Brotherhood? Not Always

Cops look out for their own kind, right?

Not necessarily.

The year was 1995; my then-wife and our two sons had traveled to South Carolina on vacation to visit my parents, driving our  SUV. It was about a nine hour trip. 

At the time I was assigned to Special Investigations / METRICH, part of a 10-county counter-drug task force. I mention this because, in order to deal with dopers and scumbags, we had to look the part; to say that grooming standards were relaxed in the unit would be a gross understatement. Back then I had hair and had let it grow out, to the extent I sported a ponytail to go along with a full beard, topped off with an earring.

I loved it. Mom? Not so much. About a year later, after I'd been promoted to sergeant and transferred back to uniform patrol, I had my best friend in the task force cut my ponytail off....and I promptly mailed it to Mom.

We spent the week with Mom and Dad, then headed home on Sunday, the day drenched in sunshine. My wife, Lorie, wanted to start out behind the wheel.

I should probably mention that she was something of a leadfoot, believing the Fraternal Order of Police emblem attached to the rear license plate would cut her some slack should she be stopped for speeding.

We'd gone about an hour north on US 25, then merged onto I-26, nearing Hendersonville, NC. On previous trips, I'd noted that there always seemed to be a handful of North Carolina state troopers in the Hendersonville area, working traffic on the interstate. I mentioned this to my wife.

"They're not going to stop me for doing ten over", she'd said after I mentioned lowering her speed. My spouse maintained her seventy-five MPH speed, failing to observe that the limit had dropped to 60. Not long after, a state trooper took notice and stopped us.

As the lanky officer approached our car on the driver's side, I had one thought: let him know that I was a police officer and was armed. It wouldn't do to have an avoidable, distasteful incident.

As my wife handed him her driver's license, he started into his spiel. "Ma'am, the reason I stopped you...".

"Excuse me, officer", I remarked, "but I'm a police officer from Ohio and I have a 9mm handgun in the door pouch by my right leg.

He eyed my bearded, scraggly appearance suspiciously. "Can I see your ID?"

I handed him my Mansfield PD identification card, explaining that I was assigned to Narcotics.

The trooper looked at the clean cut photo on the card, then back to me, the beginnings of a smirk molding his mouth. "As I was saying, the reason I stopped you is because you were fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

I knew my wife was getting a traffic ticket and I'd be bearing the brunt of her anger for the next 500 miles.

Ten minutes later we're once again northbound, Lorie now in the passenger seat, seething.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING?"

The truth was, I'd said enough...enough to let the trooper know I was a brother officer, a fact that hadn't mattered a whit. Though I didn't say it out loud, in my mind I thought, well, I tried to tell you...

Six hours and two stops later we're crossing the Ohio River, coming into Cincinnati. My wife was driving once again. 

Winding through the city on I-71, up what seemed like the longest incline on earth, we came across a stretch in which the speed limit was posted at 50MPH, which I mentioned....and, just like before, she got stopped for speeding.

And got another citation.

The next three hours were the longest of my entire life...and I drove the rest of the way home.

Over my five decades in law enforcement I saw a distinct shift in attitudes of younger officers. When I started out at MPD I'd already been a copper for 4 years at a small department and knew I didn't know squat about policing in an urban environment. As such, I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told...and got along just fine. Back in those days we considered one another 'family', save for a few exceptions. We stuck together and defended each other against all odds. You knew if you got in a scrape on the job that your brothers would have your back.

That's not the case anymore, so I've been told. One of my 'brothers', a Marine who saw combat and is still on the job, told me that the department is pretty much every man for himself now...and that is sad.

Those two young officers back then were just doing their jobs, I know that, and my then-wife paid a price for believing a little piece of tin on the license plate would shield her from the law. There's another thing from back in the day, though, that is sorely lacking nowadays, and that's empathy, understanding.

Maybe they were just a couple of tickets away from earning a toaster or something.

                                                          1995, while in METRICH