Showing posts with label Tags. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tags. Show all posts
20100421
20091211
Baby, It’s C-c-c-cold Outside
I despise cold weather. Typically I try to deny the temperatures the winterness brings by wearing tanks tops and equally seasonably-unsuitable attire until the day I can no longer ignore the tingles of frostbite setting in. Today seemed to be that day. So I slipped into some skinny jeans, layered up on sweaters, added a jacket plus gloves -- gloves for goodness sake! -- and headed out to the Charlottesville Police Department to pay off some of the court costs I got slapped with for embarrassing its revered JADE Task Force team.
Somewhere near the UVA library I noticed CPD officer Todd Lucas in his Alero.
Never one to pass up an opportunity to exercise my freedom to photograph policemen in public places, I excavated a camera and, with few cars separating us, turned after the ice-blue-eyed detective. I waited for a throng of bundled-up students braving the windy chill to cross the boulevard, traveled over Graffiti Bridge, and was about to press the shutter when Mr. Lucas made a right down one of the University’s many cramped side roads. No way the driver would have failed to notice me trailing him down a constricted street like that. Nor was I much in the mood for any kind of physical encounter with him. I let the man proceed tailless.
While seeking a landing square reasonably around East Market Street, I recognized a stationary car as one belonging to a friendly local reporter. Probably he was there for some court case he was hot on. Once I found a spot for my own vehicle, I decided to include looking for the newsman on my to-do list to see if I couldn’t siphon any worthwhile scuttlebutt from him. I wrapped a colorful scarf -- scarf for goodness sake! -- under my chin and set off in the direction of 606.
I like to access the police station from the downtown mall area. ‘Cause I can easily stroll by its parking garages. ‘Cause I can tell by the cars inside who all’s on duty.
I didn’t get to peer in this time though; Detective Lucas -- yes, the same one from earlier -- was walking out of the underground law enforcement zone as I was edging the corner. He didn’t appear to realize I was me and I wasn’t tempted to test his memory. To avoid him, I casually skirted the paper machines and continued down the brickway of the agglomerated city shops.
I circled the block, entered the department from the front, and dropped some bills at the clerk’s office. I figured I’d hang until I thawed out some. I watched out the glass doors as people milled, came and went. Sgt. Mike Farruggio lumbered in. I’d taken a bunch of pictures of him at the Harrisonburg SWAT challenge; I knew caboodles about him long before then though.
A young black couple, a teeny toddler in the hands of the woman, came inside and had a brief discussion about whether “intent” was part of his charge or if it was just run-of-the-mill “possession.” The cute tot wanted to play on the payphone but her dad was disinclined to linger in the cop shop.
I observed Joe Fleming’s Impala glide down the lane, no doubt to settle at his favorite rest for it. The presence of his car prompted me to check the docket stuck to the wall for the afternoon court cases. Hail! Hail! The gang’s all here. Jimmy Bunch, Jon McKay, Jon Seitz, Tavis Coffin…
I caught sight of the name Sorokti on the list, too. Craig Sorokti is another Charlottesville SWAT guy. First time I saw him, I think, was last year at a rainy-night Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement home invasion that required the tactical squad. Naturally I’d snapped shots of him in Harrisonburg also.
Returning to the four-door box that hauls me around, I believe Task Force Lt. Don Campbell and I passed by each other. I can’t say for sure though because the second it occurred to me that it might actually be him, I swung my face away and pretended to be fighting with the air currant for control of my hair. Remember, I am not supposed to have any contact whatsoever with these JADE members. And they’ve obviously no shame in whining about me.
I never did run into my reporter acquaintance but I got some nifty gossip from a cop source: the Virginia State Police cruiser that Trooper W.R. Floyd recently rolled is up at the VSP quarters off of Fontaine. I went and took photographs of it.
There’s an itsy-bitsy possibility I noted a few details about other autos in the lot besides.
A mostly uneventful day, nevertheless not the least bit uninteresting. It even warmed up some. Not enough for spaghetti straps, but, hey, there’s always tomorrow.
Somewhere near the UVA library I noticed CPD officer Todd Lucas in his Alero.
Never one to pass up an opportunity to exercise my freedom to photograph policemen in public places, I excavated a camera and, with few cars separating us, turned after the ice-blue-eyed detective. I waited for a throng of bundled-up students braving the windy chill to cross the boulevard, traveled over Graffiti Bridge, and was about to press the shutter when Mr. Lucas made a right down one of the University’s many cramped side roads. No way the driver would have failed to notice me trailing him down a constricted street like that. Nor was I much in the mood for any kind of physical encounter with him. I let the man proceed tailless.
While seeking a landing square reasonably around East Market Street, I recognized a stationary car as one belonging to a friendly local reporter. Probably he was there for some court case he was hot on. Once I found a spot for my own vehicle, I decided to include looking for the newsman on my to-do list to see if I couldn’t siphon any worthwhile scuttlebutt from him. I wrapped a colorful scarf -- scarf for goodness sake! -- under my chin and set off in the direction of 606.
I like to access the police station from the downtown mall area. ‘Cause I can easily stroll by its parking garages. ‘Cause I can tell by the cars inside who all’s on duty.
I didn’t get to peer in this time though; Detective Lucas -- yes, the same one from earlier -- was walking out of the underground law enforcement zone as I was edging the corner. He didn’t appear to realize I was me and I wasn’t tempted to test his memory. To avoid him, I casually skirted the paper machines and continued down the brickway of the agglomerated city shops.
I circled the block, entered the department from the front, and dropped some bills at the clerk’s office. I figured I’d hang until I thawed out some. I watched out the glass doors as people milled, came and went. Sgt. Mike Farruggio lumbered in. I’d taken a bunch of pictures of him at the Harrisonburg SWAT challenge; I knew caboodles about him long before then though.
A young black couple, a teeny toddler in the hands of the woman, came inside and had a brief discussion about whether “intent” was part of his charge or if it was just run-of-the-mill “possession.” The cute tot wanted to play on the payphone but her dad was disinclined to linger in the cop shop.
I observed Joe Fleming’s Impala glide down the lane, no doubt to settle at his favorite rest for it. The presence of his car prompted me to check the docket stuck to the wall for the afternoon court cases. Hail! Hail! The gang’s all here. Jimmy Bunch, Jon McKay, Jon Seitz, Tavis Coffin…
I caught sight of the name Sorokti on the list, too. Craig Sorokti is another Charlottesville SWAT guy. First time I saw him, I think, was last year at a rainy-night Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement home invasion that required the tactical squad. Naturally I’d snapped shots of him in Harrisonburg also.
Returning to the four-door box that hauls me around, I believe Task Force Lt. Don Campbell and I passed by each other. I can’t say for sure though because the second it occurred to me that it might actually be him, I swung my face away and pretended to be fighting with the air currant for control of my hair. Remember, I am not supposed to have any contact whatsoever with these JADE members. And they’ve obviously no shame in whining about me.
I never did run into my reporter acquaintance but I got some nifty gossip from a cop source: the Virginia State Police cruiser that Trooper W.R. Floyd recently rolled is up at the VSP quarters off of Fontaine. I went and took photographs of it.
There’s an itsy-bitsy possibility I noted a few details about other autos in the lot besides.
A mostly uneventful day, nevertheless not the least bit uninteresting. It even warmed up some. Not enough for spaghetti straps, but, hey, there’s always tomorrow.
20091208
20091128
A Policeman Knew My Name
♫ Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
‘Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) ♫
There’s no shortage of people cycling through the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement workplace. Back when I was first trying to figure out who the Task Force members were, I found myself especially having a blast identifying a number of other cops in order to weed them out from those on the elite narcotics squad.
Uniform-wearing law enforcement posed no problem as obviously I needed only read their name tags:
Plainclothes policemen were a bit trickier and it often took some inventiveness to learn who they were. One such non-JADE officer was of course Charlottesville detective Todd Lucas:
The driver of this vehicle showed up on JADE scenes often enough to pique my curiosity:
I found out the cute Pontiac Grand Prix belongs to D.J. Harris, another non-JADE city detective. He’s this guy in the dark blue shirt:
David Harris is married to federal public defender Andrea Harris, a fact which one of my sources tells me gives his fellow boys in blue something to occasionally grumble about. With one Harris lockin’ thugs up and the other gettin’ them out, I reckon so.
I havta say the Who’s That LEO? game can be highly addictive. When leaving the Harris’ neighborhood, after taking these pictures and ensuring I’d been correct about the man’s identity:
I spotted this has-5-0-written-all-over-it car:
‘Twas sorta hard to miss that hockey puck antenna. Turned out that particular Dodge Intrepid is being used by Albemarle County Sergeant Amos Chiarappa.
Speaking of identifying ACPD men, I do believe I’m almost through ID-ing their Tactical Team:
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
‘Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?) ♫
There’s no shortage of people cycling through the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement workplace. Back when I was first trying to figure out who the Task Force members were, I found myself especially having a blast identifying a number of other cops in order to weed them out from those on the elite narcotics squad.
Uniform-wearing law enforcement posed no problem as obviously I needed only read their name tags:
Plainclothes policemen were a bit trickier and it often took some inventiveness to learn who they were. One such non-JADE officer was of course Charlottesville detective Todd Lucas:
The driver of this vehicle showed up on JADE scenes often enough to pique my curiosity:
I found out the cute Pontiac Grand Prix belongs to D.J. Harris, another non-JADE city detective. He’s this guy in the dark blue shirt:
David Harris is married to federal public defender Andrea Harris, a fact which one of my sources tells me gives his fellow boys in blue something to occasionally grumble about. With one Harris lockin’ thugs up and the other gettin’ them out, I reckon so.
I havta say the Who’s That LEO? game can be highly addictive. When leaving the Harris’ neighborhood, after taking these pictures and ensuring I’d been correct about the man’s identity:
I spotted this has-5-0-written-all-over-it car:
‘Twas sorta hard to miss that hockey puck antenna. Turned out that particular Dodge Intrepid is being used by Albemarle County Sergeant Amos Chiarappa.
Speaking of identifying ACPD men, I do believe I’m almost through ID-ing their Tactical Team:
20091124
20091028
NOTEriety T2O22 YeR
Brian O’Donnell aka Longhead constantly used to tell me I should write things down so I’d remember them. Occasionally others have told me the same. It’s always seemed like good advice whenever I’ve heard it, but for most of my life it’s a suggestion I’ve largely ignored. Until I started the JADE Project, that is.
There was just too much going on with the Task Force for me to not take notes and I soon learned the wild strategy of record-keeping in ink came in quite handy. When my scribbles turned out to be a key factor in the way I identified which Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officer was John Baber and which was Jon McKay? Awesomesauce!
However, while I very much thought about things like simplicity and protecting the content itself, what I didn’t consider was how my, uh, unique stenography would look overall if anyone else laid eyes on it. Until I got my seized notebooks back from the Virginia State Police, that is.
Ostensibly incongruous words, initials in CAPS, letter/number combinations, loops lines and arrows -- all serve to remind me of something:
But to other viewers, especially ones who’ve already made up their minds I’m a lunatic, ya know pages with little-to-no intelligible meaning really don’t do anything to dispel their notion my clock’s missing its cuckoo. That’s all the more side-splitting when I’m aware that annotations jotted by JADE guys are assuredly not a good deal better:
There was just too much going on with the Task Force for me to not take notes and I soon learned the wild strategy of record-keeping in ink came in quite handy. When my scribbles turned out to be a key factor in the way I identified which Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officer was John Baber and which was Jon McKay? Awesomesauce!
However, while I very much thought about things like simplicity and protecting the content itself, what I didn’t consider was how my, uh, unique stenography would look overall if anyone else laid eyes on it. Until I got my seized notebooks back from the Virginia State Police, that is.
Ostensibly incongruous words, initials in CAPS, letter/number combinations, loops lines and arrows -- all serve to remind me of something:
But to other viewers, especially ones who’ve already made up their minds I’m a lunatic, ya know pages with little-to-no intelligible meaning really don’t do anything to dispel their notion my clock’s missing its cuckoo. That’s all the more side-splitting when I’m aware that annotations jotted by JADE guys are assuredly not a good deal better:
20090428
20090331
Sometimes They Don’t Come Back
That redneck-cartin’ rust-bucket I call The Beater could often be found parked at the Ix building. After several weeks of abu… uh, use by the Task Force, it inexplicably disappeared. While I don’t much care what pasture it’s been put out to, I am a shade curious why it was driven away never to return. I have a lot of memories attached to it.
That is the Monte Carlo from one of my (cough) finer (cough) pursuits. I hadn’t seen it prior to that gaucherie -- obviously, or I would’ve known better than to use it for cover -- and I haven’t seen it since.
That was supposed to be Rasmussen’s Chevy. Wound up being another Law Enforcement guy’s vehicle. Chalk it up to wire-crossing; fortunately the electrician in me fixed the short before I got zapped.
That belongs to Spare Spot, a Virginia State Policeman. Spare Spot came flying out from the JADE office like a Superhero, grabbed blue tights, a red cape, and assorted gizmos from his car, then took off in The Beater with a trusty pair of sidekicks. While he was still off defeating evildoers, I snapped several shots of his Camry. It may have been the only day I got a look at the Man of Steel but, hey, now I know what Clark Kent drives.
That is a dead ringer for another one of the eleventy jillion others just like it congesting the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle county. Maybe I should’ve saved it for a “Sometimes They Multiply” entry. Anyway on the afternoon this photograph was taken, the Ford was dispensing police like Pez does sugar squares.
There are mega-lots more. Would you believe the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is tied to no less than half the autos in Virginia? Almost for realiously.
20081105
Of Tags and Badges
A few Task Force members have vanity tags on their personal vehicles. Not all of them have an as obvious meaning as, say, this guy's. I wanted to know the significance of the number on one of their license plates and considered the possibility that it may be badge-related. This prompted me to get the badge numbers of all of the JADE officers. Since I'm all about finding out as much as possible about these guys, I can't believe I didn't think of doing this sooner.
I'm aware that police departments have caller ID. I didn't want to cause alarm with the local ones by asking for a string of badges all coincidentally belonging to members of the JADE Task Force. I also didn't think it wise to have my phone number keep showing up by calling several times during one shift. I opted for a sort of rotation.
I called the Albemarle County Police Department and City of Charlottesville Police Department as many times as necessary so as not to raise any red flags. I had no trouble with either department. I only needed to call the University of Virginia and Virginia State Police once each. Neither department was cooperative.
The lady who answered at VSP reminded me of an annoying five year old. No matter what I said, her response was "Why?" Ultimately she gave me a number but claimed she didn't know if it was correct or if it even belonged to the officer I named.
The woman who answered at UVA was just a delightful ball of pleasantness.
"I'm looking for the badge number of one of your detectives." I gave his name. She repeated his name as a question. I said "Yes." She asked me if I minded holding while she looked it up. I said I wouldn't mind. She came back on the line and gave me a two-digit number. I repeated the two digits as a question. She said "Yes." I thanked her, she wished me a good day, I wished her the same, and we hung up.
26 minutes later my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on my caller ID but immediately noticed it started with 531 -- a common beginning for area law enforcement. I let it go to voice mail; the caller didn't leave a message. I waited 13 minutes and called it back. I got sent to voice mail. The recording didn't afford me a name but it did give me a familiar pager number. It belongs to the UVA detective. Apparently because I dared to ask for a public record, the see you next tuesday I'd spoken with supplied him with my private phone number.
A few days later a source provided me with a police document that also conveniently had all their badge numbers listed (although, admittedly, had I not already gotten them I probably wouldn't have known off-hand that's what they were). From the memo I learned that the number I'd been given for Detective UVA was a digit short.
I think probably UVA's Police Department believes it was acting in the best interest of its officer. However because of their paranoia and subsequent confrontational aggressive response, I wound up with more desirable information than I'd asked for.
Oh and, by the way, the tag that started this whole episode? Turns out it's not a badge number after all.
I'm aware that police departments have caller ID. I didn't want to cause alarm with the local ones by asking for a string of badges all coincidentally belonging to members of the JADE Task Force. I also didn't think it wise to have my phone number keep showing up by calling several times during one shift. I opted for a sort of rotation.
I called the Albemarle County Police Department and City of Charlottesville Police Department as many times as necessary so as not to raise any red flags. I had no trouble with either department. I only needed to call the University of Virginia and Virginia State Police once each. Neither department was cooperative.
The lady who answered at VSP reminded me of an annoying five year old. No matter what I said, her response was "Why?" Ultimately she gave me a number but claimed she didn't know if it was correct or if it even belonged to the officer I named.
The woman who answered at UVA was just a delightful ball of pleasantness.
"I'm looking for the badge number of one of your detectives." I gave his name. She repeated his name as a question. I said "Yes." She asked me if I minded holding while she looked it up. I said I wouldn't mind. She came back on the line and gave me a two-digit number. I repeated the two digits as a question. She said "Yes." I thanked her, she wished me a good day, I wished her the same, and we hung up.
26 minutes later my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on my caller ID but immediately noticed it started with 531 -- a common beginning for area law enforcement. I let it go to voice mail; the caller didn't leave a message. I waited 13 minutes and called it back. I got sent to voice mail. The recording didn't afford me a name but it did give me a familiar pager number. It belongs to the UVA detective. Apparently because I dared to ask for a public record, the see you next tuesday I'd spoken with supplied him with my private phone number.
A few days later a source provided me with a police document that also conveniently had all their badge numbers listed (although, admittedly, had I not already gotten them I probably wouldn't have known off-hand that's what they were). From the memo I learned that the number I'd been given for Detective UVA was a digit short.
I think probably UVA's Police Department believes it was acting in the best interest of its officer. However because of their paranoia and subsequent confrontational aggressive response, I wound up with more desirable information than I'd asked for.
Oh and, by the way, the tag that started this whole episode? Turns out it's not a badge number after all.
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