by Linda Olmstead
At the time of this writing, we haven't yet experienced the Fourth of July festivities, but it's already been cookin' 'round here-abouts.
Our midnight shift (all three dispatchers) last Saturday night were already busy-two radios and one phone position staffed-when one of the rural area units vaulted into a high-speed pursuit. I was hanging out after working a swing shift as a call-taker and there was a graveyard officer sitting in the center waiting for his partner to finish one of his reports. We had all been talking around the activity-with little breaks in the conversation here and there to let the working dispatchers do their thing. [grin]
The pursuit began some 50 miles physically south of our location and not within the officer's area of responsibility, but of course he leaned forward in his chair to listen (and watch) while we jumped into our pursuit mode. The chase was heading further away, too, not back towards the Center.
The pursuing unit was in an extremely remote location with nobody near by to back them up, although their remote beat partners were haulingummmmdriving very fastto assist. We informed the allied agency PSAP of our situation and called ahead to the next area (dispatched by another of our Centers) to hustle one of their units up our way, too.
The fleeing vehicle was a black BMW 321i GT and they started at 110 mph, quickly attaining speeds over 135 mph. Then they doused their lights. We knew it had to be stolen even though nobody had the plate yet. (We were right; it later turned out to be "cold-plated," anyway.)
Our visiting officer murmured "I feel a fatality coming on!" (We worried about that too, but he was wrong, thank God.)
Blacked Out
At 135 mph, highway miles get eaten up pretty danged fast. And then the blacked-out BMW crossed the grassy center divide area and headed back the other way (that's when our guys got the plate), quickly speeding back up to 130 mph.
So, there's one dispatcher on one radio, a-typin' and a-transmittin' as fast as she can but as cool as a cucumber, another dispatcher on the other radio quite busy with her dispatch jurisdiction and too busy to assist, and a call-taker making those phones smoke. [grin] She's also run the plate and it comes back reported as "lost or stolen" and the not-lost one isn't registered to a BMW so we know for sure we've got a stolen vehicle in this chase.
I'm doing some phone work as well, once again, so the on-duty personnel can stay focused on what they're already far too busy handling. Our visitor is quiet, glancing from the radio to the phone consoles and back again.
The BMW takes an offramp to a county road, still waaaay too fast for some distance and then eventually drives into a field where the driver bails out and takes off running. (Hence the term "Foot Bail.") There's a passenger; he's not so quick. Due to the late hour, our air units have been tucked away in their hangers for some time; it will take an hour to mobilize 'em. No perimeter set yet, so we can't utilize a K-9. The VIN comes back to a stolen vehicle (tell us something we didn't know, okay?) and when we get names and approximate ages on the two suspects (those friends of auto thieves just can't keep their mouths shut, how about that?) the call-taker goes to work and with a quick bit of official CLETS-surfing, comes up with ID and warrant information on'em both.
Something Nice
It was a marvel to watch, lemme tell ya. I love a good pursuit, anyway, and the teamwork just clicked! Once the air cleared (interesting industry term) and the other units using that frequency could tell us about their traffic stops and other routine activity, our visitor stood, stretched, and said, "Okay, now I gotta go do something. I'm inspired. The roads aren't safe for bad guys tonight!" He ambled off to roust his report-writing partner.
And, yup, I'm gonna write something nice on the dispatchers' monthly activity reports for that event last night. [fond smile]
A few nights ago, we had a brief pursuit on the other radio position. The field sergeants encountered busy signals on the phone when they attempted to call in during the height of the incident-not that much of a surprise, really; everyone in the center was busy!
Another night, I walked by a console, making a quick visual sweep of things, and noticed a strange line of gibberish on the CAD terminal command line at one position. The call-taker (they're all dispatchers who trade off from radios to phones, day by day) glanced up at me with a guilty smile. It seems she'd gotten all the information she needed from a garrulous caller, but the lady just needed to tell her more about herself and her situation. [ahem] So, with the CAD log safely off to the correct radio for dispatch, the call-taker had continued to strike keys so she'd sound like she was documenting all that blather. No complaints for me to field about anybody being abrupt, so I continued on past the console. [grin]
Dead What?
The things people reportLordy. One night after a small circus had visited for the weekend, we receive a call about a panda on the side of the road. In a garbage bag. But it's a dead panda. The caller is pretty upset and her husband verifies her story: dead panda in a bag, yessiree. He's insistent; his wife is overcome with tears at the horrible sight. Radio traffic iswellon the edge of amusing. (You know that "I'm so serious about this despite the incredulous nature of the call" professional tone? That's the one.) I mean, what if it is a dead panda? Ewwwwwww.
It's not. As our officer approaches, he can see the black and white patches of the very large panda through the nearly opaque plastic bag. The husband says, very serious, "It's dead. I checked it."
As the officer hefts the Hefty (this panda is small for a panda bear but in a really big garbage bag and it fills it up-he has to lift the bag pretty high) he says, "Oh yah? You checked it?" The wife bursts into hysterical laughter when she realizes they've called us out to a stuffed panda in a bag.
Aren't cellular phones handy? Now, she doesn't want the thing left there, because what if someone else comes along and goes through the same horrible experience of encountering a dead panda in a garbage bag? (Like, that could happen? Well, I guess it could)
No, she didn't want it for a souvenir, either. So it's now a mascot in our comm center. ("Someone" keeps dressing it up with various articles of clothing and/or little hats and goodies.) It sits in a chair in the corner. It's a pretty big stuffed panda and we don't know why anyone would discard it on the side of the road; it's not in bad condition or anything. Except for the little kid's bathing suit and the current newspaper Napoleon hat it's wearing, that is
Rare Bovine
Same officer, same shift; right after the Panda Rescue, we dispatch him to a cow in the roadway. Caps his afternoon, ya know? First a danged "dead panda" and now a wrangling detail. (He brings the stuffed panda back to the Center after the cow call and we're lucky he didn't throw it in the back door at us.)
Most cows amble away after a while; it's the rare bovine [snicker] that becomes a huge hood ornament, but they're all traffic hazards until the roadway is clear. This cow wasn't one of the considerate ones. She was highly agitated and preferred to run on asphalt, apparently. If you don't herd cows for a living, getting them to mooooove out of the way can be frustrating for an officer with sharp, neatly creased trousers and shiny boots.
This cow would have nothing to do with gentle shooing gestures. When a passing motorist blared the horn as Bossie trotted along the edge of the road, she bleated and charged the officer and his patrol unit. He took cover. She charged again, this time turning to kick the unit. There are dings in the rear doors to prove the accuracy of her hooves. (Good thing she missed that nice gold star!)
From the safety of his car, our beleaguered officer informed us of his situation, albeit in a tightly controlled tone of voice. "Monterey, this cow's charging me!" We could tell he was using the car radio, too. [smirk] He was not a happy wrangler. (Cows lay in fields where other cows haveerrrr spent some considerable timeand their hooves and hide have icky stuff on them, didja realize that? The patrol unit got besmirched withcrud.)
Now, I was at my desk, monitoring both sides of the radio transmissions, and it was very hard to continue working on the administrative paperwork. The dispatcher makes several calls to ranches in the area and leaves a message on the answering machine of one likely cattle-owner. This was not an incredibly welcome transmission for our intrepid wrangler. One can't exactly exit gracefully with a chunk of loose beef-on-the-hoof that belongs to somebody; this creates a high accident risk (messes up the commute and our stats) and there's the possibility of a rancher losing a living asset. We're on the scene, we can't just go away. (Sort of like not stopping CPR once you've started.)
Well, like CPR, if somebody with a higher cow-quotient comes along to relieve you, that would be very nice. A gentleman arrived (shortly after Bossie makes an amazing leap over the left front hood of the patrol unit, bawling piteously) and he had a real way with cows. He did not, however identify himself, just made calming, cow herding maneuvers.
By that time, our officer's resolve had been stretched pretty thin, indeed. He asked the guy if he was Mr. [Possible Rancher-and-cow-owner]. No response; cow was calming down and moving to the grassy area alongside the highway. From the safe side of the patrol unit, the officer yelled, "Hey! Do you own this cow?!?!?" The real wrangler admitted he was, indeed, Mr. Rancher. "Well, a simple 'Yes' or nod of your head might have been nice!!!!"
Hearing the officer's side of the whole story was a scream, trust me. We're almost in tears from laughter when he recounts it in the Center. He grouses about cow-[manure] and cow-slobber all over the car, dings in the door, and oh, here's that stupid panda in a bag, okay!?!?!
And people wonder why we like our jobs, despite the low pay and shift work. [grin]
Just keep typing away when you want to sound like you're taking down every word they're saying, and you, too, can impress the public and garner admiration from your supervisor.
Happy to be here, proud to serve.
Linda
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July, 1999