No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (16 page)

I was assigned to the district in my third and final year at Rostad. At the time, general duty personnel or detachment men were similar to general practitioners in the medical profession. We were responsible for all police activity in the rural area surrounding the community. We worked day shifts, conducting many diverse investigations, but were also on call at night. The large Native reserve fell within our responsibilities, and after-hours calls were numerous. A routine month would see most detachment personnel logging 14- to 16-hour days.

After responding to several of these after-hours calls and occasionally working well into the early morning, I took it upon myself to approach Sergeant Page with what I thought was a reasonable request. Knowing I was confronting a traditional leader who managed through intimidation, I approached his office with no small measure of trepidation. During my audience, I explained the problem of working late into the night and having to be on duty first thing in the morning. I suggested the option of allowing the member responding to after-hours calls to sleep later and commence his day shift at 10:00 a.m. Sergeant Page reacted in a rage, saying I had no business telling him how to run his detachment. I was upbraided for what he considered as insubordination. Page informed me that detachment members responded to any and all calls, and their lack of sleep was of no concern to him. He reminded me that he was required to operate in this fashion when he was a constable, and nothing was going to change. I was instructed to continue my duties and leave the running of the operation to him. If I was unhappy with this, I was welcome to request a transfer. It was another example of top-down supervision. Any suggestions from subordinates were more likely than not viewed as the start of insurrection.

My specific area of responsibility was the Cree reserve. I was required to train a new recruit but was largely left to my own devices. My first objective was to establish some rapport on the reserve. I contacted a tribal constable, Gerry Wuttunee, who had been recently hired by the band, and offered to coach him on criminal law and federal and provincial statutes. Gerry and I developed a good working relationship. One evening, I dropped in to the detachment while off duty and saw Constable Wuttunee in the public foyer, sitting alone as duty personnel were in the lounge having coffee. When I invited him into the lounge for coffee, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable but followed me into the room. We immediately encountered a cool silence, and two members got up and left. Later, when I asked them what the problem was, they told me there was no way they were going to drink coffee with an Indian. There were obviously some inherent bad attitudes within the detachment that would be difficult to change, and I realized the atmosphere was not going to get much better.

During this period, a senior constable name Wilf Cott received a promotion and transferred to Boulder, a small community nearby that bordered another large Native reserve noted for its plethora of social problems and alcohol abuse. Boulder was a small command consisting of a corporal and two constables, and it occurred to me that if any location needed an NCO with empathy, insight and a flair for innovative policing, Boulder was it. Knowing Cott’s history, I was certain he was not the man for the job. He had spent several years at Rostad, a community fraught with problems identical to those he was about to confront. Cott was a surly, bitter individual who solved problems with physical force. Woe to the prisoner in the guardroom who hesitated to do his instant bidding! Cott tended to take his frustration out on Native clients in the cellblock, punishing individuals who were already almost defenceless thanks to excessive drinking.

Not long after Cott was settled in his new detachment, he received a call at his residence from a local gas station about a group of aboriginal men who had just departed the premises without paying for their fuel. The now Corporal Cott responded in civilian clothing and a marked police car. It wasn’t long before he spotted the offending vehicle travelling on an isolated road on the reserve. Cott pulled in behind it with lights flashing. The vehicle stopped, and several young men disembarked. Carrying a shotgun, Cott confronted the driver. Without warning, he clubbed the young man with the butt of the shotgun. The other three men jumped Cott, knocked him down and viciously assaulted him. As he lay on the ground, barely conscious, one of the men picked up the shotgun and held it to the corporal’s head. He was about to pull the trigger when one of the other occupants of the vehicle intervened. The man holding the shotgun had recognized Cott as the policeman despised by many Native people who had suffered at his hands. However, sanity prevailed and, after taking Cott’s wallet and shotgun, the culprits left him on the side of the road, badly injured. Cott was later discovered by a passerby and rushed to the hospital.

This series of events precipitated one of the largest manhunts in the area. Dozens of policemen converged on the reserve in an effort to apprehend the suspects. After several days, they were caught hiding in a dwelling and surrendered without incident. All were charged initially with attempted murder. While Cott’s unsavoury reputation did not give the young men licence to beat him so severely, many people in the community understood the history between the victim and the four accused, and it was widely anticipated that the defence counsel would bring up Corporal Cott’s reputation during the trial. Whatever the reason, the charges were reduced to assault of a peace officer. The accused entered guilty pleas and were given lengthy jail sentences.

One would assume that a victim of such a life-threatening experience would pause and contemplate why it had happened. This was not to be. For years after the incident, the corporal would proudly display large framed photographs of his ruined face taken shortly after his admission to hospital. He wore his scars like badges of courage and changed nothing in his approach to policing. He retired soon after, having done much damage to RCMP relationships with Native people.

Back in Rostad, Sergeant Page’s social behaviour indicated serious alcohol problems. On more than one occasion, while returning from an afternoon of drinking, he lost control of his police car, slid off a snowy road and landed in a ditch. He could be heard over the police radio calling for assistance, his slurred speech indicating his condition. Page had chosen two or three cronies at the detachment as his regular drinking pals. One evening, he travelled out into the district to locate two of these members who been drinking while on duty. Urgent calls had gone out to them with no response. Sergeant Page left the comfort of his home to search for them, found them and returned to the detachment. He took the two offenders into his office, closed the door and could be heard laying down the law. I could also hear his subordinates challenging him, advising that if any official discipline were to be meted out, they would be apprising management of Page’s own indiscretions. Page capitulated and declined to pursue the matter. From that moment on, his credibility was tainted and his control of the operation diminished. As happened with many other unfit members, he would go on to be promoted unjustifiably.

AFTER SERVING THREE
western Canadian communities, I had reached some conclusions regarding policing, demographics, the human condition and the state of my beloved Force. In all of these communities, most anti-social behaviour was carried out by approximately 10 percent of the population. This was true of white and non-white citizens. By virtue of their ethnicity, Native clientele were more visible, and police interaction with them was more conspicuous. It was clear to me that the social problems on most Native reserves were attributable to poverty rather than race. Inevitably, poorer people of all stripes tend to receive the most police attention, even though alcoholism and drug abuse are equally prevalent in affluent settings. The upper strata of the community do not generally attract police scrutiny, primarily because the abuse is subverted and less visible. When offences are discovered, the rich have competent legal teams to defend them in court. This is much less likely to be the case with those at the lower end of the economic hierarchy. Youth transgressions also receive greater police attention due to their higher visibility. A group of teens is much more likely to be challenged and charged with liquor and drug offences than their parents, who might well be breaking the same laws, but in a more private fashion.

I also observed that the prominent personalities in every town I served, though they differed in gender, age and background, were strikingly similar from location to location in their self-image, attitude and demeanour. This was true not only of the town mayors but of others occupying positions of leadership in a community—town secretary, doctor, parish priest, car dealer or owner of the grocery store. In addition, not unlike physicians, police are privy to all the deep, dark secrets of the community, and therefore it has always been incumbent on them to use the utmost discretion. In small communities, the RCMP are very aware of who has alcohol or drug problems, who is abusing his or her spouse and who is cheating on whom at all levels of society.

In areas of the country where there are high concentrations of Slavic peoples, it was disconcerting to observe a clear and present irrational fear of the RCMP. This was especially evident among the elders who had emigrated from their native lands. Many of them were extremely nervous and even distraught when we would arrive at their farms unannounced. Some would hide in an attempt to avoid contact. As I got to know some of the older people personally, I queried them on their seeming initial discomfort with the police. It seemed the uniform we were so proud of—the forage hat, breeches and boots and distinctive brown tunic—projected an image not dissimilar to that of the German storm troopers and Gestapo who so terrified certain Slavic nations that were conquered and occupied during the Second World War. It was just another example of how skewed perceptions can be. When we learned of this surprising reaction, we took extra care to reassure those who needed reassurance that we were indeed there to serve, not persecute.

Surprisingly, high-profile crimes such as murders and serious assaults were often the easiest to solve. Most violent offences are committed by someone known to the victim. This meant we were often able to make quick arrests and then spent most of our time on the case preparing for court. The primary law-enforcement focus at that point was ensuring evidence was properly collected and catalogued. Every effort was made to consider the rights of the accused. Members learned these procedures thoroughly during their service and often received additional support from specialized sections when a serious crime was committed. By far the most energy on a typical general-duty police operation was devoted to preservation of the peace, protection of property and incidents pertaining to motor vehicles. These routine incidents filled our days and sometimes became monotonous. Only occasionally were we titillated by more serious offences. It was always interesting to witness the enthusiasm and dynamism with which members embarked upon a major or unique investigation.

Perhaps the most attractive aspect of general-duty policing was the diversity. Even though much of the work was mundane, the phone often would ring and send us off in an unexpected direction. Occasionally, while conducting enquiries, we would come across information that would either open a new investigation or surface leads to a current one. Unlike working at a factory job or in a bank, no two days were ever the same. Perhaps the key to this was the uniqueness of the citizens and their different reactions to the police.

By 1970 I had nine years’ service and was at the low point of my career. The detachment work environment at Rostad was toxic. Morale was low, and I wanted out. In some ways it was paradoxical, as my time at this detachment had been a vast learning experience due to the complexity and volume of police work I had encountered. There was an astounding diversity in investigations, and this had been the most demanding and intense of my work assignments so far. Sadly, it had also demonstrated—yet again—how a detachment should not be managed.

The inherent flaws in RCMP management practices demonstrated by detachment commanders were very disturbing. The expectation of unrealistic work hours and lack of recognition was demoralizing. There was nowhere to turn to voice dissatisfaction. Occasionally a staffing officer or NCO would visit to interview members, but no complaints were uttered and none were expected. In the unlikely event that a member expressed a concern about his detachment, he was instantly put on the defensive and told it would be far better to settle differences locally rather than air them outside the detachment. The cavalry regiment mentality was pervasive. All decisions were for the “good of the Force,” and this attitude was consistent across the country. Precisely when I was contemplating resigning from the Force, I received a call from my section NCO. He had been asked to identify potential instructors for the training division in Regina and wished to submit my name as a candidate. That phone call would change my career and perhaps my life.

All RCMP members carry memories of their training experience, not all of them pleasant. Consequently, I had misgivings. A corporal whom I respected in a neighbouring detachment was a former instructor, and I sought his input. He advised me not to turn down this opportunity, as it was one of the peak experiences in his own career, so I immediately informed the staff sergeant of my interest. Soon after, I was sent on a month-long odyssey consisting of an instructional technique course in Ottawa, followed by a course for potential instructors in Regina.

At the Canadian Police College (CPC) in Ottawa, candidates learned the basic tools of adult education. The courses were taught by skilled instructors and enhanced my confidence amazingly, especially when speaking in front of a group. Yet the experience was not without stress, as there was a pass/fail component and some candidates were unsuccessful. After completing the two-week school of instructional technique, we travelled to Depot Division in Regina, where we were presented with the opportunity to ply our new teaching skills. We were closely scrutinized by the experienced instructors, who had a vested interest in determining our suitability to join their faculty. Soon after my return from Regina and Ottawa, I found out that I would be posted to the academic section, Depot Division.