Stacy was off half the
day yesterday, so she started cleaning the closet out in the back bedroom. I
was working on a story on my laptop in the living room when she comes in, holds
out a dark blue pair of pants and asks if I want to keep them.
It was a pair of my old uniform pants from Mansfield PD.
I took them from her, looking them over as memories came flooding back. I'd had a blackjack pocket sewn into the right leg, just back of the outside seam and low enough that it was easy to get to. The outside material was worn and a little faded from where the leather-encased, lead-filled business end of the attention-getter used to ride, a tool I used for door-knocking more than anything.
Back in the day, just about all the folks I worked with carried some variation of the blackjack, sap, convoy or whatever else those personal defense weapons went by; their use most times meant a trip to the ER for their target before going to book-in.
With the advent of kinder, gentler policing and newer, 'better' tools such as the PR 24 side-handle baton, OC spray and tasers, the throwback from my early days on the job fell by the wayside.
"Too much liability", the decision-makers had said; law enforcement techniques were becoming fodder for lawsuit-happy defense attorneys across the nation, resulting in sweeping policy changes that affected virtually every police agency, large and small.
Civil suits and municipal insurance providers now dictate how a policeman does his/her job.
...and I hate that. I thank God that I worked when police officers could actually do their jobs.
