Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Why Cops Yell Sometimes—The OODA Loop Phenomenon

By D.L. Williams

---

Years ago, my partner and I were on a nightly patrol of an old hotel in the downtown district. The hotel had once been luxurious, a place for celebrities and politicians to rub shoulders, for honeymooners to spend their first night of marriage, or a swanky place you might take a business companion. 

The hotel had gone bankrupt a few years earlier, and it had deteriorated into a haven for drug deals, sexual assaults, vandalism, and actual satanic rituals. We were under orders to patrol the place at least once a night. This was not an easy assignment because the hotel didn’t have electricity, there was broken glass everywhere, and often there were people generally up to no good skulking about. The hotel was five stories, and each level had to be searched room-to-room for the patrol to be considered successful. 

That night we had made it to a parking platform on the top of the building. It was summer, and we were glad to be back out in fresh and comparatively cooler air. We were catching our breath and about to make the long walk back down dark stairs when we heard voices ascending from below us. The voices were whispering, and given the circumstances, we can’t be judged too harshly for thinking those whispers were conspiratorial. 

The sources of the voices were just about to the top level, still shadowed but we could make out human forms. Both of us yelled, “Show me your hands!” 

Yelps and calls for one of their mothers echoed off the concrete walls and pillars. A twenty-something coed burst into tears, and her college boyfriend looked like he was about to leave her there and run for dear life in the half-second between our yells and his fight or flight response kicking in. 

Honestly, our yelling was over the top, and I felt bad for frightening them. To be fair, they had passed six No Trespassing signs on the way up, but they were on more of a lark than out to perform some insidious act. If you kids are reading this now, some two decades later, I apologize. 

Cops yell sometimes. It doesn’t matter if they’re real-life officers or those we see in film; yelling occurs, especially during high-risk high-stress scenarios. It’s rude, poor “bedside manner,” and not super nice, but there are reasons for it. I’m not here to make excuses, but writers should understand some of the dynamics when they’re writing mysteries and thrillers. 

One reason could simply be the guy is having a bad day, and he’s taking out his frustrations on others. That, of course, isn’t acceptable, and my expectation is that all officers always act professionally and politely when dealing with those they’ve sworn to serve. We’re human, and sometimes we will screw up, but professionalism is always the objective standard.

A more important reason has to do with a particular aspect of police officer and military training called the OODA Loop. It’s a fascinating bit of psychology, and one that is now routinely taught at police academies and professional development training for veteran officers.  The OODA Loop is a concept adopted by the military in the 1950s and later by police trainers around the country. It’s standard fare at police academies, and it is practiced for days on end while cadets learn how to do building searches and perform high-threat felony arrests.

 OODA stands for Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. We all do OODA multiple times a day, whether that be sizing up a salesman, managing our children, dealing with a difficult boss, or asking someone out on a date. In simple terms, we humans look at what’s going on, find the rhythm and orient to the situation, identify the best possible choice (hopefully) given the circumstances, and perform whatever action our brain decides to take. 

OODA processing is imperfect. We don’t always hit the baseball, we blurt out the wrong thing in an argument, and we spend more money and time than we’d planned in a casino. Thus, the concept of OODA in police work is to support good acts while simultaneously disrupting negative decision-making.

Let’s say you have a store owner arguing with a customer, and employees dial 911 because it looks like there might be violence. Two officers arrive, and each takes one of the would-be combatants some distance apart to get their side of the story. The customer settles down quickly, but the store owner is incensed and keeps trying to get around the officer to re-confront the customer. 

Telling the store owner to calm down is rarely effective. He’s stuck in a negative OODA Loop, and his brain can’t catch up to let him know his actions leaning toward violence are based on a bad decision. In OODA parlance, the officer needs to interrupt the loop just long enough so that the store owner can start making rational decisions again. 

An example of this would be for the officer to remark positively on some aspect of the store. Let’s say the store owner sells gnome figurines. The officer could say something nice about one of the little statues in an open-ended way: “My wife sure does love gnomes. Maybe I’ll bring her by sometime.”

Hopefully, the store owner’s OODA processing just curved out of the established pattern. He has to think of a response, please a potential new customer, and emotionally—even for an instant—leave the anger loop. Now the store owner has time to re-observe and re-orient, and the conditions for a non-violent, low-drama outcome blossom. 

OODA Loop training in police circles also involves interrupting the process in potentially life-threatening situations. Think of a puma about to spring on a rabbit concentrated on a succulent blade of grass. The rabbit is unaware of the predator lurking on a branch just above, and the puma emits a primal scream as it springs from the tree. That scream interrupts the prey’s OODA Loop, disrupting the bunny’s natural flight response long enough for the big cat to make the kill. 

This is not unlike a loud kiai yell used by martial artists or howls from soldiers as they attack on the battlefield. The guttural bellow is designed to interrupt the OODA process for the opponent, granting a fraction of a second advantage for the attacker. This is also why cops are trained to yell things like, “Get on the ground!” or “Show me your hands!” during moments of heightened danger. 

This is reasonable to a point. Our voices can be used with the effect of a leather whip cracking the air, at once stunning and distracting. It can be too much, however. Four officers all yelling different commands will upend the OODA Loop of a potentially violent person, leading to so much fear and confusion that the person of interest unleashes the fury and terror on the officers. Using OODA Loop tactics, like any form of communication, is best done artfully and with a positive outcome as the end goal.

OODA tactics come into sharper focus the higher the stakes. Let’s examine a scenario in which narcotics officers have secured a search warrant for a meth lab being run out of a house. The occupants are known to have weapons, as well as training in how to use them, and they are convicted, violent felons. The prevailing wisdom amongst those who know the occupants is that they will not go peacefully. Thus, serving this warrant is probably best accomplished using a Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) team. 

To be clear, jurisdictions refer to such teams with different names (e.g., Emergency Response Team, Tactical Team, etc.), but I’m using the colloquial term most people have heard. I was a tactical medic for federal, city, and county SWAT teams for five years during my career. My position at the back of the “stack” (police term for how such teams enter a home in tactical formation) allowed me to observe all the action and be in on the planning phases. It was an adrenaline-filled time in my life. I don’t have any desire to do it again, but I’m glad to have had the experience. (Note: I plan to talk in more detail about SWAT teams in a future column.)

Consider the OODA Loop of those inside the meth house. Their orientation is centered on being alert to police coming to arrest them. Perhaps one of them observes shadows and sounds outside the home that make him think the police have arrived. The decision might be to pick up a firearm and aim it at those officers, and the action would be to destroy them with gunfire. 

Officers must do something to interrupt that thought pattern. One way to do this is to establish a dialogue, either through a phone call or by calling out to those inside to “come out with your hands up.” This is, by far, the most successful and most used tactic, but there were times when that was deemed tactically unsafe and ineffective. 

Oftentimes, this meant the team would deploy a “flashbang,” a type of grenade that emits white hot light and a loud bang when thrown, but without blasting deadly shrapnel when it explodes. The idea of a flashbang is to render those inside a dangerous structure momentarily stunned, giving the team a few seconds to enter the house and arrest those inside. 

I know this sounds over-the-top violent to some of you, but I’ve seen this tactic successfully deployed a number of times. This is classic OODA Loop interruption. The people inside the home have a mindset to defend the “castle,” and the police team outside uses a loud noise and bright light to interrupt that thought process long enough to make the breach and make the scene safe. I’ve written and spoken before on the very valid concerns of many citizens that “no-knock” warrants can be more destructive than helpful, but there are times when the folks officers are going to arrest are armed to the teeth and willing to kill anyone who tries to stop them from perpetrating insidious crimes. The “No-Knock Warrant” conversation is another one for a future column, and it’s a doozie. 

OODA Loop tactics have a lasting place in policing, and versions are incorporated into most violence prevention training programs currently delivered to cadets and veterans. Like any other tool, such tactics can be improperly used, which is why I will always stress the need for ongoing training and evaluation of every officer in the field.

Try re-framing an OODA Loop next time you’re dealing with a cranky person. Call attention to something you know they are proud of or that makes them happy, doing so with no ulterior motive attached and no yelling. I’ll bet it helps you both have a better day. And if you’re a tired and out-of-breath cop on the beat, having a better day is a touchdown. Onward.

Police and Bribes

By D.L. Williams

---

Chances are you’re going to write about a dirty cop if you are penning mystery or thriller stories. Graft is, heartbreakingly, an ugly reality of police work, and it certainly merits attention from mystery and thriller writers. We write conflict, after all, and there are few things more controversial than a cop willing to take a bribe. 

In my honest and broad experience, corrupt cops are in the significant minority. Most officers are conscientious, ethical people who do good work, but some cops are worse than a suspicious rectal polyp. Taking dishonest officers to task through your writing is one way to fight against corruption, so I encourage you to dive in. Let’s talk about it.

When I was twelve years old, I secretly borrowed a book off my father’s shelf. The story I chose was entitled Serpico, a decidedly R-rated book, not intended for juvenile audiences. Dad didn’t realize for years I’d read that book. Alas, it changed my life.

Serpico is the story of a real police officer by the name of Francesco Vincent Serpico who worked in New York City during the 1960s and ‘70s. NYPD was awash in corruption during that period, and Serpico rose to fame by his refusal to ever take a bribe or even a free meal at a diner. His colleagues distrusted him because he wouldn’t play along, and this led to him being set up for murder by fellow officers. He survived, through the bullet that blasted his skull hastened the end of his career.

I was mesmerized, and I admired Serpico’s courage so much I decided before turning the last page that I would one day be an honest cop. He is the reason I went into police work, and I hope I’ve done honor to his legacy. 

I don’t know a single officer on the job for more than a few months who hasn’t been offered some type of bribe. This is anathema to the honorable spirit of professional policing, but the offers do come. Over the years I’ve been offered piles of money, sex, concert tickets, and cars. On one occasion, a fellow I’d arrested for driving while intoxicated offered me a villa complete with a maid and lovely garden in Mexico, my name free and clear on the title, if I’d let him out of my squad car and let him walk home. 

Turned out he had plenty of money to do that, and he really did own a little house on some acreage south of the border. It was his sixth arrest for DWI. The judge had told him he’d go to prison if he ever got caught driving drunk again the last time he was in trouble. He was terrified of going to the actual “big house,” and I think he would have gnawed through the inside of my squad car if he thought he could escape custody. I’ve occasionally wondered about that little house, but I never considered taking him up on the offer. 

The first time I was ever offered a bribe was during the traffic stop of a middle-aged Hispanic man driving an old pickup truck. I can’t recall why I stopped him, but I have a vivid memory of him holding a $100 bill in his left hand as I approached the driver’s side. The message was clear: take the money and leave me alone. 

I’d venture to guess that one-hundred-dollar bill was about the only money he had in the world, probably his payment for days of labor. He was shaking in fear, and I felt sad that he believed his first action upon being stopped should be to bribe an officer. How pitiful that a laborer just trying to feed his family was so panicked about being pulled over by a cop that he offered me his grocery money. I gave him a warning and sent him on his way. 

Two weeks later, a patrol officer working in an adjacent town just north of where I’d pulled over that laborer was arrested for taking a bribe. The State Police had gotten wind that he was shaking down Mexican workers for cash, so they set up a sting with Hispanic officers dressed like farm workers driving battered pickup trucks. The crooked officer took the bait and went to jail. Fantastic! 

Which makes me wonder if that fellow I stopped had already heard about the corrupt officer working that area and assumed I was in on it. Corrupt officers harm us. They make good officers look bad in the eyes of the very people who need their help most of all. 

Sex is also offered more often than you might imagine. I lost count of the number of times a woman (and every so often a man) suggested coyly, “Is there anything I can do [to avoid arrest or citation]? Some were even more overt, casually offering variations of sex if I would let them go. 

For the record, no. 

Temptation is always lurking around the next traffic stop, and I’m not so naïve that I don’t realize some officers cave. I can simultaneously understand why and scorn them for it. Lust and greed are listed among the deadly sins for a reason, and weakness exists even among the toughest out there. 

Corruption in police circles tends to start on the low end of the sinister spectrum. Maybe it’s taking the offer of free food at a restaurant or accepting access to a private hunting lease for the weekend in exchange for letting a speeding motorist off with a warning. 

You could say, “No big deal,” but it is. Those freebies are like a gateway drug, and at some point, the officer who took one “hit” will rationalize doing it again. 

Humans must be the best animal on the planet for rationalizing acts we know to be wrong. We can talk ourselves out of going to the gym two weeks after the newest round of New Year’s resolutions. We can justify that second piece of cake or that “just one more” drink. One of the things we’re best at legitimizing is taking something that doesn’t belong to us.

This is especially true when someone is in financial straits. Those credit card bills keep mounting, the mortgage and car payments are overdue, your kid had to go to the ER last month, and the after-insurance invoice is a whopper. Desperation is the destroyer of ethics, especially when it comes to money.

Corruption among police officers is analogous to the dynamics of white-collar fraud. Those cases always involve three elements: Access, trust, and an ability to rationalize a deed unworthy of that trust. A hedge fund manager who embezzles from his clients has access to the funds, the trust of his clients, and an ethical platform built on dry sand. 

The same holds true for officers who take bribes. They have access to a person who can provide something they need or want such as cash, sex, or entry into a lifestyle they only imagined before. They have the general trust of the public and supervisors. And, if they have turned to the proverbial dark side, they’re able to justify their actions so they don’t feel like the dirty cop they’ve become. 

Cops aren’t paid what they’re worth relative to exposure to danger, the job requirement that they make critical decisions for strangers based on inadequate information, the hate they endure on a daily basis, and all the PTSD-inducing moments they experience over the course of a career. Here’s the thing; they know they’re not paid what they’re worth, and this starts to chafe souls after a while. It’s a great career, and I am so glad I was able to do it, but I never believed my fellow officers and I were being paid for the true value of our work. 

This sense of being undervalued creates a danger zone; cops grind their teeth and lose sleep over bills, all while knowing they’ll suit up and jump back into a societal fire for which society will never truly appreciate them. It gnaws on some officers, bending their morality until they can no longer remember that they swore to protect and serve the public, and that they vowed to do so in an honorable fashion. 

Think of all the emotions you would experience if you were driven to shoplift. Shame comes to mind, but so does the thrill of being naughty. Add to that a sense of indignation: “They should have hired more security guards…added more surveillance cameras…not placed something so valuable right by the exit doors. Shame on them.” 

It’s the embezzlement triad all over again: Access (not enough security precautions and a thing of value placed where it can easily be stolen), the basic trust every store operator must have for customers, and rationalization of the act (e.g., “That company is so big, they factor in petty theft to their bottom line.”) 

Writers shouldn’t defend corrupt officers, but knowing how and why such bad acts occur should be part of your creative palette. Perhaps your dirty cop wasn’t always corrupt. Showing your readers how and why he came to take bribes is an extraordinary tool in character building. We all talk about not creating one-dimensional characters. Here is an opportunity to create more dimensions and, thus, more compelling personalities. 

Dirty cops have betrayed the badge and no longer belong in the ranks. Ethics and honor are everything in a profession where a big chunk of the job is confronting others who have lost their ethical way. Such officers are hurting, and they’ve bent to the pressure. I get it, but I will never abide a fellow officer succumbing to temptation. Having sworn officers simultaneously taking bribes and arresting people for doing unscrupulous acts is untenable. So, write about police corruption, making sure you offer your readers characters who are flawed, multi-dimensional, and deliciously bad. Onward.