My First Day
My name is John Griffin. I came out of the Fort Worth Police academy in 1980 and had to ride with three different training officers for one month each. I was assigned to the evening shift at the northside district on Ephriham road. The police sector where they held roll call was a dilapidated children’s hospital the city had condemned. It was a mess, and it was musty. The officers couldn’t wait to finish and get out of there. The training officer I was supposed to ride with wasn’t there. He was on suspension for killing an armed robber with a gun that wasn’t authorized by the department. Since my regular training officer wasn’t there, they assigned me to a veteran officer for the shift. His name was Mike Dison. He had been on the department for four years. I had heard a lot of the officers didn't like rookies, but he was a nice guy.
We walked out of the old building into the parking lot full of police cars. We found our assigned patrol car and got in. As we were walking to the car, I could hear the police radios in other cars chattering away. We sat there as Mike showed me the paperwork to fill out before the shift starts. We talked for a few minutes as he filled me in on different procedures and things happening in the field they didn’t tell you about in the academy. He explained to me we worked downtown and the areas just outside of town.
After the orientation he looked at me and said, “Are you ready?”
I looked at him not knowing what to think, “Yeah, I’m ready.”
He reached down and pushed the on button. The radio was chattering. When there was a slight break Mike pushed the microphone key, “Frank two fifteen (designated F-215), 10-8.” That meant we were ready to take a call.
The dispatcher immediately came back, “Frank two fifteen copy call. No back up available. There’s a disturbance on an Amtrak train pulling into the station at 1600 Jones Street. An intoxicated white male is harassing the other passengers. The train will arrive in about three minutes.”
Mike acknowledged the call, and we were enroute to the downtown area from the northside. We drove at a high rate of speed but didn’t turn on the lights and siren. Police unit with a rookie in training was not considered a two officer car. We went with no back up.
We got on the scene which was on the south end of downtown. The train had just arrived, and we walked through a tunnel to the tracks where the train was. A conductor stepped down from a car in the middle of the train and motioned for us to come his way. We got on the train and the conductor said, “There’s a guy in there that’s had too much to drink and he’s threatening passengers.
We walked into the train car, and I had no idea what we were doing. The white male was about thirty years old and yelling at people. The people on the train were scared and Mike approached him. The guy began yelling at us. He approached us in a threatening manner and Mike grabbed him and threw him to the floor of the aisle with extreme prejudice. I jumped on and we got him handcuffed behind his back.
We walked him off the train and into the tunnel to our police car. As we walked in the tunnel, he decided he wanted to fight. He turned and started kicking at me. I took a step back, but Mike reacted immediately by slamming his face up against the tunnel wall. The guy decided it was over quickly. We got him in the car and drove him to the jail a few blocks away and booked him in.
We left the jail and headed north on Main Street out of the downtown area without clearing our call. We needed a break. We were going to grab a coke at a convenience store before we took another call. There’s a bridge coming out of downtown Fort Worth going to the northside. We went across the bridge and there were some abandoned warehouses. Mike saw a motorcycle gang member sitting in the parking lot of one of the warehouses. He was your typical biker. He was a white male about 6'3", two hundred and seventy pounds. He had tattoos everywhere. We pulled in and Mike had his window rolled down. He asked the guy, “What are you doing here?”
The guy came back with, “None of your damn business. Now get the hell out of here.”
Mike threw the car in park and jumped out of the car. I jumped out behind him. As I got out, I could see the biker was suddenly shaken. Mike got in his face, “Give me your damn drivin card. You’re about to go to jail, jackoff.”
The guy pulled his wallet out and handed a driver’s license to Mike. His hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t hardly get it out. Mike ran him for warrants, and he didn’t have any. Mike gave his license back and told him if he saw again today, he would go to jail, so head out. I’m still not sure what’s going on. I’m just along for the ride.
We went and got our Cokes and cleared the call from the train station. The dispatcher gave us another call. It was a vandalism call at a car dealership downtown. They were used cars, and some windows were broken. We arrived and Mike said, “How about you handle this one.”
We parked and walked through the car lot into the sales office. There were two white males in the office. Both were forty something. One of the guys approached and I said, “Did you call the police.”
He got in my face and said, “You’re damn right I called. I had seven cars vandalized last night. Where the hell were you guys.”
I stuttered for a second and the guy continued, “Get somebody out here right now to take some fingerprints off these cars.”
Mike walked up and told me, “I got this.” He looked at the guy and said, “Sir we were busy last night. We didn’t have time to sit up on your little car lot. We’re not calling crime scene out either. Call your insurance company. Now, do you want a report made or not.”
I was learning the art of intimidation, and not in a bad way. There are people who want to run over you and that can’t happen as a police officer.
The guy stood there a second, visibly upset. Mike pulled out his pad and got all the information for the report. We turned and walked out. In 1980 we went to a Seven/Eleven convenience store to use their phone to call the department, and typists took your report over the phone. It was more efficient than writing it out and sending it through channels at the end of the shift. It also gives the officers a chance to take a break. Seven/Eleven loved it because there was a police presence in their stores. Seven/Elevens in Fort Worth almost never got robbed. I called in the report, and we got more Coke and used the facilities.
We cleared the call and got another one right away. There was an attempted armored car robbery with shots fired. We jumped in the car and Mike was driving. The address was way off, but we were the only unit available, no backup. Mike turned on the lights and siren and we were running hot. As I said earlier, I’m just along for the ride. I’ve got the bug eyes. I’ve never done anything like this. As we approached the address it was a grocery store parking lot. Cars were leaving but we didn’t see anything suspicious. We went into the parking lot and saw the armored car. Mike told the dispatcher we were on the scene.
We got out and two armored car guards were standing at the rear of the truck. The guards looked completely stressed out. Mike told me, “Okay you take this one.”
I walked up and asked them what happened. The one guard stepped forward and related the following story, “We pulled in to make our daily pickup. I was driving. My partner walked in to get the money. He came out, opened the back door to get in and shots were fired. It was two white males. I couldn’t tell the make of the guns, but they were pistols. My partner leaped in the back and closed the door. I was getting ready to drive off, but they ran. I felt it was better to stay here and call the police.”
The guard showed me several dents in the back door of the armored car where the bullets hit. I got a slight description from both guards but nothing helpful. They didn’t see the car the bad guys were in. They ran off through the parking lot and couldn’t be seen.
The armored car left, and we followed them for a while to make sure no one was waiting to try for the money again. It was time to hit the Seven/Eleven and call in the report. I finished the report, and we meandered around for a few minutes. It was dark and getting late in the shift. We cleared the call and of course got another one. This was an aggravated assault. Again, it was a long way off but there were no other units available. The dispatcher said there was an ambulance on the way. Mike turned on the lights and siren and we made good time.
We arrived on the scene about the same time the ambulance did. We got out of the car and walked to a crowd gathered as did the EMT’s. It was in the parking lot of a local biker bar known for violent criminals. There was a white woman lying there, maybe in her mid-twenties. Blood was everywhere. She had no lower jaw. Her jaw was knocked completely off. Even the EMT’s stood there for a second stunned. She was still conscious and trying to talk. Her tongue was just dangling, and she couldn’t speak. I had never seen anything like it.
Mike got down on one knee by her, “Did your husband do this to you”
She nodded yes. Mike then asked, “Where is he.”
She pointed to the biker bar. Mike pulled out his pad and said, “Try and write his name.” She scribbled, Rattler. I was furious. We walked into the club and looked around. Finally, Mike said, “Who the hell is Rattler?”
Nobody said anything. They ignored us. Mike walked up to the bartender, “Whose Rattler?”
The bartender said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen pal, you tell me who Rattler is or in about thirty minutes you’re going to have a SWAT team in here closing the place down and taking everyone to jail. It’s up to you.”
After a few seconds stare off, the bartender pointed to a pool table and a big biker getting ready to make a shot, “That’s him. That’s Rattler.”
We approached the table, and I was ready to kill this guy. Mike said, “You Rattler?”
He looked at us nodded slowly smiling, “Yeah, I’m Rattler.”
Mike continued, “Did you do that to your wife’s jaw?”
“Yeah, she’s a crazy bitch and I gave her what she deserved. She won’t press charges though. Go ask her.”
Mike walked back outside and told me to follow him. Mike walked up to the woman, “Do you want to press charges?”
She shook her head no. Mike looked at me and said, “Okay, that’s it. Let’s get out of here.”
I was flabbergasted. I said, “That’s it! Nothing happens to the guy?”
“If the spouse doesn’t want to press charges there’s nothing we can do.”
This was in the early eighties when police officers could not interfere with family violence or spousal abuse. The laws have since changed.
The EMT’s found the woman’s jaw. As they were loading her on the gurney they said, “We can probably attach it and she’ll be okay.”
Knowing the situation didn’t make me feel any better. Something needed to be done to her husband. Apparently, he got off scott free. My guts were completely entangled as I rode around for the short remainder of the shift.
I must say, I loved the excitement. It was exhilarating. I could’ve kept going, but when the shift was over, they send you home. I left the department that night and drove home to an apartment in northeast Fort Worth. I was living by myself and had no one to talk with. I was in no mood to sleep. I was amped up from day’s activities. I had a six pack of beer in the refrigerator sitting there for three or four weeks. I wasn’t much of a drinker back then. I was so hopped up I started drinking the beer. I polished off all six cans. I finally started to relax and fell asleep. Then it was time to wake up and go again another day. Thus started my career in police work.
