HALF-TRAINED FIREMEN AND POLICE.
There are two classes of men in our cities and larger towns who, more
than almost any others, need daily and systematic bodily exercise, in
order to make them efficient for their duties, and something like what
men in their lines ought to be. In times of peace they do in many ways
what the army does for the whole country in war-time--they protect life
and property. These are the police and firemen.
The work of some of the firemen before they reach a fire is even more
dangerous than when actually among the flames. The examining physician
of one of our largest life insurance companies told the writer that he
frequently had to reject firemen applying for insurance, because they
had seriously injured their hearts by running hard to fires when quite
untrained and unfit for such sudden and severe strain on the heart and
lungs, imposed, as it usually is, under much excitement. The
introduction of steam fire-engines has in part done away with this,
though even they often have a man to run before and clear the way; but
in smaller places, of course, the old danger exists. Thorough and
efficient as this steam-service is in many ways, and trained as the men
are to their duties, they are, very many of them, not nearly so
effective as they might easily be, and as, considering the fact that the
fireman's work is their sole occupation, they ought to be. Men of pluck
and daring, and naturally strong, often for days together they have no
fire to go to, and so sit and stand around the engine-house for hours
and hours. Soon they begin to fatten, until often they weigh thirty or
forty pounds more than they would in good condition for enduring work.
Having no daily exercise which gives all parts of the body increased
life and strength, neither the stout nor thin ones begin to be so
strong, so quick of movement, or enduring as they would be if kept in
good condition. To carry from an upper story of a high building a person
in a swoon or half suffocated, and to get such a burden safely down a
long narrow ladder through stifling smoke and terrible flame, is a feat
requiring, beside great nerve and courage, decided strength and
endurance. Exposure during long periods, perhaps drenched through,
perhaps holding up a heavy hose in the winter's cold, or in many another
duty all firemen well know, often without food or drink for many hours,
taxes very severely even the strongest man.
And what training have these men for this trying work outside of what
the fire itself actually gives? Practically, none. Suppose every man on
the force was required to spend an hour, or even half an hour, daily in
work which would call into play not all their muscles, but simply those
likely to be most needed when the real work came. Suppose each of them a
wiry, hard-muscled, very enduring man, good any day for a three or five
mile run at a respectable pace, and without detriment to himself, or to
go, if need be, hand over hand up the entire length of one of their long
ladders--to be, in short, as strong, as handy, as enduring, as even a
second-rate athlete. Is there any question that a force made up of such
men would be far better qualified for their work, and far more efficient
at it, than the firemen of any of our cities are now?
And if they think they at present have considerable daily exercise, so
does a British soldier decidedly more, in his daily drilling, and the
whole round of his duties; and yet, after Maclaren had one of them
exercising for but a brief period, but in a way to bring up his general
strength, the soldier said, "I feel twice the man I did for anything a
man could be set to do." Would it hurt a fireman or a policeman any to
have that feeling? Would the latter not be more inclined to rely on his
own strength, and less on his club?
If the training suggested seems too hard, look at the younger men in
blacksmithing, for instance, and many other kinds of iron-work,
swinging, as they often do, a heavy sledge for the whole day together;
at the postmen, walking from morning to evening, often up many flights
of stairs, and all the year round, and in all weathers; at the
iron-puddler, the hod-carrier, the 'longshoreman--all at work nearly or
quite as hard, not for one short hour only, but through all the burden
and heat of the day. Many of these men are not nearly as well paid as
the firemen, and none of them begin to have as great responsibility, or
are at any moment likely to be called on to take their lives in their
hands, and perhaps to save other lives as well.
Let us look at the policeman. What exercise has he? Standing around, and
considerable slow walking, for six hours out of each twelve. Is there
anything to make him swift of foot? No. Anything to build up his arms
and expand his chest, to make those arms help him in his business, and
those hands twice as skilful for his purposes as before? Very little.
Taught to use his hands he is, but never empty; there must be something
in them--a club or a revolver. And so comes what legitimate result? Why
is it that in a conflict, or even a threatened one--or, too often, not
even then--and when the culprit, while drunk, is wholly unresisting, we
constantly hear of these dangerous weapons being drawn and freely used?
Some of the very men set to preserve the peace are themselves every now
and then making assaults wholly uncalled for, always cowardly, and often
brutal, and such as an athletic man, proud of his strength, would have
scorned the idea of making, but, instead, would have so quickly
displayed his skill and strength that the average offender, especially
when he recalled the fact that the officer had the law on his side,
would have soon ceased resisting. Every intelligent New Yorker will at
one recognize that there is far too frequently good ground for such
editorial comment, grim as is its satire, as the following from a
well-known New York journal, of September 20th, 1878:
"A COMPLICATED POLICE CASE.
"We have recorded from time to time in the T---- various
interesting police cases. With all our skill and experience,
however, we could not prevent a shade of monotony stealing over
them. When in nine cases out of ten the picture presented is that
of a policeman clubbing a man nearly to death, by what resource of
rhetoric can you avoid monotony? For the sake of variety, as well
as for the public good, many people wish that a citizen would
occasionally kill a brutal policeman; only that, in thus ridding
the world of a human brute not worthy to live in it, the mockery
that is called justice in New York and Brooklyn would probably also
send out of the world the inoffensive citizen who had accomplished
the good work. In a recent case, however, matters have become most
ingeniously complicated. One policeman has arrested another. On
Tuesday night two men got into a fight in the Bowery. Detective
Archibald, who was in plain clothes, undertook, it is said, to
arrest them. Then, it is stated, Officer Lefferts arrived, and
arrested the whole party, detective and all. We say that this is a
complicated case; but so it did not seem to Justice Morgan, of the
Jefferson Market Police Court. If a policeman arrests a citizen, it
is no longer possible for the latter to get justice. He is glad if
he can get away with a whole skull and unbroken ribs. But one
policeman arresting another! The only way in which this can be
set right depends upon which policeman had the most influence
at head-quarters."
And what sort of man is he who is thus too free with his weapon? Take
him in New York city, for instance. Out of nearly twenty-five hundred
policemen, it is entirely safe to say that one-third--and it would
probably be much nearer the truth to say that all of two-thirds--are
unathletic men, and that a very large proportion of these are either
clumsy, unwieldy, and short-winded, or not possessed of even average
bodily strength. Even in their uniforms this is quickly apparent; but
the true way to judge is to see them stripped, either in gymnastic
costume or at the swimming-bath. Any number of them have indifferent
legs; there are any number of stout, paunchy fellows; and old ones, too,
doubling over with their years; flat-chested ones, big-footed and
half-built men.
Try to select some of these men for a physical feat, say of speed and
endurance, like running or rowing, and see how few would be fit for the
work. Pair them off, give them gloves, and set them to boxing, and there
would scarce be one hundred good sparrers out of the whole brigade.
Once, right in front of Trinity church-yard, on Broadway, we saw two of
the Broadway squad put up their hands for a little good-natured
sparring, and the way they did it would hardly have been creditable to a
ten-year-old. To see two great, hulking six-footers, ignorant of the
first rudiments of good sparring, actually whirling their fists round
and round each other as if winding yarn, and with no sort of idea how to
use even one hand, let alone two, was positively ridiculous. A
hundred-pound thief, handy with his fists and quick of foot, could have
slapped their faces, and, if they could run no better than they sparred,
could have been at the Battery before either of them was half-way. And
what good would their weapons have been? Their revolvers they would
hardly dare to use in a crowded street at broad noon, nor would they
have been justified in so doing. And their clubs--of what use would they
be if the culprit was a block away?
The writer once saw a fellow, apparently a sneak-thief, cutting across
the City Hall Park, in front of the _Tribune_ building, at a clipping
pace, while some distance behind came one of those majestic but logy
guardians of the peace, making about one foot to the other's two, and,
finally, seeing how hopeless was the pursuit, bringing his club around
and throwing it after the escaping thief--and with what result?
Excellent for the thief, for, instead of coming anywhere near him, it
passed dangerously close to the abdomen of a worthy but obese citizen,
who chanced to be passing that way.
At a public exhibition, held early in 1878, under the auspices of these
very Metropolitan Police, at the Hippodrome, in New York, where
doubtless the very best boxers on the whole force were on the boards,
and with ten thousand spectators to spur them on to their utmost, the
thoroughly skilful and accomplished workmen could be counted almost on
the thumbs; while, in the tug of war, the string of policemen were
overhauled and pulled completely down by the Scottish Americans, who
weighed half a hundred weight less per man than their uniformed
antagonists; though it is but just to add that, later on, the latter did
manage to win, yet what was that to brag of?
The same Police Department held a regatta on the Harlem River on the
twenty-ninth of August, 1878, for which there were many entries; yet out
of them all with one or two exceptions, there was no performance which
was not of the most commonplace character, unworthy of an average
freshman crew, and this though many of the rowers were burly, heavy men.
One of the single-scullers actually did not know how to back his boat
over some fifty feet of water, and, after four ineffectual endeavors,
had to be told how to do so from the referee's boat.
Now place the whole force abreast on a broad common, or in half a dozen
lines, and set them to run a mile at no racing pace; at no such gait
even as John Ennis went in March, 1879, when, after 474 miles of walking
and running in one single week, he ran his 475th mile in six minutes
eleven seconds, but let them go at even a horse-car pace; and if five
hundred get over even half the distance it will be a surprise, while of
those who do, many stand a good chance to feel the effects for days, if
not for life. We asked the best known police captain in New York city,
the president of the old Police Athletic Club, whether he thought
one-half of the whole twenty-five hundred could run a mile at any pace
which could actually be called a run. After deliberating a little, he
said he did not think they could. One of the most successful athletes on
the force, in reply to the same question, said: "I'll bet my neck
against a purse that not one-third of them can do it." Another, a
magnificent-looking man, standing over six feet three in height, and
weighing upward of two hundred and fifty, not only strongly inclined to
the same opinion, but, when urged to tell how successful he himself
would probably be in such a trial, he gave, with a little sudden color
in his cheeks, substantially as follows, this most interesting incident
from his own experience:
Standing in a rear room on the main floor of the station-house of the
---- Precinct, he heard a scream. Going quickly to the street, a lady
told him that she had been robbed of her pocket-book, while a young
person gliding gracefully, and, as the sequel proved, quite fleetly,
around the corner, lent force to the statement. Away went the engine of
the law, his mighty form bending to the work, with his best foot
foremost. Turning up one of the broad avenues, the one hundred and
twenty-five feet or so of the thief's start had now shrunk to
seventy-five, and, as the two sped on at a grand pace,
"All and each that passed that way
Enjoyed the swift 'pursuit.'"
Block after block was passed, but the gap would not close. Go as he
would, do his mightiest and his best, it was of no use; that lawless
young man would somehow all the time manage to keep just seventy-five
feet to the fore. Four blocks are now done, and so is the policeman; and
bringing up all-standing--blown, gasping, exhausted--he cannot even
muster breath enough to shout, but, reaching his big hand out in front
of him, and looking at the young person gently fleeting, with seemingly
unabated vigor, into the dim distance, he sadly points to him, for that
is all he is just now equal to. Fortunately for the interests of justice
and good order, that point is well taken, for a brother officer sees it,
and, rising to the occasion, dashes off after the misguided young person
up the avenue. "Life is earnest" now, surely, for the latter. Still he
has nearly a hundred feet start, and maybe this second guardian of the
peace will not stay any better than did his illustrious predecessor. So
down to it he settles again, and the street enjoys the fun. Block after
block slips away, and so does the official wind, for, at the end of four
blocks more, no perceptible decrease of the gap having yet been made,
patrolman number two "shuts up." Yes, literally, for he too cannot even
yell, but, like the first, striking a tragic position, he points to the
flying culprit. And is justice to be cheated out of her victim after
all, even now, when she a second time is sure that she has reached the
point? And is this light-fingered and light-heeled young person to
escape the minions of the law--and all this in broad daylight too, and
right on Sixth Avenue? So it certainly seems. But stop! Justice, after
all, is to prevail, for lo! a third pursuer has now caught the trail,
and is off like a fast mail-train. Have a care now, young man! No brass
buttons adorn your pursuer this time; but the self-appointed private
citizen, now in your wake, runs as the wicked flee. There is no
cart-horse pace about his work; but with one clean, business-like spurt,
he swoops down on the now disturbed young man, and, clutching his upper
garments, holds him neatly until the reserves come up, and then hands
him over for his six months on the island."
One more illustration may suffice. The _New York Herald_ of December
20th, 1878, referring to a burglary which had been committed in the
28th Precinct, said that suspicion fastened on a young man known as
"Sleepy Dick." Detective Wilson got on the supposed offender's trail,
and the nearer he got to him the worse grew his character for
strength, daring, and ferocity. At last he came up with "Sleepy Dick"
on Second Avenue yesterday.
"'The jig's up, Sleepy,' said the detective; 'you're wanted.'
"'What for?' calmly inquired the other, straightening upon the coal-box.
"'Cracking a crib.'
"'How long a stretch?'
"'A fiver, sure.'
"'I'm not your meat then, cully,' and Dick bolted for the corner with no
sleepiness about him. Wilson grabbed him firmly by the collar, though,
and there was a scene of plunging and tearing witnessed by the crowd
around them that eclipsed Cornwall or Graeco-Roman wrestling.
"Suddenly a revolver came flashing out of Wilson's pocket.
"'I'm taking this pot,' said he, coolly.
"'Show your hand,' growled 'Sleepy.'
"'A straight flush;' and Wilson levelled the pistol at his head.
"'That takes this pile,' Dick sullenly assented, and he moved on quietly
as far as Sixty-first Street. Once at the corner, he plunged backward
and broke loose. The detective's revolver came down on his head with a
thud, but he rallied under the blow, sprung aside, and made for the
river. He was fleet of foot, and, as he flew down the street, he kept
looking over his shoulder, evidently in fear of a passing bullet. But
the detective was coming on after him, bound to run him down, and as
they passed First Avenue the hue and cry was taken up by two other
policemen, who joined in the pursuit. There was fully a block between
'Sleepy' and his pursuers when he neared the river. He saw his
advantage, turned into a stone-yard, dodged among the bowlders, scaled a
fence, and made off. Dick has been in the hands of the police before
this week, but managed to get away."
Is there no lesson for our city rulers in such facts as these? If our
police are men of only four block power; if they are so blown in that
little distance that they are utterly helpless, and all they can do is,
one after another to point to the escaping felon and indulge in these
"brilliant flashes of silence," inwardly imploring some good civilian to
kindly catch that thief; if a youngster can first indulge in a tough
wrestle with a detective, and then, taking a heavy blow on his head from
the butt of a revolver, not only empty-handed get away from his would-be
captor, but, although the latter is joined by two policemen, soon put a
whole block between him and them, and springing over a fence, go, after
all, "unwhipt of justice," does it not strike the reader that a little
improvement in the speed and stay of our policemen might do no harm? Had
it not better be conceded that it is hopeless for many of the Broadway
squad, for instance, in their present condition, to attempt to catch a
thief by running; after him, and would it not be well to provide each of
them with a lasso, for short-range work, and initiate them in its uses
at once? In this way they could certainly make sure of one of those
light-heeled gentry once in a while, perhaps--for example, one fond
of lady's ear-rings. And who believes that officers always report
their failures to catch thieves, or that the public ever hears of
one-half of such cases?
Let us see, too, where this physical incapacity may lead to graver
consequences than the mere allowing a detected thief to run at large. In
the great cities there have sprung up within a few years back
storehouses for the safe-keeping of securities, plate, important papers,
and other valuables. Hedged around with plates of steel,
chronometer-locks, massive bolts, and several watchmen, and connected
with the nearest police station by wires so arranged that the doors
cannot be opened without sounding the alarm at the station-house, the
public naturally put their trust in them, and their property too. Within
recent years we also hear far more than formerly of burglars going not
in pairs or threes, but in gangs of half a dozen or more, and of
cracking safes always thought impenetrable. Now, suppose that a descent
were made on the largest one of these safe depositories in America, the
one under the New York Stock Exchange, and by a dozen first-class
cracksmen. Their business hours are generally between one and four in
the morning. That they work with wonderful sagacity, daring, and
despatch, is attested by such brilliant performance as that at the
Northampton Bank robbery, or when they in a little time, one morning,
relieved the Manhattan Bank of a few millions, and that right within a
block of police head-quarters in New York city. Suppose that, by
collusion or otherwise, the robbers get through the outer door. Unlike
the Bank of England, there is no platoon of soldiers on guard. They
silence the three or four who oppose them. They come to the inner doors,
the opening of which alarms the police. At the station-house, when that
alarm sounds, three or four, or maybe more, more or less drowsy officers
start and run for the Stock Exchange, some eight hundred feet away. Is
there any especial reason why they should be any less exhausted when
they get there than the two policemen who failed to catch the Sixth
Avenue thief, or the two who let another on First Avenue run clear out
of their sight? The four blocks the former two policemen ran do not make
much over eight hundred feet. Suppose that three or four, not half-grown
fellows like "sleepy" Dick, but stalwart desperadoes, used to rough
work, quietly await the arrival of these worthy, but well-blown
patrolmen. How long would it take the thieves to at least check the
advance, if not also considerably impair the usefulness of men so
nearly gone that they could not speak, and whose hands shook so that
aiming a revolver effectively would be practically out of the question?
And might not the Press justly have some pretty plain comment to make,
then, on the physical inefficiency of our police force, and wonder why
it had not been insisted on long ago that they be trained as men have to
be in other callings, until they are fit for their work? Hear Dr.
Morgan, in "University Oars," on fat and unwieldy men, and their
unfitness for emergencies calling for strong and quick work: "When,
therefore, we hear of a man who, at twenty years of age, weighed 12
stone (168 pounds), and in after-life inclining to corpulency, has
reached the abnormal weight of 17 or 18 stone (238 or 252 pounds), we
must not consider him proportionately stronger: on the contrary, he
should rather excite our pity and commiseration--the _five or six stone
distributed over his body being composed wholly of adipose tissue_. He
is thus as completely enveloped in blubber as though he were a whale or
a seal. His muscles being heavily weighted, _his powers of locomotion
are necessarily limited_; and, handicapped in this manner, it is no easy
task for him to drag his unwieldy frame on some sweltering 12th of
August over the trying inequalities of a Highland moor."
The broken-winded man, or a man out of wind, is almost as useless in an
emergency calling for sharp and sudden work as a broken-winded horse.
The standing around of the policeman, heavily shod and heavily clad,
and the lazy, aimless walking, will never make him hardy, tough, and
difficult to face, or likely not to use his club where a strong, quick
man would never need it. Swollen hands and feet, and soft, flabby
flesh will be the result; and for the variety of sudden and dangerous
work which he may be called upon to do at any moment he is not half
fitted; and if he trains no more for his work than he does now,
he never will be.
Again, in the matter of looks--not the least important, by any means, of
the qualifications of a police-officer--are they all that they might be,
and that they really ought to be?
When a thousand of them, averaging two hundred pounds apiece, parade
down Broadway, with brass buttons gleaming, and every belt well filled,
it is easy enough for Press or citizen to say, "What a fine-looking body
of men!" But now, notice them closely, and most of them are inerect,
many are round-shouldered, and few are at once thoroughly well-built men
and in good condition, being either loose-jointed, too fat, or too thin.
Contrast their marching and bearing with that of the little West Point
battalion on parade, every man erect, clean-cut, precise, wiry, and
athletic; light and young, to be sure, but most hardy, quick, and
manly. Now, we know what it is to be erect. We soon discover that the
bulk, the sunburn, and the uniforms have gone far toward making the
favorable impression, which ought to have been better based, and that
almost every one of these policemen is plainly faulty.
Now, suppose every one of these twenty-five hundred men, besides being,
as most of them already are, both courageous and faithful in the
performance of duty, was a skilful and hard-hitting boxer, a good,
steady, long-distance runner, a fair wrestler, a strong swimmer, a
sound, hale, thoroughly well-made man. Let the vicious classes once
know--and how long would it take them to learn?--that in a race between
them and the policeman the latter would be pretty sure to win; let it be
known that, when he once caught his man, the odds would be decidedly in
his favor, and that that man would not get away; let every member of the
force be justly known as a formidable man to face, and one whom the
offender had better avoid--and what an advance it would be in both the
moral and physical efficiency of the force! Now let the riot come, and
see what that little band of twenty-five hundred trained men could do
against ten times their number. To-day they have nothing which makes
them enduring at quick, hard work, and that is what is wanted for mobs.
If they had an abundance of that which would make them so, the plying
of a locust for an hour or two among a lot of unorganized roughs would
be almost a diversion, and a game they could continue at by the
week if need be.
And why should not every city in our land have, instead of men very many
of them too often far out of condition, these same well-trained men,
educated, as men have to be in nearly every other calling, directly for
their work, and all dexterous and able? Is it asking too much? The
preparation necessary to it will not compare in its exhausting effects
with what the war-policeman--the soldier, who is not paid a quarter as
much--must do without a murmur: the long forced marching, weighted like
a pack-horse, the broken sleep, the stinted food, the bad shoes, the
long absence from home, and the lack of all comforts. Why not insist on
a regime which, if the fat man could go through and retain his
corporosity, would make him welcome to retain it; if the thin man could
be up to every day's work in it, then he could stand far more than he
looked equal to? But if either failed, out with him. There need be no
fear that good substitutes could not be had in abundance.
This is no question of mere health, and symmetry of make, and reasonable
strength, as with the ordinary citizen. It is a matter of fitness for
ordinary duties--duties often of very great importance to the public
weal, which may spring up at any moment, and which call for unusual
physical resources. It is a matter of substituting for dangerous
weapons, rashly wielded, and when that wielding is often wholly
uncalled for, men who, in any ordinary street-brawl, need no weapon,
and would scarcely think of using one, any more than would a Morrissey,
a Heenan, or a Hyer.
As nearly as possible in the centre of each four precincts in the larger
cities hire a hall, say about eighty feet by forty, and the higher the
better, well lighted and ventilated, and easily heated. Two hundred
dollars, carefully spent, would buy all needed apparatus, and as much
more would keep it swept and dusted, lighted and warmed. Twenty-five
cents a month from each of four hundred policemen would be twelve
hundred dollars a year, which would cover, beside these items, rent and
salary of teacher as well. For the teacher need be with them but a
little while daily; for, in about all the exercises necessary to make
men good ordinary runners and boxers, a teacher up to his work can drill
the men in squads. What they want is not intricate and technical
knowledge, but plain, straightforward, swift, hard work, and plenty of
it, and the condition which keeps them easily up to it. Or, better yet,
put these gymnasiums in charge of the department, if equally rigid
economy could be insured. Then require each man to spend fifteen minutes
there every other day, sparring--after he had the rudiments--with some
companion who can give him all the exercise he wants, and on the
alternate days let an equal period of time be spent in running, not at
racing pace, but still good lively work of the kind which brings good
lungs and good legs. Now, at the annual or semi-annual athletic meeting,
let picked men from each precinct contend in foot-races, both for short
and long distances; and, to give their work an even more practical turn,
give some sneak-thief a reasonable start in such contests, and let the
officers, in full uniform of course, catch him if they can. Now the
waistbands will begin to lessen, and a considerably smaller measure of
cloth will cover the man, but it will clothe a man who, unarmed and
unaided, can whip almost half a dozen such flabby, untrained, unskilful
fellows as he used to be. For every duty which may at any moment become
his, whether light or heavy, mild or violent, he will be far better
qualified in almost every respect than before, yet no better in his line
than any good business man requires each person in his employ to be in
his, no matter what their particular duties may be.