Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [33]
I also liked CRASH because it was the place where I worked with some of the best officers, many who’d go on to really big details, including Bomb Squad and SWAT. It was satisfying to be a part of a team that got results from working hard.
We also played hard, and practical jokes were pretty common. If you were young and new and pulled a practical joke on another officer, they’d call you Morton for being salty, not doing what was expected of a newbie, or they’d call you a boot. Boots had to be careful.
Luckily, I wasn’t a boot any longer and could appreciate a good practical joke. I knew they weren’t meant to ridicule anybody but just to be fun. We dealt with a lot of serious stuff, and laughter helped relieve the stress of it all.
Some of the pranks were quite elaborate. Sometimes we’d put shoe polish on the handle of the squad car’s door or behind the steering wheel, glob Vaseline onto the windshield wipers, run invisible fishing line from the car lights and siren to the door handle, or plug up the air vents with talcum powder. You learned not to be surprised when a beanbag came flying through your patrol car window as you passed another patrol vehicle. Whoever had the beanbag at the end of the day would have to buy everybody else drinks after work. Even sergeants dished out the pranks, and we dished them right back. In CRASH, we were all one.
During my fifty-two months at CRASH, my personality started to emerge on the force, and I also hit a few milestones in my private life.
On November 24, 1989, just eight months after I’d joined the unit, my daughter, Britney, was born. Elaine went into labor on our fifth wedding anniversary, which killed the plans I’d made for a nice dinner in Palmdale, where we’d moved from Covina.
Prior to Britney’s big debut, we were told she was breach but would turn around in time. She didn’t, however, and the doctor decided to perform a Cesarean. Then, just before the procedure, it was discovered that she had suddenly turned into the proper position.
It was a typical Britney move, we’d learn. Like her father, she liked to do things her own way. We’d gone into the hospital at 10:00 a.m., and by the time Britney was born it was 12:13 a.m. She had to have her own day.
Another life change came after a dinner out with friends. A few months after Britney was born, Elaine and I spent an evening with John McKnight and his wife. Both worked for the LAPD. Donna was a public safety radio operator manning the calls coming in from the other officers in a compound four stories under the ground. Elaine mentioned how she wanted to try something new, and Donna suggested she become a radio operator as well.
I knew Elaine was looking for some excitement and this wasn’t the gig for that, but I didn’t say a word till we got home. “Some days,” I said, “you’ll get these high-pressure calls from officers in pursuit, shots will be fired, and you’ll have to stay really calm while you take down the information and call for backup. Other days, you’ll be bored out of your mind, sitting around waiting for calls to come in.
“The difference between that and my job is that at least as a police officer, if I don’t like doing traffic, I don’t have to. I can go do Narcotics or CRASH or SWAT. There are all kinds of jobs within the job. But with the radio operator position, if you don’t like it, there’s nothing else you can go to.”
As the words left my lips, I realized I’d just opened a can of big, fat, ugly worms.
“Okay,” Elaine said. “Then I’ll become a police officer.” She started talking about all the fun positions she could try. She wanted to be a detective and maybe work in child crimes.
I knew there was nothing fun about either of those things, but there was nothing else I could say. Elaine liked being a part of what I did, and I guess my role as a police officer wasn’t going to be any different.
For the next few