Life is not always warm and gushy. Perhaps as a police officer, you learn that more quickly than other occupations. Generally, that realization comes right after you leave the training academy. Police training involves simulated situations where the tasks you are taught are managed in a structured manner where everything seems to fit. ‘So, that’s how it’s done.’ The instructor would say. Simple enough, but it does little to prepare you for what happens when you get to your posting.

Exercises at the training depot were done with a partner or a group and you make decisions based on everyone’s input. When you get out in the field (on the job) you quickly learn what the phrase ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ means. You discover you are the lone person working especially in small communities and outports. That has been a good part of my experience in policing in Newfoundland and Labrador. Often, I have found myself in situations where the nearest backup is more than an hour away.

What do you do? When you are single the answer is perhaps a little cloudy, but when you meet someone and start a family, it is clear. Your responsibility lies with keeping safe and going home at the end of your shift. I have always tried to face every situation as best as possible but there were times that I backed down, and probably others when I should have backed down, but I remained. You plague yourself whether you were right or wrong, but it was your decision, so you accept it and put it behind you.

I was stationed in the detachment of Ferryland, a small community on the east coast of Newfoundland and Labrador, from October 1974 to April 1976. It was a three-person detachment which covered around eighty kilometers of road and included communities like Renews, Cappahayden on one end and Mobile and Witless Bay on the other. It was a cool night in October 1975, and I was working the night shift alone. I was twenty-one years old. I was patrolling the highway between Tors Cove and Mobile when I came up behind a blue Dodge Dart which was taking both sides of the roadway.

I engaged the emergency lights and slowly this vehicle pulled to the side of the road. I tried the radio before exiting the vehicle and there was no signal. I was in a dead spot (an area where no radio communications were possible). This was common in the province. You might travel a hundred feet and get a signal however, I was not able to do this, so I jotted the plate number down on my night sheet. If something happened, then at least the investigators would have something to go on. I could see one person sitting in the vehicle, patiently waiting for me, as I put my hand on the door handle.

A cloud of fog escaped my mouth as I exited the police car and approached. The quiet of the night was broken only by the swish of the trees moving with the light wind. The highway was deserted. I shone my flashlight on the back seat as I neared the driver’s door. Nothing there. The driver’s window was open, and wisps of alcoholic fumes reached my nostrils, as my light shone on the driver. He was quiet as he stared back at me with his watery eyes. Closer examination revealed eyes so bloodshot they could easily pass for a map of a heavily populated area.

“Can you step out of the car, please.” I spoke with the tone of authority like my trainer; Brian Campbell had told me. A tone that let them know who was in charge. The man shut off the car and removed his keys. The door wobbled as he followed my directions. My initial observation was that the man was stocky, but when he stepped out, I was not prepared for what I saw. He stood about six feet tall but that was not the remarkable thing about him. I had often heard the line, ‘he was as broad as he was tall’ and thought no one could ever meet that description. This man proved how completely wrong I had been in that thinking. He had to be every bit of three hundred pounds on a conservative estimate. I realized I was no match for this cousin of Godzilla, and I would have to resort to trickery. I breathed deeply trying to cover the unease in my voice and said,

“Why don’t you come back to the police car for a little chat?” 

To my surprise he started towards the police car with its lights flashing, warning no one. When he got to the rear of the car he stopped and fumbled with his keys and started to open the trunk. Warily I let him proceed. When the trunk opened, I could see an open two-four of beer (Labatt’s 50) on the trunk floor. He quietly reached in and got two of the stubby bottles and put one in each of the side pockets of his suit jacket. Stubby bottles for a stubby man, I thought wondering what would happen next. I guess, he thought our chat would be more of a social occasion. Nothing like a couple of beer when you are talking to the police on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere.

This was something I would have to deal with later, I thought as the man closed the trunk with a clump. I felt relieved as he trudged to the police car. I directed him to sit in the front passenger seat as I wanted to see what was going to happen to those beers. Surprisingly, he sat in the car without any fuss, and I jumped in the driver’s side. I quickly put it in reverse turning it towards Ferryland. I stepped on the gas and brought the cruiser up to the speed limit. I quoted the Breathalyzer demand from memory as soon as I put the car in motion.

The man exploded into a tirade of verbal abuse, calling me every name in the book and ‘gentleman’ was not on those pages. The lights of Tors Cove were in the distance as I nudged the speedometer a little above the posted speed limit. A few minutes later the man became silent. I could hear him rummaging in his pocket for a beer. All the cursing had apparently made him thirsty, I guess. Having retrieved the bottle, he now was trying to use the seat belt fastener to open it. We are talking the dark ages here. Long before seat belt regulations and twist off caps. I snatched the beer from his hands and put it under my seat, well out of his reach. A barrage of non-dictionary terms spewed forth from his lips. Suddenly it was like a light snapped on in his head when he realized he had another beer in his other pocket.

He pulled out this bottle and was again attempting to use the seat belt opener when I deftly seized it, placing it with its mate. I could hear an uncomfortable wail as this Goliath started to cry. Yes, cry. Tears of rage streamed down his cheeks as he blared out descriptions of me that even my own mother could not love. He calmed somewhat, still muttering but low enough for me to radio my situation and request a Breathalyzer technician. I was still about a half an hour from the detachment when he accused me of not being a Newfoundlander. I said I was not, and he said,

“That’s right because you haven’t got the guts to jump out of this car right now.” 

The car was travelling at just above the speed limit, so I took this as only his raving. I replied, “Well, if you want to jump out at fifty miles an hour, that’s your prerogative.”

The shock jarred me when I heard the click of the door opening and saw him start to get out. I grabbed his coat and managed to pull him back in and he shut the door. The blood was flooding my veins like Niagara Falls, as I warned him not to do that again. Shortly after, he tried again. Again, I grabbed his suit coat and managed to get him back in and get the door closed. Now I was the one shouting at him to stop this crap. It must have influenced him as he did not say much as we drove through Cape Broyle and up Cape Broyle hill. My heart rate was slowing down, and I thought the worse was behind me. I was at the top of the hill when I heard the door open again. I reached for his jacket, but I felt the material slipping from my hand as I slammed on the brakes.

The car slewed to a stop and the man rolled out of the car and was gone. There was only a small shoulder on the side of the road which dropped off to a treed valley below but no sign of Baby Huey. God, he’s dead I thought as my heart began to beat with a sledgehammer. I leapt out of the car and ran down the hill. I fully expected to find a rotting corpse with bulging eyes and lolling tongue (I read a lot of Stephen King at the time) lying at the bottom. Thankfully, all I found was a blubbering hulk staggering around urinating on a new growth of fir trees. He was holding his manhood with both hands like a mountain climber holding a safety rope, sobbing uncontrollably.

I managed, with a great deal of effort, to get him back to the top of the hill. This time I placed him in the rear seat and as I closed the car door, a taxi driver had pulled up behind me. It was the only other vehicle I had seen during my ride with this creature from the black lagoon. I explained to the driver my circumstances and he agreed to accompany me to the detachment. He sat in the vehicle and the other person in the taxi drove it behind me. When we arrived at the detachment, I thanked the taxi driver, and I brought this man into the office where I presented him to the Breathalyzer technician. Relief washed over me as the technician, Corporal Wayne Collicutt explained the procedure to this man.

“I am not going to take no fucking Breathalyzer test.”  He was adamant so I did not bother to explain that he had used a double negative.

Wayne told him he would be charged with refusing the Breathalyzer test. I prepared a promise to appear and presented it to him. I offered him a ride home. We did have a cell at the detachment, but we did not have any guards available. That would have meant me sitting with him overnight, so the best scenario was to drive him home. Wayne came with me as we began the drive to Bay Bulls where this man lived. The trip took about an hour, long enough for Captain Grizzley to do a repetitive critique on my driving abilities, as well as my future as a police officer. We dropped him off at his address and he left us with a middle finger thank you.

Looking back, I find humor in this incident, but it was a long time before I did see the funny side. I could only see the ‘what ifs.’  What if he drank the beer? What if he had been killed? I guess the ‘what ifs’ I was thinking about belonged to other people. People who were not there, who did not experience this firsthand. They are seldom there when trouble raises its fiery head. No, the only one you must depend on is yourself. Your decisions must be made in seconds and sometimes they might not be the prettiest solution but if it works why beat yourself up over it. Learn from it and move one. One less impaired driver on the road, now that’s Titanic!