Dispatching Hazards Part 2

Curiosity may or may not have killed the cat, but it definitely can get a dispatcher in a bit of at least tepid water.  

Nelson Rockefeller was the long serving Governor of New York when I was young, winning election and reelection handily.  Interestingly I never met anyone who actually admitted voting for him, but that is another story.   

Late one evening, my ambulance crew was hanging around in the communications center, shooting the breeze with the 3-11 shift dispatcher, conveniently also named Joe.  Governor Rockefeller had died months before in late January 1979.  News of the, shall we say, circumstances surrounding his passing while in the townhouse of his 25 year old female assistant were in the news.  While interesting, this salacious data was not when fascinated us that evening.   

“I wonder how many cars that rich old bastard owned?” One or another of us asked.  The debate was futile with Rocky having died months before; they were all likely dispersed, sold, or otherwise disposed of.  Shows how much we knew of probate law and complex estates.  For whatever reason, the argument continued until somebody got a bright idea.   

“Hey Joe, why don’t you run Rockefeller and see what comes back?”  As young and dumb as the rest of us, he thought about it for a minute.  

“Sure, why not.”  Joe rolled his chair over to the computer console and typed in the former governor’s name and hit enter.  A few seconds later, the printer chattered and we had a list of vehicles as long as your arm.  The specifics elude me, but these were not your everyday Chevy or Ford; there were some expensive collector cars on the sheets.   

We stood and marveled at the list, amazed at what was still registered to a dead man.  Then, as young men are wont to do, we moved on…

 

Joe was also working the next evening on the 3-11 shift.  Shortly after his rear end hit the chair, the phone rang—hell that’s what happens in a dispatch center—but this call was different.  The party on the other end was calling from Albany and was the supervisor of the state computer system.  He was quite interested in why this small municipality had an interest in the state’s former leader.   

Joe knew better than to lie, but he didn’t come right out and admit the transgression either.  The gentleman from the state knew a line of BS when he heard it. 

“Okay, here’s the deal.  You can consider this your first and last warning.  Don’t do it again.  That system is for official use only.”   

 

Joe “yessirred” appropriately and the call ended.  A fascinating lesson in how curiosity can be a hazardous part of dispatching.

Dispatching Hazards

Smoking in the work place is now mostly just a distant memory for most.  Its elimination in some environments had benefits beyond personal health, though.  

My friend Joey was the 11-7 dispatcher for police fire, and ambulance in a small municipality.  These were the days of police call boxes, a real Ruth Buzzi switchboard, and fire alarm boxes reporting on paper tape.  Logs and records were all paper as well, and the only computer in the room connected to the state for checking wants, warrants, and driver’s license information.   The call volume was such that a single dispatcher per shift was sufficient, so they worked alone.  Joey was, at that time, also a chain smoker, a lit cigarette his constant companion.  

We talked periodically on the phone—the non-recorded public line, a good thing considering some of the conversations.  Occasionally he would have to drop off the line if a fire or significant incident came in.  Routine calls, license checks for the cops, and the like he could handle and continue his conversation with me; multi-tasking long before the term was born.  

One night was a little different.  The subject we were discussing is long forgotten.  What happened next is not.  Joey’s normally calm voice exploded on the phone.  

“Oh my god, I’ve gotta go,” he yelled.

“What’s the matter? What’s coming in?”  I anticipated a huge fire or other major incident, not his actual answer.

“I just set all my fucking papers on fire; I’ve gotta go,” and the phone went dead.   

It was probably a good thing as my pronounced laughter would not have been well received at the moment.  Just another reason smoking can be hazardous to….your health.

 

 

A Christmas Excerpt.....

It was the Friday night before Christmas, a crisp  starlit evening.  We were cruising the township roadways with Santa Claus on the rescue.  It was an annual event, much enjoyed by many of the smaller members of the community and, truth be told, by many of the bigger ones as well.   

The lights were flashing, the siren screaming, the air horn blasting and regular sounds of “Ho Ho Ho” were echoing in the night air from behind me.  I rode the officer’s seat in the cab, just enjoying the atmosphere and the smiling children we encountered on our slow tour.  My fun was broken by a radio call. 

 “Comm Center to Chief 36,” the radio query came.  After I responded, the dispatcher asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be out with Santa Claus by chance, would you, Chief?” 

 “Affirmative,” I answered. 

“Can you call in by phone?” the dispatcher asked. 

I didn’t have a good feeling as I reached for the cell phone mounted on the dash.  Was some scrooge upset by the siren noise, I wondered.  When I got the dispatcher on the line, it was nothing like that. 

“Hey, Chief, we just had a call from a grandma on Greenfield Road.  She was upset ‘cause she had been out when you went by and her grandchildren just missed Santa.”

"Please tell me she didn’t call in on 911?” I asked the dispatcher, almost dreading his response.  The 911 emergency line is certainly not the proper method to obtain a visit by Santa Claus. 

  “Oh yeah, she did,” he said with a laugh. 

  “Sorry about that, we’ll take another run down that road.”  We have to take care of a grandma like that, I thought to myself. 

 “Thanks, Chief, and Merry Christmas,” the dispatcher answered, as we both disconnected the line.