Meeting Maloney

Policemen have several different uniforms, one for each season of the

year. On any given day every cop in the city must be dressed in the same

outfit and when there’s a change in the weather, it’s his responsibility to find

out what the dress of the day is and show up for work properly attired.

The officers in charge, many of whom were ex military types, were

real sticklers on this rule. It wasn’t uncommon for guys who showed up with

the wrong uniform to be sent home and docked a day’s pay.

I knew all this and that’s why I was so nervous when I arrived at my

first posting after Police College The thing is, the weather had changed and

we all were supposed to be wearing winter Pea jackets but I hadn’t been

issued with one. I hoped that the sergeant in charge would understand but if

he were anything like Sgt. Saul, my drill instructor at the college, my career

might be on hold before it even got started.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to him before the detachment paraded for

duty so I found myself in the lineup, sticking out like a sore thumb in my

summer uniform while everybody else was bundled up in heavy winter

coats. In an effort to be inconspicuous, I positioned myself at the end of the

line of big cops. I hoped that I’d be able to discuss my situation discreetly

with the sergeant when the inspection was over.

For a while, I wasn’t drawing any undue attention but then a door at

the rear of the room burst open and a huge policeman made his way over to

the line up and stood right beside me. He was a mountain of a man over six

foot six with broad shoulders, huge hands and arms that seemed ready to

burst the sleeves of his coat. “I’m sorry to be late, Sarge,” he said in a thick

Irish brogue.

I took half a step backwards hoping to hide myself in the big guys

shadow but it was too late. The sergeant had spotted me. He came over and

stood in front me and at first he seemed to be about to say something to me

but then changed his mind and started to move away.

I was still breathing a sigh of relief when I felt a big hand on my

shoulder and heard a voice bellow from somewhere up above me. It was my

neighbor and he was addressing the sergeant. “Excuse me, Sarge” he said, “

I see that this little fella doesn’t have a winter coat” “What a rat,” I thought.

“Now I hate to see anybody go out in weather like this widout a warm coat”

the big guy continued, “I’ve got a spare one in me locker and the kid’s

welcome to it”.

I tried to say, “Thanks but that won’t be necessary”, but the sergeant,

who seemed to be enjoying the situation, cut me short.

“That’s very generous of you, Maloney”, he said as the two men

exchanged knowing glances. I tried to object further while the big fellow

went to his locker but the sergeant raised a finger and hushed me.

Maloney arrived back with something large and blue draped over his

arm. “Here, get into this, sonny”, he said. I tried to object again but the look

on the sergeant’s face told me that my fate was sealed.

I looked like a small child trying on his father’s coat: the sleeves

hung down six inches beyond the ends of my hands and the neck and collar

threatened to slip over my shoulders. Everybody had a good laugh at my

expense. I secretly vowed revenge.

After finding me a coat that actually fit, the sergeant sent me out to

patrol on foot for the first half of my shift. I spent the four hours devising

plans to get even with Maloney and hoped that I might encounter some

criminal, preferably small, on whom I could take out some of the anger and

embarrassment I was feeling. As it turned out my time on the beat that

afternoon was uneventful.

I was hoping that the lunchroom would be empty when I came into eat

but as I approached it I could hear the familiar sound of the dominos

swishing on the tabletops and the loud banter as the men played Bump. The

room sounded full but one voice carried over all the others and it had a

distinctively Irish flavour to it. “Okay, I’m not going to let him get to me,” I

thought. “ I’ll just go in there and mind my own business, eat my lunch and

leave.”

I grabbed a seat at the far end of the table away from the Bump

players and opened my old tin lunch box. I had just started to remove the

wax paper from one of my sandwiches, when Maloney left the game and

took a seat directly opposite to me. I watched him inhale what was left of

his lunch while I poured a cup of tea from my thermos and fiddled with my

sandwiches. I had lost my appetite.

Maloney watched as I started to put the sandwiches back into the

lunch box. “Hoy!” he said, “ain't you gonna eat dat?” “Naw,” I said, “I’m

not hungry,” Then, hoping to ingratiate myself, I offered him the lunch that

my wife had so lovingly prepared for my first day at work. “Pass her over,”

he said, and then proceeded to wolf it down. He wasn’t long making his

way through the first half of the sandwich but as he bit into the second half

and drew back, something pulled out with the egg and mayonnaise. It was a

piece of paper. He put the sandwich down, unfolded the paper and wiped it

off. “I LOVE YOU,” the note said. “Jeezuz” said Maloney.

Of course Maloney wasn’t hesitant in sharing the note with the other

cops at the table, saying, “ I tink da litter feller loiks me”. I just wanted

lunch hour to be over so that I could get back out on the beat again but

before I could escape the sergeant came over to me with the worst news

possible: “Maloney’s partner has booked off sick and I want you to go out

with him on the Paddy Wagon for the rest of the shift.”

At first I thought he was joking but when Maloney came over and put

his big arm around me and ushered me out the door, winking at the guys

sitting at the table and saying, “Don’t wait up for us, boys” I knew my

hazing was not yet over.

When we got to the garage, I started to get into the passenger door of

the wagon but Maloney swung me around and said, “No, no, you drive”. I

tried to explain that I’d never driven a rig like that before but he wouldn’t

listen and just kept pushing towards the driver’s door. When I finally seated

myself behind the wheel and had slid the seat as far forward as it would go

he started saying encouraging things to me like “Can ya see over dat

steering wheel, sonny?” or “We’ll get some blocks put on dose pedals for ya

for da next trip.” Fortunately I had not yet been issued a gun.

After we had toured around for a couple of hours Maloney seemed to

tire of all the teasing and tried having a normal conversation with me.

When he asked me questions about myself my answers were curt and

guarded and I think he began to sense that for some reason I might be miffed

with him. He was silent for a while but then came out with what he thought

was a brilliant idea.

“Look, I knows I was a bit hard on you in front of the boys but it was

all in fun, so here’s what we do. When we gets back to the station I’ll bug

you some more. You act like you can’t take it anymore and go for me and

we’ll tussle. We’ll make it look real and I’ll let you win. How’s dat?” “Oh,

I don’t know,” I tried to say but he just punched me on the shoulder and

said, “Good, dat’s settled.”

When we returned to the station we had the first of what were to

become regular mock wrestling matches that always ended in me getting the

big ape into a submission hold and him begging for mercy. No one was

fooled of course, but it seemed to give Maloney no end of pleasure and as

for me, it was easier being part of a joke than it was being the brunt of one.

That didn’t mean that he stopped having fun at my expense but over time I

began to get a clearer picture of the type of man he really was and I took his

jibes with grain of salt.

I sometimes rode with him in the wagon gathering drunks off the

streets at closing time and it wasn’t unusual for him to deliver more of them

to their doorsteps than he did to the drunk tank.

He was a great man in a scrap because for the most part he didn’t have

to actually do anything: his size and obvious strength gave most

troublemakers sober second thoughts. When it was required, I watched him

lift large men, kicking and punching, off their feet and pitch them into the

back of his wagon like they were so much cord wood but I also saw him

cradling a dead child in his arms at an accident scene crying like she was his

own. At heart he was a big gentle man without a mean bone in his body.

We made quite a sight and turned more than a few heads when we

walked the beat together with the top of my hat travelling along at the same

level as his shoulder flashes. Of course it didn’t help matters when he would

stop and introduce me to store owners as his little friend while patting my

head. I suffered all the indignities in silence because I knew that when I was

with him I could relax and not suffer the anxiety I suffered when I patrolled

the same areas alone.