Glad He Became an Auxiliary Police Officer

Dear Diary:

I was having doubts about my sanity as I walked my beat on that freezing February night. I was a reasonably successful architect who, heeding an “Ask not… ” moment, had joined the New York City Auxiliary Police Force.

After four months of training, fingerprinting, F.B.I. background checks and a battery of tests, my group had been photographed, issued our police ID cards and vanned down to One Police Plaza for our uniforms and gear. Now, assigned to the “Two Four” (24th Precinct), my partner and I were walking the familiar Upper West Side turf that had been my home for most of my adult life.

A young woman, leading an elderly woman, approached us.

“Officers, this woman is lost and confused. Please help her.”

I looked at the sweet-looking older woman, in her late 70s or early 80s, wearing a bathrobe over a nightgown, and walking in bedroom slippers.

Her short gray hair was neatly brushed and her clothes, though wildly inappropriate for the weather, were clean and neat.

I took off my heavy police jacket and draped it around her. “Ma’am, where did you come from?”

She smiled at me and answered: “I was born in Germany. My name is Helen.”

With one arm around her, I grabbed my division radio. “Two four portable to Central. K.” (Cop talk for “I am on foot patrol from the 24th.” “K” means end of transmission.)

“Two Four portable.”

“I have an elderly disoriented female, dressed in nightclothes at southwest corner of Broadway and 82nd. Send a sector car.” (Police car.)

A new voice on the radio.

“This is the Two Zero (20th Precinct). Give description of elderly female.”

“Late 70s, 5-foot-3, short gray hair, name of Helen.”

An excited voice on the radio. “That’s her! Husband just called and is frantic. We’ll be right there.”

As I saw the flashing lights approaching I leaned down to her and said, “Don’t be frightened, Helen, we’ll soon have you home.”

With her trusting face she looked up and said, “How could I be frightened, with two handsome policemen taking care of me?” With a mixture of pride and satisfaction I helped her into the car on whose door was written:

“TO PROTECT AND SERVE.”

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