BOARD STIFF

Getting used to working a cop's varied 24-7, 365 days a year schedule is tough on some. Particularly, young folks having lived a normal life where the major holidays were always just that, and only vampires worked after the sun went down. We tried to make the adjustment as painless as possible at the NPD.

On Christmas and Thanksgiving we'd arrange the schedule so cops would double up on calls to allow the other half of the shift to spend a few hours at home. And, to those trapped in the office--dispatchers, jailers, and clerks--we sometimes provided a little liquid stupid to sweeten the lonely hours. Great discretion was used--usually.

The NPD jail didn't hold many real bad guys. Most were folks who drank too much, or were minor non-violent offenders who'd made dumb mistakes. Most of the time Andy Griffith would've been comfortable there. It was traditional that on Christmas we'd give the prisoners a snort or three of booze. The hooch was always plentiful, cases of the stuff being left off by local bars as Christmas presents.

Once one of the dispatchers had too much of the Christmas spirit and got all the inmates stoned. And just when the stiff-neck chief we called the Colonel--and other things--happened to drop by. One of the inmates was sitting with the dispatcher and seeing the Chief, jumped to his feet, grabbed the Chief and hugged him, exclaiming, "You're a great guy to take care of us on Christmas."

Old Leather Britches was astounded, dragged the inmate back to his cell, and returned mumbling, "If I didn't know better, I'd think that inmate was plastered."

Later that night, when the town went to sleep, cops came in and decided to help our young dispatcher, Bucky, celebrate. Bucky wasn't an accomplished drinker. The cops were. Soon one noticed that Bucky was petrified, staring into space. Concerned they may have killed him, he was taken home. It was said that Bucky was as straight and stiff as a 2 x 4 and when he kept rolling out of the bed, they just leaned him up in the corner and returned to the station.

Bucky survived and recently retired from the ranks of local law enforcement after a long and productive career.

DROOPY DRAWERS:BARE FACTS

It's nice to find out that suspicions you have that some folks are idiots have been confirmed. Such is the case with those who wear goofy clothing. Young folks have always worn fashions that adults disdained. Comes with the rebellion of growing up. But the clothing today is in the Alice In Wonderland realm. Makes you wonder if youngsters know the history of these fashions.

Let's take the baggy tops and bottoms. This hip-hop disaster came from street gangs. The ridiculous baggy drawers and loose tops serve well to hide weapons. And, they're really handy when you go on a shoplifting spree, to hide your purloined goods. So, if that's the image you're trying to project, a lowlife piece of gang filth, hang in there Numbnutz. You're gettin' it done.

Then there's the incredible pants-half-down-shorts-and-az-showing look. Besides being the silliest style ever witnessed, it has to be the most aggravating to wear. Constantly hoisting your drawers so you don't trip on them has to be a pain in the azz. Literally.

Now comes the sweet part, where this style began. Before jail inmate's prison attire became the jumpsuit, prisoner's wore regular shirts and trouser's. This was without a belt, that having been taken away to prevent suicides. Hence, prisoner's usually had droopy drawers. But, some prisoner's dropped theirs much lower for another reason. It was a signal to other inmates that they were sissy boys looking for a "husband" or mate. Advertising.

Is that what the young folks of today are doing? Advertising to be a rump ranger's squeeze?

Let's hope they're just ignorant of history and don't realize where the style came from. However, to me, anyone who walks around showing their skivvy drawers is already halfway up Humpback Mountain.

KIM BOKAMPER

Mentioned before that we were always looking for ways to make money for our youth program, PAL. The Naples Daily News helped us with this one, a charity basketball game between the local sports scribes and broadcasters and the Miami Dolphins--off-season basketball team. I was appointed referee. This wasn't a problem as it was much like a Harlem Globetrotter's game, mostly fun and not much attention paid to the rules.

The game went well and the crowd was having a grand time. The Dolphin's players--about a dozen showed up--put on a great show, particularly since they were playing for nothing. And, being prime athletes, it was not surprising their basketball skills were superior. I was to find out, first hand, just how superior.

Just before the second half started, Kim Bokamper came up to me with a plan. Kim, is of course, the legendary Dolphin linebacker, who was part of their deadly Killer B's defense. He was a Pro Bowler, and at 6'6" and a muscled 250 you could see why. In the late 70's and early 80's he was at the top of his game.

He said, "Next time you see me bringing the ball down the court, run to the center jump circle, hunch over, and brace your hands on your thighs, with your back to me."

I looked at him with some trepidation.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'm just gonna jump, vault, over your head."

This was little comfort. I could just imagine him plowing over me like he did running backs. But, for the sake of charity, I didn't argue. And soon he had the ball, was charging down the court, and I assumed the position.

Gritting my teeth, I could hear the thundering of what sounded like a tornado behind me. Then, I felt one hand on my shoulder, saw his huge body pass over my body, and watched, dumbfounded, as Mr. Bokamper, raced to the basket and slam-dunked the ball.

Slam-dunked it! Not many basketball players could do it at the time.

Standing there looking stupid, one of the Dolphin's running backs joined me. "Kinda terrifying, ain't it." he said. "Quick as a tiger, strong as a bull, and in scrimmage, you look over there and see him and pray you don't get the ball. Cause you know he can outrun you, too. Yep, kinda scary."

Yep, it was.

Kim Bokamper later retired and is now a restaurant owner and broadcaster for the Miami Dolphins. And, a first class citizen.

BACK IN SERVICE

Been under the weather the last several days and unable to make my posts. But, seems the worst is over. Since the absence, I've received many inquires and requests. The requests were duly considered, but I'm gonna continue to post these war stories anyhow.

Next one tomorrow: Kim Bokamper.

THE OTHER GREAT CANOE RACE

Over the years, Naples Great Dock Canoe Race has become a major event. On occasion, reminiscent of Key West's gaudy and raunchy events. This year was the 33 Aniversery, the first held in 1977. Another Great Canoe Race, maybe best forgotten, happened about the same time.

Merchants were promoting a "Day" at the Central Mall, then located on the Northeast corner of Goodlette Road and US 41. The site now is home for a beautiful condo complex. As an added bizarre attraction, they asked Sheriff Rogers and I to compete in a canoe race. We were to cruise across Gordon River from behind the old Pancake House to the Central Mall landing.

I don't know how Aubrey felt, but I would've rather bedded a porcupine. When I saw the actual canoe, my apprehension increased. First off, I'm of the Richard Pryor school of seamanship. One of his friend once tried to coax him out on his boat. "Boats sink." Pryor said.

"I'm not talking about a rowboat here," the friend said. "My boat's a yacht, big enough to sail around the world. It won't sink."

"Is is bigger than the Titanic?" Pryor said.

The canoe looked to me like a piece of watermelon rind fixin' to flip over and get me wet. And, propulsion for this craft was a paddle, resembling a badminton racket.

We were allowed to have one crew member and I knew mine was going to have to be a paddlin' machine. "Get Dan Crisp," one of the cops suggested. "Dan can paddle a canoe like Hiawatha."

It was a good suggestion. Dan was a big, raw boned athletic cop, who had mastered most sports. I asked him and he, with enthusiasm, agreed.

Race day, I asked Dan what our strategy was to be. "I'd rather do all the paddlin'," he said. "You'd probably just slow me down. So just pretend to paddle, and don't actually put it in the water."

When the gun sounded and we were off, Dan churned like duck on Amphetamines and I pantomimed paddling. About halfway across the river we were 100 yards ahead of Aubrey. I showed Dan and he cooled it so we didn't embarrass the Sheriff. Too much.

At the landing, people were amazed at my athletic prowess. Of course, I had to admit what really happened. And I did admit it. Just now, for the first time.

Thanks George Stansbury and Mike Grimm.

NPD'S FIRST COMPUTER

We decided we were going to determine what violations were really causing traffic accidents, then direct our citations to those violations. This would require studying several year's worth of accidents. Had the information been in a computer, it would've been easy work. But we didn't have computers back then.

Actually, we had one Radio Shack Color Computer. Might even have had a Commodore 64. And, recognizing computers would be important tools in the future, we had an officer assigned an ancillary duty of becoming conversant with the beasts. His name was Gary Phillips, and he enjoyed the work. But the task at hand was no match for our "toys." So we found another way to sort and collate the information. Our volunteers!

They could obtain the information manually, and since we had so many willing workers, it wouldn't be a burden on them. Like the Chinese proverb, a Many hands make light work, thing.

Our new computer in hand we decided what info we needed off the reports. This was decided to be, primarily, time, date, location, and cause of accident. And the work began.

Soon the data was collected and we developed a way to deliver it to the cops. It went like this. When an officer came to work for the day he was given a sheet with various violations, times of day and locations. His mandate was, if he wasn't busy with other duties, to proceed to one of the locations in his district and look for the violations on the list. They didn't have to give the violator a ticket, but they did require at least a written warning.

What were the leading causes of accidents? Probably just what the are today. Illegal lane changes, following too closely, aggressive driving. 'Course today we have the worst hazard, cell phones.

The results? After one year, we were one of the few cities in Florida to reduce the accident rate. Reduced it. Unheard of for a growing city like Naples.

Maybe some folks should try it again. Should be easy with real computers.

TRAFFIC RANT

The value of traffic citations--except as a way to generate revenue--has always been suspect to me. Especially speeding tickets, given out just to be giving them.

Speeding is seldom the cause of an accident. In fact there have been several studies that show fast drivers were usually the best drivers. Don't tell the cop who stopped you that. But it's true.

Speeding compounds the damage in a accident if you're in one. And coupled with other stupid acts--weaving in and out of traffic, following too closely, aggressive driving--can kill you. But just tooling down a wide clear highway is seldom, if ever, a hazard.

Yet, there are several highways that don't have a high accident rate but are seemingly set up to trap motorists. Let's say we have a four or six lane highway that should be posted at least 55 MPH minimum but is posted 45 MPH. Here you are on this big beautiful stretch of road and you're supposed to creep at 45. And maybe its connected to a interstate that you've just come off of where you can drive 70. And the interstate is not as wide as the highway you're on. Golden Gate Parkway comes to mind. Come on! When cops have radar traps on these stretches they're just making money, not saving any one's life. And the cops assigned these traps know it and usually hate the duty.

I know that Sheriff Rambosk has taken an active hand in curtailing these stupid practices that only make the public hate cops, and do nothing else. The average citizen doesn't want to get a ticket but will live with it unless they know they've been victimized.

Purposeless citations are not a new phenomenon. They were well established back in the sixties and before. And it always gave me ulcers. I used to check all the tickets that were written and when I came on one that was suspect, call in the officer and tell him what we were looking for: tickets that prevented accidents. Nothing else. It was a hard point to get across.

So, staff began to study the problem and that's how we came up with the Naples PD's first computer.

Tell you about it tomorrow.

VOLUNTEERS Part 2

We received continual complaints about "speeders", particularly on Crayton Road in the City. It wasn't a genuine problem. The speed limit was 30 mph and few exceeded it. But the folks that lived along that street, with not much to do and a whole lotta time to do it in, invented a problem. As folks, with no real problems, are apt to do. So speeders became an issue.

The real problem was regular citizens can't estimate speed worth a flip. It takes cops a while to learn how. A bored citizen, lounging on their front porch, would perceive any vehicle traveling over granny speed to be burning up the road. Then they called in. And we would respond, and waste time trying to catch nonexistent culprits. Something need to be done.

We came up with an idea to put our many volunteers to good use. We taught a handful how to use the radar speed reading device. Then, we'd put several of them, who lived in the Crayton Road area, out as a team to do traffic studies. They would record the speed of every passing car for a day. This was done in shifts, so several had an opportunity to participate. It didn't take them long to realize that 30 mph on a residential street was a lot faster than they'd imagined.

Word got around their community, and our calls dropped almost to zero. After all, their own neighbors who'd recorded the speeds with a radar gun themselves had told them that speeding wasn't a problem.

That problem solved, the focus shifted. Even though the drivers weren't speeding, they were causing too many accidents on Crayton Road.

Time to shift gears. We assembled another team of volunteers to go over the accident reports for the previous year and record all those that happened on Crayton Road or contiguous streets. Didn't take them long to figure out their accident rate was almost zero.

Pleased with the success of our project, we decided to carry it a bit further. And that, as you'll see tomorrow, led to the NPD's first computer. Of sorts.

VOLUNTEERS

Bob DeVille, long-time manager of the Naples Shopping Center's Publix, loved to tell this story. He had a bagboy working for him that was such a joy to encounter that people were constantly trying to give him tips. The bagger, in his seventies, would decline, saying he was well compensated and it was store policy for employees not to except tips. That was mostly true. But not in this man's case.

He'd come to Bob and volunteered to sack groceries or do any other menial job that was open. Said he was retired, a widower, and needed to get out of the house. Didn't want to do anything complicated, just something to keep him busy. Bob, impressed with his sincerity, took him on and never regretted it. The volunteer had a genuine warmth and rapport with folks that soon made him an old friend to all that shopped there.

Bob said he could understand how the man had become a self-made millionaire. Yep, he could've owned the Publix. And he didn't need the tips.

We, at the NPD, were blessed with a number of volunteers, also. I was looking over the list one day when one name jumped out at me. Quinn Tamm. I found Dave Dampier and showed him the name. Dave smiled and said it was who I though it was.

Quinn Tamm had been the Assistant Director of the FBI under J. Edgar Hoover. After retiring, he became Director of the International Association of Chiefs of Police. In law enforcement circles, he was legendary. I told Dave I wanted to talk with Mr Tamm the next time he reported for duty. I could envision a source of wisdom and expertise we could use. Wasn't to be so.

Mr Tamm only wanted something to do, not another career--or anything like it. Make busy work. He finally went to work on our huge card index file that listed, on 4 x 5 cards, every name and event we'd ever dealt with. There were thousands and they were invariably misfiled. And, he worked at it, happily, as his volunteer task.

Next, we'll relate how we found a way to put these volunteers to best use.

THE RAIFORD ROAD SHOW

The Florida State Prison at Raiford once had a program aimed at teenagers. It functioned by having real criminals tell them how crime had ruined their lives. Sort of a Scared Straight thing in more generic terms. It was a compelling effort and, I think, impacted some young folks.

This particular time the show was in Naples and was scheduled for Naples High School. There were six convicts, as I recall, who were serving time for an array of crimes; murder, rape, robbery, burglary, you name it. All, of course, had demonstrated they were trustworthy, and presented little or no threat or they wouldn't be out there. But, convicts are wily and you can't always tell what their real motives are.

They were, of course, accompanied by guards and traveled in a secure prison bus. When they arrived in the city they were working that day, each was handed off to a local cop, who was responsible for getting them to the venue and back. I drew a man who had murdered three people. He was a lifer with no chance of parole.

Sounds like a dangerous dude, right? Not always. Most of the time a murderer will never do it again. Their crime was one of passion. Something had snapped. Many times the victim had worked real hard, over time, to get themselves murdered. There are those that believe that anyone is capable of murder--under the right circumstances. I'm such a believer.

We're not talking about "hit" men here. Or mob or gang killers. Just the regular Joe who has stepped over the edge. Or was shoved over. Anyway, mine, as best I could tell, was in the former category.

Cars were short that day and I grabbed an unmarked unit that was not my own. I put the "speaker" in the front seat with me and we headed out for the High School. Everything went smooth until we hit 22 Ave North. There, the City had dug up the street and it was poorly marked. I was almost on it before I saw the cavity and slammed on the brakes. When I did, the glove compartment door popped open. And laying in the glove compartment, within an arms length of the murderer, was a .38 S&W revolver.

We both looked at the gun, then at each other. Then my prisoner leaned back in the seat and raised his hands in a I give up position. I reached over and took the gun.

He broke the tension by looking at me, smiling, and saying, "Guess you're glad I'm reformed."

"Bubba, you can say that again," I replied. With complete candor.