RICHARD ALLEN SCOTT - Through the Years

RICHARD ALLEN SCOTT
THROUGH THE YEARS
we could smell the blood and gore. Guy had blown half his head off with a shotgun in the
basement. “Stuff” was hanging and dripping from the floor joists. Nasty memory, the first of
many. I also remember having a “tussle” with a drunk I had arrested, and while in the office with
him, and trying to put him in the cells, he ripped the shirt right off my back. After a more senior
member ‘took care of him’, I didn’t recognize his face the next morning, and the ‘hanging’ judge
we had in the court room next door didn’t even blink an eye when he fined him for being drunk
in a public place. He was great.
We worked closely with Matsqui Police members, backing each other up on calls, regardless of
jurisdiction. There were just too few of us on a shift to do everything alone. One night, I
assisted one of their members, a crusty Scot who had served both in Scotland and in the
Vancouver Police force, with the arrest of a particularly nasty drunk. This fool was causing so
much trouble and since he constantly was insisting on a cigarette, the Matsqui member let him
have one, but not before stuffing one of those miniature fire-crackers in the end of it. When he
lit it, ‘boom’, his face was black! We fell over laughing and lo and behold the drunk became
quite complacent. Justice was served.
Being close to the US Border, and with a Customs port within our jurisdiction, we were often
called there to assist with drunk drivers mainly, but many other matters, including ‘border
runners’, those who didn’t stop for inspection. They were simply turned around and escorted
back, where they faced heavy penalties. Quite a number of draft dodgers came to our attention
during those years (Vietnam War), both trying to cross into Canada, and having ‘snuck’ across
the line. We unceremoniously dragged them back to the US border post where they were
promptly arrested. I suppose we shouldn’t have been doing that, but hey, too bad, so sad.
The little town of Sumas, Washington, right at the border, had a sheriff of some renown. He
reportedly had notches in his gun, but I never saw them. He was one heck of a character and
we shared a great mutual respect for each other.
We were normally a pretty quiet town, but on one occasion had the ‘ace investigators’ from
Vancouver with us for a while. There was a doctor who lived up on Vedder Mountain, a rather
remote area of our Detachment, down along the US border. He was performing abortions at a
clinic he had established up on the mountain. Highly illegal at that time. The investigation was
at its end by the time the plainclothes ‘guys’ from Vancouver arrived, so we were there to assist
in the arrest of this notorious doctor. Abortion was decriminalized shortly thereafter.
June 2017
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