I was reading some headline news stories, “146 German Police Officers Injured In Violent G-8 Protests” (linked via title bar), and had to wonder what kind of low life jerk tosses grapefruit sized chunks of rock at their police officers; supposedly to protest a conference of world leaders. If they don’t like the world leader why are they hurting their own fellow citizens? The answer, they want to get on camera and generate some publicity.
We had the G-8 conference in Houston many years ago when I was still working as a police officer. I don’t remember having any protesters causing mass mayhem, at least nothing like dodging bottles or rocks thrown at us. I do remember that we were told that the only acceptable excuse for being absent would be a toe tag; we were stretched pretty thin and each officer’s position was critical.
I’d been assigned to work with the Japanese delegation as part of a security detail at the hotel across from the Galleria shopping complex. The day of the assignment my back decided to go out on me. I mentioned to my friendly doctor, the one I’d visit at the hospital in my beat during my regular night shift duties, I mentioned how important it was that I show up. I told her I would not be driving and could she tide me over for at least an eight hour shift, some less important gig where I’d be out of the public view guarding a stairwell or some other less demanding position.
“Only if you promise me you won’t be driving”, was her way of reminding me that what ever I was being given was powerful. “This will take away the pain; but not the swelling”. The muscles in my back had swollen so badly that I couldn’t put on my Sam Brown belt, that’s the one with handcuffs, radio holder and pistol.
I showed up for my G-8 assignment and took the pills as soon as I shoved the shifter into park. I explained to my supervisor that I didn’t have time to obtain a toe tag and that he’d have to make due with what ever I had left to offer. He muffled his laughter when I showed him that it would be impossible for me to properly wear my uniform, holding my pistol rig over my arm with the top button of my britches unable to make up the difference; the fabric of the waistband gapped open an inch or so.
A couple of hours later the pain pills took full effect and I didn’t care that my back was out; didn’t feel any pain as I wandered out from the stairwell on a planned break, having been relieved by another officer. I went to the break room located on the lobby level and made some attempt at putting my police belt back on while in the public view by letting it out a couple of notches.
I must have been feeling “no pain” when, after noticing the traffic flow directly in front of the hotel could use hands on management, I took it as a challenge. At one time I considered myself better than average in sorting out such messes; actually had a friend of mine in the printing business made up some cards, “T. F. Stern – Traffic Control Artist”. A photographer from the Houston Chronicle took pictures of me working rush hour traffic and posted them in the paper; thank goodness it wasn’t pictures of my working at the G-8 or they might have been used against me at a disciplinary hearing for being plastered on drugs while on duty.
It’s a crying shame that the malcontents of this world have so much sway with the media; maybe it’s because the media has so much invested in turning our civilized society on its ear. I still see no reason to hurl objects wildly in the air, hoping that some unsuspecting cop gets his brains bashed in just so it catches the lens of a camera. It takes a really brave individual to hide in a crowd and throw rocks at somebody who might just be your next door neighbor when he gets out of uniform. Why aren’t these sleaze balls being shown for exactly what they are, cowards?
We had the G-8 conference in Houston many years ago when I was still working as a police officer. I don’t remember having any protesters causing mass mayhem, at least nothing like dodging bottles or rocks thrown at us. I do remember that we were told that the only acceptable excuse for being absent would be a toe tag; we were stretched pretty thin and each officer’s position was critical.
I’d been assigned to work with the Japanese delegation as part of a security detail at the hotel across from the Galleria shopping complex. The day of the assignment my back decided to go out on me. I mentioned to my friendly doctor, the one I’d visit at the hospital in my beat during my regular night shift duties, I mentioned how important it was that I show up. I told her I would not be driving and could she tide me over for at least an eight hour shift, some less important gig where I’d be out of the public view guarding a stairwell or some other less demanding position.
“Only if you promise me you won’t be driving”, was her way of reminding me that what ever I was being given was powerful. “This will take away the pain; but not the swelling”. The muscles in my back had swollen so badly that I couldn’t put on my Sam Brown belt, that’s the one with handcuffs, radio holder and pistol.
I showed up for my G-8 assignment and took the pills as soon as I shoved the shifter into park. I explained to my supervisor that I didn’t have time to obtain a toe tag and that he’d have to make due with what ever I had left to offer. He muffled his laughter when I showed him that it would be impossible for me to properly wear my uniform, holding my pistol rig over my arm with the top button of my britches unable to make up the difference; the fabric of the waistband gapped open an inch or so.
A couple of hours later the pain pills took full effect and I didn’t care that my back was out; didn’t feel any pain as I wandered out from the stairwell on a planned break, having been relieved by another officer. I went to the break room located on the lobby level and made some attempt at putting my police belt back on while in the public view by letting it out a couple of notches.
I must have been feeling “no pain” when, after noticing the traffic flow directly in front of the hotel could use hands on management, I took it as a challenge. At one time I considered myself better than average in sorting out such messes; actually had a friend of mine in the printing business made up some cards, “T. F. Stern – Traffic Control Artist”. A photographer from the Houston Chronicle took pictures of me working rush hour traffic and posted them in the paper; thank goodness it wasn’t pictures of my working at the G-8 or they might have been used against me at a disciplinary hearing for being plastered on drugs while on duty.
It’s a crying shame that the malcontents of this world have so much sway with the media; maybe it’s because the media has so much invested in turning our civilized society on its ear. I still see no reason to hurl objects wildly in the air, hoping that some unsuspecting cop gets his brains bashed in just so it catches the lens of a camera. It takes a really brave individual to hide in a crowd and throw rocks at somebody who might just be your next door neighbor when he gets out of uniform. Why aren’t these sleaze balls being shown for exactly what they are, cowards?
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