A Rookie Mistake
It was Surrey 1980; I was a rookie and excited to be working for the RCMP. I felt good, my ego was at an all-time high. Earlier that week, I had spent several hours working with drug squad members. It was exhilarating, I found kicking in doors and arresting bad guys incredibly satisfying. I had spent a couple of days with Forensic Identification, which had been interesting. Today I spent my first eight hours working with the staff in the Court Liaison Section. Exposure to the administrative side of policing was an important part of the training process, but it was incredibly dull and not something a young, energetic police officer enjoyed. Still, it was part of the routine. Recruits were required to experience all aspects of the job.
The RCMP policy at the time had just one officer assigned per car. As recruits, we were not permitted to drive patrol cars on our own and were always paired with a senior officer who acted as our trainer.
On this day, I had spent the first eight hours of my twelve-hour shift in the office, reading files processed by court liaison staff. Their shift ended at four o’clock, but mine did not. I still had four hours to work. My designated trainer on A Watch was on a different schedule and was currently on days off. As a young, eager uniformed officer, I was desperate to get out of the office away from the paperwork and onto the street for the last four hours.
I approached the officer in charge of C Watch, who was the duty NCO at the time, a gruff old Staff Sergeant, and requested permission to go out on patrol. He looked at me and said, “Why don’t you just take the rest of the day and review the material for your upcoming test?”
“I’ve got four hours left on my shift,” I replied. “And this office stuff is driving me crazy.”
It was Friday night. Anyone who has worked as a first responder will tell you that Friday nights and full moons are busy. For whatever reason, demands for police, fire, and ambulance assistance calls spike dramatically.
The old Staff Sergeant nodded. “Okay, go out with Constable Bridgett Henderson. She’s in 5 Bravo 22.”
At the back of the detachment, I walked into the bullpen, where the workstations were set up and found Constable Henderson just getting off the phone. She was friendly and cheerful. I told her the Staff Sergeant had assigned me to work with her for the last four hours of my shift. Henderson had just over six years’ service and had been one of the first female officers hired by the RCMP back in 1974. She had been posted to Surrey since graduating Depot and had an exceptional understanding of the job.
Bridgett and I walked out to the parking lot and located our patrol car a 1980 Chevy Malibu with the usual police upgrades. She tested the radio, siren, PA system, and red-and-blue dome lights. I walked around the car, noted a small dent on the left rear quarter panel, checked off the appropriate boxes, signed the form, and we were off.
Three hours into our time together and the only call we’d received was for a suspicious vehicle, a black pickup truck seen driving around a secondary school. No further information was available, and the school was now closed for the weekend. We patrolled the area where it had last been seen. After twenty minutes with no sign of it, we wrote up the file as “gone on arrival no further action required.”
I was surprised at how quiet the shift was. I was more familiar with north Surrey, where police presence was required far more often. Zone 6 in south Surrey, was a rural area with a smaller population and fewer calls. Near the end of my shift, Bridgett started driving back to the detachment to drop me off when a call came over the radio:
“Surrey 5 Bravo 22. Request from paramedics, for police assistance. Stand by.”
The dispatcher provided us with an address in south Surrey. “Paramedics are on scene and require assistance transporting an elderly person to the hospital.”
There was a pause. Then,
“The person is Section 24 MHA and is currently uncooperative, refusing to go to the hospital.”
At that time, Section 24 of the Mental Health Act was used to designate people who were at risk to themselves and others. It also provided the authority to take these people into custody for their own safety and the safety of others. Two physicians were required to sign off on the order. In police jargon, we simply referred to the people we delt with as being subjects of “MHA.”
Bridgett made a U-turn and headed toward the residence. We arrived within five minutes. An ambulance was parked out front. The house was large, in a nice residential neighborhood.
Bridgett and I got out of the car and walked past the ambulance toward the house. As we approached, a couple in their mid-forties stepped out the front door. The woman was crying, and the man, I thought likely her husband, was consoling her.
He motioned for us to go inside. “They’re in there with Mom. We can’t watch this anymore.”
We entered the front door and heard the paramedics speaking in the dining room. We announced, “Police,” and one of them called out, “In here.” We entered the room and saw Gloria sitting at the end of the rosewood dining room table talking to one of two paramedics who were standing at the side and other end of the table. Gloria, said, “I don’t want to go.”
The paramedic told us they had both been trying for over thirty minutes to convince Gloria to come with them to the hospital. I looked at Gloria who sat at the dining room table in her pajamas, smoking a cigarette, listening quietly. To me she looked tiny and frail, I thought she might weigh maybe 90 pounds, and she looked like she was 100 years old. But she was acting normal.
One of the paramedics leaned forward.
“You have to come to the hospital with us Gloria, the doctor insists.”
“I’m not going, I don’t want to go.” Gloria replied firmly somewhat agitated.
She didn’t appear delusional or dangerous. It was clear she simply did not want to go. I started to think about how we could force her to get in the ambulance or even if we should. She seemed perfectly sane to me. I was fresh out of depot training in the best shape of my life. There was no doubt in my mind I could simply just grab her and escort her out of the house to the ambulance. The problem as I saw it was her arms looked brittle, thin, and wobbly. I was afraid that if I grabbed her hand or wrist, I could easily break a bone. The last thing I wanted to do was injure an elderly woman who needed medical attention. Going through my mind was how could, I gently walk her out of the house and into the ambulance without hurting her.
Standing beside Gloria, I realized that nothing in the months of intense training at Depot had prepared me for this. We were drilled to be right and get the job done, not to be delicate. I looked over at my acting trainer Bridgett; we nodded to each other. Bridgett motioned to me and one of the paramedics to step into the hallway so we could discuss the situation. Once in the hallway, I questioned whether we truly had grounds to force her to go to the hospital. Gloria seemed coherent and in control of her faculties to me. The paramedic informed us that two physicians had signed a legal document directing us to take Gloria into custody, for her own protection. We were all aware that under Section 24 of the Mental Health Act of BC such provisions existed.
Ultimately the plan was that Gloria was to be taken into custody and transported to Riverview Psychiatric Centre in Coquitlam.
The three of us walked back into the living room joining the one paramedic who was still talking to Gloria. I wasn’t sure what the next move would be. Gloria sat smoking a cigarette and fidgeting at the table. The one paramedic seemed to lose his patience and said, “Okay, Gloria, it’s time to go.” He walked out of the dining room and returned seconds later with Gloria’s house coat passing it to her. Gloria still seated, draped the house coat over her lap. She continued to raise her voice as did one of the paramedics. Gloria stated over again “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
A minute later Gloria was becoming quite agitated and flicked her lit cigarette butt at the paramedic to whom she was talking. It struck his forehead, scattering hot ash across his face. The situation escalated instantly.
“I’m not going!” she yelled, her voice rising toward hysteria.
At that moment, I understood the doctors were right. She needed protection and so did the paramedics. I had to act now to take her into custody.
I was standing on the side of a large rosewood dining room table while Gloria was sitting at the end. There was one chair in between us. I needed to move in closer to her before making any attempt at grabbing hold of her. I began to slowly move the chair, inching myself closer. I was planning to grab her and simply hold her still. I wanted to be extra careful not to hurt her.
Suddenly she stood up bringing a large eight-inch butcher knife from under her house coat. She lunged toward me swinging forward towards my crouch. I instinctively brought my arm down to block the knife. The blade sliced across the top of my left hand, opening it from one side to the other. I leapt backward, blood gushing from the wound.
Gloria backed herself into a corner, eyes wide and scary. She raised the knife that had my blood dripping from it. She hissed, “Come and get me.” The scene was surreal. Like it was out of horror movie.
Bridgett and I had forgotten our portable radios in the car. She moved around the house looking for a landline and called the office for backup. I moved to the kitchen with one of the paramedics who immediately tended to my wound, wrapping it tightly to stem the bleeding. As I moved, I was thinking about being careful to not drip any of my blood on the dining room carpet. The second paramedic kept his distance trying to calm Gloria.
A couple minutes later and we all returned to the dining room to find Gloria swinging the knife at anyone who came close to her. Sometimes she swung high, shouting, “I’m going to poke your eyes out” Other times she swung low, yelling, I’m going to cut your balls off.” We all grabbed some pillows and used them to shield ourselves from each attempt. It must have looked ridiculous as we raised and lowered the pillows to protect ourselves. The butcher knife put things in perspective.
A few minutes later, Senior Constable Rod Sloan arrived.
Sloan assessed the situation instantly as he entered. He picked up a dining-room chair and held it like a lion tamer. The next time Gloria lunged, extending the knife. Sloan moved forward with the chair, pinning her against the wall. I swung the pillow at her hand, knocking the knife out of her grasp.
With Gloria disarmed, Sloan and I moved in to grab her and put her in handcuffs. It should have been easy. Two strong police officers in good physical condition versus an older frail woman. We were shocked by her strength. She was amazingly strong. She thrashed like a wild animal. We struggled for what felt like minutes as she tossed us around. We finally managed to get one handcuff on. All three of us pressed against the sliding glass balcony door. Gloria flung her free elbow backward, breaking the glass. A large shard cut a seven-inch gash above her elbow. Blood spurted out as we tried to secure the second cuff.
Finally, we got her under control. The paramedics tended to her wound and placed her in the ambulance for transport first to Surrey Memorial Hospital, where they would treat her wound and then later Riverview.
Bridgett then drove me to Surrey Memorial.
I had my hand stitched up and was sitting in the emergency ward talking with the nurse when I thought I heard a familiar voice in the next cubicle. I asked the nurse to open the curtain.
Gloria, sat there, medicated and calm.
She looked at me with a piercing stare. Then she winked, smiled, and said:
“See you on the other side, sonny boy.”
