Came up with an answer of my own to my previous post.
Justashooter said:
Of he to whom much is given, much is expected.
To which I can only reply: Exactly!
If society hands you power of arrest backed up with a gun on your hip, particularly in the context of depriving me of the same option, then society expects behavior on a level with Ceaser's wife, i.e. above reproach. Abuse of power in such circumstances amounts to corruption in my book, and any LEO who takes their job seriously should be "policing the police", and keeping an eye open for such activity.
Any individual perpetrating such activity does NOT belong in law enforcement. That's getting that type of job for the wrong reasons, and when discovered, the proper response is: You're Fired. Period. Carried to an extreme, we get criminal charges filed such as what happened to Rampart CRASH or the Riders in Oakland.
Are we so short of LEO applicants that we can't screen out this type of personality during the hiring evaluation proccess? Abusive attitudes like this encourage the "us vs. them" divide between LE and the community it operates in. This problem seems to be getting slowly worse, with the ultimate expression being expressed as "living in a police state". LEO's are supposed to be ordinary citizens, ideally members of the community the work in. Somewhere along the line we lost that connection, and as a result LEO's now rank as "super-citizens", with wide-ranging exceptions to various laws that apply to the rest of the population, the PRK's drop-test extortion racket that restricts gun sales here being a particularly egregious example.
I don't like it, but at the moment I have no suggestions about how to fix it other than emphasizing that authority is not to be abused. Another big problem is the method I've heard about detailing what a field-LEO's job is. To wit, enforcing POLICY, (Meaning which laws to enforce, and which to ignore.) as determined by politicians, rather than strictly enforcing the law. This is what got me in trouble with the Sheriff, as the deputies had received extra training specifically to address drug enforcement, so I'm presuming this indicates a mandate or orders to look for drug use always regardless of the circumstances of the original stop. Part of my hostility issues with LE was knowing that any given beat cop whom I run afoul of was NOT hassling me maliciously, they are just doing their job as outlined by their superiors. That made me feel bad for snarling at individuals on a case-by-case basis, but not bad enough to prevent me from doing it.
Since my silly arrest, I have never had any hints of anything that sets off the alarms, so I've never again raised my voice at a LEO. However, knowing that I am PREPARED too changes a bunch of my initial reactions to a stop. Nervousness no longer applies, and this seems to prove out my theory that "the best way to get caught is to act guilty." Also, knowing that I can tap into the hostility should I desire too means that it doesn't snap on immediately if I get stopped, (Like it used too, a few years ago.) which is another red flag to LEO hunches.
The best proof is in the following story, where-in a goodly chunk of my collection came "within reach" of arbitrary confiscation. THAT should have had me really nervous, as the collection MATTERS, monetary value aside. It didn't get me uptight, though, which I think is a MAJOR improvement. Lets me keep my cool with no problem, which keeps me out of jail. That I can live with.
And for LEO's here at The High Road, I would like to specifically re-iterate that I no longer open an encouter with a big bucket of hostility. (I definitely USED too.) I have the greatest respect for the individuals in LE, and I'm glad you're there manning that "Thin Blue Line" that helps to keep civilizatio, well, civil. I greatly appreciate that. Keep up the good work.
The latest Adventure: Not exactly a traffic stop, but what could have been a really unpleasant encouter for me if I had run into a guy who felt like being An Authoritarian Institutional Example.
We'll call this one "What NOT to leave in the truckbed after a High Road Shoot, Or, Cool! San Carlos cops are reasonable guys!"
So I'm up in San Carlos, another one of those affluent Bay Area cities full of big houses and nice cars. Need to talk to Rick, the guy who's making it possible for me to pay bills lately. (He scrubbed his house down and re-built it, and I've been building some custom furniture/cabinetry, and remodeling the upstairs bathroom. Been working up there for months.)
Me 'n a buddy go by Rick's house. I'm thinking I'm going to talk to Rick's wife about scheduling a materials pick-up, and pinning her down on the last details of the fireplace mantle I'm building for her, net time cost of about 20 minutes. So I leave my friend to hang out in my beater old pick-up truck whilst I talk to the lady.
Naturally, I run long shooting the breeze about artistic details, and I volunteered to repair a cracked table leg. That's going to need glue, which is out in the truck, which is parked in front of the house next door. So I wander out front, screw-gun in hand and wearing a toolbelt, to discover 2-3 police cruisers situated with my truck in the spotlights, and my friend looking
very uncomfortable in the passenger seat. Turns out he's been getting grilled by cops for the past few minutes, but not telling them anything beyond "I'm waiting for my friend to get done working." Naturally, his lack of an answer to questions like "What's your name" has the cops a bit irked, but I know none of this when I arrive on the scene.
H_R_G-[cue LOUD, irate, accusing voice.] "Hey! What're you doing to my truck?!"
Spokes-cop- "Could you put that down?" (Referring to the screw-gun. I lay it down swiftly as I walk towards him.)
H_R_G-[Still irate.] "What the heck's going on here?"
"Someone called about a suspicious vehicle."
[irritated disbelief.] "What!? That doesn't make any sense. The truck's only been here about an hour, and all the neighbors know who's it is, I've talked to 'em. I've been working up here for weeks! (All true.) Who called?"
"Is the truck yours?"
[cue normal, un-irritated voice.] "Yeah, but the registration's still in (Friend I bought it from's) name, cuz I got insurance, and paid all the fees, but I haven't smogged it yet onnaccounta I ran outta cash. I gotta get paid so I can finish it." (Again, true.)
He asks for my ID, and we have a conversation about why I'm here, and who I'm working for. This goes fine and dandy, he's being polite and getting the same from me. Then comes the kicker, where-in things get interesting.
"I noticed there's a lot of shells in the truck-bed. Are there any guns in the truck?"
HOOO-boy, heavy question! (Which I had anticipated, however.) This was TWO DAYS after the last THR Bay Area Shoot. There were no less than FOURTEEN handguns locked in the beefy Knaack work-box in the back of the truck! This had the potential to be the headline news about suburban gun-running in tomorrow's paper. One of those "Neighbors shocked at local arsenal found by police"-type of stories we keep reading about.
But only if the cop wanted to be an utter snotwad about it. All the guns were legal, registered to me, in cases, unloaded, and all were under lock and key. I'm a collector, so I don't want ANY of my guns getting snatched, particularly the $1200 .45 Broomhandle Mauser and the $800 custom 7.62 x 39 double derringer that live in the same box! I know the rules, and I follow them.
The brass was in the bed because my accessory box had tipped over right before I got home. I'd cleaned up the stuff but missed a lot of loose brass, and then gotten distracted by a telephone call (Hate that machine.) and promptly forgot to unload the weapons. Idiot.
[Still pleasant-voiced.] "Guns? Well, yeah, but they're not IN the truck, there's a double-handful of handguns locked in the job-box. I just went to a big group shoot at the range with members of the Internet forum I hang out on. (I fish out my keys, and hold one up.) There's twel-...no, fourteen of 'em in there. Would you like to take a look at them?" [cue big cat-got-the-canary grin.]
[Slightly bewildered.] Uh...yeah. Could you take a seat over there for a minute, please?" He points at the curb a few feet in front of the truck as he takes the key.
"Certainly. You got any questions, just ask." I drop my tool-belt on the screw-gun on the way by, and go relax. He pops open the job-box, and spends a few minutes dropping mags and racking slides. There's a little confusion going on as I listen to him comment on the guns to his partner/back-up on the other side of the truck. It's understandable, as they're looking at some real odd-ball guns like the Astra 600, and trying to decipher the lack of a removable magazine in the Steyr-Hahn 1912. The 1911 had no slide and barrel, and of course the Broomhandle and The Monster derringer are pretty odd also. No-one asks any specifics about the guns, however, until Mr. Spokes-cop shuts the box and then turns to me sitting on the curb.
"So all of these are yours, and they're legal...?"
"Yup. All legal, and registered to me. I shoulda unloaded 'em on the weekend after the shoot."
We then go over details, like what range we were at, I made sure he got my address correct, he reminded me I shouldn't be hauling 'em around, (Which I agreed with.) this while I'm sitting at the curb and he's kind of looming over me so I have to look up at his face. All smiles and fun until he asks:
"Can I look in the truck?"
[irritated surprise] "What?! [surly] NO!" I get cross at this point.
"Now, you've been being straight with me. You don't have anything to hide...?"
[Irate again.] "
NO I don't have anything to hide, but
NO you can't root around in my truck. Last time I let that happen I wound up with a colossal MESS! No SIR."
"So I can't look in the truck?" He advances a couple steps and looms a little taller. I figure he's trying to get me into parent-kid mode. I glare at him right in the eye.
[Anger.] "NO."
"So you're all above board...?"
[SNARL.] "
YES. I gave you the
KEY without
ASKING. [Clenched teeth.] Spelled out my
ADDRESS..." I give him a pissed-off stare.
"You're SURE I can't look in the truck?"
I turn on a "What, are you STOOPID?"-expression, cock my head to one side, and wait a second before I reply.
[Contempt/disdain.] "No. You can't." I've had it with this crap by now, and I stand up. I'm done with co-operation. I scoop up my tool-belt, and hold out my hand for my keys.
He hands them over. "Be sure to take those out of the truck tonight..."
[Civil/polite.] "Of course. I'm a collector. I don't want them stolen. By the way, thanks for not confiscating the lot. I'm going to write this up on the forum. We talk about things like this, and it's good that I can write up a positive story about cops who are reasonable guys."
"Uh, ok."
He didn't swipe my guns. He gets high praise for that. I woulda had a heck of a time getting 'em back, and he probably would've made points at work for getting my "arsenal off the streets", although the media would have glossed over and ignored the subsequent legal recovery of the guns.
So for a guy who wrote the vile-est-toned thread about LEO's a couple years back, I can deal with 'em without getting thrown in jail, even under semi-dire circumstances. I have the solid confidence to know where I stand, and not get bullied into compromising my principals. AND I don't hate the guy for trying, he's just doing his job. But he did it with the neccessary degree of respect, which lets me keep my self control.
Well, Sven, how's THAT for anger management?
Whoa! A Chevy Nova made 2nd LT?!?! Whooda thunk!
I was totally polite and respectful to the cop, and he was nice to me (except for the half joking wise ??? comment that was actually funny). I think that answering his questions is the only thing that kept The Bad Night from being worse.
