Messed Up Kid.
So there is this blog I really enjoy. Fomamostly.blogspot.com. I really should have a link to it here on my own blog. Seeing as how I'm technically challenged, and borderline lazy, I don't.
She has this post up there about mental illness. It really makes you think. It also reminds me of several I.R.'s, or Incident Reports that were generated when I was a cop in Jersey.
The first I.R. that came to mind involved a kid, I won't use his name so we'll just call him Kid. Anyway, Kid would walk around with a Walkman on. No batteries present in that Walkman but he would hear the music. One night he climbed up an apartment building fire escape and jumped across the alley below, landing on the roof of a grocery store. He took all his clothes off and began yelling at people down in the street. My partner and I arrived and knew we had to be careful. I began to talk to Kid from the alley. I knew him, we had dealt with him before. While I had him distracted my partner made his way up to the roof. The manager of the grocery store let him use the interior service stairs. Kid heard my partner coming and tried to run away. At that point I hauled ass into the store and up the stairs myself. It took both of us to subdue Kid without hurting him. Our biggest fear was that he would jump off the roof. People below were cheering and screaming while we chased the naked Kid around that rooftop for about a full minute before my partner was able to tackle him and I was able to cuff him up. He was sent to the County for observation and released three days later.
Just a few short weeks after that incident, Kid called 9-1-1 and told the operator his name. He said he had a pistol and intended to shoot his parents. Three two man cars were dispatched to his parents house, a shift supervisor arrived as well. We took up positions on foot. None of us wanted to be sitting in a marked car with an armed Kid roaming around. The supervisor, who was a lieutenant and our sergeant who had also arrived on scene were in the house with Kid's parents. My partner saw him first, a foot chase ensued. We cornered him in a parking garage behind some garden apartments down the block. Kid had a brown in color paper bag in his right hand. Kid began to raise the paper bag as if it contained a weapon. Kid pointed that bag directly at my partner while I drew my Glock and was literally within a second of shooting Kid in the head from a distance of about six feet. The head shot was the only shot I had, a parked car stood between us. My partner stood directly in front of Kid, toe to toe. The only reason I did not shoot is because my partner, an ex-marine and former boxer, hit Kid square on the jaw with a punch that came from Kansas. The bag Kid was holding went flying and smashed against the hood of the parked car. It contained an empty glass bottle, a pint of gin. Even with the sledgehammer punch my partner had placed so squarely on Kid's chin, it still took four of us to subdue him, again without hurting him. This time Kid was sent to a state psych. facility and released three months later.
The last time I saw kid was in the doorway of a church. I had him at gunpoint while three other cops took him down and cuffed him. It seems that he had entered our station house and pointed a loaded pistol, a real pistol this time, at the desk sergeant who drew his own sidearm and ordered Kid to drop his weapon. Kid turned and ran out of the station while the desk sergeant called for back-up. We were right near the station when the call went out over the radio. We saw Kid running. My partner was driving so I jumped out of the still rolling radio car while the brakes screeched to a halt. Kid cut back through a parking lot and ran across a busy street, almost getting hit by a car in the process. I stayed on him. My partner was now driving around the block against the flow of traffic to cut Kid off on the other side. The sirens were screaming, everyone was rolling and the street was full of flashing red lights in a matter of seconds. It was still just me and Kid. I could see the gun in his hand when he tried to enter the church. I had him cold. The church door was locked. He threw the gun and started crying. I didn't say anything. I kept him covered while catching my breath as the other guys came charging out of the darkness and slammed Kid on the ground. We were done playing with Kid. Kid had crossed the line. It was a real gun this time. Kid went to prison. I don't know what ever happened to Kid.
I'll write some more about this other guy we used to deal with too. This other guy was also mentally ill, just like Kid. We'll call this other guy, Guy. Next post.
She has this post up there about mental illness. It really makes you think. It also reminds me of several I.R.'s, or Incident Reports that were generated when I was a cop in Jersey.
The first I.R. that came to mind involved a kid, I won't use his name so we'll just call him Kid. Anyway, Kid would walk around with a Walkman on. No batteries present in that Walkman but he would hear the music. One night he climbed up an apartment building fire escape and jumped across the alley below, landing on the roof of a grocery store. He took all his clothes off and began yelling at people down in the street. My partner and I arrived and knew we had to be careful. I began to talk to Kid from the alley. I knew him, we had dealt with him before. While I had him distracted my partner made his way up to the roof. The manager of the grocery store let him use the interior service stairs. Kid heard my partner coming and tried to run away. At that point I hauled ass into the store and up the stairs myself. It took both of us to subdue Kid without hurting him. Our biggest fear was that he would jump off the roof. People below were cheering and screaming while we chased the naked Kid around that rooftop for about a full minute before my partner was able to tackle him and I was able to cuff him up. He was sent to the County for observation and released three days later.
Just a few short weeks after that incident, Kid called 9-1-1 and told the operator his name. He said he had a pistol and intended to shoot his parents. Three two man cars were dispatched to his parents house, a shift supervisor arrived as well. We took up positions on foot. None of us wanted to be sitting in a marked car with an armed Kid roaming around. The supervisor, who was a lieutenant and our sergeant who had also arrived on scene were in the house with Kid's parents. My partner saw him first, a foot chase ensued. We cornered him in a parking garage behind some garden apartments down the block. Kid had a brown in color paper bag in his right hand. Kid began to raise the paper bag as if it contained a weapon. Kid pointed that bag directly at my partner while I drew my Glock and was literally within a second of shooting Kid in the head from a distance of about six feet. The head shot was the only shot I had, a parked car stood between us. My partner stood directly in front of Kid, toe to toe. The only reason I did not shoot is because my partner, an ex-marine and former boxer, hit Kid square on the jaw with a punch that came from Kansas. The bag Kid was holding went flying and smashed against the hood of the parked car. It contained an empty glass bottle, a pint of gin. Even with the sledgehammer punch my partner had placed so squarely on Kid's chin, it still took four of us to subdue him, again without hurting him. This time Kid was sent to a state psych. facility and released three months later.
The last time I saw kid was in the doorway of a church. I had him at gunpoint while three other cops took him down and cuffed him. It seems that he had entered our station house and pointed a loaded pistol, a real pistol this time, at the desk sergeant who drew his own sidearm and ordered Kid to drop his weapon. Kid turned and ran out of the station while the desk sergeant called for back-up. We were right near the station when the call went out over the radio. We saw Kid running. My partner was driving so I jumped out of the still rolling radio car while the brakes screeched to a halt. Kid cut back through a parking lot and ran across a busy street, almost getting hit by a car in the process. I stayed on him. My partner was now driving around the block against the flow of traffic to cut Kid off on the other side. The sirens were screaming, everyone was rolling and the street was full of flashing red lights in a matter of seconds. It was still just me and Kid. I could see the gun in his hand when he tried to enter the church. I had him cold. The church door was locked. He threw the gun and started crying. I didn't say anything. I kept him covered while catching my breath as the other guys came charging out of the darkness and slammed Kid on the ground. We were done playing with Kid. Kid had crossed the line. It was a real gun this time. Kid went to prison. I don't know what ever happened to Kid.
I'll write some more about this other guy we used to deal with too. This other guy was also mentally ill, just like Kid. We'll call this other guy, Guy. Next post.
posted by Squarehead at 11:11 AM
4 Comments:
Great posts you've got here on your blog -- touching and insightful.
...and then my nephew drove the car he was "test driving" for Chrysler through the Turnpike toll booth at 90 mph, crashed through the gate of the automobile factory to get in so he could get new tires, took out 100 yds og cyclone fence and was doing donuts in the parking lot. it took 5 tractor trailer trucks hemming him in to get him to stop the car. however, he felt the test drive was successful.
when you've experienced it, and you hear stuff like what you've written on the radio, you know what the trouble is, and you know all about the sustained help he'll never get from the system. if he's lucky, he has a family that can pull together for him. if he's lucky, he's got an aunt and uncle with money to pay his bills because he's "uninsurable." if he's unlucky, he's the kid you talked about. he's the kid that gets shot one night because he's boozed up or drugged up, trying to make the voices stop and he's looking to end the pain any way he can. death by cop sometimes works.
Hey Okay. Sounds like you've seen the horrors. It's sad, not much available for the mentally ill these days. Far too many of them do end up incarcerated, instead of getting the medical help they need. It's sad just seeing someone try to fight those voices, those demons.
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