When there is an emergency in Van Buren County, dispatchers
press a button at the dispatch center that sends out an emergency tone to every
State, County, or Township car. This emergency
tone blares in every portable radio and car radio in the county. I don’t know why, but the pitch is a high
pitched warble that fluctuates between a piercing scream and an erie mournful wail. The hair on the back of my neck stands
up every time I hear it. The tone itself
can stop any one in their tracks…If I’m at the post when the tone goes out, I
whip out my pen and start writing on my hand or whatever is closest. If I’m driving in my State Police patrol car, regardless of if I’m on the
highway or regular road I pull off to the side of the road and begin plugging
in the coordinates on my computer.
On this certain day, myself and my partner were at the post
at around 4:45 A.M on a Sunday morning, doing
report writing, gun cleaning, and doing a few odd things before our shift
ended. For a Saturday night, the night
had been a steady flow of arrests and busy per usual. I remember us both being exhausted as we set
in doing our report writing at our respective computers. However, the day shift wouldn’t check in for
a couple more hours, so we were still the only car on in the two counties for
the State.
I remember the emergency tone as it came through my ear piece that was connected to my radio-that shrieking, screaming, wail and my hands froze mid
typing. The dispatcher on the end droned
out “911 call of single vehicle into a tree, unknown injuries, called in by an off duty township firefighter.”
My partner radioed up our coordinates and waited for a
response as we headed toward our already running patrol car. We knew that jurisdiction issues would arise
and we would be taking the crash. “Van
Buren to 51, looks like you’re going to be our closest car if you could head
that way. “En route from the post,” my
partner responded.
It’s interesting when you’re dealing with high stress
situations, you quickly find out what you’re made of. As I activated our emergency lights and siren
and screamed out of the parking lot into the darkness, my partner was calmly
talking on the radio as if he were having a casual conversation with a friend. Above the scream of the siren, the roar of
wind, it’s impossible to hear anything, much less think. I still was able to pick out certain details
dispatch was telling us. Car fire…unknown
if occupied… I looked at my speedometer…100
mph…110 mph…120 mph…130 mph…finally the 2010 bright blue Ford Crown Vic that we
punished every night hit her final gear and settled into a cruise…. 130 mph was
going to be the fastest we were going…Inwardly I cringed and wished we had a
Dodge Charger as those hit 150 mph like it was an every day speed….every mph
faster I went I figured would be a chance to save someone.
My adrenaline was rushing but on the outside I tried to not
show it. My partner and I were
conversing of simple strategies. “I’ll
get the med kit, you get to the car.” “CPR and then stabilize.” Already Van Buren advised us that fire and an
ambulance were en route to the scene. I
covered 15 miles in a matter of minutes…As we rolled up on the scene, a dark
county road, my brain processed everything in real time. Our emergency lights danced off the canopy of
trees that were overhead, and off to the right side of the road around a single tree, I saw a metal object-twisted, charred, and disfigured. Small flames
licked around a metal object that was completely wrapped around the base of a 2 foot tree. There was smoke everywhere,
as if someone had set off one of those fog machines that football players run
through. I flicked off my siren and left
my lights on as to alert others to our location.
“Van Buren County, this is 51, you can show us on scene.” My partner and I rushed up to the car, our
blue and red lights from our patrol car penetrating through the smoke. Through the smoldering smoke I could barely
make out anything inside. The heat coming off the vehicle was incredibly hot. Everything inside
the car was black and cooked, like the inside of a grill catastrophe. The vehicle was
completely wrapped around this small, 2 foot tree, like a bow around
a Christmas gift.
The first thing I smelled was something burning…it took a
minute, but I figured it out… burning flesh.
It’s a smell that is unmistakable.
It’s thick, and hangs in air, penetrating and clinging to everything
that it comes in contact with. I braced
myself as I worked from the front of the car around to the trunk.
The second thing that I felt was death. I eventually located the body, pinned back in
the trunk. The impact had caused the
driver to get pushed through the backseat and into the trunk. My brain couldn’t grasp how forceful of an
impact it was. The body was burned
badly, and the only thing I could make out was bleached white ribs and teeth…it’s
like it wasn’t a real human being, like a body from the TV show “Bones.” Immediately I grabbed onto that thought. “It’s not real.”
My partner in the meantime had confirmed for himself what I
had already discovered. He ripped the
license plate off the vehicle and after the scene was secure with fire, ems,
and other police officers, we went to track down, identify, and notify whoever
it was in the vehicle. My bright orange medical
kit was in the front seat, mocking me as I looked at it. I threw it into the trunk and slammed the lid
shut. Frusturation had set in for both
of us.
![]() |
The actual crash site in the daylight |
The vehicle license plate came back to a house less than 3
miles away. “They were three miles away
from home…what a cruel joke.” Outwardly
my partner and I knew it was a job we had to do. We tried to joke with each other as we had in
many circumstances as we drove to the house.
This was different. No jokes
could cover this one. The home whose
driveway we rolled into was modest.
Nothing special. One thing I did
notice was several vehicles in the driveway.
My partner cussed aloud. I felt
his frusturation. After spending over an
hour and a half at the scene, emotionally exhausted, we knew were about to deal
with a ton of family.
Inside I was heavy hearted.
At 6 A.M. we were about to deliver news on someone’s front door that someone
was gone from this world. The door
opened to a middle aged man in his 50’s.
His face was marked with confusion. “Sir, can we come in and talk to
you?” He cordially invited us into his living room, wiping the sleep from his
eyes. Inwardly I could still smell the smoke and burning flesh on my
uniform.
“Do you know a Diego Rodriguez?” His face was marked with
confusion. “Yes, that’s me.” My partner shot a glance at me and I shot a look
back at him. “Ummmmm, what do we do now?”
“Sir, who was driving your car last night?”
“My daughter.”
“Is she here?”
“She went out last night, let me check.”
He left and trudged to a nearby room and knocked on the
door. “Maria, the cops want to talk to
you.”
Inwardly I prayed for a response…”Maria!?”
A few moments later a college aged girl rushed from the room,
on full alert.
“What happened!” She gushed out. “Ma’am, who was driving the
vehicle last night.”
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I watched her
frantically call her boyfriend who had dropped her off a few hours
earlier. She explained that she had
received a text from him saying that he was only a few minutes away from
home.
By this time, 5 other siblings, a set of grandparents, an
uncle, and both parents were all sitting down in the living room with solemn
looks on their faces as they watched their family member frantically call every
person she knew was with him. Every report
came back “No, he’s not here, he said he was going to your house.”
She crumbled to the ground sobbing, clutching the phone to
her chest as my partner told her that her boyfriend was dead. Her family members all sat in shock, 3 of her siblings holding her as she wailed. I still remember those cries.
Next we had to track down his family and inform them. We gave the girlfriend strict instructions to
not contact the family until we had notified them. As we pulled into the driveway, the sun was
just coming up. My partner pulled over the car.
His face was grim. I already knew… “Don’t worry man I’ll do this one.” I told him. He nodded and put the car back in
drive. Even in hairy situations, we had
always maintained a pretty good attitude about things. This one for some reason had sunk in with
both of us.
I remember the 4
stairs I climbed felt like an eternity.
I remember knocking on the door and meeting another 45, proud looking,
man with jet black hair. He already knew
something was wrong. “He didn’t come
home last night,” he told me in a soft tone, that had an accent to it. “Is he ok.”
As he spoke these words, I knew that he knew that his son was dead. A thousand, charged, non-verbal communication
signals were going back between us in those three to five seconds. I’m sure the look on my face said it all. They teach you on death notifications, to be
straight to the point. So I was. My heart broke for him. “No he is not. I’m
sorry sir, but your son, Jamie, is dead.”
A father’s love for his son was on full display as this man
cried on his hands and knees on his porch.
As we pulled away, I remember thinking that the worst feeling in this
world was being a parent and having to bury your own child.
I wanted to destroy my uniform as I came home midafternoon. I could still smell the burning flesh. I was exhausted and mentally drained. I took a shower and went to bed. I ended up staring up at the ceiling for 3
hours replaying the body, cries, and the pain that these family members
displayed. I remember thinking “Someone
just died, and I can’t even show any emotions.”
Frustrated with myself, I went to the gym and took it all out on a set
of weights and a 7 mile run. Still
nothing. I had no feeling left, I was
numb. I showered again, ate and tried to sleep. Nothing. This process continued. I was awake for two days straights while my
brain processed it all.
Peace was only achieved when the good book was opened.
“Hebrews 4:16-Let us then approach God's throne of grace
with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our
time of need.”
That was the first verse I read two days later and the last
one too; as I passed out for 12 hours straight in deep sleep.