Disclaimer: This article contains explicit language. Reader discretion is advised.
Logan Ramsey
Editor-in-Chief
Almost three decades later, Roger Schei still remembers the house covered in bugs. He was a nineteen-year-old police explorer with San Diego County, and he and his sheriff’s deputy trainer were called to a house that was covered in enough bugs to be the Temple of Doom.
Insects scurried all over the trash that covered the floor as well as the walls. Dishes were stacked up in the sink, but there was no food to be found. Among the trash were clothes soaked in urine.
The only thing that truly stood out in this temple of doom was two children, a three-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy, who lived there.
“I’ll never forget those kids,” Schei tells me as we drive down West Chubbuck Road in a police SUV. “I’ll never forget that call.”
Over the last 29 years, Schei has become deputy chief of the Pocatello Police Department, and he’s now taking me on a ride-along. Only, he’s not just deputy chief to me. He’s also the father of my girlfriend of eleven months.
The first time I ever met Schei was in his living room after a breakfast date with Lyssa. On the floor was a chew toy that their dog, the massive Apollo, had previously torn to shreds. Schei pointed it out and told me that’s what Apollo could do to my leg if he attacked me. I wasn’t sure how he meant that, but I’ve proceeded with caution through the relationship ever since.
I show up at the station right at 4:29 p.m. The ride-along begins silent and awkward between us, but I’m not worried about it. I know that we have a long ride ahead, so I sit tight while Schei packs up the gear and checks the equipment.
Believe it or not, I’d never been in a police car before this, so I observe the interior of the car with a green eye. A laptop sits in front of the center console providing access to Spillman, the police station’s “mobile database,” which allows Schei to see where every officer on patrol is and all of the calls received throughout the night. Under the stand that’s holding the laptop, there’s a set of buttons with ominous sounding labels like “over-ride” and “gun lock” and “blackout.”
The back seat doesn’t look like how they do in the movies. I expected there would be a sheet of glass to separate us from any criminals we might pick-up, but there’s bars on the window and the seat is plastic. Schei later tells me that makes it easier to clean up urine, vomit, blood or anything that would ruin a leather seat.
Without a word, Schei starts the car, and we’re off to patrol the streets of Pocatello. He has to stop first to ask a fellow officer, Akilah Lacey, a question.
Instead of answering it, Lacey laughs and points out that Schei’s alley lights are turned on. Schei fiddles with the console for a moment before they turn off.
“How long has it been since you were in a police car, 29 years?” Lacey laughs as we drive away. Schei’s been in a police car more recently than that, but his job has changed since he became deputy chief.
It’s 5:50 p.m., and Schei tells me about what made him want to be a police officer after he tells me about the temple of doom. His brother was in law enforcement, and he’d wanted the same job since he was a child.
“When the bell rings and the call goes off, I want to be the one that says, ‘Send me,’” Schei explains.
That’s a desire I can relate to, even if my job doesn’t require it. Sometimes I wish there was more danger in being a journalist.
“But as I’ve moved up in the department, my ‘why’ has changed,” Schei says. “Now my primary job is to make sure that the officers have the resources and the equipment to complete the mission.”
Later in our interview, I ask, “What can I expect from my first ride-along?”
“You’re probably going to see things you don’t expect to see,” he replies.
“I can’t wait… or maybe I can,” I hesitate, with the temple of doom on my mind.
“It could be nothing, tonight could be totally boring,” Schei says. “That’s the thing with this job; it’s 90% boredom and 10% chaos.”
While the night lacked chaos, I still saw things that I didn’t expect to see.
The only call we answered that night was at 6:18 p.m., too crackly for me to make out every word. I’m still able to understand that it’s a domestic disturbance. Schei revs the engine and does some quick turns into the alleys between the houses of the neighborhood.
“Stay on my hip pocket for this,” Schei says as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
“Okay,” I say as I do the same. “Could it cause a problem if I bring my notebook?”
Schei gives me a look like it’s a dumb question and says, “Don’t.” Putting my notebook away, I turn my phone’s voice recorder on and quietly slip it into my pocket.
As we drive through the alley, we see another officer’s car stop next to the house. He gets out and darts around the corner. Schei stops the car behind the side of a shed and flings himself from the driver’s seat. By the time I’ve stumbled out of the car, he’s already around the corner as well.
The house is situated in the alley between two other lines of houses and has a gravel parking area with a backyard to one of the street houses behind it. A man wearing clothes but no shoes is on the fence yelling curse words at a man and a woman on the porch who are talking to the other officer. He looks hot as all hell, and I don’t want to get anywhere near him.
Schei goes into the backyard and gets No-Shoes to go and stand against the trampoline and starts questioning him.
“Were you pushing and shoving?”
“Fuck yeah! This motherfucker gets tough with me in the house!” No-Shoes shouts, pointing and looking at the people on the porch.
“Who, who, who?” Schei says forcefully, bringing his attention back. “Look at me, talk to me.”
It’s a struggle to keep the attention of No-Shoes as Schei questions him further.
We catch a snippet of what the other fighter is saying, “-called my wife a whore.”
“I didn’t call your wife-!”
“Ai-gi-bi-geh,” Schei brings him back, “talk to me, don’t talk to them.”
As Schei interviews him, he finds out that No-Shoes and the women are divorced, and the other man is her new partner.
“So you’re hanging out here, drinking beer, you go take a shower, you get out of the shower, and he challenges you to a fight?” Schei asks.
“Yeah, basically,” No-Shoes says. “I’m just tired of getting thrown out everytime I come here.”
“So why do you keep coming back?”
“It’s good pussy,” No-Shoes cracks a smile.
Schei isn’t amused.
He and the other officer decide to give the two parties a choice: they can either both be cited for the incident, or they can both go their separate ways. They choose the latter.
“How old are you?” Schei asks as he’s delivering the news.
“35-years-old,” No-Shoes responds.
“Act like it.”
As we walk back to the police car, Schei tells me, “We’ll be back.” Whether No-Shoes went back to the house or not, it wasn’t called in that night.
The rest of the ride-along was fairly slow, but I learned about Schei’s job as time wore on.
His job one night may be to handle a domestic disturbance, but the next it could be to go into another temple of doom.
“It’s left an impact on me to want to have that heart of service, help those out that don’t have as much as you have,” Schei told me back on West Chubbuck Road.
The service that Schei and the sheriff’s deputy provided was foreign to the children of the temple of doom.
The mother sat in a chair when Schei first saw her, with a stoned face. She was high off of methamphetamine, and when Schei and the deputy removed the kids from the house, she didn’t flinch. The kids didn’t hesitate when they left either.
Schei and the deputy took the kids back to the station and showed them some attention. They fed them and colored with them, and when they took the children to a receiving home, they didn’t want to leave. They had to pry the children off their necks.
“This is one of the things you have to get used to in this job,” the deputy told Schei after they dropped the kids off. “You see a lot of sad situations like that.”
Since then, Schei has seen other houses like that, but he hasn’t forgotten that one.
