Whisper by Ray Shay

Whisper   
By Ray Shay   

  

Recently, after finishing Chelsea's Run in Balboa Park our family walked over to Jimmy Carter's Mexican Restaurant at Fifth and Palm Ave.  As we approached the restaurant, I saw a mentally disturbed man wandering in the middle of the parking lot of the 7-11 store across the street.  

He abruptly pulled off his jacket and threw it to the ground before yelling obscenities at his invisible demons.  It was not long before SDPD arrived and placed the man into custody. While the man sat handcuffed in the rear seat of the police car, I talked with one of the young officers. 

The officer said one of their biggest issues lately, are people ingesting methamphetamine from Mexico which is laced with some unknown chemicals.  It results in persons exhibiting symptoms similar to PCP abuse.    

As he spoke, I recalled the dangers of PCP.  I then thought of SDPD Officer Mike Anaya who was only on the force for about nine months, when a PCP suspect overpowered him and killed him with his own duty weapon. 

Officer Michael Anaya (Click here to read his story)

PCP (phencyclidine) or "Angel Dust" as they call it, is a powerful sedative which was originally used to tranquilize elephants.  When I was on patrol in the cheaper areas of this city, the drug was frequently referred to as, "poor man's cocaine."  

I sometimes testified in San Diego Municipal Court as an expert on PCP abuse.  It only meant I knew slightly more than an average citizen and I had documented experience and specialized training in this hallucinogenic drug.  

Before gathering our family to head home, I cautioned the police officers to be safe. A common departing comment between cops, even a retired one and the next generation of law enforcement officers.  A friendly reminder that each moment they are wearing a badge, they are a target.

As I drove down I-163 to Mission Valley, I thought back to my countless encounters of people under the influence of PCP.  I then found myself squeezing the steering wheel as I thought to myself, I should have told those young officers to whisper.  It could save their lives. 

 

With most police critical incidents, you learn that either you or the violent suspect is in charge. That is why when guns are drawn or tempers flair, officers take command by saying, "San Diego Police," in a loud, authoritative voice.  New officers are reminded to practice this skill so they can take command of situations quickly.  

We also learned through experience, it was often best to slide to the other end of the spectrum and coax suspects into custody if they were under the influence of PCP.  You want to step into their often hallucinogenic episode softly and quietly. Every officer in the early 1980's learned to roll up to 11550 (b) scenes with no siren or emergency lights flashing and definitely never to screech their tires when stopping.

A sudden loud noise, quick move or lack of patience could result in the person suddenly turning violent. Since they feel no pain, seem to have super human strength and are likely hallucinating, the only thing that could stop them was sheer body weight. It would result in the proverbial "dog pile" while you try to gain control and apply handcuffs.  The entire time you keep one arm across your holster, securing your duty weapon to prevent the situation from turning deadly.  

Our sons still ask me to tell the story of the man on the roof.  It was just after shift change, about four in the afternoon when the radio call came out at 2800 Logan Avenue.  The reporting party said a large man who was likely high on PCP, was standing on his roof. If I didn't mention it, he was standing on the roof his car and the man was completely naked.  

I think I was the third unit to arrive on the scene.  The man was a giant.  The roof of the car was partially caved in and he stood broadly with both arms high in the air with his fists tightly clenched.  He looked at me and proclaimed, "I am God."

PCP can come in solid, powder or liquid form. It is most frequently found in liquid form and tobacco or marijuana cigarettes are "dipped" in the substance and then it is ingested by smoking.

Looking into his eyes you could see the "blank stare" appearance which is common with the drug. The drug also makes a person run hot and that is why they are frequently found naked.

The other symptoms of being under the influence of PCP is muscle rigidity, a strong chemical odor on their breath, hallucinations and finally PCP is one of the few things that can actually cause their eyes to display vertical nystagmus.  It simple terms, their eyes will bounce up and down similar to the old video "Pong" or "Breakout." Now, I am really dating myself.

As I looked at the man, I realized even if I had half the Department here, we could not likely physically restrain him.  I knew we had to talk him into handcuffs. That is where the whisper came in.  I recall engaging him in my softest voice, "God, everything is OK.  Why don't you just come down and talk to me?"

He glanced slowly around at the gathering neighbors, the owner of the car who kept repeating, "he is on my car!' and the additional police cars who kept quietly rolling up.  I think I mustered a smile as I waved him towards me and repeated that everything was OK. He stared at me for about thirty seconds and then to everyone's relief he slowly lowered his arms and stepped off the roof and walked across the hood of the car as it dented below his heavy weight. He reminded me of the incredible Hulk as he stepped on to the black asphalt with his huge bare feet. 

I whispered again, "Everything is OK." I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Several officers quietly eased his hands behind his back and applied the standard double sets of handcuffs. One to hold him and the second to make sure the first set did not break.

As I continued our drive back home with my family, I wondered if I should even this story.  I know the eWeekly has wide readership including many police officers, but most of my readers sit in gate guarded communities or in expensive homes with HOA's and neatly manicured front yards. I know it will likely ruffle some feathers, but I hope the second group sees this article as educational.

If PCP or methamphetamine laced with chemicals is making a come back, I think you should know about it. Talking to experts in the field of narcotic prevention, they emphasize the importance of parents paying attention to their children, interacting with them frequently and be their parent and not necessarily only their best friend. Finally, don't wait too long to ask for professional help if you discover there is a problem. 

Enjoy your week, as we are all so fortunate to have peacekeepers like Officer Mike Anaya and so many others on the job to protect us and help safeguard our children.

 

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved

The Stinky Trash Can by Ray Shay

The Stinky Trash Can 

By Ray Shay   

  
We had a standing rule in our car that while driving our children to their competitive sporting events, they could select the music. Their song choices have been broad and varied and I think they have enjoyed the freedom to select what they wanted to hear.

That rule suddenly changed last Saturday morning while I was driving one of our sons to play a cross town rival. I thought I heard the singer drop the, "n-word."  My suspicions proved correct when the singer said it once again, and by the third time, I reached over and turned the radio off.
My son was surprised and started to argue about his Fifth Amendment rights, my earlier promises they could play whatever music they wanted, and his final argument was, "all the popular songs use that word."  I know it was a visceral reaction, when I looked him in the eye and said songs using that word will never be played in our car.

After a few minutes he said, "fine." He then played a song with the weirdest set of sounds I had ever heard.  As we pulled into the high school parking lot and he reached into the back seat to grab his gear, I commented on his selection. He replied dryly before shutting the door, "It is the same song without the words."

As I watched him walk away I thought about my parents and my mom specifically who often told us seven kids, "You don't have to stick your head in a trash can to know it stinks."  I knew I had to find a way to re-approach our adolescent son and try to convince him why that word was off limits. By doing so, I knew I would have to tell him why I hate that word so much ...

 
It was the late 1960's when I first recall anyone using the "n-word." Thankfully my parents were way ahead of the curve on the importance of equality and what was right and wrong.  

I remember I was about nine or ten years old when a friend of mine called some dark holiday nuts a racist nickname.  I did not realize it was improper and naively thought that was just what people called them. 

I recall walking on to our front porch holding a basket of those dark, long nuts when I asked my father if he wanted any.  His response was quick and immediate.  I suddenly found myself lying on the ground with the basket and those dark nuts scattered around me. He made it clear the, "n-word" was never to be used.

  

When I became a police officer, I encountered racist people. They always turned my stomach. Despite what some people may say or what you see on national news, I never once saw a sworn law enforcement officer act in a racist manner.  It never would have been tolerated by his or her peers, or the San Diego Police Department.

Agent Thomas Riggs

Later in the day, I was again alone with my son.  I told him what happened on my front porch, a very long time ago.  I then asked him to think of two of his best friends while I told him a story about two fellow SDPD Police Officers named Agent Thomas Riggs and Officer Donovan Jacobs.  

I summarized how they conducted a traffic stop where a highly trained martial artist named Sagon Penn turned uncooperative and ultimately began fighting Officer Donovan Jacobs.

Within a matter of seconds he disarmed Officer Jacobs and shot him in the neck (partially paralyzing him).  Penn then used the same gun to shoot Agent Tom Riggs three times and then walked over to the marked police car and shot the female, civilian ride along, twice.  Penn then removed Agent Riggs handgun from his duty belt as he lay dying on the dirt driveway and stole the police car, running over Officer Jacobs as he fled the scene. 

  

Click here to read more about the incident.
Penn's Defense Attorney alleged at the subsequent trials that somewhere in the confrontation that terrible word was used. I don't believe it, but that is what defense attorney's do.  They represent their clients best interests and it was in his best interest to leverage that hateful word.

I still recall that sunny June day in 1985 when Sagon Penn was cleared of all charges and walked out of jail a free man. After I loaded my shotgun and placed it in the electronic dashboard mount of my patrol car, I just sat there for a few minutes with the air conditioning on full speed.  I kept asking myself how that could have happened?

I spoke with our son privately and then we discussed the use of that word as a family.  They figured it out.  I hope our sons never forget the importance of equality and staying out of the trash can of bigotry and hate.

I did not have the heart to tell our children that Tom and his wife Colleen had an infant son named "Adam" when he was killed in the line of duty.  Another example of a Police Officer who never had the enjoyment of seeing his child compete in team sports or the opportunity to help his son identify what is right and what is wrong in this big, complex world.

I can only hope that one day that hate filled word will leave our lexicon.


Enjoy your week,

 

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved

Let's Go! By Ray Shay

Let's Go! 

By Ray Shay 

Six of the seven Shay kids sitting on our front porch.  I'm sleeping in my sister Sharon's arms.

The strangest thing happened to me on my way to work this week.  I stopped in front of Del Norte High School and our oldest son Troy piled out of the front passenger seat of our car as he grabbed his backpack and two freshly toasted waffles resting on a paper plate.  As he rushed off, I yelled out, "Have a great day Troy!"

As I prepared to merge into morning traffic, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw our 14 year old son Raymond and his lanky 6' 1" frame folded into the right rear seat. 

While waiting for traffic to clear, Raymond blurted out, "let's go."  It must have been the pitch of his voice or the no-nonsense tone coming from the back seat of the car that caused me to suddenly think of my father, who passed away many years ago.

I felt a tinge of sadness as I pulled into traffic. I could not say anything to Raymond, but his deepening voice was so much like my father's it is kind of creepy.  In the complex DNA coin flip between Chinese and Irish, I think more of the Irish floated to the top. Raymond's beautiful Asian eyes may be from Hong Kong, but his voice is definitely from somewhere outside of Dublin, Ireland.

As I continued driving, I kept thinking about my dad and the memories Raymond tripped in the wiring of my own, slightly disorganized brain.  I know it was the words, "let's go."  I also know, in all the years I was an adolescent,

I'm the little one looking up at my dad.

I only felt close to my father a handful of times.

Let's just say my dad and I did not see eye to eye.  In fact, my most common emotion I regularly felt around him growing up, was a sense of fear. 

All seven of us kids knew he had a rough childhood and he was scarred from combat operations in World War II, the Korean War and the unyielding burden of feeding and housing a family of nine.

All that aside, I will never forget the crystal blue night in the high desert of Albuquerque, New Mexico when my dad cut me off, as I tried to sneak into my bedroom in the garage.

A single car garage conversion he built as a place for me and three of my brothers to sleep.  The  small shower and toilet frequently backed up, but as they say in real estate, it's all about location, location, location.

Sleeping in the garage had its perks.  It was close proximity to the kitchen and multiple food sources, it was really easy to sneak out of our house late at night, and most importantly, it was as far away from my dad and mom's bedroom as possible.

Our entire crew...Joe, Mom, Sharon, Patricia, Me, Rick, Dad, Mike and John

I recall walking into our home that evening and seeing my dad definitely had the Great Santini look working.  He was sitting at his usual perch at the bar adjoining our kitchen wearing his trademark white, short sleeve T-Shirt, jeans, boots, and his high and tight haircut.   As he poured Popov Vodka over his hand chipped pieces of ice resting at the bottom of the glass he told me, "let's go for a ride."

My dad was "half in the bag" as he used to say, but tonight a smile flashed across his face, which surprised me.  It was a strong indicator, I would not have to be light on my feet.  I had recently purchased a sweet-looking, light purple, 1968 Chevrolet Impala convertible. 

My father filled up his drink, grabbed a pack of Kent cigarettes, and a book of matches.  I then followed him out the front door of our home. At 6' 2" and around 220 lbs., he was an imposing figure.  He lit a cigarette and climbed into the back seat of my car.   As the cigarette smoke streamed a thin trail of white smoke into the mile high night sky, he gave me the order to move forward, "let's go!"

 

As I looked into my rear view mirror I could see my dad's muscular arms draped over the back and right rear side of my car.  He kept looking up at the night sky and we were both bathed in the green light and the music from my prized Pioneer stereo.  I just drove and drove.  I really do not recall how long I navigated the streets of Albuquerque.  

I do remember thinking this was absolutely perfect.  It was too loud for us to really talk to each other due to the combination of the wind and the music.  My dad kept smoking, drinking and looking up at the stars.

The entire time I was scanning for and avoiding APD with their blue uniforms and black and white police cars.  Police cars, I dreamed, one day I would be driving.  

To be one of seven kids, and to be alone with our father was a huge deal. For him to appear relaxed and carefree was even bigger. I know the vodka deserved the credit, but I really did not care.  He was happy and I did not want that drive to ever end.

  

When I finally pulled into our driveway, I recall my dad unsteadily put his arms around me and said some nice things.  He then slowly turned and wandered back to the bar and ultimately his end of our home.  I never joined Albuquerque Police Department and I never mentioned to my father what that evening really meant to me.

In the years that followed, my father's demons quieted and with it, his heart began to flourish.  He ultimately rallied and broke the heavy chains of alcoholism and addiction to nicotine.  He then dedicated the remainder of his life to mending fences with the people he loved most and celebrating with each of us our ever-changing lives.  He became his children's best friend. 

My Dad and I on one of his many Ride-a-longs with SDPD

We were all very lucky to have our father, and when he  passed from this earth, he broke all of our hearts.  As it should be.

I think in life, we all strive to learn from our own as well as other people's mistakes.

Ever since our children were very young, Theresa and I have had a funny habit with our kids. It is calledTWD or TWM. We often joke about it and yet we repeatedly encourage it.    

It simply means "Time with Dad" or "Time with Mom." It signifies Theresa or I taking just one of our three sons out alone and focusing exclusively on them as individuals.  It could be dinner, a sports event or even a late night drive around the neighborhood.

I suspect as our kids travel through their own adolescent years, they may prefer mom and I to sit in the back seat.  To their chagrin, we choose up front.  I can then look up at those millions of stars in the heavens and know two of them are looking back at us.  If I listen carefully, I can hear one of them saying, "That's marvelous Raymond."


Enjoy your week.
  

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved

Blue & Gold - Jackie Never Ran by Ray Shay

 

Editors note: Gold and Blue is a series of police stories which may be inappropriate for younger readers. This is a small peek behind the badge of America's Finest. 

Last Thursday morning as the sun began rising over San Diego, California, I found myself reflecting on the upcoming holiday season. I stepped off the treadmill and asked myself what I was thankful for?  I recall thinking, "I'm glad Jackie never ran."

My response surprised me.  Maybe it was my short and labored breathing as I recalled chasing criminals on foot or maybe, just maybe, I was thinking about rookie Police Officer Jerry Hartless.  I always think of him during this time of year. Jerry was killed in the line of duty in 1988, shortly after Chrstmas.    

Jerry, a former Marine who I had the honor of training was murdered while chasing an armed drug dealer who was a member of  a notoriously violent street gang in Southeast San Diego.

Officer Jerry Hartless is on the left.

Jerry at the young age of twenty-four years old was the  elventh SDPD officer killed in the line of duty in just eleven years, (click here). At the time our officer mortality rate ranked us the most dangerous city in America to be a cop.

As for Jackie, he was one of our regular customers.  I cannot really say he was my friend since we only interacted while I was on the job. 

Jackie had a slight problem.  He was a code three heroin addict and we were on opposite teams.  His job was to feed his addiction while we tried to stop him.   

Jackie was easy to recognize.  When we saw each other in the busy downtown streets of San Diego he never ran from me. I think part of it was the derivative of opium regularly flowing through his blood stream which slows everything down.  In a strange way we both enjoyed talking with each other.

I usually only arrested Jackie early in my shift before darkness fell and brought with it the increase in violent crime which pushed non violent criminal arrests to the back burner.  It would be tough to explain to my fellow officers I was with Jackie when the drive by shootings and stabbings started coming in and there was no one available to cover them.

So many young people think drugs can be romantic or are not dangerous. I wish I could somehow bring every high school student in San Diego into the cramped quarters in Police Headquarters where we conducted our evaluations of persons under the influence of narcotics.

Jerry's Police Academy Classmates. Jerry is in lower left corner.

It was where police officer trainees would often begin to learn what it is like to see a heroin junkie up close and personal.  I won't even attempt to describe the smell that filled the dark room as we examined Jackie's pinpoint pupils.  

They say a person's eyes are a mirror to their soul, but they are also the truest indicator of what is coursing through a persons blood stream.

Jackie if nothing else was consistent.  He almost always displayed the classic symptoms of opiate abuse by repeatedly licking his dry lips, lightly scratching his face and when he spoke you could see the white film on his tongue and lips.

I would always look at my trainees face when Jackie rolled up his sleeves or his pants legs as the lab technician faced the challenge of trying to find a useable vein to draw blood.  The countless puncture wounds, scabs and abscesses provided a strange roadmap of where all of Jackie's veins were within reach of a hypodermic needle.  Silent testimony to his relentless addiction.
 
On the rare instances when Jackie was not high, I could tell he was in pain. I suggested he go to the methadone clinic or get help, but he would just shake his head from side to side much like the tremors he experienced due to his bodies hunger for heroin. 

Monty Hall

When we had enough arrests on  Jackie we would meet in San Diego Municipal Court.  Jackie's Public Defender always had a strange look on his or her face when Jackie and I exchanged pleasantries. 

Much like Monty Hall on Let's Make A Deal, Jackie would plead guilty to a few counts of under the influence of narcotics while the City Attorney would throw out a few.  The ultimate result is Jackie would finally get help for his addiction while in custody.

When Jackie got out of jail he always looked so much healthier.  I'm sure it was the "Duffy Burgers."  The name inmates and deputies called the hamburgers served in County Jail.  A jab or compliment to Sheriff Duffy.

When Jackie returned to the streets he would always quickly climb back on the drug train where food is no longer important.  It took control of him and ultimately carried Jackie and countless people like him to their graves.

In a strange and tragic way both Jackie's slow death and Officer Jerry Hartless' violent death are connected through drugs. As our society continues our path towards decriminalization of not only marijuana but narcotics, people should reconsider how it will impact our children.

Officer Jerry Hartless carried to his final resting place.

I think if the people who voted for passage of Proposition 47 (which made narcotic possession a misdemeanor in California) had met Jackie, or saw Officer Jerry Hartless' young widow holding the above flag in her small and trembling hands, they would have been better educated voters.

After twenty four years in law enforcement, I prefer to focus on the roses, but it is likely the hidden scars which reminds me to take a moment when sitting down with family and friends this holiday season and give thanks to both law enforcement and our military heroes for their sacrifices.

Without them and their families, our people and certainly our country would be lost to violence.

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

Money People by Ray Shay

Theresa checks out SWAT Tactical Gear at Fundraiser     On Thursday morning, Theresa and I were experiencing our typical early morning chaos as we prepared our three boys for school. What made the day special is we would soon be attending the 10th Annual SDPD Citizens for SWAT Golf Tournament at Maderas Golf Club.   As fate would have it, I turned the page on my morning newspaper and read a small article about the tragic news of four California law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty in the last few days. The most recent victim was Pasadena SWAT Officer Shaun Diamond who died from wounds he suffered from a shotgun blast fired through the front door of a gang members home.   As what sometimes happens with military or emergency personnel, I sat quietly as I looked at the newspaper but my thoughts were suddenly miles away. I did not say a word to anyone as life continued to swirl around me.  It is hard to describe what it is like to suddenly trip and fall into a dark twisted tunnel that leads to one of my private memories.  A moment in time, I would rather not recall.   I was back in the dark and dank hallway near downtown San Diego when the explosive breaching team cleared an alternative entry point to the right of the front door. We were preparing an observation or secondary entry point via the armed suspect's closet.  I still recall the plastic explosives "rocked" all of us and knocked my ballistic helmet down hard across the bridge of my nose. As I pushed up my helmet the suspect began firing his weapon through the front door.  I could not see the bullets only hear the smaller explosions and the metal on metal mechanical sounds of his weapon cycling as the splintering wood holes appeared on the surface of the wooden door allowing small round beams of light to leak out of his barricaded residence and illuminate the soiled carpet outside his front door.  As I reflected briefly on those past critical moments, I could not help but think of the Pasadena Police Officer and his fellow team members.  I then quietly folded the newspaper and told all three of our sons I wanted them to come to the SWAT banquet tonight so they could meet some real heroes.  Our middle son Raymond asked, "Dad were you a hero?"  I quickly replied, "No son, not me. I was just doing my job." I explained the real heroes were the people who came to the golf tournament and donated their hard earned money in order to buy equipment to help the SWAT Team save lives. In unison, both Raymond and Ryan laughed out loud and yelled out, "Oh That's great dad!  You tell the SWAT Officers tonight  they are not heroes. Let us know how it works out for you?" Ray with San Diego Mayor Kevin Faulconer, SDPD Chief of Police Shelly Zimmerman and Citizens for SWAT Co-Chair Dan Barnett.    I asked them to tell me who are the people who donate the money if they are not heroes?   Ryan always quick with an answer said,  "There the money people dad."  After several more exchanges Ryan stuck by his opinion insisting they were simply, "money people."  Why could I not understand that? Later in the evening as the auctioneer asked for donations and people started raising their hands I felt like I always do at that time of the event, very uncomfortable. I don't like asking anyone for money, but I also know the reality is that very generous citizens and businesses are vital to providing SWAT Officers with the best equipment available to carry out their hazardous duties. I also know SWAT and Police Officers see themselves as courageous and honorable people who enter harms way for a cause greater than themselves.  To them both the citizens and companies including long time supporters Mor Furniture, Serta and Echo Pacific Construction are the real heroes. To Troy, Raymond and Ryan's point yes, SWAT Officers can be heroes.  The four California Law Enforcement Officers killed last week are certainly heroes that will never be forgotten.  They were dads, brothers and sons who will no longer be able to banter with their children, parents or siblings  about "Money People" and other such interesting things.  It is another reason why Police and Sheriffs Departments across this great country need regular citizens to help them.  Law enforcement agencies can no longer do it alone.     By the way, Citizens for SWAT raised over $100,000.00 dollars this year to help make our community and our police officers a bit safer.  Thank you. Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014

Doors By Ray Shay

  
As Theresa and I stood on the expansive patio of Loews Coronado Bay Resort on Saturday afternoon, I found myself looking across the bay at the changing hues of our San Diego skyline as the warm yellow sun seemed to melt into the Pacific Ocean.
 
I took a moment to privately acknowledge our good fortune and ask myself how I ended up here. I felt lucky to witness the magical moment when Lindsey Ludwig turned towards her family and friends, sharing her trademark gentle smile as she held up a bouquet of bright flowers into the rapidly changing colors of our October sky. 

Lindsey and Blake

 
I never imagined seven years ago when I placed my Lieutenants badge on SDPD Chief Lansdowne's desk, I would have the opportunity to experience such a variety of events.  By changing careers and choosing a different path, I discovered an entirely new set of doors.  Each of them unique with their own challenges and surprises.
 
Like James P. "Sulley" Sullivan and his one-eyed partner Mike Wazowski of Monsters Inc. a few of the doors I opened had big surprises. Some of them I wish I never opened, while others, like the one we opened today, reinforced I made the right decision.  

Lindsey and her father Steve Ludwig.

 

As the owner of a company you develop a close bond with your employees and you feel fortunate to share glimpses of their lives, regardless if it is a challenge they currently face or a day of celebration.

Lindsey, like all of our employees, works hard to bring a higher level of service to our extremely competitive, commission only business.  A dramatic change from law enforcement where there were always plenty of customers and the paycheck never bounced.  Leaving that security to

Blake and Lindsey Fech.

walk on a trail less traveled has been frock with uncertainty, but also some amazing rewards.

I recognized the value of my job change as Theresa and I stood in the main ballroom as Lindsey and Blake Fech were announced. I wished them good fortune as they prepared to step through one of their first doors together as husband and wife.  Congratulations!

Have a great week

,

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

The SWAT Academy by Ray Shay

Like my parents before me, Theresa and I encourage our three sons to identify and pursue their passion, regardless of what it is. I feel lucky because I always knew I wanted to be a police officer.

When I stopped by the SDPD Firearms Training Range on Friday morning, it reminded me of my passion for law enforcement.  I saw potential new SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) Officers

SWAT Candidate

participating in the 2014 SWAT Academy.

I could heard the large volume of gunfire as SWAT candidates were learning advanced weapons skills and I saw officers carrying their tactical gear.  They yelled, "Good morning sir" as they marched past.  

The oppressive heat accentuated the unyielding effects of gravity on each of them as they strained under the burden of their heavy tactical body armor, weapons, ammunition and other gear which all seemed to be pressing them relentlessly towards our solid brown earth.

The sweat streaming off their faces reminded me once again what it means to the few SWAT officers who will successfully graduate and are awarded the honor of wearing a shiny brass SWAT pin on their dark blue San Diego Police uniforms.

SRT Officer Brad Pickett and  SWAT Executive Lieutenant Tina Williams

I noticed senior SRT (Special Response Team) Officer Brad Pickett was leading the training cadre.

We always called him "Bradman."  An excellent trainer and SWAT operator.  There were countless occasions where myself and other SWAT Officers worked with Brad and other team members to stop evil people who were intent on killing.

Being on a Perimeter, React or Entry Team as the door or wall of a home is breached with water backed explosive charges or feeling CS gas burning your lungs and eyes as flash bang diversionary devices were detonated, developed a certain bond between all of us.  Trusting someone with your life will do that to a person.

I felt a sense of melancholy when Brad said this would be his last SWAT Academy.  As I looked through my I-Phone viewer and took a picture of Brad and SWAT Executive Lieutenant Tina Williams, I realized how much the SWAT team has improved over the years.   

Ray back in the day...

You can tell from the photograph to the right, the quality of our equipment was historically poor.  I was using my hand held tactical mirror to peek around a corner of a wall in a training scenario at Camp Pendelton. I laugh when I see this photograph today, because that mirror was about as fancy as our equipment got and we each had to buy our own.

At SWAT missions the SEV (Special Equipment Vehicle) would roll up and pass out a limited number of helmets, gear and used Vietnam era AR-15 rifles and shotguns.  You learned to get to the Command Post early because it was like lining up at an ice cream truck in the middle of summer.  The selection of the best items dwindled quickly.  

Thanks to the support of the very generous business owners of ECHO Pacific, MOR Furniture, Citizens for SWAT Citizens for SWAT website and people like Dan Barnett, Tom Schwiebert, Padre baseball player Brian Giles and Assistant San Diego Police Chief Mark Jones, we now have one of the best equipped SWAT teams in the country.   

I visited briefly with Lt. Williams who is one of the handful of woman who ever successfully completed a SWAT Academy and like Brad she is a trusted and respected team member. Don't be fooled by her size.  Tina is an excellent XO and is a great compliment to SWAT Commanding Officer, Lt. Mark Saunders.
  
As I walked towards my car with Lt. Williams, she mentioned there are nineteen SDPD SWAT candidates and five officers from outside agencies in the academy and they had a qualification shoot later in the afternoon.  Neither of us said anything, but we both knew several of these men we saw today would likely not be around at the end of the academy.   

As the days wear on history has shown the constant stress, physical and mental demands and ability to consistently make sound decisions in difficult and rapidly changing environments results in candidates dropping on request or being dismissed from the SWAT Academy.   
  
It was good to see that despite having improved equipment the high standards of the team are clearly intact.  After all, under all that gear is simply a person's judgement and bravery.  It is what keeps these peacekeepers and our citizens as safe as possible as they enter the unforgiving world where there are no "do overs" and the margin for error is razor thin.   

The combination of a supportive community and a professional law enforcement agency is what helps these men and women pursue their highest priority, which is always the preservation of human life.  An honorable goal that is well worth the exceptional effort being put forth by both citizens and police.   

If you are interested in golfing at our 10th Annual Golf Tournament at Maderas to raise funds for the SDPD SWAT Team - Click on the following link:
  
SDPD SWAT Golf Tournament
  

Have a great week!

  

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

Yesterday by Ray Shay

Yesterday

By Ray Shay

9.30.14

Paul McCartney

 It was really strange standing among the throngs of people at Petco Park Sunday night listening as Paul McCartney entertained Theresa and I and over 42,000 other people.  The place was sold out and our seats were at a pretty cool location, yet it was almost an event we passed on.

Like most parents when the invitation came in our first tendency was to say, "no." Too much hassle, money, and juggling our kids on a school night.  I'm glad we decided to see Sir Paul who as a former Beatle has a

Petco Park

special place in so many people's hearts.

As he walked on to the stage he opened up with "Eight Days a Week."

After the first song, he stopped, took his guitar off and walked to the front of the stage.  He said, "I want to take a moment and drink this in."  I wondered how many wild crowds had cheered him in his lifetime and yet he still stopped to enjoy the moment.  Maybe that is one way life changes a person.  You take a moment to appreciate what you have before it is all gone.

Ray, Theresa, Jimmy and Kathy DiMatteo with SDPD Chief of Police Shelly Zimmerman

 

The crowds, the cool San Diego night and Paul Mcartney were all amazing. When we walked into Petco Park we were fortunate to see San Diego Police Chief Shelly Zimmerman. It was the perfect place for our top cop to greet so many visitors to our fine city.   Props to her Command Staff and Special Events personnel who pulled off another flawless event. 

The best part of the show for me was when Paul McCartney sang  "Yesterday." Like many of the older people in the 

Stage at Petco Park

stadium, I could reflect back to another place and time. A time when I was so young and my two older sisters and three brothers were all into the Beatles music. 

It also reminded me of Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Cub Band, Abbey Road, and seeing black vinyl records spinning on a record player in our small home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

The best way I could ever think of wrapping up seeing a legendary rocker like Paul McCartney is to include some of the lyrics of a song he and John Lennon wrote together.  I will never forget hearing
Sir Paul sing solo near the end of the show.  A show that we almost didn't make.

   

Have a great week, 

  

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014