Here I Stand

Robert Fletcher

Format ISBN Price   Paperback (5x8) 9781434374714 £ 8.10

Here I Stand gives the reader a glimpse into the life of a career police officer as recalled by Robert Fletcher. As Fletcher is standing at the head of the conference table in the Organized Crime Bureau, being honored for thirty years of dedicated service, memories come flooding back. Here I Stand presents these memories, good and bad, as they happened. This true account starts with the author being a teenager in trouble with the law. After being caught in the midst of a crime, he was given a second chance and became a straight arrow. Later, the Phoenix Police Department took a chance on him and an outstanding career began. From the very beginning his career was unique. About half way through the police academy, the entire class was pulled out and put into service to help quell a race riot in Phoenix. After being back in the academy for a short period, Fletcher and eleven other recruits were chosen to be turned loose on the City without training officers. That was a grand experiment that was never repeated. Robert Fletcher worked on numerous details and assignments during his career. They included Patrol, Walking Beat, Selective Enforcement, Warrant Detail, Solo Motorcycles, Detective Bureau, Community Relations Bureau, Information Desk, Communications Bureau, and at the time of his retirement, he was the sergeant in charge of the Investigations Unit of the Organized Crime Bureau. This book shares memories from each of these details and assignments.

Robert Fletcher retired from the Phoenix Police Department after a career of thirty years as one of Phoenix’s Finest. During his career, he worked in nearly every assignment possible. Robert was awarded dozens of commendations including being honored at two luncheons for lifesaving and was nominated for officer of the year.

 

This is the author’s first published book but writing has been a huge part of his life. As a police officer, his writings ranged from preparing the most simple traffic citations to creating complicated reports that resulted in putting people in prison.

 

Even though he spent thirty years as a dedicated police officer, the author has a personal life also. First and foremost he is a husband, father and grandfather. He is an accomplished tournament bass fisherman, a champion black powder firearms competitor, licensed pilot, certified scuba diver, avid hunter, trophy winning stock car driver and he has a passion for old cars and hot rods.

 

Robert lives in Laveen, Arizona with Nancy, his wife of forty two years and their little dog, Minnie.

 

Murder on the Tracks

 

One night I reported for work at Station Two and after saying hello to my fellow officers I sat down to read the exceptional incident reports. After each shift a report is prepared describing briefly the more notable or serious incidents that occurred during that shift. The report was then teletyped to the other stations and printed out. Every policeman on the Sam squad was required to go over the E.I.s to see if there was anything needing our attention or help.

One of the incidents jumped out and knocked my mouth open. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. There was a homicide in a railroad boxcar at 7^th Avenue and the railroad tracks. The victim was described as Tommy Robertson aka Buddy Robertson C/M (Caucasian male) and his date of birth was listed. After a little investigation, I determined that this was the same Buddy Robertson that I had known for the better part of my life. Apparently a few men were inside the boxcar playing poker and drinking. When the game was over, most of the men went on their way but a couple, including Buddy stayed in the boxcar and went to sleep. A person quietly entered the boxcar and went through the personal belongings of the two sleeping gamblers. They had very little worth taking. The intruder then took a thin piece of wire from his jacket pocket and wrapped an end around each hand. He knelt beside Buddy, slipped the wire around his neck and pulled tightly. Buddy struggled enough to wake his companion but instead of helping, he ran like a bat out of hell. He did contact the police later that morning. Buddy was no match for the strangler and after a few minutes, Buddy lay lifeless in a pool of his own blood. The strangler’s wire cut deeply into Buddy’s neck and severed his jugular vein. My old neighbor and friend was dead for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Buddy’s murder was one of several that had occurred in the same area recently. The M.O. (modus operandi) was the same or similar in each case. I requested that our squad go undercover in the area and see if we could come up with the murderer. The boss agreed and we formalized a plan. Since I had a personal interest in this case, I was sort of chosen to ramrod things.                                                                          

All the recent murders that were apparently committed by our suspect occurred between 7^th Avenue and 7^th Street and between Washington Street and just south of the railroad tracks. This was roughly the area known as the “Deuce.” It was decided that our squad dress and act like Deuce bums and hang around the Deuce. Since the most recent murder, Buddy’s, was committed in a boxcar sitting on the railroad tracks just east of 7^th Avenue, we decided to start there. At the time, our squad consisted of six policemen and a sergeant. After looking over the murder scene very carefully, we split up. A few of us decided that we wanted to “ride the rails” into the downtown area.

 

 Also in the Book:

 

There was a lot of shooting in the area and every now and then a makeshift firebomb would light up the night as it was thrown towards the compound that I was guarding or just thrown up in the air.

A stark naked, pretty, young, blond woman was standing in the kitchen. This naked woman was holding a small, chrome revolver in her right hand. If this was a set up for a shooting, I had been had. I was caught completely off-guard by the naked woman.

There were two El Caminos containing armed men cruising up and down Buckeye Road and around the projects. The passenger compartments and beds of both El Caminos were packed with men holding up shotguns and rifles.

When I was about four feet from the temporary cage, the lid was knocked completely off and about eighteen inches of mad snake appeared above the opening. Those eighteen inches were less than one third of the total length of the snake. I know that if I had put that snake in Charlie’s locker, there would have been big trouble. I pictured Charlie drawing his revolver and shooting up the office trying to kill the snake.

I rushed to the northwest corner of the track (turn four) and found Hilario lying on the track, bleeding badly from the head. His crumpled motorcycle was lying nearby. We then drove with great haste to the nearest hospital, Boswell, in Sun City. Since Sun City is a retirement community, the waiting room was filled with seniors. While Hilario was being treated in the emergency room, the other eleven NYPUM kids were entertaining or scaring the senior citizens with break dancing and other antics.