Budo and the Badge: Exploits of a Jersey Cop

By Patrick  J.   Ciser

Lt. Patrick J. Ciser (Ret.) of the City of Clifton Police Department, in New Jersey, is also known to his many karate students as Sensei (Teacher). Ciser achieved national and international fame by representing the United States in five international karate tournaments, winning gold medals in South America and Europe.

Pat Ciser, as he is known in North Jersey, grew up and became a police officer in Clifton in 1977. Growing as a police officer, he started to realize that with his martial arts skills, he could save lives, surprisingly, on both sides of the law.

Newspaper accounts of Cisers exploits over the years bear witness to the true stories recounted in this book. Headlines and quotes give a glimpse of his illustrious career as he was continually called upon, in life and death situations. The Clifton Journal read, Pat Ciser, Cliftons answer to Superman New Jerseys Record wrote, Veteran officer compared to Chuck Norris; while the Heard News read, Action hero calling it quits, when announcing his retirement in 2008.

Join Ciser as he recalls mastering karate, kicking in doors, and dodging bullets and blades. The only difference between the stories in Budo and the Badge, and the ones on the big screen, are that these stories are real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Apr 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458202963

Patrick  J.   Ciser

Patrick J. Ciser, a former international karate champion and threetime gold medalist, is a highly decorated retired police lieutenant for the city of Clifton, New Jersey. Ciser lives in Wayne, New Jersey, with his wife, Lisa, and their children. He continues to teach Koeikan karate at his Clifton studio.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PREFACE

HOPE AVENUE

ASH STREET

PURSUITS

BECOMING PAT CISER

NEW YEAR’S EVE

UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES

LAKE AVENUE

TO CATCH A CRIMINAL

CENTER STREET

GREECE

PASSAIC COUNTY NARCOTICS TASK FORCE

ROBBERIES

SEARCH, THEN SEARCH AGAIN

GUNS, GUNS, EVERYWHERE!

CLIFTON NARCOTICS

BODIES

2007 REUNION

THE ART OF FIGHTING, WITHOUT FIGHTING

11/11/11

EARLY YEARS

STATE OF LAW ENFORCEMENT

THE STATE OF BUDO (MARTIAL ARTS) TODAY

TIPS ON SELF DEFENSE

This book is dedicated to the nearly 19,000 United States Law Enforcement officers, including Clifton’s John Samra, who made the ultimate sacrifice, while protecting their communities across America.

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Patrolman John Samra

Clifton Police Department

1/8/62 - 11/21/03

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Hanshi Edward Kaloudis

Koeikan Karate Pioneer

Thank you for your guidance both in, and out of the dojo.

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O’Sensei Brian Frost

1952 – 2009

You were the only one, who truly knew me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Ms. Miriam Santana, skilled black belt and trusted seito (student). Thank you for your tireless efforts in making this book a reality.

Stefanie, my wonderful daughter, thank you for your final editing of this work.

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doers of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause… Who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst if he fails at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Theodore Roosevelt

PREFACE

Law enforcement has always peaked interest in the media and entertainment industry; and why not? Crime concerns everyone while entertaining us, as well. From over the top Die Hard movies (Willis) to the television reality show Cops, crime shows are watched by millions who want to be entertained, with fictional depictions of what police work encompasses. But sometimes people want to be told a true story, while getting a feel for what police officers actually go through while protecting their community. Television sound bites and newspaper headlines only touch the surface, concerning real life and death dramas which take place in cities and towns all across America.

Over the last 40 years of competing in National and International Karate Championships, along with my career in law enforcement, I’ve been the subject of many local newspaper stories. These stories have caused many family members and friends to ask me about details, as well as what I was feeling, at the time of some of these intense encounters. Taking knives and guns off of people, even shooting a gun out of an actor’s (suspect) hand, caused many to say, Ciser, you could write a book!

As a result, this work began as a bunch of stories put together at the behest of my Sensei (Teacher), Brian Frost, and others, who believed in me. After reading newspaper accounts that I sent him over the years, Sensei told me that he sometimes lived vicariously through me. Yet if it weren’t for his teachings, along with Sensei Ed Kaloudis over the years, I never could have done many of the things depicted in this book.

As I wrote about one event, it caused me to recall similar events that I experienced over the years. That is why the chapters are written with a different theme in mind, rather than a chronological account. This structure actually worked out well, as the reader can skip around and first read chapters that interest them the most.

As far as the Budo (Martial Way or martial Arts of Japan) part of the book, I tend to get philosophical in my lessons, whether overt, or implied. Martial artists, more than most, will particularly enjoy the end of chapter quotes throughout, as most of these encompass Eastern thought. The Japanese kanji, or character used throughout the book for spacing thoughts, means Do (the Way), which has a deep philosophical meaning. It is used for instance in Budo, Karate-Do, Judo, Aikido, Kendo and also Bushido, The Way of the Warrior. There are other examples of Do, including Dojo, the place where we learn the way.

My approach to law enforcement was only one way to handle various situations (There are many paths to the mountain…). I always believed that good people, including police officers who are sworn to protect and serve, should go home safe at the end of the day. As you read each chapter, you’ll see that I’m not a big fan of political correctness, nor do I shed a tear for those that perpetrate crimes upon the weak, or the unarmed. I believe in advanced training for police officers, giving them the skills and confidence to save a life, on either side of the law, when the opportunity presents itself.

Throughout my career people would say things like, Wow, you’re like Chuck Norris! While I have the deepest respect and admiration for tournament champion and actor Chuck Norris, it is he who plays guys like me in the movies. As I recall, there was no one around to yell Cut! when I was confronted with armed adversaries.

While everyone can enjoy reading about these real life events, it is the young police officer who will read and also learn, throughout the book, how they can become better officers as they perform their manifold duties. Veteran officers will be reminded of the many times that they too, stepped up in the defense of others. Martial Artists, whether black belts, or newcomers to the study of Budo, may particularly enjoy the Karate Do chapters interpreted throughout and relate them to their training.

This is my story but there are parallels to what many cops, in many communities, go through in America on a daily basis. After 9/11, many people, especially in the greater New York metropolitan area, including Clifton, New Jersey, showed appreciation for all that we do. That appreciation has slowly waned, as police officers today, are many times, vilified in the press.

So here we go; I’m not a professional writer but I insisted on writing this myself. This, in an attempt to let you share my feelings, through my eyes; the eyes of a street cop!

Lieutenant Patrick J. Ciser, (Ret.)

City of Clifton Police Department

HOPE AVENUE

It was summertime, in the year 1991. I liked summer working the crossover 2000–0400 (8pm-4am) power shift. I hated the cold then, as I hate it now. It’s funny, but with all the coast-to-coast and world traveling I’ve done, I still come back to New Jersey to tolerate the winter. I guess that living 20 minutes from New York City and Newark Liberty Airport has its advantages. On this night, like so many others, I was right where I wanted to be, assigned to the east side of Clifton. A couple of post cars (marked patrol units) were dispatched to Hope Avenue, in the city’s Botany Village section. Dispatch reported that there was an erratic male yelling, screaming and threatening passersby. Car #1, along with a two-man Car, #8, were assigned. Like a lot of good cops in Clifton, I took it upon myself to roll in and stand by, just in case those units needed further assistance. I arrived, finding the officers exiting their radio cars.

You guys need any help?! I shouted from my driver’s seat.

Officer Robert Little, a rookie then, replied, No, I think we’re okay, Pat.

I really took the old brothers in blue concept seriously. Whenever I thought things could get rough, or go bad, I believed it was my responsibility to step up and help. Unfortunately, some guys believed I was overbearing at times. One of our dispatchers, Matt Failla, who was always of great help to me, came up with a nickname for me; The Colonel. As a patrolman, and not having rank, I guess I came across at times like I was in charge. Some cops thought over the years, I was a natural-born leader, while others at times, probably thought I was an arrogant jerk (okay, maybe the correct word wasn’t jerk). The truth of the matter is that I always wanted everyone to be safe.

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There’s an old saying that I picked up from the old Kung Fu TV series. A man is but three things: What he thinks he is; what others think he is; and what he really is. Don’t ever worry if everyone doesn’t like you. Don’t be afraid of making the hard choices. Always stand for what you believe in and remember that if everyone likes you, it may be because you’re a weak leader.

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Getting back to Hope Avenue, I had started to drive away toward Highland Avenue when I heard over the radio, Hey Pat, can you come back here a minute? Of course, I immediately turned around and pulled up to the scene, where I could hear what seemed to be, a lunatic going berserk. I got out of the car and looked up to the second floor veranda. A shirtless Peruvian man, I believe he was, had two very large butcher knives. He was screaming at the top of his lungs that he was going to kill everyone. I thought, Hmmm, that can’t be good. The on-scene officers were already calling for a sergeant and additional units to respond. Officers were standing behind their cars with guns drawn. So, I, along with the other officers, monitored his actions and blocked off the area from vehicle and pedestrian traffic while waiting for the sergeant. Sergeant Mike Jupin arrived and was quickly brought up to speed, as was my close friend; Billy Gibson. The sergeant told us that the watch commander was sending our negotiator. Detective George O’Brien arrived a short time later. George was a seasoned veteran with training in interviewing, interrogation and hostage negotiating. Once all the additional help was on scene, I was feeling a little useless. Finding out the Peruvian’s name was Hugo, George attempted to start a dialogue, to no avail. Hugo yelled again, I’m going to kill everyone, and then I am going to kill myself! With that, he pressed one of the knives against his neck and drew a little blood.

I now walked up to Gibson, who was in a pretty good position to cap him, if necessary. Billy was standing behind his car with his gun drawn pointing it at the suspect. With my hands on my gun belt in a very nonchalant fashion, I stood next to Bill and said, Hey Bill, you ah, gonna shoot this guy?

He answered, If I have to, yeah. Bill was usually very serious and sometimes quite intense.

I asked him, Do you think he’s a threat up there?

He replied, Yeah. He can throw those knives.

I said, Yeah, but then you could duck. Besides, how would it look in the papers tomorrow if you shoot that guy off the veranda? How about we relax a little until they really need us? Billy then lowered his gun while remaining vigilant.

Hugo now pulled out a cigarette lighter and threatened to burn down the building. The building was a four-family duplex with two apartments side-by-side downstairs and two more upstairs. The upstairs apartments had a veranda, each with a sliding glass door. There were drapes around the double door, which Hugo threatened to ignite. A fire truck was now called to respond and stand by with an ambulance that was already on scene. I was now getting downright bored as I watched the action from across the street. There was a nice lady living across the street, who asked me if I wanted anything, so I accepted some cold water, as I sat on the steps. Sgt. Jupin, a heavy smoker, must have been looking for a second pack by now as he paced past me.

I stood up and said, Hey Sarge, can I talk to you a minute? He stepped closer as I continued. Look, I know we have to be nice guys and try to negotiate with this asshole, but when we’re done, and he still wants to kill everyone, I’m gonna go up there and shove those knives up his ass.

Jupin looked at me a little surprised and said, You can do that?

I said, Sure, just let me know when you’ll let me kick in that door and go up. In the meantime, I’ll just wait here sipping my water. The sergeant then gave me the ole, Sure Pat, whatever you say look" and walked away.

I sat down and contemplated, how should I take this guy out? After all, they’re pretty large knives, and he is a highly erratic individual. I then asked a guy who lived a couple of doors down if he, or anyone else, had an old-fashioned metal garbage can with a cover that had a handle. He replied, Sure, my neighbor has one.

I said, Great! Can you ask him if I could borrow the cover?

He said he would be right back.

My plan was simple, if I didn’t have to shoot him. I don’t like shooting people unless they’re shooting at me. My good friend from California, Sensei Jack Sabat, gave me a nice present that I always kept in my radio car. Jack Sabat (Koeikan Karate 7th Dan) was UFC’s Chuck The Iceman Liddell’s sensei (Teacher) back in the day and the chief Koeikan instructor on the left, or is it west, coast. The present he gave me was a black police baton known as the Hide-a-Chuck. It was cleverly made with two partially hollowed sticks the thickness of a common night stick. The sticks were connected by a steel cable making them nunchaku. However, you could hide the cable and twist them together so as to look like a single- cylinder night stick or baton. I was told that the weapon could be effective as a baton, without twisting the sticks apart, or nunchaku.

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In the past, I would arrive with lights and siren to large fights, usually bars spilling out, and jump out with my nunchaku. Whenever I arrived alone with difficult odds, I would do my best Bruce Lee impression, scattering people in every direction. As a brown belt in the early 1970’s, I used to do demonstrations with my nunchaku. I would swing two at a time blindfolded which wasn’t as hard as it sounds. If you’re skilled enough, it doesn’t matter if you can see or not. I even performed this demonstration at the Poliedro arena in Caracas, Venezuela.

As a cop, my theatrics broke up a minimum of four large fights. The fights took place at Krackers Nightclub, Joey’s Nightclub, a bar down on South Parkway and River Road, but I can’t recall the name, and one year at the Clifton City Picnic, off Main Avenue. The only problem at the South Parkway bar; was that after they all fled, they crossed into the City of Passaic; and, unfortunately, continued to brawl, killing one person.

The Clifton detectives, who were working with Passaic, called me at home, waking me up after working midnights, to question me further about Clifton’s end of it. I said, Look, I can only keep the peace in Clifton, and I was alone. Back-up didn’t arrive until it was over. Cops can’t be omnipresent.

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Let’s get back to Hope Avenue and those knives. I retrieved my baton from my vehicle and then met up with the resident with the tin garbage can cover. Sitting back down across the street, I could tell that Hugo couldn’t be reasoned with. I was just hoping that I’d get the okay soon since I was getting hungry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry!

Suddenly, Hugo went into another rage, screaming at the top of his lungs, and set the drapes on fire. I yelled, That’s it! I’m done! I ran across the street to the front door while the fire department hit him with their hose. The only problem was that they used a small hose and had it hooked up to the truck and not the hydrant. Hugo now raised his hands and knives over his head screaming, taking whatever water pressure they had on his bare chest. I kicked in the front door, and flew up the steps to the second floor. Clutching my baton in my right hand and my shield in my left, I kicked Hugo’s apartment door open. He apparently heard the door fly open as he turned into the apartment. There was a couch between the two of us. Without missing a beat, I kept my momentum moving forward as I leaped over the couch. As I landed, we were within reach of one another, with the open sliding glass door just behind Hugo. As my feet hit the ground, I slammed my shield down over the knives as he tried to lunge forward. My nightstick simultaneously came down on his front hairline. You could hear a distinctive cracking sound as the top half of my stick flew through the air. I thought, Shit, as I looked at this tiny piece of wood still in my hand. Hugo didn’t fall, as I thought he might. He didn’t even drop his knives. He did, however, look stunned for just a second or two. I quickly dropped my shield and what was left of my baton and grabbed his head. In Aikido, they call this beautiful violence; I grabbed and pushed his jaw to his right with my left hand, while grabbing the top of his head for stability. I was now rotating his head so fast that his whole body had to follow. He spun around and crashed to the ground so fast and hard, that he could no longer hold onto the knives. In addition to this, he absolutely looked dazed, making it quite easy to cuff him. As I cuffed him, more officers came up the stairs behind me, and also the fire escape, to the veranda where Hugo threatened officers. The fire department extinguished the flames as I turned Hugo over to Billy to take down to the street.

Many times, when officers do something like this, there aren’t a lot of witnesses. In this case, there were plenty. Everyone, from the cops and the firemen, to the area residents, made me feel great. Billy, after searching the prisoner again for contraband, placed him in my car’s cage. We then took Hugo to the hospital for a couple of stitches to his head and Motrin, I’m sure. As I pulled away from Hope Avenue, Billy looked at me and said, Why do you do such crazy shit! I looked back and said, Because someday, this is gonna make a great story. I thought I meant for my grandchildren, certainly not a book.

"One who is well prepared for anything that arises,

will never rashly draw his sword in haste."

Ueshiba Morihei (Founder of Aikido)

ASH STREET

The year was 1990 and I was working a two-man unit on the 2000-0400 (8pm-4am) power shift. Billy Gibson was my partner and a great partner at that. It was pretty early in the shift when the dispatcher, Donna Atkinson, asked us and the eastside sergeant to give her a phone call.

Whenever there was a lot of detail available and needed for safety purposes, the dispatcher didn’t want to tie up the air (radio). Dispatcher Atkinson explained that a doctor called in about a male patient, who he had been treating, was in a bad car accident and was depressed. The man was in bed in his apartment and needed to talk with someone since he felt suicidal. The man told the doctor that he would leave his apartment door ajar but the doctor suspected that the man might have a weapon so he didn’t want to go there. Billy and I met the sergeant on scene in front of the EDP’s (Emotionally Disturbed Person) home.

It was agreed that the sergeant and I would go inside to speak to this individual as Billy checked for a fire escape outside his second floor window. The sergeant, who let’s say wasn’t one of the toughest cops in Clifton, accompanied me upstairs. Sure enough, we found the apartment door ajar, as we cautiously entered. As we called out Police! we heard a man say that he was in the bedroom. We approached the bedroom and peeked in as the door was half open. The sergeant was positioned in front of me to my right. He pushed the door open and stood in the doorway as I stayed halfway behind the door jam and wall. The alleged suicidal man, Jim, (not his real name) told us, Get the fuck out of my house! The sergeant tried to tell him that we were there to help. Jim didn’t want to hear it and told the sergeant that he had a gun under the sheet. With that, the sergeant and I took a step back as I drew my Beretta.

Both of us now stood behind the wall as the sergeant told me that he didn’t believe the guy had a gun. He’s BS’ing, said the sergeant, and I’m going to pull the sheet down and prove it. You see, when the actor (actor, Title 2C for suspect) told the sergeant that he had a gun, he, while lying in bed with a sheet over him, raised his hand under the sheet. Until the sheet was removed, you couldn’t tell if there was a gun in his hand or not. The position of the bed put the actor’s feet closest to us, while his head, resting on a couple of pillows, was furthest away.

When the sergeant further stated that he was going to enter the room and pull the sheet off of his hand, I strongly told him, Don’t! I explained to him that we knew nothing about this guy; he might really be nuts, or at least severely depressed. I said, Let’s talk to him while taking cover; we’re in no hurry. The sergeant, wanting to show me that he was in charge, turned and brazenly entered the door and approached the foot of the bed. Even worse was the fact that he didn’t first draw his weapon, and stood right between the actor and me, blocking my line of fire. Still having my Beretta ready to go, I remained in a cover position in back of the left side door jam attempting to take aim. Unfortunately for the sergeant, I would have to wait for his body to drop to return fire. The sergeant grabbed the sheet near the actor’s feet and pulled it off his raised hand. This action immediately revealed a small caliber handgun, now pointing at the sergeant’s face. It wasn’t until the sergeant turned and quickly exited the bedroom that I could identify the presence of a gun and not some other object. The sergeant grabbed the door handle and closed the door about three quarters behind him. He looked like he saw a ghost! The sergeant was now as white as the sheet that covered the gun. I looked at him and said, Bad idea, Sarge. While this was going on, Officer Gibson entered the apartment. Billy took a position near the door, to monitor the actor with his gun drawn and at a ready position.

I pulled the sergeant aside and told him, Get me the body bunker. The body bunker was a bullet proof, Plexiglas shield that you hold in front of yourself as you approach a dangerous person or situation.

If you’re not a cop, you’ve probably seen them on television. All of the SWAT units have them. Get me the body bunker and I’ll walk up to him and take that gun out of his hand, I explained!

The sergeant said, You can do that?

I replied, Get me the shield!

The sergeant then asked headquarters for a couple of additional officers and to have someone stop at the headquarters armory to pick up the body bunker.

Clifton’s Tactical Response Team, which was our name for our SWAT guys, didn’t really like how I handled this situation. You see, because I had a reputation of being a cowboy, or a lone wolf, I could never be assigned to the TRT. I think because of cliques and politics, they may have missed out. I could have taught them a few things.

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I remember once in Paterson, when I was assigned to the Passaic County Narcotics Task Force, we were having a meeting about a fortified drug dealer’s apartment. The CI (Confidential Informant) told us that his door had many dead bolts and it was a very heavy door. So when it was discussed if we should use a ram or a hydraulic door opener, I said, I’ll kick through the wall next to the door. I’ll bet I get in before you. I was familiar with the construction and knew it was only sheet rock. I worked construction with my father and brother, Mike, who were carpenters, and kicked in many walls during demolitions. Hell, Mike, who is also a black belt, and I, kicked through lath and plaster walls. The two-by-fours, if you hit them on an angle, were no match for a good yoko geri (side kick). I sometimes like to think outside the box.

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The Tactical Response Team had to make