No offence meant by the title of this week’s post. Back in my days of policing this was a common slur towards police. I am sure these are worse terms used today. This is meant to be a humorous look at this term through events that occurred during my service and personal life. I hope you enjoy it.

My wife and I lived in a Central Newfoundland in the late 1970’s and again in the early 1990’s.  When we posted there first, it was called Grand Falls and on our second time around it was Grand Falls-Windsor.  On the first occasion we lived in Bishop Falls until 1979 then we moved to the government quarters on Greenwood Avenue, Grand Falls.  There were four apartments there and we got the one in the middle.  We lived there until 1981 when I got transferred to Wesleyville.

While I was in Grand Falls, the detachment life was busy and almost every week you had to wrestle or fight with someone when you were making an arrest.  It seemed it was a badge of honor to the locals, which they could brag about.

“Yeah, the cops arrested me, but I didn’t go easy.” 

No one got hurt seriously other than a few scrapes and bruises.  Police officers back then did not have the pepper spray, batons, tasers or bullet proof vests.  You had a gun and handcuffs.  The gun was the last resort, to be used when you, or a member of the public, were in danger of being seriously injured or killed.  It was something that no officer wanted to use, even if justified.  It was rare the gun would be taken out of the holster; even rarer if it were fired.  Your tongue was your best weapon when dealing with someone.  Knowing how to reach a person who is in an agitated state due to mental health issues, or alcohol and drug use, was an invaluable skill.  It worked many times but there were always occasions when it did not and then you had to get physical.  

Your strength and fighting skills were important because, once you decide there was no other way, you had to be the winner.  Otherwise, the person went free and worse, the rumour mill would start.  That would encourage other persons to challenge you and other officers in the future.  You could not let that happen because it could result in injury or death.  Thankfully, most of the altercations were wrestling matches and with a few key moves remembered from training depot, the person was in custody.  It also helped things go more smoothly if there were other members around. 

Another popular thing in those days was being called a pig.  I remember during one of my first shifts I was driving on a street in Windsor, the town on the other side of the tracks from Grand Falls.  I saw a cute little fellow in blue jeans and a checkered shirt on the side of the road.  My guess was he was about four-years old.  I decided I would attempt some good community relations, so I stopped the car along side of him and rolled the window down.

“How are you doing, bud?”  I said smiling broadly.

“Fuck off, pig.”  He said giving me the middle finger.

I was somewhat shocked and paused for a moment as he ran into a nearby house.  What kind of a parent taught their child that type of language? I thought as I drove away.  It was quite common to be called a pig but coming from a four-year old child, it struck me to the core.  It bothered me that people would hate police so much they would teach their child, to imitate their behaviour. 

I would talk about this with my wife, Sharon and she told me I should not take it as an insult.  I asked why and she said because it is means Pride, Integrity, and Guts.  That meant a lot to me, and I remembered it throughout my policing career.  I even thanked a few of those souls when they called it out to me.  That quickly changed their sneer to a WTF expression which amused me, as opposed to being angry at being insulted. 

Sometime between that night and the second posting in 1991 to what was now Grand Falls-Windsor, Sharon started collecting pigs.  Not real ones, figurines.  She had them in all shapes and sizes and had them stashed in any available space around the house.  I did not mind as she enjoyed collecting them and come gift-giving times it made shopping for her easy.   The only one I regretted buying was a twelve-inch pig in a police uniform.  It was hollow inside for putting cookies in and it required two double A batteries.  It operated by a sensor and when you passed it the pig would say,

“Stop!  Take your hand out of the cookie jar!” 

It amused me for the first few weeks, but it got irritating fast.  Okay, maybe I was eating too many cookies.  It got on my nerves so much that one night a friend from work was visiting and remarked how cute it was.  I gave it to her right then.  She protested a little, but I said, no, a deal is a deal.  She was still saying she did not make any deal as I pushed her out the door and bid her goodnight.  I do not know what happened to the pig after that, I never saw it again.  Sharon asked me what happened to it, and I told her I dropped it and it broke so I threw it out.  She did not believe me; however, she did not say anything.  She was probably glad it was gone.  

I told you, because of these pigs, Sharon was easy to shop for, right?  Well, sometimes it was not quite as easy as you would think.  A couple of weeks before Christmas one year I was walking through the Exploits Valley Mall looking for some stocking stuffers for Sharon.  I was passing a Novelty Shop which had recently opened when a flash of pink caught my eye.  Pigs, I thought, as I quickly headed directly for them.  As I got close, I could see they were not pigs; these items were flesh coloured dildos.  I turned to leave but I was not quick enough for the ambitious store clerk.  Probably thinking about a big sale and telling his buddies about it the next day.

“Sale of a lifetime it was.  A case of dildos (or dildi).  Fellow was sweating a lot and looked kind of sketchy, but a sale is a sale, right.”   

“Can I help you with anything, sir.”  he said cordially after all I was the potential purchaser of a case of dildos.  He might even have a business card, ‘Dildo Sales and Service’. 

“No, no.  Just thought I saw something.”  How could I explain I thought these dildos were pigs?  For all I knew, he could have pig shaped dildos in the storeroom.  There are some weird tastes out there. 

“Thank you, for your help.”  I said backing out of the store as if from a rabid dog.  I exited the store and walked quickly to Woolco which was the anchor store of the mall.  I disappeared into the aisles and exited through the other door.  I walked to my car looking around as I went.  I do not know why, maybe I thought this guy, the dildo salesman, would follow me out to the parking lot shouting,

“But sir, the twelve-inch ones are fifty percent off.”  Waving a large flesh coloured one in his hand as he closed in on me. 

I quickly got in the car and drove away, vowing to see the eye doctor before I go shopping for pigs again.