THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, October 31, 1994 TAG: 9410310056
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MIKE MATHER, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: CHESAPEAKE LENGTH: Long : 125 lines
When police cars are ready to die - when they've sounded their last siren, when they've chased their last speeder, when they've transported their last criminal - they limp onto the broken concrete of Fentress airfield.
There, the once-proud Chevrolet Caprices are tortured and battered until every bolt is twisted loose, every taillight is shattered and every tire is worn to frayed steel belts. Gone is the regal lettering and elegant symbols that once pronounced the cars as Chesapeake's finest, replaced instead with crude spray-painted black numerals.
The row of white sedans sitting on chipped concrete looked like an overworked junior varsity stock car team.
Welcome to the EVOC - the Emergency Vehicle Operations Course - where police-academy recruits strangle the life from ailing police cars, and where orange traffic cones fear for their lives.
It's where police cars, dating to the mid-1980s, go once they've outlived their usefulness on the streets - say, 100,000 miles.
It's also where future police officers go to learn police driving. High-speed chases, tight-quarters driving, quick U-turns, severe high-speed maneuvers. It's all part of the EVOC.
The five-day assignment is as hard on the students as it is on the cars. Adrenalin pumps through the recruits faster than fuel through the worn valves as they chase pretend crooks through pitch blackness at speeds that may reach 80 mph.
``It's stressful for us,'' said dispatcher-turned-police-recruit Krista Criswell, 24. ``I have to pass. If I don't, it could mean my job.''
The driving classes begin, however, a little slower at the traffic-cone mazes. That's where the recruits learn the dimensions of the car, and how to manage sudden and severe maneuvers.
``Hot damn, that's what I like,'' yelled Detective Dick Black as a recruit zoomed through a swerving speed course without clipping a cone.
The next driver wasn't as lucky. As he charged through the cone-lined chutes the white Caprice thumped a few, adding still more dents to motorized scrap heap. Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk!
``You can do it a little faster than that, can't you?'' asked Black, an instructor.
``I can do it a little better than that, too,'' the driver answered.
``Then do it.''
Every recruit has to do it at the EVOC because the commonwealth of Virginia says they have to. The EVOC is part of a state-mandated academy training program.
And when recruits learn to handle police cars in dangerous situations, they gain confidence and skill, Black said. And the city gains a police officer who hopefully won't wrap a new cruiser around a utility pole.
The skills don't come easy.
``The first day I took out the whole right side,'' said John Bryant, 27, reliving his early debacle on one of the cone-lined courses.
``You should have seen it the first day,'' Black said. ``It was mass cone-icide. Regular auto bowling.''
After mastering the cones, the recruits use their new skills on a bumpy chase track that winds through the scruff of long-forgotten runways flanked by patches of thick woods and head-high shrubs. It's something of an earth-bound dogfight.
Student against instructor.
Clunker against clunker.
The course Thursday was a large loop that twisted across abandoned runways with only a few cones to mark the way. When students lagged too far behind, they lost the ``violators'' they were chasing around the brush-lined bends.
But first, the instructors have to do something to start the chase. They might speed by or pull a reckless maneuver in view of the student in the idling chase car. Or an instructor might take a more direct approach, parking right next to the student.
``Hey officer,'' Black started. ``Can you tell me how to get to Fentress Air Field?''
``Well, you're here, sir.''
``You wouldn't know f------ Fentress airfield from your f------ . . . '' The remaining train of expletives was muted by the screech of Black's spinning tires.
``Uh, have a nice day, sir,'' the recruit said flatly, wrestling the stubborn automatic transmission into drive.
If the student stays within sight of the instructor - points for the student.
If the instructor loses the student - points for the instructor.
If the instructor puts so much distance between himself and the pursuing student that he has time to find a hiding space in the undergrowth, park, turn on the static-riddled radio and watch with amusement as the student blows by him - a slam dunk for the instructor.
The instructors do a lot of slam-dunking on the Fentress course.
Especially at night.
``I'm nervous, very nervous,'' Kriswell said as she waited her turn at night pursuits. ``It's a whole different thing at night.''
Like fingernails pulled across a chalkboard, the bald tires of Kriswell's junker screeched as the sedan struggled through the concrete turns. With only the shaking head lights to guide her, Kriswell lost her pretend crook.
She found him again.
Lost him.
Found him.
Kriswell, and the other seven recruits in the group, passed the driving tests. One-third of the way to putting on a badge.
But for the embattled Chevrolets, there's no rest for the worn and weary. The next group begins Monday. With two more groups to follow.
``I hope they hold up,'' Black said. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by TAMARA VONINSKI, Staff
A police-academy recruit drives at high speed through an obstacle
course during an Emergency Vehicle Operations Course at Fentress
Airfield. The five-day course is part of a police training program.
Detective Dick Black teaches future police officers how to drive in
a high-speed chase.
KEYWORDS: CHESAPEAKE POLICE DEPARTMENT TRAINING by CNB