SERGEANT WEBB AT HIS BEST

In the previous post, I began to describe the Desk Sergeant’s area. It was about a ten-foot diameter area in the center of a large fourteen or fifteen by fifteen foot room, circled by a desktop area that encircled all but the three-step entrance up through a swinging door to the rear of the area and opposite the side the Desk Sergeant usually sat, or more normally stood.

The the desktop was about thirty inches above the main floor, and the desktop, and shelves beneath it, made up a walled ring around the Desk Sergeant’s area. Above the desktop was a Plexiglas ring, about twenty-four inches high, protecting the area from people walking through the area, but gave the Desk Sergeant a 360-degree view of the Air Police HQ operations area. This made the overall height of the Desk Sergeant’s platform about seven feet from the top of the glass to the floor.

The raised floor, on which the Desk Sergeant stood gave him a commanding view of the entire HQ area. From his perch, he could look down on anyone coming in the front door and walking up to the three-foot opening in front of the Plexiglas to ask questions, plead his/her case or voice his complaints on traffic violations and other issues, or for patrols to bring in appended Airmen for identification and disposition.

The Desk Sergeant usually stayed out of the main conversations between the Patrolmen and their arrest, and just stuck to documenting the incident in the Desk Blotter, and ensuring the proper forms were completed and signed.

On one eventful midnight shift, Sgt. Webb brought in, rather shoved in, through the front door, a very belligerent and obviously drunk Airman. The loud commotion took me by surprise and I jumped to my feet and looked over the side of the desk at the Airman that was now lying on the floor attempting to get up without the use of his arms, which were cuffed behind him.

The Airman looked up at me and yelled, “What’chu lookin’ at?”

“Uh, you,” I snapped back!

“Get your ass up,” Sgt. Webb said, reaching down and pulling the guy up to his feet.

“Hey, you better watch it asshole,” he fumed!

Sgt. Webb again shoved the drunk on toward the rear of my Desk Sergeant platform and made him take a seat in a chair along the wall near the side entrance door. Every time Sgt. Webb would start to walk away, the Airman would jump up, only to be pushed back down in the chair again.

“You damn APES (a derogatory term developed from AP) are all assholes,” he spewed in Webb’s direction.

“Sit down and shut up!” Webb yelled back.

The third time the Airman sprang to his feet, Sgt. Webb grabbed his right arm and forced him up the three steps and through the short swinging door and onto my level. Webb grabbed a rolling office chair and handcuffed the Airman’s arms to each of the chair’s arms.

The Airman could not stand up, but he could scoot the chair about. He then made a near fatal mistake.

“You damn APES are stupid,” he said looking at me and spitting in my direction!

Sgt. Webb boiled and spilled over! His big booted foot suddenly lashed out and caught one arm of the chair and he pushed with all his might!

Through the swinging door, and bypassing the three steps, the Airman landed face first on the hard tiled floor below. The Airman made an “Ooffff” sound as he bounced to a limp stop next to the chairs along the wall. His face was against the floor, turned slightly to one side, and looked distorted from the full weight of the chair and his body on top of him. The room became so quiet we heard the chair’s rollers spin to a stop.

Everyone but Webb held their breath, just knowing the Airman did not survive the fall. However, by the time Webb ambled over to where he lay, he began to show signs of life!

Even if the fall had killed him, Sgt. Webb probably would not have shown any concern. He bent down close to the Airman’s ear and whispered something none of us could hear. The Airman blinked his eyes, shook his head, and then allowed Webb to right the chair without resisting.

I would love to be able to tell you what Sgt. Webb said to the Airman, but I do not have a clue. Suffice it to say, there was not a peep from him the rest of the morning.

The next morning the Airman was lead away to the stockade.

I always felt safer with Sgt. Webb around, even before this incident, but this just sealed the deal for me. I gained a new self-respect and sense of pride for being an Air Policeman on “A Flight,” and more importantly, a Desk Sergeant that night. I was determined to be the best at what I did, not only for me, but also for him.

THE DESK SERGEANT

“Car 54, where are you?”

If you are old enough to remember that phrase, or watched any other good police movie or TV show, you know that a “Desk Sergeant” makes such calls out over the police radio. The person doing the dispatching duty may not actually have the rank of sergeant, but the position is normally given this title, mostly because he or she works directly for the Duty or Flight Sergeant and issues tasks/orders over the radio on the responsible Sergeant’s behalf.

After many months of walking and standing duties, I moved up to motor patrol, and apparently distinguished myself as a good Sky Cop. It could also have been partially because of the high school typing experience I had!

The Desk Sergeant keep the Flight’s shift Desk Blotter – a kind of running chronological incident log of the night’s happenings, arrest, alarms, accidents, open buildings, thefts reported, domestic altercations in the housing area, etc.

The Desk Sergeant issued standard procedures to the patrols that deployed to accidents, car chases, break-ins, and routine Flight Line incidents and practices. One such routine practice was to provide security to a plane that was either being up or downloaded with an atomic weapon. Fake accidents, complete with colored smoke depicting a crashed aircraft were performed at least once quarterly at Keesler, even though there were no nuclear weapons at the site. These exercises were called “Broken Arrows!”

The Desk Sergeant was expected to know the operating procedures for all exercises and ensured that Air Policemen were dispatched to the proper positions around the perimeter of the incident. He also kept a running log of events until the exercise was declared completed. These “exercises” really kept you on your toes!

Underneath the Desk Sergeant’s desk, which usually sat high above the floor of the Air Police Headquarters, to look down on anyone entering, was a foot pedal about the size of a clutch pedal in a car. This pedal was to be used when the office area was “under duress.” A large amount of cash was kept in several safes around the room, where the Base Exchange and other businesses dropped their nightly receipts. The money was then picked up the following morning, by the specific managers, and taken to the Base Bank for proper deposit.

It was conceivable that this money could be a target, therefore, a procedure was written to cover the situation. AP HQ was the perfect place to keep an eye on the money, and if someone got the drop on the Desk Sergeant, he was to step discretely on this pedal. This action turned off the radio so no one in the office could hear the patrols being dispatched by the Base Command Post.

Yes, I had been briefed, and had even watched a “duress” exercise being played out before, but while using the push broom one evening to clean up before shift change, I inadvertently hit the pedal with the broom!

I had no idea what had happened, but at that very moment, inside every patrol vehicle was being heard “Keesler Police, Keesler Command. Keesler Police HQ is under duress! Please deploy as to procedure and standby for instructions!”

As I was “whistling while I worked,” the front and side doors burst open! At the main entrance stood Sgt. Webb with his .38 (a recent change from the .45) pointing directly at me!

Instantly I knew what had happened and glanced down at the pedal under the radio console, and back up at Sgt. Webb. A little smile attempted to turn up one corner or his mouth, but he fought it. He gave me a “you screwed up” look, holstered his weapon, and immediately squeezed the microphone on his left lapel.

“Keesler Command, this is Alpha One.”

“Go ahead Alpha One.”

“Keesler Police is clear. There has been an unintentional activation of the duress alarm.”

“Ten four Alpha One, Keesler Command is clear.”

The radio console again began to squawk and squelch normally. The A Flight Patrols returned to normal operation, and I was left alone with Sgt. Webb for the remainder of the shift. “Write it up Mushy (not his real name)!”

It was about thirty minutes after normal quitting time before I completed the Desk Blotter entries. My backside hurt the rest of the night from the butt chewing I received.

I could not, at one point, resist saying, “Ah, it keeps’em on their toes!”

“Suppose a patrol had gotten hurt rushing over here?” Webb said looking sternly over the top of his glasses, waiting for the rational to dawn on me.

“Well, yeah, there’s that! Won’t happen again, sir.”

“Better not…I stuck my neck out putting you on the desk. You know what goes before my neck don’t ya?”

“My ass,” I said.

The regular Desk Sergeant was a Staff Sergeant (four stripes) who was on 30-day leave. When he returned, and because he loved patrol, I continued to alternate with him during my remaining time at Keesler.