No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (9 page)

Two of the quickest ways of incurring instant discipline and, most likely, dismissal, was the loss of a prisoner and the mishandling of exhibits, specifically liquor exhibits. With money being so tight, it was forever tempting to direct the odd case of beer or unopened bottle of liquor to the back room rather than down the drain. In spite of the consequences if caught, some members gambled with fate by enjoying the fruits of their labour. It was not uncommon for careers to be ruined and bright futures dimmed through the discovery of a bottle of beer that did not get properly destroyed. Liquor exhibits had to be carefully inventoried and held pending the appeal period. When the time for disposal arrived, the local magistrate had to observe the destruction, signing a form testifying to this. The occasional magistrate viewed the relegation of sealed exhibits down the drain as draconian. In these cases the form would be signed with the justice conveniently absent during the destruction, or possibly even on hand to assist in the consumption. It was a classic example of the old adage “Don’t get caught!” The improper handling of liquor exhibits persisted for years. It was typical of the era and no doubt tied to poor pay and long working hours. Exhibits are handled much more professionally in today’s Force.

While there were no RCMP regulations forbidding members from socializing at local watering holes, detachment commanders would often discourage or forbid this activity in their local standing orders, which outlined expectations. But even when we were allowed to do so, entering bars and taverns while off duty was seldom a relaxing experience. Embittered clients and unsatisfied complainants tended to corner us, even if we were just trying to have a quiet beer. Members had to be constantly on their guard, and it was generally more trouble than it was worth. As a result, when we wanted to let off a little steam, we gathered at the local Legion or at private homes.

George and Edna Siebel owned a small mixed farm a short distance northeast of Willmore. They had become friends of several members, and it was not unusual for three or four of us to assemble there, accompanied by wives and girlfriends. The Siebels were wonderful hosts and their home was an oasis from the hectic pace of law enforcement. Anything that took place at the Siebels remained there. Edna always provided a delicious country meal, which was appreciated perhaps more by the only unmarried member. We all came to cherish this serene retreat, and our debt to the Siebels for their hospitality could never be properly repaid. We had a similar haunt at the Gordon and June Mitchell ranch just southwest of town, while Al and Manda Worthing, right in Willmore, also adopted the detachment and treated us like visiting royalty. It was as though these fine people had been preordained to provide a safe haven for all of us. In some cases they became proxy parents for homesick RCMP members and even provided marriage counselling when needed.

I found it eerie that these very welcome and necessary sanctuaries existed in every rural community in which I was stationed, and what is more, the personalities and settings were all very similar. As personnel changed at a detachment, incoming members gravitated to the same locations; however, it was not unusual for new members to discover other hospitable residents who offered similar places of refuge from public scrutiny. All of these kind and supportive citizens should have received recognition for the care and nurture they extended to the Mounted Police. Seldom were they publicly honoured; it seemed enough for them to enjoy our company and sometimes hilarious antics. Bulls got ridden, songs got sung and people got horse-troughed. Much
spiritus fermenti
was consumed and never a word uttered to the always curious public.

IN MANY COMMUNITIES
across the country, local town and city councils have opted to have their own police force. At the same time, many of these communities contain an RCMP detachment. RCMP members police the outlying areas under the provincial contract agreement. They also have jurisdiction in the town, but defer to the local municipal police. In countless cases the local chief of police will call the RCMP in to assist when a serious crime occurs. Historically, RCMP members would be assigned these tasks with no worry or concern about who was going to pay for their hours. There existed a mutual understanding that RCMP members would assist whenever requested. This came to a grinding halt when the Force implemented overtime payment.

A five-man municipal force policed the town of Willmore. These officers received little formalized training, donning their blue uniforms and learning while they earned. They depended heavily upon RCMP assistance, particularly in the event of a serious crime. There was a healthy spirit of cooperation between Chief John MacDonald and Corporal Russell and none of the professional jealousy that permeated many RCMP–municipal police relationships. The chief was very aware of the advantage of having extra bodies at the local detachment, especially when transient oil-rig crews from outlying areas, flush with money, would come to town to drink at the two local hotels. Occasionally their antics would explode into melees in the downtown area, and the RCMP would be summoned to augment the town police. Much later in my service I would learn that this level of cooperation between forces was not always present.

One notorious individual in the district occasionally caught the attention of the police community. He was an interdicted person, banned by provincial statute from consuming or possessing liquor. I recall clearly his daunting physical size; his driver’s licence described him as six foot six inches tall and 312 pounds. Occasionally, “Tiny” would ignore his interdicted status and consume large amounts of booze. One sunny summer’s day he did just that and entered a local hotel’s beverage room with his Metis common-law wife. Before the bartenders could alert the police, someone hollered, “Squaw man!” and all hell broke loose. The town police were called and, realizing who was involved, asked for RCMP assistance. When the Mounties arrived, the hotel looked as though a cyclone had hit it. Windows were broken, chairs lay out on the main street and injured bodies were strewn on the ground, while the assailant was still holed up inside the bar. Slim Gordon of the town police sidled up next to the giant and coaxed him out onto the street. Gordon, a tall, rangy cowboy, ordered Tiny into a police car, but Tiny declined. Slim took a little hop and placed his target in a headlock. The titan simply swung his arm and slammed Gordon against the car, where he crumpled to the ground with several broken ribs. Rob Drucker, one of the RCMP members, had a measure of rapport with Tiny from past encounters and spoke to him calmly. After some persuasion, Tiny meekly followed Drucker into the police cruiser. This incident exemplifies why the town police relied upon the RCMP and is just one of countless times I experienced when respect for the RCMP uniform helped to settle a dispute peacefully.

As the sole single man at the detachment, I lodged in the barracks for $15 a month. However, the privilege came with some disadvantages. Once in a while I was asked to babysit the detachment commander’s children. I was compensated for this service with occasional and much-appreciated home-cooked meals. The other disadvantage was having to answer the phone after hours. For a while after my arrival at the detachment, another member would accompany me to after-hours calls, but as I became more experienced, I responded to calls alone, much to the relief of my married co-workers.

Once I received a 3:00 a.m. phone call from the town police. An intoxicated man was in custody at their office, but refused to go into the cells without a fight. I dressed in uniform and headed over to the town office. When the recalcitrant arrestee observed an RCMP member enter the office, he immediately entered the cells on his own. In his drunken logic, he explained that he would comply for a Mountie, but not for any blankety-blank town cop.

THE CRIMINAL CODE
includes many obscure provisions. Among its many sections and paragraphs is a portion forbidding bestiality. It is a criminal offence for a Canadian to have sexual relations with an animal. Bill McCoy seemed to have a vested interest in this part of the statute, as though he was assuming personal responsibility to protect all animals from human amorous intent. As it happened, the remote far north of our detachment area could have been used for the setting of the movie
Deliverance
, and a few local residents wouldn’t have been out of place in that bizarre film. Among them was a bachelor sheep rancher. Constable McCoy had received intelligence that the man was having relations with his woolly ewes, a blatant contravention of the Criminal Code. Bill was determined to catch the culprit
in flagrante delicto
, so when we had reason to be in the area, it was always on his mind.

One day Constable McCoy told me to be ready to depart for the area before day-break the following morning, as we were going to place the good shepherd under surveillance. I was not overly enthusiastic about getting up early to travel to this out-of-the-way location, but as the subordinate I was ready the following morning to accompany my partner. When we arrived, we abandoned the police car and thrashed our way through heavy underbrush to arrive at the scene of a possible crime. As we lay on the wet ground awaiting developments, I queried Constable McCoy as to who our target might be corrupting if in fact he had a sheep for a girlfriend. Bill looked at me askance, remarking that I was one sick puppy. After several hours of patient observation, we abandoned surveillance and went on to grander pursuits. We were never able to catch the shepherd in the act. He and his sheep continued to lead an uninterrupted and perhaps blissful life.

I was soon to learn of a much more troubling case of man’s capacity for depravity in a small community in the eastern portion of our detachment area. A distraught woman in her 30s arrived at the detachment wishing to speak with a member. She told Constable McCoy that she had been sexually abused by her father when she was a preteen. A lengthy and sensitive investigation ensued, revealing that not one, but four daughters from this family had been sexual abuse victims. There were three sets of two sisters who were close in age, each pair about five years apart. The eldest sister had just learned the youngest girls were about to be victimized and approached the detachment in the hope that police intervention would prevent further offences. I was horrified as I followed the senior constable through the complex steps of the investigation. When all the data had been assembled, the father was confronted with the evidence. Amazingly, he admitted to victimizing four of his daughters and confirmed his intent to assault the remaining two. He justified his crime by stating that a father needed to properly introduce his daughters to the physical act of sex. Equally shocking was the fact that his wife had full knowledge of what was going on and supported her husband in his twisted premise of sex education. The father was arrested and charged with multiple counts of incest. Much to the disappointment of his daughters and the investigators, the court sentenced him to only four years’ imprisonment. To those of us who were directly involved in bringing this heinous offence before the court, this sentence made it appear as though society regarded the crimes as almost acceptable.

My initial three-year stint on detachment duty was perhaps the best grounding that any young man could have asked for during that era. The variety of police work I experienced was nothing short of astounding, and I had the best of coaching from all six senior members. Percy Keyes, the magistrate, was a former member of the RCMP who did not suffer fools gladly. If I erred presenting my evidence in court, he would openly express his dissatisfaction. Calling me into his office at the conclusion of court, Magistrate Keyes would debrief me, explaining where I had gone astray and how I could improve my performance.

The area policed by the detachment consisted of large ranches, marginal backwoods settlements, oil fields, vast foothills, parkland, a Metis colony and abandoned coal-mine communities. Each of these presented their own law-enforcement challenges, ranging from minor thefts and break-ins to murder. Life’s ironies often became evident in the course of law enforcement. Ed Zerba was an oilfield worker whose marriage had failed due to his transient lifestyle. Zerba frequently became delinquent in his support payments, which resulted in his ex-wife laying charges against him. On two occasions Zerba was arrested in BC and held, awaiting the arrival of a police escort. Both times, I was detailed to bring him back. The escort involved long periods of return travel, both by road and air, which gave me the opportunity to get to know Ed and precipitated a kind of offbeat friendship and rapport between us. Ed was an infamous oilfield derrick driller and a roustabout. He had a reputation as a fighter and was physically intimidating, which earned him the respect of his peers.

Several months after the delinquent husband had been released after his court appearance, a call came into the detachment at 3:00 a.m. from the concerned parents of three girls who had been seen partying with a number of roughnecks from local rigs. The party was taking place at a remote location outside of town and the underage girls were apparently being fed liquor. The senior constable and I patrolled to the area where we discovered a large bonfire, several men and the wayward girls. We approached the group with the intention of seizing the liquor and arresting the men for contributing to juvenile delinquency. Four of the men challenged us, and we realized, short of drawing our weapons, that we were in danger of losing control of the situation. Suddenly, Ed Zerba, my former prisoner and travelling partner, appeared out of the darkness. He stood next to us, informing the culprits they would have to deal with him also. Intimidated, the men backed down, allowing us to carry on with our seizures and arrests. Had it not been for Ed, we could have been seriously injured. Some time later, just before I was transferred, I happened to be in one of the local hotel beverage rooms. I spotted Ed sitting at an adjacent table and sent a round over to him. He joined me, wishing me luck at my new posting and remarked that he had always been treated fairly and with respect by the detachment.