Cops And Stops Part 1

My 19 year old nephew who lives in New Jersey took some time off from college to see the United States. He's a long-haired kid, the t-shirt and jeans type. He's at a point in his young life where there are all sorts of options and it's just not clear what to do. Given that he was raised in a very comfortable home, his parents are professionals, good providers, it's a credit to my nephew that he's trying to be his own person and figure some things out. I admire how he's going about this.

When I was at that point in life, I enlisted in the Air Force, it was a safe choice. I didn't have to worry about where my next meal was coming from, where I was going to sleep and didn't have to worry about what clothes I was going to wear that day. My nephew's taking some risks. He's driving around in a beaten up Ford and doing what he can to pay for this adventure. He saved some money from a job that he worked, he's makes extra cash on the road by playing his guitar on street corners, and he saves on expenses by camping out and sleeping in his car.

He was on the road for a couple of months and found himself on I-40 in Arizona, headed to the Grand Canyon. Doing 85 mph in a 75 mph zone, he was stopped by a cop. The officer asked for his driver's license, registration and proof of insurance. Instead of handing over these items individually, my nephew handed over the portfolio that his mother prepared for him which also included maps, emergency directions, emergency telephone card, Q-tips, band-aids, Danish-English Dictionary and any other item that a mother might think is appropriate for a road emergency.

As the cop rummaged through the bag, he told my nephew that he couldn't find the registration.

My nephew, probably scared out of his wits, answered, "I'm sure it's in there, my mother wouldn't forget it."

The officer asked, "May I search your vehicle."

My nephew said, "No."

The officer shook his head and said, "Well your registration is not here. I'm going to have to detain you and run a check on this vehicle. Step out of the car."

My nephew stepped out of the car, the officer cuffed him and placed him in the back seat of his cruiser, right next to his police dog. The dog, unhappy about sharing the back seat with my nephew, started barking. I would have been terrified, my nephew must have been terrified.

The officer completed his "check on the vehicle" and then released my nephew from custody. My nephew got back into his car.

The officer said, "I found your registration." The officer returned the registration, gave my nephew a ticket, and sent him on his way.

After he stopped shaking, my nephew called his mother. His mother, I am told, was very upset and was ready to call the ACLU (Hey Cheri, notice any similarity between UCLA and ACLU?). She was, at a minimum, ready to file a writ of habeas corpus for no other reason than this was the only legal terminology that she knew. It impressed me because I couldn't quite remember why anyone filed writs of habeas corpi.

Anyway, this got me to thinking. When I first heard this story, I was pretty pissed off. My nephew is a good kid. It sounds like this cop played "fast and loose" with the rules.

But what if the kid that he pulled over wasn't my nephew? What if he searched the car and found something? What if, before the cop went on patrol that morning, he was told to be on the lookout for individuals fitting a certain profile. What if this cop has used the same tactic with some one else and found weapons or drugs? Should I really be upset with the cop? Given what can happen out on a lonely highway, was the cop scared?

I have trouble with this. I don't want to live in a state that subjects me to unreasonable searches and seizures. I want police officers to respect me and to treat me in a way that recognizes that I am a law-biding citizen and someome who pays a heck of a lot of money in taxes. Then, as I get all worked up in my righteousness, I think about how I want that cop to protect my family and the public from the "bad guys." I want to be treated a certain way and yet I recognize my own hypocrisy by suggesting that it might be ok if cops dont' treat other people as nicely.

When I first heard this story, I thought the cop was a bad guy. That he was all too willing to push around a kid. I had half a mind to get caught speeding on I-40 in Arizona myself and see if that cop would dare pull the same stunt with me (it's easy to say that when I sitting here in California).

Is that a reasonable reaction? This cop pulled my nephew over somewhere in the middle of
nowhere. The cop could have claimed that my nephew resisted arrest. He could have come up with an excuse to beat the crap out of him. He could have planted something on him. With no one watching, he could have done any of a number of nastier things.

I'm now wondering whether my nephew was a bit lucky. I wonder whether the cop was a "good guy."

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My nephew's recent encounter, got me thinking about the times that I have been pulled over.

Actually, the first time that I got "pulled over, " I didn't get "pulled over."

When I first got my license, I was driving my falling apart 1975 Volkswagen Dasher through the streets of Manhattan. Although most of Manhattan's streets are part of a huge grid, this took place in the village where there are lots of narrow little streets running in all different directions. The streets are so narrow, and with parking on both sides of the street, an inexperienced driver can get a bit nervous about side swiping, or taking the mirrors off, parked cars. I was so focused on keeping my car in the middle of the road that I wasn't paying attention to street signs. Streets signs in Manhattan are not very important. As NYC's traffic is largely controlled by signal lights, you don't need to look for street signs. I didn't notice what may have been the only STOP sign on island of Manhattan.

I was driving along at something like 15 mph and, without slowing down, entered the intersection. Fate determined that two of NYC's finest were sitting in a parked police car right in front of me. Being insecure about my driving, just seeing the police was enough to intimidate me. Then I noticed the STOP sign. The two cops, who were enjoying a couple of sub sandwiches, just looked as I slid by. They couldn't imagine that someone would run a STOP sign right in front of them. My eyes, wide as saucers, were fixed in their direction. Their looks of surprise could only have been surpassed by my own.

Then, almost simultaneously, the two officers hung out the windows on their respective sides of the police car, "flipped me the bird," and starting shouting, "Hey, whassa matta wid you, you stupid or somethin, what da hell is wrong wid ya, learn how ta drive you mother f*in SOB!"

It was far more effective than a ticket.

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The next time that I was "pulled over" without being pulled over, I was living in Colorado Springs. It was the Winter of 1981, probably a Saturday night, about 3 o'clock in the morning. My car was parked in a quiet, dark part of a shopping center, and my windows were all foggy. Although I couldn't see out of the windows, I was alerted by the bright flashing lights. I was in the back seat when I rolled down the window and the officer shone his light right into my eyes.

The officer, trying to conceal his amusement, asked, "Is everything ok?"

The young lady next to me, buttoning her shirt, replied, "We weren't doing anything."

The officer quietly suggested that we could have made a better choice and asked us to get on our way.

I pretty sure that this cop was a "good guy."