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While patrolling a high crime neighborhood I heard a report of an armed robbery at an all-night gas bar. Several cars responded and called out a description of a suspect. He had jumped over the counter swinging a large knife at the horrified clerk, who dashed away as the bandit helped himself to the contents of the register and cut the phone line.We all felt the suspect would have long disappeared since the call took some time to come in but I saw a man a few kilometers (miles) away in a bus shelter who, with a lot of imagination, matched the sketchy description — a 20-year old male in blue jeans wearing a dark coat. Given the hour and neighborhood and a flimsy description, I decided to take a chance and at least ask his name.I noticed he became rather furtive as I approached and kept looking around. He didn’t run or try to leave the shelter, as I was standing at the only exit. I told him there would be no bus at this hour and asked his name. He gruffly advised that he would tell me nothing and enthusiastically suggested that I perform an anatomical impossibility.I again asked for his name. He refused.Now I began to wonder what to do next and recalled a rather obscure law, The Public Works Protection Act, that was instituted in the second world war to prevent sabotage of waterworks, public buildings and the like. In that law there was a power to arrest anyone found in or even approaching a "public works" and refusing to identify themselves. Public works was identified as any structure or place owned by a municipal, provincial or federal government. The bus shelter was a public structure so I told him he was under arrest for failure to identify himself under the Public Works Protection Act.He became much more aggressive and I quickly tussled him to the ground. Finding a good-sized knife in his pocket and a bundle of cash meant I had hit the jackpot.Back at the station, the sergeant in charge, noticing the suspect did not exactly meet the description given for the robbery, asked about the charge for my original arrest. I told him. Looking both puzzled and concerned, he sent me to the detective office and began looking for an Alka Seltzer and some provincial statutes. That night I was lucky on several counts and one of them was remembering the violation.

WHY CBT WOULDN’T WORK FOR BILLYI’m not a huge fan. CBT can be learned from a manual; art can’t. Therapy is art, not paint-by-numbers.(I put a super-short description of CBT down at the end of this answer.)Take Billy, 19, schizophrenic and blessed to live in the age of better neuroleptic medications. His hallucinations and delusions made him completeley dysfunctional until he got on a combination of two wonderful drugs.Therapy for him was letting me into his thoughts and experiences space and describing what he was seeing and hearing and thinking, while keeping one foot firmly planted in reality.On medications, the guys from the government were still lurking around at times, maybe just as shadows seen out of the corner of his eye. Other times, voices told him he was no good and in the wrong place. But he could describe it all to me, and how it was when he sat in his circuits class at school or walked on campus or ate lunch.Sometimes, for extended periods, Billy was almost symptom free, and he tore through his homework and learned like crazy and got the grades. Other times it was a struggle, but he kept at it. Few people knew he was schizophrenic, though a few found him a little “weird.”Can you imagine my sitting Billy down and “challenging his irrational beliefs” or telling him that improving his relationships with classmates was just the thing for his symptoms?What’s a quick description of CBT, say for a mood disorder? (1) See how your thoughts affect your mood. Change your thoughts (challenge and replace the irrational ones with rational). (2) See how your activities affect your mood. Change your activities. (3) See how your relationships affect your mood. Change your relationships.

My class valedictorian, for lack of a better term, got a lot of strange looks on graduation day because he, a rookie cop, looked like someone's Grandpa. In fact, he WAS someone's Grandpa, and while he was knowledgeable of the law due to being an attorney in private practice, we wondered how he would do as a patrol officer. Not quite a year later, we got our answer. He pulled over a car in the early AM hours, during which time the occupants pulled out a handgun and shot him in the face. He pulled out his weapon and returned fire as they sped away, emptying a whole magazine on them. He got one of them in the scalp, as I heard, but they kept driving. He got in the radio to call for help, and when officers hear a call about a fellow officer being shot, they are going to respond. FAST. So, they're all expecting to see our friend sprawled out on the ground, maybe unconscious, but he was up and at 'em, mouth running a million miles an hour, giving perfect descriptions of the suspects, their vehicle, license tag, where his shots landed, and direction of travel. See, before becoming a Deputy Sheriff and even before passing the BAR, he was in the Marines. He knew how to handle that kind of stress. He ended up losing his eye, but remained on the he job, albeit in Transportation instead of Patrol. Still, that's pretty badass!!