When selecting a career, there are many variables to consider. Most people tend to look at what the pay and benefit package include, whether the job is indoors, or if they could be hurt while on the job site. However, there are those that do not consider pay, health care, or for that matter personal safety. So, at the ripe old age of twenty one, I entered the academy to become a Police Officer for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.
Being a street cop in Las Vegas was a daunting task. With the heat at times soaring to well over one hundred fifteen degrees, tensions were twice as hot. Racing along the scorching asphalt responding to call after call got very monotonous for me after three years. On a fateful day, I saw a posting in the briefing room advertising, no, taunting me to become a motorcycle traffic officer. The thought of riding a Harley Davidson all day, with the wind on your face and the sun at your back thrilled me to no end. The independence also drew me in. No longer would I have to knock on some crack heads door , waiting for the twelve gauge shotgun shell to greet me, just to say “hey, keep your music down.”
The duties of a traffic officer were very specific. Respond to citizen calls reporting accidents, and the task most tax payers hated us doing; radar and traffic law enforcement. Of course there were the very exciting special events of providing motorcade support for various visiting dignitaries. Being in a city called “Americas Playground” meant that there were many of those visits. All this made going to work very enjoyable.
Four days after my third anniversary of joining the traffic unit, the planets aligned and put into several sequences of time that would forever change many lives. On this fateful August day, the first sequence set in motion was that of fifty three year old Silly Sam. (name of course changed) Mr. Sam had an extensive criminal record dating back well over 30 years. His crimes ranged from petty theft to attempted murder back in the ‘70’s. On this day, he was on parole for his fourth driving under the influence conviction, and had only been out the Nevada State Prison thirteen days after serving five years and seven months. He had been on a party spree that would have put Paris and Britany to shame. Liquored up for three days, this day he decided to add meth to his litany of vices.
Having met a lovely lady of the night, he decided to treat themselves to a swanky, stylish kitchenette room at the Budget Suites. Feeling himself approaching the dreaded “come down” of his high, he began driving faster and faster to get to his room. His new found friend decided that she did not want to continue the party elsewhere and insisted that he drive her home instead. Mr. Sam became irate, realizing that the date would not go as he planned; he made a perilous u-turn.
Making traffic stops in Las Vegas usually are simple and short. Most people know why they are being pulled over, and despite the verbal abuse that sometimes flowed, most tended to know they were in fact in violation of the law. The difficulty that arises out of a stop is always the location. Many of the major roadways in Las Vegas are three lanes each direction. The speed limit tends to be forty five mile per hour, and there is seldom a bike lane or break down lane. The only thing between the officer and a truck barreling toward him is twelve hundred pound motorcycle.
Now the second sequence of events unfolded. I usually did not do radar duty during the morning rush commute. Since the heat becomes even more unbearable later in the day, and sitting on a roasting street corner at four in the afternoon was getting old, I decided to conduct speed enforcement in the morning this day. My first stop involved a eighty nine year old World War One veteran, who’s momentum was at a snails pace to say the best. Realizing that he posed a danger to himself and those that are in the mad dash to work, I cranked my cycle on and pulled behind him. I switched on my lights and siren to signal him to pull over. He gave no indications of knowing I was there. I pulled along side of him and saw that he was elderly. After one half mile he turned to look left and saw me. Immediately after that, he pulled his car, ever so slowly to the curb. I positioned my cycle some fifteen feet behind his vehicle at an angle to provide the other drivers a clear view of my cycle and its lights. After listening to his explanation that he thought he was in a school zone, I asked for his license, and proceeded back to my cycle to conduct a radio check of his driver license and driver history.
Waiting for a driver’s history always took a several minutes when using the general information radio channel. This day was to be no exception. I was standing just behind my cycle, and about three feet from the curb. As usual, the sight of a police motorcycle with someone stopped was causing a small traffic bottleneck. I half heartedly began direction the rubber-neckers around the both of us. While waiting for the dispatcher to reply, I heard the
unmistakable squeal of rubber on asphalt. The sound was so close. Almost as if the sound was literality inside my ear canal. Instinctively I began to look around and simultaneously began backing up toward the sidewalk. I was about half way to the curb when I saw it; the grill of a full sized Dodge pick up truck staring me down. The driver made eye contact with me; we saw each others deepest fears. If one could see into the soul of another, it happened at that moment.
There was nowhere for me to go. I could only stand there; in the path of that careening truck. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and said goodbye to this life.
The pain was slow in coming. In fact, the first sensation I felt was that of being on a cloud. Later, the detectives told me that most likely that cloud like feeling I had was from soaring through the air twenty seven feet. That’s when the pain hit. Coincidently, at the precise moment I landed on the McDonalds parking lot pavement.
I don’t remember many of the details after seeing the truck’s grill. I awoke at University Medical Center with a fractured skull, a compound fracture to the left arm, broken pelvis, and one heck of migraine. And that’s not counting the many bumps and bruises that covered my body. Any major improvements during recovery took almost two tears.
Each person will make what appear to be random decisions daily. Choosing to go left instead of right, while seemingly random, can set into motion events that we could never imagine. Always choose wisely. It is with that in the forefront of thought, which my daily life continues.
