Long Ball Hitters
I do not recall the first time I ever heard the term, "long ball hitter". I know for a fact the person who told me those words for the very first time was former San Diego Police Homicide Lieutenant, Jim Duncan. The ultimate, long ball hitter.
I remember when I first met Jim. At the time, none of us would have ever dared to call him, "Jim". Only terms acceptable were, "Sarge" or "Sergeant Duncan". Jim never said we had to call him, "Sarge" but as a rookie cop in Southeast San Diego in 1983, you felt like you were in an urban conflict. Using the term "sarge" was effective in an environment where decisions needed to be made quickly and orders followed promptly.
If anyone had ever suggested Sgt. Duncan and I would become close, lifetime friends, I would have said the person saying such a thing must be smoking, "sherm" (slang for PCP) and was obviously, UTI (under the influence) of the animal tranquilizer commonly referred to as, "angel dust". Sgt. Duncan had such a professional, no-nonsense demeanor, I never thought we would ever become so close. I was wrong, yet again.
It was a cold late night when I first met Sergeant Duncan and experienced his level of intensity at a critical incident. I was wearing my new police jacket that my mom and dad had sent me from Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was not the soft leathery police jacket I grew to treasure, later in my career. It was a nylon insulated, "chill chaser". In fact, everything I was wearing was brand new. I was fresh out of the police academy and my leather gun belt, handcuff case, and speed loaders all creaked when I moved as well as my black leather boots. I was all shiny and new, like a copper penny. I might have been shiny, but since I was new on the force, I didn't know jack. And I am not referring to the famous foam antenna mascot from a local San Diego fast food restaurant chain.
I am not sure if I was standing in the middle of the street or on the sidewalk when Sgt. Duncan approached me. I'm sure I looked like a frightened deer in the headlights of a car. Jim's first words were very clear and direct, "Officer, find your FTO, (Field Training Officer) - NOW and stay with him". All I knew was I had just arrived at my first, (soon to be countless) drive by shooting crime scenes. It was pandemonium and human chaos all tied together. If you have never been a cop to arrive at one of those type of shootings, you have missed out on a challenging experience.
Forget all the visual images. The sound alone puts you on sensory overload rather quickly. Arriving police units with overhead rotating red lights, shutting down their sirens as they park blocking the street. Grabbing their batons from the sleeve in the patrol car door they run to the victims. People screaming, street gang members yelling about the injustice they have experienced, the sound of brass shell casings being kicked across the concrete while police officers struggle to contain the crime scene, triaging victims, and trying to get clearance for paramedics to roll in as soon as humanely possible. That is, if any of the victims are still alive.
Most civilians do not realize that with any ongoing violent critical incident paramedics and fire fighters, "black out" their emergency lights and sirens and park their precious life saving equipment a block or two away from the shooting scene. They then wait for us to give clearance for them to respond to the actual scene.
At first glance that does not seem fair that we are delaying emergency medical treatment to people who have been shot. While in fact, it is very fair and necessary. Fire fighters turnout gear are good at stopping hot embers from burning their skin, but they would not even slow down a 158 grain, 9mm hollow point bullet traveling at around 3000 feet per second or even a small, 22 caliber round which has a nasty reputation for bouncing around the inside of your body. Firefighters also do not have all the necessary tools police have to gain control of a human problem that is spiraling out of control.
I would like to think that a fire is more predictable then people, but I really do not know that to be true. We jokingly referred to firefighters as, "hose draggers" but you wouldn't find me or most any cop interested in running into a house on fire. Firefighters are crazily brave. I don't know if "crazily" is a real word or not, but my hats off to all of them. They are amazing, when the chips are down.
The other thing about a drive-by gang shooting is how fast the word spreads in the communities. There were no twitter accounts or cell phones back then, especially in the communities I worked. The word of a "drive-by" or basically the shooting of a neighborhood kid or kids spread faster then a post on Facebook. As you are trying to tend to the victims, establish a perimeter on the crime scene to preserve evidence, every cop knows the clock is ticking. The clock for retaliation that quickly turns the shooting victim gangs rival turf into a ghost town, at least for a couple of nights.
The other clock ticking is how soon before family members of the victims arrive at the scene. The clock is ticking and there is so much to do. Usually a younger brother will arrive first with the frantic mother in tow. She will spill out of a car that screeches to a stop or she will run up on foot out of breath with fear in her eyes. If the yellow crime scene tape is up you will usually see the mother or father who recognizes their child in the street start pleading frantically something like, "Those are his shoes. That's my son. He was wearing that shirt when he left... They know it is probably their son but they then will plead desperately for us to tell them it isn't.
Sometimes they collapse right there on the sidewalk, while other times they will dip their shoulders and try to push their way into the crime scene. You know your in trouble when one of their hands grab the crime scene tape and try to raise it up so they can rush under it. I know they are desperately hoping they could breath life into their child who sometimes was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
The situation is difficult enough, but if anyone contaminates your crime scene you can loose evidence of who the killers are. A defense attorney can then grill you months, or even years later and embarrass you on the witness stand in order to get the child's killers off on a technicality. You have to preserve the crime scene. When I signed up to be a cop, I never thought I would be struggling to restrain a grieving parent in a dirt alley where gang graffiti on the fences are illuminated by rotating emergency lights. It's probably a good thing I didn't have my own kids then. I now realize the tragic enormity of the parent's loss.
I am sure it is not true, but as a parent I like to think there is not a force on this earth that could ever stop me from getting to one of my sons who was lying, on a cold, dark street. I now know why they sometimes struggled so hard. So as the police radio crackled for more units needed at the scene to hold the line, officers and yes even Sergeant Duncan would take a stand to always do the right thing.
It was in that environment, year after year, I got to know so many, long ball hitters. I think the relationship cops have with each other are similar to other high risk professions like the military or other emergency services.
As Jim demonstrated and explained over the years, a long ball hitter is the type of person with a solid moral compass that always points true. The type of person that steps up to the plate in life and takes his cuts. He may strike out or he may make contact. He simply does his best. There will be adversity. There will be good and bad times. Let your handshake be your contract. Look people in the eye. Stand up to injustices. Depth of your own personal character is the most important thing you have in life.
As Jim demonstrated years later, even if your buddy spills his full beer into the casino chips in Vegas and the dealer and pit boss are giving you both the stink eye, just pat your buddy on the back and say, " Hey don't worry about it, deal em". And always, always, watch out for your partner.
Sorry, I went so long today. Theresa and I know our three boys, Troy, Raymond, and Ryan are still young kids and they don't even play baseball. I am still hopeful we are doing everything possible to make sure they will grow up to be true, Long Ball Hitters. I know Jim and Jeanne Duncan (shown in the above picture) would love that!
Have a great and safe week!
