Behind the Badge (eBook)

Chapter 1

Joining the Department

I never gave much thought about being a cop; it was a decision more or less made by accident. I left the Marine Corps as a Sergeant in February of 1967, and was looking forward to resuming the life I had prior to my military obligation. I took a job as a draftsman at the Budd Company Railcar Division, on Red Lion Road in the Northeast section of Philadelphia. After several threats of going out on strike from union grievances with the shop-end of the company, I was getting frustrated. I had rent to pay and other financial responsibilities and couldn’t afford the loss of a pay check. At the end of April I decided I had enough, and was going to return to the Marine Corps. While riding in a subway-car towards 30th Street Railroad Station, I looked up at a marquee advertising jobs with the Philadelphia Police Department. Thinking about it for a moment I figured, Why not? I had nothing to lose.” Getting off the subway at city hall I went up the stairs and entered the building. I inquired at the information desk about the job, and was handed a 3” x 5” card to fill-out. Handing the card back, the person behind the desk noted I had just left the military and handed me a test booklet. I sat back down and answered the questions the best I could. They were general information questions about my background and education level. It also had questions pertaining to the geography of the city. After handing the test back, I was told I’d receive a card in the mail of when and where I was to go.

Within a few days the card came with the test score. I scored high, and on the card it gave the location where I was to report, the Police Administration Building at 8th and Race Street in center city. Gathering with other applicants in the auditorium on a Thursday afternoon at 4:30 p.m., we were given a lecture about the department. After the lecture, we were told to report to the Police Academy on State Road on Monday morning the 15th of May.

***

After arriving at the academy we were separated into two groups; around thirty people to a class. The training wasn’t much physically, especially just after leaving the Marine Corps, and the introduction to the Pennsylvania Penal Code was brief. The pistol range, first aid and driving test seemed to be the highlight of our brief training, and after six weeks we graduated and given our assignments. At the time there was civil unrest in many cities and although Philadelphia was relatively calm, there were around thirty five veteran officers a month either quitting or retiring. I believe part of the reason was the twelve hour shifts we were on with no days off. At the time, the city didn’t pay overtime; it was what they called compensatory time. Something you could take at a later date that somehow disappeared.

Most of the graduating -class, were detailed as a standby unit at the Palestra Stadium in West Philadelphia. The city had several busses used for transporting us in mass to any location where any civil unrest was arising. This program was financed by the Federal Government, and with that knowledge, I realized it wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

As the shortage of men continued, a few of us were sent to a taskforce unit. This was a separate unit that would normally work from 7 p.m. to 3 a.m., overlapping the normal squads in districts. The assignments were always in the busier districts with the highest crime rate.

Being one of the men assigned to task force, I didn’t care for the hours. It was mid-summer and we had been on a schedule of twelve hour days with no days off since graduating from the Police Academy. I had been working with several different people there, but realized at some point, I would be assigned a permanent partner. Several weeks after Labor Day, the twelve hour shifts ended, and I was told I would be working with a veteran cop by the nickname of Iron Mike.

***

The day I was to be assigned, I left my apartment wondering what the new partner would be like, and walking to my car, I looked up at the unusually brisk late afternoon September sky. Fall was in the air, and I was hoping cooler temperatures would have an effect on whether the radio calls would be light or heavy for the 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift. Fridays were always busy in police work, but I was hoping cooler temperatures would prevail.

After arriving at headquarters, I could hear the crackle of police broadcasts from some of the districts in the operations room, and quickly realized my assumption of cooler weather having a positive affect was dead wrong. It sounded like Dodge City in the 22nd and 23rd Districts in North Philadelphia, and the same in West Division the 16th and the 18th. The West end of the 25th District sounded busy as well, and areas in South Philly were also humming with activity.

At the time, the police department in Philadelphia had three normal rotating shifts in the districts. The shifts actually worked in reverse, midnight to 8 a.m., 4 p.m., midnight, and finally 8 a.m., to 4 p.m. each weekly tour being six days in length, with two days off. Sometime later, the Fraternal Order of Police noticed we were working an extra day without pay, and instead of paying for the extra day, the city worked out a deal where we were given a day off during the month in lieu of the money.

Task Force wasn’t a district per se’. We would get our assignments from a central command that kept track of high crime areas in districts we covered. The reason for the 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. hours, we were an overlapping force while the normal squads changed shifts. That, and the fact the districts we patrolled desperately needed the extra coverage.

It wasn’t abnormal for the police cars permanently assigned to one of those districts to handle eighteen to twenty radio assignments on the 4p.m. to midnight tour, especially in the summer months. To give you an idea of what it was like. While working one Friday 4 p.m. to midnight in North Central, amongst other calls, there were eight shootings within an eight hour shift, four within a fifteen-minute time span. Police radio broadcaster that evening was even temporarily confused asking what cars were going in on which assignment.

We used to refer to those districts as the, “The Wild, Wild West.” It wasn’t difficult to make a gun arrest or narcotics bust in those districts, the areas were rife with that sort of activity. At times, it seemed like some of the people were oblivious to police presence, or didn’t care much about punishment if caught.

I recall an incident while we were stopped in traffic on Market Street in West Philadelphia, in the 18th District. Two men walking down Market Street at 7:30 p.m., picked up a trash can and hurled it through the front window of a furniture store still open for business. Picking up a sofa, they proceeded to walk away as if it was normal, with onlookers seemingly paying little or no attention to it.

Most warm evenings were brutal, especially when the weather was hotter than normal. Oftentimes, people were still out partying at 3 or 4 a.m. I would recall many times what one veteran cop told me not long after joining the force, “Kid, you’ll find out the best cop on the street is bad weather. It keeps everybody indoors.”

I stood roll call with other members of the squad that day and we were given our assignments. The sergeant said, “Bishop, you’ll be working with Iron Mike.” I didn’t know him personally, but already knew his reputation from other comments I had heard from other cops. Looking down the line of men I saw him looking back at me, and wondered what was going through his mind.

After roll-call we walked outside to our patrol car. After checking it for any unclaimed damage, we refueled. I was about to get in the passenger seat when he said, “Here kid,” tossing me the car-keys over the hood of the car. After getting in the driver’s seat he gave me a cold stare for a few moments, and I realized he was doing it for one purpose. That was to make sure he had my full attention; because what he had to say was important. Sensing I was becoming uncomfortable, he finally said, “Remember this kid, it’s better to be tried by twelve than carried by six. Now drive and don’t get me fucking killed.”

I realized the power of that statement within the first two hours of the shift. Driving east on Indiana Avenue, around 6th Street, there was a guy holding a shotgun on another male. Mike quickly said, “Pin him to the wall.” Without hesitation I drove up on the sidewalk as he commanded, and quickly exited the vehicle with my service revolver at the ready. I believe I impressed him with that first encounter and we fell into a mutual trust of having one another’s back.

I enjoyed driving and I believe it gave Mike the ability to observe more around us, something that would become second nature after being on the street for awhile. One of his strongest points was having a knack for sensing stolen cars. The same night as the shotgun incident, we were traveling west along Lehigh Avenue. The street’s wide enough to handle a parking lane on each side and two traffic lanes in each direction. Around 8th Street, he observed a car load of what appeared to be Hispanic kids driving east. I never noticed them but Mike said, “Make a U-turn and get behind that green Chevy.” I did as I was told and within a few blocks caught up to the car. Looking at the hot sheet, (a paper printed daily with stolen auto license plate numbers) he said, “That’s a stolen car, give him the...