Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
Georg
e
was sitting in a worn out chair, crying. He had a bottle of Stolichnaya in his lap and a 30-gauge shotgun in his hands with his finger on the trigger. It was pointed directly at his chest. A string of Rosary beads had been strung around his head like a headache band.
Lt. A. inhaled deeply on his cigarette as he recounted his story.
“George, let’s talk. Your wife loves you very much. She just wanted t
o
put a little scare into you so you wouldn’t drink all the money up. She wants you to get help because she loves you, man,” I pleaded.
“He started sobbing and talking all at once, Charlie,” the lieutenant said in a helpless voice, “and the blast that immediately followed scared us so much that we almost jumped out of our skins.”
Lt. A. shook his head as if denying the memory then took another long drag on his cigarette before he continued.
“George lay slumped in his chair. Th
e
hole in the dead man’s chest wasn’t big at all but the hole in his bac
k
was several inches across. The blood quickly ran down his back and began forming a rapidly spreading puddle at our feet. His wife heard the explosion and started screaming as she ran down the stairs. She was quickly subdued by Fran
k
and taken back upstairs, screaming and crying.
“Later on we found the slug, which had ripped through George’s body
,
imbedded in a rear cellar beam.”
The lieutenant attempted to wipe a tea
r
from his eye as he began to describe his feelings about the suicide.
“Charlie, I still don’t know to this day if I did the right thing
.
Maybe if I had just left him alone he might have fallen asleep and slept it off. Maybe he would have been able to come to some kind of terms with his wif
e
and he still would be around.”
The lieutenant blew his nose with an old Kleenex he found in the filthy glove compartment. As he did, Charlie wanted to say something to him but didn’t know if it was hi
s
place to do so. He figured if this man was able to bare his soul an
d
feelings in such an outpouring then perhaps he could, too.
“You know, Lou, you didn’t pull the trigger. In your heart you really wanted to help that guy but he just wanted out of the picture at that time. If he had wanted to really see his wife, he would have gotten out of that chair and done it. You didn’t kill him. It was his time.
“We, o
f
all people, should know that. We’re not fucking Gods, even though everyon
e
expects us to be. We’re just human beings like everyone else. We love and we want love. We hate and we are hated. We cry and we are cried for. S
o
many of us carry around so much repressed guilt, all because we see s
o
much shit every day of our lives. How many abused kids do we have to se
e
before we break down ourselves? How many times do we have to go home to our kids after we’ve been called pigs all day? How many times do we have to be spat upon by ghetto kids and go home and take it out on our ow
n
families? We have to be super human robots, almost God-like, in order to do police work. Deviate once and make a mistake, even unintentionally
,
and society comes down on us like a ton of shit,” said Charlie takin
g
a deep breath and wondering what type of reaction he would glean fro
m
the lieutenant.
“Charlie, thank you,” said the lieutenant softly. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Charlie was curious and wanted to know what happened to George’s wife bu
t
he figured tomorrow would be another day to get to the finale of that one. The lieutenant wanted to take a ride into the barn, which was the station house. Old timers on the job used terminology like that.
When they arrived at the precinct, the boss told Charlie to wait for hi
m
in the lounge, which was the basement. It had been remodeled in the early 1970's by members of the 120
th
precinct club. The dues provided for the lumber and the lighting while the sweat of some o
f
the handier guys provided for the labor. There was an old couch down there as well as a pool table and cable TV. The guys had also bought a
n
old refrigerator and microwave oven, which the entire station house used.
On the midnight tours the guys just chilled out and rested for the hour that was theirs and guys came and went all night. It gave them a place to take a break from patrol.
The lieutenant said he had some administrative work to complete and told Charlie to relax and that he would call him if h
e
needed him. That was one of the perks of being a boss’ driver. Yo
u
could chill out and do it legally.
The lieutenant spent about forty five minutes on his paperwork then radioed Charlie to meet him at the RMP. When they got outside, the lieutenant reminded him to use his name if h
e
ever got caught down there by another boss. Charlie escaped some heav
y
rips for doing just that. The lieutenant always said that no driver of his would ever get a complaint for driving him.
Charlie learned later on that Lt. A. had never received a complaint fro
m
any of his supervisors. He also learned that, as a boss, Lt. A. had never given a cop a complaint and he never would. He was a prince.
The two men resumed patrol and, for the most part, it was a quiet night.
Charlie couldn’t help but think of Terry again and made up his mind to stop at the coffee shop later. He wanted to ask her if it was okay if could stop over in the morning to see her. Charlie drove past the Dunkin Donuts and saw Terry’s car parked in the parking lot. H
e
asked the boss if he wanted anything and then he went in. Terry saw Charlie immediately and walked right over to him. She knew enough to b
e
discreet so she didn’t kiss him or let on to anyone that she was hi
s
girlfriend. Charlie placed his order and when she came back with th
e
coffee he softly mouthed the words, “Is tomorrow morning okay?”
Terry flashed a huge, sexy smile and nodded yes while sticking her tongu
e
out and licking her lips as if to say, “I want to eat you up.”
Charlie said goodnight and went back outside to the RMP.
The lieutenant said he wanted to drink his coffee down by the water s
o
Charlie drove down to the end of HylanBoulevard adjacent to Penny Beach
,
next to the Alice Austen House. He parked the car and both men took out their coffee and donuts an
d
silently sat. It was fairly early and quiet for that time which meant that the remainder of the tour would also be fairly quiet.
It was the perfect time and place for the lieutenant to reminisce about coming to the 120
th
, and he did just that.
“When I came to this precinct I thought I would be a footman forever. I mean look what happened to me with that drunken co
p
who wrecked the radio car and handed it over to me. I was in the 2
nd
squa
d
and I was the only footman in that squad. There was Joe Nunzio, who wa
s
the broom, but he never went out on patrol anymore. There was Police Officer Ettinger, who was out on long term disability and would probabl
y
get a three quarters pension and never come back. Then there was Polic
e
O
fficer Brownell and Police Officer Smullin sector Eddie as well as Polic
e
O
fficer Catalano and Police Officer Folder in sector Charlie. Out of all of them, I was the new kid on the block,” Lt. A. explained.
Back then the lieutenant wasn’t a rookie but he
was
the only footman in the squad which meant that he got all the details and dirty assignments. Whenever there was a prisoner to guard in one of the three hospitals the 120
th
covered, he got it. The 120
th
covered Saint Vincent’s Hospital on Bar
d
Avenue, Staten Island Hospital on Castleton Avenue and Marine Hospital
,
which was the official United States Public Health service hospital, located on Vanderbilt Avenue.
Whenever there was a DOA to sit with, John also got it. Police procedures called for a police officer to remain with a DOA if the person died in the residence. The body was usually released to either a funeral home representative or to the medical examiner’s office. Eithe
r
way, one UF 95 tag (also known as a DOA tag) remained with the deceased while a second, duplicate tag, went back to the station house with the police officer along with the paperwork concerning the death.
All those various assignments made time go by, but John now knew what h
e
wanted – a permanent assignment in a sector car. He wanted a seat. That’s not to say that some of those details weren’t interesting. Some were even fun sometimes. He was often sent to other commands while assigned to the 120
th
. He came from the “flying 1
st
,
”
so he was used t
o
it by now.
One night John found himself ‘flying’ up to the 16
th
precinc
t
in Times Square. He was assigned to a deputy inspector for the entire tour and all he had to do was carry the portable radio for the D.I.
The inspector was assigned to a detail to guard Raquel Welch at one o
f
her movie premiers. That was a fun night and John even got to have
a
photo taken with Ms. Welch, although most of his other details weren’t like that.
“Charlie, have you ever gone to a full-fledged riot while on the job?
”
asked Lt. A.
“Can’t say as I have, Lou.”
“Well, my first one was in Brooklyn,” Lt. A. explained. “I had been assigned to a detail in East New York and found myself at a rally at Fulton Avenue and NostrandAvenue where a group of white racists were protesting New York City’s willingness to fork over welfare money to an
y
and all blacks who got off the bus barefoot and broke from the south. The group was called SPONGE, an acronym for the Society for the Prevention of Negroes Getting Everything. There were about one hundred of them marching in
a
circle with placards and banners. The white group was surrounded by
a
larger group of white cops who were then surrounded by a larger group o
f
angry blacks.
“The Mayor at that time, John Lindsey, became aware of the demonstration and for some unknown reason decided to come to Brooklyn and visit during this tiny event. Mayor Lindsey foolishly decided to walk directly into the middle of the chanting demonstrators and began
,
unfortunately, shaking their hands.
“The first bottle flung from a nearby roof missed its designated target and struck a little black girl on the perimeter of the
circle of whites. Almost immediately the word began to spread that a white cop had clubbe
d
the little girl. The Mayor, who had started the whole thing, was whiske
d
out of there quickly by a phalanx of plainclothes cops and it didn’t take long before other bottles an
d
debris of all shapes and sizes began to rain down on those remaining.
“The orde
r
to clear the streets was given out by a Captain using a bull horn; that’s when all hell broke loose. Some of the Negroesgrabbed a few of the demonstrators and began to beat and stomp them. Not surprisingly, the small and meage
r
force of cops on hand was not enough to restore order.
“The bosses called a 10-13, assist patrolman, and soon radio cars began arriving from other nearby precincts and commands with their turret lights glaring and their sirens blasting. The chaos in the streets wa
s
cleared up quickly but reports of sporadic gun fire began poppin
g
up over the airwaves of the busy police frequency.
“I was assigned to
a
sergeant with five other police officers and we were sent to a nearb
y
street corner to keep people indoors and out of harm’s way. I was do
g
tired. My shift had begun that day at 4:00 P.M. and now it was almost 2:00 A.M. I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet, and you know how I love my coffee!” said the lieutenant, laughing a little.