rebellion. Some of the Native youth on our reserve had taken to wearing red head bands and gesturing with closed fists to communicate “red power.” We had noted an increase in surliness in our day-to-day contact with young people. There was a general attitude of restlessness and even alienation.
One of our best constables, Don Pittendreigh, had accidentally run over and killed a sleeping Native man while patrolling through a wooded area adjacent to the town. Media headlines implied the RCMP had killed a helpless and aged Native man. A reporter from a daily newspaper in Calgary took it upon herself to pillory the constable’s actions, using the incident to portray the RCMP in general and our detachment specifically as authoritative, uncaring brutes who harassed and persecuted Native people. Sergeant Sifton took exception to what he believed to be unfair reporting and contacted the journalist. He invited her to travel to our community and witness first-hand the quality of policing. She arrived to accompany patrolling constables for two nights. After her experience, she wrote a piece describing the positive relationships she witnessed between police and Native people. It seemed the most significant factor that altered her thinking was the amount of restraint exercised by RCMP members when under extreme duress. She interviewed many members of the community who expressed satisfaction with their local police, in spite of the tragic incident that had recently occurred.
An investigation into the accident took place, and the coroner ordered an inquest. On the day of the inquest, hordes of media and militant Native activists filled the town. Some members of the press were observed actually contributing to the emotionally charged atmosphere by covertly egging militants on to create some sort of disturbance. The coroner’s jury, consisting of citizens from the reserve, determined the RCMP not criminally responsible. They recommended, however, that officers conduct walking patrols through the narrow, congested pathways rather than drive.
At the peak of intensity during the inquest, an urgent call came in reporting a serious motor vehicle accident on the outskirts of town. Along with the town’s only fire truck and ambulance, I went immediately to the scene and saw two se
mi-trailer trucks had collided head on. One driver was dead and the other was still in the cab of the truck, which was on fire. The flames were so intense that it was impossible to reach the driver, who burned to death as we watched helplessly. The incident made an already emotionally charged day even more stressful. In the end, residents of the reserve refused to align themselves against the RCMP, maintaining that we provided a good service and were considered their police force. It no doubt worked in our favour that Constable Pittendreigh, the member who had accidentally killed the citizen, had entered a burning residence on the reserve several months earlier and rescued three children. The people knew this man had a good heart, and they extended their total support to him.
Sergeant Sifton’s sense of fair play was once again evident during the investigation of a sudden death. The body of a young woman was found in a vacant residence on the reserve. The cause of death was difficult to determine, and the specialized general investigation section (GIS) from Calgary arrived to assist us. A young Native man with a lengthy criminal record had been recently parolled and was back on the reserve. When the GIS investigator became aware of his presence, the man was picked up for interrogation. The investigator was known for his aggressive tactics, and we heard him shouting while inside our interrogation room with the young man. Then came the sounds of furniture and bodies bouncing off the walls. It was obvious from the exchange that the investigator was demanding a confession. The young man denied any involvement, and there was no evidence to implicate him. When Sergeant Sifton heard the sounds of the fracas, he intervened. He removed the investigator from the interview room and privately informed him that his assaultive approach would not be tolerated. Aware of Sifton’s potentially volatile reputation, the visiting detective immediately changed his bullying approach. Later it was determined the woman had died of natural causes. The suspect realized the sergeant had defended him, and word of his actions in support of the young man spread throughout the reserve, further reinforcing to the citizens that Sifton insisted on fairness, impartiality and respect.
The community policing initiatives carried out at this detachment and the positive results they generated became known throughout the province. Both the media and neighbouring detachments expressed interested in our methodology. We had proven that enhancing the police profile and presence with reserve residents reduced police–citizen confrontations and made the job of law enforcement safer. It was extremely satisfying to both Sergeant Sifton and me that we had brought positive change to a Native community through his experience and intuition combined with new concepts I had introduced.
Superintendent Peter Wright, officer commanding of Calgary subdivision, was a well-regarded, upwardly mobile executive, widely known for demanding high standards. He had a reputation as an intimidator and was known to be tough on detachments. When conducting a red serge inspection of a detachment to the west of us, Superintendent Wright discovered members with overlong hair and shabby kit and clothing and found the detachment in need of cleaning. Dismissing the members, he informed them he would be returning to re-inspect the following day. He left no doubt in their minds that he expected a vast improvement in all areas. When he returned to find the entire detachment spotless, the OC fired question after question dealing with difficult aspects of the criminal code. Many of the responses were incorrect, further irritating the superintendent. He again reprimanded the detachment commander, who realized he was in a no-win situation.
We learned our detachment was next in line for an inspection. As the member with the most recent exposure to the training division, I suggested to Sergeant Sifton that we practise some parade movements with our subordinates in anticipation of the arrival of “Himself.” Some weeks later, upon the superintendent’s arrival, the sergeant called the full complement of red-coated members to attention. He saluted, informing the OC the men were ready for inspection. He examined all the members, querying them on pertinent aspects of the criminal code. The men had turned themselves out well; acting on intelligence received from the previous detachment, they had studied the criminal code. After they had answered questions correctly, Superintendent Wright informed the sergeant that the men had passed muster. The sergeant asked for permission to break the men off. Somewhat puzzled, Wright assented. The sergeant immediately commanded in a loud voice, “Officer on parade, break off!” This compelled specific movements where the men came to attention, saluted, turned to the right smartly and marched off. The superintendent was so delighted he appeared on the brink of orgasm. The rest of the inspection went off without a hitch, and from that day on, we could do no wrong in the eyes of this uncompromising taskmaster.
It was just as well that Superintendent Wright never got wind of another, less successful initiative of mine. Two local men were suspected of bringing large quantities of drugs from Calgary to the reserve. Their trafficking activity was contributing to increased drug addiction and violent offences. Having lived in the city for several years, the pair had developed a certain level of sophistication when it came to avoiding detection, and we were finding it difficult to interrupt their lucrative business. I approached Sergeant Sifton with what I felt was an innovative idea. The subdivision general-investigation section had visited us recently on another matter and had left their very expensive voice-activated portable tape recorder behind. I wanted to plant the tape recorder in a cell. We would arrest the two suspects and hold them in cells for a limited time, hoping they might engage in an incriminating conversation. The sergeant was skeptical but willing to give it a try. After hiding the recorder, we arrested the two subjects and lodged them in cells. We waited anxiously, hoping we might get a break. Suddenly we heard swearing and loud smashing noises. Rushing into the cellblock, we discovered our charges had found the tape recorder and stomped it into smithereens. Bearing in mind that our tactics were somewhat questionable, it was going to be difficult to charge the pair with willful damage. We reluctantly released them and recovered what was once a $1,500 tape recorder. Needless to say, there were numerous memoranda exchanged regarding this incident. I realized then that I would not soon be considered a candidate for special operations.
I had completed several university courses while at the training division. As a result, I was listed as a candidate for a sergeant’s position at headquarters in Ottawa. Once again, I struggled with the decision to leave the field and sought the counsel of subdivision management. I was told that there were many junior NCOs in the province who were senior to me, so the likelihood of promotion in the near future was remote. Sensing an opportunity, I accepted the Ottawa transfer. I was delighted when Sergeant Sifton informed me that the Native community wished to host my farewell party. Many citizens from the reserve were in attendance, and I was surprised and honoured when presented with a chief’s ceremonial headdress. The posting that I had thought would be an unpleasant experience turned out to be one of my most rewarding.
By this point in my career, I had accumulated enough experience to make some further observations regarding the policeman’s lot. First, no matter what the community’s demographics or location, some segment of the population will want to test a new RCMP member. The challenges can come from someone in a position of power and influence or from the underbelly of society. Every member of the Force should be prepared to demonstrate that they cannot be bluffed or pushed around, whether they are in council chambers or on a dusty street. If a police officer doesn’t understand that these encounters are real and inevitable, he or she can be compromised and ineffective.
Second, an unruly, aggressive woman is vastly more difficult to arrest than a man. This was even more of a problem when there were no female police personnel. Women can be as physically strong as men, and occasionally more vicious. Society demands restraint on the part of policemen when taking a female into custody. In every community, there is a female powder keg just waiting to explode. Members encountering women in such confrontations do so with great trepidation. Police officers have been kicked, slugge
d, bitten and verbally abused by drunken or violent women. On occasion, retaliation must be physical, and the optics are almost always distasteful.
In addition to these important lessons, a much bigger issue became apparent to me during my time at Rostad and Blackfoot Crossing: the difficult relationship between the RCMP and aboriginal citizens in Canada. At one time, the police were viewed as a friend to First Nations. During the signing of Treaty #7 in southern Alberta in 1877, Chief Crowfoot of the Blackfoot Confederacy told his people, “The police have protected us as the feathers of the bird protect it from the frosts of winter.” But over the following decades, this solid expectation of support and protection all but disappeared. The relationship between police and First Nations has occasionally polarized into animosity and even hatred. Canada’s police forces had little input into creating the prejudicial legislation that governed Native people, yet police have always been tasked with enforcing cruel and discriminatory laws, including the unreasonable liquor provisions of the Indian Act. Under that act, an Indian “off the reserve” was forbidden to possess an intoxicant. To avoid prosecution, some Native people would drink as rapidly and quickly as possible. It is unlikely anyone would be socialized into drinking sensibly when faced with such conditions. In the recent past, before the more discriminatory sections of the act were repealed as a result of court challenges, police were even known to enter Native homes without warrant and seize any liquor they found.
These acts of oppression caused many First Nations people to have bitter memories of police. This was further exacerbated when police participated in the apprehension of children who were placed in mission schools to be deprived of their culture and language. Too often, these schools were the scene of horrific abuse, and children were left with vivid memories of police involvement in these traumatic events. The police are one of the primary agencies of the “white world” that First Nations interact with, but their opinion of police is seldom positive. Local Mounties are often viewed with suspicion and only occasionally with begrudging respect.