“This is normal for us, but it’s not for them; you’re walking into these people’s worst days. You have to remember that.”
Fair yet firm seems to be the mantra that Ciante Bradley employs in her duties as a Philadelphia police officer.
On an afternoon in late July, Bradley pulls up to a rundown home in Northwest Philadelphia, following up on a call from a woman reporting domestic abuse. Two men sitting outside barely look up from their smart phones as she approaches.
When they deny that anyone from the home called the police, she asks if a woman lives there. One says his sister does. The other says no women live there.
Bradley instructs the one to go check if any females inside called police — because without probable cause, she can’t search the home.
“Is that your cat?” she asks the remaining man about the white cat stretched comically between the two chairs. An imperceptible nod. “Does he always lay like that?” she follows up in small talk. Another imperceptible nod.
The first man returns and reports that all is well in the house.
“Yeah, they don’t like cops in this area,” Bradley mutters as she climbs back into her vehicle, after ordering another group of middle-aged men from a stoop where they acknowledged none of the group lived. “They’ll walk away now and I’ll drive around the corner and they’ll all be sitting there again.”
But attitudes toward police vary across the 14th District.
A few minutes later, Bradley swings by Che Bar & Grill on Stenton Avenue to check in with the owner and check up on the locale, and diners and drinkers greet her jovially and invite her to stay. Later, the operator of Toto’s Pizzeria, where Bradley and her patrol partner grab lunch almost every day, greets the pair by name, and they wave to a young girl ogling them, and ask her if she wants to be a police officer when she grows up.
The 14th District is diverse. Each of its four patrol-service areas takes in residents of distinct demographic and socioeconomic backgrounds — from blocks of dilapidated rowhomes and apartments whose occupants live in poverty to the mansions of Chestnut Hill and Mount Airy.
Within moments, Bradley’s patrol car goes from wending through webs of abandoned buildings to being outside Police Commissioner Charles Ramsey’s sprawling home.
“We have a very political district,” she said. “Deputy commissioners, judges, the commissioner all live here; you don’t ever want to be caught without your hat on if you work in the commissioner’s district.”
Bradley, 29 and a seven-year veteran, is usually assigned to PSA 1, which encompasses West Oak Lane and part of Germantown, bordered at the top by Cheltenham Avenue and the bottom by Chew Avenue.
When her shift starts, Bradley pulls out of the station, situated off Germantown Avenue, and heads toward her PSA.
Next to her seat is a small computer monitor to which dispatchers post the “jobs” that are called in. Each is denoted with a code to signify its location, so officers assigned to PSA 1 know to respond to calls that end in “01,” although they often also go to calls in other PSAs as backup.
Bradley explained that officers could conceivably spend their eight-hour shifts responding solely to the calls, but most prefer more active policing.
“You can get the arrests, it just depends on how aggressively you’re watching. I could just ride around and answer radio calls but I’m also constantly observing for things like hand-to-hand transactions,” she said.
In the preceding two weeks with her new patrol partner, Bradley said, the pair made three arrests, a number affected by an array of factors.
“It really depends on how the week goes. Sometimes there are dry weeks. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights are usually busier, I guess people get paid. And you have to watch out for the first and 15th of the month. It’s almost like we’re working on their schedules sometimes,” she said. “And I’ve learned that a good percentage of arrests you get is almost luck; you happen to be at the right place at the right time.”
Knowing the neighborhood, and the patterns of the people who frequent it, is also important, she said.
“They know to watch for the cops. We now have lights on the top of the car that always stay on, so they can see us from a block away. So you have to know your area and what goes on each day. People think we don’t recognize them. We drive these blocks every day. We pay attention. And I do it so naturally now, I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I look at people’s tag numbers when I’m off-duty, driving down 95. I can’t turn it off, it’s the weirdest thing.”
At one point, Bradley cuts off mid-sentence, turns on her lights and makes a quick turn, following a car she spotted out of a side mirror blowing through a red light.
After running the driver’s tags, she approached and he told her he was lost and didn’t realize he went through a red.
While this driver was relatively respectful, she said some, especially younger drivers, aren’t.
“I always say the best car stop you can ever do is pulling over an older gentleman, 60 or 70. They’re the most respectful people you’d ever want to pull over in your life. It’s always, ‘Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.’ You pull over a younger guy and it’s like, ‘What the fuck are you pullin’ me over for?’ And I’m like, I didn’t even say anything yet, I don’t even have a ticket pulled! But they’re always going to argue with you; you’re always going to be wrong, they’re always going to be right. They think it’s like customer service. So I just have to say, ‘You blew the light, I’m just letting you know.’ And they go, ‘I didn’t, I didn’t,’ and there’s no point in arguing. I wouldn’t have pulled you over for no apparent reason. And probably half the time they really don’t even know they did it. Or they do and they think they’ll get away with it. But a lot of people are always very much on the defense. A lot of younger people just have no respect for anything or anybody.”
She occasionally encounters disparaging attitudes from the public directed at her being a female.
“Sometimes you get a guy who thinks he can talk to you any type of way. I guess they try to be persuasive. Or at least they think they’re persuasive,” she said. “They use the ‘sweetheart,’ ‘baby,’ or sometimes think they can be more aggressive, especially if you’re little. I have a knack for pulling over the biggest guys; sometimes I have to deal with guys who are 6-foot-4. But I feel confident. I know I have to do what I have to do and I trust that I have backup coming if I need it. I don’t allow them to push me around because I’m a woman.”
To engender trust and respect from the people she encounters, Bradley said, she attempts to strike a balance between staying professional, in presentation and demeanor, while also being relatable.
“You have to have a rapport with them. So many people have bad ideas about cops and I can understand that you do see some of that. But I try to go into situations and tell people, ‘Hey, calm down. Don’t allow this gun and badge to make you think I’m not a person. I’m human just like you, I feel just like you and I understand. I empathize with you, but this is not what the law says. It doesn’t matter how you feel, it matters what the law says; it’s about right and wrong.’ And once you talk to most people, treat them like you’re both just regular people, that calms people down a whole lot. I don’t know why people think we come with so much aggression and the whole ‘You do what I say!’ That’s silly, we’re not like that, unless we have to be. There has to be a situation to bring us to that point.”
This particular day, Bradley put her approach into practice in dealing with a young woman who called police reporting that a man she had been living with pulled a gun on her when she attempted to retrieve her belongings from the home. The alert went out on the radio and, flipping on her lights and sirens, Bradley raced deftly around SEPTA buses and to the scene, where three other patrol cars also amassed.
Bradley rolled down her window and asked the woman to recount her story, keeping her on track and repeatedly assuring her they’d handle the situation.
After a thorough search of the home and interview with the man in question, the officers determined the gun claim was likely fabricated — which Bradley said happens more frequently than one might expect — so the woman could regain access to her belongings, which she carried out of the home in a Tupperware container.
The four cars disperse to head back to their patrol areas, where Bradley spots a car double-parked on the sidewalk. The vehicle pulls out in front of her and Bradley turns on her lights, following the car into a gas station, where the driver attests she didn’t know it was illegal to park on a sidewalk.
Bradley radios in each car stop she makes to the dispatch center, through a radio attached to her right shoulder, with details on the location and make, model and plate number of the car.
“People don’t realize how important it is that we stay in touch with dispatch. Can you imagine if we don’t tell them where we are and something happens? You could be gone for a long time before somebody even realizes something happened.”
Having a patrol partner alleviates some of that concern, she added.
For seven years, Bradley worked the overnight shift — 11:30 p.m.-7:30 a.m. — solo. But, the schedule became too draining, mentally and physically, and two months ago, she asked to change shifts. She now spends two weeks working 7:30 a.m.-3:30 p.m. followed by two weeks of 3:30 p.m.-11:30 p.m., and she now has a partner.
Switching shifts offered an interesting shift in perspective, she said.
“I love children and I didn’t get to interact with too many of them on the overnight shift. I came to day shift and I see little kids now who wave as I go by and I’m like, They’re waving to me? Wow. On last call, you drive by and people are flipping you the bird,” she laughed, adding that she can also now understand where some of the late-night problems she encountered stem from. “I see people sitting out drinking at 8 a.m. and they’re the same people I’d encounter who were really drunk at 3 a.m.; they start drinking in the morning and go all day.”
As Bradley wends her way through the streets, she points out some of the popular gathering spots for daytime drinkers, such as outside a deli where a line of men sit in lawn chairs.
Then, she is on to a call to take a report from an elderly woman who, the night before, spotted a man exposing himself outside of her window. As the woman details the encounter, Bradley stands in the living room, jotting notes down on a pad of paper, prompting her for details.
Next, she heads to the scene of an auto accident, where a driver hit another car and fled. She gathers details from the victim and then heads back to headquarters to draw up and hand in a report.
“It’s something different constantly,” she said about the pace of the job. “That’s what I like. I could never have a 9-to-5 office job.”
While the job offers new experiences, they can be quite testing — and dangerous.
Bradley has had to pull her gun many times, but has never shot nor been shot at. She and fellow officers recently had to try to quell a woman who was wielding two kitchen knives, and later jagged pieces of a vase, and had to traverse a rat- and feces-infested living room to reach her. She’s caught fleas and bedbugs and said she often has to “hopscotch” over roaches when entering some houses.
Once, when responding to a report of a fight, Bradley found herself in the middle of a brawl.
“I pulled up and a gentleman started walking down and as I tried to open the door, he already was slamming it shut on me. That turned into a fiasco. About 30 people filed out of this one house, their entire family, and it went to a triple-asset,” she said, noting she suffered a split lip in the encounter. “There were officers everywhere, people everywhere, officers getting punched.”
During another arrest, a suspect got physical and her glasses got smashed into her face, causing a black eye — and prompting her to now always wear plastic frames while on the job.
She’s seen victims of stabbings and gunshots — both homicides and self-inflicted.
“You see your fair share of it. But you get used to seeing it, it’s weird. You just have to always have that level of, ‘This is work.’ I understand a person died, and we have to get the information to find out who did this. You don’t have time to allow emotion to come into it. You’re here for a reason and it’s important.”
The aunt of two young girls and a prospective adoptive parent herself, Bradley said situations involving children are among the worst part of her job.
Once, she spotted two 8-year-old children at Germantown and Chelten in the middle of the night. She brought them home to find their 10-year-old cousin had been left in charge of them and a 1-year-old since the previous morning. Their fridge contained lumpy milk and a plate of moldy food.
She transported the kids to the Department of Human Services but, hours later, their mother, “high as a kite,” picked the kids up and they were returned straight to her care.
But, leaving work at work has become a practiced routine.
“I can do it,” she said. “I get done, I go home, I let my dog out and then we watch Animal Planet. That’s about it. You get used to it.”
But, the nature of the job can make it difficult for non-officers to relate.
“It can be bad for relationships; I know it has been for some of mine,” Bradley said. “There were days when I’d see suicides, dead babies and I get home and I just am not in the mood to, you know, go to Target. Like Target, right now? I’ve seen something crazy and I just want to chill out. Someone you’re in a relationship with doesn’t always understand that. And it’s not every day but some days. Some days you have to just be like, ‘You go to Target, and I’ll just wait here for you to come back.’”
It helps to have fellow officers to lean on, Bradley said.
The 14th District team functions like a family, she added. They don’t always all get along, but there is an implicit trust that they’ll have each other’s backs in times of crisis. Partners spend eight-hour shifts on patrol together, and the officers often are together on holidays; on Fourth of July, they all brought in food and barbecued at the district.
This night, after filing a report halfway through her shift, Bradley joked with another officer at the station, whom she calls an “honorary lesbian.” The officer, who is straight, has been mistaken for being Bradley’s girlfriend by people they encounter when hanging out outside of work, and her laidback attitude, Bradley said, mirrors the LGBT acceptance Bradley found throughout the force.
Bradley said she is “completely out” on the job, and has been since her first day at the Police Academy, in 2006.
“There was a guy in my academy class who was gay and he was like [whispering], ‘Do they know about you?’ and I was like [whispering] ‘Yeah, they do and it’s OK. We’ll all still be your friend. And if they don’t, I will!’”
Before joining the academy, Bradley, who was pursuing an EMT certification, said she was turned down for a number of jobs because of her gender presentation.
“I would go on job interviews and, because I dress non-feminine, I’d get that look as soon as I walked in the door. You could just see it. But I never let it get to me. My mom was constantly in my ear, like ‘God will open a door, their loss.’ She made it OK.”
Bradley’s mom spent 10 years as a police dispatcher and encouraged her to apply for the academy.
“I was never one of those kids who wanted to be a cop from the time I was little. I just decided to go for it and it turned out that I loved it. I absolutely love my job.”
The middle of three daughters, Bradley said her parents instilled a strong work ethic and appreciation for rules in her and her sisters from the time they were young.
“We would get home from school and we’d have a snack and then it was homework and chores,” she said. “In the summer, my mom wouldn’t let us sleep all day; she’d come in at 9:30, 10, pulling up our blinds and make us get up.”
As she drives through the streets around 10 p.m. with the windows down, shrieks of kids chasing each other float in, and one boy rides his bicycle alone down a dimly lit street.
“I can’t imagine my parents letting me stay out this late,” she said, noting that she had a very different upbringing than most in her North Philadelphia neighborhood. “We were like the only kids on the block who had a curfew. Back then, I was like, ‘Aw, Mom, come on!’ Now that I look back, I’m like, ‘Thanks, Mom.’ Just ’cause you live there, you don’t have to be your environment. And I’m really grateful that I had two parents; a lot of these kids don’t even have one.”
Near the end of her shift, a call came in that put her own childhood into stark contrast.
A 15-year-old went missing from a group home for troubled teen girls. The girl had run away from the home before and spent six months AWOL until her father found and returned her. After less than two days, she walked out again. The workers chatted as they filled out the requisite paperwork to hand Bradley, noting that, when she’s found, the teen will likely again be returned to the home. And, they shrugged, will likely again walk out the front door.
“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Bradley shook her head, as she climbed back into her car. “She could be anywhere.”
Driving back to the station, she again stopped mid-sentence. This time, she caught a glimpse of a man urinating on a fence down a dark alley.
Shining her car light on him, she pulled up alongside, rolled down the window and asked what he was doing.
“Fixing my pants,” he said, starting to walk away.
“Do you know it’s illegal to urinate in public?” she asked.
“Really?” he responded, smiling. “Is that a new law?”
Bradley chuckled back and told him to keep that in mind, to which he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
Pulling back onto the road, Bradley laughed.
“Yeah, you see something new every day.”