By Mike Simmons
Pensacola was claimed as part of the United States on July 17, 1821. The establishment of the Pensacola Police Department came two days later.
In 1825, the United States government designated the land five miles west of Pensacola, Florida for the Pensacola Navy Yard. The next year, civilians began moving in as the construction projects for the Navy Yard got under way. Since that time, there has been a relationship between the City of Pensacola and the United States Navy. Part of that relationship was with Pensacola’s Finest.
Pensacola Police understood the value of having a base next to our town. They also understood that, when sailors had had too much to drink, they were often tough to deal with. The Navy understood that the town of Pensacola was their friend, and that their sailors had to be brought under control – especially the intoxicated ones.
Over the past 200 years, this relationship has existed. Naval officers have been asked to conduct inspections of the police officers, and police officers have been asked to speak to incoming sailors. It works well. Bumpy sometimes, but well.
Any officer who has worked the streets in Pensacola has dealt with, in one form or another, a situation with a sailor. I remember when I was a young officer, we were called to Seville Quarter in reference to an unruly intoxicated naval flight student. When I arrived, I could easily tell where the trouble was coming from. Inside the bar was a guy who kinda thought he was Tom Cruise in Top Gun. He was arguing with everyone, including me. Then Bill Mackritis, a Pensacola Police Officer who had retired from the Navy as a Chief Petty Officer. I really can’t remember the exact language that was used (probably for the best), but within 30 seconds, the young flight student was standing at attention (or as close as his intoxication would let him), awaiting further orders. It was magic!
The Pensacola Police loved to hire retired sailors and marines. When a young sailor had too much to drink and wanted to prove himself, nothing was better than having a front-row seat when Gunny Harris arrived! I remember, as a field training officer, I was training a retired Navy Chief, Harry Barraclough. A call to the station complained about a person passed out on the side of Garden Street who wouldn’t respond to any officers’ commands. When Harry and I arrived, I wanted to go buy popcorn and enjoy. The new officer (actually, Harry was never ‘new’ at anything), transformed into the dreaded Navy Chief. His barking scared the young sailor, the other officers there, me, and two German Shepherds in the neighborhood!
When I was working day shift on the west side of downtown, a flashy red Corvette came inbound on Garden Street at Mach 2. When I pulled him over, I saw that he was a pilot with the famed Blue Angels. He was very polite.
“Get out of the car,” I said with authority.
He looked at me for a moment as if he was wondering where this was going.
“Turn around.” He turned around, now facing his flashy Corvette.
“Look at it…is it a jet?”
“No Sir,” he said contritely.
“Then act like it.” I let him go. I’m too nice.
But not all of the interactions were good. As a field training officer, a trainee and I, along with another team of FTO and trainee, were called early one Sunday morning, about 2:30 AM, to a burger joint on East Gregory Street. When we got there, we met with a young flight student (who was standing at attention, expecting his career to be over), a United States Marine Corps Captain who was the flight student’s instructor, a young civilian man, and his attractive girlfriend. She was the instigator. Apparently, when the Marine and sailor entered the restaurant, the civilians were there. She kept smiling and batting her eyelashes at the Marine. When the young man said something, the Marine wasn’t going to let it go. In each other’s faces they got. That’s when the police were called. Seeing the situation for what it was, I explained that we were just going to check everyone’s ID and they would be free to leave. The flight student immediately handed his military ID over, along with a salute, the civilians got out their driver’s license and handed them over, but the Marine refused.
I said, “Look, partner, this is no big deal. I am sure you will come back okay. As soon as we get the word that you don’t have warrants, you are free to go.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t understand. I am the property of the United States government, and you have no jurisdiction over me!”
“Uh, No,” I replied. “YOU don’t understand. You are in my city, not the naval base. Give me your ID.”
“Well,” he said. “Let’s see whose word carries more weight…yours or mine.”
“Okay,” I said, as I was placing him in handcuffs. A few hours later, he was bailed out by an old Navy chief, who called him…well, never mind what he called him. The captain soon found new work as a civilian.
The Pensacola Police Department and the US Navy have always been good friends and always will be.
Mike
