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My Experience With Cops and a Robert Adams-Type Encounter: The Differences Were Black & White [1]
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Date: 2022-08-23
My dad dropped me off after dark. The graveyard shift, if I recall, went from 10 PM to 6 AM or thereabouts. He planned to pick me up in the morning, and I had taken a long nap in the afternoon so I’d be awake and alert for the whole night.
Things started off friendly enough: I met two of the K9 officers who would be working that night. We went into the briefing room while we waited for the third to arrive (Since I don’t remember their names, we’ll go with #1, #2, and #3; the names aren’t critical anyway). At some point a rat was spotted scurrying across the floor. #1 rushed over and used his mace to kill it. The stuff hung in the air, and I cleared my throat, trying to deal with the discomfort without looking like a wuss. #1 insisted it wasn’t that bad, and it would end soon. When #2 started also clearing his throat, #1 groaned and went to open a window since we were whining about it.
#3 arrived, and after some preliminary greeting and explaining who the kid was and why he was here, we went outside towards the cars. It was supposed to be a long night — Salt Lake City isn’t 70’s New York by any stretch. It’s dull enough for regular cops during the graveyard shift. For a unit like the K9s, which only respond to more serious calls, graveyard work was particularly boring. I was warned that we’d probably spend the night dicking around at the station, waiting for the hours to roll by until morning.
I asked if I could see the dogs, and they all said sure. On the way over, #1 turned to the others. “Hey, you guys wanna get the glove, let them chew on his arm for a while?” #2 and #3 thought that sounded like a fun way to kill some time. I was told “the glove” was the big protective sleeve police wore when training the dogs to bite and take down a suspect. I thought that sounded pretty cool, getting to wrestle with the dogs and try to stay up while they attacked it. #2 started to give me some quick safety lessons for doing this so I wouldn’t risk getting hurt, while #3 went to get one of the dogs. #1 was to be my partner for the night, so he stuck with me.
Their radios crackled to life; there was a call for us: prowler spotted running into a neighborhood, K9 needed to possibly track them down. We raced off to investigate, #1 and I in his vehicle with one of the dogs, #2 and #3 in a separate one. Sirens going, both vehicles rushed to the scene and took opposite sides of the block where the prowler was last seen. After some driving, the call came on the radio that a patrol car had apprehended the suspect. #2 and #3 responded to a call for backup elsewhere since they didn’t want to head back to the station yet. #1 turned to me. “Well, that was exciting. You actually got to be here for us to respond to a call! That’s probably it for the night, though.”
I’ve said before if God exists he’s a hack writer. No sooner had the cop said this than the call came over the radio: suspicious individual wandering a parking lot carrying a large handgun. Be advised suspect is behaving erratically, K9 needed. With #2 and #3 already off to another call, that left #1 and I to go. He wasn’t happy — he had a civilian riding shotgun, a teenager at that. We pulled up to the parking lot to see a man standing there, casually carrying a .44 magnum revolver. It was clear as day from our vantage. He was looking around, and sometimes swinging or moving the arm holding the gun, as though something was making him nervous that we couldn’t see.
“Stay here, do NOT get out,” #1 told me, exiting the vehicle. He walked over, slowly, to this mysterious, gun-toting individual, wandering a parking lot around midnight, acting strangely. #1 spoke with him briefly, and after about 30 seconds or so he came back to the car. He had the revolver in his hand, with the wheel out. He shook the bullets loose onto the driver’s seat, closed the gun, and set it down on the seat. “Do NOT touch that,” he told me sternly, then shut the door and went back to the man.
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a .44 magnum revolver, but it is a big gun. Very big. I’d never seen one before that day, and I was stunned at how huge this thing was. The bullets were massive compared to the 9mm ammo I’d seen used for handguns. This thing could do some serious damage.
Shortly after he left, a car pulled up behind us. Someone got out of the car, and #1 turned to talk to them, and then motioned for them to come over. After some more talking, #1 came back to the car, scooped up the bullets in one hand, the gun in the other, and returned them to the man in the parking lot.
When he came back, he explained to me what had happened — the man was a Vietnam veteran and suffered flashbacks periodically. He’d been dealing with one that night, and had been confused and nervous and thus acting strangely. What was he doing at this time of night in a parking lot by himself, armed with a revolver he was openly carrying? He was the security guard, and thus permitted to carry the weapon for his job. The person who showed up was a relative that had gotten a call from someone who spotted his strange behavior, knew who he was, and called the relative to handle him. Between talking to the man himself and the relative, #1 had gotten the full picture. The relative was going to stay with the man for a while, and ensure he would be okay and not hurt himself or anyone else.
No arrest was deemed necessary. #1 never drew his sidearm. He didn’t sick the dog on the man, even though the whole reason they sent a K9 was in case it was a dangerous enough encounter to need the dog. He never even pulled out his mace that he had been so quick to deploy against a rat earlier in the night. He handled the situation with care, patience, and a level head. It was a good example of law enforcement behaving professionally, and carrying out the “serve and protect” part of their job.
Everyone in this story was white. Everyone. All three cops, the man in the parking lot, the relative who showed up, and me of course. No one raced up to the scene and jumped out of their car, guns drawn, even though there was a suspect there behaving suspiciously and carrying a firearm. No orders were barked at him to drop his weapon and show his hands. Nobody saw him moving the arm holding the gun and decided to open fire because they feared for their lives. Nobody shot him once, nor another six times afterwards. Nobody watched him writhe in agony on the ground, and approached him with leveled guns despite his having been shot. Nobody died that night.
There is no excuse for these shootings. I don’t care what excuses they dredge up: he was carrying a weapon, he was not following orders, he was acting strangely and we thought he might be dangerous, we had a call that someone armed and suspicious was in the area…
No excuse. Police can do better, and they manage it just fine when everyone involved is white. Are the cops I rode with back then bigots? I have no idea. But if I was a betting man, I’d never bet that had the confused veteran we encountered that night been black he would have gotten the same treatment. I wouldn’t even bet that he would make it out of that encounter alive. I would bet everything that the cops would have a list of reasons why, if they did kill him, it was simply unavoidable and a result of them doing their jobs.
It’s bullshit. It’s bullshit this time with Rob Adams, it was bullshit every time before this, and it will be bullshit the next time it happens in this country. I should know — I saw that night with my own eyes, and Rob Adam’s last moments with my own eyes. The difference in how they were treated was black and white.
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