In many ways a cop is like a psychologist or bartender. All of us are often called upon to give advice from time to time. More often than not, the cop talks about crime prevention, how to talk to your kids about drugs and what to look for to see if your kids are doing drugs. In my long career as a cop in New Jersey, I gave such advice many times. It just came with the territory and I was happy to do it.
One spring day I was at my desk in the detective bureau preparing a case to submit to the prosecutor's office to bring before the grand jury. I wasn't in the mood to be stuck indoors with the first blush of warmer weather following a particularly brutal winter. But, it was one of my duties, so I persevered. My two partners, Mike and Al, were out to lunch. My window looked out to a traffic circle and I found myself becoming transfixed by the hundreds of cars passing by each hour. I was startled by the ring of what we called "the black phone." Installed to allow informants to call detectives without having to go through the main switchboard, the black phone was also used to connect us with wives, girlfriends and buddies. After two rings, I answered it. It was a buddy: Charlie Pate. He was looking for a favor. Charlie was a private investigator and long-time friend. He had had an abbreviated police career cut short by a physical disability, which was caused by a line-of-duty injury. Charlie was collecting a disability pension as well as his income from the agency, which he owned.
"Curt, I need you to speak to someone for me."
"Glad to do it, Charlie; Who and about what?"
"Curt, I have a neighbor whose daughter is in her middle twenties and wants to be a cop. She's on the rescue squad here in town and is looking to talk to someone capable of giving her the scoop on what would be involved and what her chances would be."
This conversation took place in the late 1970s and, frankly, the concept of females had not yet taken off in the local municipalities. Her chances were slim, though not impossible. But, Charlie was an old friend and I agreed to meet with her and instructed him to have her call me.
"Just so you know, Curt, Joanne is no looker," Charlie admitted. I told him I didn't care and that her career plans in law enforcement might actually be better if looks were not an issue.
Later that afternoon I got a phone call from Joanne, who briefed me very generally on her concerns. We agreed to meet the next day in my office at 6:30 PM. She seemed pleasant enough.
The following day, I took the grand jury file to the prosecutor's office, did a bit of routine follow-through on open cases and went to the diner around 4:30 in the afternoon. After the almost ritualistic flirting with the staff of waitresses, I sat down and ordered a Greek salad and a glass of iced tea. The salad was enormous; I could only finish half of it. I had no dessert and returned to the office where I killed an hour or so before Joanne's arrival. She was very prompt and I directed the desk officer to send her up. I heard her footsteps on the staircase and went out to the ante-room to greet her. Charlie was right. She was "no looker." But she had a winning and sincere smile and beautiful teeth, so she wasn't a total loss. We greeted one another and shook hands. She was tall, maybe 5'8" and athletic looking. She was wearing dark slacks and a windbreaker-style jacket in the early spring evening air. She took the jacket off to reveal a white, long sleeved blouse, which she wore with the top three buttons open, revealing minor cleavage. I hung her jacket up and motioned for her to join me at my desk.
"It is awfully nice of you to take the time to meet with me. I am at a career crossroads and I'm not sure which direction to take. I'm 27 and my current full-time job is a bookkeeper for a builder near where I live. I volunteer part-time for the town rescue squad, so I've had a lot of contact with the local cops and firemen. Frankly, the idea of being a cop intrigues me and Charlie told me that you would be the guy to talk to about career possibilities along that line."
Joanne droned on, non-stop, for ten minutes or so. I became antsy as I sat there trying my best to appear interested. Then I noticed something to be interested in. Funny how I didn't notice it initially, but Joanne was sporting a pair of very large boobs. When she took her jacket off, she was standing and I guess her blouse wasn't hanging right to bring my attention to them. But, now, sitting down, the blouse was kind of clingy and those babies were staring me right in the face. The blouse was sheer enough that I was able to discern the pattern on her white bra. These were no mere "C" cup. These were "Ds" at least, perhaps, double "Ds". I stared at them shamelessly. I couldn't take my eyes off them.
"Curt! Curt! Are you listening to me?"
Uh, oh, I was caught not paying attention. I was busted.
"Curt, you must not have heard me. I was asking you what you thought of my chances to become a cop and how I needed to prepare myself for the tests and all. You seem to be in another world. Are you okay?"
