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By Ron De Laby
"The last pleasure in life is the sense of
discharging our duty"
- William Hazlitt
As the city grew in population, so grew a need
for additional officers on the police
department. Recruitment had reopened in an
effort to fill vacancies created by retirements
and other forms of attrition. The complexion of
the department was on the cusp of change. There
were new forces on the horizon and they had
their eyes on the former fraternities of the
police and fire service.
With the expansion of the civil rights
movement, all manner of previously unclassified
groups now felt free to place demands for
recognition. The black freedom coalitions were
muscled aside by the eventual incursion of
others who felt their day in the sun was long
overdue.
There was no shortage of victims of oppression.
Everyone who could get a television camera to
hold still long enough, had a tale of woe to
tell the American public. People watched the
news reports at night and cluck clucked at the
pathetic stories. “Someone should do something
about that,” they said -- little realizing that
the “someone” was them.
The door was opened at the Riverside Police
Department when a former local Mexican
gangbanger came in to apply for a job in law
enforcement. He was turned down because the
minimum height requirement at that time was
5’9.” It was believed shorter people would not
be able to adequately handle the type of work
required of policemen, nor would they command
the respect so needed to carry out the job. He
left the department and announced to a waiting
reporter, who just happened to be standing by,
that he would never again be the same. All his
life he had dreamed of being a policeman and
now he was being turned down because he wasn’t
quite tall enough. He was being discriminated
against because of his race. Many otherwise
qualified former gangbangers, he maintained,
would not be able to seek gainful employment in
law enforcement because of a genetic
predisposition to shortness. He was 27 years
old, 5’1” tall weighed 98 pounds and had a
history of violent felony arrests dating from
the time he was 11 years of age. He was a
heroin addict and had the track marks up and
down his arms to prove it. But, not wanting to
dilute a perfectly good sob story with facts,
the article with this harangue was run. The
dreaded accusation of racial discrimination had
its intended effect.
Various groups read of the tragedy, dried their
collective eyes and went on a holy quest to
right the wrongs of American law enforcement.
As a result, height and weight requirements
were dropped. The ranks of previously white
male defenders of truth and justice were
rapidly being filled with all manner and shape
of aspiring super heroes. Soon women were
encouraged to apply. No longer would a woman’s
place be in the home. It would be on the
street, rolling around in a freezing gutter at
four in the morning with a drunk twice her size
intent on gutting her with a knife. It would be
on a hospital gurney in an emergency room
somewhere in the country seeping blood from a
bullet wound in her belly. She would join her
male comrades in the ground while flags were
lowered and taps were played on mournful
bugles. Progress and enlightenment had finally
arrived.
By 1988, Evelyn Roggs was one of the new breed
of cops who had come forth to save America from
itself. The term “police officer” had now taken
on a unisex connotation. Badges all over the
country were changed from the sexist term
“policeman” to the more enlightened “police
officer.” Not satisfied with their
accomplishments, the hearts and flowers
coalitions continued to strive for uniformity
until there were virtually no restrictions for
admission into one of the worlds’ most
exclusive clubs. Oh sure, violent felons need
not apply just yet, nor child molesters, but
wait until next year. Why should we, as an
enlightened society, discriminate on ANY basis?
Problems occurred in training when it was
discovered women were, gasp, “different” from
men. They had virtually no upper body strength.
No problem, said the hemorrhaging heart
associations; we’ll just eliminate that
requirement from the physical agility tests.
Women had no endurance. Not important, said the
Simple Simonettes. Their natural ability to
sooth the savage beast would overcome their
need for brute force. After all, who would
strike a woman?
As it turned out, a goodly number of people
would indeed strike a woman. Not only strike,
but stab, shoot, crush, mutilate, and kidnap
and rape them, so much for equal opportunity.
But the floodgates had been opened and would
not soon close.
Evelyn would have a great deal in common with
her brothers in arms. They both had an unusual
fondness and affection for the female of the
species. Evelyn’s biggest problem was her lack
of the appropriate appendage needed to
consummate romantic relations. Nevertheless she
was undeterred in her quest for the opposite
sex, or in her case, the same sex.
Officer Roggs was the embodiment of the new age
woman. A short, stocky, no nonsense,
card-carrying member of NOW who sported a
rainbow flag decal on the windshield of her
personal vehicle. “Rugs,” as she was soon
affectionately tagged, was so named in honor of
her carpet munching proclivity. Although it was
widely rumored she was a militant lesbian, not
to be trifled with, a curious patrolman changed
the course of that belief system one fine
spring evening.
It was one of those nights when everyone stayed
home and watched television. No one beat his or
her spouse, no one got drunk and disorderly. In
short a dead and uneventful night. A night in
which you continually checked the squelch
control on your patrol car radio to ensure it
was still working. It was the kind of night
feared by most police types as the lull before
the storm.
It was during this lonely evening of traveling
down lonely dirt roads in the vast orange grove
region of Riverside, while purportedly looking
for stolen and abandoned vehicles, that officer
Jamie Bradley saw a glint of light; a
reflection off a car bumper that would change
the course of events for Evelyn as well as her
hard earned reputation. Jamie had learned from
his training officer, a veritable master of
silent running, how to effectively advance on a
parked vehicle. It was important; he was
solemnly told, to approach quietly in order to
avoid alerting the lurking criminals therein.
The lurking criminals in 197% of the cases were
lovers locked in impassioned and naked embrace.
The stalking officer must open his car door
several yards before coming to within earshot
of the parked suspect vehicle. He must attain a
maximum speed of no more than twelve feet per
hour. Slowly does it. Additionally he must
utilize the services of the parking brake to
avoid highlighting the police unit in a flash
of red brake light thereby alerting the
heretofore-unsuspecting rogue. Finally, he must
exit his patrol vehicle and quietly slip up on
the reclusive recalcitrant on foot. Jamie’s
training officer had apparently acquired the
unique ability to hover a half inch off a bed
of gravel to avoid making noise. He was as
silent as a deer in the forest. Finally,
suddenly appearing at the side window of the
vehicle and beaming in 20,000-candle power from
his 12-cell flashlight he would administer the
coup de grace. The shocked reaction usually
resulted in the forced uncoupling of the
startled targets and was good for a week’s
worth of story-telling. What was never revealed
in this training session was what to do if one
of the lovers returned the compliment with
shots fired.
No matter, the parked vehicle was now his. The
suspicious movement of the car, accompanied by
low moans emitting from within convinced Jamie
that he was about to save the life of a
terrified kidnap victim. Hurriedly he employed
the appropriate steps and gleefully activated
his Night Sun brand flashlight. The startled
couple sat bolt upright. They were no more
startled than Jamie however, as he recognized
his beat partner Evelyn Roggs, in flagrante
delicto with an actual male member of the
species.
From that day forward the word went out that
“Rugs” was actually AC/DC, thereby earning her
the delightful sobriquet of, “Rugs, the
indoor-outdoor lezzie.”
Evelyn was not to be trifled with and her
expose was a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting
to happen. The irony of a lesbian filing a
sexual harassment suit was lost on the courts,
who in their infinite wisdom, sought to defend
all manner of creatures great and small.
It was widely known that her new 450 SL class
Mercedes was a gift from the city of Riverside
due to an unfortunate comment about the weather
made by an unsuspecting patrolman. As a result,
the officers of Riverside Police Department
were reminded of the paraphrased old adage,
“Hell hath no fury like, …”
The incident started innocently enough on an
unusually humid August afternoon. The air
conditioning had been on the fritz for at least
a week and each day at precisely 2:45 p.m. the
denizens of watch three would gather for their
roll call ritual. Since the evenings in
Southern California can remain uncomfortably
warm, the interior of the police facility was
not able to cool off as quickly as would be
hoped. The temperature and humidity inched up
each day until by the end of the week orchids
were noted to be sprouting from the dust
bunnies in the corners.
During the assembly in question, the collection
of humanity clad in Kevlar vests, squeaking
leather gear and poly-wool blend uniforms had
upped the moisture content in the cramped roll
call room to about 98%. Mouth breathing like
spawning salmon and weary from the endless list
of beat patrol requests and stolen car reports,
the mood in the room was rapidly deteriorating.
Finally, an old salt by the name of Johannsen
who was seated next to “Rugs” made a fateful
proclamation. “Hey Sarge. Can you hurry it up a
little? It’s hot as hell in here and ‘Rugs’ is
starting to smell like a Tuna.”
After the gales of laughter had subsided.
“Rugs” was noted to be talking seriously into a
cell phone. It was later learned that she kept
a female (lesbian, of course) attorney on
retainer, and on speed dial.
The civil suit came and went very quickly.
Johannsen disappeared to a graveyard front
counter assignment unhappily taking phone-in
reports and the entire third watch crew was
treated to a sensitivity seminar. Evelyn chose
baby blue for her Mercedes. “Rugs” soon proved
she was up to dealing with the worst the job
had to offer. She had developed as demented a
sense of humor as the most hardened vet. Even
though she had been tormented as a new recruit
with photos of blood and gore, she steadfastly
refused to show they affected her.
Typically, new officers are assigned to a
graveyard shift upon release from the
field-training program. Newer officers, it was
reasoned, needed to break in slowly and the
11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift had fewer calls.
One associated problem with the shift however,
is terminal boredom.
Evelyn’s training officers had determined they
had done everything humanly possible to
discourage her from a career in law enforcement
and, being unsuccessful, they pronounced her as
fit as could be expected. She was assigned to a
graveyard shift and allowed to go forth to
mature and develop.
Officers going on shift checked their cars,
loaded their gear and announced to the
dispatcher they were “10-8,” in-service, and
ready for assignment. Evelyn had followed the
time-honored procedure announcing her
availability as 1-Robert-30 for the morning
watch.
Accident Investigation units are unavailable
after three o’clock in the morning and any
traffic problems are therefore assigned to the
patrol officers. Peach-faced recruits listened
with nervous anticipation each evening as the
fateful end of shift announcement was made at
precisely 2:45 a.m.
“Tom Fifty-One, 10-7.”
Traffic unit, Tom–51, was the sole remaining
Accident Investigation unit of the shift. The
virgin police officers took on the gloomy
outlook of a troop transport crossing the North
Atlantic during World War II, alone and
unescorted, prey for enemy submarines. So
naturally, as regular as clockwork, some drunk
driver managed to wrap himself around a palm
tree and afford a squeaky new graveyard patrol
officer the opportunity to unravel the
intricacies of a fatality investigation all
alone. How the soon to be body bag occupants
knew when Tom-51 was off duty was forever
shrouded in mystery.
“Rugs” took each investigation philosophically
and seemed to be able to work her way through
almost any case, no matter how difficult.
Accidents, to her, were much like any other
call and she was probably the only graveyard
trooper unmoved by the weekly announcement of
yet another fatality.
During a particularly nasty winter evening when
the morning temperature plummeted to nearly 32
degrees, frost warnings were announced and
graveyard officers huddled in their patrol
cars. Collective prayers were offered up to the
traffic gods for an accident free shift. “Rugs”
cruised aimlessly back and forth across her
assigned beat vigilantly in search of nocturnal
ne’er do wells. The night had thus far been
free of radio traffic other than an occasional
bored voice announcing a vehicle or business
check. Suddenly, the entire graveyard crew was
startled from slumber by the piercing voice of
the dispatcher announcing the passing of yet
another city resident. “Robert-Thirty, 1
Robert-30.” “Robert-30, Beech and Sand
Hurst,” Evelyn responded from mid block.
“1-Robert-30, 11-80 at Wayside and the
tracks, Wayside and the tracks. Your call is
code-3”
“Robert-30 copy, enroute.”
Evelyn reached down and slapped the lever on
the control unit all the way to the right,
activating the overhead lights and siren. The
unit siren pierced the air with a wailing
shriek as she mashed the gas pedal to the
floorboard. The unit leapt forward and raced to
the scene of what was surely this week’s fatal
accident.
“Robert 45, I’ll assist.” Came the voice of an
adjoining beat partner, relieved at the
prospect of directing traffic or laying out
flares rather than actually having to write the
report.
“Robert-45, 10-4. Units responding be
advised this is an auto versus train, Mercy
enroute.” Mercy was the local ambulance
company but the need of their service was in
doubt. Automobiles rarely won in a game of
chicken with a train.
Moments later Evelyn careened around the
corner, announcing her arrival. The rear end of
an old red pickup was lying in a ditch near the
train tracks. The front end containing half a
driver was a half block east on the other side
of the tracks. Several train personnel were
gathering around surveying the damage and
speaking into hand held radios.
Evelyn exited her patrol car and walked to the
front half of the old truck. She noted that the
upper portion of the driver was still behind
the steering wheel. Leaning inside what was
left of the vehicle she sniffed and wrinkled
her nose. The odor of stale beer drifting off
the body was unmistakable. He appeared to be an
adult Mexican male in his early forties. Since
the SAN MIGUEL bar was about six blocks away,
it looked like a bad end to a good night.
The driver had dutifully stopped for the
flashing lights signaling an oncoming train. He
apparently sat patiently as the train whizzed
by. The moment the southbound train cleared the
tracks; he proceeded across, only to be taken
out by a second train traveling Northbound on a
second set of tracks.
The bottom half of the torso was laying in a
field a few yards away. “Rugs” was crouched
down inspecting it when her adjoining beat
partner came running up. She looked at him and
looked back at the human wreckage on the
ground. Steam was rising from the convoluted
pile of intestines. “Rugs” began to sing,
“Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be…”
She looped a strand of intestine over her baton
and offered it to the new officer.
“Want some?” She inquired.
The officer, a young man with the appearance of
a 12-year-old, stared at Evelyn in shocked
disbelief at the desecration of the remains. He
suddenly turned white and lurched over to the
side of the road and proceeded to lose his
lunch.
“I guess not,” suggested “Rugs.” Okay then, all
the more for me.” She made chewing sounds and
smacked her lips, “Ummm, this is good.” The
baby faced policeman retched louder.
Evelyn’s career had its ups and downs. She was
a loner, feared by the male officers and female
officers alike. No one would socialize with her
off duty and she was never invited to coffee
during a shift. No one understood her and
everyone was afraid to try. She was watched
carefully by the police administrators who
longed for a return to the days of intimidation
without retribution, termination without
litigation. Attempts were made to encourage her
to seek other fields of employment, all without
success. Evelyn loved the freedom of police
work. She loved the adrenaline flow and the
excitement of the unknown. Evelyn Roggs planned
to stay around for a long, long time.
At some point in their careers, field
supervisors are usually promoted to Watch
Commanders. The promotion is accompanied by the
awarding of a bright shiny gold lieutenant’s
bar to be worn on the collar of the police
uniform. Some take the promotion seriously and
continue in their efforts to seek the eternally
elusive answer to crime in their city. Others
see it as a step to two gold bars, a captain’s
promotion and the attainment of a division
command. Sometimes these individuals trod on
the backs of their charges in their quest for
fame and glory. Such was the case of a new
promotee by the name of James Ridgley. As a
Sergeant, Ridgley was mediocre. As a Lieutenant
he was a tyrant. Ridgley was one of three newly
promoted lieutenants who seemed to belong to
the same club. Their mantra was to seek out and
destroy the careers of their subordinates.
Patrol officers and Sergeants alike were
subject to the irrational whims of the dreaded
threesome.
Ridgley was unpredictable. He was demanding and
unreasonable. On one occasion he had summoned a
Patrol Sergeant to the station from the
furthest reaches of the city. Upon reaching the
Watch Commander’s office, the weary Sergeant
was told by the imperious Lieutenant Ridgley,
“There is a unit parked by the gas pumps. It
belongs to one of YOUR men. I want YOU to move
it.”
The Sergeant proceeded to the gas pumps and
discovered that the offending unit was down
with a dead battery and couldn’t be moved.
Returning to the Watch Commander’s office he
informed the Lieutenant of his findings.
“I told you to move it,” responded Ridgley. “I
didn’t ask for excuses. Now, go do it or go
home on suspension.”
Furious, the Sergeant moved the unit by
physically pushing it into a vacant stall. He
then reported back to the Lieutenant that he
had strained his back in the process and was
leaving on a worker’s comp injury. He was out
for three months. The message was lost on
Ridgley and the city paid the disability.
Of the three Lieutenants, James Ridgley was the
worst by far. He had racked up more
disciplinary actions against officers than any
of his predecessors. He was a sadistic, hateful
person who saw his chance to get even for
whatever past wrongs he had suffered in his own
miserable life. He was so universally disliked
that plots to assassinate him were openly
discussed without fear of being reported. Had
James Ridgley suddenly caught fire, there
wasn’t a police officer in the city who would
have walked over and pissed on him to douse the
flames.
One particular evening, while on routine
patrol, Evelyn was summoned to appear before
her Watch Commander to pay homage.
“1-Robert-30, 10-19 Watch Commander’s
office.”
“Robert-30, copy,” she replied, puzzled since
she had avoided him at all costs and considered
contact with this particularly loathsome
creature to be on the same par as contracting a
case of genital herpes.
A “See the Watch Commander” call never boded
well. These people were not known for handing
out warm fuzzies. She wasn’t due for an
evaluation and was sure she had committed no
breach of policy. She rolled in, parked her
unit and removed a small voice actuated tape
recorder from her briefcase. She depressed the
“on” button and slipped it into her right front
pocket before entering the station.
Arriving at the Watch Commander’s office she
knocked at the door. Lieutenant Ridgley
pretended to be reading a report and ignored
her. She knocked again and cleared her throat.
He looked up and smiled. He reminded her of a
snake contemplating its next meal.
“Roggs,” he said pleasantly. “Come in, close
the door and sit down.”
“Disaster,” thought Evelyn. Alarms shrieked in
her head. Little voices screamed “Shields up!
Shields up!”
“I wanted to talk to you in private.” Ridgley’s
words were oily and insincere.
“Yes sir?” Inquired Evelyn. She closed the door
and sat across from the Lieutenant, hands
folded in her lap.
“Roggs, I’ll get straight to the point. You’re
a troublemaker. I don’t like you. In fact I
dislike you so much I’m going to offer you the
opportunity to quit, right here, right now. If
you don’t I’m going to make your life a living,
breathing hell. In short, I want your
resignation. You’re not cut out for this line
of work. You’re a broad, and a queer and no one
likes queers, especially female ones.”
Evelyn stared at the lieutenant, stunned beyond
response.
“C’mon Roggs. It’s no good for you here.” He
waved a copy of a form in front of her face.
“This is a city resignation request form. I
want you to sign it and leave. If you don’t,
I’ll make you wish you had never gotten into
this line of work.”
“Lieutenant Ridgley,” said Roggs, carefully
annunciating his name for the benefit of the
small whirring tape.
“I can’t do that. I love my job. I’m good at
it. I have no disciplinary actions in my file.
As a matter of fact I have three
commendations.”
“Not any more,” Ridgley smirked. “Poof. They
disappeared.”
Evelyn looked at him open mouthed, unable to
speak.
“Disappeared,” continued Ridgley. “Just like
that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“Just like every commendation you may ever earn
from now on”
“Ohh. There is one thing.” He leaned closer.
“I understand you like to screw men from time
to time. Is that true?”
Evelyn sat, stunned. She could not believe what
she was hearing.
“Now instead of worrying about your career,
perhaps we might work out a little deal, you
and I. As long as you work the same shift for
me I might be inclined to go a little easier on
you if you show the proper respect.”
“Respect, sir?” Evelyn could see it coming.
“Yes, respect, Roggs. I’ve never screwed a dyke
before. I thought I might like to add it to my
list of experiences before I retire. Be nice to
me and I’ll be nice to you. Am I making myself
perfectly clear to you, Ms. Roggs?”
The ceiling of the Watch Commander’s office
opened. A burst of sunlight suddenly lit the
office in glorious radiance. In the background
the deafening refrain of the Halleluiah Chorus
rang forth.
“Of course, if you think you want to raise an
issue about our conversation you might remember
that I’ll deny everything; and you, my dear,
are still on probation, subject to termination
without cause. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir. I understand perfectly.” Said
Evelyn. The little tape spun merrily away. Life
was indeed good.
That very morning at 8:01 a.m. Evelyn’s
attorney sat listening to the recorded
conversation of the previous evening. The tinny
voice emitting from the tape recorder carried
with unmistakable clarity.
“Yes, respect, Roggs. I’ve never screwed a dyke
before. I thought I might like to add it to my
list of experiences before I retire. Be nice to
me and I’ll be nice to you. Am I making myself
perfectly clear to you, Ms. Roggs?”
The attorney stared disbelieving at Evelyn who
sat back in her chair smiling like a Cheshire
cat.
“You have GOT to be kidding me,” she said.
“Nope,” responded Evelyn. “It’s real.”
A deal was struck between the chief’s office,
the city manager and Evelyn’s attorney. The
city would be spared an incredibly expensive
sexual harassment suit and horribly
embarrassing exposure in exchange for the liver
of one Lieutenant James Ridgley.
The resignation was quick and quiet. Citing
personal reasons, James Ridgley elected to
pursue other forms of employment. The fact he
was 18 months shy of a retirement didn’t seem
to faze him. The announcement rolled through
the ranks of the police department like a
rippling orgasm.
Two nights later Evelyn appeared at roll call.
Everyone gave her the usual silent treatment.
She took a seat in the rear of the room, long
since accustomed to the avoidance. The sergeant
began to read the beat assignments. She lapsed
into daydreaming.
The tone of the sergeant’s voice changed and
she mentally surfaced to hear the reading of a
commendation. Puzzled, she listened more
closely.
“…with complete disregard for her personal well
being, and acting above and beyond the call of
duty, this officer did accomplish her mission
in the highest tradition of the police service.
To this achievement, we hereby award this
commendation of outstanding police service to
officer Evelyn Roggs.” At this the entire roll
call rose and gave her a standing ovation.
Catcalls and whistles rang out.
“Speech, Speech, SPEECH,” they chorused.
Evelyn was unable to react.
“Evelyn,” the sergeant continued.
“This is our little unofficial award to you in
thanks for what you were able to do for all of
us. I’d also like to remind everyone that the
term ‘Rugs’ will be stricken from use from here
on out.”
Evelyn pulled herself to her feet, pushing back
the chair.
“I, I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I
didn’t really do anything special. I was just
in the right place at the right time. Besides.
I kinda like ‘Rugs.’ It has personal meaning to
me.”
“Well,” said the Sergeant. “I think we’ve all
been in similar situations in there but you
were the one to make it happen, so if it’s rugs
you want, it’s rugs you get.”
So “Rugs” it was.
The triad had been broken. The remaining two
lieutenants had seen the handwriting on the
wall, or in this case, the all points bulletin
on the clipboard. One Lieutenant regressed into
a state of zombie like existence. Treated for
depression he sat like a stoned Buddha in the
Watch Commander’s office, day after day,
staring at the wall until his retirement. The
other drifted into obscurity following his
retirement a few years later. Neither was
missed and the rules had been changed, for
better or for worse, things would never be as
they once were.
“Rugs” was eventually promoted to Sergeant and
moved in with her attorney. Everyone seemed to
take their unusual arrangement in stride. They
were seen together from time to time at the
awards’ banquets. No one ever really got used
to the two holding hands and dancing but
carefully refrained from comment. The trade off
for the unholy threesome was considered a great
exchange.
About the Author
Ron De Laby is a retired police sergeant from
Riverside, California. He served in the
Uniformed Patrol Division, Traffic Division,
Communications, Personnel and Training and the
Detective Division. He instructed at the basic
and advanced academies and was a principal
instructor in the Advanced Officer Survival
courses. He holds POST advanced and Supervisory
Certification. Ron graduated from California
State University, Los Angeles with a Bachelor
of Science degree in Criminal Justice and holds
a Masters degree in Public Administration from
the University of Southern California. He has
done post-graduate work in Psychology at the
University of California, Riverside. Ron has
been married to his wife, Janet for 33 years,
they have four boys.
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