Thank God I Am Not a Cop, and Thank God for THose Who are!

By Frank P. Trotta, Jr., Greenwich Citizens Police Academy, Class of 2003 I was “killed” twice this fall – once by a “FATS” machine and once by a classmate. I am fortune enough to live to discuss it because the “killings” occurred during my training as a member of the first graduating class of the Greenwich Citizens Police Academy. The brainchild of Chief James Walters, the 39 hours of class were organized by the experienced Greenwich police instructor, Sgt. Jeff Moran, and taught by expert members of Greenwich’s Finest. And while I was fortunate enough to take the classes, all of us in Greenwich are fortunate to be served by one of the most dedicated, professional and highly trained and educated police forces in the area. Being somewhat of a “professional student” (four degrees and several certificates) never have I seen teachers more enthusiastic than the police officers who taught our class. And I was struck by their deep knowledge-base. Our 39 hours was a mere sampler of the months of training required before a candidate becomes a police officer – training which continues regularly throughout the officer’s career until retirement – and in the case of many members of our unheralded “Special Police” beyond retirement from the active duty. The members of the Greenwich Citizens Police Academy were instructed in everything from the legalities of searches, seizures, and arrest (would, that my law school professors were so lucid) to the reality of illegal drugs in our town. The bold among our class were even subjected to polygraph testing. We rolled fingerprints on a new computerized system, and we dusted for fingerprints on a police car under the guidance of Detective William J. Weissauer, a man who appeared to love his job more than seems fair. We learned about crime scene investigation – and were dumbfounded to hear how few officers are assigned to this team. We learned the theory and mechanics of solving computer crime from Detective Edward Zack, and the history of the parking situation in Greenwich and accident reconstruction (including advanced calculus) from Lt. Mark Kordick. We witnessed close up the actions of the canine unit -- Officer John Thorme and his partner K-9 Shilo -- one of a very few canine units in the area. As a parent I was impressed and relieved to learn about our department’s expertise on Internet safety (Youth Officer Robert Williams), drug prevention (Sgt. Debora Vesciglio), and “SWAT” preparation for our high school and elsewhere in town (Lt. Rick Cochrane and Sgt. James Olencki). The members of the Greenwich “SWAT team” -- or Special Response Unit, as it is officially known -- volunteer for that duty, receive no extra pay, and are among the elite in terms of physical training and tactical knowledge. In this field too, Greenwich is one of the few police forces in the area with such expertise and equipment. We saw the police dispatchers in action and learned how the night desk sergeant has the unenviable task of preparing the next day’s shift calendars, in longhand on a desk-size ledger pad. We each got to “ride along” for half a shift with a Patrol Supervisor, officers like Sgt. Sean Ryan, Sgt. Brian Briggs and Lt. Tom Keegan. Some of us who may have been on the receiving end of a traffic ticket got to see the other side of things. Two of the most riveting classes were the ones which “killed” me. In one class, the students, two-by-two, “pulled over” a vehicle with suspects. The “pull over” took place in the Police garage, which serves double duty as an evidence locker room. The “suspects” were Greenwich Police Motor Officer Ron Carosella and some of our classmates. In my “pull over” one of my classmates blew me away with a shot gun, and, unlike real cops in Greenwich, I had the benefit of a partner on the scene. That class drove home, in very real terms, the life-and-death danger police in our town and around the world face every moment they are on duty. Even a simple traffic stop could cost an officer his or her life. In fact, one of the most gruesome things I have ever seen was shown to our class -- an actual police video of a South Carolina State Trooper being killed in a routine traffic stop, even though he did everything by the book. It literally gave me nightmares. In another class we were trained by Officer John Woodward (a chemical engineer - turned Police Officer) on a nifty piece of equipment called the Fire Arms Training Simulation machine, or “FATS” machine. This valuable (and expensive) training tool is a sophisticated computer, projection television and laser video game rolled into one. Students, equipped with special laser guns, are placed in real life scenarios before a life-sized video images and have to make nanosecond decisions on whether to shoot (and risk killing a innocent person) or not shoot (and risk getting shot). In the first scenario I did okay -- discharging 15 shots and making three hits, to a real “bad guy”, the first shot wounding his arm with the gun. The second time I was not so lucky, as a second “bad guy” circled around and got me from the corner where I failed to look. Thank God I am not a cop, and thank God for those who are! One of the real ironies apparent in the course was the juxtaposition of the FATS machine with the shabby “used car dealership” surroundings which housed this state-of-the art equipment. The machine sits amid two or three Army-surplus metal desks in the middle of a cramped office in the Police Headquarter because that room is one of the few rooms in the building that has an appropriate temperature, and, unlike other places in the Police headquarters, does not require a bucket to catch leaks from the ceiling during rain storms. (I kid you not.) But the few inadequacies we did see do have ramifications for all citizens of Greenwich. Property values are reflective of many things – proximity to major employment, a fine school system, and low crime rate, key among them. Just as a mugger looks for an “easy mark” -- the easiest person on the street to mug, so too do criminals in general target communities perceived as “easy marks” -- weak, lax, or overwhelmed and overworked. Thus, the lion’s share of the credit for Greenwich’s low crime rate goes to the diligence and professionalism of our police force. However, the perception of Greenwich not being an easy mark is not permanent, if the Town does not continue to invest in its Police Force. Am I bias, after 13 weeks of training? Sure I am -- but I’d wager that anyone who takes the time to examine the facts about our police force would be as proud of them as I am.

What it means to be a true "Greenwich Person."

The essay in Greenwich Time, (Sunday, February 10, 2002) “Becoming a Greenwich Person and Proud of It” should cause all Greenwich residents to reflect on what it means to be a “Greenwich Person.”

The “typical” Greenwich person depicted in the essay is what I like to think of as the “nouveau Greenwich person” and while that person may have many redeeming qualities, as pointed out at the end of the essay, the nouveau Greenwich person also brings with him many qualities that are an anathema to the Town.

While I am a relative newcomer to Greenwich (lived here only a decade and worked here only 15 years) I try hard not to bring with me the worst traits of a nouveau Greenwich person. Adhering to the “when in Rome” philosophy, I try to emulate the qualities of the “true Greenwich people” that made my wife and me decide we wanted to raise our family here.

These true Greenwich people are above-all courteous. For instance, a true Greenwich person does not double-park or honk horns. There was none of that when I first moved here. I have often thought of starting a club – “the We Don’t Do That in Greenwich” club – with the sole purpose of giving “warning tickets” to people who shove on the Avenue or double-park on Route 1 or who don’t say please or thank you when placing an order. Whether intended or not the arrogant message conveyed by such actions is that their time is more valuable than everyone else’s and they should not have to wait or be inconvenienced. True Greenwich people know that “we don’t do things like that in Greenwich” and if the nouveau Greenwich people continue with their often rude behavior Greenwich will soon become like the places we newcomers all moved away from.

A true Greenwich person is a Cos Cob Crushers coach who still coaches two decades after his own kids have grown up, or a member of the unabashedly all-male Harpoon Club which is dedicated to preserving self-effacing Greenwich humor. She is the church-lady who would have breakfast at Woolworth’s after daily Mass at St. Mary’s -- who was then exiled to the deli down the Avenue which, when Avenue rents got too high, moved around the corner to Elm then closed. He is the guy who hauls our trash, or runs a plow by day, and helps his neighbor fix his car by night. She is the pre-teen who says “I’m going to the Club” and means the Boys and Girls Club, not the country club.

A true Greenwich person is a member of the RTM who spends countless hours making sure our government is responsive, or a member of the St. Lawrence Club joining in their all-you-can eat pasta dinners and fund-raisers for education, or a member of the Lions Club selling Grapefruits on the street. She is a Byram volunteer firefighter or a Greenwich Hospital volunteer with a 5,000 hour service badge. A true Greenwich person is a member of the original “health club” – the “Y”. She associates Chickahominy not just with the Civil War. He is a Nathaniel Witherall resident who sits by the giant bird-cage in the home and greets passers-by, and knows that the home is one of the many Town crown-jewels.

We moved to Greenwich because of people like that – caring, courteous people who worked hard for many generations to make Greenwich a place like no other. A place of tasteful homes – not “McMansions.” A place with its own radio station, and magazine, and a daily newspaper that is truly local. A place with a store like Roger’s that still used a vacuum tube for cash deposits. A place where more kids played American football than soccer, or where Santa is driven to the Christmas tree lighting in a Town fire truck, or where Christmas carols can still be sung in public. A place with a police officer on the corner who will holler at you for crossing before he says so. (Reading in the blotter how someone got a ticket for jay-walking was a deciding factor for me in relocating.)

We moved to Greenwich believing we were becoming part of a more civilized way of life – like the life my parents (a telephone operator and a janitor for the Housing Projects) had in the place I was raised; that is before it became “sophisticated.” I am fearful that one day the “nouveau Greenwich people” will out-number the “true Greenwich people” and that my kids will be forced to make the same quest I did – looking for a place “like Greenwich used to be.”