Case #19 - re The People vs Leroy Baca (Oh, If You See Kay)
The other day, My Little Lotus Blossom reminded me for the 25th time in the previous month’s time, that she wanted me to clean my work papers out of the garage. I responded for the 25th time, in the previous month’s time,
“Okay Princess, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Imagine my surprise when, instead of the usual,
“Hmmph, you bettah, G.I.!”,
followed by her I-mean-business look, and stomp-off out of the room, she screeched,
“YOU BEEN SAY DAT FO, FO WEEK NOW! I SICK AN' TIAH, HE YOU ALL TIME SAY, YOU DO TOMORROW, YOU DO TOMORROW! YOU DO NOW, YOU HE ME, GAW-DAM-IH!"
WHOA! Ayyy-parently, my little Tokyo Rose was on her you-know-what. Ahhh, the wonders of a married man’s life. I wonder what kind of mood she’s in today? I wonder what she bought today? I wonder what she’s pissed off about now? I wonder why I’m paying for a pool boy and we don’t have a pool? I wonder if Robert Blake would take my wife to dinner as a favor? My mind is wondering, and this story isn’t about my blissful life as a married man, dying a little more each day. So, let’s get back on track.
So I went into the garage to dig through my 30 plus years worth of miscellaneous papers. I came across several disciplinary incidents, but only one really caught my eye. In, I don't know, June 1995 or so, I was sitting in the Century Courthouse, I don't think they use it anymore. I was kind of dozing, waiting for my case to be called, but I could hear people talking around me. I wasn’t listening to the conversations, they were just background noise. Until I heard someone say,
“blah blah blah blah Young Crowd blah blah.”
That kind of jerked me awake, because a gang by that name, had recently murdered a Century Deputy. I looked around, and all of the other Deputies seemed to be engaged in their own conversations, or thoughts, nobody seemed to have heard what I heard. I was about to blow it off as imagination and nod off again, when I heard,
“Yeee, fuckin’ Young Crowd blew that punk-ass deputy away.”,
It wasn’t loud, just kind of loud enough for me to hear, and it got my attention. I looked around and noticed that none of the other deputies seemed to have heard it, but I heard it. Then I saw three punks sitting in the middle row, looking at me. A parolee looking punk was grinning at me, a big tub of lard was sitting next to him and smirking at me and a teenaged kid had that expression, Buckwheat used to get when Spanky was getting everyone into trouble. Then the parolee looked me dead in the eye and said,
“Yeah, Young Crowd smoked that motherfuckin …”,
by which time I had grabbed him by the throat and stood him up. He had sense enough to keep his hands down, and the steps it took me to get to him had given me time enough to somewhat control my body, so I didn’t punch him, but not enough time to control my mouth,
"GET THE FUCK UP, GET YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS UP! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Then to the fat boy,
“YOU TOO, GET THE FUCK OUT!
And to the kid,
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?”
By this time, I had the parolee up, by the throat, with one hand, and was trying to pull fattie’s 420 lb ass out of his seat, the kid was standing and trying to move out of the aisle. I also had about four deputies, with some confused expressions, next to me asking what was going on, while alternately looking at the three punks, and me. All were from Century. I knew one from I.R.C., named Duncan and told him what had been said. At that, the Century deputies jumped in for a piece of the parolee and started giving him the bum rush out of the court, down the hall, down the stairs, out of the building, through the parking lot and to his car. I don’t think his feet touched the floor. That left me to shove Fat Ass along, by myself, using the wedgie come-along technique. As we moved through the building, the shouting and cursing, attracted the attention of more Century deputies, who kept asking, what’s going on, and when told, kept adding themselves to the parade. The kid had his hands up and was running along in front of the parade.
When we all reached the car, nobody seemed to know what to do. Let me change that. Everyone knew what to do, but was hesitant to do it (there are cameras in the building and in the parking lot). It was a mass of about fifteen deputies, yelling at the three guys in the center, and another six deputies tearing through the parolee's car.
As I was trying to figure this dilemma out, in a way that got at least two of the punks booked at L.C.M.C., Duncan looked at me and said,
“What do you want to do?”
At the same time, the parolee, said,
“You cain’t make us leave, he’s got court!...”,
and nodded at Buckwheat Jr, whose big round eyes, got even bigger and rounder, now that he had been passed the ball. This was followed by,
“…Ya’all some tough motherfuckers, when you gots yo guns. I got a gun too, How bout I get my gun an’ we see who’s tough?”
“HOOK’M!!! HOOK”M AHHHHHLLLLLL!!! HOOK THEM THE FUCK UP!!!!”, I answerd Duncan.
The Century Deputies happily obliged.
The Century Regional Detention Facility was conveniently only steps away.
I ran the arrest by the Century Watch Sgt and Watch Commander, both of whom said,
“Them fuckin’ assholes! You guys should get commendations for commendable restraint!”
When I got back to Carson, I ran the incident by the Carson Watch Sgt and Watch Commander, both of whom said,
“Those piece of shit fuckin’ assholes! You guys should get commendations for commendable restraint!”
None of us actually got a commendation for commendable restraint, though.
So how does, then Chief, Leroy Baca fit into this story? Well, I’m coming to that. A few months after this incident, Duncan and I had to appear before a Chief’s Hearing regarding this incident to defend, not so much our actions, but our language. Having been through the Sheriff’s Academy, and having been a trainee, both in the Jail, and on patrol, and having been a Training Officer, both in the Jail, and on patrol, I was surprised to find out that there is a policy against using demeaning language! I had some Academy Staff Instructors that were apparently oblivious to this obscure policy, and several trainees of my own that could do without that knowledge .
At any rate, when I found out I was now in trouble for the incident,that four supervisors from two stations had said I should get a commendation for, my first thought was,
“Typical. First I’m told I deserve a commendable restraint, then I’m told I deserve ten days off with out pay, swell.”
Luis Nunez and Terry Wenger volunteered to be my peers at the Chief’s Hearing.
Then I read the section I was accused of violating. The section did in fact say that we were not to use demeaning language: The section said absolutely nothing about cursing.
I realized that I had the case beat. They had nothing on me. I explained my theory to Luis Nunez. The Little Godfather thoughtfully nodded and agreed with me.
For those of you who haven’t been to a Chief’s Hearing, there are two chiefs present. In this case, the big Chief was Chief Baca, who went onto become the Sheriff (and later still, went on NOT to become sheriff). I didn’t catch the other Chief’s name. He looked like he had drank his lunch, a big lunch. Chief Baca was very amiable, The other Chief, just sort of slumped in his chair and stared unblinkingly at a point on the table, with his jaw hanging open, and his eyelids drooping.
Chief Baca read the the incident and said he understood how we had been upset, and was understanding of the whole situation, so he offered to bump the punishment down from ten days off, to two days off. Then he looked over at Chief #2 and said,
“What do you think, Chief?”
There was a short silence, as all eyes were on Chief #2 for a few seconds, then he blinked, and jerked his head up, snapping his moth shut. He looked around, pausing briefly to look at Luis, Terry, and me, then his head kind of rolled in Chief Baca’s direction and his bloodshot eyes settled on him. Four more seconds spent in silence, then Chief #2 said;
“Shouns good ta me, Chief!”,
sounding remarkably like Foster Brooks. Then he closed his eyes, and dreamed of that martini dinner that was coming up.
Chief Baca looked at me and said,
“How’s that sound to you, Deputy Farrell?”
To which I replied,
“Well Sir, not too good, with all due respect. The way I see it, I didn’t do anything wrong, because I didn’t use demeaning, or derogatory language. “Fuck” and “Fucking”, are not derogatory, or demeaning words, in and of themselves. The policy says we aren’t to use derogatory, or demeaning language, it doesn’t say we can’t use curse words. Curse words aren’t necessarily derogatory. It’s all in the way they’re used. They can be derogatory and demeaning, or they can just be verbal exclamation points. For instance, if you are at a baseball game and you tell your teammate, “Good, fuckin’ catch!”, your teammate wouldn’t take it as derogatory, he would take it as a compliment. The F word was just used as verbal emphasis. Now if I had said, “Get your fuckin fat ass out”, or, “Get out you fat fuck”, that would have been derogatory. But I said, “Get the fuck out”, just verbal emphasis. You see?”
Surprisingly, Chief Baca did see. He saw red, and blew his stack,
“Are you fucking (verbal emphasis added) telling me, that because the policy doesn’t say you can’t use foul language, that what you did wasn’t a violation of POLICY? HOW ABOUT WE BUMP IT UP FROM TEN DAYS TO FIFTEEN DAYS AND LET YOU…. ”
At which point, Luis Nunez made a slight coughing sound and politely raised a finger, the index finger. Chief Baca paused in his tirade and asked,
“WHAT?”
“May Deputy Wenger and I have a moment to consult with Deputy Farrell, Chief?”, and indicated, Terry, me and himself.
Chief Baca, looked at us for a second, and grudgingly said,
“Go ahead.”, then he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. Although I wasn’t sure if it was at me, and my audacity or Chief 2 and his snoring.
Terry and Luis leaned toward me and Luis whispered,
“Plan B.”
Terry nodded.
We resumed our former postures.
"Well?" harrumphed Chief Baca.
“I’ll take the deal, Sir.”
Chief Baca smiled, said,
“Okay, two days it is then. Sound good to you Chief?”,
and glanced over to Chief 2. Chief 2, whose head had rolled forward onto his chest, was snoring softly, and muttered, in a whiny, little boy’s voice
“…but I want to ride the pony...”
Chief Baca looked back at us, said,
“Alright we have a deal! Try not to get sucked in by one of these fools again.”
Then he stood, shook our hands, and I did my two days off.
A few days later, the policy I had supposedly violated was amended to include the use of curse words in any fashion. I believe that may have been the third of several policies that unofficially bear my name. This one being the Farrell-Duncan demeaning Language Policy. There is also a Farrell-Vanvleet Policy (which deals with foot pursuits, and radio malfunctions), a Farrell-Sather Policy (which I think deals with force at the end of a foot pursuit) and if I remember right there is even a policy that is known simply as, The Farrell Policy (which deals with vehicular pursuits through the middle of baseball games).
Verdict – Chief Baca (aka The Sheriff), the military and law enforcement, in fact, Americans in general, have long, glorious associations with the F-word. Where would, “SHOWTIME AT THE APOLLO”, be without the F-word? How do you think Samuel L. Jackson's career would have turned out without the F-word? What would a Marine Drill Sgt be without the F-word and all of it’s spectacular variations and uses. It can be used to replace or enhance, just about every part of an English sentence, and of course it can always be used as a stand alone sentence,
“Fuck the fucking fuckers!” 1/2 of which is derogatory, 1/4 being verbal emphasis.
Or, to form a single word, that can be as long as the pain, from a mislaid hammer blow, persists, as in,
“Fuckingfuckfuckingfuckityfuckfuckedfuckerfuckfuckityfuckityfuck! That hurt!”
Which is 100 fucking percent verbal fucking emphafuckingsis.
See if you can identify the following uses of the F-word in the following sentences, as a noun, as a pronoun, as a proper noun, as a verb, as an adverb, as a synonym for “very”, as a pejorative qualifier, and as my two personal favorites, an extra syllable, and to form new expletives;
“HOLEY FUCKING HELL! Gawd-fucking Damnit! One push-up? Are you fucking kidding me? This fucker can only do one fucking push-up? No fucking-shit. Absofuckinglutely beautifuckinful! Fuck it! Just fucking lay there on the fucking asphalt! You don’t fucking need any fucking P.fuckin’T., because you’re a regufuckinlar Charles Fuckin Atlas; if Charles Fuckin Atlas had fuckberries the size of fucking peas!”
And what would this typical Deputy Sheriff’s command sound like without the generous use of the F-word?
“Get your fucking hands up where I can see them, Fuckhead, or I’m gonna fuckin’ shoot you right in your motherfuckin’ face, and splatter the shit you have for brains all over the fuckin’ sidewalk!
According to Sheriff policy those sentences should read more like;
“Wowee! This is really personally frustrating! One push-up? Are you joshing? This young man can only do one push-up? Golly gee willikers. That’s great! Oh well! Just lie there and rest! You are in no need of exercise, because you are already as strong as Charles Atlas; if Charles Atlas had private parts the size of a very tiny round green vegetable!”
and
“Put your hands up, Sir, or I may be forced to use deadly force, Sir!”
Now I ask you, which of those sentences would be more likely to make you fuckin’ piss your fuckin pants, and comfuckinply?
Sheriff Baca, the Court finds ye guilty of Being A Prissy Pants, Being Culturaly Insensitive and Being Linguistically Challenged
Sentence – Chief Baca (aka the (former) Sheriff) - There’s an old saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Which basically means, Conform to your environment. Don’t expect your environment to conform to you. It stems from the times when Rome ruled most of the civilized world. There were a lot of different cultures and social practices under Roman rule, and for the most part, Rome let them maintain their cultures and practices, in their home territories. The saying was more of a guideline of behavior for the many peoples with different cultures when they came to Rome. An updated definition of this would be, “the world traveler, should familiarize him, or herself with the customs of a place before he visits, and maybe learn a bit of the local lingo, like, "hello", "please", and, "thank-you". If we, as Deputy Sheriff’s don’t use the F-word, we’ll be the Ugly Americans in Italy expecting the locals to speak English and conform to American customs,
“Hey, Guido, I ordered breakfast, not a crescent roll and coffee! Where’s my rooty-tooty fresh and fruity? What? You no SPEEKEE DA EEENGLEEE? I SAID, ROOO TEEE TOOOO TEEEE FRESH AND FRUUUITEEEE. ROOOOOO TEEEEEEE TOOOO…
oh forget it. These people are so stupid. I told you we should have gone to New Jersey, Alma. We could have stayed with my Uncle Burt.”
The department, following the Federal Government’s lead, has abandoned all of it’s traditions and the world-wide, “When in Rome…”, concept and done a 180. Now instead of trainees and cadets being expected to conform to our world, we are expected to conform to all of their individual little worlds. Special little associations for each of the little groups, Gay Cops (no straight cop association), Black Cops, Asian Cops, Hispanic Cops (the White Cops association failed after being accused of being racially insensitive, and it’s few members were looked on with suspicion as mini-McVeigh’s ), female Cops (No male cops association, that would be against Federal Guidelines of excluding people based on sex), Christian Cops (so far no word on Atheist, Agnostic, Buddhist, Sikh, Animist, Devil-worshipping, Shinto, Taoist, New-Ageist, Moslem, or Hindu cops). We attend, “cultural awareness”, training, and receive little bulletins on the customs and traditions of our various little communities.
Why is it then, that we can’t respect the social and communicative customs of those millions of Americans who can’t string four syllables together, without one of them being the F-word.
Chief Baca (aka the former Sheriff), you are sentenced to be voted out of office by the F-word users that you ignore, and insult, with your insensitive policy against using the F-word, unless you change that antiquated and socially unjust policy. (This was written while our former Sheriff still held office and was actually ELIGIBLE to run for reelection)
RISE UP F-WORD NATION! SEIZE THE POWER! FUCKIN –A!
Rest in Peace Deputy Stephen Blair E.O.W. May 12, 1995
The other day, My Little Lotus Blossom reminded me for the 25th time in the previous month’s time, that she wanted me to clean my work papers out of the garage. I responded for the 25th time, in the previous month’s time,
“Okay Princess, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Imagine my surprise when, instead of the usual,
“Hmmph, you bettah, G.I.!”,
followed by her I-mean-business look, and stomp-off out of the room, she screeched,
“YOU BEEN SAY DAT FO, FO WEEK NOW! I SICK AN' TIAH, HE YOU ALL TIME SAY, YOU DO TOMORROW, YOU DO TOMORROW! YOU DO NOW, YOU HE ME, GAW-DAM-IH!"
WHOA! Ayyy-parently, my little Tokyo Rose was on her you-know-what. Ahhh, the wonders of a married man’s life. I wonder what kind of mood she’s in today? I wonder what she bought today? I wonder what she’s pissed off about now? I wonder why I’m paying for a pool boy and we don’t have a pool? I wonder if Robert Blake would take my wife to dinner as a favor? My mind is wondering, and this story isn’t about my blissful life as a married man, dying a little more each day. So, let’s get back on track.
So I went into the garage to dig through my 30 plus years worth of miscellaneous papers. I came across several disciplinary incidents, but only one really caught my eye. In, I don't know, June 1995 or so, I was sitting in the Century Courthouse, I don't think they use it anymore. I was kind of dozing, waiting for my case to be called, but I could hear people talking around me. I wasn’t listening to the conversations, they were just background noise. Until I heard someone say,
“blah blah blah blah Young Crowd blah blah.”
That kind of jerked me awake, because a gang by that name, had recently murdered a Century Deputy. I looked around, and all of the other Deputies seemed to be engaged in their own conversations, or thoughts, nobody seemed to have heard what I heard. I was about to blow it off as imagination and nod off again, when I heard,
“Yeee, fuckin’ Young Crowd blew that punk-ass deputy away.”,
It wasn’t loud, just kind of loud enough for me to hear, and it got my attention. I looked around and noticed that none of the other deputies seemed to have heard it, but I heard it. Then I saw three punks sitting in the middle row, looking at me. A parolee looking punk was grinning at me, a big tub of lard was sitting next to him and smirking at me and a teenaged kid had that expression, Buckwheat used to get when Spanky was getting everyone into trouble. Then the parolee looked me dead in the eye and said,
“Yeah, Young Crowd smoked that motherfuckin …”,
by which time I had grabbed him by the throat and stood him up. He had sense enough to keep his hands down, and the steps it took me to get to him had given me time enough to somewhat control my body, so I didn’t punch him, but not enough time to control my mouth,
"GET THE FUCK UP, GET YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS UP! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Then to the fat boy,
“YOU TOO, GET THE FUCK OUT!
And to the kid,
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?”
By this time, I had the parolee up, by the throat, with one hand, and was trying to pull fattie’s 420 lb ass out of his seat, the kid was standing and trying to move out of the aisle. I also had about four deputies, with some confused expressions, next to me asking what was going on, while alternately looking at the three punks, and me. All were from Century. I knew one from I.R.C., named Duncan and told him what had been said. At that, the Century deputies jumped in for a piece of the parolee and started giving him the bum rush out of the court, down the hall, down the stairs, out of the building, through the parking lot and to his car. I don’t think his feet touched the floor. That left me to shove Fat Ass along, by myself, using the wedgie come-along technique. As we moved through the building, the shouting and cursing, attracted the attention of more Century deputies, who kept asking, what’s going on, and when told, kept adding themselves to the parade. The kid had his hands up and was running along in front of the parade.
When we all reached the car, nobody seemed to know what to do. Let me change that. Everyone knew what to do, but was hesitant to do it (there are cameras in the building and in the parking lot). It was a mass of about fifteen deputies, yelling at the three guys in the center, and another six deputies tearing through the parolee's car.
As I was trying to figure this dilemma out, in a way that got at least two of the punks booked at L.C.M.C., Duncan looked at me and said,
“What do you want to do?”
At the same time, the parolee, said,
“You cain’t make us leave, he’s got court!...”,
and nodded at Buckwheat Jr, whose big round eyes, got even bigger and rounder, now that he had been passed the ball. This was followed by,
“…Ya’all some tough motherfuckers, when you gots yo guns. I got a gun too, How bout I get my gun an’ we see who’s tough?”
“HOOK’M!!! HOOK”M AHHHHHLLLLLL!!! HOOK THEM THE FUCK UP!!!!”, I answerd Duncan.
The Century Deputies happily obliged.
The Century Regional Detention Facility was conveniently only steps away.
I ran the arrest by the Century Watch Sgt and Watch Commander, both of whom said,
“Them fuckin’ assholes! You guys should get commendations for commendable restraint!”
When I got back to Carson, I ran the incident by the Carson Watch Sgt and Watch Commander, both of whom said,
“Those piece of shit fuckin’ assholes! You guys should get commendations for commendable restraint!”
None of us actually got a commendation for commendable restraint, though.
So how does, then Chief, Leroy Baca fit into this story? Well, I’m coming to that. A few months after this incident, Duncan and I had to appear before a Chief’s Hearing regarding this incident to defend, not so much our actions, but our language. Having been through the Sheriff’s Academy, and having been a trainee, both in the Jail, and on patrol, and having been a Training Officer, both in the Jail, and on patrol, I was surprised to find out that there is a policy against using demeaning language! I had some Academy Staff Instructors that were apparently oblivious to this obscure policy, and several trainees of my own that could do without that knowledge .
At any rate, when I found out I was now in trouble for the incident,that four supervisors from two stations had said I should get a commendation for, my first thought was,
“Typical. First I’m told I deserve a commendable restraint, then I’m told I deserve ten days off with out pay, swell.”
Luis Nunez and Terry Wenger volunteered to be my peers at the Chief’s Hearing.
Then I read the section I was accused of violating. The section did in fact say that we were not to use demeaning language: The section said absolutely nothing about cursing.
I realized that I had the case beat. They had nothing on me. I explained my theory to Luis Nunez. The Little Godfather thoughtfully nodded and agreed with me.
For those of you who haven’t been to a Chief’s Hearing, there are two chiefs present. In this case, the big Chief was Chief Baca, who went onto become the Sheriff (and later still, went on NOT to become sheriff). I didn’t catch the other Chief’s name. He looked like he had drank his lunch, a big lunch. Chief Baca was very amiable, The other Chief, just sort of slumped in his chair and stared unblinkingly at a point on the table, with his jaw hanging open, and his eyelids drooping.
Chief Baca read the the incident and said he understood how we had been upset, and was understanding of the whole situation, so he offered to bump the punishment down from ten days off, to two days off. Then he looked over at Chief #2 and said,
“What do you think, Chief?”
There was a short silence, as all eyes were on Chief #2 for a few seconds, then he blinked, and jerked his head up, snapping his moth shut. He looked around, pausing briefly to look at Luis, Terry, and me, then his head kind of rolled in Chief Baca’s direction and his bloodshot eyes settled on him. Four more seconds spent in silence, then Chief #2 said;
“Shouns good ta me, Chief!”,
sounding remarkably like Foster Brooks. Then he closed his eyes, and dreamed of that martini dinner that was coming up.
Chief Baca looked at me and said,
“How’s that sound to you, Deputy Farrell?”
To which I replied,
“Well Sir, not too good, with all due respect. The way I see it, I didn’t do anything wrong, because I didn’t use demeaning, or derogatory language. “Fuck” and “Fucking”, are not derogatory, or demeaning words, in and of themselves. The policy says we aren’t to use derogatory, or demeaning language, it doesn’t say we can’t use curse words. Curse words aren’t necessarily derogatory. It’s all in the way they’re used. They can be derogatory and demeaning, or they can just be verbal exclamation points. For instance, if you are at a baseball game and you tell your teammate, “Good, fuckin’ catch!”, your teammate wouldn’t take it as derogatory, he would take it as a compliment. The F word was just used as verbal emphasis. Now if I had said, “Get your fuckin fat ass out”, or, “Get out you fat fuck”, that would have been derogatory. But I said, “Get the fuck out”, just verbal emphasis. You see?”
Surprisingly, Chief Baca did see. He saw red, and blew his stack,
“Are you fucking (verbal emphasis added) telling me, that because the policy doesn’t say you can’t use foul language, that what you did wasn’t a violation of POLICY? HOW ABOUT WE BUMP IT UP FROM TEN DAYS TO FIFTEEN DAYS AND LET YOU…. ”
At which point, Luis Nunez made a slight coughing sound and politely raised a finger, the index finger. Chief Baca paused in his tirade and asked,
“WHAT?”
“May Deputy Wenger and I have a moment to consult with Deputy Farrell, Chief?”, and indicated, Terry, me and himself.
Chief Baca, looked at us for a second, and grudgingly said,
“Go ahead.”, then he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. Although I wasn’t sure if it was at me, and my audacity or Chief 2 and his snoring.
Terry and Luis leaned toward me and Luis whispered,
“Plan B.”
Terry nodded.
We resumed our former postures.
"Well?" harrumphed Chief Baca.
“I’ll take the deal, Sir.”
Chief Baca smiled, said,
“Okay, two days it is then. Sound good to you Chief?”,
and glanced over to Chief 2. Chief 2, whose head had rolled forward onto his chest, was snoring softly, and muttered, in a whiny, little boy’s voice
“…but I want to ride the pony...”
Chief Baca looked back at us, said,
“Alright we have a deal! Try not to get sucked in by one of these fools again.”
Then he stood, shook our hands, and I did my two days off.
A few days later, the policy I had supposedly violated was amended to include the use of curse words in any fashion. I believe that may have been the third of several policies that unofficially bear my name. This one being the Farrell-Duncan demeaning Language Policy. There is also a Farrell-Vanvleet Policy (which deals with foot pursuits, and radio malfunctions), a Farrell-Sather Policy (which I think deals with force at the end of a foot pursuit) and if I remember right there is even a policy that is known simply as, The Farrell Policy (which deals with vehicular pursuits through the middle of baseball games).
Verdict – Chief Baca (aka The Sheriff), the military and law enforcement, in fact, Americans in general, have long, glorious associations with the F-word. Where would, “SHOWTIME AT THE APOLLO”, be without the F-word? How do you think Samuel L. Jackson's career would have turned out without the F-word? What would a Marine Drill Sgt be without the F-word and all of it’s spectacular variations and uses. It can be used to replace or enhance, just about every part of an English sentence, and of course it can always be used as a stand alone sentence,
“Fuck the fucking fuckers!” 1/2 of which is derogatory, 1/4 being verbal emphasis.
Or, to form a single word, that can be as long as the pain, from a mislaid hammer blow, persists, as in,
“Fuckingfuckfuckingfuckityfuckfuckedfuckerfuckfuckityfuckityfuck! That hurt!”
Which is 100 fucking percent verbal fucking emphafuckingsis.
See if you can identify the following uses of the F-word in the following sentences, as a noun, as a pronoun, as a proper noun, as a verb, as an adverb, as a synonym for “very”, as a pejorative qualifier, and as my two personal favorites, an extra syllable, and to form new expletives;
“HOLEY FUCKING HELL! Gawd-fucking Damnit! One push-up? Are you fucking kidding me? This fucker can only do one fucking push-up? No fucking-shit. Absofuckinglutely beautifuckinful! Fuck it! Just fucking lay there on the fucking asphalt! You don’t fucking need any fucking P.fuckin’T., because you’re a regufuckinlar Charles Fuckin Atlas; if Charles Fuckin Atlas had fuckberries the size of fucking peas!”
And what would this typical Deputy Sheriff’s command sound like without the generous use of the F-word?
“Get your fucking hands up where I can see them, Fuckhead, or I’m gonna fuckin’ shoot you right in your motherfuckin’ face, and splatter the shit you have for brains all over the fuckin’ sidewalk!
According to Sheriff policy those sentences should read more like;
“Wowee! This is really personally frustrating! One push-up? Are you joshing? This young man can only do one push-up? Golly gee willikers. That’s great! Oh well! Just lie there and rest! You are in no need of exercise, because you are already as strong as Charles Atlas; if Charles Atlas had private parts the size of a very tiny round green vegetable!”
and
“Put your hands up, Sir, or I may be forced to use deadly force, Sir!”
Now I ask you, which of those sentences would be more likely to make you fuckin’ piss your fuckin pants, and comfuckinply?
Sheriff Baca, the Court finds ye guilty of Being A Prissy Pants, Being Culturaly Insensitive and Being Linguistically Challenged
Sentence – Chief Baca (aka the (former) Sheriff) - There’s an old saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Which basically means, Conform to your environment. Don’t expect your environment to conform to you. It stems from the times when Rome ruled most of the civilized world. There were a lot of different cultures and social practices under Roman rule, and for the most part, Rome let them maintain their cultures and practices, in their home territories. The saying was more of a guideline of behavior for the many peoples with different cultures when they came to Rome. An updated definition of this would be, “the world traveler, should familiarize him, or herself with the customs of a place before he visits, and maybe learn a bit of the local lingo, like, "hello", "please", and, "thank-you". If we, as Deputy Sheriff’s don’t use the F-word, we’ll be the Ugly Americans in Italy expecting the locals to speak English and conform to American customs,
“Hey, Guido, I ordered breakfast, not a crescent roll and coffee! Where’s my rooty-tooty fresh and fruity? What? You no SPEEKEE DA EEENGLEEE? I SAID, ROOO TEEE TOOOO TEEEE FRESH AND FRUUUITEEEE. ROOOOOO TEEEEEEE TOOOO…
oh forget it. These people are so stupid. I told you we should have gone to New Jersey, Alma. We could have stayed with my Uncle Burt.”
The department, following the Federal Government’s lead, has abandoned all of it’s traditions and the world-wide, “When in Rome…”, concept and done a 180. Now instead of trainees and cadets being expected to conform to our world, we are expected to conform to all of their individual little worlds. Special little associations for each of the little groups, Gay Cops (no straight cop association), Black Cops, Asian Cops, Hispanic Cops (the White Cops association failed after being accused of being racially insensitive, and it’s few members were looked on with suspicion as mini-McVeigh’s ), female Cops (No male cops association, that would be against Federal Guidelines of excluding people based on sex), Christian Cops (so far no word on Atheist, Agnostic, Buddhist, Sikh, Animist, Devil-worshipping, Shinto, Taoist, New-Ageist, Moslem, or Hindu cops). We attend, “cultural awareness”, training, and receive little bulletins on the customs and traditions of our various little communities.
Why is it then, that we can’t respect the social and communicative customs of those millions of Americans who can’t string four syllables together, without one of them being the F-word.
Chief Baca (aka the former Sheriff), you are sentenced to be voted out of office by the F-word users that you ignore, and insult, with your insensitive policy against using the F-word, unless you change that antiquated and socially unjust policy. (This was written while our former Sheriff still held office and was actually ELIGIBLE to run for reelection)
RISE UP F-WORD NATION! SEIZE THE POWER! FUCKIN –A!
Rest in Peace Deputy Stephen Blair E.O.W. May 12, 1995
Fucken freedom of fucken speech. That's all I can say.
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