Chief Ben Caruthers was the first Chief to bring modern methods to the NPD. A graduate of the FBI Academy, he instituted a comprehensive report form system, used standardized tests to select applicants, and provided training to us superior to what is available today. If the subject was Counterfeiting, Ben arranged for the Secret Service to do the instructing. Narcotics, the Bureau of Narcotics. And on down the line. This was at no cost to the agency. Out-of-town Feds loved to relax in Naples. And the FBI, who provided training, photographic supplies, and training ammo, viewed their help as a pay-back for using our firearms range.
Ben had worked hard to nurture these relationships and we all benefited from it. You have to remember this was a time when, under state law, it was not even necessary to send recruits to a police academy. And most agencies didn't. We went to the Broward County Police Academy, recognized as a premier one in the state.
Anyway, having so much federal training under my belt, and respecting their offices, I always took advantage of an opportunity to learn, when working with them. Once, a US Postal Inspector from Miami, who knew our family--my father was the Postmaster--dropped by and said he had a problem to take care of. Would I like to go along? Certainly.
The problem was a family we'll call the Burrs, who were a constant problem to us, as well. They lived in a filthy hovel in the boondocks and socially were below white trash. If anything was stolen in their neighbor, you need look no further than the Burr's: father or one of his gaggle of children. The immediate problem involved a violation of Federal Law.
The Inspector, let's use Jake Wayne, was a big man, confident in his authority and ability. He was easy talking and I'd never seen him get the least bit upset. I was anxious to see how he'd handle the Burr's, who could've given Buddha apoplexy.
We arrived at the Burr's nest and knocked on the door. Ma Burrs asked: "What is it now?"
Wayne ID'd himself, then, "I'm afraid we have a problem, Mrs. Burrs. It seems your children have been stealing US Mail, and destroying mail boxes." (Mail was stolen for the money people sometimes foolishly enclosed)
She put her hands on her hips. "Say's who?"
"Says our mail carrier, who saw them, tried to intercede, and was rocked for his trouble."
"Huh, that's his tale," she said, "I'm sittin' on mine."
The conversation with the sullen bitch went on a few more minutes before Wayne, seeing he was getting no where said, "Could I see Mr Burrs, please?"
A nasty dirtbag, who'd obviously been listening around the corner, appeared in the doorway. "What the hell's this all about?" he demanded.
Wayne looked at me, shrugged, grabbed Burrs by the throat and lifted him outside. Not letting him down, he said. "Listen to me, you inbred idiot, if you don't stop this thievey, I'm going to come back, beat you till you blubber like a baby, kill your dog, rape your wife, burn down your house, and anyone that happens to be left, put them under the federal prison. Understand?"
After several gulps, "Yessssss, Sir, Surrrrre do." And he did. No more mail was ever violated in his neighborhood.
And I learned a valuable lesson from a smooth operating fed. Sometimes it's not just what you say, but how you say it.
Ben had worked hard to nurture these relationships and we all benefited from it. You have to remember this was a time when, under state law, it was not even necessary to send recruits to a police academy. And most agencies didn't. We went to the Broward County Police Academy, recognized as a premier one in the state.
Anyway, having so much federal training under my belt, and respecting their offices, I always took advantage of an opportunity to learn, when working with them. Once, a US Postal Inspector from Miami, who knew our family--my father was the Postmaster--dropped by and said he had a problem to take care of. Would I like to go along? Certainly.
The problem was a family we'll call the Burrs, who were a constant problem to us, as well. They lived in a filthy hovel in the boondocks and socially were below white trash. If anything was stolen in their neighbor, you need look no further than the Burr's: father or one of his gaggle of children. The immediate problem involved a violation of Federal Law.
The Inspector, let's use Jake Wayne, was a big man, confident in his authority and ability. He was easy talking and I'd never seen him get the least bit upset. I was anxious to see how he'd handle the Burr's, who could've given Buddha apoplexy.
We arrived at the Burr's nest and knocked on the door. Ma Burrs asked: "What is it now?"
Wayne ID'd himself, then, "I'm afraid we have a problem, Mrs. Burrs. It seems your children have been stealing US Mail, and destroying mail boxes." (Mail was stolen for the money people sometimes foolishly enclosed)
She put her hands on her hips. "Say's who?"
"Says our mail carrier, who saw them, tried to intercede, and was rocked for his trouble."
"Huh, that's his tale," she said, "I'm sittin' on mine."
The conversation with the sullen bitch went on a few more minutes before Wayne, seeing he was getting no where said, "Could I see Mr Burrs, please?"
A nasty dirtbag, who'd obviously been listening around the corner, appeared in the doorway. "What the hell's this all about?" he demanded.
Wayne looked at me, shrugged, grabbed Burrs by the throat and lifted him outside. Not letting him down, he said. "Listen to me, you inbred idiot, if you don't stop this thievey, I'm going to come back, beat you till you blubber like a baby, kill your dog, rape your wife, burn down your house, and anyone that happens to be left, put them under the federal prison. Understand?"
After several gulps, "Yessssss, Sir, Surrrrre do." And he did. No more mail was ever violated in his neighborhood.
And I learned a valuable lesson from a smooth operating fed. Sometimes it's not just what you say, but how you say it.
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