The Rookie: A Day in the Life of Chicago Policewoman
Being armed with only two years of social work at Loyola University and the older sister of nine brothers, Toni started her first day in 1938 as a Chicago Policewoman. There were only a handful of women on the force at that time, and the next 35 years proved to be a most troubled time in history. This is a story of that first day as told to me by my mother, Toni Quinn.
Running lightly up the five marble steps, I entered the expansive lobby. A deep-seated bench along the wall faced the door. On the left, a wide counter-top ran the full width of the room and I could see papers, four telephones and a large open ledger on the desktop. All complaints were recorded daily on this police blotter. Dates, hours and information were logged and initialed in this police journal by the desk sergeant or his assistant. Sergeant Reedy, being conscientious and industrious, made an excellent desk sergeant and he gave me much-needed, good advice over the years. He recorded police incidents in the books, answered the telephones and listened to the complaints of the persons lined up at the desk.
His assistant, Bill Brody, answered telephones and checked the Teletype machine when a bell rang furiously and the paper began to roll. “The Acme Bank is being held up” – “murder with a shotgun” – robbery suspect running west on Irving Park Boulevard” and so on went the messages. The clanging of the Teletype bell alerted everyone in the station. Even the captain came out of his office to take command.
As I waited to meet the captain I sat on the wide bench and tried to keep my back to the wall for support but the bench was so deep that my legs were straight out. I had to ease up to the edge of the bench so that both my feet touched the floor. I never did find comfort in sitting on that bench. Over the years, always with an aching back, I listened to stories of heartbreak, of loneliness and sorrow but mostly of complaints, laced with anger, grief and desolation from the real people in the throbbing life of the 32nd District.
No one in Shakespeare that day knew what to do with me. I read everything on the desk and tried to keep out of the way. The Teletype machine noisily rattled out messages of wanted persons, missing persons, stolen cars, burglaries, robberies, assaults, wife beatings, the transporting of mentally ill and sick persons of all ages to hospitals, escorts of prisoners to various places, family quarrels, disturbances, children molested, illegal abortions, murders, notices of meetings, assignments to be covered and various other activities of the police department. The strips of information pertaining to our district were cut and pasted in the appropriate books – the desk ledger, the missing persons book, the warrants and stolen car books, order from the chief’s office, etc. I read the daily and neighborhood newspapers and I studied a district map on the wall. Finally, I just sat on the bench.
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