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‘The Whole Nine Yards’
I was a hospital administrator in New York. I had a good report with the police. This was 30 years ago. I was young, cute, wore short skirts, the whole nine yards.
Well, one day, three officers bring in a man who spit on their car and called them names and refused to be arrested. He was injured and was being evaluated for treatment and one of the officers had his night stick across his trachea literally killing him.
Why must they do this?
Am I the only person who has observed the low intelligence generally found amongst the police?
I do not say this to be cruel—but it is the truth.
I was the person responsible for the activity under my watch, so when I told the officer to stop, “You can’t do that,” and he continued killing this mam, literally crushing his windpipe, I rested the baton from him and told them, ‘I do not care if he called you names or spit on your car. I am not going to stand by while you kill him!”
Well, that was that.
Henceforth I was hated by the officers of the Sixty-[second digit forgotten by the author].
So, this stuff in the news, it is as if the police have long been a latent force for such discontent that no one thought to improve. Really, you deal in such things. Is there not a better way to subdue a man—especially when there are three of you—than much of what transpires?
One wonders if these men are even trained. There certainly is a better way and I’m sure you know what it is. So it occurs to the reasonable mind that things might have been different if the powers that be wanted them to be different.
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