Trooper Down!

by Marie Bartlett

  *

  When you first put that uniform on, you feel responsible, and you think, “Man, I’m somebody.” But that’s crap. And you realize it in a short time. Or someone makes you realize it.

  *

  The first time I worked in a small community, I thought I was better than they were. It was a backward, poverty-stricken county. I’d stop people for a traffic violation and they’d be wearing coveralls, the men unshaven, with tobacco dripping off their chins. Most of them didn’t know what the word “citation” meant. They could barely speak decent English.

  But it didn’t take me long to realize I was at a disadvantage. This was their region and I was the outsider. I knew nothing about the things that were important to them—hunting, fishing, surviving economically in a county where the unemployment rate was 25 to 30 percent. They dealt with hardships I couldn’t even comprehend. I went to visit one family following an accident and found them living in a shack with a dirt floor and no indoor plumbing.

  That really opened my eyes. I thought, “You dumb-ass. You’ve missed the boat. These people aren’t less than you are. You’re the one who can’t cope.”

  I came from a family where I never wanted for anything. My experience in this county shocked me into recognizing that the people were living the best way they knew how, with no education and little hope of ever making their lives any better.

  I still wanted out of that county because I felt that I would never fit in. But at least I had gained something from being there. I learned a new respect for people who were different from me. And I carry that with me now wherever I go.

  *

  There’s always been a tendency among experienced troopers to help the younger guys, to start them off. Then the rookie gets his feet on the ground and he wants to sit and tell you about who he’s stopped and everything that’s happened to him. And as an older trooper, you don’t want to hear it. You’ve heard it all before; you’ve told it all before. But you don’t want him to know you don’t want to hear it.

  We all go through that initial stage, where everything is new and exciting. When I first came on, I can remember telling about experiences I’m sure people were bored to death at hearing. Now I have to listen to the same thing.

  *

  Here’s a typical workday in a small county: You get off at 7:00 P.M. after staying at the firing range all day. It’s been raining and you’re soaking wet. You go home, but it’s your turn to take night calls because there’s no third-shift patrol in your county.

  About 8:00 P.M., you get a call to investigate a wreck ten miles below the next town, so you’ve got sixty miles to drive. Meanwhile, the people involved are sitting there wondering why a trooper hasn’t shown up.

  You return home, start to dry out, and the phone rings again. A car has slid down an embankment. But this is one you don’t mind because it’s a mother and two little kids. Everyone has their seat belt on and no one is hurt. It just takes a long time to get everything cleared up.

  You get back home about ten. At eleven-fifteen, there’s another call about a wreck just outside the city limits. The city police say they can handle it. Relieved, you go back to bed. A little after midnight, you get a call about a wreck twenty-five miles away. A man has run over a mailbox. It doesn’t amount to much, but there are reports to fill out, paperwork to do.

  You come home about 3:00 A.M. and finally drift off to sleep. Then you start all over again.

  *

  It was fun to be a trooper in the early days. You could get away with more than you can now. We had two boys stationed in Hickory who drove unmarked cars and would think up pranks when there wasn’t much activity. One night they bought a fake gorilla head and rode together, one driving and one wearing the mask. Every time they’d come across someone traveling from out of state—the driver half-asleep at the wheel—they’d cruise up to his window, turn on the siren, and scare him to death with the mask. I don’t know how they kept from getting fired.

  I also remember a trick we played on a corporal who was always pulling stunts on us.

  It gets hot in Hickory and this was during the days when we didn’t have air-conditioned patrol cars. One afternoon we were standing on the steps of the office, trying to cool off, when the corporal came out the door. He stood there a minute, put his hat on, and without saying a word, pulled his gun and shot several holes into the ground. Then he drove off.

  We ran to a shed and got some motor oil, poured it into the holes, and called the corporal on his car radio. We told him to come back to the office because there was a serious problem.

  When he arrived, we explained that he had punctured an oil line. In fact, there it was, oozing right up out of those holes he shot into the ground.

  He felt bad about what he’d done, so he got a shovel and began to dig. Well, of course the oil stopped “flowing,” and he went on his way. After he left, we poured in some more, puddling it up real good, and called him back, telling him this time the oil leak was much worse.

  He started digging again while we sat back and watched. After a while, we were afraid the poor man would have a heart attack or die of heatstroke, so we broke down and told him the truth. It made him mad, too.

  Today, the highway patrol would fire you for stuff like that.

  *

  The patrol has had to change through the years. It couldn’t remain the same and the rest of the world move on. There’s more paperwork now. And more stress. Part of the stress for the older troopers comes from having to catch up educationally. These boys coming out of college have typing and business skills. We didn’t. Now the patrol comes along with computers. So we’re even further behind.

  There’s some resentment about the increase in the amount of paperwork. But there’s not much we can do about it except try and keep up.

  *

  Years ago, you didn’t question supervisors. The sergeant was respected as much as the colonel. Whatever he said was gospel.

  Now we’re getting away from the highly supervised structure. The new, young troopers are harder to control, better educated, and more likely to think on their own.

  I guess that’s good, but it has its disadvantages too. I don’t think troopers are as dedicated to the patrol or to serving the public as they were in the old days.

  *

  Some of the newer troopers don’t take time to talk with the public. They get out, write a ticket, and go on to the next one. We older guys call them “computers with a pencil,” because the patrol sends them to school, programs them, gives them a ticket book, and turns them loose.

  More experienced troopers realize you have to fit into the community first, that writing tickets to everyone you stop isn’t as cut-and-dried as it appears. And that sometimes helping people is just as important as citing them.

  *

  When I started seeing patrolmen promoted with less time than I had, I began to think, “There’s something going on here.” I had worked with many of them and knew their competency level. That’s when you really wake up. Then you work a couple of years longer and you still don’t get a promotion. At that point, you have a tendency to get complaints because you’re taking it out on other people. You’re no longer satisfied with being a trooper.

  *

  After twenty years on the patrol, I have peaks and valleys. Before I got promoted, I was low. Then I went as high as I could go. I’ve been promoted four years now and the new has worn off. There are more headaches, more responsibilities than I expected. Even when I’m off, I have to be responsible for those under me. If I want to go to town, I’ve got to let the patrol know where I am so they can reach me at all times. I also had to move. That’s the worst thing about it. It pits you against your family because many times they’re against it. My son was about to start his senior year in high school and he didn’t want to leave. So we had to move without him.

  I realize, however, you can get burned out by staying in one district. You know every curve, every bump in the road, every p
erson you’ve arrested time and again.

  It seems like you never reach a level of satisfaction that you can sustain for any length of time. I don’t know if it’s ego or what.

  I envy the other troopers who say they’re satisfied with being a trooper. But I wonder if they’re telling the truth. If you have any kind of ambition at all, you surely resent not being promoted.

  I think you could be happy if you were promoted and then, if you got disillusioned, could go back to being a trooper.

  But you can’t go back.

  *

  No one has ever told me I had to write a certain number of tickets. But they always bring out this sheet when you’re evaluated and put it down in front of you and the numbers are there. You can see what everybody else does. It’s instilled in your mind—“the sheet is corning out.”

  They want you to take the promotional test to show you have incentive. But you’ve figured out the system. You know there’s only a slim chance you’re going to make it. And it [the test] becomes a waste of time—my time and theirs.

  *

  A lot of people think we’re on a ticket-writing quota, but we’re not. If you sell vacuum cleaners, you’re measured by the number of cleaners you sell. We’re measured by the number of tickets we write, the drunk drivers we arrest, the accidents we investigate, how we’re thought of by the community, the courts, and our peers.

  There’s no other way to grade us. But I don’t mind. Because I’ve never written a citation I didn’t feel good about. I’m a “company man,” but I do what I think is right.

  *

  There are different trooper “types.”

  Some troopers like to be the apple of the sergeant’s eye. If he tells them to stay out all night and write fifty tickets, they’ll do it just to make themselves look good. Other troopers like to “tell” on fellow troopers because it takes the heat off them if they themselves are doing something wrong. Yet that same type of officer makes sure he’s the first one on the scene when the media covers a story about a trooper saving a life.

  Some guys don’t like to stop and help stranded motorists, or associate with people less fortunate than they are, because they think it’s a waste of time. They are a stumbling block in the community rather than a pillar.

  But most troopers are the type that quietly go about their business, work their eight hours, and head home. They’re sincere family men. They are the ones who will help you and other troopers on the road. They treat everyone they stop with respect.

  And they are the ones who best represent the highway patrol.

  *

  I’m a radical trooper. That’s different from a troublemaker. The troublemaker is setting out to cause disruption, to tear things down. A radical asks, “Why? Why are we doing this?” in an effort to make things better.

  But because he’s a little out of the mainstream, not strictly a company man or a yes-man, he suffers for it. He has to be a team player if he wants to get ahead in this organization.

  *

  The thing that bothers me most about the highway patrol is the cynicism that prevails. The supervisors don’t believe anything we say, just as we don’t believe anything the public says.

  When I find myself believing somebody, I go, “God, I think he’s actually telling the truth! How strange!”

  *

  Ever since drugs became so prevalent in our society, our job has become a lot more dangerous. It honestly makes me consider changing careers. I’m getting prematurely gray. My blood pressure is sky-high. At night, I look at the ceiling and can’t go to sleep.

  Is it worth it? That’s what I keep asking myself.

  *

  One trooper I know down east got into a fight with a guy who had a knife. The trooper should have shot him. But he didn’t.

  He fought with him, wrestled with him, and got cut up pretty bad. Later, when I asked him why he didn’t shoot the man, he said, “All I could think of was that I’ve got a family here, my wife’s got a job here. I’m happy where I am. I knew if I’d shot him, there’d be an investigation and they’d probably transfer me.”

  And he was probably right. But I think it’s really sad.

  *

  I like the image we project. It makes me feel good when little boys come up to me and say they want to be a highway patrolman. How many kids walk up to an adult and say, “I want to be a certified public accountant?”

  I also like the feeling I get when I go into public places and people turn around to look. Or when kids say, “Can I touch your badge? Your gun? Can I look in your car?”

  It’s an ego trip, of course. But it pumps me up like nothing else can.

  *

  Troopers hate it when parents tell their kids, “You better be good or that cop over there is gonna put you in jail.”

  Every time that happens to me, I tell the child, “No, I won’t do that to you. But I’ll put your parents in jail if they don’t take care of you.”

  *

  We’re always in the limelight. I can do something wrong and it’s not “John Smith did so-and-so.” It’s “that patrolman” did something. It puts a lot of pressure on us.

  Good, dedicated troopers make the effort. And that’s the kind of trooper I want to be.

  *

  In my opinion, dealing with the court system is one of the worst frustrations a trooper faces.

  It gets so discouraging when you take your time and—in some cases—your life in your hands to arrest someone, build a good case, then go into court and watch them fiddle it away on technicalities. You sometimes get to the point where you want to give up.

  *

  An officer on the road has to make split-second decisions about whether or not someone has broken the law. But attorneys and judges have days, weeks to prepare a case.

  I do the best I can out here and then go to court and stand a good chance of losing the case.

  Once I was sent to a wreck where the vehicle had gone into the creek and several people had been injured. I arrested the guy for drunk driving, came to court, and he was found not guilty—even though he registered well over the legal limit on the breathalyzer. He told the court that before I arrived at the scene, he drank half a pint of whiskey, but that it was after the wreck had occurred.

  The judge said the “time element” in the case bothered him and that’s why he pronounced the man not guilty.

  In other words, had I arrived at the scene quicker, I might have been able to make a better judgment on the man’s driving condition.

  But I can’t be everywhere at once. And for that, we may have let a drunk driver on the loose.

  *

  Generally, the public thinks of us as “Clint Eastwood, shoot-em-up” types.

  But I’ve found in my twenty-three years on patrol that our best officers are some of the kindest, most forgiving people you’ll ever meet. They have a genuine love for mankind and want to help people.

  *

  Middle-class people are our best supporters. They know the difference between right and wrong and give us the least amount of trouble. They seldom violate the law and when they do, they accept it when they’re wrong.

  We see a lot of the negative aspects of humanity. The people we usually come into contact with are down on their luck, drunk drivers, or those involved in criminal activities. It can affect our point of view, give us tunnel vision.

  But we realize there are a lot of good people out there too.

  *

  People think a trooper has a glorious job, that we get all this recognition. And some officers do. But for most of us, it’s a thankless task.

  You can’t do this work properly if you worry about the publicity or what you’re going to get out of it.

  But I wish we were better understood.

  I’ve stopped cars many times to tell someone a member of their family is sick or dead. I’ve run seventy or eighty miles an hour to transport human blood, or take a life-sustaining organ to a hospital. Yet I’m sure people I p
assed thought I was on my way to get a cup of coffee.

  They have no idea what I really do or what might be lying in the seat beside me.

  *

  It pisses me off to be treated different just because I’m a trooper. I go into McDonald’s and I’m standing in line to order when the cashier says, “No charge.”

  I want to pay just like everyone else in line. Hell, I’m probably in a better financial position than half of the people standing behind me!

  It’s embarrassing when that happens. So what I usually do is throw the money down before anyone has time to say anything.

  *

  What I like most about being a trooper—and this may sound corny—is doing good. We’re a much-needed organization. I see what causes accidents out there, and I’d hate to think what it would be like if there was no highway patrol.

  *

  I like the independence that goes along with being a trooper. I go to work at 6:00 P.M. and have no idea what I’ll be doing.

  I go where I want to, do what I want to, write a ticket to whoever I want—with no one standing over me. If I feel bad, I can ride eight hours without stopping anyone and no one says anything about it.

  I meet all kinds of people. I’m in touch with judges, lawyers, governors, people in high office.

  After twenty-one years, I still have motivation and a willingness to work on my own.

  Not too many people can say those things about their job.

  *

  What I dislike is having to deal with some of these disgusting damn people on the road.

  Once I stopped a couple from out of state.

  “We were just admiring the area, how beautiful it is,” said the woman, as I was writing her husband a ticket for speeding.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

  Just as I was pulling away, she got out of her car and walked back to the cruiser. I rolled the window down to see what she wanted.

  “We were looking for a place to stay . . .” she began, and I was just about to tell her how to get to the nearest hotel when she came out with “But, you son of a bitch, you’ve ruined our vacation and we’ll never come back through here again!”