Tales from the Line of Duty
Deputy Dea: COMPASSION as your strongest weapon
It was codenamed Operation Desert Shield (02 August 1990 – 17 January 1991) for operations leading to the buildup of troops and defense of Saudi Arabia and Operation Desert Storm (17 January 1991 – 28 February 1991) in its combat phase.
I was a sheriff’s patrol deputy working the roads in central Florida back in the late ‘80s, early 90’s on the 6A to 6P shift. It had been one of those non-stop kind of days where we responded to one call for service after another with no breaks in between. We had been getting an ever increasing number of calls for veterans who were not handling the information well as it came in for Desert Shield and then Desert Storm. That afternoon with a few hours left to go in the shift I received a dispatch to go across the county line to the hospital where an individual, (I’ll call him “John”), was being treated for cutting his wrists. I was to transport this person to the trauma hospital in our county because this is where he lived. I arrived at the hospital ER and went to the nurse’s station to find out where ”John” was at. As he was being sutured for superficial wounds he spotted me, got up and took off out the door. His brother shouted to me that he was “Special Forces” trained in hand to hand combat and can kill with his bare hands. Great. I ran past the nurse’s station, tossed my clipboard to them and told them to contact their local police department, tell them what is going on and get two officers to respond immediately. When I ran out the doors “John” was to my left outside in a grassy area near the hospital wall standing in what appeared to be a martial arts ready position. I told him he was not under arrest and the only reason I was there was to take him over to the hospital where he can get some help by talking with some people over there. Two of the local officers had arrived while I was talking with ‘’John’’ getting him to relax. Some of the conversation between “John” and I went like this:
John: “You think you’re so big and bad because you wear a badge!”
Dea: “You mean this? (Points to badge on shirt.) Let me tell you something John. All this is, is a piece of tin that doesn’t
make me any bigger or badder than you or anyone else. It is just a part of the things I wear to work so I can do my
job. At the end of the day all I want to do is go home, be with my family and eat dinner just like anyone else. That’s
it. Regardless of what we all do we each carry tools of our trade in one fashion or another.”
I got him more relaxed and started to approach him slowly and carefully. Just then two of the local Police Officers arrived. I bladed myself with my pistol side to the officers and motioned to one of the officers to come over to me where I unholstered my S&W .40 cal. and passed it to the officer behind me. If this guy was as capable as his brother said he was I didn’t want to get into a scuffle and he ends up with my firearm. I really detested the thought of getting shot with my own firearm. I continued to talk with John.
Dea: “John, you’re not in any trouble and you are NOT under arrest. I am just here to make sure you get to the hospital safely. You have my word that no one is going to hurt you.”
At that point I extended my right hand out to him to give him a gentlemen’s handshake. He slowly extended his right arm as we were still talking. He was suspicious thinking I would grab him but he got closer and quickly tapped my fingers testing me. After two or three more times we clasped hands into a firm handshake. I reminded him that he had my word he would be safe and was not going to jail. I explained to him that I had to put handcuffs on him as a matter of policy. I got him secured in the back of my car and asked the officers to stay with him long enough for me to retrieve my clipboard from the nurse. We left one hospital and headed for another in our county. John asked me a question:
John: “Do you know why I let you take me?”
Dea: “No, why?”
John: “’Cause I saw you give up your gun.”
Dea: “Ehhh, you saw that huh?”
On the way over I contacted the dispatcher, advised them what I had and to contact the hospital security. We arrived at the hospital where we were greeted by security and orderlies. We got out of the car and proceeded inside where a room, a very small room, was readied for John. He walked in, saw the bed with the five point restraints, tensed up and said:
John: “I can’t go in there! I can’t stand to be in a small room like this! I was a POW and can’t handle confinement!”
Aside from John and myself there was another 5-6 people in the room making it somewhat crowded. John backed into a corner and took a martial art’s stance again. I ordered everyone out of the room. Once again I found myself talking to John covering all of the things we had talked about. I reminded him he would not be hurt and that the staff was only following policy. Again we shook hands and he complied by getting on the bed and allowing the restraints to be applied by the staff.
Law enforcement officers respond to calls for service every day. For the most part the general public has no idea of what goes on in a call for service other than what they hear on the news or read in the paper. There is no such thing as a ‘routine call’ because at a moment’s notice it can all go very wrong. Law enforcement officers are all too often put into harm’s way. Some are fortunate while others aren’t quite as much.
Trying to get an emotionally disturbed individual under control without hurting them, or us getting hurt, is a very difficult thing to do. Very often they are not of the right mind, are generally very strong and don’t want to comply. In my fifteen years with the sheriff’s office this one call gave me the most concern for the safety of people in the area and my own personal safety than any other call I responded to. All too often I had people tell me, “You don’t get paid enough for what you do.”
You know, they’re right. It’s all in a day’s work.
