The Job: True Tales from the Life of a New York City Cop
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We brought the caper into the station house and had EMS respond so they could bandage up my perp. That’s when I called my other teams and told them I needed somebody to take a collar. But before they took it, I warned them that I had given the perp a “Brooklyn party hat.” That’s what we call it when a guy gets his head wrapped up in gauze because he got it busted after a fun night on the town. I assured them that I was one hundred percent legit in doing what I did, and I wasn’t dropping a bag of shit on their laps. They all got a good laugh out of me getting into a brawl on my last night.
In a real street fight there’s no time to get ready and limber up, things happen fast. So in addition to the bump on my head, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder. I don’t like going to the ER because of some bumps and bruises, but because we were charging the perp with assault on me, my injuries had to be documented. As Les and I were sitting in the emergency room at St. Vincent’s Hospital, we too couldn’t help but laugh. All I wanted for my last tour on patrol was a nice easy night, but police work is the most unpredictable job in the world. It’s not over till it’s over!
Later, when I signed out EOT for the last time, and walked out of the squad room never to return, I couldn’t help but smile. Twenty years earlier, on my first day on patrol, I chased down a guy and collared him for an armed robbery. And now, on my last day on patrol, I was putting handcuffs on somebody again. Not too many cops can say they made a collar on their first and last days, but shit happens out in the street. God never wanted me to be an astronaut, or a doctor, or a lawyer. He put me on this earth to be a cop. And from the first day to the last, I did my job.
The next day was Super Bowl Sunday. The neighbors were having a party, and I promised I would come by. Because it was my first day of retirement, and because I had had a rough night, I got the big fluffy recliner right in front of the TV. By now my shoulder was starting to really stiffen up and hurt a bit. I had won that fight last night with a guy half my age with two quick, decisive punches, but the bumps and bruises made me realize I was getting too old for this stupid shit.
I wanted to enjoy the game, so I popped the painkiller and muscle relaxer the ER doctor had given me and washed them down with a sip of beer. The next thing I know, it’s lights-out. They went out faster than they did for my perp when I popped him on the chin. When I woke up about five hours later, I was still sitting in that big fluffy recliner, with that first bottle of beer somehow still cradled in my limp, groggy fingers. When I looked around, everybody was mostly gone, and the party was over. I was surrounded by empty red plastic cups and half-eaten bowls of chips and pretzels. And just like that, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, the game was over. The party was over. And my life of adventure as a New York City cop was over.
Acknowledgments
To my circle of advisers, who took the time to read my stories and lovingly encouraged me to shut up and keep on writing: Maru, Karen, Elaine, Donna, Mariam, Gabriel, Katie, and Brian.
To my editor and agent: Gerald Howard and Jeff Silberman. Two guys who took a chance on some voice they heard on the radio.
To Kest, my buddy since the second grade. He would call at the most opportune times, usually when I was doubting myself, and quote Henry David Thoreau, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams and live the life you have always imagined.”
To the men and women of the NYPD who I worked with—there are too many to mention—thanks for the memories.
And to my mother-in-law, Susy, because if I don’t mention her, I’ll never hear the end of it!
About the Author
Steve Osborne was a New York City police officer for twenty years, retiring in 2003 as a lieutenant and commanding officer of the Manhattan Gang Squad with numerous citations for his police work. He has told his stories before packed audiences at The Moth storytelling venues numerous times across the United States. Now a consultant for television and film productions, Osborne lives in upstate New York with his wife and their two dogs, Jingles and Duke.