Confessions of a State Trooper Pt.1
By Kyle L. Haas
Boulder, Colo. – It was a warm October Sunday when State Trooper Shannon Schwanke held the muzzle of his pistol to the back of the man’s head. Between the blood dripping on the red truck’s seat and the man’s side there was another gun; this one held by the driver of the now totaled vehicle crushed into the large tree of the front yard. Despite repeated,
“Drop the weapon,” calls, the man fights for his gun as Schwanke readies himself what he might have to do.
“I was watching my finger start to go back to pull the trigger and thinking ‘Man, this is going to be messy,” said Schwanke. “That’s all I kept thinking.”
Having just finished his shift, Schwanke was heading home to watch the Broncos play when he noticed a red truck drive through a stop sign without braking. Thinking it would be easy ticket, Schwanke began to follow the man. Through residential streets and past family homes, the truck refused to slow down. Around a long sweeping curve the truck disappeared momentarily. Seconds later the truck came back into view, along with the car it had broadsided in a four-way intersection. The crash left the car in the backyard of a suburban home, while the truck crashed into a large tree out front. Two nearby paramedics who lived in the area rushed over to see if they could be of assistance.
“I said go to the other car that went through the backyard fence,” Schwanke said. “You could see, it was a small sedan and it was caved in big time. So I call it in and I go running up to the guy in the truck. He’s bleeding a little bit from his head. I said ‘What were you doing?’ and he says ‘Nothing’.”
The driver’s feet are wedged under the pedals of the vehicle. Despite his desire to get out Schwanke insists he stays put until the ambulance arrives.
“All of the sudden he lunges over to the floorboard of the truck and I can’t see what he’s doing. I look over his shoulder and see that’s he’s trying to pull a gun out of his holster. Drop the gun or I’m going to shoot you,” Schwanke says as he pulls his gun out.
The man gives into the pressure. He drops his gun as he’s directed to get on the ground. But as he takes a knee, he makes a run for it; two steps ahead of the trooper whose hands are now both occupied with weapons. The man makes a run for a house and escapes out the back as SWAT teams arrive assuming his occupancy is still in the home. He escapes.
***
Three years later, Schwanke is getting ready for a day in the life of a state trooper. He begins with a cup of morning coffee in an old service station that now plays home to the Broomfield branch. In the small garage sits a lone squad car. Inside, training papers and code translation litter the walls along with a small concession stand and bumper stickers reading, “Bad Cop, No donuts.” He finishes his coffee and walks outside to greet two new squad members, a pair of Dodge Charger police vehicles. Despite their menacing appeal, the trooper has a happy disposition as he settles into the car and checks the overnight report. He starts it up and heads for State Highway 119, the primary vein between Boulder and Longmont. Along the way he makes a confession.
“You do feel guilty giving out speeding tickets, but it’s our job and you can’t take it personal,” he said. “I’m just doing my job. You get called every name in the book. It kind of sucks the life out of you when people are rude or complain. The next traffic stop I make I end up writing this guy a ticket, and he wanted to thank me for what I do. You get those every once in a while too. But the longer you’ve been doing this the harder it gets.”
As Phil Collins plays on the radio amidst the chatter of his police radio, Schwanke settles into his seat with a credit-card sized remote that operates the small black box mounted atop his dash. As a car passes, he pushes a button and the box emits a high pitched squeal reminiscent of a tea kettle just reaching a boil. In red letters, the box spells out passers-by fate. Any number over 55 is a potential target in this game of cat and mouse.
Waiting for the first person running behind schedule, Schwanke recalls his history of over 18 years with the police force. But as he begins, the talk is interrupted with the sound of the NFL’s trademark bum bum bummm sound clip. He picks up the phone and says hello to his wife Nora who’s attending their ten-year-old son’s first baseball tournament. Nora was once an officer herself; they met on duty several years ago. Despite his desire to be at the game cheering on his son, he’s out catching speeders. It’s tough sometimes, he says, but the understanding he and his wife share for the job have allowed them to continue their marriage for almost 15 years, a marriage that holds strong today. As his son Seth comes to the phone, the excited dad voice erupts from the trooper’s mouth.
“How’d baseball go? You lost?! Oh my goodness, what was the score, do you know? You stopped a grounder? When’s your second game today? I love you buddy, and have fun at your second game.”
He speaks briefly with his wife about the tournament then hangs up the phone. For now he’ll be a long distance dad.
***
A number flashes on to the dash board. Seventy-three: way above the posted 55. The dash beeps, Schwanke drops the car into gear and he’s off, flooring the pedal as he races towards the blue Jeep Cherokee. For an officer, 0-60 times are tested routinely as they aim to catch speeding cars from a standstill. The Jeep slowly pulls over, followed by the flashing red and blue lights. Schwanke steps out of the cars and does the standard license and registration talk. The stop is routine. A ticket is written on a metal clipboard he pulls from behind his seat. One copy is given to the driver, another goes into the overhead visor that doubles as a portable filing cabinet. He journals the stop in a log book before radioing back to dispatch to confirm the completed contact. Start to finish it takes about 15 minutes – up to 45 if you’re training a rookie Schwanke says.
“I’ve got the best office in the state,” he said. “Yeah, this is it, this is home away from home. You can be in here for ten hours a day.”
When he’s not in the car, he’s on the golf course. Sometimes he marshals as a volunteer in trade for free golf. When he plays he enjoys 18 holes and the new irons he found for half price after three months of routine surveillance on eBay. Overall he’s about a six handicap and will readily talk with enthusiasm about every course he’s played – an impressive list. Occasionally the family will come out to join him, hitting balls or playing a round while his wife drives the cart. His father was a golfer too, and served as a Denver policeman for 30 years.
He never really pushed it on me, he never wanted me to be (a cop),” Schwanke said. “He just kept saying don’t be a ditch digger, don’t be a ditch digger. It’s something I always thought that if my dad could do it I could do it. I thought it was real interesting. I went up to UNC and got done with that and applied a couple places. I went with the state patrol. I like what I do, I’m not one to sit behind a desk.”
He still remembers playing golf with his father, right up to the day he shot a lower score. That day his father hung up the clubs and never played again.
“I wish he was still around today,” he said. “I could probably get him to come out and play a round with me.”
Continue to part two…
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