Facebook and Instagram are two social media sites that I maintain and have, from time-to-time, promoted my book, Legacy. But there are more sites that are open to specific audiences. I originally thought that Legacy would be of more interest to members of the law enforcement community. Feedback suggests that there is more inside the pages that describe lessons and relatable challenges to a much wider audience. My wish would be to reach these readers, so I am attempting to find new avenues for marketing. If you can help, spread the word, I would appreciate it.
Early feedback is very positive. Some comments are:
“Bill Adams’ stories about his policing experiences are stories about life as seen through the police lens. His renditions are full of human emotion, tragedy, triumph, interspersed with humour and empathy. I would encourage anyone who has ever worn a badge, or is thinking of a career in law enforcement to give Bill’s book a read.” – Rod Keeping, retired RCMP
“Just finished your book yesterday and have to say how much I enjoyed the read. A friend and I had coffee a few weeks ago and he told me that I would not be able to put it down once I started to read your book. He was right. I thoroughly enjoyed your book but more importantly, it told a story of the challenges life presents and how we deal with those challenges.You did a great job to capture and highlight your early days in the RCMP and latter days in HQ.” – S.Devlin
“…just finished your book. To be honest, I really wondered if it would hold my attention when I first started reading it…..then could not put it down!” – C. Woods
Here is a sample of what you will find in Legacy. I hope that you enjoy it.
INDOCTRINATION
Housed in a barracks during our six months of training, recruits sleep together, eat together and are each dependent on the success of the collective. And within the collective, failure has its consequences. We are punished as a troop for the weakness or mistakes of our troop-mates.
And while it is an organizational goal for all to succeed, it is a troop responsibility to identify those individuals that are unable or unwilling to contribute to the collective success of the troop, and encourage them to assimilate or leave.
While academic subjects are taught for the most part in a traditional classroom setting, physical skill instruction mirrors a military “boot camp” environment. Swimming lessons, drill class, driving class and physical education sessions are at times brutal, made more or less so by police instructors, some of whom are unnecessarily abusive. The goal of course is to expose potential law enforcement officers to the rigours required by service in sometimes hostile environments and the experience of maintaining composure in physically critical and emotionally challenging situations.
There are times, especially in these early weeks of training, where I feel disorientated and unbalanced. My mind is in transition between two worlds, the one as a lifeguard that I am leaving behind me and the other as a police officer that I soon hope to assume.
REVEILLE
I AM SEIZED BY the panic in her eyes. There she is, 20 feet in front of me, drowning in 3 feet of water. Seemingly impossible, it takes me a few extra seconds to react, to jump from my lifeguard chair five feet above the surface of our community swimming pool and leap toward her from the edge of the tiled deck.
It isn’t a critical situation. I have responded to similar events many times before, when small children lose their feet from under them and need a helping hand to right themselves. But this is puzzling. This victim is an adult, or as near to being an adult as my 19-year-old lifeguard mind can judge. And gorgeous too as my 19-year-old lifeguard eyes can see.
I have her in my arms now, scooped from the chlorinated brine that continues to flow from our bodies as I lift her tighter to my chest. Her head rests on my shoulder as I walk, slowly, to the pool’s edge. Arriving at the side of the pool, she lifts her head. Her eyes have regained a softness. There is an invitation in them now, and her lips are the offered reward for my heroism. I bend forward in acceptance, a trumpeting sound of anticipation resounding in my ears.
A trumpeting sound? A trumpeting sound! Followed by a shout,
“Shut that friggin’ thing off!!!”
My dream shatters as I wake and look around the large open dormitory that has been my home for the past two weeks. And as my head clears I remember that I have abandoned my lifeguard whistle in search of a badge. Above me is a speaker blaring a military reveille, a 7 a.m. wake-up bugle call that drags me from my dream and robs me of my sensuous reward. Because the speaker is over my bed, I am responsible for dampening the sound with a pillow. While the wires can be pulled with better effect, the consequences of the destruction of government property are just too catastrophic to risk. The room is actually a barracks, a military version of a college dorm, home to a troop of 32 recruits of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Now, as I sit up on my bunk and watch my colleagues rise for the start of a new day, the reality of my decision to join the RCMP starts to jell. Although the recruitment process was rigorous and unsuitable candidates were weeded out through a measurement of work ethic, education, criminal background and character investigation, we have already lost two of our group. While deemed suitable, both have quickly decided that the pain is not worth the gain. And pain in many forms there is.
Procrastinating my morning routine, I mentally review my first two weeks of training, wondering if the next five and a half months will be as chaotic or affect me as deeply. Military haircuts remove our external individuality and military “fatigues” reduce us all to a vanilla version of humanity. As individuals we lose all status and consideration. As a troop we earn it back. Initially we run everywhere. When we learn the skills of regimented marching we will be granted that concession, which later will become a full reward as we also earn the right to wear our uniform. Or in gang jargon, our colours.
Sitting on the side of my bunk, I think back to my physical training class from the day before. It was a challenge circuit. Forty minutes of lifting heavy weights through repetitive cycles designed to test progress that will never meet the instructor’s expectations, except for those with exceptional abilities. Yesterday, I didn’t possess those abilities; my forte is swimming. My nemesis is PT instructor Corporal Coulter.
“Adams, are you taking a break?”
Wondering what I did to attract his attention I reply, “No Corporal, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“You puke on your own time Adams; you still owe me reps.”
“Yes Corporal.”
“If you wanna quit Adams, I’ll help you with your discharge papers.”
“No Corporal.”
“You might as well quit Adams, you’re probably not going to make it anyway. Save yourself some effort.”
“I’ll make it Corporal.”
And while I do give him the reps that he demands, I am sick in the washroom after it all and pass out from fatigue on my bunk in my fatigues until summoned for supper by my troop-mates. Considerate you might think, but we are duty bound to eat as a troop. They can’t go to supper without me! And as exhausted as I am, I can’t refuse.
Through the next few months we all get stronger, shedding fat for muscle and gaining strategies to work together as a team toward the common goal, graduation and a badge.
We do get time off for recreation and fun. The weekends are usually unencumbered unless special duties are required or punishments are to be served. We have our “Mountie” bars with music and live bands. There, we are boisterous and attract numerous women our age who know that we have discretionary funds and who enjoy the mix of adrenaline and testosterone that we leak, curbed by the fact that we have curfew before bar closing time. It is a 70s version of “speed dating,” but where most of the women know our routine and training schedule better than we do.
Bar evenings end on the dance floor, sometimes in the middle of a dance when the arrival of an unspoken deadline has us rushing for local taxis who race us back to Depot to beat curfew. Pushing the envelope many times, the taxi services often levy a surcharge to mitigate the risk of being stopped for speeding back to Depot.
As training progresses we, as a troop, become more accustomed to the physical and emotional abuse as it becomes routine and we are able to rationalize negative instructor behavior against the progress we are making. By the halfway point of training we figure out that the majority of instructors who are abrasive to us in our learning process apply their sometimes unrealistic demands with an undercurrent of humour.
Encouraged by this, the emotional and physical strengths of troop-mates emerge, and those individuals with stronger skills spend time helping their weaker troop-mates meet performance goals.