Life, death and police

A reader once said she felt sorry for me because I had written several stories that month on violent crimes and tragic deaths.

I immediately shot down that sympathy. I'm getting the information from the police and firefighters who respond to these horrific scenes.

During a police officer's funeral that I was covering, a lieutenant told the story of how this particular officer - who died of a sudden heart attack at a young age - had once responded to a call where a baby fell in a fire pit. The officer held the dead infant in his arms. I remembered the story, including unwritten details of a police report that are making my eyes well up a bit.

I'm guessing that particular officer had to write the report on the dead baby. Police reports are quite detailed and usually paint an unflinching picture of what happened from the officer's view. I admit the reports can be painful to read and have even made me physically ill.

Once when covering court cases for the day, I looked up a charging document for a man caught with illegal porn. I was caught off-guard by these charging documents and the gruesome details of what police found on this man's computer. Usually in these cases, the documents don't get that deep. After a few paragraphs, I walked outside and vomited. And to think, a detective had to watch all that shit, then write about it.

Thank goodness all I need to watch is the offender get sentenced.

I grew up thinking police were the good guys. "Officer Friendly" would visit our grade school. I would stare at his gun the whole time. As an adult, I have encountered a few officers who acted like dickheads. Or maybe "meatheads" is the better word. Most officers just want to do their job and make the community a better place.

I am disappointed that all the turmoil in 2016 is directed toward the people who are supposed to protect us. I am disappointed in the police officers who cross the line and get away with it. Even one of these poison apples is too many.

I've never been in the heat of the moment, where I faced an armed suspect coming at me, and it was life or death. Preparing for that pressure is part of a police officer's training.

But how do you train for a life or death moment when the training itself isn't life or death?

Dinosaur blues

I am learning to let go of the compact disc, but I could never part with newspapers. Two dinosaurs in the 21st century. OK, make that three dinosaurs because I am dysfunctionally attached to both.

I suppose my CD collection is like a body full of tattoos. Each one tells a story and represents a point in time. My music collection (and instruments) are the only material possessions that matter to me. But these streaming services like Spotify are quite satisfying with quality speakers and/or headphones.

The newspaper has always been a part of my life. My first job was delivering newspapers - on a bike, no less. My family always had a pile around the house. I liked reading the sports, comics and department store ads. As a teen, I'd roll and rubber-band about 40 newspapers seven days a week and deliver them around the neighborhood. That was back in the early '90s. Most if not all of these routes today are run by adults who pack their cars with hundreds of papers at 3 a.m.

I would like to apologize to the handful of customers including Mr. Palmer who had hoped to read their news at 5 a.m., but were forced to wait on a teenager to get his ass out of bed. That was before the internet put its foot on the newspaper's throat. That was back when newspapers were the gatekeepers - when readers were at the mercy of the paperboy who overslept on Sunday morning.