"Schoolin' The Rookie . . . Banana Style"

I waited a little longer than a lot of people to get into law enforcement. I was 26. While that's not old, I found myself going through the academy and training with a lot of younger folks.

After interviewing with 3 agencies I was hired by a small North Texas agency. I started my FTO program (Field Training Program). If you know anything about Rookies you know that they think their FTO (Field Training Officer) is almost God! (Later we learn different.)

My first day in training! I was EXCITED! I was up and ready to go three hours before my shift! I was at work one hour before my shift started. I was as eager as ever to save the world.

Now, you would have to have known my FTO. He was a cross between Barry Corbin and Robert Duvall. He was a crusty old f***** but as time went on, I grew to like him. He had a sharp wit, an even temper, and a very tongue in cheek look at life.

The first part of our morning was pretty routine. I got to use the radio a little, made a few traffic stops, ran some errands for the City Council, etc. Little did I know my day was about to get interesting. We had a call at about 10:15 am of a family dispute. I drove to the address, checked out on the radio and could hear a man screaming at someone, later found to be his common law wife. My FTO said, "Let's see what's up in white trash world this morning."

We made our way to the door of the run down trailer house. I was overcome with the smell of burnt bacon, in my mind an unmistakable smell. We knocked on the door and took a defensive angle. The door opened outward and almost came off of the hinges. The man was dressed in red sweat pants that were covered in grease (judging from his hair, it may have come from there). He had a scraggly beard as if he hadn't shaved in three or four days, no shirt, and was covered in prison tats. ("What a freakin' loser," I thought to myself.) We identified ourselves. My FTO asked, "What's the problem this morning?" The man says, "like always, arguin' with the ol' lady." My FTO says, "What are ya'll arguin' about?" The man says, "Bitch burned the bacon . . . as much sh** as she burns you'd think she was a Cajun cook. Everything, and I do mean everything, is blackened." My FTO asks for his drivers license, so the guy reaches around all of the dirty dishes on the counter and produces 2 halves of a drivers license and a Texas Department of Corrections Inmate card. My FTO hands me the pieces of the license and advises me to run a computer check. Dispatch advises that the subject was wanted for a parole violation. I think to myself, "COOL! My first arrest!" I advise dispatch to confirm the warrant. I step towards the man, and say in my best Cool Hand Luke voice: "Sir, please turn around and place your hands behind your back!"

The arrest went off without a hitch!

I proceed to the jail (10 miles away) and advise the jailer on duty that we have one male to deliver. We roll up to the sallyport and in we go! I get out of the vehicle and secure my weapon in the gun lockbox. ( I failed to notice that my FTO put his gun under the passenger side seat of the squad car.) We got in the jail, and through the book-in process . . . again without a hitch!
As we walk out of the jail, I glance at my watch and see it's lunch time!

(I jump into the squad car, completely forgetting my weapon).

My FTO (who, of course, catches this) says, "How 'bout Luby's for lunch?" I say, "Sure, sounds good!" We arrive at Luby's and advise dispatch that we would be on lunch break. We walk in and stand in line. NOW, HERE'S WHERE THE WHEELS COME OFF!' If you have ever been around a cop, you know that we tend to protect our gun side, and will even lean on our gun with our forearm. Without thinking I gently lean on my gun with my forearm. But wait, something doesn't feel right! SH**! I left my gun at the jail! "Stay calm," I say to myself. I don't want anyone in line to see that I don't have my gun. I lean into my FTO and say, "Umm, Sarge, can I have the keys to the car? I, umm, kind of left my gun at the jail." My FTO starts to grin and says, "No keys. You're not cleared to drive without an FTO in the vehicle." I swallow hard and say, "Can we go back?" FTO grins again and says, "Nope. We checked out already. We'll get it after we eat." Damn! This sucks! I grab my tray and still am leaning VERY AKWARDLY on my holster so nobody will notice. I quickly go through the line and make my selections. The cashier barely looks up, she didn't see anything! Cool, maybe I can get through this. As my FTO gets to the end of the line, he reaches over and grabs a banana. He then walks over and shoves the banana into my holster in front of everyone and says, "There ya go. Now you have something to lean on . . . feel better?" I could feel my face turning red. I turned around and walk toward the booth. "Hey, maybe everybody didn't see that," I think to myself. I have an idea: "If I can get to the booth, and sit with my gun side in, then nobody else will see it!" I walk towards the booth, just about the time I get to the booth my FTO barks, "Other side rook, that's my side." DAMN, he was one step ahead. I hurried through my meal not saying a word. I am so pissed. "I hate this guy! He has a lot of nerve. He is suppose to be training me, but noooooo, he's too busy making me look like a joke. What a bastard!"

Finally, he was finished eating. "You ready?" I say. "No, we have an hour, now I am going to read the paper." I shot him a look. He simply grinned. I reach down and take the banana out of my holster. Out of the corner of his eye he catches me and says, "Put it back in and don't play with your weapon at the table. It's not safe, someone may slip on it." If looks could kill this bastard would be 6 feet under. I was fuming! Finally, after what seemed like a year, our hour was up. We get back into the squad and I return to the jail and get my gun back.

The rest of the shift was very quiet, both in the car and on the radio. I was still pissed and was not even trying to hide it. We finally make it back to the office for my D.O.R. (Daily Observation Report). "Well, guess his sorry ass will slam me on this." I sit quietly in the corner contemplating ways to get even in my mind. My FTO says, "Okay, let's go over this, then go home." My eyes tear up a little from the anger. I practically rip the report out of his hand and quickly look it over. Appearance: Good. Attitude: Good. etc. good, etc. good. Accepts Responsibility: good. "Wait, what the hell? He didn't slam me." My FTO says, "What's wrong?" Apparently by the look on my face he could see that I was shocked. I mumbled something about the gun, and the jail and lunch. My FTO says, "So, you're pretty pissed at me right now, huh? You'd like to reach over and choke me or worse, huh?" Okay, he opened the door! "Yeah, I am. That was sorry. You're suppose to be training me and you make me look like a fool, and you laugh about it. You're an asshole." OOPS, I went too far. There's that stupid grin on his face again. "I am an asshole. It's my job. I'm teaching you. I could have taken you back, gotten your gun, and then came back and finished lunch. But, you wouldn't have learned a thing. I will make a bet with you right here, right now. I don't care if you're in this business 1 year or 30 years . . . I bet that you NEVER forget your gun at a jail again. Also, I bet that you will be telling this story to people, maybe even your own rookies from now on. Now, did I teach you anything today? Give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day . . . teach a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime."

You know, that crusty ol' f***** was right! Coming up on 15 years in this line of work and I have never left my gun at a jail. Still telling the story, too! Guess he did teach me a thing or two!

Here's to you, Sarge, you crusty fart!