Armed Police

Husband battled it out with Armed Police all week-end. Although he had the initial advantage of being able to vote for himself, what could one man do against so many, and with weapons? Armed Police have won the right to have their story told (but since Shadowy Husband generated so much interest, I’ll tell his too – next time).

As with so many good stories, the key to the Armed Police story is timing. We had been in the Midwest for 6 months. Our first set of visitors arrived – Granny and Grandad. They were jet-lagged, but in remarkably good shape, and got up for breakfast on their first morning. Husband had taken the boys to school on his way to work; the rest of us were sitting at the table in the dining room which is at the front of the house.

I saw two policemen, with rifles pointing forwards at the ready, gesturing to each other as they ran across the front lawn. I had that initial expat reaction: ooh, it feels just like I’m in a movie (so many things in the early days when you move abroad trigger that reaction). My other reaction, which can only be described as touchingly and Britishly naïve, was to think that there must be a vicious dog on the loose – why else would they have their rifles out?

At this point, like all good stories, there is a random amusing detail. There was a couple going for a walk. This is extraordinary enough in America, although we do live in quite a walky neighborhood. It’s all very serious, though. People don’t just go out of their front doors and walk. They have proper sporty walking gear on, bounce along purposefully, and monitor their heart-rates as they go. But this couple wasn’t like that. They were in ordinary clothes, sauntering along. No-one saunters as they walk here. But the best detail was this: the man was wearing a woolly bobble hat. In May (we’re talking 70 degrees plus).

“Um” I said to Granny and Grandad, “there seem to be policemen with guns on our front lawn”.

By this time, I was at the window watching the police, and watching the bobble hat couple who had stopped and were watching the police, and trying to spot the vicious dog. Grandad joined me, and we stood there, slightly bemused by the whole scene. It dawned on me that what we were watching might not develop into a very good situation – the lack of an obvious dog was ringing alarm bells by now.

I suggested we take 3-yo down to the basement, realising I didn’t want her to be around to see what might transpire, or even get caught up in it. She was young enough not to question the adults’ sudden desire for a game of air hockey at this early hour, and we all went downstairs. Grandad’s curiosity kept getting the better of him, and he sneaked up from time to time to see what was happening.

The story ends with 5 police cars parked in the street, and a whole huddle of policemen, and a man being put in one of the cars and driven away. I later found out that the man, who wasn’t armed, was burgling the house two doors up from us. He’d been watching the house, knew the times that the owners left in the morning, but, unluckily for him, the day he chose to do the burglary, one of the owners had forgotten something, realized on the way to work, returned home, became suspicious when he saw a strange car in the drive, and called the police.

What a great start to Granny and Grandad’s visit! I like to think we gave them something to tell the folks back home. Less than 24 hours in America, in a neighbourhood which we’d been telling them was nice and safe, and a drama unfolds before their very eyes involving armed police on the front lawn! Now if that didn’t confirm all their preconceptions of life in America, I don’t know what would (well, I suppose if we’d been having Krispy Kreme doughnuts and coke for breakfast, that would have helped). If it had happened the previous morning, we’d have missed the whole thing. We were only having breakfast in the dining room instead of the kitchen because of our visitors, and from the kitchen window, which looks out to the back, we’d have seen nothing. Timing, you see.

The thing I haven’t figured out is this. What was the point of the man in the bobble hat in the story? Was he just an extra, sent along by the movie-impressions people to add a bit of local color? Was he the Chief of Police, checking up on his men, incognito? Was he some kind of guardian angel, sent to make sure no-one got hurt in any crossfire? Was he a bobble hat salesman?

Next time: Shadowy Husband. The time after that: my reflections on America’s gun culture.