This is the Christmas time and it's time to spread good cheer. In this holiday spirit I dust off this great Christmas story of family love and togetherness.
‘Twas Christmas day and all through the town, not a creature was stirring…except the BellamyBrothers who were beating the Be-Jesus out of each other.
A CHRISTMAS STORY
By W. Hock Hochheim
Christmas day, 1977. I was on patrol with Glenn Bilyeu, day shift. It was customary for we uniformed unfortunates on holiday duty, to work “out of the house,” so to speak. That meant we made the squad room, roll call and briefing at the beginning of the tour, and then we could spend most of the day at home with families, ever ready by the phone, the squad car outside to answer any calls. This is not an uncommon practice in police departments across the country on such big holidays.
And there were always some Christmas day calls, a few accidents, domestic disturbances, etc. Only the most evil of cops were out hunting their daily traffic ticket stats. Back then, Glen and I were single guys and we decided to just “drive around” as if it were any usual patrol day. Hell! We didn't have Christmas trees at our bachelor pads! Glen was the senior officer on the shift back then- a position entitling us to rove the whole city, usually backing up other officers on calls and then being dispatched when all other units were tied up. But this Christmas we decided to try and handle as many calls as possible, and let our friends stay at home near the yuletide (whatever the hell a yuletide is).
So when the radio call came out about trouble at the Bellamy household, we went straight away. The brothers, Jeremy and Joe, both in their twenties were chronic problems and would, a decade later, score big prison sentences for violent crimes. Jeremy sold crack for years and eventually killed someone. Joe did a little dope and just robbed people. In the seventies they were just blossoming thugs, experimenting with law breaking.
The neighbors had reported a front yard Bellamyfamily brawl. The brothers were arguing and bashing it out. The parents took sides and the three sisters were there to add piercing screeches to the overall holiday soundtrack. As we pulled up, the brothers were pushing and yelling at each other. Dismounted, I got between them, shoving Joe back by way of an open palm to the throat area, and I held him at bay with this hand. Glenn marched right up to Jeremy and well…started his “Jack Webb routine. Jeremy took one look at him and belted him right square in the nose. Glenn launched back like a solid piece of wood, his gold-rimmed glasses ejecting into the air. Bam! He hit the turf, apparently knocked cold for a few seconds.
Jeremy turned his beady eyes next to me. He rushed me, and I got a palm across his chest too! So there I was, tottering between the brothers, stretched out and in the middle of a big squeeze. Honestly I don't know if they were after me or still after each other. I turned to Jeremy and pushed back hard, then spun and punched Joe right in the throat. Joe staggered back up against a big elm tree, gripped his neck, whereupon he remained gasping for the rest of this very unpleasant event. The three sisters, the father (who, looking back, I think was secretly rooting for us) and the boisterous mother (who wasn't) circled us in a chorus of curses.
Jeremy's arms flailed at me, which I was able to batter away as best I could, but he did get a few deflected shots in on me. I was able to step in and trip him down onto his back, in a mixed-bag, unidentifiable takedown technique. Jeremy landed on his back hard with me on one knee above him. I snatched his right arm as he tried to hit me in the face and tried punching him back, but he used his other arm to take out the sting and deflect each of my shots. Then with the fingers of his free hand busy pushing against my face, my new free hand got my cuffs off my belt and cuffed that right arm. One limb down. One to go.
Suddenly a screaming banshee leaped half on my arm, half on my back. It was the big, fat Bellamy mama. Cussing me, she yanked on my arm and pulled hunks of my hair off the back of my head! She tumbled back and ripped my grip free of the handcuffed hand. Jeremy's emancipated arm quickly clocked me a good one in the jaw and the loose end of the cuff smacked the top of head. Unfortunately the cuff end was open. It cut into my confused head.
As big momma and I rolled back, me landing between her legs, her house dress way up to her butt. She scratched at my face and pulled my hair. I saw Glen slide an unsteady leg under himself to get up. Given my “rear mount” predicament, I got a little pissed when he stumbled back over to the squad car instead of my way! Big momma and I wrestled while Jeremy-still on the ground-started kicking at my legs, but he bolted up and started after me. Billings got there in time to scoop up an arm and spin him off course. I scrambled to get up, but the mother hung on tight. As G. wrestled with Jeremy in a wide spiral dance, I had to grab the hands of the mother and pry them free of me. Thank God she didn't wrap those hairy legs around me! Once up, we double-teamed Jeremy into both cuffs this time and chunked his Christmas-ass face down on the frozen ground. Glen ran over to “ol coughen' Joe” back by the elm and was shackling him as two squad cars roared up. His dash back to our car at my moment of need had been to make a quick call for back up. A good idea. You see back then, those little radios you see all the time on cops, the ones clipped to the shoulders and on belts? Only Captain Kirk on Star Trek had those back then. We had to yell real loud or make a run for the car radio.
We marched the scuffling brothers into the back seats. The shift Sergeant took a hard look at big momma, then back at me. “No,” I said, “no, let's not arrest her.” Tough decision, since she was 10 feet away screaming artistic strings of curses into our faces, and probably still had evidence (my damn hair) stuck to her fingers. But it was Christmas! She was protecting her babies! That and ahh - really - and who needs the extra paperwork of a third arrest.
Back then, if people were injured while fighting us during an arrest we didn't even give them an aspirin. They sat in their cells and suffered. Now they get presidential treatment. I ma surprised we don't fix their teeth in an overnight stay. So sat the Bellamy brothers. But the rest of the afternoon Glenn and I spent at the hospital, having been ordered there by our lieutenant. He saw our blood. He knew his obligations. “Check up!” I got a few butterfly stitches from the open end of the cuff. Few know that the most common “edged-weapon” injury to a police officer is from the open teeth of a handcuff, his own or that of his buddy's, flying free in the frays of arrest.
Glen and I felt like idiots being wheeled around in the mandatory wheel chairs for exams and x-rays, all precautionary requirements. It's no wonder we avoided reporting injuries whenever possible. That, and the harassment from one's …for lack of a better term…peers…
“Ohhh, does Hocky have a whittle boo-boo on his wee, whittle head?”
And the inevitable..
“Did Glenny boy hut' his nosey when the big bad man knocked him…ON HIS ASS!”
"HA!HA!HA!" or in this case…"HO! HO! HO!"
...this would go on for days until the next troop scored an injury and focus shifted upon them.
At one point Glen and I found ourselves wheeled into a hallway, sitting about 20 feet apart in our wheel chairs, the nurses having abandoned us momentarily. We stared at each other silently for a moment. Two grown adults. In uniform. Sitting in wheel chairs. Our big pistolas uncomfortably crammed in the chairs. We could have easily stood and walked right our of there.
“Merry Christmas Glen,” I said.
“Merry Christmas Hock!”
You think we said that? Naahhh!…we didn't say that to each other! I thought it would sound real nice and “holiday-ish” for you here. Actually, we cussed up the fucking Bellamy clan like big dogs.
…and so to ALL a good night. And that's my Christmas Story, boys and girls, a little something to
warm up your yuletides- whatever in the hell they are.
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