The Wrench, the Knife, the Gun and the Needles
by D. Grant DeMan
That fall of 1961 I found that there was more to Watch Commander Eric
Hallam than I knew, that he harbored his special brand of warmth, courage
and a most surprising skill.
It was during Hallam's third watch then that we encountered the
motorized cliff-plunger. As I eased the cruiser westbound along the Upper
Levels Highway that crisp West Vancouver evening, my auxiliary constable
partner maintained a silence at once breached by the crackling radio: "All
Cars! Northbound automobile ran the Lions Gate toll endangering a bridge
patrolman," and the moment the dispatcher gave the license number the
vehicle in question swooped past.
Siren and flashing cherry-top quickly brought the miscreant to a
standstill; even before I could exit I saw a string of red and yellow
emergency lights heading our way from the bridge, so by the time I
approached the lone occupant, several officers had joined us.
"Sir," I addressed the middle-aged driver. "Kindly step out of the
car." He was having none of it, though I repeated the request several
times. Now, seeing that the doors were locked and windows up, I slid my
left hand through the vent window to release an inside door handle when the
driver grasped it twisting with both hands. The pain! Desperately I cried,
"Hand me that big bridge sign wrench you fellows use!"
Picture it. There I was halloed in gold and red flashing light,
smashing that mighty brass instrument against the driver's window in order
to release my left arm when Corporal Hallam arrived. "Oh man! Don't hit him
with that!" He cried. Ohboy. I could see his mind-picture so clearly.
Headlines: Cop attacks motorist with wrench. Actions probed.
The paperwork!
"Just freeing up my wrist sir," I smiled while Constable Spence Goodall
assisted me in the arrest and subsequent incarceration, amused with the
relief reflected on Hallam's face.
I was emerging from the cells when the big man questioned, "What's the
charge against that poor fellow, Constable?"
"How about Due Care and attention?" I replied smartly, feeling
ribbed in front of the other cops.
"Nope. You didn't actually see the offense of him endangering the
bridge patrolman, so you can't by law arrest without a warrant. Which is
exactly what you did." He smiled. I was receiving a law lesson.
"Well, he'd been drinking. Suspicion of intoxicated driving, sir?"
"Afraid not, officer. Hadn't touched a drop." Hallam continued to smile.
"Sorry, dragging him in I smelled alcohol." I parried. Hearing this,
one of the other cops blushed.
"That was me," Spence said sheepishly. "I had a couple of shots." The
room roared with laughter. The prisoner, who admitted a planned drive off a
cliff, was remanded for mental examination.
Later that year I came in for first watch lunch and was mildly taken
aback with the sight of Eric's big hands rhythmically knitting an ornate
Indian sweater. This guy knows what he's doing here, I thought.
"Some might think it mighty peculiar to see a big cop like me knitting
away. But sit and hear how I earned the right." He then spun the true tale
I remembered the rest of my life.
"I was in Coquitlam with the Provincial Police assisting the arrest of
a crazy named Stanley Thacker who had previously wounded Constable Jim
McGary in October of forty-eight. He'd bolted when Constable Ralph Cave and
a doctor went to investigate some mighty peculiar behavior. We wound up on
lonely Como Lake Road facing the sharpest knife this side of Tokyo. He
stabbed me a few times as I dragged him from the car; then the guy went for
Cave and I shot him in the stomach. Well sir that didn't phase him, so we
grabbed some two-by-fours from the side of the road and that did it. It
wasn't until later that they found my punctured lung, which meant a spell
in the hospital and much rehabilitation.
"And that, my fine friend, is where I learned to knit the finest Indian
sweaters this side of the Capilano. And I'm mighty proud of it!"
Suddenly a new respect, a shining admiration for the big cop swept over
me. I became warm in his presence. "You bet. And you should be," Is all I
said, but felt like hugging him.
"And bear in mind some critical rules: First - What you think you see
first glance t'ain't necessarily so. B - Your thirty-eight possesses the
stopping power of a dying hornet. And thirdly, when you're under the blade,
never miss a life-enriching opportunity to learn a craft, skill or lesson."
You betcha, Eric.
And I have never forgotten these many years since - wisdom learned at
the feet of a humble giant of law-enforcement who went on to become Deputy
and Acting Chief of the West Vancouver Police Department - Eric Hallam,
Human Being Extraodinaire!
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