Stories of a Chicago Police Officer

On my day off, I was bowling on the 18^th District’s bowling team, when someone asked me how I was going to like the 17^th District.  I was confused. He informed that he had seen the transfer list and I was on it.  I called the 17^th District and not only was I transferred, but I was working that night.  This was all before union protection. Anyway, off to 17 I went.  I was assigned to work alone in a District I had never worked before.  Officer Bill had also been dumped from 18 and was the only familiar face at roll call. Along with a radio and squad car keys, I was handed a district map.

Soon afterward I was speeding to a call of a burglary in progress. Officer Bill announced on the radio he was in the front of the location with his partner and I quickly set out to the rear of the house.  Bill was shouting into his radio that the offenders were running through the backyard toward the alley.  I spotted the first one dart across the alley and I attempted to strike the second one with the squad car, but he was too fast and made good on his alley crossing.  I bailed from the squad and took up foot pursuit.  I was maintaining the distance between us when we ran through a gangway blocks from the burglary scene.  Once in the yard, one offender took the fence on my right, while the other ran straight and started to climb that fence.  With revolver in hand, I let one go in the air.  The burglar on the right took off like he had afterburners strapped on his ass.  The other was scared and followed my orders to lie prone and show me his hands.  Just about that time, Bill came galloping into the back yard sucking air.  He handed me another bullet to replace the one I expired and in a singular motion kicked our burglar in the ribs, quickly followed by, “Don’t ever run on me mother fucker.” This was the start on a long run in the 17^th district, good, bad, and everything in between.

Climbing into my squad car, the dispatcher announced a robbery offender being held by a store owner.  Pulling out of the station, we turned the corner to State Street.  Being the third squad car on the scene, I made my way through the front door of a small mom and pop grocery store in time to observe the offender still laying on the floor after being knocked unconscious by the store owner.  The owner handed the offender’s pistol to the first officer on the scene ,while his partner rolled the offender over to handcuff him.  The officer shuddered and  announced with disbelief that the offender was a police officer who worked the midnight shift in our very own station.  That was one hell of a way for me to start my police career.

While we were on our way to breakfast, after a long and boring midnight shift, the dispatcher broadcasted a woman stabbed at Montrose and Cicero.  My partner Pete and I responded.  Pulling into a gas station on the corner, we observed a woman laying on the filthy floor inside the gas station.  Reporting that the incident was bonafide, we requested assistance.  Determining that she was stabbed in the chest and groin, we immediately requested an ambulance and tried to comfort her.  The station attendant was now complaining about the customers having to walk around this woman to pay for their gas.  He demanded that we remove her from in front of the register. I went outside and shut down the gas station.  Assist units arrived and blocked the entrances to the station, except for the responding emergency personnel.  We interviewed the young lady and she explained that she was robbed at the Montrose El station.  The person who robbed and stabbed her also stabbed a man who came to her assistance.  We broadcasted all the available information and after the paper-car (squad car assigned the job) was briefed, we rushed over to the Montrose El station to find a man down with two stab wounds to his chest.  Collecting more information, my partner broadcasted that the offenders were five male blacks, dressed in varying colors of sweat-shirts and sweat-pants.  The stabber was dressed in a red jogging suit.  After the stabbing, they ran south down side streets on the west side of the Kennedy Expressway.  Pete and I assumed that they would try and get back on the El going south. Our hunch paid off. We drove onto the Kennedy and observed three male blacks standing on the Irving Park platform, one dressed in all red. I pulled the squad onto the inner median and while Pete broadcast our situation on the radio, I exited the car shouting commands to the three offenders waiting for the El train.  They were on the far end of the platform, away from the other commuters.  Standing about fifty feet from them, I ordered them to lie down and show me their hands.  Ignoring my commands, they began to run toward an approaching train and a group of commuters.  Fearing that they would make good on their escape on the  El train, I fired a round at the stabber, missing him.  A second round also missed its target.  As I was lining up my third shot, I could see the panicked faces of at least a hundred commuters that the offender ran in front of.  I withheld the next shot.  But, the shots fired caused the offenders to run past the stopping El train and descend the stairs into the waiting hands of police responding to Pete’s radio instructions.  Jumping back in to the squad, we soon skid to a stop under the Irving Park El platform.  I informed my sergeant that I had shot at one offender.  I further explained that the two errant rounds probably struck the side of a three flat just east of the El station which was immediately broadcast and notifications were made. The Watch Commander was on his way as well as detectives and the on duty Street Deputy.  For me the day had just begun.

Three offenders were captured at the Irving Park El Station and two others were taken off the train at the Belmont stop by officers of the 14^th District. Investigation revealed that the five offenders rode the El throughout the night on the north side committing seven reported robberies, all while drinking and smoking marijuana. With the last robbery, they became more brazen and almost killed two people. They stabbed the woman deliberately in the breasts and the groin after becoming angry over how little cash she had on her.  The man who had come to her rescue was taken directly into surgery which saved his life. Three millimeters more to one side and his heart would have had a hole in it.

After the dust settled, I did a “walk-through” with the Watch Commander showing him where I was when I fired the two shots relative to where my target was. I explained the necessity of choosing to use my weapon to stop the primary offender. Once on the train he could have jumped off at any time and made good on his escape. I explained that I refrained from taking a third shot when it became apparent that it may have endangered commuters.  Furthermore, I described how I personally interviewed both victims and I had an absolute identification of the person who committed the stabbing.  I told him I understood that, minimally I had an armed robbery, aggravated battery, and, possibly, a homicide.  The Watch Commander agreed with my overall assessment of the situation and declared all my actions adhered to department rules and regulations and Illinois state law.

The Deputy arrived on the scene and interviewed me about my actions regarding shooting at the suspect.  We again did a walk-through and I explained the locations of the offenders compared to my vantage point.  I had the side of a brick apartment building as a backstop for the rounds that did not find their target.  I had a personal and positive identification of the person responsible for an armed robbery and 2 stabbings, both victims in critical condition.  I stressed that if the offender made good on his escape, there was a very good chance he would never be brought to justice. The Deputy disagreed with me and out of the blue asked me if I shot at this offender because he was black.  I was stunned and speechless. With five years experience on the police department and a couple of them working a Chicago Housing Project, I was appalled at this question.  The politically correct Deputy did not believe that I had enough information on the person responsible for stabbing our two victims. He initiated a U-Number, an internal investigation on why I fired my weapon.

Officer Pete and all the assisting officers, including myself, were showered with accolades for the fine police work in assisting two critically injured robbery/aggravated battery victims.  This included the quick apprehensions of five offenders who committed about a dozen robberies throughout the night.  All in all, it was very good police work.

As to the investigation, the day the Deputy initiated it was the last day I heard  about it.

About three o’clock on a bitterly cold January morning, the dispatcher, in a broken voice, announced that a two year old baby walked out his parents’ apartment, dressed in only pajamas.  It was critical that we find him before he froze to death.  Additional cars raced to the scene and quickly started a methodical search of the streets and alleys nearby the residence.  I assumed that if he walked out the rear door he would be in the alley nearby.  I drove the alleys and within minutes I had the little fellow spotted, captured, and wrapped warmly in my police leather jacket, a little cold, but in good spirits and happy to see me. Immediately, I got on the radio and called off the search, allowing the dozen or so squad cars to return to their duties.  I returned my gift-wrapped package to the waiting arms of a tearful mother.

Our follow-up investigation revealed that junior awoke and went to the back door of the apartment for some unknown reason.  The door was locked but a quick turn of the knob allowed it to open.  Out for a wintery stroll went the adventurous two year old.  Mother awoke to a chilly breeze entering her bedroom and immediately notified the 911 dispatcher of the missing child.  We estimated that our young man was probably only outside for a few minutes.

To this day, all I have to do is close my eyes to envision the baby, illuminated in my headlights, waddling from side to side, making his escape down the snow-covered alley.

I assisted another officer on a disturbance call on Lawrence Avenue.  A man about thirty years old had chained himself to his automobile.  The problem was that a tow truck had the vehicle attached to the back of his truck and off the ground.  He was towing it for being in a private parking lot when the owner came out and wrapped chains around himself and the car, causing the tow driver to contact the police.  It was explained to the vehicle owner that once the vehicle is attached and raised, it cannot be returned to the owner without payment.  The owner was overcome with emotion and refused to unchain himself.  He was eventually placed under arrest.  The chains were removed,  he was handcuffed and put into the back seat of my squad car.  I had a cage car and Officer John did not, so I transported the prisoner into the station. He was not a problem and went willingly.  The trouble started when we arrived in the station lot.
John followed me into the station as was protocol.  I parked the squad car in the first space nearest the front door.  I opened the rear door and told the arrestee to exit the squad car.  He tried to comply but was having great difficulty maneuvering his long legs in the short seat with the protective cage banging into his knees.  I decided to help him.  I took hold of his pants by the ankles and swung his legs around and up on the seat.  Then I grabbed this guy’s legs and started to pull, sliding him across the rear seat and to the door’s edge.  As John made the turn into the lot, I began pulling on this guy’s ankles.  All of a sudden something gave and I went flying backwards across the front of John’s car holding this guys prosthetic leg.  As I stumbled  through the parking lot, I saw this horrified expression on John’s face.  Luckily, I regained my balance before I fell on my ass.  The guy never told me he had an artificial leg and I never thought to ask.  But, that expression on John’s face was priceless.

The regular officer assigned to the foot post was day off, so the sergeant needed a warm body to fill in.  I was assigned to Michigan and Chicago Avenues to direct traffic.  It was explained to me that I should be there for the morning rush hour, then “disappear” for a couple of hours and return for the afternoon rush hour.  I asked where I should go and was told, “Kid, the world’s your oyster, go find your pearl.”  Meandering down Michigan, with time to kill, I turned onto Cedar St.  About mid-block, I spotted an old fashioned  barbershop and decided to get a trim.  As I relaxed in the chair, a burglary in progress call came out on the next street over, at approximately the same address as the barber shop.  I walked out the rear of the barber shop and announced on my radio that I was on the scene in the rear of the building talking to the complainant.

A gentleman had started to walk his dog, when he observed a male black climb through a rear window to his neighbor’s apartment.  He immediately called the police and began watching the window.  Within minutes my backup arrived and we located the building manager who supplied a key to the front door.  After successfully opening the door, our entry was stopped by the security chain on the inside of the door. This is an old burglar’s trick.  If the residents came in the front door , it allowed him time to escape out the rear door.  However, in this apartment, both front and rear doors emptied into the same hallway, and his entry, the bedroom window was controlled by the police.

Breaking the chain with a good kick, we made entry with weapons drawn.  We searched the tiny apartment in a matter of seconds but to no avail.  I then spotted a curly head of hair just behind the couch.  Being a smart ass I took my revolver and tapped the hair with the barrel of my .38 caliber pistol.  In a fright, I leaped backward as a furry black cat on the end table sprang straight up.  Catching my breath and trying to slow my heart rate, I still believed the culprit to be trapped in this tiny two room apartment.  Re-interviewing the witness, he swore nobody escaped through the apartment window while he and his dog stood watch.  Standing in the tiny front room, my eyes wandered around.  They became fixed on an old style record cabinet about two feet high and four feet long.  I slid the thin door to the left and saw a real head of hair.  The subject was pulled from the cabinet and instantly bombarded with fists by four police officers.  He was “accidentally” knocked unconscious. Standing over the motionless subject, an experienced  officer requested a neighbor retrieve a glass of water.  Just like in the movies, the neighbor returned and handed me a large glass of ice cold water. I thanked him and began to drink from the container.  The senior officer reached over, grabbed the water from my hand and threw it in the old boy’s face, awakening our arrestee.  Many lessons were learned that day, the most important one was, it’s better to be lucky than good.

Officer Tom, my Field Training Officer was a very personable man with a hearty laugh. Tom and I were handling a money disturbance at Lincoln Towing.  Tom thought I should handle this one alone to hone my police skills, as he sat in the squad car and observed.  I was listening intently and allowing both sides of this disturbance to present their cases.  My attention was drawn to a faint train noise in the distance.  I was listening to the caller explain that his automobile was parked legally when it was towed and he should not have to pay the towing charge.  I continued to hear the noise from an advancing train.  As I was listening, I visually examining the railroad tracks outside the window,  wondering how weeds can grow on working train tracks.  As the other side of the dispute was being presented, I still heard an approaching train.  I stared intently out of the window, inspecting every inch of rusted train track, attempting to figure out how a train can use a set of tracks with weeds a foot or higher growing between them.  I finally shut out the complainant completely.  I walked outside the small glass cubical to see Tom sitting in the squad car laughing hysterically.  I walked over to him and discovered that he had taken the microphone from the public address system and was slowing rubbing it up and down his pant leg, then progressively faster and faster until it sounded exactly like a train.  Experiences like this are exactly why I mess with recruits.

While working with a recruit in the 17^th District, we stopped a vehicle for expired license plates.  The surrounding apartments had their windows open, caching the late afternoon breeze.  The car stop went as planned, until we were back in the squad writing the citation.  The offending driver approached the driver’s side of the squad car and, nonchalantly, dropped his hand inside the open window, offering a ten-dollar bill.  Looking at the recruit, I nodded to the money and said “Watch this.”  I picked up the microphone, and after a quick blast or two of the siren, I made an announcement.  I explained to the onlookers and those people now hanging out of the apartment windows, that the man at the driver’s side window of the squad car had a ten-dollar bill in his right hand.  I explained that we were honest police officers and that he was trying to bribe us into not writing him a ticket for expired plates.  I continued that we worked for the fine citizens watching us and we were disappointed in his actions.  He withdrew his offer and shamefully shuffled back to his automobile to wait for the citation.  He received it and we left the scene, to applause from the large group of onlookers that had gathered.  I taught the recruit that ten dollars was not worth your soul or your job.  I’ll bet he remembers that to this day.

When you buy directly from my site, you’ll save a few dollars. Additionally, regardless which book you purchase, I will donate $2 per book to the Police Memorial Foundation. Thank you and enjoy!

Book One: Stories of a Chicago Police Officer

Book Two: Untold Stories of a Chicago Police Officer

Joke Book: Politically Incorrect, Very Often Dirty