Journalist by day - crime fighter by night
There I was, sitting in a cop car at 10:30 on a Saturday night at Wellington Central Police Station - and willingly. It was a weird feeling - like a cross between a little boy’s Christmases all coming at once, and a sort of alien ominousness - like being on the wrong side of the border without a passport. I’d had my share of run-ins with the police before, and the common mythology round the people I knew was that, although the police had their uses, in the end they were the other side - a mysterious subculture.
But Constables Mike Howland and Deagon Grime put an end to that idea. As we were leaving the station, driving on to Harris Street, Mike said casually, “Just make yourself at home in the back there, and try to keep out of the way. But we’ll let you know if we need your help, OK mate?”
I’m not too bad an actor, so I replied, “OK,” as confidently as I could, trying to keep my voice deep and masculine sounding, while thinking, “You’ve got to be joking! I’m no street fighter.” But I was touched the police could have such faith in my abilities, and whether Mike knew it or not, he’d made me feel part of the team. That night at least, I was at one with the boys in blue.
IPA Magazine editor Jillian Reid had organised this unique opportunity of going out in a Group 4 I-car last May. As humans, we tend to pigeon-hole people. But that night, I was reminded there are actually no pigeon-holes - we are all just people, no matter what we do. And Mike and Deagon confirmed that for me.
Deagon had been a ‘chippie’ before joining the force only five weeks before. His boss, the Police Commissioner, summed it up nicely. “My boss said: ‘you are a builder working as a policeman, not a policeman,’” Deagon told me. It was quite a Zen statement, perhaps more befitting a New Age psychotherapist than a policeman, but I think I got the picture.
It seems police, like journalists, come from all walks of life. Mike, who had been a policeman for six years, was a ‘sparkie’ – an electrician - in his former life.
And like Starsky and Hutch, Jon and Ponch from CHiPs, and all those other great law enforcement duos, Mike and Deagon were like chalk and cheese. Deagon was outgoing, blokey, shorter, thick-set and fair – like a blonde Incredible Hulk. Mike was taller, slender, swarthy and a man of few words – a Clint Eastwood type. It would be pretty difficult to put these two men in the same pigeon-hole.
So, with me feeling surprisingly at home (although wondering nervously what kind of ‘help’ the New Zealand Police might require of me), this unlikely trio set off to keep the peace on the streets of Wellington for the night.
By the time we hit upper Taranaki Street it wasn’t Comms I was hearing coming out the speakers, but…Pink Floyd! Once again, and it wouldn’t be the last time that night, my rigid picture of what it means to be in the police was shattered.
My prudish side coming out, I was a little outraged to discover that we taxpayers were paying these men not to keep us safe, but rather to listen to rock bands - and out of date ones at that! “I didn’t think you would be allowed to…,” I offered pathetically.
“Why not? We usually put Metallica on when there’s some action,” Deagon laughed.
That night turned out to be a quiet one. Being a bit of a cowboy myself, this was a little disappointing, although the novelty of being a cop for the night never diminished. As Deagon said, “A quiet night is nice once in a while. You never finish a shift on time anyway, and a busy one generates so much paper work.” From what I saw, no-one could deny that police work hard, and a lot of that work is taken up by paperwork these days.
But I didn’t see a lot of action with the police that night. We reprimanded and charged a rather harmless and friendly group of boy and girl-racers down at New World, fruitlessly chased some phantom mail-box hijackers in Karori, and arrested a man suspected of smashing a car window and threatening a nearby citizen in Newtown.
I had to be impressed by the seriousness Deagon and Mike showed for these tasks, especially the suspected suburban mail-box abusers. I would have thought there were more useful jobs a policeman could be doing on a Saturday night, but they explained to me that the police take any reported attack on property very seriously indeed.
The other thing that really struck me about Deagon and Mike was their patience. It gradually dawned on me through the night that a large part of what the police do is simply help out and try to create a calm and safe environment in the community. This is not to be underestimated, and judging by the characters they had to deal with that night, it is no mean feat.
I thought the suspected car window smasher was probably innocent, but his mouth sure wasn’t. He was heavily intoxicated and was being a real prat, refusing to communicate in any civilised way. Deagon and Mike just calmly worked with him over what seemed an indulgently long length of time. I’d always thought it was against the law to swear at your mother, let alone a policeman. I winced as vulgarity after vulgarity cascaded eloquently from his mouth. I kept on wanting to warn him, “Mate, you better watch out. You can get arrested for saying that stuff in public.” But Mike and Deagon didn’t bat an eyelid – and it wasn’t for swearing that this man was arrested in the end. He wasn’t the only one on our shift to let loose like that at them either, and I began to understand a mysterious phenomenon I’d started noticing back at the station: most policemen use language that would make a sailor blush. Now I knew where they got it from: the customers they have to deal with 24 hours a day.
I also realised that maybe the fact I didn’t know any policemen myself had helped to create my image of them being in some sort of exclusive subculture. I wondered if people were simply afraid to have police as their friends. Deagon answered that one: “The friendships you lose when you become a policeman are pretty fragile ones.”
Deagon and Mike, thanks for smashing some of my police myths and making me feel like one of the boys that night.
Constables Deagon Grime and Mike Howland