Mistaken Identity
By Marti Evans
“Oh my God! He’s got a gun!!!” The receptionist at CHP Central screamed. She dove under the desk still holding the phone. “Someone help!!!!”
In seconds, several officers surrounded the young man, hands resting on their weapons. “Come on son,” a balding man in his late fifties said soothingly. “Hand over the weapon, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
The secretary had fled the room, and the noise level had risen tremendously as she ran through the halls telling everyone what had happened. The young Hispanic man looked confused; his clothes were dirty and rumpled, and he held up the gun. “Why would anyone get hurt?”
“Freeze!” A tall officer trained his gun on the bedraggled man. “PUT IT DOWN. NOW!”
“Easy man!” The Hispanic spread his hands and slowly laid the gun down. “It’s not what you think! I’m a cop!”
“Sure you are dirtball,” the tall man snarled. He kicked the gun out of reach and grabbed and cuffed the young man. “And I’m the Queen of the Tournament of Roses!” He dragged him back to a small questioning room. “You certainly are a bright one. Come in to a police station waving a gun around. I gotta give you points for balls, but not brains.”
“I’m telling you....” the young man peered at the officer’s name tag, “Officer Strickland, I just finished the Academy, and this is my first assignment! My name is Frank Poncherello!”
“If you just finished the Academy, you’d know better than to come in waving a gun around without identifying yourself as a police officer!” Strickland said angrily. “You’d also know better than to come in looking like a bum!”
“So this is what it’s all about isn’t it!” Poncherello flared up. “It’s because of how I look! The color of my skin automatically puts me in the barrio stealing cars, right? There’s no way someone like me could be a cop!”
“Shut your mouth! I’ll ask the questions!” Strickland slapped his hand on the table. “I’ve been a cop too long to take crap from a snot-nosed punk like you!”
“Hold on a minute here, what’s going on?” A middle-aged man wearing Sergeants stripes came into the room.
“Sir, this man came into the building carrying a weapon.” Strickland stood at attention. “I talked him into giving up the gun and arrested him.”
“Relax, Strickland,” the Sargent clapped him on the shoulder. “You did a good job.” He turned his attention to Poncherello. “Why didn’t you identify yourself as a police officer?”
“I did,” he said. “But the Officer didn’t believe me.” Ponch’s eyes flashed angrily. “Apparently someone like me is guilty until proven innocent.”
“Sarge, look at this guy!” Strickland complained. “He’s in dirty clothes, carrying a duffel bag, no uniform, no badge and carrying a gun!”
“Gentlemen, let’s write this off as a case of mistaken identity.” Sargent Gertraer said. “Strickland, C shift ended a few minutes ago. Poncherello, my office please.”
“No hard feelings.” Strickland held his hand out for Ponch to shake. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“If you say so,” Ponch said, then reluctantly shook his hand when Gertraer cleared his throat pointedly. He followed the Sarge to his office, trying to control his temper. ‘Great way to start a new job. It’s not even fifteen minutes into the day and I’ve been arrested and called into the office.’ Out loud he said, “I can explain everything Sarge, I have had the worst luck today...”
“Sit down Poncherello.” Gertraer said and waved him to a seat and closed the office door. “I have this awful feeling that I’d better put another chair in this office, because you’re going to become a permanent fixture in here.”
“It wasn’t my fault Sarge!” Ponch protested. “I got ready early this morning, and went out for breakfast. I’m sitting in a diner, and while I’m there, two truckers decide to try and knock each other out. I helped break up the fight, but my uniform got tore up. All I had to change into was my gym clothes from the trunk of my car.”
“Why didn’t you just go home and put on a new uniform, Frank?” Sarge said in exasperation.
“My other uniforms won’t be ready until this afternoon,” He said. “I only had this one.”
“Frank, you should have got them all at the same time!” Gertraer rubbed his temples. “Why did you only get one set?”
“I did order them all at once!” Ponch explained quickly. “But they just didn’t fit right. I took them to my family tailor to fit them properly.”
“You took them to......oh Lord.” Sarge sighed. “There is nothing wrong with the standard issue uniforms Frank! This isn’t a fashion show!”
“They’ll be ready this afternoon Sarge! You won’t even notice the difference....”
“Get in the locker room and change into a jumpsuit.” Gertraer checked the time. “You have briefing in five minutes, then you’ll take the front desk.”
“Jon was supposed to ride with me today!” He protested.
“Not if you’re out of uniform, sorry.” The Sarge said, not looking the slightest bit sorry.
Ponch went into the locker room and changed into the jumpsuit. He barely made it back for briefing. Jon Baker looked at him questioningly as he slid into a seat beside him. “You really got arrested in the lobby?” He said.
“I bet you are the first rookie in CHP history to accomplish that,” a heavy-set man quipped. “I’m Artie Grossman, this is Barry Barickza,” he pointed to a very tall handsome man.
“Call me Bear,” Barickza shook Ponch’s hand.
“This is Jed Turner,” Grossman introduced him to another tall handsome man.
“How are you doing? Call me Ponch.” Frank smiled and shook hands. Some of his apprehension melted away because everyone was so friendly.
“Ponch, ok.” Grossman started writing. “I’ll keep a note of that.”
“For what?” Ponch looked over his shoulder.
“For this,” Grossman held up an arrest report with ‘FRANK ‘PONCH” PONCHERELLO” printed neatly across the top. “I thought I’d just leave this with the receptionist so they can process you quicker every morning. Sarge hates it when you’re late. This will speed things up tremendously.”
“Very funny!” Ponch glared at the group of officers chuckling at him. “That’s really damn funny!”
“It’s just a joke Ponch, take it in stride.” Jon Baker laughed. “You really couldn’t expect to be arrested your first day on the job and nobody say anything about it.”
“What are you going to do tomorrow for an encore, hold up the payroll department?” Grossman asked, making everyone break out in fresh laughter.
“Man, tomorrow is a whole new day, it’s going to be smooth sailing for me from now on.” Ponch said firmly. “The name ‘Poncherello’ will go down in CHP history! You just wait and see.”
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