No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP Read Online Free PDF Page A

the troop were tested for the Red Cross award of merit. In one segment of the test, the instructor posed as a drowning swimmer. When the recruit approached the panic-stricken “victim,” he attempted to place the victim in a towing position. If the recruit did not perform exactly as taught, the instructor would grab him in a death grip and take him to the bottom of the pool. Release only occurred when the rescuer was on the brink of panic himself.
    Within a month, the pressures of training began to take their toll, and several of the troop decided to leave. By the sixth week, nine members had resigned. It occurred to our instructors that they might be able to completely eradicate “A” Troop—now reduced to 23 members—if they maintained the intensity. They redoubled their efforts to eliminate those of us who remained. In their zeal to decimate our numbers, the physical training staff identified three of us as being under the magic minimum height of five foot eight. Even though we were coping with the challenges being thrown our way, we were measured once, twice and three times. Still not satisfied, they called in experts from the provincial weights and measures ministry. The process went on for several weeks and was thoroughly demoralizing. Finally we appeared before the division medical officer. I recall sitting in his office when he concluded his interview by asking me if I wished to continue my training. My response was resoundingly positive. He finally put an end to our misery by certifying in each of our files that we met the minimum-height requirement.
    The arbitrary minimum-height rules introduced us to discrimination that exists in a general way in many societies but is particularly rampant in a military setting. In the RCMP the mean height is somewhere between five foot ten and six foot two, and those who fell on either side of this “ideal” height range were constantly reminded of it. Members on the tall end of the scale also suffered constant, repetitive and often tasteless comments about their seeming affliction. In calling out members who were above or below the mean height, the training staff communicated the God-given right of all to identify physical aberrations. Throughout my years on the Force, I was subjected to comments regarding my height (though civilians have rarely commented on it). Usually it was good-natured ribbing, but sometimes there were overtones of cruelty and sarcasm. It is a strange and somewhat motivating cross to bear. Singled out for what some labelled a physical deficit, I was even more determined to perform to the best of my ability. Even during gatherings of retired RCMP veterans, there are invariably comments about one’s extra height or lack thereof.
    To ensure the survival of our small squad, bonds developed and vows were made. As we came to know each other better, individual personalities emerged and added to the tapestry of the troop. Parker was our right marker, the one who formed us up for parade, called the roll and generally responded on our behalf to commands. Markers were selected for their military bearing and appearance in uniform. We learned that these physical attributes were used to identify leaders, though it was clear even during basic training that an impeccable appearance did not always indicate an effective leader. Our right marker was a classic example. Parker was a true peacock, always looking the part and projecting a noble presence, but in reality he was a scoundrel in sheep’s clothing, constantly looking for ways to create havoc and disarray. He was responsible for a number of incidents that shone a negative light upon us. During our orientation to the small arms range, the instructor demonstrated his prowess with a .38 special revolver. After firing several rounds at the target, he realized none of the rounds had even hit the paper upon which the target was mounted. Puzzled, he walked down the range, only to find his rounds had not even made it to