When I first joined the police department in late 1968, it was still sort of segregated. Black officers had just been allowed to be regular police officers, yet rarely stopped white men and almost never a white woman. Blacks still patrolled only black areas of the city.
The above was just background to tell you what the times were like.
A legend who had just retired was "Daddy Sanders" (I think that was his last name, anyway), a black patrolman. Daddy carried an unloaded Smith M&P in a crossdraw, unsnapped and had it kinda thrust forward on his hip. His right hand was always in his right front pocket.
They said Daddy was the victim of a gunsnatch quite often, but the "snatcher" always ended up with a 32 in his upper leg, Daddy shooting through his pocket with the little revolver he carried there-fully loaded.
Never met Daddy, but they said after the first couple of times, it was always some new guy from out of town that tried to snatch Daddy's gun.
Back in those days, if you didn't kill or seriously injure someone (actually admitted to the hospital), it was just a short written report, stick 'em in the city jail, and go back on patrol.
No IA, No Review Board, and nobody cared (unless you were the one with the 32 in your leg, that is).
Bob
