By Daniel Linskey
I remember how proud I was to be a recruit in the police academy. All these good men and women training to defeat evil, or so I thought.
Our class started with 180 recruits but we lost 52 classmates along the way. Some were cut for academics, a few failed drug tests, and some resigned as the pressure was too much. Then there was the one recruit who taught me a life lesson that I would remember my entire career.
His name was Recruit Officer Joseph Long. Since we were assigned our seats in alphabetical order, Joe Long sat right next to me in B Platoon – we were divided into 3 platoons containing 60 recruits each. Joe was short. He might have been 5 feet 2 inches at best. He seemed nice enough, and we got along well. He also drove a 1985, light blue, Lincoln Town car which he drove to the academy every day. The car was the size of a small yacht. I mean, you could barely see Joe’s head above the headrest when he drove it.
(Photo/Flickr)
We were almost a month into our training when the life lesson occurred. We had just settled down into our classroom after our morning workout session when the door swung open and Sergeant Harry Prefontaine, one of our instructors, stepped into the classroom. He was a big man (and a former Marine) who scared the shit of us. He was an awesome teacher but we all feared him. Prefontaine pointed right at my table. Oh shit, what did I do? I said to myself. Was he pointing at me or my older brother Michael who sat on my left?
Prefontaine bellowed, “You, Recruit Long, come here son.” As Long approached the front of the classroom, Sergeant Prefontaine turned towards the hallway and said, “This is him. He’s all yours.”
Just then two Cambridge Police officers rushed in and grabbed Long. They pushed him up against the wall, cuffed him, pat frisked him, and whipped him out into the hallway.
I grabbed a pen and started to take notes. I thought this was a training exercise. A week or so before someone had burst into our class, yelled and fired a blank gun. We were then tested on our ability to describe the attacker and exactly what happened. I thought for sure this was more role-play theater to test our report writing ability.
A short time later Sergeant Prefontaine returned to explain to us what had happened. The Friday before Cambridge Police received a report of an armed robbery. The victim reported that he was approached by a short black male as he walked down the street. The suspect, just over 5 feet tall, brandished a gun and demanded the victim’s money. After taking the money, the suspect fled to a light blue Lincoln Town Car and drove away. The victim stated that he could barely see the guy’s head as he fled.
The victim further explained that the suspect wore khaki pants, a khaki shirt, and a BPD silver pin on each collar of his shirt. Since every cop trained in the state is required to wear a khaki uniform which displays their department’s collar brass, Cambridge had a pretty good clue as to where to look for a suspect. The fact that he drove away in his land yacht that was registered to him was icing on the cake.
Apparently after being read his rights, Long made a complete confession. Long explained that on the afternoon of the robbery the Academy Registrar came into our classroom right before we were released for the weekend. He very loudly announced “Long, you owe the City of Boston a hundred and eighty dollars for your books and workout gear. Out of all the recruits, you’re the only one who hasn’t paid. I don’t care what you do, kid. I want that money first thing Monday morning.”
Long told the Cambridge cops he was following the orders of the Registrar when he did the robbery.
As I left the academy that day I uttered the words that would often be repeated during the course of my career: “You can’t make this shit up.” Who would believe it?
