Chapter 5

Out of the Frying Pan

I looked around after hearing the bell ring. Most of the other recruits were looking around as well. After a brief second, we all took off running for the front doors of building number two. We ran through the gate at the end of the recruit parking area and past the two green dumpsters that were located between the recruit parking area and employee parking lot. As we approached the front doors of the academy, we fell into a single file line, all of us still at a sprint.

As I fell in line with the other recruits, I felt a great sense of anxiety fall over me. The time of a new beginning had arrived.

Approaching the front of the academy building was very surreal; you could feel the history there. The academy building was built in the 1950s or somewhere around there as a place to train and mold young officers. I would later learn the full history of the academy and what lay inside the massive building. I am a bit of a history nut, after all, so I found the history of this place fascinating.

Having served in the United States Air Force as a security specialist and then with the Escambia County Sheriff’s Office as a deputy sheriff, I assumed I was prepared for whatever would be thrown at me. I was wrong! I graduated from two previous law enforcement academies I assumed that there would be nothing to this academy. Again, I was wrong!

As I walked through the metal framed glass double doors of the academy, which was held open by a big man, I mean this guy rivaled the Rock with his size, and entered into the hallway of the academy you could feel the weight of every officer that had walked those halls before you. This feeling was intense and overwhelming. Any dread or anxiety that I felt was replaced with pride. Pride for the opportunity to walk where troopers walked before me, pride for the opportunity to serve the citizens of Florida, and most of all, longing to put on the last uniform I would ever wear.

As I walked to the muster area, I could smell the blood, sweat, and tears in the atmosphere, just the shear pride of this academy weighs over me like an invisible cloak. Even in the military I had never encountered the feeling of pride and longing that I was feeling in this moment. It was overwhelming, but encouraging all the same. I mean I see troopers all the time. Obviously they made it, so I can make it too. Now I am feeling confident as I follow my classmates to the muster area.

As I approached the end of the hallway, it began to open up into a large room, with gray tile floors and a brown ceiling and red brick walls. Off to the right there was a set of three steps that led down into a pit. The building was old and the wear and tear was definitely showing. The building appeared to be well maintained, in some areas, and completely worn out and in desperate need of replacement in others. I personally think that maybe they need a new academy complex all together.

We all filed into the pit single file; all the while we were being scolded and screamed at as if we were little children. It was quite unsettling to be scolded in such a manner. I could see on the faces of the younger recruits that they were wondering what in the hell they had gotten themselves into.

My classmates came from all different ethnicities. There were African American, Cuban, Caucasian, and Hispanic. They were male and female and some were very short, others were extremely tall. We had the fit and then the not so fit. Our ages ranged from twenty-one to sixty-four. All of us were dressed in suits. In short, we were the epitome of a melting pot. It felt good to know that I was going to be a part of something this special. You see, we were all members of the Florida Highway Patrol’s 100th recruit class. I would also later learn that we were a part of one the longest recruit classes. This is not a statistic that I am particularly proud of.

I looked off to the left, adjacent to the steps that led down into the muster pit. I observed a doorway, with two closed wooden doors. A sign had been placed above those doors. The sign was white and displayed the words, “Through these doors walks Florida’s finest.” Those doors led to the classroom.

“What in the hell are you people standing around for? Get your asses in formation,” yelled one instructor.

I thought, Great, here we go.

“You morons better shape up or you will not make it through my training school,” said another instructor.

“This is the most pathetic bunch of losers I have ever seen. I can’t believe we just hire anyone now. You had better start acting like you have a damn brain in that head of yours or we are going to have issues,” said yet another instructor.

During all of this yelling and screaming, our class attempted to form into some resemblance of squads, which half of our class did not understand. For those who do not understand, a squad is a line within a larger formation called a platoon. A squad is usually structured with the shortest member in the first spot and the tallest member in the back of the line. The only exception to this rule is the squad leader and assistant squad leader. The squad leader takes the first spot and the assistant squad leader filled the second position.

This slight miscommunication between the instructor and class resulted in all of us doing push-ups and flutter kicks until we looked and smelled like wet dogs. Several of us, me included, were just ready to go ahead and have a heart attack so that we had an excuse to leave. I am no stranger to exerting enormous amounts of energy while participating in grueling workout routines. I am, however, opposed to doing any major activities in a three-piece suit and dress shoes. I do not relish the idea of standing around soaked all day. But, alas, I have no damn choice in the matter. Well I guess that is not entirely true. I could tuck my tail between my legs and retreat in defeat.

Fortunately, retreat is not a word that is readily available in my vocabulary, so instead I just stand there with the rest of my class and grin and bear it. I just shoved the thought from mind as quickly as it had entered and moved on to the thought, which was, Well, it can’t get any worse.

Stop being such a baby and cowboy up, is the exact thought that came to my mind.

I simply did not want to deal with the bullshit of going through another academy, I guess. My thoughts were that I had already done my time and shouldn’t have to be subjected to this crap again. I would learn much later that there was a reason that I was subjected to the heartache and separation from my family.

“Okay, all you babies go out to your vehicles and gather your luggage. You got five minutes to get your asses back inside.”

“This is your chance to get away free and clear. All you have to do is get in your crappy little sedans and go back to your cushy little lives. I know some of you are looking for a way out. Some of you are probably scared or maybe you have an issue being yelled at. We don’t care. Leave because it will make it that much easier on us. We don’t need to babysit a bunch of kids fresh out of high school. We need and accept only those that can think for themselves and obey authority. If you cannot handle that, then please don’t get your luggage and don’t come back.”

This was just the first ten minutes at the academy. I wasn’t exactly sure what my time here was going to be like, but I was almost certain that I would not enjoy it. I was wrong! But of course I would not come to enjoy my time here for some time. Almost half of the academy would come to pass before I realized the memories I made and the enjoyment that went with them.

As we left the muster area and ran to our vehicles to grab our luggage, I heard the following one-sided conversation.

“Get your sorry ass over here, Jones. What in the hell is wrong with you?” Lieutenant Welch asked, quite loudly, I might add.

“Sir, nothing, sir!” replied Recruit Jones

“Why in the hell didn’t you shave, Jones?”

“I forgot, sir.”

“You forgot? Did you eat?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Did you take a damn shower?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then why didn’t you see fit to shave?”

“I have no excuse, sir.”

At this point I turned ever so slightly to observe the conversation, purely out of curiosity I think. I saw Jones, all six feet three inches of him, standing at attention, wearing a black three-piece suit. He was wearing black chloroform shoes and appeared to have just gotten a high and tight type haircut. Very fitting for the career we had chosen. Jones was slim and appeared to be in good shape, but also came across as cocky. You could tell from Jones’ demeanor that he was nervous. His hands shook ever so slightly. He was dripping sweat, but that could have been from the last ten minutes of push-ups.

Standing not three inches from Recruit Jones was Lt. Welch. Lt. Welch was not a particularly tall man, but he commanded respect all the same. He was wearing the typical Army Pink Troopers uniform. Although the uniform did not appear pink at all. The uniform was more of a beige or light brown with black stripes on the pants and black epilates on the shirts, along with black pockets. He was wearing a chloroform gun belt and shoes. His uniform was topped off with a gold badge, symbolizing the fact that he was an officer. Atop his head was a black, military drill instructor type campaign hat. He had a white mustache and white hair. His uniform was pressed and very neat. His brass was shined to a high gloss.

Lt. Welch continued his very calculated verbal assault with, “Let’s see if I can help you remember to shave. Drop down and start pushing.”

“Sir, how long, sir?”

“Until I get tired dammit. Don’t ask me questions, just do what you’re told.”

At this point I turned and left in a hurry. I didn’t particularly want to be in the same boat as recruit Jones.

I went to my little blue CRV and grabbed my duffle bag out of the back. I told my wife to go ahead and leave so that she could get back home at a decent hour. I gave the kids each a hug and kiss then turned and hurried back inside with my duffle bag in tow. The damn thing was quite heavy. It did not seem as if I had packed a whole lot into that bag.

I now know that it would have probably been better to pack only the bare necessities. Sure the things that I packed are needed and may come in handy, but when I don’t know how far I will be carrying the damn thing during the day, I sure as hell wish that it was lighter.

As we gathered back in the muster pit after gathering our belongings, I was beginning to feel a little more at ease. We gathered in formation once more and were introduced to the instructors, of which there were six as well as two counselors. All of the instructors and counselors were dressed in the same type uniforms, the only exception being the color of their badges and their rank insignias. All of their uniforms were highly pressed and their boots and gun belts were highly shined. They wore stone faces and appeared very hard.

“Left face,” yelled the counselor that was standing by the door. This guy had arms bigger than my legs. He looked a lot like a bull mastiff on steroids. His uniform was highly pressed and he stood looking as menacing as rabid dog. His hair was cut short and was cropped very nicely. He appeared to be of Hispanic heritage, as well, and went by the name Benavidez.

As we turned and faced the wall to our left, all sixty-three of us, stood staring at an old red brick wall with framed pictures of other State Troopers mounted on the wall. As we would learn over the next forty-five minutes, each of those troopers were killed in the line of duty. We would come to stare at those pictures five to ten times a day. We would learn each of the fallen officer’s stories. They would be forever ingrained in our heads, in our souls. We would truly learn the meaning of respect, brotherhood, dedication, and bravery through their stories. The fact that each of us had to live up to the standards of bravery set forth by those fallen brothers and sisters had not set in just yet but would soon enough.

Above the memorial photographs was another white sign, identical to the sign hanging over the classroom. On this sign were the words courtesy, service, protection, the Florida Highway Patrol motto.

After standing in formation at attention for what seemed an eternity we were led single file into a classroom. The classroom had white tile floors, a white tile ceiling, white florescent lights, and numerous old brown wooden desks.

The desks were of the sort that you might have used in school, the top and seat were held together by a metal bar. The desk was complete with metal legs and it creaked when you sat down. The desks appeared to be groaning from decades of usage. Some of the desks had names and other nonsense carved onto them. I would assume these names were those of former troopers, or maybe the names are those of school kids from nearby schools, who really knows.

Off to the left, I observed three very large glass windows, which were covered by large white blinds. The windows offered a beautiful view of the courtyard and then further on past the courtyard you could see the recruit parking area and the other building.

As we entered the classroom and stood beside our assigned desks, which were marked with the use of a white paper tag with each recruit’s name on them, I noticed a large wooden podium sitting at the front left corner of the classroom. On the podium was a marquee that displayed the words, “Florida Highway Patrol Academy; Class 100; September 10, 2001—until we let you go.” I unfortunately was not informed by my recruiter that Class 100, my class, was part of a pilot program and there was no release date as of yet. The nightmare had begun!

The rest of the day was full of very mundane paperwork and then finally bed. We were escorted to our assigned rooms, which were on the third floor. There was an elevator, but unfortunately, it was not for recruits to use. Only the instructors got that privilege. All recruits were to use the stare case at either end of the building opposite the pit. As we mounted the staircase, lugging our baggage behind us, I noticed that the railings were newly painted and the stairs themselves were swept and mopped. They really took pride in this old building. We came to the top of the stairs and exited the stairwell onto the third floor. The instructors had used the elevator and as such had beat us to the third floor. Once everyone had exited the stairwell, we got a chance to look around and take stock of our surroundings.

The hall was musty like much of the building. The carpet was old and ragged and a nasty brown color. There were a couple of vacuum cleaners at each end of the hall. The vacuums themselves appeared to be twenty or more years old. The walls were an old brown color. This part of the building definitely looked older than the rest of the building. Looking at the ceiling tiles, I noticed that apparently the roof had leaks in various spots over the years. The tiles were old and had brown water stains random places.

“Okay, listen up. It is time to divide you into pairs and escort you to your rooms for the night.”

I thought to myself, Hmmm…I wonder which one of these people will be my roommate.

I got lucky and was assigned a room with Julio Velez. Recruit Velez was from Puerto Rico. I learned in speaking with him that he was a police officer in his hometown and was going to be moving his family to Florida after the academy. He seemed like a great guy, so I was sure we would get along pretty well. Velez had black hair and dark skin. He was of stocky build and spoke English with a distinct Puerto Rican accent, although he did speak English very well. Of course I am sure he would have said I had a very strong distinct southern accent. He was someone that became like a brother during the academy. We spent our downtime talking about our wives and kids, and he was like a brother. We often picked each other up when we were down.

We were placed in a room at the end of the hall. As we entered into the room, we noticed that it was fairly small. There was one twin size beds on each side of the room along with a very crudely designed end table. The bed was also crudely fashioned out of wood and steel. The mattress was white with blue pin stripes. There were two sheets, one pillow, and one brown wool blanket stacked on the end of the bed, nearest the door. The end table was made of a brown particle board and had one drawer and one shelf. The carpet in the room was the same old ratty carpet as seen in the hallway. The wall and ceiling were the same as well. There was one stand up wall locker at the end of the bed. The wall locker was just big enough to hang our uniforms. The wall locker was made of what appeared to be particle board and laminate.

We were instructed that we were allowed to have one alarm clock and a few personal belongings like a cell phone and laptop computer, but not much else. We were not allowed to use the Internet or make phone calls until after class in the evenings. Of course we could not have our cell phones with us, and they could not leave the room, so that kind of sucked.

After getting settled in, around midnight, I was able to lay down and finally get some rest. Julio and I lay in our beds looking up at the ceiling for a while and talking about how the day went.

“Man, today really sucked,” Julio said.

“Yeah, it is going to be one heck of an academy if it is already this bad,” I said.

“I expected it to be more like a college than military boot camp,” replied Julio.

“Well, I had heard that it was a para-military type school. However, I did not know that it was quite that extensive.”

“Yeah, well we better get some sleep because I have this feeling tomorrow will be worse.”

“You may be right. I will see you tomorrow then.”

At this point, I rolled over to face the wall and pulled the covers up over my head. “Good night, world” is the only thought that passed through my mind, and then lights out.