When, I, in passing mentioned to author J. E. Fishman that I had called and emailed the New York City police press office to ask permission to interview the members of the Bomb Squad in connection with his book, he smiled and said, “You never heard back from them, did you?” He was, of course right, I hadn’t.
For years, I had never passed the Charles Street Bomb Squad without images of a sweating officer in padded gear straining over a terrorist bomb and “snap” cutting the trigger wire, so I looked forward to recording some of their hairy exploits for the readers of WestView, but it was not to be.
I called again and received a hostile New York accent like gravel down a chute “DCPI.’ I explained that I had, on their instruction, sent an email to gain permission to interview the bomb squad and had not heard back. “When did you send the e-mail?” came the indifferent response. “Two weeks ago,” I snapped. “No, no, you got to tell be the exact day.” I hung up.
So, I wrote the introduction to this piece quoting author Fishman, saying you will never hear from DCPI and I sent it to DCPI as my request to interview and carefully recorded the time and date. I then called the gravel-like tongue and before she could get the question out, I offered my second attempt and wanted to talk to whoever was in charge. A pause, muffled conversation, and then at last, “Ryan here.” He was Irish and pure New York cop. When I gave him the date of my email, he said, “OK yah gotah wait till I look it up and if you hear any music you can hum along.”
He came back still cheery, but when he read Fishman’s “You’ll never hear from DCPI,” his Irish went and he hung up.
I reported this to author Fishman who suggested I come to their book party and talk to the technical consultant the commander of the bomb squad Mark Torre. When I asked the date of the book party, he snapped back, “You have been sent two invitations.” He had obviously forgotten the and date and bang that was it. That is until on my way to Rite Aid, I discovered the Bomb Squad doors open and a member rocking on his heels ready for conversation. I obliged by relating by travails with DCPI and smiles and even a chuckle, when I caught an important looking Italian man emerge and disappear quickly. “Is that Commander Mark Torre?” I asked and my conversational companion smiled and said, “I can’t tell you unless you get DCPI permission.”
It was Torre, “I am in a rush. I have an appointment.” I found my business card and gave it to him and like DCPI, I never heard back.
OK, I thought, now I have their number and will give one more try at DCPI. I called and got through to a vexed, but still responsible voice, who explained that they receive “hundreds of requests” and “you may not think this a good way of doing business but if you don’t hear from us you won’t hear from us and if you hear from us you will hear from us.”
I have not heard from them.
