No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (7 page)

The drill instructor of this particular troop was Sergeant Baldy Weathers, who was infamous for his fiery temper. When he learned of the incident, Sergeant Weathers decided to mete out some justice of his own. He gathered the entire troop and found them more than willing to become involved. The following weekend, armed with riding crops, the sergeant and his hit squad attended the establishment, sought out the troublemakers and soundly thrashed them. As the young men targeted were known bullies, even the locals endorsed the action. However, the RCMP powers that be were very unhappy with the spontaneous vigilante action and disciplined the sergeant and the recruits. They were charged in service court, where the participating recruits were fined and Sergeant Weathers was reduced in rank. In spite of this, he remained a member of the Force for many years, eventually regaining his stripes and enjoying legendary status for the remainder of his service.

FINALLY, AFTER ALMOST
10 months of an indescribable emotional and physical gauntlet, it was over. The remaining weeks were dedicated to our pass-out parade. We received our postings, and I learned I was to be stationed in Alberta. When graduation day finally arrived, the troop performed a drill and physical training display. A brief ceremony took place with family looking on, and we were on our way. RCMP basic training had been an odyssey unequalled in our young lives and would be remembered as an experience that few would want to relive, yet none would have missed. We were forever transformed and bound together by the blood, sweat and tears generated by those 10 traumatic months.

While most of us had gained confidence and maturity, some recruits left Depot Division with scars, both psychological and physical. RCMP candidates have always been rigidly screened, and most of those with unacceptable personality flaws or neurotic tendencies are eliminated. However, after being subjected to months of intense mental and physical rigours without the option of retaliating, it is safe to say that some pent-up emotions accompanied us as we departed. The need to lash out existed to varying degrees among recruits. In that era of little public scrutiny and police accountability, the combination of our punitive training experience and youthful exuberance sometimes exploded into very physical confrontations. Encountering an abusive, aggressive, drunken offender could be enough to turn a young policeman into an avenging angel. Sometimes a belligerent miscreant would suffer the consequences. It might even be surmised that a young policeman was subconsciously assuming the identity of a training instructor and the offender targeted was seen as the recruit.

As police training evolved and more was learned about human behaviour, it became clear the negative and punitive stress model employed for so many years could be improved upon. In the 1960s, the RCMP was still run like the NWMP in many ways, and our training was based on the cavalry-regiment tenets of the original 19th-century Force. Even though the curriculum was embellished with police-based subjects, the finished product was nothing more and nothing less than a well-trained soldier. We responded instantly to commands and learned to never question the directions of a superior. We were fodder for our first detachment commander, who had experienced an identical indoctrination. As young policemen, we hoped to be guided by commanders who could be emulated, but in most cases their management tools were forged by their own training and experience. Even if our commanders had the benefit of some in-service training, such courses focused on operational matters and investigational techniques rather than management skills. They devoted little time to motivating subordinates or encouraging career development. The system was tried and true and had worked for decades, but cracks were beginning to show even as we departed the training division to begin our careers.

BIDDING OUR FAREWELLS,
we dispersed across the dominion. Those of us with private vehicles were given a few days to travel to our destination. Wide-eyed and intimidated, the four of us who had been assigned to Alberta postings arrived in Edmonton from Depot and were sequestered in barracks at K Division Headquarters. Our quarters there were similar to those we had just vacated, and our movements were carefully monitored through curfews and room inspections. We wondered if we would forever have to endure the harshly disciplined way of life we had suffered through during training.

After a few weeks of escorting prisoners, serving summonses and conducting minor investigations on behalf of outlying detachments, we were paraded in red serge before Assistant Commissioner Lloyd Bingham. An impressive man with blazing blue eyes, he conveyed to us the constant requirement for professionalism and devotion to duty. With the sting of Depot still in our beleaguered psyches, the commanding officer’s message rang out as a stark prediction of our continuing monk-like existence.

I had just become part of a rigidly structured organization. The commissioner is the supreme head of the RCMP; a commanding officer, usually an assistant commissioner, is the chief executive of each province; and an officer commanding, a superintendent or inspector, is the head of what was referred to as a subdivision. Each province was divided into several geographical subdivisions, to which a number of detachments would report. Senior and junior non-commissioned officers (NCOs) were our direct and secondary supervisors. Even with the rigid cavalry-style structure, detachment commanders were given considerable autonomy with respect to day-to-day operations. They were subject to the regular scrutiny of section NCO staff sergeants, who roamed their subdivisions and reported to the officer commanding.

After a few weeks in Edmonton, I was posted to a town I’ll call Willmore, where I would be the sole unmarried member of a seven-man detachment. I was excited and delighted when I learned that the town was nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It had the reputation of being a busy detachment, a good place for a fledgling policeman to learn his law-enforcement craft. Packing my sparse belongings in my car, I headed west. The trip took about two hours, and my mind reeled with questions as I drove. Where would I live? Who would be my superior? Would I be accepted? I was attired in my best and only suit and tie, shoes shined and hair newly cut in the hope of making a good impression. As I neared the community, my stress intensified. Suddenly, it was in front of me—the red-brick building housing the detachment office and the quarters of the corporal in charge. I parked carefully in the parking lot and proceeded to the main entrance. The door was unlocked, and I entered. As I stood at the front counter, I could see a uniformed member sitting in what appeared to be the detachment commander’s office. He did not acknowledge me. I cleared my throat to attract his attention. Glancing up, he seemed to comprehend my presence. Rising from the desk unsteadily, he promptly closed the office door. I was again alone in the detachment, standing at the counter for what seemed an eternity.

Finally, a police car drove into the parking lot, and a member emerged. He apologized and introduced himself as Bill McCoy, the senior constable. He seemed embarrassed, but showed me to my quarters, helped me with my luggage and took me for lunch. I enquired about the other member I had seen back at the office, but McCoy gave me no explanation.

As I settled into my work at the detachment and got to know the other members, I learned that the NCO I had initially encountered was an alcoholic who had been under the weather on the day of my arrival, at 10:00 a.m. Rather than confront me, he had shut the door to his office and made a phone call, presumably to McCoy. This NCO would have quite an impact on my early days at the detachment. Several nights after my arrival, I made my first liquor seizure, of which I was justly proud. It was quite late when Constable McCoy and I returned to the office, and I was instructed to lock my seized exhibit in the NCO’s office pending our return the following morning. Arriving early the next day to deal with my seized liquor, I discovered that two bottles of beer were missing from the carton. It appeared the alcoholic NCO had liberated a portion of my exhibits. As was the case in the good old days, this behaviour was overlooked. Constable McCoy told me to ignore the incident and replenished the open carton with the purchase of two identical bottles.

As my career unfolded I learned that many NCOs of this era suffered from alcoholism. While this was a common affliction among middle managers in many professions at the time, much of the excessive drinking within the RCMP was due to stress caused by inadequate personnel and long hours. There was a stark contrast between the discipline and compliance with the rules espoused in the training division and reinforced by management and the realities of detachment policing. Much of the blurring of lines between on- and off-duty behaviour was attributable to the lack of shift work at smaller outposts. Members were expected to be available to attend to any kind of emergency and were never truly off duty. Accordingly, we all tended to take advantage of spare moments when the phone didn’t demand our attention. The unwritten philosophy was “work hard but play hard.” Three hundred–hour work months were the rule rather than the exception, and this grinding workload encouraged some rule bending when it came to socializing on the job. It was not uncommon for on-duty members to drop in on a party if there were no demands for their services. In spite of this informality, calls were rarely missed and work assignments always completed. The countless examples of good and ethical police work far outnumbered the rare examples of neglect.

Thankfully, the imbibing NCO I had initially encountered was only there in the detachment commander’s absence. When he returned, I learned I would serve under Corporal John Russell, a competent professional. Formalized field training for recruits had not yet been introduced, so their indoctrination was left to the discretion of the detachment commander. Corporal Russell struck a perfect balance between providing necessary supervision and giving me sufficient latitude to develop independently. Additionally, I was fortunate to work with six seasoned veterans as I began to accumulate the skills, knowledge and wiles I would need in my law-enforcement career.