Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
While driving home after his final day at the 1
st
, John thought of his comrade
s
and swore he would keep in touch. Sadly, they never sa
w
each other again.
Eleven
John looked forward to his new command and was assigned to the 2
nd
squad.
Members of his new squad ended their work week on Sunday and were not due bac
k
until the 4X12 tour on Wednesday so John decided he would use hi
s
days off to travel to the precinct to pick out a locker and stow al
l
his gear. When he entered the station house he noticed that the lieutenant on the desk was writing in th
e
command log, also known as the blotter, where the desk officer noted all the daily activity of the shift.
John learned early on in the 1
st
precinct not to disturb the lieutenant when he was writing in the blotter. He had gotten his ass chewe
d
out in front of the entir
e
platoon by Lieutenant Dubrow, who reamed him out for doing just that.
The Lieutenant looked up and saw John, then looked down and began writin
g
again. John stood silently, waiting patiently. A few minutes passed before the lieutenan
t
looked up again.
“Yes?” the man behind the desk mumbled in an agitated tone.
“I’m Police Officer Audenino. I’ve just been transferred in fro
m
the 1
st
. Can you direct me to the locker rooms, please?” John aske
d
quietly.
“Third floor,” answered the Lieutenant.
“Thank you.”
The lieutenant did not acknowledge him any further and kept on writin
g
in the blotter without breaking stride. John found a staircase but it only went as far as the second floor, so he decided to walk down this second floor hallway where he eventually found another stairway which led him up to the third floor. There he found several locke
r
rooms used by the patrolmen. He walked into one of th
e
rooms which faced the rear of the station house. It had three aisles with lockers abou
t
twenty deep in each row. Most were occupied but several were not. None o
f
them were new.
He immediately found a cluste
r of empty lockers and picked one thatlooked very secure
.
He opened it and surveyed the inside, not surprised to find the usual wire metal hangar
s
still dangling from the single metal rod that spanned the inside of the locker.
There were old inter-departmental envelopes on the bottom of the locker that dated back several years but were empty. In a rear corner there even was a pair o
f
old dirty socks. He cleaned out all of the refuse and placed his ow
n
wooden hangars on the metal bar. Next, he placed his police hat on the to
p
shelf after making sure it was clean and dust free, then set a plastic jar next to his hat into which he dropped his new 120 insigni
a
as well as his brass buttons. He hung his gun belt on one of tw
o
large hooks affixed on either side of the interior of th
e
locker then neatly hung his trousers and shirts on the wooden hangars.
Next he placed his memo book an
d
as well as his rules and procedures manual inside a plastic waterproof case, as well as an attaché case, which contained many of the forms he would eventually use while on patrol.
He closed his locker and secured it with his combination lock the
n
affixed his name and squad number on the outside according t
o
police department regulations. John knew that placing his name on the locker was the most important step because brass from the Chief of Patrol’s office could come up at any time and request to do an inspection. Although this wasn’t something that was ordinarily done, it could be.
“Charlie, when I go back and think of my first days here in the 120
th
, I find myself remembering the lessons learned from m
y
grandfather. I know I’ve told you a little bit about him, but there is so much more.
“My grandfather was sort of a hoarder, a pack rat if yo
u
will. On our many sojourns into the woods of Staten Island he woul
d
collect old nuts and bolts he found as well as odd lengths of wir
e
and string.
“At some point in his life he built a shed in his back yard that was really a smal
l
house. It had two levels, windows and a fantastic work shop. Durin
g
those trips into the woods, he would even bring burlap bags to shovel up any hors
e
manure he found, left behind by horses privately owned or rented from th
e
Franzreb Stables on Clove Road and who had ridden up there.
“My grandfather taught m
e
so many things but the most important one was a love of nature and respec
t
for all living things. He taught me to enjoy watching the wonder of th
e
sun coming up in the morning, and on many a day we would set out for the woods before daybreak so as to get a head start on collecting.
“I miss him, Charlie, and I wish more than anything that he could have been there at my graduation fro
m
the police academy. I know he would have been so proud of me because I was the first in our family to enter into civil service.”
The lieutenant became a little teary-eyed as he spoke so Charlie asked if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee. The boss declined the offer and continued to speak about his grandfather.
“Sometimes I feel as though he is with me, I mean right beside me. I kno
w
it sounds weird but I just feel it.”
Lt. A. paused for a moment, lit a cigarette then continued.
“When I made Sergeant it was like a miracle. The sergeant’s list had expired and I had given up all hope of promotion. I had nineteen year
s
on the job and had passed every sergeant’s exam I took. This was during the fiscal crisis of New York City, and either they froze th
e
list or I didn’t score high enough. I decided to take one last shot an
d
I passed it but once again everyone said the list was dead, so I gave u
p
all hope of ever being promoted.
“Then, one day I was in my basement doin
g
laundry and, out of the clear blue sky, I heard my grandfather’s voice. It wasn’t as if I heard it in my thoughts; I heard it through my ear
s
loud and clear. He spoke to me in Italian and it scared the shi
t
out of me!”
“What did he say?” Charlie asked.
The lieutenant chuckled and said, “He told me I would be promoted in two months.”
Lt. A. took a long drag on his cigarette, held it, and let it out slowly.
“I stopped doing the laundry and went up and made myself a stiff drink. Two weeks later there was an ad in
The Chief
, the civi
l
service newspaper, stating that the sergeant’s list would be re-opened becaus
e
they had an immediate need for supervisors. I was a Sergeant six week
s
later.”
The lieutenant smiled and glanced at Charlie.
“I miss him, love him and know he will forever be with me,” he said with a sigh.
Twelve
Now that he seemed more relaxed, the lieutenant continued his story about hi
s
graduation from the police academy.
“After Freddie Bock finished giving us our command assignments, we al
l
promised to keep in touch. That night, our entire company agreed to meet a
t
the Colonial Inn on Richmond Road for a dinner party with our wives an
d
girlfriends. That was the beginning of all of our war stories. Next, we were instructed by Freddie to call our new commands and ask for the roll call office.
“I was scared shitless but was fortunate enough to hav
e
two classmates, Bruce and Willie, with me. When we got to our new precinct, no one spoke t
o
us unless we asked a direct question. No one said hello or goodbye. No one gave us advice as to where to eat or where to go if we had to take a dump. It was sheer hell,” explained the lieutenant.
“Today it’s a different world for rookies. When they get assigned to a precinct they are practicall
y
taken out by their hands to their posts. Their training sergeants d
o
everything for them, which seemingly includes wiping their asses dry. The veterans of yesterday were probably testing the rookies to see if the
y
were worthy of their attention.”
“I was assigned to the 4
th
platoon along with Bruce and Willie. We carpooled and worked together every night.
“I will never forget the day I made my way into the sitting room of the 1
st
precinct. I walked around and looked for anything that might have reminded me of the academy but saw nothing. There was an old shoe shin
e
machine with worn out bristles and a brush holder with no brush. Ther
e
were two metal containers of black shoe polish but they were devoid of an
y
polish,” the lieutenant said quietly.
“There was a coffee machine dispenser that was empty and probably used by the 4X12 shift, and I suddenly felt like I was an orphan with n
o
home or country. On one wall stood a large, wooden cabinet which had about fort
y
to fifty slots in it. A big, tattered sign hanging over it read: ‘Forms - Please replace what you use.’ A closer look into the slot
s
showed that it was used as a huge garbage disposal. There were cigarette and cigar butts as well as chewing gum remains in almost all of th
e
slots. Any forms still inside were torn or had coffee stains on them.
“The windows in the sitting room were almost eight to ten feet hig
h
with metal gates on the inside and bars on the outside. The
y
were completely covered with filth and soot. There were two long wooden table
s
with strong cast iron legs, and scattered around the room were metal chair
s
with torn, green, vinyl padded seats. An old sergeant appeare
d
out of nowhere and bellowed an order for us to fall in. The three o
f
us stood in a row at attention, not moving a muscle or saying a word.
“The sergeant glared at us as if he was actually pissed that we took hi
m
off patrol for this 8:00 P.M. roll call. We probably interrupted his free dinner that he was either getting or going to get. As a result, he didn’t welcome us on board or wish us luck. He just called out our names and gave us our assignments. Then, speaking with a very thick Irish brogue, he finally aske
d
us if we had any questions,” said Lt. A.
“Do ye have any questions, lads?”
Willie was the first to speak up. “How do we get to our posts, Sergeant?
”
“Lads, you use your feet that the good Lord gave ye. Anything else?”
“We three rookies had no further questions and walked out of the statio
n
house just as fast as the Sergeant had appeared. We were all so eager on that first night that all three of us broke the cardinal rule of all cops,” the lieutenant said as he stared into the distance.
“What was that, Lou?” asked Charlie.
“We all went directly to our posts without stopping for coffee,” the lieutenant said with a laugh.
During the mid-sixties crime in the subways skyrocketed so much that the lieutenant’s entire graduating class was assigned to platforms in every borough. John and his fellow officers, Bruce and Willie, found themselves attached to the platforms in the 1
st
precinct. They were assigned t
o
Whitehall Street, Wall Street, Bowling Green and the South Ferry station.