What Would Christopher Do?

"Stay back motherf*&^er" the young man said as he glared down at us from his perch on the rock. "Stay back or I'll jump!" We could see the tension on his face and the blood from superficial slash wounds on his wrists. I wasn't too worried about him jumping, he was only twelve feet or so above us. He would be easier to fight with a broken leg. We took a few steps back and pondered our next move.

I looked over at the deputy, who was on the radio in her cruiser. She mouthed to me that another deputy was only a minute or so out, we would wait for him before taking this on. This worked for me. The pt. was clearly out of control. He had used a broken bottle to slash his wrists and was extremely agitated.

A minute later, the deputy arrived on his shiny KZ-1000P motorcycle. His polished motor-officer boots expertly lowered the sidestand as he glided to a stop. His leg swung over the motorcycle and he strode over to the cruizer, nodding to us as he removed his mirrored ray-bans and secured them in a pouch on his duty belt.

The conference between the deputies was over by the time I walked the twenty feet or so from the squad. The motor deputy sighed, removed his duty rig from his waist and handed it to the first deputy, who secured it in the trunk of the cruiser. I figured this was going to be a wrestling match. Understand, this was before tasers, pepper spray and beanbags. Use of force went from fists to baton to gun, with an occasional sap thrown in.

The motor cop moved a little closer to our customer, who was still perched on his rock, his angst still evident on his face.. "Don't come any closer!" he demanded.

"Look, look just relax dude" the motor said "I just want to talk with you".


"I want to kill myself" was the reply.

Our customer and the motor deputy exchanged words for a few minutes, I didn't detect any progress being made. Obviously I was wrong, as the motor sensed an opening.

"What's your name?" the motor deputy asked.

"My name is Jesus" was the reply.

"No, what do your friends call you?"

"They call me Christ"

"Nooooo, no, what does your mom call you?"

"Oh". "She calls me Christopher"

The door of communication was now ajar. The next few minutes of conversation were irrelevant, but the result was. Christopher hopped down off of his rock, walked toward the motor deputy and gave him a hug.

I was surprised the motor let him do it, I am sure that he was prepared to defend himself if he needed to, but I don't think he felt Christopher was a threat at that point. Christpopher voluntarily agreed to be transported and was not a problem for the trip to the Psyc ward at the K.B. County Hospital.

The motor deputy is now a patrol sergeant, getting ready to retire. I don't see him very often, he works in another community. I ran into him while working an overtime a few weeks back. We laughed about this call, we both still remembered it. Maybe I will tell about it at his retirement dinner. Maybe not. Either way, it is worth a few laughs.


Thanks for reading,.
Schmoe