Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do (112 page)

I made all these arrests and they transferred me out. I didn’t want to leave, ’cause I knew the people and I thought I could be an asset. It was Puerto Rican, black, I had like a rapport. Jesus Christ, I loved it. They’re sending me to Harlem because I’m so good. Bullshit! That jerked me off. I wanted East Harlem because you had every thing there. You had Italians, still. I used to go up the block and drink beer. I used to listen to Spanish music. And the girls are beautiful. Jesus! Unbelievable! Spanish girls. My wife’s from Colombia. She’s beautiful. I love it when her hair’s down. I think that’s where I got the idea of marrying a Spanish girl. In East Harlem.

I wasn’t against Harlem, but there was no people. It was a new project. I was just there to watch the Frigidaires. I was a watchman. Sewers open, the ground wasn’t fixed, no grass, holes. We used to stand in lobbies of an empty building. I want to be where people are. So I got pissed off and put a transfer in. After six months people started moving in—and I liked it. But they transferred me to Canarsie. Middle-income white. And all these bullshit complaints. “Somebody’s on my grass.” “I hear a noise in the elevator.” Up in Harlem they’ll complain maybe they saw a dead guy in the elevator.

I never felt my life threatened. I never felt like I had to look over my shoulder. I was the only white cop in that project. The kids’d be playin’, come over and talk to me. Beautiful. But sometimes they just hate you. I’m in uniform and they just go around and say, “You motherfucker,” and stuff like that. I can’t say, “Wait, just get to know me, I’m not that bad.” You haven’t got time. If you start explainin’, it’s a sign of weakness. Most people, if you try to be nice, they’re nice. But you get some of these guys that got hurt, they really got fucked, they got arrested for not doing anything.

I was with a cop who arrested a guy for starin’ at him! Starin’ at him! The cop I was with, Vince, he had a baby face and the guy on the bus stop kept lookin’ at him because this cop never shaved. He said, “Motherfucker, what’re you lookin’ at?” The guy said, “I’m just lookin’.” I said, “The guy probably thinks you’re not a cop ’cause you got a pretty face.” Vince puts the night stick under the guy’s chin. Naturally when a guy puts a night stick under your chin, you push it away. As soon as you do that, you got an assault. He arrested the guy. The guy was waitin’ for a bus!

With this same Vince, another kid came around, a Puerto Rican seventeen years old. They all knew me. He says, “Hi, baby,” and he slapped my hand like that. “How you doin’, man?” Vince said, “What’re ya lettin’ the kid talk to you like that for?” I said, “This is the way they talk, this is their language. They ain’t meanin’ to be offensive.” He says, “Hey fucko, come over here.” He grabbed him by the shirt. He said, “You fucker, talk mister, sir, to this cop.” He flung the kid down the ramp. We had a little police room. His girl started crying. I went down after this Vince, I said, “What’re you doin’? You lock that fuckin’ kid up, I’m against you. That fuckin’ kid’s a good friend of mine, you’re fuckin’ wrong.” He said, “I’m not gonna lock him up, I’m just gonna scare him. You gotta teach people. You gotta keep ‘em down.”

Just about that time twenty kids start poundin’ on the door. The kid’s brother was there and his friends. We’re gonna get a riot. And the kid didn’t do anything. He was just walkin’ with his girl.

I was in the riots in ‘67 in Harlem. I saw a gang of kids throwin’ rocks and they hit this policeman. The cops inside the car couldn’t see where the rocks was comin’ from. When they all piled out, the kids was gone. They thought the rocks was comin’ from the roof. So these guys come out shootin’ to the blues. One big white guy got out, he says, “Come out, you motherfuckin’ black bastard.” I was with five black cops and one said to me, “Get that fucker away from me or I’ll kill him.”

City cops, they got clubs, they think they’re the elite. Housing is H.A.—they call us ha-ha cops. Transit cops are called cave cops because they’re in the subway. These are little ribs they give. Who’s better, who’s New York’s Finest? . . . I was in the park three years ago with a transit cop. We’re with these two nice lookin’ girls—I was still single. It’s about one o’clock in the morning. We had a couple of six-packs and a pizza pie. We’re tryin’ to make out, right? Cops pull up, city cops, and they shine the light on us. So my friend shows the cop his badge. The cop says, “That’s more reason you shouldnt’ be here. You’re fuckin’ on the job, just get the fuck outa the park.” ’Cause he was a transit cop they gave him a hard time. My friend was goin’ after this cop and this cop was goin’ after him. I grabbed him and the driver in the police car grabbed his buddy and they were yelling, “Keep outa the park.” And the other guy’s yellin’, “Don’t come down in the subways.” I coulda turned around and said, “Don’t ever come in the housing projects.” It was stupid shit, right? A guy’ll pull out a gun and get killed.

You can’t laugh at a gun. I had a gun put to my head in a bar, over the Pueblo incident. A cop. I got a load on and argue with these guys about shit in Vietnam. I said, “Saigon’s got a million-dollar police station and my brother’s got a station a hundred years old. Where’s the money come from? The cops and firemen are paying taxes and they’re not fixin’ up their stations.” This guy, Jim, who’s a city cop for twenty-four years, is everything you want a cop to be. When I was eighteen he was thirty-eight, he was a supercop. But the hate just fucked him up, and the war.

I was in the bar and Jim had his load on, too. He’s got personal problems, he’s married twice, divorced. He said, “We should invade Korea, bomb it.” I said, “You’re ready to drop a bomb on a country with civilians.” He said, “Ah, you fuckin’ commie.” So I turn my back. I feel this thing on my temple, he had the gun to my head. Two guys next to me dived for the ground. With my left hand I came towards his fuckin’ left wrist. The gun went to the ground and I grabbed him in a headlock. Three other cops in civilian clothes broke it up. You gotta watch that gun.

I coulda been like Jim or Vince. I started seein’ the problems of people. Ten people in an apartment and there’s no place to go except sit out on the street drinkin’ beer. I guess I got this feeling from my father.

My father’s a great man. I see what he went through and the shit and hard times. I don’t see how he lived through it. I used to lay awake when I was drinkin’ and listen to him talk all night. And I used to cry. He talked about the shittin’ war, all the money goin’ for war. And the workers’ sons are the ones that fight these wars, right? And people that got nothin’ to eat . . . I tell ya, if I didn’t have an income comin’ in . . . These kids hangin’ around here, Irish kids, Italian kids, twenty-five years old, alcoholics, winos. One guy died of exposure. He went out with my kid sister and he’s dead now.

I was in a four-man detail in Harlem for about six months, just before my transfer to Canarsie. It’s four thirty-story buildings, and the people’d be movin’ in there. Every day I have a list of names of people that are movin’ in. One black family came with eight kids. They had seven rooms on the twentieth floor. The mother, this big, fat woman, asked could I show her the apartment. The kids just wanted to see it. Beautiful painting, real clean. The kids started crying, little kids. I could cry when I think of it. They ran into the bedrooms and they laid on the floor. They said, “This is mine! This is mine!” The kids said, “Look at the bedroom, it’s clean.” These little black kids with sneakers and holes in their pants, crying. It was empty, but they wouldn’t leave that room. The woman asked me could they stay over night. Their furniture was gettin’ delivered the next day. You get people a job or decent housing, you won’t have no trouble.

 

 

The more arrests you make, they got the assumption you’re a better cop, which is not right. They put pressure on me to make arrests. You gotta get out and you gotta shanghai people because you got the sergeant on your back. It comes down to either you or the next guy. You got a family and you got everybody fuckin’ everybody . . . It’s crazy, know what I mean?

The project I worked in in East Harlem, you grab a kid doin’ wrong: “Come here, you fuck.” That’s it. He don’t argue. But the middle-income, the kid’ll lie to you. He won’t tell you his right name. His father is a fireman or a cop. He tells his son, “Don’t fuckin’ give any information.” They know the law better.

Like the last project I was on, white middle-income. They were all kids with long hair, right? This cop, he’d be seein’ me talkin’ to the kids, playing guitars. I’d be talkin’ about records. He’d call me, “Hey, what’re ya talkin’ to those fags?” I’d say, “They’re all right.” One of the kids with long hair, his father’s a cop. He said, “Aw fuck that, they’re all commies.”

A couple of times the kids burned me. I saw five kids smokin’ pot. They’re passin’ around the pipe. I grabbed them and threw the shit on the ground. I didn’t want to arrest them. I let ’em all go. The next day one of the kids told this cop, “That Tommy’s a good cop, he let us go.” It got back to the sergeant and he says, “You’re gonna be hung.” So a few times I got charges brought up on me.

I didn’t want to be a cop. Money comes into it. I was twenty-six and I worked in the post office and I wasn’t makin’ money, $2.18 an hour. I was young and I wanted to go out with the girls, and I wanted to go down to the Jersey shore, I wanted to buy a car, I just got out of the army. That’s why I took it.

When I became a cop I thought I was going against my father. Cops are tools of the shittin’ Rockefeller. Cops can’t understand when they built a new office building in Harlem the people in that community want a hospital or a school. Rockefeller built that office building, right? Built by white construction workers. And these people demonstrate. Suppose they built in this neighborhood a state office building and black people built it and black people work in it. The cops go in there and break up the demonstrations and who gets it? The cops. Rockefeller’s a million miles away. Cops are working guys, they don’t understand.

You got cops that are fuckin’ great cops, they’re great people. Your supercops. The man in the front line, the patrolman, they do all the work. The sergeants aren’t in with the people. They’d be doin’ paper work. That’s what got me mad.

I know a lot of cops that even liked people more than me. And some were fucks. You got black cops in the projects who were harder on their own people than a white guy. They think the poor people are holdin’ them back. But a lot of them are supercops. Maybe if it was the other way around, if the whites were down and the blacks were top dog, you’d get better white cops.

Know why I switched to fireman? I liked people, but sometimes I’d feel hate comin’ into me. I hated it, to get me like that. I caught these three guys drinkin’ wine, three young Spanish guys. I said, “Fellas, if you’re gonna drink, do it in some apartment.” ‘Cause they were spillin’ the wine and they’d piss right in front of the house, in the lobby. I came back in a half-hour and they had another bottle out. They were pissin’ around. I’m sayin’ to myself, I’m tryin’ to be nice. I walked over. There was two guys facin’ me and one guy had his back to me. So he says, “What the fuck’s the mick breakin’ our balls for?” He’s callin’ me a mick. He’s changing roles, you know? He’s acting like they say a cop does. So I said, “You fuckin’ spic.” So I took the night stick and I swung it hard to hit him in the head. He ducked and it hit the pillar. He turned white and they all took off. It scared me that I could get this hatred so fast. I was fuckin’ shaking’.

A few times I pulled my gun on guys. One time I went to the roof of this project and there’s this big black guy about six seven on top of the stairs. He had his back to me. I said, “Hey, fella, turn around.” He said, “Yeah, wait a minute, man.” His elbows were movin’ around his belt. I was halfway up. I said “Turn around, put your hands up against the wall.” He said, “Yeah, yeah, wait a minute.” It dawned on me he had a gun caught in his belt and he was tryin’ to take it out. I said, “Holy shit.” So I took my gun out and said, “You fucker, I’m gonna shoot.” He threw his hands against the wall. He had his dick out and he was tryin’ to zip up his fly, and there was a girl standin’ in the corner, which I couldn’t see. So here was a guy gettin’ a hand job and maybe a lot of guys might have killed him. I said, “Holy shit, I coulda killed ya.” He started shaking and my gun in my hand was shaking like a bastard. I said—I musta been cryin’—I said, “Just get the hell outa here, don’t . . .”

I took the fire department test in ‘68 and got called in ’70. I always wanted to be a fireman. My other brother was a fireman eleven years. He had a fire and the floor gave way, he was tellin’ me the story. He thought it was just a one-floor drop. But the guys grabbed him by the arms. They said, “If you go, we all go.” He couldn’t believe this kind of comradeship. They pulled him out. He went down to get his helmet and it was two floors down. He really woulda got busted up.

I like everybody workin’ together. You chip in for a meal together. One guy goes to the store, one guy cooks, one guy washes the dishes. A common goal. We got a lieutenant there, he says the fire department is the closest thing to socialism there is.