Favorably mentioned in another article and kindly supplied by a PBS comrade; I just looked and there is only one copy left in the large LA County Library system. The author is a VN vet and uses a muscular writing style in telling of incidents that marked his ten years with the Fort Lauderdale PD. Almost all the stories are from his forte--being a street cop. It does include times when he beat on the perp because he is determined to share what it is actually like to be a police officer. There are several times when he is let down by the City settling a righteous case to avoid the hassles of a trial, when the Chief demonstrates that he is a political animal, and when nothing can really be done. There are a few amusing events, but also cops shot. Be sure to read Chapter 62 (all chapters are short and easy to read) where he repeats his reasons for taking on the job of protecting us and why he is giving it up.
As is typical, his marriage is gradually failing through the chapters; I was surprised it lasted so long. I myself don't much like the scenes from the cop bar, but that is how it is. He is very sympathetic toward working stiffs; it is especially revealed in the stolen pink bicycle case.
The author was in good shape and recalls for readers several chases of suspects. The end of one long pursuit through streets, alleys, and back yards, the perp having finally hidden under a bush by the police dog that accompanied him: "He wants you. He been followin' your filthy trail through all the yards. He been on ass and now he has arrived. Hey, my bad man...he don' know nothin' about your rights, you know? I mean, he just don' know about how we all supposed to be treatin' you fairly, you know, treatin' you like you were a real member of society...treatin' you like you had some rights like those lawyers done be sayin' all the time. Even if somehow you could do some squirmin' and cryin' and shufflin' along on TV with your poor o-pressed head down and your suffrin' little lips poutin' and some sweet protectin' dignity-of-man lawyer be standin' in that hedge right now briefcase and all...guess what? He be takin' one look at what be comin' through that hedge at you, my man, and he be takin' all his writs and his motions-to-show-cause and his pin-striped suit, and he be makin' himself be gone. That's right, sucker...you bad, you so bad, and now you're alone and that poleese dog is on you."
No photos, maps, index.
As is typical, his marriage is gradually failing through the chapters; I was surprised it lasted so long. I myself don't much like the scenes from the cop bar, but that is how it is. He is very sympathetic toward working stiffs; it is especially revealed in the stolen pink bicycle case.
The author was in good shape and recalls for readers several chases of suspects. The end of one long pursuit through streets, alleys, and back yards, the perp having finally hidden under a bush by the police dog that accompanied him: "He wants you. He been followin' your filthy trail through all the yards. He been on ass and now he has arrived. Hey, my bad man...he don' know nothin' about your rights, you know? I mean, he just don' know about how we all supposed to be treatin' you fairly, you know, treatin' you like you were a real member of society...treatin' you like you had some rights like those lawyers done be sayin' all the time. Even if somehow you could do some squirmin' and cryin' and shufflin' along on TV with your poor o-pressed head down and your suffrin' little lips poutin' and some sweet protectin' dignity-of-man lawyer be standin' in that hedge right now briefcase and all...guess what? He be takin' one look at what be comin' through that hedge at you, my man, and he be takin' all his writs and his motions-to-show-cause and his pin-striped suit, and he be makin' himself be gone. That's right, sucker...you bad, you so bad, and now you're alone and that poleese dog is on you."
No photos, maps, index.
