Bunny knew, but didn’t understand

Watching local arrest reports reminded me this week that there are two kinds of cops: those who know the law and those who understand the law. The first kind make their own jobs more difficult because it is so hard to respect them.

First let me say, I believe being a good cop is the hardest job in the world. Being a lousy cop can be even harder.

It could be a lot easier if all police understood the difference between Officer Bunny and Helium-butt Chester.

This all happened the summer after I came home from three years in a war zone. I was 23 and having a hard time readjusting. The omnipresent adrenalin rush of war had been replaced by summer days as quiet and slow-moving as a sigh, and it left a hole in my universe.

A handful of us were playing Whiffle-ball on the church lawn. This was the most innocuous thing I had done since I got home. Someone took umbrage with our language and the police were called.

Enter Officer Bunny. He threw the moving cruiser into park and before it stopped rocking he was out. He deftly screwed his Smokey-the-Bear hat onto his head, popped his Foster Grants onto his nose and was standing right behind me as the pitch came.

I swung anyway.

"That's enough," he shouted after he ducked.

He popped back up and faced me. "You're causing a problem here," he said.

I thought for a few seconds and said, "Get out of the way Bunny, we're trying to play some ball."

"Get off the lawn."

Not wanting me to get into any trouble Dee-Joe-Mammal wouldn't pitch the ball.

Some of the others left the lawn and retired to their cars. I started to follow them, but when I got to my 67 VW I stopped. Bunny almost stepped on my heel.

"Out of town," he said.

"Wait a minute. We weren't breaking any laws. I live here. You get out of town."

OK, it was a stupid thing to say, but at that particular moment the world seemed pretty stupid.

"You're under arrest."

"For what?"

"You have the right to remain silent."

Well as comedian Ron White says, "I had the right to remain silent, I just didn't have the ability."

"You idiot."

"You have the right to an attorney."

"You obviously have the right to be a fool."

"Get in the cruiser."

"No."

Then it happened. Officer Bunny took a few steps back and pulled out his revolver. He cocked it and aimed it at my chest. After surviving three years in a war, I was not going to be shot in a Whiffle-ball game on the church lawn.

"You're insane," I said, but went with him to the cruiser.

I sat in the back while he went to pick up helium-butt Chester, who was the chief of police in our small town. We called him that because his butt looked as if it were going to fly off when he walked, but we respected the chief because he understood what he was doing.

As Chet entered the car he looked at me, "Hi John," he said, "Welcome home."

"Where are we going, Bunny?" he asked as he closed the door.

"Milford. He's going to jail for the night, then court in the morning." He smiled into the mirror looking like Sylvester with a mouth full of Tweety.

"What was he arrested for?" Chet asked.

"Resisting arrest."

"What arrest did he resist, Bunny."

"They were making noise, trespassing."

"We were playing Whiffle-ball on the church lawn."

"You shut up back there," Bunny spit.

"OK, Bunny, pull over. Let's talk," Chet soothed.

The chief explained the reality of how court would pan out with him arresting a veteran for playing a ball game with his friends in the center of his hometown a few weeks after leaving a combat zone. "And he pulled a gun on me, Chet."

"Shut up, John." This time it was Chet. See, he knew I could actually be in trouble. I was in fact disturbing someone's peace, trespassing and resisting arrest, but what I was doing was not what the law was written to prevent.

Chet understood that. Bunny didn't. They dropped me off back in town.

Some cops make their jobs harder by only knowing the law.

They get a lot more respect if they actually understand it.

John Hourihan is a columnist with the Connecticut Post. He can be reached as 203-330-6207 or by e-mail at jhourihan@ctpost.com.