First Police Ride-Along

It's one thing to take 9-1-1 calls and send police out on a job, and quite another to be the police sent to respond. Part of the five-week training program was to participate in three police ride-alongs. Spending a full eight-hour shift in a squad car, partnered up with the county's finest.

This particular 9-1-1 call center is responsible for dispatching city police, sheriff's who cover the county and some surrounded suburban towns, town police departments, as well as state police. I've read articles and heard talk that sometimes relationships between police and dispatchers is sometimes strained. (Read an article about this: The "love/hate relationship between cops and their dispatchers). Tempers flare on both sides of the radio. One side worries not enough information is being provided, the other thinks too much is coming across. One side is hard to understand, the other is timid about asking to have information repeated. But lets face it, although different, high-stress clearly can exist on either/both sides of the radio.

The purpose of ride-alongs is two-fold. First, it allows us at 9-1-1 the opportunity to see how things work on the other end of the radio, and to see "our" information in action on the MDTs (Mobile Data Terminal--the mini computers affixed inside patrol cars). And second, to help establish, build and maintain a sense of unity between the two departments. After all we're one team, working together to make the communities safe, right? Of course right.

As a writer, I've developed relationships with police officers. When I write crime novels, even though they are fiction, I know my fiction needs to be factual. In addition, a close friend of mine is an officer with the city police. When I found out I was going on a ride-along, naturally, I contacted her. Although she had a foot patrol downtown, she assured me I could ride ... get this ... shotgun with her fiance.

On Friday we trainees were not to report to 9-1-1 for classroom training. Instead, we'd report to our prospective police departments. I choose to do an 8:00 AM to 4:00 PM shift. This is referred to as 2nd Platoon.

I met my officer, we'll call him Hank, at 7:30 AM. Roll call started at 7:45.

Just like Hill Street Blues, the city officers met in a large room. Tables and chairs filled quickly. I sat in back. Didn't want to be in the way. I listened to roll call with great interest. Sergants announced areas of the city that required special attention. Groups that needed looking in on. And on policies that had been revised.

Once assigned a squad car, and after Hank gathered up his gear, we started out on patrol. Sort of.

First stop, Dunkin Donuts. Like to say I'm kidding. I'm not. Hank swore it was not a sterotype since he wasn't getting a donut or coffee, but a bagel and juice. Suppose he's right. Thankfully, we were not alone. Four other officers joined us. One, newer to the force, had a lady from my class as his ride-along.

After breakfast, we hit the road. Hank explained the boundaries of his beat. We cruised the street. He pointed out prostitutes, and assured me every time we passed by the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk. (And each time we passed by, the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk -- for the full eight hour shift. Hmmm).

Hank, a young guy, had been a police officer for just over five years. He had nearly completed his MBA. He planned to leave the force soon in order to work a desk job. Being a cop was something he always wanted to do. Knew if he didn't try, he'd always wonder if he'd of had what it takes, all the while knowing his career was headed toward a shirt and tie future.

First call we get is a missing person call. We head to a residence. Woman meets us outside. Hank and I exit the car. Thing is, he's dressed in a uniform. I'm in dress pants, dress shirt. Who does the lady talk to? Me. I look like I'm Hank's supervisor or something. I keep my mouth shut. Nod appropriately. Basically, just listen. Hank's smiling, knows what's going on. He's getting down the info, and just about the time I'm about to act the role of captain and say something, he takes over. Back in the car, he laughs, tells me he knew that would happen, her thinking I'm the authority.

Funny thing is, happened on every call. And Hank allowed it. I just wish I had a pen and clipboard or something. Look more official, you know?

We went lights and sirens once. Drove at some top speeds. By the time we arrived where we were headed, the call had been handled. Didn't matter to me. I just appreciated the thrill of it all. It had been a suspected burglary in progress. Turns out the burglary already occurred. The home owner rented out a place. While vacant, someone had broken in and ripped out all the copper plumbing.

At the end of the shift, I had a better appreciation for what officers do. Always respected them, their work, their stress. Seeing it first hand made it more real, authentic.

I knew one thing for sure, I was already looking forward to the second ride-along, which was scheduled for two weeks later.

And I learned that officers appreciate as much information as possible from dispatch, as well as being given the opportunity to have back-up accompany them. They don't want it, they'll refuse. But the opportunity for it is important.

*****Be Sure To Stop Back Often, Or Click To Follow This Blog******

Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy and 2010 release of Convicted

Enough Acronyms To Make You T.H.I.N.K.

For five weeks of classroom training, enough text books were handed out to make one feel like they'd entered law school.

I was hired to be a Fire / EMT dispatch. This meant, when all is said and done, I won't be sitting on the phones taking 9-1-1 calls, but working the radios, dispatching fire trucks and ambulances where needed. Regardless, I was expected to learn how to handle calls. But in less time than one hired specifically for that position. The employees who answer 9-1-1 calls are referred to as Telecommunicators.

That's what just started. Telecommunicator training.

I've got the books to prove it.

Two three ring binders, stuffed full, covered policies and procedures, and was assured we'd review each and every one. There was also a TCC reference book that we'd go through, cover to cover.

Attention was drawn to six pages in particular. Event codes. The acronyms found on the pages were followed by descriptions, or definitions. When a TCC gets a call, they need to conduct an interview. Based on the answers, they must then decided what event code is needed. The entered event codes tell the computer if a police, fire, ambulance, or any combination is required. I stopped counting event codes at around 100. I know there's more. The index cards I bought to make study flash cards came in a 100 pack. And I used them. All. With pages worth of codes left to copy.

For the most part the acronyms made sense. If there is a fight, the code is FGHT. For a motor vehicle accident, MVA. The tough part came from the exceptions to the rule. Made it tougher to memorize. For example, the event code, FIREB is for brush and grass fires, or any small fire not involving a structure, or vehicle. But it is also used for suspicious packages received in the mail. (Guess we can thank 9/11 for the need of such an event code description).

Acronyms don't stop there. Towns, counties, police and fire departments, forms, and computer systems are all acronym named. Again, most make sense to hear them. To see them. But to remember them? Not so much.

When a TCC takes a call, they have to--aside from gather information such as the caller's name, number they're calling from, address where they need assistance--type in TEXT to explain what is going on to the Fire/EMT or Police dispatch. The TEXT is abbreviation-driven. Naturally. Black is BK, Northbound is NB, last seen wearing is LSW, do not identify is DNI ... again, mostly simple, common sense abbreviations, but remembering which words need to be abbreviated, and which don't matter, are required, expected.

It's a whole new language is what I'm saying. And the alphabet--forgiddaboudit. Unlike the military, 9-1-1 doesn't use Alpha for A, Beta for B, Charlie for C. They have their own way of announcing letters over the air. It's name based. Adam ... and I can't remember the rest. They are not in front of me. The point, I think, I've made.

For the next several weeks, while reviewing policies and procedures, I've begun to dedicate breaks, lunches and time at home to studying the acronyms and abbreviations. When the five weeks is up, when I'm expected to spend another five weeks taking 9-1-1 calls, my goal is to be ready, knowledgeable of the event codes, abbreviations and acronyms, if not having them committed to memory.

*******Stop Back Often, or Click to Follow This Blog ... More To Follow*******

Thomas Phillips
Author of The Molech Prophecy and the 2010 release of Convicted

It's In The Numbers

Wednesday, October 28, 2009:

It was explained that, of 500 people who took the 9-1-1 exam, 50 were selected for interviews. Of the 50 selected, 24 were sent on to complete the physical, fingerprinting, psychological exam, and criminal background check. Of the 24 they hoped to have 12 new recruits.

On Monday morning, October 26, 2009, 7 of us showed up for work.

As a Dispatcher, the laid-out training schedule looked intense and intimidating. Five weeks of classroom training, one month taking 9-1-1 calls on the floor, three more weeks of classroom training as a dispatcher, and then three months on the floor with a dispatch trainer before I could even be considered for certification.

Two giant three ring binders and a text book sat in my place in the classroom.  Of the seven, I was the only male.

Three of us were assigned to be Fire / EMS (ambulance) dispatchers, two were to become police dispatchers, and two were set to be TCC (telecommunicators--or the one's who take the initial 9-1-1 calls).

Classes were held in an exact duplicate room to that of the 9-1-1 operations floor. Only difference was, this training room was not live. In the event of an emergency (loss of power to the main operations floor, fire, or some kind of unexpected accident, the training ops room -- by the flick of a switch -- could be made live).  Aside from the two operations centers in the one building, there were two other off-site locations should the main building ever become incapacitated completely.

The two operation centers were separated by a beautiful, well lit, atrium. A tree grew in the center. Branches reached up toward the massive skylight. Although there is no cafeteria, there is a full functioning kitchen with an industrial stove and microwaves, sink, dishwasher, stocked cupboards and a refrigerator.

Both the men and women locker rooms housed shower stalls and snaked through to a weight/workout room.

The main operations floor, sectioned off by bulletproof and fire resistant glass, revealed an array of work stations. TCC operators occupied the center. The left stations were for the police dispatchers. Fire/EMS sat on the right.

Big screen, flat TVs hung suspended from the ceiling and showed everyone what jobs were in cue, the job priorities, and which jobs had been dispatched.

Certified operators wore uniforms. Blue dress pants, light blue dress shirts. Silver 9-1-1 pins on each collar. A badge over the heart. Name plate on the opposite side. Trainees dressed in business casual clothing, until certified. Which meant we stuck out to everyone. And would continue to do so for roughly the next eight to nine months.

Work shifts were called Platoons. 1st platoon worked from midnight to eight; 2nd Platoon worked eight to four, and 3rd Platoon work four to midnight. I was told during the interview that, if hired, expect to work 1st or 3rd Platoon for at least seven years.

That might bother some people. Working nights or overnights takes a tole. I know. For the first six years at my previous job I worked 12-hour shifts, on a four-day rotation. Two 12-hour days, two 12-hour nights, then four days off. The body never gets used to that. You never knew if you should be having a burger, or scrambled eggs. Forget remembering what day of the week it was. Didn't matter. Just needed to remember where you were in the work cycle.

I'm divorce. Get my kids every other weekend and one day during the week. I lived for them. Live for them, still. Working the overnights suits me fine. Midnight to eights would allow me to still go to every sports practice and game, cheerleading competitions, dance recitals, and all the school functions. Four to midnight would make life much tougher. If I got any say in the matter, 1st Platoon was my first choice. The goal, if it mattered, became to shine in class with the hopes that it might allow me the opportunity to select 1st Platoon if the opportunity presented itself.

One of the three ring binders was filled with 9-1-1 procedures. As a class we were going to review every one. The other was a TCC/Dispatcher manual. And the text book was a general overview of the roles and responsibilities of being a TCC operator.

We did an around-the-room introduction. The class I was in seemed good. The people, friendly. The instructor, knowledgeable. I'd barely slept the night before. Kept checking my alarm to make sure I hadn't over slept, or mis-set the alarm. After all, I hadn't worked in nine months. Getting up on time was not an issue when you're unemployed.

I wasn't tired. I felt ready. While the 26th and 27th had been administrative days -- filling out paperwork for direct deposit, and health care, and sexual harassment and workplace violence training, today, the 28th, was the first day of actual classroom training for the new job. No. strike that. It was the first day of actual classroom training for the new career.

****Stop Back Regularly to Read Updates on Nicholas, the 9-1-1 Trainee****

Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy