Barbarella Sweeps the Beats with the Highway Patrol
pg.7

The driver kept repeating, "I'm not going to make it," and each time she said this, John would counter, "Don't worry. You'll make it, I promise.

"Just before the ambulance got there," John continued, "the woman was in my arms, and she took her last breath and slumped over the wheel." I saw in John's face the regret and guilt he shouldered. "The totality of it really bothered me," he said. "If we had known, I mean... I couldn't keep my promise."

John relayed more tragedies, more people dying in his arms, gruesome stories all too common to the job. "Stuff that doesn't need to happen, caused by the stupidity of people who don't think ahead," he said, describing a man with a .35 alcohol level who had killed a family of four. John believes everything happens for a reason. In the face of so much sudden death, such conviction must be the only way to stave off despair.

Irate Citizen

Haunted by the images he described, I wanted to hear something positive. "What makes you feel good about being a California Highway Patrol officer?" This seemed to engage him. John pulled onto the shoulder in order to give me his full attention, and he launched into a story. Then he suddenly stopped.

"Someone just pulled up behind us." A look of considerable agitation crossed his face. "This isn't good."

John jumped out of the car in a hurry, forgetting to close his door. I turned around in my seat. A giant of a man was out in front of a black Suburban, pointing and screaming at John as he approached. John stayed perfectly calm as he led the man toward the back of the passenger's side. The man was visibly unhinged, his arms windmilling, his lips fluttering angrily, his head bobbing in violent emphasis.

I eyed the radio. Jenny Panfil had explained earlier that day how to use it to contact the dispatcher. "If anything were to happen, say if I was suddenly attacked while apprehending someone, you press this button and tell them what's going on. Help will come." What are the chances, I'd wondered at the time. Now I considered my options.

Looking back again, I spotted a woman in the passenger's seat of the Suburban. At first I thought she was staring at me, but when I focused I could see that she was looking around blankly, occasionally turning to watch her companion scream at John. I lowered my head closer to the police radio, listening intently for John's voice. I had forgotten that an officer's voice can't be heard in his own patrol car -- something about proximity to his antenna. When I had finally decided what I'd say to the dispatcher, I heard the gritty echo of the dispatcher's voice: "11-Boy requesting backup -- he's on the shoulder of 805 southbound just north of Balboa Avenue, dealing with an irate citizen." John had already taken care of it.

It was dark now. Occasionally the light of passing cars illuminated the interior of the patrol car. The message breaking through the radio static made me nervous for the first time that day, and I wondered if I could figure out how to use the shotgun. Irate Citizen was not becoming less of one -- his energy seemed limitless. PCP, I thought. That can make a man stupid enough to pull up behind a parked patrol car to yell and scream at an unsuspecting officer.

I had learned from Brad that if you're driving on the road and you see a police car, never pull up behind it, whether or not you think you have a legitimate question or are in need of help. He told me about a time he'd had to make a "high-risk stop," meaning he'd pulled someone over who was "more than likely in a stolen car, with a high likelihood of having a weapon." In such encounters, officers keep a gun at their side. While Brad stood there, gun in hand, a second car pulled up behind him. A young woman got out and started walking toward him. He doesn't remember exactly what she wanted, but it was something inconsequential, like asking for directions or hoping he'd sign off on a fix-it ticket. If the subject Brad was about to apprehend had had a weapon, he could have seized that moment of distraction to shoot both Brad and the woman.

Minutes after John's call for help -- it seemed like an eternity -- I saw blue and red lights whirling behind the Suburban -- backup! I watched as four uniformed men joined John to quickly surround Irate Citizen. The woman who had been in the passenger's seat got out of the car and approached the circle of officers as the man in the middle shouted at all of them; she piped in when she could, and the circle widened to include her.

John walked back to the patrol car, leaned in the window, and told me it was safe to get out now if I wanted to. "What the hell is going on back there?" I asked. But he was already heading back to what was now a substantial crowd of people. Three CHP officers and one SDPD officer had arrived. I followed after John, and by the time I got there, Irate Citizen had finally stopped screaming, but his speech was still animated. While background checks were being run, an officer filled me in, explaining that the couple lived in their vehicle. Their trailer, along with most of their possessions, had recently been towed, and they decided to express their displeasure to the first lawman they came across.

John later told me the man was mostly yelling things like "YOU FUCKING PIGS, YOU TOWED MY CAR!!!" Jenny Panfil had said that such tirades are not at all uncommon. She's been called any number of colorful names, and officers are not allowed to arrest people for verbal harassment. Call it a job privilege.

I listened as the man tried to explain himself. "We're not out there doing crack and causing trouble," he shouted. "There are different types of homeless people!" His girlfriend was dancing now, though she wore her headphones above her ears, high up on a pink bandanna. She interrupted her odd jig and asked me, "Why you ain't wearing no uniform?" I told her I left it at home.

When the background checks didn't turn anything up, John bade the fine citizens good-bye, and the officers all returned to their respective beats. In the car, John said, "In all my time [here], I've never called for backup before."

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