True Stories from a Lowcountry Cop: Tales from the Charleston County Beat

By Reginald E. Sharpe

Charleston County Sheriff's Deputy Reggie Sharpe presents his experiences from fifteen years behind the badge, and holds forth on life, death, sex, drugs and humor in a straightforward, addictively readable style. True Stories from a Lowcountry Cop offers an insider's view, both honest and entertaining, of those sworn "to protect and serve."

• Language: English
• Publisher: The History Press
• Release date: Mar 14, 2008
• ISBN: 9781614234364

Reginald E. Sharpe

Reginald Sharpe served a tour of duty with the U.S. Navy straight out of high school, directing aircraft on the flight deck of the USS Shreveport. For the past fifteen years, he has been employed within the law enforcement confines of the South Carolina Lowcountry, first as a detention officer working in the county jail, later as a uniform patrol officer and to date as a warrant investigator, tracking down and arresting "wanted"? people. As of the publication date of this book, he will have served over ten thousand warrants ("a record number"? it has been suggested). Throughout his law enforcement career, he has served in collateral duties as a member of the Sheriff's Honor Guard (attending or conducting funerals of slain officers), and as a member of SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) and its jail counterpart, the TACT (Tactical Action Control Team).

Book preview

guys.

Introduction

Becoming a policeman was something that truly altered my life. In many ways it was empowering. I was given great responsibility and the license to take a life (if need be) in the performance of my duties. It was an entry into a unique brotherhood. On the other hand, it was also an instant means for identification and social segregation.

When you are a cop, your circle of friends becomes very small. Cops are the folks that many people love to hate. If you go to a party or family gathering you will be introduced as (insert your name here), the cop. There may be people of all professions present, but you never hear someone else introduced as Joe the plumber. Instantly, you get set up and set apart. Oddly enough, some folks get standoffish while others get inquisitive. From the questioning sort, you get a common barrage of scenario questions—particularly concerning those scenarios that resulted in the issuance of a ticket to the questioner. Others will ask about cases currently in the news. Sometimes it can be a topic of great conversation, but more often than not folks will shy away, perhaps in fear that they might reveal some incriminating detail about themselves.

Another thing that happens when you become a cop is that people’s expectations of you become higher. Like it or not, you will be watched. Wherever you go, wherever you live, folks will be watching. Is your yard kept up? Did you have a party? Were folks drinking? All is within the scope of scrutiny. Conversations—watch out. Anything you say is also game. Just like the Miranda warning, Everything you say can and will be used against you. It is never just you the individual saying it, it is Officer (insert name here) of the (state, county, city) police department saying it. Many careers have been wrecked by some off-color remarks, even when spoken off duty.

For me, being a cop has been a mixed bag. A policeman will never get rich if he is doing his job right. It is a poor choice of profession if you seek wealth. I’ve often wondered why it is that so many occupations that are beneficial to the public pay so little: policemen, firemen, paramedics and schoolteachers. They all play a vital role in daily American life but are paid horribly. Why do it? I believe personally that it is for love of the job and the sense that you can make a difference. That’s the way I see it. The rewards you get from being a cop are sometimes what you make of it. When a really dangerous criminal is apprehended, there is a sense of satisfaction. When an erring youth gets corrected and follows the right path, therein too is satisfaction. Every once in a while someone that you’ve dealt with in the past may give you a word of thanks. This in particular is perhaps what makes it all worthwhile.

The inherent physical danger is the most obvious drawback. At any given time there is a potential for death. The next traffic stop or the next call you answer just might be your last. This is forever in the back of your mind. The mental dangers are also a downside. Folks never call the police when things are going well. The work environment is filled with constant stresses: death, beatings, rapes, robberies, molestations, chases and fights. It takes a toll on your psyche and weighs heavily on your heart (at least that has been my experience). Cops deal with this daily and thrown in are a few citizen complaints for good measure.

Such is the life of a cop. You deal with all sorts of problems, face injury, death, constant scrutiny and lawsuits, all for little pay. It all starts when the badge gets pinned on.

One unique thing the law enforcement profession does offer is constant and shifting challenges. You will never be stuck inside the same four walls of an office cubicle or have to endure the repetition of an assembly line. Every day is different; every situation is different, even when you are dealing with the same people.

The following stories are but brief glimpses into my career as a deputy sheriff in Charleston County. There are no elaborate murder mysteries or international stolen diamond capers; just things that have really stood out in my memory and helped to shape the way I view the world. In reading these stories, understand that somewhere close by, even now as you are reading this, there is a policeman or policewoman out there dealing with issues similar to those in this book. All cops have some interesting stories—these are a few of mine.

Welcome to my world!

Chapter One

The Beginning

It was a great milestone for me when I officially became a cop. The Criminal Justice Academy in Columbia had taught me a great deal. They taught me about constitutional issues surrounding law enforcement. They taught me how to drive and shoot like a cop. They taught me how to protect myself and use the implements I wear on my duty belt. When I left there and got my first assignment I was well armed with knowledge, but I quickly discovered that I had plenty still to learn. These are a few of those humble experiences in learning.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE

Unquestionably, it was going to be highly dangerous. Yet I felt it was quite natural to jump at the task. After all, if you don’t like action and excitement, you don’t go into police work. And, what the hell, I figured, nobody lives forever!

—Eliot Ness

My first week as a patrol deputy, I was cruising around trying to get familiar with my patrol district. I wasn’t from the area, so everything was new to be discovered. With every call I would have to check my map book to find a route to the location of the disturbance. I was praying that none of my fellow officers would get into a jam. It would take me forever to figure out how to get to them and it would be a bitter pill to swallow if another officer got hurt because I couldn’t get there in time. As luck would have it, such a situation never occurred.

A call came across the radio that required a code three (lights and sirens) response—one of my first such calls. My heart began to race. I acknowledged the call on the radio and activated my lights and siren. I kicked the accelerator and began to roll. People were pulling aside to allow me to pass. I was being careful, but I was steaming ahead with little left on the throttle. I had gone probably a quarter mile when, like a ton of bricks, a thought hit me that I’ll never forget: I had no idea just where the hell I was going! I was getting nowhere fast. I pulled over to the side of the road, with lights flashing and siren blasting, to consult my trusty map. Sure as snuff, I was going the wrong way.

I got my bearings and continued on my way, retracing the same route with siren wailing. In the end, I made it to the scene safely and fairly quickly, but I did learn a valuable lesson.

FREE BIRD

Society questions the police and their methods, and the police say, ‘Do you want the criminals off the street or not?’

—Kurt Russell

Having just been cut loose from training, I was given my assignment. I was to report to the substation on James Island to begin work as a patrol deputy in districts nine and ten. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the area was quite large. It encompassed James Island, Johns Island, Wadmalaw Island, Seabrook Island and Kiawah Island.

I began my duty on a night shift rotation. I had only been to James Island twice and had never been to the other areas. I was completely lost. The first couple of days I was told to hang with one of the other deputies and follow him around on calls. This didn’t help much with acclimation because the deputy would respond rather quickly to the calls. I concentrated more on keeping up with the deputy than on where I was going. So it went for several nights. I learned the main roads but not much else.

I finally struck out on my own. I had my map book beside me and I would drive around attempting to drill into my head all the names and directions. On several occasions I would find myself lost and would need to consult the book again for directions. It was a grueling experience, particularly when I was called by dispatch and (by policy) was to respond with my location. I called out the name of a road many times not knowing whether it was correct.

One morning, at about 4:00 a.m., I was somewhere on the back side of Johns Island. Houses were sparse and there were no streetlights at all. I was fighting heavy eyelids in an attempt to be alert for the criminal element. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Then from the dark fog emerged an ostrich in full two-legged stride—a truly horrible looking creature. It ran directly in front of me and into the woods on the other side. I instantly learned the importance of securing all gear inside my cruiser when I slammed on the brakes to avoid collision.

Articles were strewn all about my car. My flashlight had rolled onto the floorboard and behind the brake pedal. For a moment I was still moving and couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t come to a stop. I had an instant of momentary panic. Luckily, I wasn’t moving fast at this point. I regained my senses, retrieved the flashlight and put the car in park. My heart was about to beat out of my chest. I caught my breath and picked up the microphone to call dispatch. I thought about it for a minute or two and placed the microphone back into its holder. Just what exactly was I going to say? Would I dare say that I was somewhere unknown and almost collided with an ostrich? Who would believe it? I figured if such a story got out, I would be ordered for a drug test or mental counseling. I never told a soul. I thought perhaps I was hallucinating, but it seemed so real.

When night shift rotation ended, I repeated the learning process all over again on the day shift. Things look much different at night than they do during the day. About a week into the day shift, I found myself again on the back side of Johns Island. To my relief, I discovered that there was an ostrich farm on Johns Island. I stopped to speak to the owners. They informed me that on occasion one might escape, but it was rare—they were just too expensive to lose. But, as it turned out, one had escaped several weeks earlier during the time I had my disturbing vision.

IT’S NATURAL

Booking officer: Have you ever contemplated or attempted suicide?

Suspect: Yes. I committed suicide four years ago.

Booking officer: You did?

Suspect: Yes. I was messed up on drugs. (He then showed his wrists to reveal heavy scars.)

At around 10:00 p.m. one evening I was dispatched as a backup officer to a domestic call. Fresh out of the academy, I was ready to implement the training tactics I had received concerning domestics: separate combatants and interview. The primary officer had arrived first and I followed several minutes later. When I checked 10–23 (or on scene), the officer told me via the radio that he had the male subject in the back of the house and was 10–04. He requested that I interview the wife, who was in the living room.

I located the wife, who was about fifty years old, and began my investigation. She had been crying and reeked heavily of beer. It was evident to me that she was about half lit. When I asked what was going on, she began to tell me that it just wasn’t natural, that this sort of thing doesn’t happen to ordinary people and that she was embarrassed. I believed that