HOKEHEY

 

“Hokehey”

By

Scott Casteel

 

There are far too many uncertainties in this world. One of them, is when you will take your last breath.  The exact origin is not certain, but tradition suggests it was Crazy Horse just before the Battle of the Bighorn. He cried out “Hokehey“ meaning “Today is a good day to die.” I am not sure when or where I heard it first, but I kept it as my silent battle cry whispered reverently to myself, as I left my house and family to protect the homes and lives of strangers, “Today is a good day to die.”  I was fine with the possibility of not coming home breathing. I knew the risk when I signed up. My wife, Lisa, and I had many conversations about “What if…” and while not looking forward to being a widow, she understood the importance of the mission.

 

However, simply put, some days it was not a good day to die. Perhaps Becca, my daughter, had a concert or the scouts had a campout Jon and I wanted to go on. It was completely unacceptable premise if we were having pizza for dinner that night.  I was noticeably on edge those days. Otherwise, I was at peace with whatever the day brought.

 

Both predator and protector are titles to describe those that stand behind the badge. No matter who you are or where you live, when you call, the police will come. The more danger the caller is in, the faster they run to help. When no one wants them, for the time being, cops tend become the predators. Seeking to stop those who wish to do harm. Like a vulture patiently waiting, I spent countless hours circling neighborhoods or sitting on the side of the road watching, waiting, hoping to find those who were up to no good.

 

Now, I could start this story with dramatic flare about it being a nocturnal event with the noticeable absent of light apart from the frequent ground to sky static discharges of manifested energy and the low pressure front pushing precipitation at various angles, direction and amounts, but who wants to be a cliché. There was nothing exceptional about the night or the traffic stop.  60 miles per hour in a 45 mile per hour zone perhaps validated the need for some conversation with the driver.

 

Traffic stops are never supposed to be routine or so I have been taught. Nothing could have been more routine about this stop on this night. I observed what appeared to be a vehicle traveling at a higher rate of speed than the normal traffic flow. I verified the speed on my radar, and I followed the driver looking for additional evidence should impairment be a concern. Before making a traffic stop, I gave the license plate information to my dispatcher and where I could be found. I have done this thousands of times.

 

I never became so cocky and so sure of myself that I stopped approaching vehicles with the understanding it would be my last. There are those who wish to do me and my brothers harm. Everyone in the vehicle is that person, until I decide different. I watch hands, eyes, wiggly movements, I am looking for anything that does not seem right. As a social worker, I learned all people are good. It can be difficult to find it in some, but it is there. As a cop, I was taught from day one in academy the only one that was not trying to kill me was my mother. And it was probably good policy not to piss her off. Somehow along the way, I learned to how to weave those two belief systems together. Sometimes, I got it wrong.

 

Once I received the verification from dispatch that the vehicle in question was not stolen or had any other issues of interest, I initiate the traffic stop. Unless there was some dynamic event, I would turn on the red and blue emergency lights, wait for the vehicle to stop, turn on my spotlight to see who and how many were in the vehicle and what their behavior was like. I always kept my flashlight in the same place so it could be found right away. As I exited my patrol car, I would turn on the flashlight, double, sometimes triple check to make sure I did not leave my gun at home (again) and walk up on a stranger’s vehicle in the darkness of night. How should I approach the vehicle? Driver side? Passenger side? Were the windows up? Were they down? Smell of alcohol? Smell of weed? I was looking for so much more than just to write a traffic citation.

 

As a rule, humor was my first and best line of defense to make for a good and healthy offense. No matter the time of day, my opening line was almost always “Good morning.”  Often followed by “Gee, I bet your really excited to see me.” Their response help to guide me through how business was completed.

This night, this stop gave every indicator that it would be business as usual. I approached on the driver side. The window was mostly down. Both hands were on the steering wheel. The driver was polite and engaging.

In order to know who it was I was dealing with, it was my common practice to ask for a driver’s license, registration and their proof of insurance. As this conversation began, I observed a gun sitting on the driver seat.  “Sir, I see the gun. Do n…”

Before the rest of the words left my brain and exited my mouth, the driver reached over picked up the pistol and CLICK!

I could see the flame and spark erupt from the top of the gun. The muzzle pointed at my chest.

CLICK! CLICK! Two more flashes followed by one long flame flickering gently in the calm desert night.

 “This!? It’s just a lighter. It’s harmless.” He said with a suggestion of irritation in his voice.

 

The entire scenario of him reaching over, grabbing the lighter, pointing it at me and pulling the trigger took place before I could even move my hand towards my gun. He had me. If he was hell bent on killing a cop that night, I would have become a statistic. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I realized then, I wasn’t that good. I wasn’t that fast. I wasn’t that safe. Even more importantly, no one is.

My original plan was to have him step out of the car. I was going to retrieve the weapon and make it safe. I would return it when I was done conducting business. I never had the chance. He just handed it to me out the partially open window.

Cops are trained to stop the threat. Fortunately, my training took over and with the threat diminished, my emotions were set aside. Admittedly, as the thought passed through the amygdala, the almond shaped organ in the cerebral cortex responsible for the anger emotion, a physically violent encounter was both presented and subdued. In our training scenarios throughout my career, we always go home safe. We are complimented or scolded on how we performed, and a new tool was added to our mental tool belt. This was a new one and I did not know how to respond. Perhaps this the first time I ever felt numb.

 

“You know I could have shot you.”

 “Yeah, I know. My dad is a cop.” His affect was flat and lacked emotion.

I asked him why he did what he did. I don’t remember his answer. I think he just shrugged his shoulders. A multitude of thoughts ran through my head. What was this guy thinking? Was this a failed attempt at suicide by cop? Was this guy really that stupid? I will never know the answer.

 

I had options on how the stop would be completed. I do not remember if I wrote him a citation or let him off with a warning. As time went by, I wondered if I handled it the best way possible. I could have shot him. I could have pulled him out of the vehicle through the half open window and administered my own justice. I probably could have even arrested him, but I didn’t. I may never know why I did what I did or did not do. As we went our separate ways that night, the only thing I know is I went home breathing at the end of my shift.

 

Police work has changed me as a person for both the good and the not so good. Sometimes I stumbled. Sometimes I fell. Other times, the difference of my being there changed the lives of those I came into contact with forever. I finished my career with dignity and honor and more importantly, I finished it breathing. My skills perish daily, but I never stop forgetting the importance of my silent war cry. “Hokehey!” Unless we are having pizza for dinner tonight, “Today is a good day to die…”