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As a rookie in the
Atlantic City, N.J., Police department, I was assigned a beat
on the boardwalk. Hardly a day went by when I didn't come upon
a child who had become separated from his parents.
One afternoon, I spotted
a small boy standing alone, obviously lost. I tried to gain his
confidence - I took him to the nearest ice-cream stand and bought
him a cone. Time passed with no sign of the boy's parents, so
the next step was to call for a patrol car to take him to headquarters.
I told the small fry to stay put while I went to the call box.
When I returned, he was nowhere in sight.
Within minutes, the
car arrived, and one of the patrolmen asked me where the child
was. I felt stupid; it's humiliating to say you've lost a lost
child. But I told the officers what had happened and gave a description
of the boy. "What did you treat him?" asked one of the men.
"An ice-cream cone.
Why?"
"Because," answered
the officer, "that kid lives only a few blocks from here, and
you've about the fifth rookie he's conned for a treat!"
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