Say What?

The Saturday following my acceptance letter into the academy, my husband paid a visit to the kids.

Allen never felt any obligation to his kids or me, for that matter. So his visits were, much to my relief, far and few between. He was after all, busy. Too, busy to be a real father, or to continue in a marriage. When he had left me, I was emotionally and psychologically devastated. The day he packed his bags and walked out the door I was blind sided. He’s excuse. He had found someone more intellectually stimulating. Something was being stimulated, but I doubt it had nothing to do with intellect.

Allen was a genius. Really a genius. Well educated, with now two degrees I helped him get by being mother, father and main bread winner while he went to school. When it came time for him to decide what was more important, none of that mattered only, his feelings and what he wanted. As a genius there was one thing Allen didn’t have and it was common sense, so when he said “What you want and what you think just doesn’t matter.” He meant every word of it without realizing that I’d take those ugly words in the future to bring it back to haunt him. For every idiom uttered I’d remind him, he’d pay. It took no genius to figure that one out. But in his high IQ emotionally stunted brain, he never thought I had the smarts to do it. To Allen if something wasn’t hurting him, then why should it hurt me. So if it didn’t hurt him to tell me I was a backwards idiot, then in some perverse way it shouldn’t bother me in the least, because after all he was a genius and I wasn’t. Therefore he was always, even when he was wrong, right. Which when he left, he couldn’t figure out why I was upset, because he had found a new life of freedom and was happy. Which should have made me realize, I wasn’t good enough to make him happy. Or at least as he content as was with her.

Really he said that.

On that Saturday he decided to take the kids out to lunch. I didn’t say anything to him about the new job. I knew the kids would handle that for me. And as predicted they did. When they came back from their hour long outing which was about as long as he could stand being away from his own interests, he stood staring at me with that, “Say what?” expression. It was just as priceless as the boss’ the day before.

“You’re going to do what?” He almost yelled, as he tried to keep his voice down to a roar.

“What do you care? You don’t live here anymore, and may I remind you about the money you rarely pay to help me out.” I crossed my arms and titled my head to study him. He hated it when I did that, which was why I did it.

“So with this new job, what to you hope to accomplish?” With Allen there had to always be some intellectual reason for everything. People just weren’t people. They didn’t just move through their lives to find happiness in the small things. There had to be some big under lying reason, framed in psycho babble.

“Well, the pay is a lot more then I’ve ever made, so that means I can pay off the bills you left me swimming in, and oh, yes, I can hire an attorney to divorce you.”

Now shock took over. His jaw dropped open and he stared at me.

“Divorce?”

“Allen, hello, you don’t live here anymore. You left. Said you didn’t want to live this life.”

“But it doesn’t mean I want a divorce.”

Now it was my turn for the surprise. “Then what is it you want?”

“I don’t know, but not that.”

Since he had left, we hadn’t discussed the big “D” word. He had refused. When ever I asked where this was all going. I got the standard, “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

I was about to turn the tables unexpectedly on him. I was going to tell him where we were going and it was straight to a divorce court.

“I’m going into this academy. I’m going to succeed and my first order of business when I get on my feet is to find an attorney. So get use to the idea. We are going to get divorced.”

“Why does it have to be like that?”

I think I might have a tiny stroke when he asked me probably the most ridiculous question known to man, or at least me. I felt a strange ticking in my brain like it was about to explode.

“Because you moved out and moved in with her. That’s why.”

Then the bomb was dropped. “Well, things aren’t going so well. I mean she sometimes reminds me of you. With the things she wants from me. So I’m thinking I should just leave and come home.”

Home? The house we bought together was my home, not his anymore. He had left it to me to paint, clean and keep up the yards, while raising our kids. Kids he barely could make time for. And now just like that he wanted to come home to us, because the grass just wasn’t as green on the other side as he thought, actually it sounded like it was dying in places.

“What?”

“I mean she wants me to get a divorce from you, so we can get married and have kids and do this all over again.”

“What?” I repeated. Thinking, man do I need to have a talk with this chick. After all doesn’t she realize he’s a crappy father in combination with being a crappier husband?

“It just not what I thought it would be. So I’m ready to come home.”

“I’m not.”

“Not, what?”

“Ready to have you back? I like my life the way it is. I’m stressed with the kids and money, but I don’t have you to add to it. Allen you weren’t an asset to me, but a hindrance. I didn’t realize it until you were gone. Now I’m starting to feel a little better about myself, and I can’t image allowing you to change that.”

He was angry now. If he didn’t get his way on something, or if I didn’t agree with him completely, the big child came out in the form of temper tantrums, slucking, and pure meanness. He’d try to brow beat me into submission. I’d been separated from him for several months and in that time, I grew to like my piece of mine without him around always trying to grind me into the dirt.

The argument grew into a name calling shouting match, ending with me asking him to leave. Before he slammed the door as he stomped out on the front porch, he turned to snicker at me. “Don’t come crying to me when you’ve failed. Remember, you can’t even write complete a sentence. I'm surprised you got this far and passed they stupidly easy entrance examine. Oh, but, than I forgot you don't have to have any brains to be a cop. Just look at your family.”

As the door slammed I just stood there and stared at it. I had lived with dyslexia my whole life. I could hardly read until I was ten. It was something he waved in my face on a daily bases. Making snide remarks when ever he thought it would put me back in place, like now. He was loosing control and would wave it around like a banner to get his own way. Not this time. I was determined. He wasn’t going to win this round. I wanted to change my life. The opportunity landed in my lap like a falling star. I was about to run with it and see what it would bring me. Dyslexia and all.

As for the comment on my family, I let it run off me like water. I was use to it. He hated them, because well we were normal. Something he found to be beneath him.

I wanted to Believe

I wanted to Believe………..

I wanted to believe my dad that I got the job. But that little devil of a voice clung to my back, saying, “You screwed up!”

As I had my own little pity party and dwelled on my short comings I cleaned house, went grocery shopping on my meager budget and planned my days off with my kids, until I had to face work again.

The days passed slowly as I waited to here my fate. My former friend, would mad dog me at any opportunity while we tried to find some neutral ground to work together. And that pesky boss turned up the pressure for an affair. Sexual harassment was only a minor rumbling in the world in 1984, and to complain could mean a job, and for me, food on the table and roof over our head.

“Want to go to lunch?” He’d grin at me.

“Nope,” No other explanation, no other reason. Just a, nope. Because he didn’t mean, “Want to go to lunch.” He meant, “Let’s find a sleazy cheap hotel, filled with beg bugs and go at it like mad dogs in heat.” Nope, I wasn’t interested.

After two weeks or so, he finally asked, “So what happened to this great job opportunity you were talking about?”

I reeled on him, “Number one, I didn’t talk about it. Someone else decided to share when she didn’t get placed as high on the list as she wanted. Number two, being a cop I don’t consider a great opportunity. I was raised by one, and I didn’t see anything great about it.”

If the county called to interview him, I just flushed everything right down the toilet out of pure attitude.

He shut up for a few hours, then asked if I’d like to go out for drinks, to cool my heels, he said. “It could mean a good review and raise.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Sighing I looked up at him, trying not to show my total disgust. “Sure. Where and when.”

You would have thought I just gave the guy a million dollars. He all put jumped up and down like a kid at Christmas as he stuttered out the place and time after work. It made me feel a little guilty considering what I planned on doing, but not enough to change my mind.

I grinned and went back to my work. When I bunched out I didn’t see him anywhere, climbed in my little sputtering bug and nursed it home. I never had any intentions of going. I just wanted to see his reaction. It was funny, even hilarious even after all these years when I give it a moments thought, like now.

A twinge of guilt clung to me, but only a twinge. I didn’t give it another thought as I went through my nightly routine of cooking dinner, picking up kids from this practice, or that friend’s house. When my head hit the pillow, I had already forgotten about the boss waiting for me at a bar somewhere. The location had gone in one ear and out the other.

The next day of course when he came in he was none to happy with me. He caught me in the warehouse, and demanded an explanation as to why I stood him up.

“Because I don’t go out with married men.” I rolled my eyes at him and sighed, “You do remember your married, don’t you? You know the wife, the four little kids at home. Remember them?”

That did it. From that moment on he was hell on wheels to get me. Dogged me constantly, reprimanded me for the smallest things, like leaving a pen on a box. I knew my days were numbered. He was going to get rid of me one way or the other. The only way to keep my job was to sleep with the slim ball, and that wasn’t going to happen. So I started combing the want adds.

I felt like I was being watched, dissected and pursued by a ghost in those weeks. My former friend amped up her dislike for me. After one to many snide remarks, I asked her point blank, “Why is any of this my fault? I tested the same day as you, under the same conditions. What? Did I dare to eat wheaties before hand without telling you? And somehow it changed the out come? I’m sorry you didn’t make it.” I yelled out. “I’m sorry you had so much pressure on you by your man. Which isn’t fair. He’s a jerk!”

She stormed off in tears never answering my question and went home. I found out the next day she had quit. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see her.

A letter came to my home from the county. I stared at it for a long time before opening. This was it. Certain I was placed on that same three year waiting list with my former friend. Slowly I opened it, and read it.

I dropped it a couple of times, before picking up, and read it again. “For the love of Pete!” I yelled out. “They hired me!” Not only did they hire me, but they gave me an academy start date. I couldn’t even give a two week notice. I was going to start the following Monday, and it was already Wednesday. And if I couldn’t make the date, I would go on the waiting list.

I called my dad yelling into the phone, “Dad, they hired me!”

“Of course they did.” He laughed, “It’s in the blood.”

I didn’t feel like I owed my boss a thing, especially my body. So I went into the work as usual, worked my shift, actually worked until Friday. As I punched out I knew he’d find me because I left a huge mess in an isle.

“You have some boxes that need to be cleared out of the isle,” he said to me in a demanding tone.

I looked up at him and smiled. “Oh, that? Well, I guess someone else will have to do it, because I quit.”

The look on his face was priceless. I couldn’t have asked for a better expression of complete and total surprise. He knew my situation, and knew I needed the job, which was why he pursued me so hotly, with the thought I was weak enough to give in to save my paycheck. A really despicable thing to do, trying to take advantage of me like that when life wasn't a bowl of cherries. He was fortunate I quit, and none of my brothers lived near by.

I punched out, turned on my heels, walked out, and didn’t so much as look back.

I had two days to prepare myself mentally for something I had never experienced before, a paramilitary academy. Was I in for a few surprises.

I shot the Sheriff

I shot the Sheriff.



Do I think I could kill someone? Did he really say that? I know they read my expression of complete perplexity.

I honestly didn’t know.

I opened my mouth to answer, than shut it. I just stared at him then said, “I don’t know.” Then added, “I’d fight to death if need be, I suppose.”

I saw my job going right out the window. I was doomed. Just get up and leave, this waste of everyone’s time. I just blew it. Big time.

“You suppose?” the female questioned me with certain amazement.

I just nodded. Okay it was, open mouth insert foot time. I remained silent. I wasn’t going to continue to cram it down my throat.

“Explain that,” the man in the ill fitting suit demanded.

“Well, I’m not going to let anyone kill me without a fight,” I said.

The panel just looked at me, then at each other for a few very long moments.

I think the correct answer would have been, “Yeah, I’d kill any bad guy. Just give me a gun. I’ll use them as target practice. What about you? Kill anybody lately?”

Finally the female asked, “So how do you feel about working with men?”

“I don’t have a problem working with anyone.” Now that was good answer I told myself, feeling like I might just recover from the killing question.

She smiled. The problem with the smile, it was very evil in nature.

The man in the ill fitting suite asked me more personal questions, like if I was married. If I had kids. Where I was working now. If he could call my boss.

I smiled and gave him a positive, “Sure call him.” While thinking, shit, shit, shit.

Then came the all important question, I wasn’t sure about how to answer. “Have you ever been arrested?”

Well, surprisingly sort of. When I was thirteen, I was with a friend who was caught shop lifting. The store called the cops, and who should show up but the town cop, my dad. I swear I didn’t steal a thing. It was a case of quilt by association.
My dad didn’t speak to me for a week after that embarrassing moment. It was hard to tell who was more humiliated me or him. So I wasn’t actually arrested. I never went to court. I know, literally daddy made it go away, as he did with my friend. The real punishment came, when I was told I could never hang out with her again. Her parents said the same about me. So ended the friendship. Not a great loss since she did do the stealing and asked me to cover for her, in turn getting me into big trouble, at least with my parents.

I swallowed, and said “No.”

“Have you ever used drugs?”

“No.” That was the truth. I think I was the only child of the sixties alive who came out of Berkeley married to a real born in the flesh hippie, who never touched it. I’m too much of a control freak to do drugs. I like being in control. Had been around it, saw it, and witnessed what it did the people first hand. Which caused me to pause and think about it, carefully.

Well, finally they stopped asking me questions, and stood and shook my hand. The man in the gray ill fitting suite, said as he dismissed me, “If you have any traffic tickets that need to be paid, get them taken care of.”

“What?” My mind was reeling. I just smiled and made a comment like, “I don’t have any tickets at all, and never had any.”

I walked out the door. When I hit the street I ran to my car, drove like an insane person home. I was lucky I didn’t get a ticket. Ran into my house called my dad, and asked him what the meaning of the last statement was. He laughed, and said, “You’ve got the job.”

So ya think you could kill someone?

“So ya think you could kill someone if ya had too?

With my name called, I walked into the room to face four people sitting behind a long table, unsmiling. I wanted to turn and run, never to look back. Jump in my little bug, drive home like a maniac and hide under my bed for a week. In those first moments, looking at those grumpy scowls, I just knew, this had to be the mistake of a lifetime, along with making a huge fool of myself. And damn it anyway, I told my family. Now I’d have to face them with yet another failure.
The panel for my interview was made up of three men, and one woman. Two of the gentlemen, (I’d learn later were anything but) wore their dress blues, with ties, Ike jackets, with enough brass reflecting off the over head lights to scorch me. The other man, a short heavy set Hispanic, wore an ill fitting gray suit. He looked like the tie was chocking the life out of him, as his jowls lagged over his starched collar. The woman had short graying hair, also was in her class A uniform. As I would find out later she was a Captain, who was one of the first female Captains in the department, if not in the county and waved that fact at every opportunity, liking to regale tales of fighting her way to the top, stepping over all the men, including the three sitting with her. She left boot prints on their butts along the way. To add to her ego driven personality, she was the first to come out of the closet, with guns a blazing all dressed up in her gay rights rainbow colored wrapping. And she made no bones about, and was very aggressive. That’s another story all together. It didn’t matter at the time if she had ten grandchildren and baked cookies in a spare time for orphans; she scared the shit out of me.
They all politely shook my hand, mumbled a few greetings, and asked me to sit down. A deputy in the room asked me for the paper I wrote, on why I wanted this job. I think my reaction was, “What you can’t have this! I don’t want anyone to see it!” With sticky fingers, I handed it over. I needed the job, so he got to read how desperate I was. It would turn out to be one of many embarrassing chapters in my life. The one thing I didn’t add in my ‘why’, I needed to get out of my present situation, was the sex driven boss. It certainly was in the top ten. I decided it was best to leave that one out, just in case they wanted to ask him questions about me.
I heard him snicker in the corner during the interview obviously he found my honesty funny. I was hoping for refreshing.
The first brass decorated commander, who looked like a very uncomfortable stuffed turkey, had a pleasant voice and asked me simple questions like why I choose law-enforcement as a career. I was really getting tired of the question. I heard my father’s voice telling me to answer, without thinking, so I did. “I need the benefits, badly.”
Yep, surprise registered across his frown. He blinked in reaction to it and stumbled over the next few questions as he tried to pry out of me, my love of the law, justice and the American way. Oh, I have great respect for all that, but at that time in my life the only thing I could think of was keeping the lights on, and feeding three hunger mouths. To stay independent of my soon to be ex-husband was also on the top of that list. His lack of child support made my life difficult, and he knew it and liked the control it gave him over me as he waved the occasional check in my face like bait.
The commander continued to blink a lot. I think I stumped him, he clearly wasn’t expecting this kind of gut wrenching sincerity. I really didn’t know what else to do. I never wanted law-enforcement. I came from cop family and none of it appealed to me in the least.
I needed this job, its benefits and most of all the hours. Twelve hour shifts appealed to me, it gave three and four days off a week. Something I needed for my kids. I wasn’t looking for a career. I was looking for a living wage so I could keep a roof over our heads.
The next commander, steepled his fingers leaned forward and studied me closely. He had a round reddish face, and blood shot eyes, all signs of alcoholism, which later I’d learn were only one of many demons. He pursed his lips, and leaned back.
I started to sweat bullets.
Then he asked in a gruff heavy smoke tainted voice, “So ya think you can kill someone if ya had too?”

Of Gods and Generals

My father was a cop.
Finally, breaking down, I told him what I was up to. My family was getting questionnaires on my behavior. My brother called to ask how I wanted him to answer the question, "Have you ever seen the above named individual mad?" We both had to laugh, since I punched a hole in the bathroom door, when I was fourteen, after chasing him through the house. Another brother asked if he should explain the time, we rolled down the stairs, in a fist fight. The conclusion of both, I certainly could take care of myself in a fight.
How my siblings answered the questions, I never knew. To frightened to ask, I let it go as the week for the oral board approached. My father told me just to be calm, answer the questions honestly, and if I don't have a answer, simply say so. Okay, that would work in the real world, but with this, I wasn't sure. And I wasn't going to tell them, "Oh, by the way, daddy's a cop."
I knew all to well how the world of law enforcement worked, and didn't want it to work that way for me. If I was to get this job, it was on my merits alone.
Things were worsening at my present job. The former friend let the cat out of the bag. My boss stepped up the pressure. I figured to get what he wanted before I possible disappeared into the sunset.
My husband, got the word from the kids, and told me, I'd never make it. A standard response from him. If he was supportive, I'd been shocked into heart failure.
The day of the oral board, I rose early. I wanted time to be calm, not to stutter, put on make-up straight, and at least look the part, even if my mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. Driving my VW Bug downtown, it sputtered and coughed all the way, threatening to make me walk. I drove with the window open in the cold morning air. My exhaust system had a leak, I couldn't afford to fix. By the time arrived, I was freezing, wide awake from sheer fear, and a frozen face, thankful, I lived in California and not in Minnesota, otherwise I'd be dead from the cold or fumes, which ever one got me first.
I arrived, in plenty of time, and sat outside the office along with a woman in a beautiful dark blue, obviously expensive skirt and jacket. Putting me to shame in my best slacks and colorful shirt. My jacket got left in the car, because it was falling apart.
She feverishly wrote on a plan piece of paper. Never once looking up at me, she filled it with prefect print.
A deputy greeted me, and handed me several pieces of paper, and explained, I was to write, in so many words why I applied for the job.
What? My expression screamed. Write?
I'm dyslexic, and under stress, it kicks in. I'd be lucky to write my own name.
Drawing in several breaths, I hunkered down and started.
The woman was called in. She stood, and straightened her jacket, smoothed, her prefect hair, and squared her shoulders as if she was Queen Mary heading for the blade.
I started to sweat bazooka size bullets.
Down to my last piece of paper, I stopped. My eyes looked into its wide white expanse. Dad said be honest. Honest it was. I wrote a short and to the point paragraph, why I wanted the job. No floral scented phrases, no dreams to join my father in his chosen profession, only I need the money and benefits. My life long dream was to study art history in Italy, not to be a cop. I wrote that, thinking, "Okay, if you're going to blow it, do it the right way."
The woman walked out looking shell shocked. Her eyes were wide, her expression pale. Not once, did she so much as glance my way as she walked out the door into the cold winter morning.
I was called in to face my future.

This wasn't what I wanted.

I never had any inclination, desire, or forethought, to become a cop. Until 1984, when desperation overruled all common sense. I received a application for the Sheriff's Department from a friend, whose boyfriend was a deputy.
My husband had left me with three children to support on a hardware store paycheck. I was battling a boss, who claimed I had a bright future with the company, if only I'd have sex with him. Not to mention, I had no benefits. My family was putting pressure on me to move home, to a small Northern Minnesota town, where there was only snow, and definitely no future, not mention no jobs.
The Sheriff's Department, called to my sense of self-preservation. So I applied, along with the friend.
Within a couple of weeks, I got a letter with a testing date, and a background packet. I showed up at the place of testing, packet in hand. My friend was thrilled we'd be in it together, as she nervously sweated bullets, making several trips to the restroom, to puck up her guts, while we waited in line with hundreds of other applicants. Guilt veiled me. I didn't really want the job, I just wanted a way out of the job I was in, and this one offered the much needed escape, with benefits, and pay rate that would make my life a bit easier. Those were the only reasons I was there, among those who were living a real dream, sweating out every ounce of moisture in their systems on a cold wet January day.
The test was ridiculously easy. It was a standard government test, just to see if you had any living brain cells, and a little bit of common sense. Apparently I did, or they got me mixed up with someone else, because I passed the test in the top 90%. My friend didn't fair as well. Her scores were passable, but not good enough to move her forward. She was placed on a three year waiting list.
Those little numbers with the % sign behind it, ruined our friendship.
When we shared our test scores, she went ballistic, unleashing a long rant on how unfair it was, because I didn't want the job. Her desperation, went beyond mine. The boyfriend was holding marriage hostage over the test. No high score, no marriage. She was devastated. I figured it out quickly, it took her a little longer. He didn't want to marry, at least her. Later, I'd know she was better off.
I moved on to the psych test and physical without my now former friend. I passed the physical easily. The psych, I just knew was the end for me. Thankfully, I hadn't told my family, I had tested. Not wanting to relive another failure with them. I had failed college, failed marriage, I just didn't want this added to the growing list, giving them more reasons to want me home in the north woods.
Considering, I didn't really want the job, and I felt I was on the edge of falling apart, emotionally, financially, and every other way in my life. I just knew this guy would think I was nuts. If I was a psychiatrist, I wouldn't pass me. But he did, much to my surprise. I spoke to him with blunt honesty, no pretense, no embellishing. Just the ugly truth. I was a train wreck.
Actually, he went on to say, because I had such a solid background with my family, I was just what the doctor ordered for the Sheriff's department. I questioned his sanity, more then mine.
I was moved forward to the oral board, and the experience of my life.

Susan Lee

Stumbling...

As I stumble through the world of blogging, I decided to do something a little different with this blog. I can rant on about jealousy, weird days, writing and what have you, but that can only go so far. So why not write about what I know best, Law Enforcement from a woman's point of view.
Woman in Law Enforcement, have a completely different view of the world they work in. Life inside this career choice has changed over the years, and have gotten better in many ways for women. But it hasn't changed one thing, how we react, and try to promote, and be a mother, wife and a cop. Its not easy. I was two completely different people when I was working. As soon as the uniform went on, the mother disappeared. So starting on Monday, I will be sharing my experiences as I moved through twenty years of law enforcement, as a single mother, woman, and eventually a wife again, and how all those things tide up together, changed me.

Susan Lee