BadLuckCadetfhtml

by Suzie Ivy

  He laughed again and told me he would help my group come Friday. He said he would fix my problems and not to worry about it. I felt better but continued having concerns. My fear didn’t seem to affect Lt. Hurd at all. I would try keeping his lack of worry in the back of my mind and think positive thoughts. Yeah right.

  On Friday we began with a practice shoot and then were told we would start learning our qualify drills. The instructor from Tuesday stayed clear of me. He was a stereotypical healthy, in excellent shape, clean cut, bigoted cop, the stereotype that had clearly defined ideals of cop material. And I didn't fit it. My very presence seemed to annoy him and his "type" endlessly.

  Lt. Hurd finally came over as promised. He stood beside me and said I needed to relax as I was shooting. He told me I was jerking off. Was he kidding? Before I could decide to be offended, he explained I was anticipating my shots and jerking my gun. He smiled and said he did not allow jerking off on his range. I smiled and relaxed a bit.

  He asked for my pistol and then asked me to turn around. I did as instructed. After a moment he handed my gun back and told me to face my target again. He instructed me to fire one bullet. I fired. My shot went wide. He told me to fire again. I did. This time the only thing that happened was my hand and gun jerked up but no bullet exited the barrel. I was jerking my hand in anticipation of the gun firing. This was my problem. He had put blanks in my gun to show me. I fired again but didn’t jerk. I hit the target and then hit the target again. The next shot was a blank. My gun did not jerk.

  Now that I knew what I was doing wrong and why, I began to improve. Whenever I would forget his lesson and my hand jerked, I would hear him shout, “Ivy, you’re jerking off on my range again.” It would put me back on target and keep me smiling.

  Rocco (nickname, The Rock) was a good shooter and we both began enjoying our time on the range. Again, I learned why we did so many pushups. We shot over six hundred rounds every time we went to the shooting field.

  The weeks flew by and we were finally at week four, time for our firearm qualifiers. I was improving and consecutively shooting in the 240’s. We needed a 210 to pass with a 250 being a perfect score. Several of the cadets shot 250’s on a regular basis. I passed qualification day with no problems and was feeling proud of myself. Friday night we would return to the range for our qualification.

  On the day between our qualifiers, we had a lesson in traffic control. It began with a twenty-minute classroom lecture about hand signals. We were then bussed to a major intersection in the city. The traffic lights were turned off along with the crosswalk signals. One by one we were thrown into the street with a traffic vest and a whistle.

  Talk about on the job training. The saving grace was that there were signs posted, “Police Training in Progress.”

  Each Cadet directed traffic for ten minutes. It took the first five minutes to learn the ropes while traffic backed up. The next five minutes were actually fun. I think a little control created a small monster in most of us. It was comical. Some drivers just tried to ignore us while others shouted obscenities or laughed out their windows.

  I waved cars forward and stopped them at my leisure. A pedestrian dared to cross before I gave him permission. I told him to get his ass back to the curb and I made him stand for an extra minute before giving him the go ahead. He complied, which was a smart move on his part. If not, I may have taken out my rubber gun and said, “Bang-bang.”

  We had a few near misses but overall it was a great experience. I always appreciate those comical officers on television that make directing traffic an art form. I was not one of them. But I did get the job done.

  After lunch on Friday we headed back to the range. There were different scenarios set up and while we waited for the sun to go down we did a lot of tactical shooting, which is running across the range and shooting at different targets.

  During one test, pylons were set up every six feet. Six small metal targets were spaced twenty feet in front of us, six feet apart between pylons. We could not stop moving between the first two pylons until we hit the first target. We would then move to the next two pylons. Back and forth we ran in a six-foot space until that fateful “ping.” For safety’s sake we went through the course one at a time. By the time we were at the last three targets it was easier and our speed picked up. The test was timed and the scores would be added to our overall range rankings.

  As hard as I felt some of the shooting tests were, by the time the sun went down, I was ready to shoot at a non-moving target. I passed with a good score and was not last. For me, this was something to celebrate.

  My confidence was increasing and the end to my academy days was in sight. Only five more weeks and I was holding on to my determination for all it was worth.

  Chapter 17

  The Police Perspective

  The academy was changing me, mentally, as well as physically.

  Physically, I didn’t just have arm bicep muscles. I had muscles in my forearms, thighs and butt. No jello cheeks for that polygraph seat now.

  Mentally, I was now seeing things from the “police perspective.”

  This was pointed out to me by an old friend I saw during a weekend stay in the city. We went to Starbucks for breakfast. She asked what I would do if someone walked in and robbed the cashier. I told her I would be an excellent witness and observe everything he or she was wearing, along with noticing facial and body features. My friend asked what I would do if I was actually an officer, off duty with my gun. I told her I would do exactly the same thing and I wouldn’t take out my gun unless the suspect started shooting.

  My friend was floored. She didn’t understand. I was going to be a cop and she expected me to act like the cops on television. I explained my reasoning. I had to look at the amount of people in jeopardy if I opened fire, the people sitting behind me if the suspect opened fire. The suspect getting away with some cash was very small compared to an innocent person being killed.

  I don’t think my friend “got it.” I just looked at things differently now. A motto drilled into us daily at the academy was to go home to our families every night. Be smart and be safe. Police Officers are not like firemen. When we’re off duty we don’t advertise that we are officers. It’s dangerous.

  During those last academy weeks we watched a movie that talked about keeping your family safe and teaching your children to not say anything about you being a police officer. The film shows a boy and his father at a hotel getting off the elevator and seeing two men fighting. The father tries to get his young son back into the elevator when the son says, “Do something dad, you’re a cop.” Both men turn; one pulls out a gun and starts shooting at the boy and his father. End of video.

  I think this was something none of us ever thought of. Our children should be proud to have an officer for a mom or dad. In real life, “cop” families don’t advertise who they are. When they are with fellow officers and their families it’s a different story but when not on duty and out in public, it’s important to remain anonymous.

  I see firefighter t-shirts everywhere. I seldom if ever see a police t-shirt unless it’s the rock-n-roll band “Police.”

  On the east wall of our academy classroom Sgt. Dickens posted the “Officer Down” memorial page of every officer, in the United States that was killed in the line of duty, while we were at the academy. Without a word, he would walk into the classroom during our instruction time with the “page” in hand. Silence would descend. With measured dignity, he would post the page and then walk out.

  Another officer dead. Another family left to grieve. Fellow police officers across the country left to mourn.

  The longer we were at the academy the more pages appeared on that wall. During our breaks we would read the latest officer’s page and mourn in our own way. Two officers died in Arizona during our eighteen weeks. The sadness was overwhelming but until it happened to one of our own, I don’t think we understood the sense of loss that we would forever feel.

  Four months
after we graduated the academy, I got the call at six in the morning. It was from one of the guys I sat with in the classroom.

  Through tears he said, “This is Mike, P-Rod is dead.”

  My mind didn't seem to want to process the words.

  Deputy Philip Rodriguez (P-Rod as he was known at the academy) was only twenty-one years old and just beginning life, engaged to the incredible young woman he gave his virginity to. He always had a goofy smile plastered on his face. He got a great amount of teasing from his fellow cadets, but he took it all in stride and we loved him. He was the baby of the class and he had so many hopes and dreams for his future as a police officer.

  P-Rod was also the incredible young man who ran beside me through all ten punishment hill runs when I was at my lowest point. And he was the one who bolstered my determination when Donna quit the academy.

  While crying, Mike told me P-Rod was heading to a code-3 (lights and sirens) call, when he lost control of his vehicle and was ejected. He died at the scene.

  I stayed on the phone with Mike as we both cried and tried to find some sense in P-Rod’s death. There was none to find, but we needed each other.

  I went into work that day to request time off for the funeral. I was asked if I needed to see a counselor and told one could be made available before or after the funeral. I was shocked it was even offered but I would grow to understand what it meant to be part of a police department and wear a badge.

  Deputy Philip Rodriguez’ funeral was held in his high school auditorium to accommodate the large amount of mourners. The stands were filled with his high school classmates and friends. On the floor of the gymnasium were hundreds of chairs filled with police officers and deputies from Arizona and surrounding states.

  We, his classmates at the academy, all sat together. The academy classmates working at his department were his pall bearers. When the service was over we walked up together to say our last goodbyes. We were in groups of three and fours and all holding hands.

  When I turned to walk away I saw Sgt. Dickens at my side. He was crying. I let go of the hands holding mine and tightly hugged Sgt. Dickens. The day before graduation he had made us all promise to always wear our seatbelts while on duty. We all swore. P-Rod broke his promise and you could see the hurt over this young officer’s life in Sgt. Dickens’ eyes.

  We walked out to our vehicles to line up for the procession. Mike rode with me.

  P-Rod was buried at the top of a hill in a cemetery overlooking the valley. I was about twentieth in line and as we came to a stop, at the top of the rise, Mike told me to turn and look down the hill. As far as you could see, there were hundreds of police vehicles with red and blue lights flashing.

  At the cemetery, all officers lined up to give Philip our last solute. All the drills we had not performed since being out of the academy were used as we were called to attention. Every Officer knew the drill no matter how many years they had been on the streets. We saluted Philip and his family.

  We were then told to turn on our portable radios. The dispatcher on duty, during the time of Philip’s death, announced his final call. His “End of Watch” was recognized and his watch was turned over to us. We would take his duty and live up to his dream of what it was to be a police officer.

  Philip Rodriquez’ memorial page is at http://www.odmp.org/officer/18852-deputy-sheriff-philip-anthony-rodriguez. Philip’s time as a detention officer before going to the academy is included with his time of service. He held the detention officer job until he was old enough to begin his dream of being an Officer. His time of service as a Deputy was four months.

  Yes, I was changing. Even before Philip’s death I was a different person than I had been when beginning the academy. I watched everything around me with a new eye. I had a different perception of the world. I was tougher and more secure in who I was. During those last weeks at the academy the world shifted and I began knowing I had what it takes. This was no longer a whim. This was the beginning of my life as an officer.

  Chapter 18

  The Most Popular Cadet

  Graduation day was only five weeks away. I wish I could say the academy was easier at this point, but it was only getting harder. Sgt. Dickens never thought I would make it this far and now, concerned that I just might make it all the way through to the end, he was out to get me.

  Police Chief Varnett and Sergeant Spears from Small Town PD attended an academy luncheon. The luncheon was an opportunity for individual police departments to speak with class Sergeant Dickens about their cadets. We cadets were not allowed anywhere near the event. Later that evening, Sgt. Spears called and asked me to meet him outside my dorm. We then went for a long walk.

  He began by congratulating me for making it as far as I had. He told me he was proud of my determination. He then dropped the bomb. He and my Chief had been told by Sgt. Dickens that I was not officer material. I was, according to Dickens, physically and mentally unfit to wear a badge. I was devastated.

  Sgt. Spears told me Sgt. Dickens wanted me removed from the academy immediately. I held my breath as he continued to talk.

  “Suzie, I didn’t have to send you to the academy. I questioned my decision repeatedly but I saw something in you. I see it now. I’ve discussed it with the Chief and he is deferring to my judgment. You’re staying. Be aware your class Sergeant has it in for you and he is not happy with our decision.”

  I hugged Sgt. Spears. I could tell he was uncomfortable with my emotion, but he patted me on the back and returned the hug.

  “I won’t let you down.” I promised.

  We continued to walk, and he asked me questions about my experience. He told me a little about his journey through the same academy. He talked about sneaking out at night and drinking alcohol at the top of the water tower. Alcohol was banned on the college campus and he would have been kicked out of the academy if he’d been caught.

  By the time I returned to my dorm, I felt I had a new friend In Sgt. Spears. I knew I was not Sgt. Dickens’ favorite cadet but I felt he had let up on me slightly. I had always thought of myself as a likable person but I realized Sgt. Dickens did not just dislike me; he wanted me gone. This was a hard realization but at the same time it just added that extra spark to my determination. I had come too far to even consider quitting and I wanted to be a police officer like nothing I had ever before desired in my life.

  During morning physical training, we were now running six miles. Once a week we ran our “personal best.” This is when we would run on our own, not as a group and our times were recorded. My “personal best” time had gotten much better but I continued to finish well behind the rest of the class.

  One morning, as I was running alone through our desert trail, I noticed a vehicle parked in the distance. I could see a man looking through binoculars and watching me run. It was Sgt. Dickens. I continued running and actually pushed myself harder. He would not catch me slacking.

  I spoke to my squad advisor about the incident and he confided that Sgt. Dickens suspected I was walking, when no one else was around, during my personal best runs. It was not true and I was pissed off he would think so. It was just another sign of his dislike.

  At the beginning of week fifteen, we were told to wear our department uniforms. It was exciting to actually put on my police uniform. None of us looked the same as we did when we started at the academy. We looked like real police officers and deputies, if you could look past the rubber guns in our belts. The “baby” class, class 96, was now allowed to wear their academy polo shirts and it was great to see them out of white shirts and ties.

  The first day of week fifteen, Sgt. Dickens came to early morning physical training and was waiting for cadets to finish our personal best runs. The entire class had finished but me and I was nowhere to be seen.

  I was running along minding my own business, when suddenly the rest of the class appeared. I saw them coming and wondered if we were being made to run the course again. But they all turned around when they reached me a
nd started kept pace by my side.

  Rocco said, “Don’t ask!”

  It was impossible for me to run and talk anyway so I continued over the finish line. I later learned that Sgt. Dickens had asked everyone where I was. When informed that I was still running, he started yelling.

  “You call yourselves a team? Have I taught you nothing? You left a fellow cadet on her own. What if she’s injured, been bit by a rattlesnake? You don’t know where she is or what she’s doing.”

  Later at morning’s inspection, Sgt. Dickens told us to march back to our rooms and put on the white shirts and ties we wore when we first came to the academy. We did as told and returned to the inspection deck. We were then told we were not a team and we would walk everywhere through campus holding hands until we were a team. It was never explained what our infraction was and we didn't ask. We had learned early on that a reason didn't matter. It always seemed to depend on the Sergeant’s mood.

  On lunch break, we made our first walk to the cafeteria holding hands, all twenty-six of us. It was embarrassing but comical as well. I was the most popular person in the class. Every guy wanted to hold my hand. I switched places over the next two days during every formation march. The college students got a big kick out of us. We were kind of like the ROTC and it was fun to ridicule us.

  I was finally getting a true sense of how incredible my classmates were. It was fun to be fought over during our marches but I was also feeling they wanted me to make it to graduation. I’m not sure when the entire class transformation began but they let me know they were behind me. I might not have been the ideal cadet but I had become one of them and we took care of each other.

  As the week progressed I began getting a bad head and chest cold. I was having trouble breathing during any physical activities we were assigned. I wasn’t the only cadet suffering but it was slowing me down physically, which I didn’t need.