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Police Academy

I entered the Police Academy in early 1984. My wife, Annie, and I had just spent a year in Ghana, West Africa doing missionary work. Living in Africa was a tremendous experience but the hot climate and lack of good, fattening American food had me looking like a six foot two, one hundred and sixty pound scarecrow. I also had long hair and a beard. When I reported for duty to the Police Academy, these were gone and I looked presentable. I had just turned twenty one years of age.

I was one of the twenty recruits in Gwinnett Police Academy Number 16. It would be almost four months before we would graduate and be “real” police officers. The Academy was run somewhat like a military boot camp. Our lead instructor, Officer Hal, had been a drill sergeant in the army and he liked to remind us of that. Every day included a lot of PT (Physical Training). We ran at least two miles every day and sometimes as many as four or five. We did pushups, sit ups, and all kinds of other calisthenics. We also had a sadistic obstacle course that we had to run regularly.

This PT had its desired effect. When the academy was over, I was a solid one hundred and eighty pounds. It would not be until a few years later that I started lifting weights seriously and putting on some more muscular size and strength. But for the time being, I would be ready for life on the street.

The core of the Police Academy was the classroom training. A few of the classes made a lasting impact on us. We had several weeks of Criminal Procedures, Criminal Law, and Traffic Law. These were three very important blocks of instruction and the person they had to teach it to us was a legend in the Georgia law enforcement community.

Tate Brown quickly became our favorite instructor. He was delightfully profane, unabashedly irreverent, and politically incorrect on a scale that would prevent him from even entering the Police Training Center today, much less teach there. He had been in law enforcement in several different agencies for close to thirty years. At the time he taught my class, he was working in some capacity for the governor.

The several weeks of training in the various laws, and how to enforce them, are typically some of the dullest and driest weeks of the Academy. It was not like that with Tate. From day one, he had us spell-bound with his stories. For every law that he discussed, he had a story to illustrate it. We laughed and laughed, but we also learned. We could not wait to get out on our own and start enforcing the Law. Years later, I took a week long refresher block on Criminal Procedures. It was taught by someone from the District Attorney’s Office. I thought that week would never end. He was not that bad of an instructor but there will never be another Tate Brown.

Another one of the big blocks of instruction at the Academy was in Defensive Tactics. This lasted about two weeks. For this class, they again brought in an outside instructor. This time it was Special Agent Gary of the FBI. I asked Officer Hal why they had to bring someone from the FBI to teach us how to fight. I asked him, “Do we not have anyone in our department that knows how to fight?”

He answered in that sweet, condescending tone of his, “Just asking that question shows ignorant you are, Spellman (one of the many variations of my last name that he used). But since you are so stupid, I’ll try and enlighten you. The reason that we have the FBI teach Defensive Tactics is so that when you go and out beat somebody up and use excessive force, we can say that we had the FBI show him the right way to do it but he is a loose cannon and wanted to do things his own way.”

Having not learned that the better part of valor often means biting your tongue, I asked another question, “But couldn’t the Department could still do that even if they had one of our own instructors teaching us?”

In his patient and understanding way, Officer Hal exploded, “Spellbound, this is the FBI! They are the premier law enforcement agency in the United States. You should consider it a privilege to be taught by them. You should consider it a privilege to even be in the same room with one of them.”

I could not resist one more question. “Officer Hal, does the FBI get in a lot of fights?” I mean when you watch them on the news, they take like fifty agents to go and get one little accountant for embezzlement or something. I know that the war on terror has changed things for them, but that was my perception back in the 80s. Officer Hal did not even answer me this time. He just walked away shaking his head and muttering.

Special Agent Gary was definitely special. He was as close to insane as anyone I have ever met who carried a badge and a gun. I doubt he could have passed the psychological test that I had had to pass to get hired. He did not really teach us anything. He had us wrestle around and beat each other up on the mats. That was good fun but there was no real instruction. He would stand off to the side smoking. Occasionally, he would stop us and tell us some story from his past that did not relate to anything we were supposed to be doing.

People have asked me over the years if they teach you how to fight in the Police Academy. My standard answer has always been, “They teach you just enough to get hurt.” In other words, if you don’t know how to fight and defend yourself to begin with, the little bit you get in the Police Academy is not really going to help you. The defensive tactics training is much better today, with an emphasis on ground fighting, use of pressure points and learning how to strike properly. Defensive tactics have to be practiced regularly, however, or they will disappear.

Agent Gary also tried to show us how to handcuff properly. I say “tried” because in the real world, your opponent is seldom compliant or letting you win. We spent so many hours handcuffing each other that our wrist bones were bruised and sore. One of the highlights of the DT class was watching Recruit Paul (a guy) fight with Recruit Jody (a girl). The goal was to get the other recruit down on the floor and then handcuff them. Paul never was able to wrestle Jody to the floor or get her handcuffed. She, however, pretty much thrashed him every time they tangled. When it was Jody’s turn to be the aggressor, she had no trouble at all body slamming Paul and then handcuffing him. It was pretty embarrassing for Paul but we all enjoyed the show.

Recruit Paul stuck around for a few years but never really fit in. He moved to a smaller department and had a successful career there. I don’t think he had to get into too many fights. Recruit Jody worked the street for a couple of years until she got pregnant. After that, she worked in a non-enforcement capacity for a while but then quit to be a full time mom.

Another area of DT Training that Agent Gary instructed us in was that of disarming techniques, as in taking away a gun or knife from someone. I said earlier that Agent Gary was insane. We had already suspected it from some of the things he had said and had us do. Now he confirmed it. As he taught us how to take a gun away from someone, he prefaced it by saying, “I know that these techniques work because I always practice them against a loaded gun and I’m still alive.”

We must not have heard him right. One of the recruits asked for clarification, “Special Agent Gary, did you say that you practiced disarming techniques with a loaded gun?”

Agent Gary puffed out his chest and said, “Oh yeah! Anybody can practice with an unloaded gun. You know the gun is unloaded and the adrenaline really doesn’t get flowing. But when my training partner points that loaded and cocked revolver at my head all my senses come alive. If I don’t execute my disarming technique properly, I’m a dead man.”

There was a stunned silence. We were just recruits but we knew that this violated every firearms safety rule that we had been taught. Was this the way they did at the FBI? Is that the way that they taught disarming in their academy? Was this one of things we were supposed to be learning from “the premier law enforcement agency in the United States?” And this crazy man was going to show us “the right way” to do things?

We practiced the various disarming techniques that Agent Gary showed us. Of course, we used non-firing, training guns and rubber knives. We continued to enjoy watching Paul and Jody working together. He was never able to disarm her but she took away his gun every time they practiced together. Agent Gary never encouraged us to practice with loaded guns. He just let us know that we were not getting the full effect by using training guns. I think our class was one of the last ones in which the FBI taught DT. Before long, we had our own DT Instructors teach us “the right way.”

Firearms’ training was one of my favorite parts of the Police Academy. At the time I went through, we were carrying Smith & Wesson .357 magnum revolvers. We shot a lot of ammo as we worked towards qualification day. If you didn’t qualify, they could wash you out or make you go through Academy again. We had some borderline shooters that just managed to squeak by, but we got everyone through. I always enjoyed shooting and shot pretty well.

While the bulk of firearms training was with our revolvers, we also trained with the pump-action 12 gauge shotgun. The Department did not issue everyone a shotgun. If you wanted to carry one, you had to buy your own. Everyone, however, had to be trained on how to use the shotgun. I bought my own shotgun and started carrying it as soon as I could.

The guy who was over the Firearms Training Unit was Sergeant Mike. He was a very unpleasant person. He might be described as moody, but he really only had one mood and that was a bad one. He could really shoot, however, and competed in a lot of tournaments. He was actually a pretty good teacher as well when he wasn’t brooding or pouting. At the same time, he was quick to criticize, belittle, and berate us recruits. If you got on his bad side, he was unmerciful.

On one of the days that we were learning shotgun, we went to an outdoor skeet range to shoot. It was a lot of fun. Skeet shooting is excellent training. Sergeant Mike had been bragging about how he could shoot skeet with his revolver. None of us believed that that was even possible and we told him so. Right after we got to the skeet range, Sergeant Mike gave it a go and missed six out of six with his revolver. We enjoyed seeing him fail after all the abuse that we had taken. He did not enjoy being laughed at by a bunch of recruits and stomped away. He pouted the rest of the day. He let the assistant instructors work with us as we shot skeet.

Before we left the shotgun range for the day, Sergeant Mike wanted to try one more time to shoot skeet with his revolver. We were all hoping he would strike out again. Instead, he hit five out of six clay birds with his revolver. That still ranks as one of the most impressive things I have ever seen anyone do with a handgun.

About half way though the Police Academy, we lost a guy. A citizen saw him drinking beer in the parking lot of a shopping center with some of his friends. That would not have been such a big deal except for the fact that he was still in his police uniform. There is just no cure for stupid. He was gone the next day.

I was never much of a partier so I skipped the ones that were thrown by Academy mates. I wasn’t much of a drinker and had heard stories about the amount of alcohol some of these folks could consume. One Monday morning my decision to skip the weekend’s festivities were justified. Recruit Ken came in with a busted up face. His eye was black and still swollen. I asked him, “What happened to you?”

He said, “Ah, Greg punched me for no reason.”

There was a little more to the story than that. Ken had become very intoxicated at the party and made a few lewd remarks to Recruit Greg’s wife. Greg did not appreciate that and punched Ken in the face. The fact that neither man was disciplined for the incident indicates that Ken probably got what he deserved.

A number of years later, Ken’s drinking would cost him his job as a police officer. He was off-duty and driving home after a night on the town when he got stopped by one of our officers. Common sense will tell you that this not the time to be a smart ass. This is the time to be humble and contrite and hope the officer will help you out. In Ken’s case, the alcohol had driven common sense out the window and smart ass won out. Ken was uncooperative and verbally abusive towards the officer that had stopped him. He got arrested for Driving Under the Influence and resigned in lieu of termination a couple of days later.

Finally, after four long months, it was time for us to graduate from the Police Academy and become full-fledged police officers. We had lost three other recruits over the course of the academy for one thing or another and we graduated sixteen. We had been issued all of our equipment and a marked police car. My first patrol car was a 1979 Chevrolet Impala. I was thrilled. I was excited. I was ready to go to work.

My Field Training Officer was Officer Steve. We rode together for two and a half weeks. Today, recruits usually ride with three or four FTOs for around twelve weeks. It was not as structured back then. Officer Steve taught me how to work vehicle accidents. He taught me how to make traffic stops. He taught me how to handle domestic calls. He also taught me the real important stuff, like which restaurants gave the police a discount.

In our first week together, Steve was still driving and I was observing. By the end, I would be driving and he would be observing. This first week, though, we got a call to a Theft in Progress. A male was observed stealing things from behind a house. The caller gave us a good description of the suspect. As we pulled up, the suspect came around the side of the house carrying his stolen goods. He saw us, dropped the property and started running. Without waiting to be told what to do, or asking permission from my FTO, I was out of the car and chasing the thief.

I chased him across the yard and through the woods. It was about 11:00 in the morning so I had no trouble keeping the suspect in sight. After about one hundred yards, he started slowing up. As I closed on him, he started yelling, “I give up!” I took him to the ground as we had been taught in the academy and applied the handcuffs. I quickly searched him and found a few other stolen items concealed in his clothes.

Only after I had the guy under control, did I realize that I was by myself. Where was Officer Steve? I got the suspect up and escorted him out of the woods. Steve had pulled the police car around to where we were. When he saw that I had caught the thief, his face lit up in a big grin. “Good job!” he said. We arrested the guy and took him to jail. This was good experience for a new guy like me.

When we went in at the end of our shift to turn our paperwork in, Officer Steve told everyone about me chasing this thief down and catching him. The Sergeant and the Lieutenant both congratulated me. Even several of the old crusty veteran officers nodded approvingly at me. What I didn’t realize until later was that I had just passed my first real test. Sure, there were a number of things that we were tested on in the Police Academy. Now, however, it was for real. The tests that I would be taking every day had life and death consequences. Before the older guys would accept us young, wet behind the ears recruits, we had to prove ourselves. They had to know that they could trust us. By chasing down a criminal and catching him, I had shown them that I was going to be OK.