No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (15 page)

Not all duties were as interesting or challenging as a murder investigation. One of the many and varied duties foisted upon RCMP members is acting as agents for the provincial public trustee. In cases of sudden death where there are no apparent survivors of the deceased, RCMP members must take inventory of all items found in the victim’s possession. It is often an onerous task, as many elderly people living alone tend to eccentricity and some are hoarders who have not taken care of themselves or their property. In one such case, we removed the body of an elderly man who had died in his shack, surrounded by boxes filled with his possessions. I knew the job was going to be challenging, so we began to separate items of some value from those that had to be destroyed. It was going to take days of painstaking work to clear everything away.

On about the third day, I was starting to deal with the kitchen area, which was laden with packages of unopened foodstuffs. Just prior to throwing a large tin of flour onto the garbage heap, I opened it and sifted my fingers through the flour. I will never know why I did this, but my fingers felt something solid in the flour. I pulled out a tobacco tin that had been concealed there. Opening it, I was shocked to discover that it contained $2,500 in cash. I immediately called for another member to witness my discovery and filed an exhibit report about the money. My find generated a human-interest story in the local paper, which included the deceased man’s name. Subsequently, a living relative and his wife appeared on the scene to claim the money. At that point a good news story turned rather ugly. The great-grandson of the decedent alleged that the old man had been hiding money for years and that there should have been much more, implying that the police had found a larger stash and kept it for themselves. There was no basis for their claim, and we were exonerated.

Valley Bluff contributed many building blocks to my development as a peace officer. It was a stable community with a strong agricultural base. My work was complex and varied, offering many opportunities to practise the craft of law enforcement. Partway through my tour of duty, I was assigned to court detail. During the time I served at Valley Bluff, the member handling court detail performed all the duties of a modern Crown Counsel. Today, Crown Counsel manages court proceedings, including the approval of all charges. Formerly, the police decided on the appropriate charge, except in the most serious offences, when the Crown would be consulted. Although the current system better reflects the fundamentals of jurisprudence, I found that I learned a great deal through determining appropriate charges, handling a court docket, prosecuting less serious cases and even conducting preliminary hearings. It gave me confidence to express my point of view and is perhaps one of the reasons I was eventually identified for the training division as an instructor.

Our provincial magistrate, Orest Melnyk, was a retired farmer. His knowledge of the law was limited to his on-the-job reading, and his daily contact with members of the bar. The processing of the weekly court docket illustrated the close relationship the police enjoyed with the judiciary, which gave RCMP members a position of elevated community responsibility. In those halcyon years of the 1960s the police were allowed liberties that would be unheard of today.

Each week, prior to opening court, Magistrate Melnyk and I relaxed over a cup of coffee and went through each of the police files. We discussed each set of circumstances, and the magistrate “consulted” me regarding the penalty in the event of a guilty plea. A considerable amount of tact was required on my part, but if the individual was a repeat offender or was uncooperative at the time of the offence, I suggested that those factors be considered. Often the magistrate asked me to suggest an appropriate fine. In some cases of repeat offenders, I thought a jail sentence was appropriate. In each case, the penalty suggested by me or other RCMP members was followed to the letter. This approach worked to the advantage of the justice system and was quite equitable, as long as the police handling the court docket were not vindictive. However, it’s easy to recognize the pitfalls of such procedures, which have long since been stopped, particularly with the demise of lay magistrates. In accordance with the timeworn adage “Not only must Justice be done; it must also be seen to be done,” it became necessary to remove the police from such an intimate relationship with the judiciary. In the contemporary judicial system in Canada, the responsibilities of Crown, defence and police are clearly delineated.

Back then, the neutrality of the justice system was occasionally sorely tried. In one such case, an accused person appeared before a lay magistrate in a court close to Mountain Park. When this hapless chap entered a plea of “not guilty,” the magistrate roared, “‘Not guilty’? What do you mean ‘not guilty’? The RCMP would not have brought you before me if you weren’t guilty!”

In those earlier days of prairie justice, it was not unusual for defence counsel to nurture the prosecuting constable, prompting him if he had forgotten potentially vital components of his case. The constable would quickly include the missing component, which might very well win the case for him. Such was the positive relationship between police and many solicitors.

DURING THE 1960s,
in response to impaired driving and the resulting highway carnage, the Borkenstein Breathalyzer was invented to analyze breath samples to measure the amount of alcohol in the blood. I was interviewed to determine my interest in becoming a Breathalyzer technician/operator. Realizing this qualification could stream me back into traffic enforcement, I approached the opportunity with some hesitation. The Breathalyzer, however, was cutting-edge technology, and I wished to be involved. I returned to Regina for training, which was extremely rigorous. After successfully completing the course, I returned to my detachment, but not for long. In the winter of 1968, I relocated to Rostad, Alberta.

THE BREATHALYZER OPERATOR
in Rostad, which was located northeast of Valley Bluff, had been working alone and under considerable stress thanks to the demands of the new technology, so I had been sent there to give him some relief. When I arrived, however, my counterpart was transferred to another location. As the sole Breathalyzer operator, I was on 24/7 stand-by, in addition to my traffic responsibilities, which entailed alternating day and afternoon shifts.

During my first year at Rostad, I administered 300 breath tests. Life became a treadmill. Many of these breath tests were administered while I was on my regular shift. During the other 16 hours of my day, impaired drivers kept appearing and calls for my assistance did not stop. I simply sat at home and waited for the phone to ring. Because the Breathalyzer was new technology, many impaired driving charges supported by breath evidence were appealed to district court, compelling my evidential presence. The legal profession was challenging every aspect of the new impaired-driving legislation, thereby establishing court precedents through case law. While it was exciting to be involved in an initiative that would change community attitudes toward drinking and driving, it was also a time of inordinate physical and mental demands. Another operator came on board during my second year at Rostad, bringing some relief. At the same time, I was transferred to municipal duties.

Our second child, Michelle, was born in April 1968. This brought additional worry and stress, as she suffered from Rh disease and needed three blood transfusions shortly after birth. Because the local facilities were inadequate, she had been born in an Edmonton hospital and had to stay there until she was healthy enough to be brought home.

While the Breathalyzer duties were now shared, work on the town detail was equally demanding. Rostad was populated by francophones, English and Irish and was situated next to one of the largest Cree reservations in western Canada. The town detail consisted of a corporal and two constables, leaving only one person on the evening shift. The two hotel beer parlours were the source of many disturbance calls, especially on welfare and family-allowance payment days. Alcohol abuse was rampant, and the constable on duty, particularly during the evening hours, was solely responsible for preserving the peace and tranquility of the town.

In this occasionally unruly community, I witnessed the disruptive power of a woman. I will call her Agnes Stone. While her name is not important, her physical prowess most certainly was. Standing five feet four inches tall and almost as wide, she possessed a great capacity for alcohol but became extremely anti-social when drinking. If she was spotted under the influence, RCMP members would cross the street rather than initiate a confrontation. Much like the wolverine in the wilderness, it was in everybody’s interest to avoid crossing her path. When she was in town, the entire detachment was on edge, secretly hoping she would quietly take on her load of liquor and pass out peacefully in a state of alcoholic bliss. Occasionally, she would find fault with something or someone, and the dreaded call requesting an intervention would arrive at the detachment.

On one of her more memorable junkets, Agnes created a disturbance at a local hotel. We knew more than one police officer would be required, so straws were drawn, and three stalwart guardians embarked to preserve the peace. We confronted Stone, respectfully asking if she had any interest in joining us in the police vehicle. She responded by throwing a chair at one of the members. Eventually, three sweating, torn and forlorn defenders of the peace returned to the detachment with our guest. When asked to vacate the police car, Stone promptly kicked out the back window. Sergeant Page, himself a large, intimidating presence, heard the disturbance and appeared on the scene to demonstrate how to deal with intoxicated persons. Assuming that our client would respect his rank, Page leaned into the back door of the police car to demand the lady’s exit. As he placed his head in the car, she hit him with a Mike Tyson right jab on the side of the jaw, knocking him senseless to the pavement. Thirty minutes, several torn uniform shirts, one broken pair of glasses and very little dignity left among five exhausted RCMP members later, Stone was safely ensconced in a detachment cell. We could only hope this lady would someday marry and become enthralled with domestic life.

Rostad was my first exposure to a large Native community. At the time, communication between the detachment members and Native people was dismal, and encounters between the two groups were often accompanied by conflict. The predominant RCMP mindset toward Aboriginals was antipathy. It was not uncommon to witness aggression and occasional brutality in the cellblock. When a social gathering or dance was scheduled on the reserve, tension would build at the detachment. No proactive measures were initiated to reduce the possibility of trouble, but the police contingent was always highly visible at the event. Resentment and distrust were rampant between the factions, setting the stage for confrontation. Inevitably, police vehicles sustained damage, and from time to time members were injured. The response of many Native communities during this period of emerging militancy was predictable. Canada’s federal police force was not welcome on their home turf and some Native youths viewed the RCMP as an “army of occupation.”