College is the time when, ironically, I came to respect police. Whereas in most college towns the police have little better to do than figure out ways to covertly infiltrate parties with undercover officers and write tickets to generate revenue for the city (I once got a $200 ticket for holding an empty plastic cup that smelled like beer at Illinois State University), but when you go to school in the city you quickly realize that Chicago police officers have more important things to worry about than a bunch of kids having a good time.
We were visited by the police frequently during parties, though, as they usually were responding to noise complaints, but we treated them politely and did our best to keep the noise in check after such visits. If they had to come back, they’d simply threaten to break up the party. A couple of times after breaking up a party they dropped by for a beer after their shifts had ended, knowing there were kegs needing to be finished.
We developed a nice little relationship with some of the cops on our beat. We did our best to make their jobs easier by keeping everyone inside and off the front sidewalk—which was along the busy Belmont Avenue—and if we ever got into a jam we couldn’t handle ourselves, we were told to call one of them on his personal cell and he’d come and clear everyone out except for the people we wanted to stay.
Aside from the time my friend Austin renting out his warehouse-like apartment space to a couple of high school kids so they could throw a prom party, which ended up being a couple hundred inebriated underagers puking all over their prom dresses before the cops broke it up and he got off with only the threat of being arrested, one incident in particular sticks out in my mind as to how nonchalant Chicago cops can be when presented with the opportunity to bust your ass if they really felt like doing the paperwork.
Shortly after Halo 2 came out for Xbox, one of my roommates got the bright idea to take all his musical equipment and start a radio station with his friend. Only they didn’t broadcast it over the airwaves, just out the windows directly down onto Belmont. A group of us were sitting around playing videogames as this was happening and after about a half-hour we heard our front door open and close. Our one roommate was the only person gone at the time and when he came home you’d usually hear “Honey, I’m home” or something lame like that. No such greeting this time.
I took my eyes off of fragging for a moment to glance over my shoulder and saw three cops standing at the top of the stairs surveying the apartment. It was our veteran beat cop John and a couple of rookies. Our neighbors had let them in. I turned back to the game to pause it when I noticed a big sack of weed on the coffee table, along with a couple of pipes. I whipped my head around back toward the cops to see the rookies eyeballing the pot, then us on the couch, then John. That played out in slow motion a couple more times. Then the two wannabe DJs at the window got a clue and turned off the music.
“That’s all you had to do,” John said. “We’ve had people calling 911 about you guys hanging out the window, blasting music up and down the street, and yelling at people. Just knock it off.”
The two other cops kept up their triangle of glances at the weed, us on the couch, then John. The weed caught his eye, too. But then the TV did.
“Oh shit! Is that Halo 2?! Or is it just the original? I’ve been playing Doom 3 all week on my computer. I need to get me an Xbox. All right, just keep it down, guys.”
At that, he turned around and headed down the stairs as the rookies still had their eyes glued on the coffee table. My roommates and I looked at each other, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Hey John,” one of them said. “Are you working tonight? We’re thinking of having a party.”
“I am,” he answered. “Let me know if you guys got any problems.”
