Flashback Friday: The Good Ol’ Days of Police Work... Sort Of

The Paul Truesdell Podcast

Flashback Friday: The Good Ol’ Days of Police Work... Sort Of
It’s Friday the 13th, so I thought I’d catch up on a few things and toss up some posts for the smirks and grins. Check out this gem: a photo of a vintage Tampa police vehicle from the 1980s. Fun fact—I had one of the last "double bubbles" on the department. Translation? A blue beacon on the driver's side, a red one on the passenger's side, and a siren mounted on a silver bar in the middle. Real high-tech stuff.
When I started in Milwaukee, we were even more old-school with a single bubble. Oh, and I rocked a cross-draw holster. For those unfamiliar, that’s when the handle of your gun is pointed toward the bad guy. As a righty, I’d reach across, grab the pistol grip, give it a tug, and hope for the best. Why did we do this? Well, it made sitting in the car more comfortable—not that we had much to carry. No tasers, no mace, not even bulletproof vests. My gear consisted of a gun, handcuffs, 12 rounds in a dump pouch (you can Google that one), and a stick. Today? I’d probably wear bulletproof shoes.
I spotted this pic on Facebook and figured it was worth sharing. Back then, we cruised in Dodge Diplomats and Aspens—ancient relics most people today wouldn’t recognize. Then there was the dark period when the department, clearly out of its mind, bought Chrysler K Cars. Imagine a slightly fancier Yugo with all the horsepower of a lawnmower, and you get the idea. I had a great relationship with the substation four supervisor and mechanics, so my car was always in top shape. If the brass then knew what I had under the hood, they would have fired me quicker than you can say snap crack or pop. And even today I'm reluctant to tell you what we really did to that car. But it is what it is and I don't care anymore I had a ball. But one day, my beloved "sled" was in for maintenance, and the only thing left was—you guessed it—a K Car.
I took off, pedal to the metal, and hit a blistering top speed of about 27 mph as I tried mightily to get up the on-ramp to Interstate 75 to head over to the Westshore area. Guess what, I never made it. I had nightmares of getting rear-ended by a tricycle. By the time I got back to the station, by way of the safety of side roads, I was ready to flip that car over with my bare hands—and probably could have, thanks to the heavy light bar on top giving me some leverage. You know, come to think about it, a lady in a wheelchair was able to get from one side of the street to the other through a crosswalk faster than that turd blossom I was driving could. And you know, I ran a red light because that piece of trash was still maybe 10 feet to go, when the light turned red in the old West Tampa housing projects somewhere around Main Street and North Boulevard as I recall. You know the phrase, "good time?" Yeah, not.
After that joyride, I teamed up in a two-man unit, and we actually got some good police work done—kicking butt, taking names, and keeping Tampa a little bit safer. Those were wild times, back when the city was flooded with more than our share of clowns, thanks to Miami’s imports and a certain boat brigade.
Anyway, that’s my stroll down memory lane. Have a good weekend.