Tornado and The Shotgun - Written by Ray Shay

I think I could write about police work every week. Though I find it interesting, I am not sure how it would reflect in our surprising very high open rate of 92127eweekly. Our kids will enjoy the story because they are always asking for me to talk about my experiences on SDPD. Instead of telling them another story, I will tell them to just sit down and read it.

I believe fun is an important aspect of any high risk profession. People do this type of work because they love it. Part of the fun of being a street cop is responding to radio calls. Some of the radio calls we would refer to as, "good" radio calls. In cop talk, a "good" radio call has to have danger. It is why we signed up. From experience, you learn quickly radio calls can go from, "good" to "bad" faster then you can blink your eyes. And it sometimes did. But until it does go bad, enjoy it. If it goes really bad, hang on, never quit, and remember to preserve human life first. Everything else is replaceable.

While working in Logan Heights in the mid 1980's, PCP or "Angel dust" was a very popular drug. It was like that in the poorer neighborhoods of San Diego County. Part of the reasons was because PCP was not as expensive as cocaine and it was easy to manufacturer. That made the supply of this very dangerous hallucinogenic drug plentiful. Dealing with "sherm heads, "PCP freaks" and people, "moon walking" was all part of a night on patrol in Logan Heights.

Most people do not know, but PCP was originally developed as an elephant tranquilizer. When a human smokes PCP they display amazing strength and power. They feel no pain, so they may actually be tearing tendons or breaking bones and not even know it. Their eyes will actually bounce vertically when they look up our down displaying a symptom called, vertical nystagmus. The first time you see it, it is kind of freaky. It was cool training new patrol officers on how to recognize, manage, and safely arrest these unpredictable drug users.

People high on PCP are usually pretty easy to recognize. Some nights I felt lIke we were in the movie, Night of the Living Dead. There were zombies wandering the streets of Imperial Ave and the adjoining letter streets like J,K, and L. People under the influence would even occasionally extend their arms in front of them and, "moon walk" lifting their knees up very high and lightly placing their feet back on the ground.

Often being non-communicative, they would just have a, "blank stare" on their faces and not respond when we spoke to them. We of course would speak softly if possible, in order to not overstimulate their response systems. Responding units would, "drop code" a few blocks away turning their sirens and lights off and try and approach the suspect quietly. No yelling, calming the situation, and applying not only one, but yes, two sets of handcuffs.

Like a dragon from a forbidden kingdom you also had to avoid getting a strong smell of their breath. It was very harsh and frequently smelled like caustic chemicals, (almost like gasoline or paint thinner). And of course to make it even more interesting, we would sometimes find them naked or disrobing. They would strip off their clothes due to their increased body temperature. It was weird on cold nights. We would be wearing jackets, seeing our breath in the cold air, and right there in the middle of the public park is a person high on PCP wearing only on his birthday suit.

I immediately suspected it was a person on PCP when the radio in my patrol car crackled, "511John, 513 Frank, respond to a report of a man armed with a knife on Kearney Ave. Suspect's mother is reporting her son is going crazy, tearing up the house. He has no shirt on and is out of control. She ran to a neighbor’s home to call for help. This is coming in as a hot call". A hot call means the lead dispatcher is monitoring the incoming radio call and direct dispatching. Bottom line, less time delay in receiving critical information.

Around nine at night is a bad time for this type of radio call to come in. Graveyard shift officers are just starting line-up at the sub station and many of our peers from second watch were out of service with arrests and/or investigations. Normally the radio would come alive on a call like this because it is the type of radio call police officers want to go to. Not as much because there may be gunplay, but because the challenge is big. Kind of like when the San Diego Chargers play Denver at mile Mile High Stadium on Monday Night Football. You want to be there in the trenches, struggling to make sure the right side wins.

Any call or contact you make as a cop one of the first things you always consider is how far away your cover is. And no, it is not a neighbor or anyone else other then a cop, Sheriff Deputy, or a CHP officer. A person you can count on. A real law enforcement officer. I know people read about citizens stepping up and helping a cop in need. In reality, that is rarer then a free beer at a Padre game. As we parked our marked patrol cars near the residence we heard the screams coming from inside the home.

Without getting too technical or scientific describing any other force options, I knew we needed stopping power. I reached over and pushed the electronic magnetic release on the shotgun mount in our squad car. It gave that loud reassuring click that confirmed it was ready to help. It was not another police officer, but I knew I could count on it. As I drew the cold metal shotgun with a wooden grip from the car I kept looking for the mother. I then heard another high pitched scream from inside the home. Without saying another word we all knew we had to enter the home now. The option of waiting for more cover to arrive was just taken off the table. He may kill his mom before they get in there.

Yelling, San Diego Police Department, we kicked open the front door and entered. We immediately felt like we were stepping into a sauna. Everything was steamy and wet. The interior of the home looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Every item was broken, torn and scattered about. Clothes, paperwork, broken furniture and lamps were all piled near the center of the room. In the far corner we could see the pipe attaching the hot water heater to the wall was spewing hot water against the ceiling. As I scanned the room, looking over the barrel of the shotgun, I saw the water heater move. With the sound of screeching metal we then heard that high pitched scream again. It was not the mother at all. It was her son. He had his arms wrapped around the water heater as he tried to wrestle it away from the wall.

We identified ourselves again and told him to stop and put his hands up. Dressed only in his Baker, Victor, David's, (BVD's) he stared intently at us for about three seconds as he appeared to be processing what was occurring. He then released the water heater and stared intently at what now had his undivided interest. In my heart I knew then it was not us. That was just before he attacked us. We all knew what he really wanted to play with next. It was my 12 gauge shotgun loaded with 00 buck. .

Like a wet cat he suddenly came bounding over the piles of debri trying to grab the shotgun. He was on us in seconds. I remember turning away from him and trying to pass the shotgun to my trainee who was behind me. I extending it as far as I could away from my body to keep it out of the suspects reach. I felt like Phillip Rivers trying to avoid a crashing safety as his amped up, drug fed body, impacted all of us. His wet hair was against my face as he grunted and screamed trying with both hands to reach the shotgun. His breath and incoherent screaming confirmed what we already knew.

After an expedited, emergency call for more cover and allot of wrestling on the wet dirty floor, (while protecting the suspect from grabbing our holstered handguns) we finally got him handcuffed. Though I have never spoken great Spanish, what the mother said afterwards was very understandable. She was very grateful she still had a son. It was not a win for the Chargers in Denver, but we felt pretty good.

This experience like so many other nights on patrol, make me feel fortunate of where I am and how blessed Theresa, myself, and our boys are to live in this place, and at this time. I know allot of people are struggling with the economy, but times will get better. I promise.


Theresa and I hope you have a great week.