wounds simply because they knew they’d
been shot. The only exception to this rule had been our fight for
our guns and the "I died today" letters that were written to
family.
That evening we gathered in front of our dorms
when we heard the results for POPAT were in. Cadet Clark made the
announcement that all but one of us had passed. My heart
sank.
“Cadet Chavez, can I speak with you in my
room? All the rest of you did a good job, and scores will be posted
tomorrow in our classroom.”
I’d passed. I couldn’t believe it. This was
the one thing I’d been most worried about. If I was injured and
could not complete the final POPAT this score would stand and I
would graduate. I passed on my first try.
I waited for Rocco. We cried together. He
missed the magic score by twenty-four points. He told me he needed
to lose more weight and he was determined to pass. He wouldn’t be
given the chance until a week before graduation. If he didn’t pass
in week seventeen he would go home. It was heartbreaking. I told
him we would work at POPAT every night and I was not graduating
without him. We’d made that deal the first week at the
academy.
Non-academy personnel began arriving that
evening for the practical tests beginning the following morning.
Some would be staying in empty dorm rooms. They were all police
officers volunteering their time to help us train. I hoped if I
made it through the academy, I would be given the opportunity to
come back and help other cadets.
The officers were nice and relaxed. It was
strange after weeks of being treated like we were less than human.
One officer told me I didn’t need to call him sir. That was
impossible. I now even said, “Thank you sir or mam,” to Starbuck
employees during my weekend splurge.
Wednesday morning it began. We were divided
into different groups and placed in separate "station" waiting
areas. For my first test, I was given a police radio and dispatched
to an unidentified man standing on our parade deck. I was told a
neighbor called him in because she could see him out her front
window and he was making her nervous.
I approached. The man had a large boom box in
his hand. I identified myself and asked what he was doing in the
area. The man simply stared at me. I asked him for some
identification. He lay the boom box down and placed his hand in his
pocket. I could see a bulge in the pocket and I asked him to keep
his hands where I could see them.
He finally spoke, “Then how you spect me to
give you identification?” (He even had the lingo)
I asked if I could pat him down for my safety
and explained I just needed to feel the outside of his pockets for
a weapon. He complied and I asked him to turn around, keep his
hands where I could see them and spread his legs apart. I stepped
forward and performed the pat down. My hands were
shaking.
He had a large wallet in his front pocket and
I asked if his identification was inside. He told me it was. I
stepped back and asked him to retrieve his wallet. He gave me his
identification and I told him a neighbor called because he was
making her nervous.
He then told me he lived down the block and a
friend was picking him up here, on the street corner. The scenario
was ended. The two judges came forward and told me I did a good
job. I was told I should have noticed the bulge in the pocket
earlier but I passed and they liked the way I spoke to my
suspect.
This scenario was meant as a non-violent
confrontation, but it would have turned aggressive if my demeanor
warranted it.
In between scenarios we were sent to our
station waiting areas. Our dorm meeting room was one of the waiting
areas. There was a television, couches and small kitchenette with a
microwave and toaster oven. We cadets didn’t normally use this area
because the college kids used it as a hang out. We were not allowed
to talk about any scenarios we’d finished. So we watched a movie we
were too nervous to pay attention to while we waited for our names
to be
been shot. The only exception to this rule had been our fight for
our guns and the "I died today" letters that were written to
family.
That evening we gathered in front of our dorms
when we heard the results for POPAT were in. Cadet Clark made the
announcement that all but one of us had passed. My heart
sank.
“Cadet Chavez, can I speak with you in my
room? All the rest of you did a good job, and scores will be posted
tomorrow in our classroom.”
I’d passed. I couldn’t believe it. This was
the one thing I’d been most worried about. If I was injured and
could not complete the final POPAT this score would stand and I
would graduate. I passed on my first try.
I waited for Rocco. We cried together. He
missed the magic score by twenty-four points. He told me he needed
to lose more weight and he was determined to pass. He wouldn’t be
given the chance until a week before graduation. If he didn’t pass
in week seventeen he would go home. It was heartbreaking. I told
him we would work at POPAT every night and I was not graduating
without him. We’d made that deal the first week at the
academy.
Non-academy personnel began arriving that
evening for the practical tests beginning the following morning.
Some would be staying in empty dorm rooms. They were all police
officers volunteering their time to help us train. I hoped if I
made it through the academy, I would be given the opportunity to
come back and help other cadets.
The officers were nice and relaxed. It was
strange after weeks of being treated like we were less than human.
One officer told me I didn’t need to call him sir. That was
impossible. I now even said, “Thank you sir or mam,” to Starbuck
employees during my weekend splurge.
Wednesday morning it began. We were divided
into different groups and placed in separate "station" waiting
areas. For my first test, I was given a police radio and dispatched
to an unidentified man standing on our parade deck. I was told a
neighbor called him in because she could see him out her front
window and he was making her nervous.
I approached. The man had a large boom box in
his hand. I identified myself and asked what he was doing in the
area. The man simply stared at me. I asked him for some
identification. He lay the boom box down and placed his hand in his
pocket. I could see a bulge in the pocket and I asked him to keep
his hands where I could see them.
He finally spoke, “Then how you spect me to
give you identification?” (He even had the lingo)
I asked if I could pat him down for my safety
and explained I just needed to feel the outside of his pockets for
a weapon. He complied and I asked him to turn around, keep his
hands where I could see them and spread his legs apart. I stepped
forward and performed the pat down. My hands were
shaking.
He had a large wallet in his front pocket and
I asked if his identification was inside. He told me it was. I
stepped back and asked him to retrieve his wallet. He gave me his
identification and I told him a neighbor called because he was
making her nervous.
He then told me he lived down the block and a
friend was picking him up here, on the street corner. The scenario
was ended. The two judges came forward and told me I did a good
job. I was told I should have noticed the bulge in the pocket
earlier but I passed and they liked the way I spoke to my
suspect.
This scenario was meant as a non-violent
confrontation, but it would have turned aggressive if my demeanor
warranted it.
In between scenarios we were sent to our
station waiting areas. Our dorm meeting room was one of the waiting
areas. There was a television, couches and small kitchenette with a
microwave and toaster oven. We cadets didn’t normally use this area
because the college kids used it as a hang out. We were not allowed
to talk about any scenarios we’d finished. So we watched a movie we
were too nervous to pay attention to while we waited for our names
to be
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