Call Log: Drunk Threatening Bar Patrons with Broken Bottle

 Most cops who enjoy doing cop things prefer to work at night. During my career swing shift oscillated between starting at 1400 or 1600 and, depending on the schedule the department was using at the time, ended at either 0200 or 0400. Graveyard shift started at 1800 or 2000, ending at 0600 the following day. Why did we prefer to work during the night? There are multiple reasons but primarily it was because nobody else was in the office and most of your interesting calls happened when the moon and stars were out. Without anyone in the office, including command staff, you didn’t have to worry about getting dragged into a conversation with people you’d rather avoid nor did you get pulled into boring projects. More importantly, night is when shit goes down; fights, car and foot chases, DUI’s and other alcohol/drug related issues, burglaries. The fun stuff, the reasons many people, including myself, become cops. An officer on graveyard shift was a paid voyeur but instead of peeking over the hedge into a window, we looked for criminal activity. We used the cover of darkness to snoop around trailer courts, walk through parks, rattle doors of local businesses hoping to find one unlocked, and surveil known dope houses. It’s also when people would drink themselves into a stupor at local bars and do stupid things.

I was working a graveyard shift on a weekend night and the bars were predictably busy as locals and tourists alike spent the night downing can after can, shot after shot. I was the only city officer on duty, as was common in the early days. Somewhere in the county was a deputy and a trooper but it’s a big county in a rural area and my only backup could have been more than an hour away. Luckily, my brother was doing a ride-along with me that night and as a former loss prevention officer, he had over a decade of experience fighting with and putting handcuffs on uncooperative subjects.

We were on the east side of town when a hot tone blared on my police radio. Hot tones are a short, continuous tone that airs right before dispatch puts out an urgent call for service. This time, there was an intoxicated male subject at a bar on the other side of town who had broken a bottle and was threatening others with a jagged piece of glass. Here we go! I flipped on my emergency lights, activated the siren and advised dispatch I was en route. 

Pulling up to the bar I was relieved to see a set of red and blues coming down the road toward me. We never cared what the uniform looked like, backup from anyone was always welcome. A large crowd of people were gathered on the northeast side of the building so I exited my patrol car and ran toward them. Standing in the middle of them was a Native American male, still holding the broken glass but instead of threatening others he was holding it to his wrist. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet begun to cut himself. I called out and began talking to him, hoping I could convince him to drop the glass before he hurt himself or someone else. He was highly intoxicated, stumbling around and his speech was so slurred I couldn’t understand a word he said. What was clear though, is that he wasn’t going to cooperate. 

I slowly closed the gap between us until we were separated by just a few feet. Normally, I would never get so close to someone with an edged weapon but he was so drunk I was confident he’d trip over his own feet if he tried to lunge at me. Someone or something behind him got his attention and he briefly turned away from me. It was go time. I charged forward and tackled him, knocking the glass out of his hand and landing on top of him on the ground. He was face down with both arms pinned under his torso. I didn’t know he’d dropped the glass. I was shouting commands to “give me your hands” and trying to free one of his arms. He was flailing around and whether he meant to or not, he repeatedly kicked me in the back. We were surrounded by a crowd of people and all but one simply stood there and watched. One guy asked if I needed help. I asked him to restrain the drunk’s legs. He knelt at his feet and pinned his ankles to the ground. I managed to get one arm free and wrenched it behind his back. At some point my brother appeared. I had instructed him to stay in the car on calls unless I asked for help. His brotherly instinct must have kicked in because when he saw me wrestling with the drunk on the ground he exited the car and sprinted toward us. He put his knee on the drunk’s neck or upper back, pried his arm out from under his torso and brought it behind him where I was waiting with the handcuffs. With both arms secured I double locked the cuffs, stood him up and began walking him to my patrol car. The trooper, whose lights I’d seen coming down the road toward me, had been standing among the crowd watching me and two civilians fight with this drunk. 

I handed out witness statements knowing I’d be lucky to get just one or two of them back and transported the drunk to jail, where he refused to cooperate and informed me that I was “nothing but a fucking n*gger” even though I’m one of the whitest dudes you’ll ever meet. I completed my paperwork including the probable cause statement on which I listed multiple charges including public intoxication, disorderly conduct and resisting arrest, among many others. 

All things considered, the call went about as well as could have been expected and we all escaped with nothing more than a few scrapes. Calls like this can go sideways quick and I was thankful to have the assistance of my brother and a random civilian on this one.