Way Back
I once worked at the Little Biscuit, a small grocery store and delicatessen with some nice seating like today's coffee shops. It was on Madison Avenue, several blocks west of Broadway, on the ground floor of a high rise. First Hill Plaza, billed as the first high end condominium in Seattle.
When I worked during the later shifts and things were slow for everybody, I got to know a number of the police officers who would have a bite to eat or a coffee from the deli. It was a nice place to relax for a few, and a welcome haven in one of their busier parts of town. There was one officer in particular, whom I became friends with. He was about my age, and going to school, thinking of law. We had a mutual admiration thing going. As I recall he liked law enforcement, but the idea of working as a public defender or in a storefront office serving disadvantaged people also appealed to him.
One of his stories was of assisting a paramedic or doctor with emergency surgery; I don't remember if it was on site or in the hospital waiting room. He had to don gloves and apply pressure to a major vessel which was bleeding in the chest or abdominal cavity. I like to remember the patient survived, whether it is accurate or not.
He was fascinated with my upcoming journey to Pensacola, for Aviation Officer Candidate School. Navy boot camp for fly boys, with Marine drill instructors. We had planned to exchange letters...
I was reminded of him, when a guy on one of the discussion groups at work kept referring to cops as pigs. He hates all cops unconditionally -- I asked. His deranged or bigoted attitude reminded me of my one time friend. I called him on being a bigot, telling him the story.
This young officer was waiting in line for the cashier at the IHOP on Madison Avenue, about a block east of Broadway. Someone else in the line managed to pull the officer's sidearm, and shot him dead with his own gun. (I believe the guy at work was quite pleased by the story.)
I wrote to the Seattle PD, asking if they could tell me his name and the date he died. I would like to remember his name, and read up on him in the newspaper archives. It is interesting I should feel a reconnect to a casual friend who died twenty years ago. It may be it helps with my research for playing a cop, and I wonder if that drives my desire to remember or if it is a reaction to the very evil and prominent side of the guy at work. Probably both, and I hope it will serve both my soul and my art.
When I worked during the later shifts and things were slow for everybody, I got to know a number of the police officers who would have a bite to eat or a coffee from the deli. It was a nice place to relax for a few, and a welcome haven in one of their busier parts of town. There was one officer in particular, whom I became friends with. He was about my age, and going to school, thinking of law. We had a mutual admiration thing going. As I recall he liked law enforcement, but the idea of working as a public defender or in a storefront office serving disadvantaged people also appealed to him.
One of his stories was of assisting a paramedic or doctor with emergency surgery; I don't remember if it was on site or in the hospital waiting room. He had to don gloves and apply pressure to a major vessel which was bleeding in the chest or abdominal cavity. I like to remember the patient survived, whether it is accurate or not.
He was fascinated with my upcoming journey to Pensacola, for Aviation Officer Candidate School. Navy boot camp for fly boys, with Marine drill instructors. We had planned to exchange letters...
I was reminded of him, when a guy on one of the discussion groups at work kept referring to cops as pigs. He hates all cops unconditionally -- I asked. His deranged or bigoted attitude reminded me of my one time friend. I called him on being a bigot, telling him the story.
This young officer was waiting in line for the cashier at the IHOP on Madison Avenue, about a block east of Broadway. Someone else in the line managed to pull the officer's sidearm, and shot him dead with his own gun. (I believe the guy at work was quite pleased by the story.)
I wrote to the Seattle PD, asking if they could tell me his name and the date he died. I would like to remember his name, and read up on him in the newspaper archives. It is interesting I should feel a reconnect to a casual friend who died twenty years ago. It may be it helps with my research for playing a cop, and I wonder if that drives my desire to remember or if it is a reaction to the very evil and prominent side of the guy at work. Probably both, and I hope it will serve both my soul and my art.
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