Stories of a Chicago Police Officer:
Serious, Hilarious, Unbelievable, but True
by
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Sex or Lunch I hate to say this, but when you have a new recruit working with you for the first couple of weeks, you treat him like he’s your first puppy. You can do whatever you want with him and he won’t beef. My regular partner, Dirk and I, were informed by the Captain that we would be receiving a new recruit as the third officer on the car. The first day I met George was a memorable one. After roll-call, we went to our assigned squad car, checked the outside for any damage, sat in the front seat, and introduced ourselves. I immediately informed George that we had one rule on this car: sex or lunch. I stared him in the eyes and gritted my teeth to prevent my laughter. He glared back and with a stammering hesitation said “I’ll buy lunch.” I smiled and said “Great”, then put the car in gear and drove off. After an uneventful and unusually quiet eight hour tour, we parted company after my free lunch. It happened to be my regular day off the next day, but that didn’t prevent me from calling Dirk, and explaining what I had done to the new recruit. He chuckled and the conversation ended. The following day Dirk and George were teamed up for the first time. After roll-call and vehicle inspection, Dirk explained to George that we had only one rule on this car: sex or lunch. George, with no place to hide, or anyone to turn to, replied, “Lunch.” This pattern of psychological abuse went on for the remainder of the week with George thinking he was partnered with a couple of sexual psychopaths. After Dirk and I had free lunches for a week, we finally told George we were just screwing with him; it was all a joke. Between relief and anger, George was finally able to relax. To this day, 25 years later when we get together, all Dirk or I have to say is, “Sex or lunch” and George goes into his “Fuck you,” speech. Closing Oak Street Beach Every summer night in the 18th District a caravan of three wheeled motorcycles, squad cars, and a paddy wagon would make their way south from Fullerton Avenue Beach toward Oak Street Beach. The purpose of this gathering of police was to close the public beaches at curfew. This collection of blue and whites gathered on the “rocks” at Fullerton about 11:15PM on an unusually warm May evening. Coinciding with Saturday night’s later curfew, the beach closing was delayed for one hour. Being prom night, the caravan was expanded to include extra squad cars and a few more officers. This particular night we drove the rocks heading south along the beautiful Chicago Skyline announcing the beach closings on the car’s public announce system. Beach after beach, all was going well. As we slowly made our way to Oak Street, we observed a tuxedoed group of about 200-300 high school kids enjoying the fresh air on prom night. Having ignored our advice to leave the beach area after a few announcements, the PA was handed over to a rookie police officer. He was instructed by our sergeant to announce that the beaches were closed and everybody had to vacate. The rookie gladly accepted his new role as mouth-piece for the Chicago Police Department. Holding the microphone a few inches from his lips, he ordered all to abandon the beach. Being a little overjealous he followed this up with, “And for those who do not immediately leave, we will lock your asses up.” In reply, 300 high school kids gave us a chorus of “Fuuuck Yoouu.” We all looked at each other and burst out laughing. We told the rookie: “Go get em.” After a little persuasion and emphasis with the blue lights and the occasional blast of the siren, the group of partygoers slowly made their way off the beach. A rookie learned his first police lesson: threats are always a last resort.
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About the Book
Sex or lunch, what would you do, six days in a row? If you don’t find the baby soon, will she freeze to death? It appears to be a single gunshot wound directly under the chin; should we assume suicide or possibly foul play? It appears the grandfather had a heart attack and fell through the glass storm window. Do we remove the body before the young grandkids show up? It’s against rules but we can’t allow the children’s last memory of grandpa to be crumpled and bleeding. Is that a gun in his hand or is that a cell phone? It’s too dark, but the call was a man with a gun! If you’re right you’re a hero. If you’re wrong you go to the morgue.
These decisions are made on a daily basis if you are a Chicago Police Officer. Hopefully you’re right. If you’re wrong not only do you suffer but your family does as well. No police officer wants to make a split second decision but at times that’s all you have.
About the Author
Having a grandfather and a father on the Chicago Police Department, Murphy’s choice of becoming a police officer was relatively simple. Between the excitement of having a real profession and the prospect of following in the family tradition, the CPD seemed a natural choice. He donned his recruit uniform in November 1977, at the age of twenty-five. After seventeen years of patrolman status, Murphy was promoted to sergeant. As a supervisor, he continued his teaching of young men and women, until 2008. Murphy retired at the age of fifty-six after thirty years of police work and assignments. He would like to pass this history on to you. This book is separated into two parts. The first part consists of memories as a patrolman. The second part references Murphy’s years as a sergeant. I divided the book this way for the ease of reading because patrolman’s work and sergeant’s responsibilities are so completely different. Some memories are hilarious and others will leave a tear in your eye. Some have been embellished for your enjoyment and others have been recreated from accounts learned after work while sharing a cold beer with fellow officers. Names have been changed and any reference to any real person is accidental and coincidental. These are all part of Murphy’s life-long experiences that he shares with you. Please enjoy these thirty years of vaudeville.