Police Life - The Habitual Drunkard

Although I had several years of policing experience, after I completed my initial training at the Police Academy, I had to spend another six months on rotation through several police stations to continue training before being assigned to a permanent station.

Everyone in those days started at the bottom as a rookie, despite my being the only one of our course of 20 having prior police experience.

The first station I got transferred to was in an upmarket suburb south of Brisbane next to a huge shopping centre.

A Sergeant First Class was in charge. He was a tad humourless but didn't drink at work and ran a tight ship. After introducing me to other officers, he assigned me to the front desk on reception duties. Most of my time was spent writing stock permits, typing up driver's licence renewals, inspecting motor vehicle roadworthiness and engine numbers and, handling various public enquiries.

One day we received a call from the public to advise us a drunk person was sleeping on the seat at a bus stop. A senior constable who had over 10 years of service was assigned the task and he took me with him. We had known each other for a few weeks and got on quite well. I was always pleased to get out of the office.

The bus stop was only half a kilometre from the station. We parked in the bus zone and inspected the drunk male who was probably in his 60s. His accompanying bottle of happiness was a common brand called Masarla and it seemed that after about one-third of a bottle and he was happy enough to sleep. 

We arrested the drunk for the heinous offence of "drunk and incapable in a public place" under an Act assented to in the Thirties called, "The Vagrants, Gaming and Other Offences Act" and loaded the drunk into our patrol van.

We drove to the Police Watchhouse at South Brisbane and offloaded and processed our drunk knowing that he would appear before a magistrate the following morning and get a $1 fine and be released. We drove back to our station.

A couple of days passed and another call about a drunkard came. This time, a drunken male was lying on the footpath outside a small general store. The senior constable and I once again made the trip this time to the shop. Much to our surprise, it was the same man and another bottle of Marsala with about two-thirds remaining.

We did the long trip to the watchhouse and back and my colleague said to me, "If this prick turns up again, I'll take him out and shoot him."

Three or four days went by and yes, you guessed it, another call from a disgruntled driver who got out of her car to go into a shop and a drunken male had moved into the passenger seat. Could we please help?

Off we went. And again the Marsala drinking drunk sat leaning in front of us again. We removed him from the woman's car, much to her delight, and once again lifted the drunk into our patrol van.

I was driving and when I headed down the shortest route to the watchhouse, my senior colleague told me to take an alternative route and pointed in the direction.

In the 70s, the road we were taking headed to a seaside suburb and was like being in the country; hardly any housing or built-up areas. I asked my colleague why we were heading in this direction and he assured me he'd get rid of the drunk for good.

I started to panic inside. What did he mean? Surely his comment about shooting him was simply jest? I hoped so.

When we reached just past an intersection, he asked me to pull over to the side of the road. There were no people and no passing traffic. He asked me to help him lift the man out of the van and it took a lot of encouragement for me to do so. My heart rate must have been thumping as we laid the man on the ground well off the side of the road.

My thoughts were racing. Is he really going to shoot this guy? I would be implicated in a murder. I'd get goaled - who would look after my family? Oh my god, I had heard about the Queensland Police Force being a Hill Billy Outfit, but nothing like this had ever occurred to me.

I decided that if my colleague went to shoot the drunk, I'd have to shoot him first to save this person's life. I placed my hand near my shoulder holster and gripped the handle. I'd have to be quick. Pull out the weapon and perhaps do a lower abdomen shot so as to disable him but reduce risk of death. 

My colleague pulled out his 38 Calibre Smith and Wesson standard issue, swung it round his finger like a cowboy and slid it back in its holster. Fortunately, he didn't point it anywhere near the drunk, otherwise it may have ended in disaster for both of us.

I asked why we had left this guy on the side of the road and he told me that the intersection nearby was the outside limit of our patrol area and in another policing district. He got on the radio and advised Police Communications that a driver had told him a body was lying on the side of the road in the nearby police district.

The police from that district would have attended to our drunken friend and we never saw him again. Problem solved by my senior colleague. Ain't experience great?

Robin

PS: Next issue I'll discuss what we did with these people at Easter and Christmas