My ride-along: Keeping the dream alive

My Ride-Along, Part Three

The row of small single-family homes sits just across George's Stor-More, which borders I-26. The houses are bathed in the sickening yellowish glow of the security lights that keep the storage facility lit. The light hurts my eyes.

I'm riding in the front passenger seat of Asheville Police Department Officer Doug Sheehan's patrol car and we've just pulled up for the next call - a domestic argument. It's about 10 p.m. I'm still processing everything I've seen and heard so far, but there's no time for that right now. We're on again.

A teenager paces at the end of the driveway. She's got a cell phone in her hand, and she's dialing. Mamma is at the door of the house at the other end of the drive, and as soon as Doug approaches, Mamma yells, "Ask her what's going on. She'll tell you the whole story." Slam. She disappears behind the door.

A story emerges. Mamma doesn't want daughter's boyfriend, lingering in the shadows with a cigarette, to spend the night. Doug talks to the teen, then to Mamma inside, then back to the teen. He breaks it down.

"From a legal side of things, you've got to respect mom's wishes," Doug explains, as he listens to the daughter say that she's just trying to graduate and she cleans the house and she's doing the best she can, but her mother still yells at her. Doug tries to sympathize, but explains that the boyfriend's gotta go.

Doug has the situation in hand, and appears ready to leave when he pauses and tries to engage the daughter again. "So how's school going? How are you doing?" She's half listening, looking into her cell phone.

"You hang in there. Keep the dream alive."

Doug's words fall like spent shells, empty and devoid of power.

*******

We're back on the road, and Doug's talking about an officer's need to compartmentalize his emotions when we get the next call - motor vehicle accident at the intersection of Asbury Road and Smokey Park Highway. First responders are already on the scene. We get more information from dispatch, via the computer. Three cars involved, a passenger in one of the vehicles is complaining of neck pain and witnesses say they hear people arguing. Great.

I'm expecting blue lights and sirens, but Doug says he doesn't run "code" unless he knows there's a serious, serious problem. There are people on scene. My nerves are jangling and I'm ready to punch the gas, but Doug plays it cool, so I calm myself down.

We pull up to the scene, the center turn lane on Smoky Park Highway. The flashing red lights of the fire truck, the flashing blue lights of the police cars, the broken glass crunching under my feet all make me dizzy. If I'm not careful, I'll be run down by the two lanes of traffic droning by on either side.

I follow Doug and focus in on the prime suspect. He's a short guy in a brick-red flannel shirt and his hands stuck in his jeans pockets. Doug talks to him. I immediately see the problem. His eyes glitter, shiny and bright, light two lost marbles. He blinks slowly. He can't focus. He's fucked up beyond belief.

Doug pats him down, then turns him around. First, he asks the guy to blow into what looks like a disposable-type Breathalyzer. Doug tells him it's not admissable in court, just a quick reading. Doug checks it, then walks over to look in the guy's car. Doug returns and tells the guy he's going to have to do a field sobriety test.

It doesn't go well. Doug puts the guy in cuffs and sets him in the back seat, then tells me under his breath that the guy had Smirnoff Ice bottles on the floorboard his car. Doug runs the guy's info on his laptop and points to the screen. The dude has two prior DWI convictions.

Once again, the patrol car fills with the odor of alcohol. An over-powering smell. The guy's mumbling. I'm glad, once again, that Doug's window's rolled down.

I want to ask the guy in the back seat what the hell he was doing, thinking. Celebrating? Drowning sorrows? What? But I keep quiet and consider it all.

Because really, who am I to judge?

To be continued....

My ride-along: Eff the police

My Ride-Along, Part Two



It's almost 8:30 and I've been hanging out with the Asheville Police Department for more than two hours. I've been on a ride-along with APD in the person of Officer Doug Sheehan and I'm beginning to wonder if there's going to be more to it than a lot of good intentions.

We stop at what Doug said used to be a decent breakfast diner at the crest of a hill along Patton Avenue across from Groce Funeral Home. Homeless people have broken into the place in recent weeks, so he wants to check it out. He radios in and we get out.

Doug's flashlight hits the windows and doors as he walks around the place. He keeps walking, but there's a hitch as he listens to his radio. There's been a shooting in Erskine, he tells me matter-of-factly. That would be Erskine Street Apartments, one of Asheville's public housing projects. My adrenaline starts to flow.

Feeling my excitment, Doug picks up his pace to get back to the car. He checks his laptop for the latest info. A young man says his brother has been shot. Police should be on the lookout for a champagne-colored Lincoln Town Car. Doug says there's no need for us to drive out of the west district he patrols. We'll just be on alert.

Asheville is split up into three districts. On any given night, there are five or six cops on patrol in each district. Doug gives me the boundaries of the west district, but I don't really comprehend it. I just know it's a lot of territory to cover - from Bingham Heights in the Emma Community out to where Asbury Road intersects Smokey Park Highway (the "Enka red light" as we used to know it) to Pisgah View and Deaverview and down along Brevard Road.

There's more information now from dispatch. The brother who reported the shooting at Erskine did so from a house in West Asheville. Doug knows the street. He radios in. We're on our way.

We pull up to the house, just off Haywood Road, and there in front of us sits a champagne-colored Lincoln Town Car. There's an Ingle's bag covering the right rear window. I spot a bullet hole in the fender. Doug radios in, then walks up to knock on the front door.

Mom answers the door. Inside, I can see a young man sprawled out on a couch. He's holding a video game controller in his hands. He doesn't seem to pay much mind to Doug, who's trying to figure out what the hell's going on.

Suddenly a 20-something with a do-rag on his head bounds down the street and up the stairs into the dingy living room. "What's going on? Who the fuck was that? Is he out already?" Do-rag is hyped up, talking to his brother, yelling at his mother about calling the police.

Doug radios in, telling dispatch that the young man reported to have been shot had, in fact, not been shot and is standing before him. He's got three conversations going at once, trying to figure out what's real.

Doug tries to talk to Do-rag. "Fuck you. Y'all lame ass cops. I'm the one who got shot at. I'm not telling you shit. We're keeping this street!" Doug has tried to calm the guy down, but it's no use.

Out on the porch, Doug tries to talk to Mom. He asks who owns the car. It's a third brother, the oldest. Does the owner of the vehicle want to file a report? Mom checks back inside. No. No report. One note here - I recognize the last name of the brothers. It's the name of trouble. The oldest brother, some 10 years ago or so, was reportedly one of the biggest drug king-pins of Western North Carolina. Now I'm wishing for some more of that boring drive time.

Doug is back down on the street looking over the Town Car one more time and two more officers have arrived as back-up. Do-rag has continued his rant against the police, but it's died off some. Meantime, one of the newly arrived officers and the oldest brother are having a low-level argument. Something about how DA Ron Moore is out to get them. The other newly arrived officer, a short-haired man, has heard Do-rag's ranting and not taken a liking to it. Do-rag is telling the police to go fuck themselves, in so many words.

"What's that? Don't talk to me like that, boy," the short-haired officer says, whipping his flashlight up to the front door. He drawls "boy" in his best Buford Pusser. This does not go unnoticed by Do-rag, who starts up with a new string of invective.

It's on. Doug and his two back-ups rush up the stairs to the front door, which has been slammed in their face. They yell for the door to open and briefly discuss kicking it down. Then it opens, the officers are in and Do-rag is in hand-cuffs.

"Don't put no charges on me, man," Do-rag complains. "I'm a student at A-and-T. Damn, man, I knew I shouldn't a come up here this weekend. I'm the one that got shot at. Why you arresting me? This ain't no type of justice."

Doug informs Do-rag that he'll be going to jail on a charge of cussing in a public street. On the drive to the jail, I can't help myself. I ask Do-rag about the guy who shot at him, a guy whose name he mentioned in his initial rant. "Fuck you" is the response I get to my two questions.

Doug laughs. He says this is the first time he's ever had a ride-along get cussed. Welcome to the club.

At the jail intake, Do-rag begs and pleads for Doug not to hit him with "charges." Then he starts to cry. Then he gets quiet. Doug explains what happened to the magistrate, who also listens to Do-rag's version. The magistrate sets a $200 secured bond. Can't it be unsecured? No, the magistrate tells Do-rag.

On the drive back to West Asheville, I tell Doug straight up I didn't like the way the whole situation was handled. The whole "don't talk to me like that, boy" was inflammatory. Unnecessary. It smacked of a derogatory put-down. Close to the n-word, I told Doug.

Doug said he didn't see it like that. He said the arrest was made to keep Do-rag off the street because the guy was clearly going to look for trouble later. But I said you guys didn't seem to think that at the time - you were all on the street and pretty much ready to move on until the situation blew up.

Doug told me the arrest was good, wasn't a bullshit charge. (As a sideline, Doug notes that he couldn't have charged Do-rag with cussing in a public street if the same thing happened in either Swain or Pitt county. That's all Doug says. But I know that's because former state Sen. Herbert Hyde of Buncombe County famously argued years ago that a man had to have someplace to go to let out a bad word. Hyde got the two-county exception added into state law.)

I understand the situation, sorta, but I didn't like it. It seems fucked up. But I'm glad I'm not the cop having to deal.

*******

To be continued...

Cross-posted from Ashvegas.

My ride-along: Down and out in A-Town

My Ride-Along, Part One



John Doe, red-eyed and without shoe laces, has clarity about his future. In the claustrophobic intake area of the Buncombe County Detention Center, you tend to get that clarity when the jailer tells you to shut the fuck up.

"I know before this night's over that my ass will be beat and Tased," John Doe declares to the ceiling and to anyone willing to listen. "The American people are being beat down. This is what I get for exercising my rights as an American. Protesting is a legal right in this country."

One more word, son, the jailer threatens. John Doe knows when enough is enough.

But that realization comes too late for John Doe, and for the rest in jail on Saturday night. I'm here because I'm doing what I do - observing. I've been riding patrol with Asheville Police Department Officer Doug Sheehan for about four hours, and the November Friday night's just heating up.

How'd I get here? Don't worry. I'll tell you. Let me just process this all. Let me just say that I'm glad my shoes have laces and that I've never had to toe the red line or meet the "happy chair." Let me just say that.

*******

I signed up for the ride-along because the APD has an "open car door" policy that allows pretty much anyone without a felony conviction to hang with the cops and see firsthand what they deal with. As a reporter, I have a pretty good idea. They're dealing with the down-and-out, folks who have nowhere else to turn. People stressed out, tripping out. Maybe you think you know, too. But have you ever embraced it like the police, day in and day out?

By "embraced it," I mean to ask if you've ever had to risk mortal personal injury day in and day out while disciplining malcontents? All for a starting salary of under $30,000 a year. Have you?

Officer Doug Sheehan embraced it because God told him to. He believes he's serving God and the community by working the streets of APD's west district on a nightly basis. I believe Doug because he works two other security jobs to pay the bills for his three kids and his wife, who works a church day care job and a sideline medical billing gig, all just to pay the bills.

*******

After a few turns off of Haywood Road, Doug points his cruiser toward Pisgah View Apartments. The public housing project has the highest crime rate of any area in all of Western North Carolina, he tells me, after showing me what to do if ever during the night he ends up in "a world of hurt." He points out a red button on a console in the car. "Hit that and the cavalry will come."

In the projects, he tells me "seatbelts off." That's Doug's rule, because you never know what you're going to encounter. Now he's making me nervous.

We drive through the mostly deserted housing complex - it's Friday night and everybody's at high school football - and Doug points out one or two buildings that are the known problem areas for drug dealing.

After the tour, we head out and Doug pulls out a poem his father sent him. It's supposedly written by a meth addict and it details the grim effects of the drug in poorly written verse. All cops latch on to this sort of thing, and I have yet to really understand why, except that when you're putting your life on the line every night in an endless war, you have to have something to latch on to.

*******


Just after 7 p.m., Doug rolls up on a man stumbling down Louisana Avenue at the point right between Bi-Lo and Kmart. The dude in the white T-shirt and blue LL Bean backpack is weaving through traffic, knocking on windows. Doug's laptop computer between us shows a report of panhandling.

Blue lights on, Doug pulls up and talks to the drunkard. Doug checks his I.D. Doug pats him down. Then Doug gets the sob story.

"I gotta get to Myrtle Beach, man. My momma died four days ago. My momma died," the dude sobs.

Hearing that he's got a dollar and either two or 22 cents in his pocket, Doug decides to take the dude to the Waffle House at the Biltmore Square Mall exit off I-26. "You can get a cup of coffee and rest up, and if you need to lay down, there's some woods right there," Doug explains over and over.

On the ride down, the stench of alcohol emanating from the dude's pores fills the squad car. Thankfully, Doug has his window rolled down. "My momma died four days ago and I didn't get the message at A-Hope," cries the bum. "I'm a bad son."

Doug asks the guy if he's gonna hurt himself. No, just tell me where Myrtle Beach is. Doug points the way.

I want to give the guy money. I want to wish him luck. I want to ask him about his mother. But in the end, I know he won't remember a single kindness. I figure he'll be lucky to find his way out of the parking lot.

*******

To be continued...
Cross-posted from Ashvegas.

Bloggers, a call to action: Open your eyes and ride along

Ashvegas has a proposal for you, fellow bloggers - with crime a constant concern and the emergence of gangs a hot issue right now, we want bloggers to take the Asheville Police Department up on its "open car door" policy and go on a ride-along with police. We want you, bloggers/residents/the community, to open your eyes to what's happening right here, right now, then tell everybody what you saw.

We're not asking for you to be a mouthpiece for APD. We're asking you to see what cops on the street deal with day in and day out, then share the experience from your unique point of view. It's amazing to us how local bloggers have been so quiet on the gang issue.

We think it's because it may not have hit you where you live. But just a couple of weeks ago, the issue hit the Montford Community. It struck home with a 12-year-old shot in the back of the head, and with the 14-year-old arrested and charged with the shooting.

This is our town. These are our kids. So we're asking you to get off your couch, go out into your community, and see what's going on.

Here's what you do:

1. E-mail Sheila Warren at swarren@ashevillenc.gov and tell her you want a ride-along. Tell her if your interested in day or night, and what part of town you'd like to see.

2. Warren will send you a form to fill out. It requires you to provide your driver's license number so police can do a background check. E-mail it back with your signature, or fax to 251-4003.

3. Go on your ride-along, then write about your experience on your blog and cross-post it here. Tell us all about it.

How 'bout it, bloggers. Here's the ride-along form: