RCMP: Highly Decorated officer David Alan Kift exposes the Corruption!

THE NAKED MOUNTIE
There’s 3 Ways to Do It,

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The Right Way

The Wrong Way

The RCMP Way

A Members Diary Of His Service With The Royal Canadian Mounted Police
Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my loving wife Marion and my two daughters Tiffany and Shannon who stood behind me during difficult times and Gloria YOUNNIE of Chilliwack British Columbia who inspired me to write this book.

About the Author

I was born in Oshawa, Ontario in 1957 to a family including two brothers and a sister. I graduated from Eastdale High School in Oshawa Ontario in 1977. I was sworn into the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at the Toronto, Ontario “O Division” Headquarters on the 28th of December, 1978 at age 20. I then graduated from the R.C.M.P. Training academy on July 3, 1979.

Postings and Transfers . . .

• Transferred to general duties in Chilliwack, British Columbia until October 1981

• Posted to Boston Bar, British Columbia from October 1981 until May 1983

• Posted to Agassiz, British Columbia until May 1983

• Posted to Prince Rupert, British Columbia from May 1985 until August 1989

• Posted to Victoria, British Columbia August 1989 and released from the force on January 3, 1996

• Relocated to Oshawa, Ontario August 1996

Chapter One

Joining the Force

Joining

In the spring of 1977 I graduated from Eastdale high school in the city of Oshawa, Ontario; a city located 40 kilometers east of Toronto. I was raised in a middle class neighborhood with two brothers and a sister. As a youngster I had a vision of being a policeman as many of my father’s friends were. A close friend of the family, John Wilson, was the Corporal in charge of the Calendar Detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police. We used to go to visit his family often. One Easter while visiting, there was a shortage of beds in his home, which was attached to the Police station. This resulted in my brother John and me sleeping in one of the jail cells. John Wilson’s son Ray was the first of my friends to join the Force. Ray became my mentor and at that point I became determined to join the Federal Police Force of Canada.

I applied to join the force in the city of Oshawa as they had a detachment located in the city hall. After applying, it took about two years to complete the examinations and obtain an opening in Regina Saskatchewan. This is where the training academy for the R.C.M.P is located. I was sworn into the force on the 28th of December, 1978 at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Headquarters office in Toronto, Ontario. The recruiting Constable provided me with an allowance to travel to Regina, Saskatchewan, and away I went. After a few days of traveling through foul weather I finally arrived in Regina. The weather was terrible as I drove into the Parade Square at Depot. I observed a recruit running across the Parade Square with his fur hat pulled over his head and the snow blowing violently. I rolled the window down and asked where I should report in. The recruit, whom I later befriended, was named Peter Draper. Peter pointed to the guardhouse and told me to turn around and get the hell out while I could. I proceeded to the guardhouse where a commissioner gave me a blanket, sheet and a pillow. He directed me to one of the large buildings, called a dormitory

Barracks

The barracks at the RCMP training academy consist of three stories. C and D blocks are L shaped with six dormitories in each building. A single dormitory has sixteen beds on each side, and each section has an area between two beds called a pit. You shared this area with another recruit. The area has a built-in desk with drawers and a security locker. The beds consisted of a single mattress on a metal frame. You are issued two sets of linen and one blanket. Each day when you rise at about 6 am.

All the beds had to be prepared in the same manner. The inspecting officer looked down the line of sheets; every bed sheet had to be lined up. The sheets had to be ironed with a grey black blanket on top, rolled down, and pulled tight so it did not show any wrinkles. This could be performed with a coat hanger. Your Sam Brown (otherwise known as a holster) had to be stripped and laid in a specific order on the bed in a mirror image to your pit partners. Your drawers were only allowed to contain issue clothing, which had to be too rolled in a specific way. The closet had to contain issue clothing on the right with hangers turned in and civilian clothing on the left with hangers turned out. Your hats were to be positioned on the top shelf in a specific manner. Your security locker had to be locked at all times. This is where you stored your service revolver and valuables. A key was issued and you wore it around your neck at all times. It was worth your life if you lost it.

Each and every day the pit area was to be vacuumed and your area, along with the washrooms, were inspected by the Corps Sergeant Major. You had to stand at attention for inspection at 7:00 a.m. Monday to Friday. Each Troop would collect a donation upon arrival and we would rent a television to put in a small room. This room would also serve as the ironing and polishing room.

Drill

When we first arrived in Regina, Saskatchewan for training, we soon learned to fear the Drill Instructor. These men were the most disciplined instructors we were most likely to encounter during our six-month tour of Depot Division.

They were people who represented the uniform well, with a good physique, usually a clean cut and waxed moustache, and when they spoke it sent shivers down your spine.

The Non-Commissioned Officer in charge of the section was Sergeant Shawn Rich. He was God’s representative; he thrived on discipline and represented the force immaculately. He was also a seasoned instructor who previously conducted two three-year tours as a Corporal and as a Constable drill instructor.

In Depot they arranged your training schedule so that you would have a physical course followed by an academic course. This would involve showering after your physical, marching together to your academic course in another building and being on time. It took about six weeks to get your marching orders which could be identified by you being in uniform till then you had to run everywhere.

The first day we had drill we were late. I think it was arranged it this way. We ran to the drill hall in what was attempted as a troop formation and were met by the one and only Sergeant S. Rich. How could we be so lucky? He was on the front steps of this massive drill hall yelling in a deep rough voice calling us every foul word one could imagine. We went into the drill hall and lined up with him hot on our tracks. The man looked sharp. His uniform was flawless, and you could see yourself in his boots. One morning Sergeant Rich walked down the first of two rows of our troop, inspecting the troops. When he stopped in front of a fellow recruit by the name of Dave Quack Rich had a clipboard under one arm and a walking staff under the other.

He looked at Quack and said to him, “Where are you from”? Quack replies, “Vancouver, Corporal”. When Rich finished with him after calling him a Corporal, not Sergeant, I felt sorry for Quack. Rich then says, “I don’t mean Vancouver. I mean where you from are?” Quack replies, “My parents are from Taiwan”. Lewis threw his clipboard across the drill hall, turned around and said, “Now, we’re sending Mounties out with ‘Made in Taiwan’ on them?”

As time went on, he rode several of us. One day Rich told us to touch all four walls of the large drill hall. At his command we would have to run and touch all four drill hall walls and get back into the same formation. God help you if you were the last to shuffle into place. Quack was running as fast as he could and when he looked up there was the wall. He went through the drywall leaving a big hole. Boy was Rich pissed off.

If you screwed up, Rich would have you put Mickey Mouse ears on your head and stand in a polished garbage can meeting the tourists, telling each one that came in you were an asshole. When we graduated we were, in my opinion, one of the most disciplined troops that ever graduated.

Graduation

On July 3, 1979 I graduated from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at Regina, Saskatchewan known as Depot Division. The North West Mounted Police established the depot as a post in 1873. Located in central Canada, it was a prime location to continue the heritage of the force. Training was, for a short time, out of Alberta and varied in length of time from nine months to a year. In the early seventies it was shortened to six months because equestrian training had been eliminated. Contrary to popular belief, horses are no longer used in the training of RCMP members. The only horse I saw in Depot was stuffed in the museum. It seemed that our whole tour in Regina was set around the day of graduation. Drill definitely appeared that way but it was also to discipline you I guess. The force seems to (opinion not fact) brainwashes its members. For this reason they like them young, because it is very easy to mould a young innocent man or woman and get them to think their way. They drill into you “there is the right way”, “the wrong way”, and “the RCMP way.” The day was broken into different demonstrations, which involved Self Defense, Firearms, Swimming, Drill and finally receiving your pocket badge. It was a very busy day filled with incredibly disciplined moves. It is open to the public and if you ever get a chance to see a troop graduation it’s worth the free admission price.

Posting

It was not until the last week of our training that you found out where in Canada you were to be posted. I requested Newfoundland or Nova Scotia only because I would be closer to my home in Ontario. At that period of time it was impossible to be transferred to your own province. We were all summoned to the dormitory one night where our troop councilor, a big man by the name of Chuck Leman, met us.

You were on pins and needles, especially when he was reading out the members who were going to Saskatchewan. Well, Nova Scotia came and went; Newfoundland did also, and then came British Columbia. Ye Hah, I guess? Where in B.C.? We had to wait a few days so the Commanding Officer of the division you were posted to could determine where he would like to put you. I found out I was going to Chilliwack. Great, I’m so happy, where is Chilliwack? At this time Regina held the Canadian Police Combat Shoots and I met a competitor named Lorne Chaplin from Chilliwack. He described the area to me one evening. As soon as I acquired as much information as possible, I was on the phone to my then fiancée in Ontario passing on information about our new home to her. Of course her first question was, “Where is Chilliwack?”

Chapter Two

Chilliwack

Escapee

One summer day in the late seventies an inmate escaped from Mountain Institution, a Medium Security Prison in Agassiz, British Columbia. An inmate had walked away. The last sighting of the inmate was at the base of mount Woodside, about a kilometer from the institution. The dog master for the Chilliwack detachment of the R.C.M.P. was dispatched to the area. The dog master was Corporal Larry Butler and his dog was Major. Larry was an experienced dog handler and was called quite often to track people who escaped from the prisons. On this particular occasion the escapee happened to be in top physical condition when he escaped.

When Major, got the inmate’s scent, Larry and Major went in hot pursuit. They ended up chasing the inmate through the wooded slopes to the top of the mountain. The inmate was located and confronted by Major, who had been released from his lead on the way up the mountain because of the thick bush. Larry was a short distance behind when the inmate pulled out a sharpened dinner knife and stabbed Major in the neck, cutting the artery in the dog’s neck. When Larry finally approached the inmate, he made a sudden threatening movement towards Larry.

Larry discharged his service revolver and the bullet struck the escapee’s knee, traveling right through and then hitting the rocks underneath. It then ricocheted and traveled back through the other knee. Larry then called on his radio for a helicopter to fly the injured inmate and dog off the mountain.

When the helicopter arrived, rry gently loaded his injured partner and friend Major onto the helicopter and immediately had him flown to the veterinarian hospital in Chilliwack, leaving the inmate, whose injury was not life threatening, on Mount Woodside. The dog was attended to by the Veterinarian and Barter then returned to the mountain. The inmate has recovered and Major’s life was saved. The vet indicated to Larry that Major would never again be operational. The force usually puts its dogs down after eight years of service; therefore Major would be headed for retirement. Larry pleaded to be allowed to continue with Major and his request was granted. Major turned out to be one of the forces most valuable K9s for several years to follow.

However, Larry’s problems were not over. Chilliwack’s subdivision section, non-commission officer, Staff Sergeant George Falan, felt that the incident, which had occurred on the mountain, was not as Larry described. Staff Sergeant Falan took it upon himself to obtain the evidence he felt was the truth. He attempted to have Corporal Larry Butler discharged over the incident. Although Staff Sergeant Falan was never able to prove Larry’s story to be untrue, Larry’s promotions in the force ended that day. Terry is still serving the Kootney area R.C.M.P as a Corporal.

Foster

When recruits first arrive at a detachment from recruit field training, they were usually pretty naive, eager and willing to participate. Unknown to them, their fellow members were ready to play a practical joke when the opportunity arose. Donna Foster, a young single female full of energy, was no exception. In the downtown core we had a street person by the name of Selma Packrat. She was a middle-aged woman who was down in her luck and in the wee hours of the morning she would search the dumpsters in hopes of finding a meal

Donna had returned to the office to do some paperwork early one morning and our practical joker Rick Harper went to work. Earlier in the evening Rick had gone to one of the tow truck company compounds and filled a box with broken auto glass. While Donna was in the office, he got the spare set of keys and went to her car, which was in the parking lot outside the detachment. He rolled down the window and stuck broken glass around the window edges. He then threw some glass on the seat and onto the ground. Afterwards he removed the portable radio and briefcase from the police car. We then sat back and watched.

Donna returned to her car later that morning. Her reaction was enough to satisfy any practical joker. She ran back into the office very upset. We convinced her that Selma had done the damage and Donna took off on foot looking for her. Thank god she didn’t locate her before we went back to the car, replaced her radio and briefcase the way it had been, and cleaned up the glass. We then rolled up the window, which confused the hell out of Donna. The last I heard, Donna was promoted to a Sergeant in Regina, Saskatchewan.

Rosedale Accidents

On a clear, dry, warm, summer Saturday night I was working an evening shift in Chilliwack, B.C. At the beginning of the shift the watch commander asked if I would periodically check on a dance that was taking place at the Rosedale Community Hall because we had had problems there the last time the event was held. About 9 p.m., I drove out to the community of Rosedale, which was about ten kilometers to the east of Chilliwack. Upon my arrival I noted a rowdy crowd outside the hall. When the crowd noticed my police car parked across the road they started throwing beer bottles at the car and yelling obscene remarks. It was a busy night and manpower was limited so I parked the police car a few kilometers down the road and stopped the people coming or going to the dance. By doing this I managed to seize some of the illegal liquor minors were taking with them to the dance.

A short time later I received a call from Chilliwack telecom reporting a fight involving several people and that one of the suspects was threatening the manager with a baseball bat at the Sportsman Motor Inn located several kilometers down the road. I attended the call and the manager of the Inn indicated that two young men had been threatening him with a bat. They left in a car westbound just before my arrival. I was about to leave to try to catch the suspects when I heard a crash up the road in the direction I had just come. I advised the Inn manager that I had better check it out as it sounded like a serious automobile collision.

I drove a kilometer down the road when I came across a single vehicle accident. The dust was settling and what I saw was terrible. A Pontiac Lemans hit a big old oak tree on the right side of the road. When it hit the tree, the car had exploded. The vehicle was ripped in half at the firewall and the body of the car came off the frame behind it. A young female teenager was walking around in a circle crying and in shock. I saw two other people curled up motionless against the window behind the rear seat. One other person in the front passenger seat was seriously injured and unconscious. The legs of another person were sticking out from under the firewall on the road with the body of the car on top of him. A sixth person was found a short time later by our dog master in a farmer’s field unconscious. She had been ejected out of the car.

Don Robertson, my friend and co-worker, arrived shortly after I did. He was on his way to back me up on the assault complaint. We requested the two ambulances from Chilliwack, the Fire Department, and the Department of National Defense’s ambulance from the Armed Forces base in Vedder Crossing to be dispatched. I felt that we had a multiple fatality on our hands.

By this time motorists were stopping to provide assistance to us. We parked our police car to protect the scene the best we could. While we were trying to determine what had transpired and trying the save the accident victim’s lives, we heard the squealing of tires heading towards the accident scene. I looked up to see Don jumping on the hood of his police car to avoid being struck by a car sliding into the accident scene. I choose to jump into my police car to avoid being hit. The driver was a seventeen-year-old girl who was extremely intoxicated. She slid into the accident scene, hitting the wrecked body of the car and skidding over the legs of the male teenager under the car. She was told to get out of her car and wait on the shoulder for us. Unfortunately, every member we had this evening was busy with the accident and no one could process the young teenager for impaired driving. I noticed that the legs of the person under the car moved after they were ran over. Don recruited the people at the scene to help us lift the car off the trapped person. Don pulled him out and he was still alive.

All six teenagers survived the accident. One girl was paralyzed, and the other physical wounds healed. The driver pleaded guilty to impaired driving and the girl who slid into the accident scene was given a traffic ticket for driving without due care and attention. All seven of the youths had been at the dance in Rosedale.

Nathan Murder

When I was posted in Chilliwack I worked zone one, which was the busiest of four zones the Chilliwack area was divided into. Zone one consisted of patrolling the downtown core, the community of Sardis, Vedder Crossing and Yarrow, BC. We consisted of a Sergeant, Corporal, and nine Constables serving sixty thousand people. At about 8 p.m. I was on my way to pick up Ken Burns, one of our Auxiliary Constables, when I received a call of an intoxicated male passed out behind the Empress Hotel. I picked up Ken and proceeded to the complaint.

When we pulled into the alley, I noticed a group of people at the end. I said to Ken, “It looks like a fight”. When we pulled up, I saw a man lying in a pool of blood. My first thought was that he had been run over by an automobile and that I should have responded before I picked up Ken. When I got out of the car and approached the person lying on the road, one of the people standing over the body said, “He’s not breathing; he’s dead!” I was trying to determine what had occurred, when the owner of the Empress Hotel, which we were behind, started screaming, “Come quick. A guy’s got a knife on a woman. He’s going to kill her! Briefly told dispatch over the radio what had occurred? I requested help and asked Ken, who was unarmed, to protect the accident scene. I ran into the Empress Hotel with the manager, Albert Taggart, with my revolver drawn. The Empress is a rough watering hole and you normally do not enter alone but in this case I did not have much choice. Upon entering the rear entrance I was confronted by a nineteen year old native Indian by the name of Leonard Nathan. You see, Leonard Nathan is a failure as a criminal. We first met when Woolworth’s caught him shoplifting and he was charged with theft. Then he attempted an armed robbery at Woolworth’s department store and was caught and charged with robbery. Then, if that were not enough, he finally broke into Woolworth’s and was trying to load a 22 rifle with a high-powered rifle cartridge in the sporting goods department when the members found him and arrested him. Among other daring crimes he’s now a real-life murderer.

Nathan was behind the bar, covered in blood and holding a hunting knife in his hand. I pointed my revolver at him and told him to drop the knife. Good thing for him that he did. The bartender picked up the knife and I handcuffed Nathan. I read him his rights, and was escorting him to the rear door of the hotel when my co-worker Randy Fisk ran in to assist me. The patrons were silent during the ordeal and began to cheer when I walked Nathan out. I then returned to the crime scene where I took charge of the body for continuity. This involved going to the morgue with the body and obtaining evidence from it at the autopsy.

The investigation revealed that Nathan was intoxicated and high on drugs. He had killed John Duncan Grey who was fifty-four years old, for his wallet, which contained two dollars. This was recovered down the pants of Leonard Nathan at the Police Station. John Duncan Gray was stabbed eleven times, twice in the head, five times in the back, and four times in the chest. A few months following the murder I was called into the office where Sergeant Bill Woodworth and Crown Council prosecutor confronted me. They asked what my thoughts were in taking a plea of manslaughter from Nathan. I disagreed strongly and pushed for a second-degree murder charge. Guess what? Nathan pleaded guilty to manslaughter and received a three-year jail term. He served eighteen months before being released on parole.

Pearl

This story in itself is not overly exciting or long, it’s just to bring to your attention how unjust our criminal justice system has become. A sixteen-year-old girl named Pearl Fredrick’s from Chilliwack lived a very promiscuous lifestyle. What I would like to call her would be rude, so use your imagination. She gave birth shortly before the incident I will tell you about.

One evening Pearl and an older man were drinking wine beside an alley beside the Orange hall in Chilliwack. After the two had consumed liquor all evening, the male she was with attempted to sexually assault her. Pearl took a rock and beat him on the head, knocking him unconscious. Apparently this was not enough because she continued to beat him beyond recognition. She left the scene for an undetermined location. The next morning the body of the man was found and an investigation was launched. Pearl was arrested and was charged with murder and then brought before a judge to be remanded. Her lawyer joked with the members and bet that he could get her released. Not only that, but he bet he could get her released on a hundred dollar surety. The judge bought the reason for release and released her with the conditions that she could not consume liquor, had a curfew of nine o’clock, and must report into the police station on a regular basis.

On three separate occasions she was arrested for intoxication and being out past her curfew, and three times she was released. The fourth time she was held for the same offences and held in custody. She pleaded guilty to manslaughter and received an eighteen-month probationary term. Ironically, she was the girlfriend of Leonard Nathan who was sentenced to three years in jail for stabbing John Duncan Grey to death.

Shoot Out

One evening while on duty in Chilliwack, British Columbia, a co-worker queried the license plate of a Florida car which had been parked in the lot of the Beresford Hotel. It came back as having been stolen from Nevada, USA.

The car was a late model Oldsmobile 442 Cutlass. Inquiries were made and it was ascertained that the vehicle was being operated by two Americans staying at the hotel. It was felt by the watch commander, Sergeant Dave Billings that we should monitor the activities of the two subjects to determine their reasons for being in town. It was speculated that they might have been responsible for an armed robbery in a neighboring detachments area. A couple of hours after the vehicle was identified, the two suspects, along with a woman who was identified as the mother of the manager of the hotel, left in the car. It was first speculated that they might be going to conduct an armed robbery at the Husky Gas Bar a few kilometers down the road. This proved not to be the case, since they pulled onto the Trans Canada Highway prior to reaching the gas bar.

The vehicle traveled east on the highway for several kilometers when it suddenly turned around in the grass median and began heading west. My guess was they were startled when they passed seven marked and one unmarked police car which turned around in the median to follow them. Let me tell you, the chase was on with speeds in excess of 180 kilometers per hour. The occupants led us all through out the Chilliwack area. After about twenty minutes, Bruce Farmer and Donna Brown were the first behind them in an unmarked brown Dodge Diplomat when a large flash blew out of the back window of the suspect’s vehicle. Brown got on the radio screaming that they shot at us. They opened up on us with what was later determined a 30-30 rifle, a sixteen gauge shotgun, and two 357 magnum handguns. Our Sergeant, Dave Billings, would not allow us to return fire because it was felt that the woman who was between the suspects in the front seat might be a hostage and there was a chance that she could be hit. Sergeant Dave Billings and Corporal Ian Carney were in a marked Plymouth Voltaire and they were next in line in the chase after Farmer’s car seized as the radiator was full of bullet holes. Ayres tried ramming the Cutlass, hitting it in the rear end with the front of his car. This action resulted in Ayres and Carney spinning out into the ditch with an in-operational police car. Next in line was John Allan. He chased them up Mount Woodside, where the suspects lost control of their car and went into the side of the mountain. The two males jumped over the embankment into the woods and we arrested the woman on the road. It was determined that the two men were escapes from the Nevada State Prison and that the woman had been reloading the guns for the two escapees.

A manhunt was conducted. One suspect was spotted by helicopter the next day and arrested in a wooded lot not far from the accident. The second suspect walked down the railway line to the community of Mission where he attended the hospital for injuries sustained in the crash. The hospital called advising us that a man had shown up with unexplainable injuries. A member from Mission Detachment attended and the man was questioned and released. The member didn’t think it was our man. The man was later arrested in Vancouver.

The woman was not charged for her actions. The charges were reduced on the men because the courts felt they weren’t shooting to injure the Police but to decommission the police cars.

River Suicide

During my duties I witnessed some odd things. I often wonder about this one. Upon attending work one day a friend and co-worker Don Bartlett, who worked the city traffic unit, advised me that his neighbor had noticed a truck parked on the side of the Chilliwack River road. Don’s neighbor was concerned about the well being of a dog, which was locked in the cab of the truck. She indicated that the truck had been there for about three days without anybody around. She stated that she would take the dog if the owner didn’t claim it. The Chilliwack River road paralleled the river, and the water was extremely high due to heavy rains. The license plate on the truck was queried and it was determined that the owner lived in Surrey, BC. Members of the Surrey detachment attended the owner’s house and were unable to locate anyone. I had the dog master search the area for any evidence that would lead us to the whereabouts of the missing owner. When I searched the truck, I found it contained dozens of women’s and men’s shoes and boots. Surprisingly enough there were no pairs.

We had no idea where this person had gone, until about a month later when we received a call from Mission Detachment advising us that they had recovered a body of a male in the Fraser River approximately thirty-five kilometers downstream. The identity of the body was determined by identification found in the body’s wallet. It identified him as the owner of the recovered pickup. An autopsy was scheduled to be performed at the Chilliwack hospital where I attended with a new recruit. We met the pathologist at the morgue. He advised me that we did not have to witness the examination because it was an ugly sight. I objected until I entered the morgue and the odor was so bad I turned around and agreed with the pathologist. He told me he would call if he found anything unusual. A short time later he called to advise me that he had found a running shoe down the front of the body’s pants. If that wasn’t weird enough, he was wearing panty hose. It is believed he had a foot fetish and was masturbating in the running shoe when he fell into the river and drowned. The question I still wonder about is where is his other shoe?

Smash & Grab

I attended in response to a call from an elderly lady one evening who reported that her ground level apartment had been broken into. When I attended the lady was in shock. She took me through the apartment and described all the items that were missing. These included all her figurines, jewellery, small appliances, barbecue, etc. I felt sorry for the lady, especially when she found her deceased husband’s gold railway pocket watch was also stolen. She started to cry and at that time the case took on a special interest for me. I assured her that I would find the person responsible for the break-in and recover the pocket watch.

A few nights later, an alarm was received from a TV and appliance store not far from where the lady lived. Upon attendance, I found that the front display window had been broken. Missing were an undetermined number of stereos and TVs. A patrol of the area revealed no suspects. The shift supervisor, Corporal Ian Carney met me and we discussed the theft, awaiting the arrival of the owner of the store. I remembered that some heroin addicts by the names of Patty and Terence Harvey and Pat Sparrow lived in the area. I said to Ian, “I wonder if they could have done the smash and grab”, since they lived within running distance from the appliance store. I suggested to Ian that I should go to their house and discuss with them their knowledge of the theft. Ian discouraged this, as he knew their attitude towards the police since he had dealt with them often while on drug squad. I took it upon myself to attend their residence and ask them some questions. Hell, I had nothing to loose.

I wandered down the sidewalk when a neighboring resident approached me. He indicated to me that a couple of people had run by their house, in the direction of the Harvey house, with something in their arms. This made my suspicions stronger. I knew full well that there was little likelihood that they would co-operate. I knocked on the door and Pat Harvey answered. I told him of the smash and grab down the street and asked him if he had seen anybody run by. He said no, and I inquired if anyone had just arrived. He indicated “no” and to prove this he invited me into the house. Once inside he took me through to show me nobody else was in the house. Terence and Patty Harvey were watching TV and everything was quit. Upon leaving I noticed a box by the back door, which had a Torcan fan inside. The label on it was from a local store. Then I remembered that the elderly woman had just purchased a Torcan fan a few days previously and that it had been stolen. Then on the way out I saw the figurines on the end tables along with other items reported stolen. I could not get out of there fast enough to obtain a search warrant and recover the stolen property. When I left the house I immediately went back to the office and completed search warrant information. Afterwards I visited Judge Mergers residence and had it sworn. Ian and I went back to Garvey’s residence where the warrant was served. When we were recovering the items, Ian was looking for drugs. Found in the babies’ dresser drawer were used syringes. Ian took them and bent the needles. We looked in the pull-out couch and it was almost as if we had found gold. Inside was the TV and stereo equipment that had been stolen earlier that night with the price tags still on the items.

We were able to solve two thefts that night and I was proud to be able to return the stolen property to the old lady, especially the pocket watch belonging to her late husband.

Liquor Store

In many communities the most frequent after hour targets for smash and grabs are local liquor stores. In the common occurrence, a person would break the window or door glass out and run into the store. They would grab as much liquor as they could carry and take off before the police could respond to the alarm. This was quite popular on Friday and Saturday nights. On this one occasion Don Donaldson and I responded to an alarm at the liquor store. We knew the alarm was authentic because it was Saturday morning at 2 a.m.

When attendance was made, sure enough, it was a smash and grab. Our response was to secure the area until the dog handler arrived to try and pick up a scent. I stayed at the liquor store and Don patrolled the area. A block away he found a mid-twenties male going through a garbage dumpster. Don stopped him and inquired as to his actions. The male was identified by Don and was given this lame story as to why he was rooting around. He was allowed to continue on his way.

The dog handler, Claude Leonard, arrived from the neighboring detachment in Mission, thirty kilometers to the northwest, twenty minutes later. His dog immediately picked up the scent of the suspect and led him to the dumpster where Don checked the aforementioned male. In the bushes beside the bin were five bottles of rye whisky. Don got the name of the person he checked and the search was on to locate the person. I was in the Royal Hotel when Claude radioed us advising that he was in pursuit of the suspect who was running in my direction. Claude’s dog was on a twenty foot lead chasing the man when a car drove over the leash and it got caught in the undercarriage. The suspect was running down the road and Claude was trying to unhook the dog, which was on two back legs trying to chase the man. Claude released the dog and untangled the lead. The dog was wide open after this guy with Claude a far distance behind. I ran out of the hotel almost into the suspect. He turned right into an alley with me behind him. The dog brushed my leg and ran past me. Don then drove past me in the police car and cranked the car, pinning the suspect between the fender of the car and the wall. Don put the front tire on the suspect’s foot. He managed to free himself and back into the corner. Then came Claude’s dog, all teeth. The dog started biting the guy’s leg and he was yelling, “get this dog off me.” Don and I looked at each other and told him were’re not touching him. Claude finally arrived, out of breath, and secured the dog.

Threats

One evening my friend, Lou Donaldson, got off shift early and asked me for a ride home. On route to his house was passed the cottage park. He told me that he had received a threat from a person named Brian Raven. Raven threatened to kill Lou and Lou was advising me to be aware of the man. Don showed me on the way home where the man lived for future reference.

After dropping Lou off, I drove back to the cottage park where Raven was living. I saw that they were unloading their car into their house. I drove up and began talking to Raven, his girl friend and another man. He ignored me and I could sense that something was not right. While Raven and his friend were taking some items into the house, I told the girl friend that these guys are in a great deal of trouble and to tell me everything she knows. I no sooner said this when she told me that she knew they were going to get caught and that she tried to get them to stop. I tried to get her to tell me what they had done before they returned to find out his girlfriend confessed to me. Then she said it, “All the auto parts they have were stolen from car lots, including the parts they were packing into the house, and those which were on the car.” Apparently they had been engaging in this type of theft for quite some time. When Brian came out I arrested him for possession of stolen property.

When we were going back to the office I asked him to tell me everything on his car that was stolen. He refused to say anything so I told him I would strip his car of anything I felt was stolen and leave it in a tangled piece of metal.

The investigation continued and a major auto parts theft ring was quashed. In court the lawyer tried to discredit me by asking me if I lied to his client. I proudly said “yes”. He asked me if I told his client that I would pull his car apart and leave it a tangled piece of metal. I proudly said “yes”. I proudly walked out of the courthouse with a conviction against Mr. Raven. He never threatened Lou again.

Chapter Three

Boston Bar

Dive Team

In 1980, I was accepted into the Forces Diving Team. I attended an induction course at Pender Harbor on the Sunshine Coast north of Vancouver for two weeks. During our training, we were taught how to search for evidence and bodies, mostly in zero visibility conditions. I was one of five members qualified by the Force to conduct recoveries in the lower mainland of British Columbia. My first dive was at a lake in the Agassiz area.

A teenage boy had been consuming liquor at a grad party in a remote logging area. He left the party and struck a parked car with his father’s white Chrysler New Yorker. He was trying to flee the area at a high rate of speed when he went off the road and traveled over a two hundred meter embankment into Chehalis Lake. The vehicle hit the mountainside several times on its descent, hitting Chehalis Lake three meters off shore. The investigator, Kevin Kindler, three divers, Al Black, Phil Stead and I, traveled ten kilometers down the lake to the accident area.

The debris left behind on the mountainside and the oil surfacing from the wreck could determine this accident area. The depth of the water indicated was thirty meters deep. Normally we would not dive deeper than this but the water clarity was excellent so we decided to descend to this depth. Phil Stead and I descended to approximately twenty meters when we could see the wreck. I thought to myself that the car appeared to have been put in a crusher. When Phil and I reached the bottom we were in disbelief. There was no way we were going to recover the body from this wreckage. I peered over my shoulder and saw the deceased lying on a rock side three meters away. The young man was ejected from the car on impact. Phil and I both took an arm and ascended to the surface.

On a sunny afternoon I was patrolling the Chilliwack area when I received a call reporting a drowning at Cultus Lake—a beautiful mountain lake enjoyed by Vancouver residents. A McDonald’s restaurant had rented the group campsite B at the Provincial Park. Three young staff members were in a canoe paddling meters from shore. Two youths had not been wearing a life jacket and one youth was. A powerboat went by them and the wake capsized the canoe with the children.

The first youth was a young girl with the life jacket who began to swim to shore. The two remaining young ladies began to panic; one left the capsized canoe and began to swim for shore. The other people on the shore witnessed this. They jumped in the lake and began to swim to the frantic victims. To their disbelief, a young man reached the first victim at which time she grabbed him and they disappeared under the water, never to surface again. The other young lady stayed with the canoe, fighting to keep it from rolling over and finally deciding to leave it. She swam approximately twenty meters and she also drowned. Upon my arrival I was meet by the witnesses and was taken to the area where they indicated the victims were last seen. I dropped a marker in the water and later returned with my diving equipment. Paul Gaffe from Burnaby detachment met me. We descended on the shot line and found the first body a few meters away in twenty-eight meters of water. I tied the shot line around the waist of the young lady and began to search for the other two victims. A few minutes later Paul and I located the other two victims together. One had her running shoes still on. We each took hold of a body and surfaced from the twenty meter depth.

The Chilliwack Detachment received a call of a drowning victim on the Vedder River, east of the community of Vedder Crossing, B.C. The Vedder River is fast flowing with crystal clear water. The river is very popular with people kayaking and traveling downstream in old tire inner tubes. The river has lots of rapids and curves. The problem people encounter is at the turns in the river where logs and debris form thus creating log jams. There has to be caution when approaching these areas due to current usually flowing underneath the logs. When a person approached these areas they would have to paddle to the opposite shore line to prevent them from being sucked in to the logjam and being pulled underneath it.

On one particular occasion two local men were inner tubing down the river. They both were forced into the logjam by the current and pulled under. One man bounced through the maze of logs and surfaced on the other side. His friend was not as fortunate. He was caught in the debris and did not reappear.

When I arrived I attempted to look through the logs in an effort to pinpoint the whereabouts of the missing person. I was unsuccessful, and it was felt that there was no choice other than to pull the debris off the log jam and try to dislodge the drowned man. This normally would not create too much of a problem. It was possible to get a skidder, which is a heavy duty, all terrain vehicle used to pull logs out of the woods in the logging industry, into the area. The problem was that we would disrupt the natural course of the river, which fish inhabit. In order to do this, permission would have to be obtained from the Department of Fisheries and Oceans and the Provincial Fish and Wildlife branch. In order to receive their permission a biologist had to do an environmental impact study. In the meantime the victim could not be recovered.

When the time came, the plan was put into effect. Phil Stead and I were located downstream and if the body were dislodged we would jump in and recover the man.

A short time later the body came bouncing down and Phil and I jumped in, grabbed the body, and swam to shore with him.

On another occasion Constable Phil Stead, Corporal Bruce Harper and myself responded to another drowning victim; this time in Harrison Hot Springs. A seventeen-year-old boy had been swimming in a man-made lagoon out in front of the village. The tourist town had dredged the lakefront, constructing a forty-hectare swimming area. They did this because the lake is normally too cold to swim in. When they made this area they created a meandering ditch through the lagoon produced by the machine sucking up the sand, making the banks around it. This caused the four or five foot lagoon to have some areas ten or twelve feet deep. The teenager was playing on a log with some friends when he fell off. He tried to touch bottom and could not. As a result of his not being able to swim, he drowned.

When we arrived, several hundred people were swimming in the lagoon. This caused the water to be stirred up which made the visibility to be zero. We searched the area as best we could with negative results.

Phil and I returned at six thirty the next day. We discussed the dive. We felt that because there was only the two of us, we should free dive for an hour in hopes of coming across the boy. We left the shore; we could see only about eighteen inches in front of us. Within minutes I spotted the boy’s foot. By sheer luck we had found the boy. We swam to shore where an Agassiz Detachment member met us. He was flanked by the mother of the drowning victim and his family.

When I came out of the water the mother of the boy began to pound on my chest with her fist. She was blaming me for the death of her son. I began to cry, as I could not understand why she was upset with me. I was also upset with the loss of her son. Of course, I slipped behind the police car so nobody would see the tears in my eyes.

The Bunsen Hydro Dam is located in the Mission Detachment area. Above the dam lies a large body of water where people frequently canoe. The dam has six spill gates; on this particular day three gates were opened, allowing water through.

A young man and woman launched their canoe in the area immediately above the dam. This area has logs chained together to protect the dams from clogging up with debris. Unknown to the couple this is extremely dangerous and illegal. They began to paddle their canoe in front of the spillway when they were sucked up against it by the force of the water moving beneath them. They tried to dislodge themselves but were unsuccessful. They began to panic and attempted to climb up onto the dam. If they had stayed where they were and waited for help, they probably would have been all right. When they climbed up the edge, the canoe caught the fast flowing water flipping it over and sucking the two of them over the dam. They both were killed in the accident. We searched the area and located the man the next day. The force of the water was so great it stripped him of all his clothing. The woman was found downstream a week later.

We attended another drowning on a remote beach on Harrison Lake. A report had been received that the night before a group of young adults had been partying on the shore. Late in the night, two intoxicated men went out in a canoe and were paddling off shore when the canoe overturned. One man was able to make it to shore but the other was missing and was presumed drowned. When Constable Phil Stead, Corporal Al Black and myself attended we found a group of hung over party animals. It was ascertained that the survivor was in his tent sleeping. Some friends tried to wake him but were unsuccessful. I told him to get out of bed and he complied unwillingly. I asked him where he last saw his friend and he directed the police boat three hundred meters off shore before he told us to stop.

We felt that there was no way he could have swam intoxicated in the middle of the night, so we brought the boat in from shore forty meters and dropped anchor.

Phil and I geared up went down the anchor line and found the missing man beside the anchor. It was the shortest dive I had ever done.

The last dive I was involved in was in the city of Coquitlam. Two teenagers were partying in a wooded public park. The two teenagers were intoxicated and were trying to find their way out of the park when they both walked down the trail into a small lake, several of which were in the area. One of the partygoers managed to pull himself out of the lake. The other boy was not as fortunate. When the survivor managed to summon help, he was unable to tell the rescue personnel where his friend had disappeared.

Three dive team members were called upon the next day—Corporals Al Black, Tim Pain and Paul Gibson. The three members searched the areas for three days with no results. Seven and a half weeks later the dive team was called upon again in the effort to locate the missing man. This was done primarily because of the media coverage and pressure from the family to recover their son’s body. Upon arrival, we were briefed and given a map of the area the previous members had searched. The dive team leader wanted us to search the area at the end of the bog. This did not make sense to us, because of the thick cover and lack of trails leading to it. In any event, I jumped into the weedy snake turtle and blood sucker infested bog with no visibility looking for a guy who had been missing for almost two months in hot summer weather. I inhaled air like crazy trying to use all my air, so I could get the hell out of the water. When I surfaced with an empty tank, Phil Stead had a full one waiting for me. I just about died.

I told him it was his turn and the argument began; he did not want to go down either. I got into the inflatable boat and said “this is crap”. There was no way anyone would be in the area we were looking. I pointed to an area and said, “That’s the most likely area he would be in.” I was advised that the map Corporal Pain drew showed that they had already searched that area. I convinced them to search it again and away we went. Corporal Bruce Hartwell searched the shoreline of the bog and had finished, when we were going down to the other spot. He also yelled at us, telling us that area had already been searched. He was driving golf balls down the bog while he was telling us this.

I suited up and began doing arc searches. A person on shore letting out a bit of line each time you complete an arc from one edge of the shore to the other does this. After about ten minutes, I was about four meters off shore wading through the fine silt in three meters of water with zero visibility wondering what on earth I am doing here. Every time I grabbed a stick my heart raced. I did not know what I would do if I found him and the body came up in pieces.

All of a sudden I grabbed the missing person by the leg. I panicked and surfaced. I told Phil and he told me to get the body. Sure, he doesn’t want to go down there. I got myself sorted out, deflated my suit, and sank to the bottom. All I could think of was the possibility of landing on him. It took about five more minutes to find him again. I grabbed him by the leg again, inflated my suit, and surfaced. When I opened my eyes there was a foot and a running shoe on it. Phil and the Coquitlam member pulled me to shore.

In total I was involved with the successful recovery of fifteen drowning victims. I quit the RCMP dive team after the final recovery. My wife says that after each recovery I got more warped.

We had no debriefing or counseling after these recoveries; we were told that our reward was overtime.

Jones Drowning

In 1982, I was posted in the community of Boston Bar, British Columbia. The community received its name from the early gold rush era. It is located in the Fraser Canyon 200 kilometers northeast of Vancouver on the most treacherous section of the Trans Canada Highway. Boston Bar had a population of approximately 750 people, including the village of North Bend, which was on the other side of the Fraser River. The towns were separated by an aerial ferry, which transported a single vehicle across the river at a height of 100 feet. The Fraser River is known for its dangerous waters; approximately fifteen kilometers down stream is the famous Hells Gate. Hells Gate was created when a portion of the mountain collapsed when the Canadian Pacific Railway were laying their line and the blast from explosives gave way to the unstable mountainside narrowing the width of the river.

In the summer of 1982 a young native woman by the name of Barbara Jones was returning home to North Bend. She had two small children, eighteen months and four years of age. She pulled up to the line waiting to cross the river on the aerial ferry and turned her late model Ford off. She left her car to talk to her mother a couple of cars ahead of her, leaving the children unattended in the vehicle. While speaking to her mother, the children put the vehicle’s transmission into neutral, causing the vehicle to back down the roadway. The vehicle accelerated very quickly. Before Barbara could react the vehicle swerved left down the embankment into the river, which engulfed the two children. I received the call and arrived within minutes to find the witnesses and mother in shock. Immediately people were combing the riverbanks in hopes of locating the children. It was determined that the window in the car was open and the children were not wearing their seat belts.

It was hoped the children might have escaped when the vehicle hit the water. At this time I was still a member of the forces dive team with several body recoveries under my belt. The thought crossed my mind to go home and get my diving equipment but I would have to make the dive myself and this would not only be against policy but it would be very dangerous, as the waters were very turbulent and there was zero visibility. The nearest other dive team member was hours away in Vancouver. The next day we dove and recovered the vehicle; unfortunately the children were not inside. Approximately three weeks later the body of the four-year-old was located on a gravel bar in Hope approximately 75 kilometers downstream.

The pathologist examined the four-year-old and found he had been severely buggered and called our office to investigate. What we learned through the investigation was startling. It was believed the grandfather of the children was also their father. A year prior to the accident, Barbara had made a complaint to our office indicating that he had sexually assaulted her.

When the trial was about to begin, Barbara refused to testify and the charge against her father was withdrawn her father was the chief of the Bothered Indian Band. There was no doubt she was threatened not to give evidence against him. All leads were investigated and the person responsible was never brought to trial.

The body of the youngest child was never located.

Tranter Suicide

Our duties involving complaints in Boston Bar were relatively few, compared

to other detachments in the lower mainland. However, with seven members and a large area we had our moments. Our detachment consisted of a Sergeant who was the detachment commander, a Corporal who supervised four highway patrol members, and two general duties constables, which included me. A majority of our investigations involved motor vehicle accidents, thefts from the rail cars, and sportsman accidents. Boston Bar is an area that services the Canadian Pacific Railway, Canadian National Railway, and the logging industry. There are no facilities whatsoever for the youth. I had to go to Hope to get my pay cheque cashed. Sometime the owners of the Esso gas station, Bill and Ella Regan, would cash them for the members.

It wasn’t long before you met the problem youths. The worst was an eighteen-year-old native by the name of Jackie Tranter. He was rock hard and was the prime suspect in the majority of our complaints. Jackie and I were at loggerheads continuously. He was a constant pain in the ass and was no doubt my worst enemy. When I look back, I wish I could have helped him. He was raised in a family with no guidance and he had low self esteem, which combined resulted in a bad youth. I was a young policeman who wanted to make the world a better place to live. My wife, daughter, and I lived in a trailer park a short distance down the road from the reserve where Jackie lived. I went home one day for my meal break when Chilliwack Telecom, which dispatched our complaints, called and advised me that they had received a call stated there was a suicide at the Tranter residence.

Very few details were obtained from the caller. Upon arrival the trailer where Jackie occasionally lived was very quiet. I knocked on the door and was met by Jackie’s father, a hard man who depended very heavily on the bottle, a man you’re careful about turning your back on. At first I thought I had attended the wrong location. When I asked if he had reported a suicide he calmly replied “yep”. Mr. Tranter took me down the hall to a bedroom on the left hand side of the trailer. He opened the door and lying beside the bed in a pool of thick red blood was my most valued criminal Jackie. His father was frying a steak on the stove and a musty odor of the meat lingered in the air. Every time I have a barbecue it reminds me of poor old Jackie.

He had taken a 30-30 rifle, put it under his chin, and pulled the trigger. The bullet exited through the top of his head into the ceiling of the trailer where bone and pieces of hair were lodged. I looked behind me and Jackie’s father was gone. He had returned to the living room to eat his meal. I was shocked but it didn’t seem to bother him too much. I wrote the file up as a suicide and when the Sergeant read the file he sent me back the next day to recover the bullet. Upon arrival, Jackie’s brother was on the roof filling the exit hole with tar. Jackie’s father wanted the rifle returned.

North Bend

In the fall of 1982, Cliff Hunter who operated the aerial ferry for the department of highways in Boston Bar, his son Terry, and I were successful in moose hunting in Prince George, BC. We hung our moose in the beer cooler of the Charles Hotel for a week before we took it to North Bend to butcher it. I had to work on that evening and I would drop in occasionally to check on their process.

I returned to the office and while there, Cliff called me from North Bend. Cliff asked me to bring the quarter of moose I had taken, back so they could butcher it. I was confused to what he was referring to at first until we determined someone had taken it. I returned to Cliff’s residence and we tried to figure out how our moose meat had gone missing. Cliff, Terry, and I searched the area with out any idea as to how it had disappeared.

I was sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck shining my flashlight around. There were no street lights in North Bend, and I noticed some drag marks in the dirt on the road. To my amazement, the marks led us down the road around the corner to the front entrance of a house occupied by an undesirable by the name of Tussah. We went around the house trying to find a curtain open to look inside. We found the drapes pulled shut but there was a small gap, which allowed us to look into the kitchen area. In the kitchen were Tussah and his friend sawing our moose hindquarter in half on the table? I told Cliff to cover the front door and Terry and I went to the rear entrance and knocked on the door. Tussah looked out and said “Oh shit, it’s the cops”. He opened the door and I arrested him for possession of stolen property. He pled guilty to the charge several months later in Hope Provincial Court.

Alcohol Bob

The first day I arrived for duty in Boston Bar, I was enthusiastic and keen. The first person I met was Sergeant Bob Cummings. Bob was a thin man in his mid forties and appeared to have been ridden hard and put away wet. After we were introduced, it was learned that Bob had spent the last fourteen years in an auto theft section in charge of the unit in Vancouver. I wondered at this point what he had done to end up in Boston Bar, British Columbia. I always said if the good Lord was to do an enema on the world Boston Bar is where he would stick the hose.

It did not take long to figure it out that Bob was an alcoholic. Headquarters posted him to Boston Bar to get him out of their hair. They are great for transferring the problem instead of dealing with it. As time went on, Bob would consume a forty of Rye a day. With no one to keep him in check it was only a matter of time before he destroyed himself. His wife had divorced him prior to his transfer to Boston Bar, and I think it was self-inflicted suicide. In order for Bob to cover his drinking, he did not supervise the members and even I knew, being the junior member, the hammer would eventually fall from Sub Division.

Things were going fine until one Sunday afternoon I was preparing to go to a two week Breathalyzer course in Vancouver. There was a knock at the door, and low and behold, there was Bob drunk as a skunk, driving a marked police car. Bob told me that I was to drive him to Vancouver and drop him off. I was to use the police car so he would not have to pay me private car mileage. So as a young stupid Constable eager to serve his leader I did as he asked. Bob needed a drink so he had me stop in Delta, a suburb of Vancouver, so he could get a drink from a friend of his who owned a bar. When we finally left several hours later Bob was in fine form. We arrived in Vancouver at Fairmount training centre. Bob refused to stay and left to see a hooker friend of his. The next morning I was called out of class to answer a phone call. When I picked up the receiver it was the Section Non Commissioned Officer Staff Sergeant George Albright from Chilliwack Sub Division. Before I could say a word, he started screaming at me, telling me he wanted to know where Irvine was, and furthermore he wanted the missing police car returned. Of course, when I told him I had no idea where Irvine was, he called me a liar. I was then ordered to call Staff Sergeant Albright if I heard from Irvine.

Staff Sergeant Albright continued to call morning and afternoon until Wednesday when Irvine finally rolled into Boston Bar. It appeared Bob and his hooker girlfriend went to Seattle, Washington on a bender. Well I was reprimanded for driving to a bar in a marked police car. I do not know what discipline Bob received. Bob Cummings was then transferred to Mission Detachment and died a few years later from liver damage as a result of liquor abuse.

Hells Gate

In Boston Bar, we did not have too many resources. One of those we lacked was a doctor’s office. Once a month, the public health nurse from Hope would come to see to the community’s health needs. My daughter Tiffany required her two-year booster shots so we went to a building in town and met the public health nurse. Her name was Joan McLain and her husband was the Staff Sergeant in charge of Hope detachment. She introduced herself and showed interest in my wife Marion and me since we had something in common. Joan indicated that she had not wanted to attend that day due to the poor weather conditions. She was driving a Ford Fairmount which belonged to the province health unit. She indicated it was not very good in the snow. She had had to travel forty-two miles to reach us and since it had snowed during the night the roads were slippery.

After we had finished we went to the Alpine Restaurant for lunch. Joan was a pretty woman in her forties and full of vigor. When lunch was complete, she left Boston Bar on route to Hope. A half hour later I received a call about a serious motor vehicle accident near the Hells Gate tunnel south of town. When I arrived I noted a small green car in the ditch. A flat deck tractor-trailer was jack knifed on the roadway. In the middle of the road was a brown Ford Fairmount with the crest of British Columbia on the door. The roof had been completely sheared off and behind the driver’s wheel was a person I could not recognize.

What had transpired is the small car was heading north through the tunnel. When they reached the other side the driver lost control on the compacted snow, sliding out of control and into the ditch. A tractor with the flat deck transporting a crane boom came through the tunnel and tried to avoid the car. The driver swerved to miss the car and jack-knifed the trailer he was pulling. He did not see Joan McLain heading towards him until it was too late. The trailer wheels ran over the car, shearing off the roof. Joan was disfigured and I felt that there was no way she could have survived the accident.

Joan McLain did survive the accident but was in a coma for several months. When she regained consciousness she did n

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