(In part one last week, Cst. Al MacDonald and I had just left a bush party north of Emo with a teenager under arrest for consuming alcohol under age and creating a disturbance. The time was about midnight.
As we headed towards Fort Frances, our passenger’s demeanor underwent a gradual transition—with a little help from Cst. MacDonald. I would have bet the farm he was destined to spend the night in jail. I would have lost . . .)
As we made our way back towards Highway 11, the teen in custody became more agitated and eventually abusive, but Cst. MacDonald remained calm and reasonable until the comments from the back seat took on a more personal nature.
One of the things about community policing is you live in the community—your kids are out there in society like everybody else’s. And so when our guest’s invective turned toward Cst. MacDonald’s family, he decided he’d had enough.
He brought the cruiser to a grinding halt, turned on the interior lights, and turned around to confront the situation directly.
I fully expected Cst. MacDonald to tear a strip off the young man and certainly wouldn’t have blamed him if he had, but in a splendid example of reverse psychology, he turned the tables and tried to shame him instead.
The quiet, reasonable approach seemed to have the desired effect. Following a few minutes of silence, during which our guest was obviously thinking, he once again began to talk, but in an apologetic, conciliatory manner.
By the time we approached Fort Frances, our passenger’s attitude had made a 180-degree turn and Cst. MacDonald was considering letting him off. That decision, however, was taken out of our hands when we received a radio call stating there was another problem at the same party.
Someone, who was obviously under the influence, was trying to drive away.
We dropped off our passenger at a strip mall on Second Street East and headed back to the party—this time at high speed. I have never been in a car at this speed, especially at night, and I was curious to know what the protocols were for such a situation.
“We’re responsible and held accountable if we have an accident,” explained Cst. MacDonald as he expertly weaved his way around traffic that appeared to be standing still in comparison.
Terrific, I thought. That’ll be some comfort if we hit a moose.
I noticed he wasn’t running with his lights flashing continuously, but just hit them briefly when we approached traffic from behind. His explanation for that did little to settle my nerves.
“When people see the flashing lights approaching at high speed, they sometimes panic and actually steer into them,” Cst. MacDonald noted. “I try to get around people quickly without causing any confusion.”
We were back at the scene of the party in 14 minutes flat, but our impaired driver had a three-minute head start on us. After conferring briefly with Cst. Hicks, we decided to try to find him, based on his probable destination and route.
So we proceeded with a grid search—stopping at each intersection to look for dust or fresh skid marks that might indicate the direction our quarry had taken.
But after about 20 minutes, it was apparent he had given us the slip. Cst. MacDonald was philosophical about it.
“In town, we [the police] know every street and alley, but out here, the locals have the edge,” he reasoned.
Undoubtedly, the suspect had pulled off on one of the dozens of logging roads and bush trails and waited until we gave up.
It was now after 1 a.m. and Cst. MacDonald suggested we head back to the Fort and do a Scott Street sweep. The bars would be closing soon and there often is some after-hours rowdiness in that part of town.
As we headed back (at a more leisurely pace this time), I asked him about the other aspects of his job. For instance, what sort of training do the police have in dealing with victims of crime?
“We don’t have one particular officer for that,” was his answer. “We all deal with it. Of course, certain officers—because of their personalities—are better at it than others.
“We take our direction from senior officers plus outside resources like the crisis centre.”
Cst. MacDonald said he enjoys all aspects of the job: teaching DARE classes, solving crimes, and highway patrol. “When you first enter your career, a police officer wants to make a difference to your community. I think we do,” he remarked.
I asked him if he considered himself an idealist.
“I try to be,” Cst. MacDonald replied. “You see the community as a whole and understand the majority are really good, as you saw tonight.
“There are good people everywhere. Sometimes you just have to look for them.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes with the mobile radar once again scanning for speeders. Then I asked him how he avoids becoming cynical, which he thought about for a minute before answering.
“By leading a balanced life,” he said. “As police officers, we deal with what other people don’t want to deal with. The important thing is you can’t lose your compassion for mankind. If you do that, you lose the reason you became a police officer.
“It happens,” he acknowledged. “We all have our highs and lows.”
And what about those lows? Do the police themselves have people they can go to when they need help? “We have excellent resources,” Cst. MacDonald assured me.
We chatted about life in general, the similarities and differences in our personal backgrounds. As we approached town, he turned to me and asked a question.
“You’ve seen a typical example of community policing tonight. Tell me, how many different hats do I wear?”
I mulled over that one and began to add them up—teacher, counsellor, diplomat, psychologist, mediator, enforcer, protector. Police officers are all trained in emergency first-aid and some are fully-qualified paramedics, as well.
As we pulled into Tim Hortons (insert joke here), we got yet another call from the same bush party. This time it was an exasperated mother who was having trouble with her daughter and wanted someone to take her home.
I looked at Cst. MacDonald and said, “I guess we can add cab driver to that list.”
Off we went again to the party. By now, I could have found my own way there even in the dark.
When we arrived, we found another teen who had had too much to drink. This one was under 16 and apparently in a pretty feisty mood. Cst. MacDonald talked to her for a few minutes, then to her mother, and then back to her.
This continued for more than 20 minutes until Cst. MacDonald returned to the cruiser with a grim look on his face. I don’t know what transpired, but I know an angry man when I see one.
The young woman was arrested and placed in the back of our cruiser. This time I was certain there would be no reprieve. There would be a guest in the lockup tonight.
We drove back to Fort Frances for the last time. By now it was after 2 a.m. and I was running out of questions and ideas, so we talked about life in Borderland. I told him I was from down east, where there are different policing issues and priorities—or so I thought.
It seems things aren’t that much different after all.
For instance, Cst. MacDonald told me the biggest area of crime among young people is property crimes—particularly break-and-enter. That, he says, is a seasonal thing. There is less of it in the summer when cottages are occupied.
Then there’s drugs. “Marijuana is still the drug of choice for students,” he said. “But cocaine is coming up.”
We arrived at the Fort Frances detachment shortly before 3 a.m., at which time our prisoner was processed and incarcerated. Then came the tedious job of writing up the report and filing it in the Records Management System. Having watched Cst. MacDonald type in the last one using his “search and destroy” technique, I volunteered to input the data for him. I’ll never set any speed-typing records, but I estimate I saved us at least 15 minutes and since I already had been on my feet for 21 hours, I was anxious to get it over with and call it a night.
After shaking hands with Cst. MacDonald and the other officers, I made my weary way home, thinking about all that had happened. The thing that struck me most was how astute Cst. MacDonald’s perceptions seemed to be.
He had said earlier that only about one percent of the people cause most of the trouble. There were between 350-400 kids at that party and only four were a problem.
Those numbers are reason for optimism, but it’s nice to know there are those who are always ready to deal with the trouble-makers.
