Bad Luck Cadet (5 page)

Tuesday and Thursday mornings were defensive
tactics. Sgt. Tillman was our instructor. He was in his late
forties, in fantastic shape, and basically kicked the shit out of
us. We were hit, knocked down and handcuffed until our wrists were
raw. I had bruises everywhere. Ice packs became my new best friend.
My roommate and I bought a small refrigerator for our room and I
was able to keep the packs frozen. It was cheaper than the chemical
packs, though I still carried those for emergencies.

During the first and second weeks of defensive
tactics we learned how to fall. We were tested on falling forward
from a standing position, turning our heads to the side (so we
didn’t break our nose), and landing just on our palms and toes.
It’s hard not to use your knees to break your fall, and some of the
cadets had difficulty but eventually we all succeeded.

We also started learning pain compliance
techniques; wrist locks and joint control. The painful part for us
was practicing on each other.

Proper search techniques were taught as well.
I learned men like to hide things in their “junk.” This means I had
to search their “packages” thoroughly. The male cadets had a harder
time searching the women than we did the men. We all had to get
over our mental rebellion and learn to grope and be groped. The TSA
had nothing on us.

My arms were twisted and I was thrown to the
ground too many times to count. I would limp to my room after
training, take some Ibuprofen, apply ice packs while changing my
cloths and then head to breakfast.

Rocco and I began skipping dinner, eating a
power bar and working out. We were barely keeping up in physical
training and our POPAT practice was beginning the following week.
By the end of my second week I had lost ten pounds and Rocco
twenty-three.

My roommate Donna and I were becoming good
friends as well. She had been in the army for four years and worked
at a grocery store before coming to the police academy. She was
thirty-two years old and wanted a better life for her son. She was
single and her mother was keeping her son while she attended the
academy. She told me she didn’t really like the military but
dreamed of being a police officer. She was getting her asthma under
control and had moved to the middle of the pack when
running.

Once a week, we did not run together but did a
personal best run. I was proud of Donna's advancement, but this put
me dead last. Rocco finished about a quarter mile in front of me
and everyone else was able to cool down while waiting for me to
cross the finish line. I was then given two minutes to rest before
hitting the weight room. Physical training was my worst
nightmare.

I was also struggling with pushups. Sgt.
Dickless, I mean Dickens, had pointed me out as a weak link for his
class. He seemed to spend more time on my morning inspection than
on other cadets. He loved giving us all pushups for my infractions.
I didn’t get his exclusive attention but it was apparent he had it
out for me.

The entire class referred to Sgt. Dickens as
Sgt. Dickless -- when we were out of his hearing. And it became
second nature to call him by this nickname. I was also
incorporating the “F” word in my vocabulary. It seemed to be how
every cadet talked and it was becoming just another word. I never
swore a lot before the academy but the only way to describe a hill
run was to call it a “fucking” hill run. No other word did it
justice.

Sgt. Dickless decided I was doing improper
pushups and not going down far enough. He told the class he was
adding five hill runs every day until I could do them correctly.
The class was pissed and I was getting angry glances.

Class leader Clark said he would help me out
that evening. He showed me a proper pushup and I could barely
complete ten. If Sgt. Dickless was going to be watching me the
entire class was in trouble. I added pushups to my nightly workout
routine.

That week we did five extra fucking hill runs
every day with Sgt. Dickless screaming at the bottom about whose
fault it was. Mine. Because I was a forty-five year-old woman who
couldn't do a proper fucking push-up.

By Friday, I was beyond spent. We did our hill
runs at the end of the day, including the extra five for my
improper push-ups. Cadets began heading to the dorms to collect
their things for the weekend. I was walking next to
Rocco.

“Sgt. Dickless," I said with feeling, "is a
fucked up piece of shit.”

I was grabbed by the arm and spun around. Sgt.
Dickens stood there, veins popping.

“I will see you immediately in my
office!”

Rocco gave me a look of complete terror. I
gave him a small push in the direction of the dorms and immediately
turned myself in the direction of Sgt. Dickens' office and began
marching. This was like being in grade school all over. I was
forty-five years old and being sent to the office. I swore I would
not cry.

Sgt. Dickens was staring at his computer and
waited about five minutes before speaking to me. I knew this drill.
I’d used it on my own children.

His voice was low when he finally spoke, “Why
are you here Cadet Ivy?”

Before I could answer he went on.

“You can’t run, you’re overweight, too old and
you are not cut out to be a police officer. Is this a joke to you?"
he demanded, "Will your social club give you a certificate if you
complete two weeks of the academy? How about making it easy on
everyone by going home today and not coming back on Monday? Let me
add this, if you come back on Monday I will make your life a living
hell.”

I believed him. My stomach was a quivering
mass of jelly, but I looked him straight in the eye.

"I became a police officer because I can do
the job. I apologize for my lack of respect today but I will be
back on Monday.”

He shook his head and told me I would have ten
personal hill runs on Monday. He then dismissed me. I didn’t cry,
at least not until I was in my car and heading home.

I had now made the worst enemy
possible.

Chapter 9 I Will Never Call Dickface Dickless
Again

My weekend consisted of lazing around and
doing as little as possible. It didn’t matter that the house was a
mess. Keeping the ice packs in place under the ace bandages on my
arms and legs was my first priority.

I finally felt better by Saturday night. My
husband took me out to dinner and with the help of couple of
margaritas I regaled him with an edited version of events. I didn’t
tell him what awaited me on Monday. I made the entire academy
experience sound like a lark. He was glad I was doing so
well.

I left at two in the afternoon on Sunday and
made it back to campus for study group. My class adviser had the
short straw that week and he was in the classroom ready to prepare
us for the test. His name was Corporal Tsisonnee, pronounced
Tis-on-knee. He was quiet and had not interacted much with the
class. I needed advise, and decided to speak with him after we
finished.

He told me he had been informed of my
transgression the previous Friday. He asked what I was going to do
about it. I told him I needed to change Sgt. Dickens’ mind, and
somehow redeem myself. Corporal Tsisonnee told me it would be hard,
and it would take a lot of heart.

There was that phrase again. Sgt. Spears from
STPD had used it as well. Corporal Tsisonnee said he believed in
me, and I could succeed if I truly wanted to. I left feeling
better.

The following morning no one was looking at
me. Word had spread and I was not a person you wanted to be seen
with. Rocco and Donna were my only allies. I think everyone else
was surprised I’d returned.

For physical training we headed out to the
POPAT training field. We were taken through the obstacle course,
and I got to drag the dummy for the first time. It wasn’t
easy.

Next, we headed to the fences. The chain link
was not a problem because you could get a toe hold in the fencing.
The six foot wall was a nightmare. There were five of us that
couldn’t make it over. Rocco was one. Donna, though, made it over
on her first try. Rocco and I decided we would head back out that
evening and work on the wall some more.

Morning inspection was a nightmare. My shoes
were perfect but not according to Sgt. Dickens. He stepped on my
toe, and then complained I had dust on my boot. He also complained
about my hair wisps touching my collar. It didn’t stop there. He
gave the entire class twenty pushups for each infraction I had. He
watched me like a hawk, and I managed to pull through the
punishments.

During our first week, we were given school
identification cards. We attached them to our shirt pockets. We
were told if we lost an ID card it would be like losing our police
badge and the punishments would be endless. A cadet reported his
missing badge to our class leader, and Cadet Clark reported it to
the sergeant. Sgt. Dickens told us to be at the running track for
lunch.

Before the lunch punishment, we had to take
our weekly test. I only missed five of eighty-five questions and
had the fourth highest score in the class. It was a relief, but I
was more worried about what was ahead because of the missing ID
card. We double timed it to the track and saw Sgt. Dickens waiting
for us.

There was a flock of large black birds on the
football field, and Sgt. Dickens told us one of the birds had our
ID card. We all started chasing the birds. Sgt. Dickens then
shouted we needed to be begging the birds to give us back the
card.

We started begging loudly saying, “Here birdy
birdy, give us back our ID card please.”

We ran across the field and through campus
following those damned birds. The college kids got a real kick out
of us yelling at the birds. This went on throughout the entire
lunch hour.

Sgt. Dickens then told us the birds had left
the ID on the hill at the water tower and we could look after
class. Starving and dehydrated we headed back to the
classroom.

We ran the hill that day until we couldn’t see
straight. I think the only reason we were allowed to stop was that
several cadets looked as if they would pass out.

When everyone left, I stayed behind to do my
ten punishment hills. Cadet Clark told me he had to stay and
monitor me and he waited at the bottom of the hill. A young Cadet
by the name of Philip Rodriguez (P-Rod) stayed behind as well. He
told me he didn’t want me to do the hills alone, so he ran by my
side.

As we ran, he told me about himself. I was
incapable of speech at this point. Every breath was a struggle.
Cadet Rodriguez was twenty years old, and would be turning
twenty-one in a few weeks. He’d worked at a county jail, and had
waited until he was old enough to attend the police
academy.

He said he admired me for coming when I was so
old. I didn’t take offense. I was feeling particularly ancient and
just happy to have someone with me. He chatted the entire time and
didn't seem to mind that I didn't have the breath to spare for any
encouraging remarks. Fortunately, I didn't have any food in my
system to throw up or I would have. I did spit up some foul tasting
liquid that I assume was bile.

Cadet Rodriguez told me he was struggling with
the weekly classroom tests, and asked if I would tutor him. He said
he would shine my shoes nightly if I was willing to help. So we
made a deal.

That night, after the run, I went to
Rodriguez’ room with notes and boots in hand. His roommates were
busy shining their boots and said they wanted to participate as
well.

My boots were passed around. As the weeks went
by we fit about eight cadets nightly in that small room and I also
had a study group at my breakfast table on Monday mornings before
our tests.

The next day I began the Pushup Club. During
every break I worked on my pushups. We added one pushup daily to
the total we did at each break. I kept track of our totals for the
entire day, week and month.

Including our morning punishment for
inspection the Pushup Club did 843 pushups our first week. It
started with just Rocco and me but we soon had about ten cadets
joining us. I don’t think they needed to do the pushups but our
efforts were being noticed by the Sergeant and advisors. Anything
that made us look good was on the agenda, because we were told
repeatedly we were pieces of shit and not fit to wear a
badge.

We were finally given permission to put on our
duty belts. We were also issued “blue guns” and told to practice
our draw. Blue guns are hard rubber imitation firearms, matching
our department issue gun. Thank god I had gone out shooting before
the academy and knew what kind of gun I had. It was nice to wear
our belts and not carry them everywhere.

By the end of the week my fellow cadets were
treating me normally, but Sgt. Dickens was not happy. On Friday I
was given an additional ten hill runs for dropping a piece of paper
on the floor in the hallway. We only had five hills to run as a
group that Friday, and the entire class ran my ten with me. As I
ran, there was a litany going through my head.

"I will never call Dickface Dickless again. I
will never call Dickface Dickless again. I will
never..."