Vancouver Blue. Wayne Cope
In my view, this is a mistake virtually every time. I was on the elevator with one of the more obnoxious promotional errors when one of the other occupants, pointing to the new chrome chevrons on the novice corporal’s collar, asked, “What do your friends have to say about your promotion?” He responded, “I don’t need friends now that I have these.” A veteran constable in the back of the elevator looked over and said, “Keep talking, kid, and I’ll shove those stripes right up your ass.” The junior corporal considered his options, then got off the elevator at the next floor.
Occasionally the academy would run double classes, which meant all hands on deck at the shooting and driving ranges, and even our staff sergeant would attend to assist with the teaching. Because of the scheduling at these times, unless we were running overlapping training blocks, when recruits attended the range, the other academy instructors had free days. The only significant assistance ever offered was from Larry Young. He was an Emergency Response Team Member who really enjoyed spending the day at the range doing recruit training, so he would volunteer when he had an “open day.” One of the most enjoyable training sessions was a week-long course in May 1985, when Bill James, Larry Young and I ran an Emergency Response Team training course at the Chilliwack Military Base and the Port Coquitlam Hunting and Fishing Club on Burke Mountain. The training for this course was skills based with final tests involving scenario evaluation. I didn’t have the background to offer anything other than general advice on tactics, so my focus was on marksmanship, and from that time on, Larry dubbed me “Billy-Bob Swilley” because he said I reminded him of a “good old boy” Southern sheriff. Whenever we would pass, even in the slightest proximity, I would hear a high-pitched, “Beely, Beely-Bob …”
A simulated hostage rescue at the Chilliwack Armed Forces Base in 1985. Corporal Larry Young was carrying an experimental prototype .12-gauge shotgun while I held a more conventional .223-calibre Colt AR-15.
About a year after I became a full-time academy instructor, Dan Dureau and Christopher Shore were transferred there as well to teach traffic studies. Shore had been in three major motorcycle accidents while with the Traffic Division. Each of them happened exactly the same way: he was riding straight through an intersection on a green light when a vehicle coming the opposite way turned in front of him. The last accident was the most serious, and he was hospitalized for a long time.
Tiger, Tiger
Whenever we did training at the outdoor range, we would hang out a sign indicating that the place was closed for the day. Frequently people would drive by and, seeing all the cars, assume the range was open and the sign was wrong. We would normally shoo them away, but on one occasion I opened the door and recognized Tiger Williams standing on the porch. At the time, Tiger was a Vancouver Canucks forward and a renowned enforcer who still holds the NHL record with more than 4,400 penalty minutes. He said, “Oh, you’re closed” and was about to walk away when I invited him in and asked what he was shooting. When he produced a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum revolver, I told him that he could shoot while James delivered a lecture inside to the recruits. I watched Tiger for a short while and noted that, despite the fact he was shooting a Magnum pistol that kicked like a mule, he showed no sign of a flinch. I guessed that he was used to ignoring pain. When I commented he had shot a really good target, he challenged me to a shooting match. He presented the challenge so earnestly that I could see the competitive spirit that made him such a great hockey player.
I said, “You can’t win.”
He bristled back, “Oh, why is that?”
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