The Laughing Policeman: My Brilliant Career in the New Zealand Police

by Glenn Wood

  Dog handlers appeared occasionally as well. You could never be sure when, as they were a law unto themselves and seemed to have no set working patterns. Generally they turned up when you called them and worked when they felt like it. There were also a few detectives, drug squad members and senior officers floating about, working to agendas the rest of us weren’t privy too. That was the rough make-up of the station at any given time.

  The other reason we were called in for our introductory day was so Keith and I could get our police drivers licence. This turned out to be as simple as we’d been promised - we both drove around the block without hitting anything or killing anyone and were duly awarded our licences. Keith and I were then split up to spend a couple of hours with our new colleagues.

  I was teamed up with one of the younger members of my section, who took me for a drive around the city, or more accurately around to his place so he could pick up his lunch. He was as young and stupid as I was and drove like a hoon, yelling out the window to girls as we drove past. He was just showing off in front of the new boy and when he noticed I was more bewildered then impressed he settled down. We arrived back at the station later that day in time for everyone to rush off again with the sergeant hurriedly telling me he’d see me on New Year’s eve.

  So there I was, sitting by myself in the lunchroom, feeling confused and totally out of my depth. As I was to quickly discover, I wasn’t the only one.

  The rest of my section finally arrived and introductions were made again. My sergeant was an older guy who had been in the job for years but, as I found out later, his heart wasn’t really in it anymore and he was looking for a way out. The senior cops in my section included a Policewoman who hated me on sight, a grouchy, morose guy with a drinking problem (nicknamed Crusty), and a chap in his early forties who, thank God, was a decent bloke.

  The three younger officers included the not-yet-grown up hoon I’d met earlier, a very pleasant but under confident guy in his early twenties and a decent, hardworking cop who wanted to become a dog handler. Not the most inspiring bunch of workmates I’d ever seen, but beggars can’t be choosers and I’d have to make the best of the situation.

  Just how dodgy the situation would become was apparent when the night’s roster was read out. I was on the beat by myself. I couldn’t believe it - this was my first night as a policeman and they were sending me out on my own, on New Year’s Eve. I was told I’d be checked on regularly but the section was stretched too thin to double up. There was no gentle introductions to police work for me. I wasn’t going to be mollied or coddled. I was in boots and all.

  I picked up my RT 9no mobile phones in those days), set it to the appropriate channel and slunk out of the station.

  The streets were really busy and I decided on my course of action for the evening as soon as I got outside. If people didn’t bother me I wouldn’t bother them. My definition of ‘people’ being ‘the general public’, whom I was supposed to be serving.

  I got through the first few hours without having to interact very much with anyone and was relieved when it was time to go back to the station for my dinner break.

  The rest of the section were having a busy night and they rushed in and out. Several of my new workmates asked how I was going and the Sergeant said he’d join me after midnight, if things quietened down.

  I snuck out of the station again at half past 11 and moped around the back streets checking buildings for break-ins. This gave me time to think and I was starting to get my confidence back. Obviously the sergeant trusted me; otherwise I wouldn’t be out here by myself. Besides, I’d just finished a year at Trentham and was in top physical shape. Yeah, I could handle this. I knew the law backwards and had the power of the law behind me. As the clock struck twelve I was Cinderella going to the ball.

  I puffed up my chest and strode into the square, just as a horde of drunken students poured out of a van. They were having a great night and as it turned midnight the girls in the group went looking for someone to kiss. They found me and four very attractive young ladies dived on me, knocking my hat off and covering me with New Year kisses. Normally I would have enjoyed this but was terrified my new Sergeant would come around the corner and see me buried under a pile of floozies. I could hear him now.

  ‘Constable Wood, put those women down immediately and report to my office.’

  It was my first night on the job and I was going to be fired for sexual misconduct. I didn’t know what to do. The textbooks hadn’t covered this sort of thing. All I could think of was Jacko’s immortal words ‘Women, Boy!’. I did my best to extricate myself from their embraces but they were determined young minxes and apparently I wouldn’t be allowed to leave until I’d kissed them all.

  I toyed with the idea of arresting them for having offensive lips but as this clearly wasn’t the case I had no option but to pucker up and get it over with as soon as possible.

  They quickly tired of making me blush and ran off, the last girl pausing to mess up my hair, put my hat back on and plant a final peck on my cheek before scooting off to join her mates.

  I stood there with a stupid smile on my face before remembering I was supposed to be protecting the public from this sort of lewd going-on. I rushed back to the station and spent the next couple of hours in hiding until my sergeant found me and made me go out again.

  At precisely 3.12am I got my first call on the radio.

  ‘Beat from ops.’

  They had to say it again before I realised they were talking to me.

  ‘Beat from ops.’

  I replied as we’d been taught.

  ‘Beat, ten three, Cuba Street.’

  Ten three meant I was patrolling freely and had no jobs on the go.

  ‘Yeah Beat, we’ve had a report of a large semi-naked Maori in the square. He is carrying a large spear. Can you check this out please?”

  ‘Roger, on my way.’

  I sounded much calmer than I felt. Great, what a fine end to the evening, I was going to be punctured by some drunk, naked bloke on my first night on the beat.

  I spent an hour looking (not very hard) for the guy but was unable to find him. At 4am my sergeant came to give me a hand and immediately located the offender. We were sneaking through some bushes and the Sergeant stopped suddenly.

  ‘There he is!’ he cried, pointing into the night.

  ‘Where?’ I said, straining my eyes in the darkness. I couldn’t see anyone. The town square was deserted.

  ‘There!’ he said jabbing his finger forward.

  Then I saw him. The giant, fierce, heavily armed man was a large bronze statue of a Maori warrior.

  Oh, ha, ha, ha.

  We went back to the station and everyone thought it was hilarious. Once the mirth had died down, we sat drinking coffee until the next shift arrived. It had been a quiet New Year’s Eve, with hardly any trouble and few arrests. I was told I’d be placed in the I car the next night, then everyone drifted home.

  That was the end of my first night in the New Zealand Police. I had survived with minimal embarrassment and no major cock-ups. But don’t worry; there was plenty of time for that in the months to come.

  You’ re Under Arrest

  I found out in my first week that being a policeman was much harder than being a cadet. I don’t know why I was surprised.

  The thing I was having the most trouble getting to grips with was how little fun it was. Only three people in my section had a sense of humour and there wasn’t much section spirit. Sure, everyone backed each other up when we were working but there weren’t many friendships within the group. Maybe that was just what it was like in the police. If so, it was very different from Trentham, where your workmates were also your best buddies.

  All these years later and even though I’m no longer in the police, I can still call up several of my Trentham mates for a chat, but there is only one person from my time in Palmerston North I keep in contact with, or have any desire to. I can only think of four people out of the whole
station who I would like to see again. It’s a shame really because it was a time when I could really have done with some friends at work.

  My mates outside the police were a different story. Sheep and I were getting on like a house on fire (almost literally several times) and we were coping with the flat, even though several inadequacies had become glaringly obvious.

  Our choice of location could have been better. I’d seen our street name on several arrest sheets and we’d definitely camped in an ‘interesting’ neighbourhood. It wasn’t a bad street but was working class and had its fair share of characters, our next-door neighbours being one of them. This became obvious the day after we moved in. It was a Saturday morning and we were woken by a dog barking and then a sharp yelp. Sheep and I got up and made it to the back yard in time to hear our next door neighbour shriek at her kid: ‘Jeffrey, take that screwdriver out of the dog’s ear!’

  Sheep and I looked at each other and decided to retire back into the house. Having said that, we had no trouble from our neighbours the whole time we flatted there, although having a police car parked in our front yard every now and then probably helped. Half the neighbourhood thought we were cops and the other half thought we were crims. I don’t know which impressed them the most.

  The other issue that surfaced early in our flatting life (aside from our lack of furniture, which worried our girlfriends a lot more than it worried us) was our combined abilities on the culinary front. Being a baker, Sheep was good with all things pastry and he could cook a mean roast. I, on the other hand, had little or no cooking ability, which I demonstrated by asking him how much fat you put in the frying pan to poach eggs.

  My diet had not improved - if anything it got worse. There was a constant supply of pies and sausage rolls in the fridge courtesy of Sheep, and I was drinking more than I ever had before (or have since). Sheep, and I even went to the extreme of pouring Creme de Cacao liquor on our ice cream at night - the height of decadence for a couple of young lads in their first flat.

  I have photos of our house in those days and one shows the interior of our fridge. The top shelf contained a jug of gravy, a brown lettuce, a chub of luncheon sausage, a pie, butter and a jar of jam. The next three shelves contained beer, oh, and a cask of wine for the girls. I’m sure this was typical of a lot of flats in Palmerston North but Sheep and I had the combined income to make sure it stayed this way.

  Other friends on their way back to Palmerston North for the start of the year included Quentin, who was going to Massey University to muck around while pretending to study for a Batchelor of Arts degree, and Carey who was due back at Teachers College for her second year.

  I was really looking forward to Carey’s return as we would finally be in the same city and would be able to spend a lot more time together. I had also made friends with Quentin and Carey’s mates and had a big circle of pals outside the police. Strangely enough, the police saw this as a negative and I was told off for spending too much time with students and not enough with my section. Perhaps if they’d been more fun I might have.

  By far the worst amongst my section was the Policewoman. On good days she was sarcastic and snotty; on bad ones she was downright mean. She seemed to have a particular grudge against me and wouldn’t even let me drive the car when we were teamed up together. She taught me nothing and enjoyed sapping my confidence. I dreaded having to work with her.

  Despite this I was still full of enthusiasm for the job. It was certainly exciting, if nothing else. But more often than not it was my enthusiasm that got me into trouble.

  I was on day shift a week or so after I’d started when we received a call about an indecent exposure that had occurred near some public toilets in one of Palmerston’s inner-city parks. We had a good description of the offender and as the incident had only just happened we had a decent chance of catching him near the scene.

  This was pretty cool. It’s always good to catch a sex offender as they are the most reviled of all criminals and it feels great to get one off the streets. It also does your police credibility a world of good (and, god knows, I could do with some).

  This particular offender was in his mid-teens and had a pushbike with him. As we were in a car we should have no trouble catching him, if we could find him. I was driving at the time and the young hoony cop was my partner. We cruised slowly around the streets surrounding the park, eyes peeled. Suddenly my offsider spotted the offender on the other side of the road.

  ‘There he is!’ he yelled into my ear, frightening the life out of me.

  The young guy spotted us at the same time, jumped on his bike and peddled quickly away. I wrenched the steering wheel in a full arc and planted my boot on the accelerator, planning to do a quick U-turn in pursuit of the suspect. The car engine screamed and the tyres were smoking but for some reason we weren’t going anywhere. I couldn’t work it out - the car was in gear and the whole body was shuddering like it wanted to go forward. Then I realised what I’d done. I’d planted my foot hard on the brake at the same time as I’d slammed the other one on the accelerator. The excitement of the chase had rendered me incapable of remembering the basics of driving, i.e. the car will not go forward if you have your foot on the brake.

  Realising my error I hastily pulled my foot off the brake causing the car to scream around at such high revs that instead of turning 180 degrees it turned 250 and we were left facing the footpath. By the time I’d turned the car the right way around, the suspect had got away. I felt stink but my partner was good about it, albeit confused. I told him the car had slipped out of gear but I don’t think he believed me.

  Fortunately the offender was caught later on that day. The complainant’s description fitted a young guy who was well known to our youth aid section and they picked him up at home. He was intellectually handicapped and was prone to dropping his trousers on a whim.

  Great. My first police chase and I’d been evaded by a handicapped teenager on a bicycle.

  A chance to redeem myself came a few nights later while on late shift. I was by myself once again and was called to the Palmerston North Hospital where the nursing staff needed police assistance. One of their patients was a mite upset. This was probably because he’d had his face sliced open with a broken beer bottle and some dimwit doctor had shown him the damage in a mirror.

  Normally the hospital would handle this sort of thing by themselves but on this occasion the patient was a very large gentleman who had lost it completely. He had grabbed a pair of scissors off a nurse and was threatening the staff with them. He was also very drunk and, I’d imagine, in a lot of pain from the wound. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was also deaf and dumb, making it nearly impossible to communicate with him.

  That’s the scene I walked into. A large, injured, bleeding, drunk, angry, deaf and dumb Samoan, wielding a pair of scissors.

  When he saw me he went berserk, brandishing the scissors in a threatening manner and knocking over a hospital tray in the process. I held my hands in front of me in a gesture of peace which calmed him down slightly but not enough for him to let go of the scissors. His eyes were as wide as saucers and I knew it wouldn’t take much to tip him over the edge again. I wasn’t surprised he lost it when he saw the cut. It was really nasty. The bottle had sliced him open from the bottom of one nostril right to the corner of his mouth and the cut was so deep his skin was flapping about like a fish’s gill.

  One of the doctors asked me what I was going to do. Good question. I had no idea. I said we needed to calm the Samoan down and asked if they had any tranquillisers. The doctor replied, rather sarcastically, we were in a hospital so they shouldn’t be too hard to find. He sent a nurse off to prepare a hypodermic.

  I asked for a pen and paper and tried writing a message to our enraged friend. I wrote ‘Calm down, we are not going to hurt you’ and held it up for him to see. He couldn’t read. How the hell did this guy communicate with the rest of the world? Someone wondered if he knew sign language, he probably did - pity you couldn’
t say the same for the rest of us.

  By the time the nurse arrived with the injections I had formulated a plan. I would approach the guy slowly, waving my hands in a placating fashion, then when I was close enough, and he’d calmed down (hopefully), I’d grab the arm he was holding the scissors with. From there I wanted the doctor and a couple of nearby orderlies to leap on him and help me hold him down while the nurse administered the sedatives. When I explained my course of action the doctor looked sceptical, but then that’s what they are best at. It worked even better than I’d expected. By motioning to him gently and not approaching too quickly I gradually got his trust and even got him to put the scissors down. This was a relief as I hadn’t fancied grabbing him while they were still in his hand. I even got him to sit on the bed.

  By this stage I thought we might even manage the whole exercise without having to manhandle him but, at the last minute, he saw the injection kit and off he went again. This time I was close enough to grab him. So were the orderlies and we had no trouble pinning him to the bed while the nurse did her stuff. A few minutes later he was sleeping like a baby.

  Once the drama was over I accepted the congratulations of the nursing staff and took my leave. I was so happy to have resolved the situation without anyone getting hurt I hadn’t even considered arresting the guy. I could have charged him with threatening behaviour and a raft of other offences, but really, the guy had suffered enough and how the hell would I read him his rights?

  The hospital must have phoned the station and reported on how I’d handled the situation because at the end of the shift my sergeant took me aside and told me I’d done well. I was rapt. Perhaps I could do this job after all.

  My section must have thought I was getting cocky because they decided to bring me down a peg or two. This would take the form of an initiation prank. It was standard for new cops to have practical jokes played on them but you never knew when it was going to happen. There didn’t seem to be any agreed time line and your initiation could happen at any stage within the first year.