It was post-summer, 1980 and my wife, infant son and I were living in unincorporated Broward County in what eventually became Coconut Creek, Florida. By day, I was a cable television technician, and by night, a security guard. One weekend a month, I was doing drills with the Florida National Guard.
As a “rent-a-cop”, I was assigned to what was then the College of Boca Raton (later Lynn University). School was in session and my job began in the evenings by shaking classroom doors and checking parking lots for general security. Then, it was off to provide a physical appearance in the dorm areas (primarily the ladies dorm entrance) and then, at a specified time, I would report to the security office at the entrance to the college. There, I checked all incoming vehicles and student identifications, to ensure that those driving onto campus had a legitimate reason for being there.
The college had a reputation for being a paper mill for the rich folks from the north-east. It was an expensive place to study by day and party hard by night. There were complaints that came to the security office for me to log and deal with. The school truly lived up to its reputation. There were the usual complaints- ladies with suddenly unwanted guests in the dorm rooms, nude and drunk “bathers” at the pool, loud parties in the men’s dorm with those who were highly influenced by their behavior being directly proportionate to the amount of alcohol and/or other mind altering substances ingested. My job was primarily that of documenting a situation and insuring that the police were in route. As a result, several students were either suspended or expelled from the premises.
On any given night shift, there was down time, when I had the opportunity to do whatever. This was the time I normally grabbed the telephone, and called my other guard post friends for casual chatter and insured that all of us were awake. They were a diverse collection of people who were working in similar posts to mine at exclusive housing developments (plenty of those in that area, thank you) and various businesses requiring an additional set of night eyes.
It was during one of these conversations in which a friend and fellow guard told me that he was considering taking a test for openings at the Boca Raton Police Department. He asked me if I would be interested in doing the same. I thought about it for a while, and decided that yeah, I could give it a shot. It was short notice, so I didn’t have time to review the preparatory books available for the tests, but hey, I was already employed so, even if it didn’t happen, my family would still eat. And I did realize that, while being a cable technician wasn’t bad work, it really didn’t feel like a career. I spoke to a friend of mine from church who was a Florida Fish and Game officer who told me that “Law enforcement can do some funny things to your head.” Or perhaps it was something I pondered while I was standing at an intersection in Miami in the summer 1980, during our National Guard deployment in Miami due to civil unrest (a.k.a. riots). The thought had crossed my mind that if I had to put my life on the line, it would be nice to be paid accordingly. And, if I was killed as a result of participating in games people play, then at least my wife could collect bigger insurance benefits and cry all the way to the bank.
So, I called my friend and let him know we were on. I arranged for an off day from the cable TV gig and the two of us met for breakfast the morning of the tests and proceeded to the community center where the written tests were administered. There were over 100 people going for the openings. As I looked out, I saw guys that at least looked the part. They were husky, fit looking guys- the type that spent any and all spare moments of life lifting weights. At 6 foot 2 and 165 pounds, I will be the first to admit there was a slight air of intimidation. But there was always the cable job waiting.
On the same day, we did the physical agility test. This was no problem. The sit-ups, push-ups and running were things I had routinely done almost daily for years. And, my National Guard PT standards were something I maintained.
It was some days later that I had a physical examination. The Doctor pushed, probed and X-rayed to his satisfaction and determined that I was a human of the species and, at least on paper, appeared to be capable of doing the job.
Then there was the polygraph test. The detective that administered the test was an individual who had learned the craft from those who had initially formulated the procedure. There were questions that were very direct: “Outside of your wife and masturbation, have you ever had sex?”…
“Are you homosexual?”
“Have you ever had sex with an animal?” “Do you use alcohol?”
“Have you ever used marijuana or other illegal drugs?” “Have you ever stolen money?”
“Have you ever been suspected by law enforcement for the commission of any crime?”
“Have you ever been read your Miranda rights?”
One of the things I volunteered was a situation that led to my termination from a convenience store. While living in Jacksonville, my wife and I were asked to make a deposit to the bank for the manager, which was later described as “missing money” from the store’s register. As there was no paper trail for me to show how it ended up in the manager’s home deposit, I was given an option of quitting or being fired. The polygraph quickly cleared me of any wrong doing.
So, with most of the battery of tests completed, it was now time to sit and wait. Results were in with a good news/ bad news combo. Out of all applicants, I had managed to finish fifth. The problem was that they were only hiring four. OK, I thought, I have a few options. Cable was looking less desirable than ever, so I began thinking about the fact Boca Raton was not the only police department. I began thinking about Delray Beach. It was another coastal city. Perhaps a tad rougher by reputation, but I thought I would test there and see what would happen. My friend who I tested with was eliminated early on. It seems that shortly after we finished