A Trucker's Tale - A Tale of Good Cops

Jul 16, 2025 - one month ago

We all hear horror stories of how badly cops have treated truckers, but I have none to tell, because three of my four cop experiences were all very positive.

The first found me lost while roaming the streets of NYC just after daylight. Observing one of New York City’s “finest” sitting on a three-wheeler while parked at a curb, I stopped and asked him for directions to deliver my load of paper. He told me I had driven past the address, and he told me that I needed to turn around and go back the other way. He said, “Can you swing it around in this intersection?” I replied that although there was enough room to make a U-turn, the traffic was too heavy to attempt the maneuver. He said, “You think so?” He climbed out of his three-wheeler, walked into the middle of the intersection, blew his whistle while indicating that all traffic, from all four directions, would stop immediately, and then looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “Well?”

I quickly performed my 360-degree turn, waved thanks to him, and took off down the street. Half a block later, upon hearing a siren, I looked in the mirror and saw his lights, indicating that I should pull over. Damn, I figured he had set me up so he could give me a ticket for making a U-turn in the intersection.

I pulled over and got out of the truck. He walked up to me and said that he had remembered the delivery address as being a “mother” for truckers, due to the fact that trucks had to back into the dock from the blind side, and he issued, “Follow me.” Not only did he lead me the half-dozen blocks to the correct address, but once again he got off his vehicle to stop traffic for me to, sure enough, back it in from the blind side. (For you non-truckers, the blind side is when you must look at the mirror on the passengers’ side of the cab. You can’t cheat by looking out of your driver’s door.) Any driver who ever said NYC cops were asses hadn’t met this fine gentleman.

In another city, at another time, I was directed to pull into a delivery alley to unload some furniture at the main post office in downtown Chicago. Two guys met me at the rear of the trailer, and I asked if they could help me with the three extremely heavy government desks. They informed me that, since they were federal employees, they were prohibited from getting on my trailer. With that news, I struggled as I pushed these 400-pound desks to the rear of the trailer. As I pushed them enough for the fellows to reach them, I was happy to hear each of them utter, “goddamn these are heavy!”

I closed the trailer doors and then climbed into the tractor to continue through the alley, (since the receiver had said every other trucker did this.) Well, evidently these other trucks were of the smaller delivery truck style, because my 13’6” trailer wouldn’t even come close to clearing some of the fire escape ladders protruding down the length of the alley. I slowly began backing up toward where I had entered the alley, but I stopped upon reaching a busy sidewalk, and an even busier roadway.

I have no idea where he came from, but one of Chicago’s “finest” noticed my dilemma. He did not even consult me as he stopped on-coming traffic by parking his car to block the lanes. The policeman got out of his car, halted the sidewalk pedestrians, and then directed me to continue backing into the highway. Fine cop number two!

My third cop experience was with a Maryland State Trooper on US Highway 301 North on Maryland’s eastern shore. It was close to midnight as I crossed William Lane Chesapeake Bay Bridge east of Annapolis. CB-equipped drivers informed everyone that there was a Smoky getting onto 301 N from Highway 50. I was driving the speed limit, while pulling a reefer load of pharmaceuticals, so I maintained my speed since I knew the trooper was behind me.

The trooper soon passed me, and I flashed my lights for him to come back over. He came on the CB and said, “Thanks, Mr. WMTS.” We conversed for a few minutes, and he inquired where I was headed. Replying that I was staying on 301 N, while heading to New Jersey, he told me he would not have a problem if I wanted to pick up my speed if the truck was capable, since he was the only trooper out tonight.

It didn’t take too long before I started creeping up on him, and he said something like, “Man, I guess it is capable of more than the speed limit!” The trooper soon had to exit, and his parting words were. “I just checked, and the roadway is clear to the Delaware line, so keep the hammer down. Hope to talk to you again someday.” I never saw, or heard, from him again, but the good memory is still quite vivid.

My last cop experience was more chicken s__t than anything else. I had entered the PA Turnpike at Breezewood and then headed west toward Pittsburgh. The Turnpike Police weren’t too creative around this location, because every trucker knew that a trooper was usually “hiding” behind the bridge close to the Police Barracks, so I made sure I was driving at the speed limit.

Well, he was where he was supposed to be, and I was surprised when he pulled out, turned on his flashing lights, and pulled me over. I got out of the truck and walked back to his car, (you were allowed to do that then) and he informed me that my trailer marker lights were not working.

The trooper followed me back to the front of the trailer, and I climbed-up onto the catwalk. I jiggled the pigtail, and the lights came back to life. I hopped down, and I thanked him for letting me know the lights were out. The trooper said, “You’re welcome. Please bring your license and truck registration back to my car.” It must have been a slow night, or he needed to make quota, even though lawmen will swear that there is no such thing as a quota, because the bastard issued me a ticket for lights not working, or some similar infraction. I questioned why he had to give me a ticket, since now the lights were working fine, and he just shrugged and said that I should have jiggled the pigtail before I came around the curve where he was sitting. Because I didn’t want him to write more tickets, I waited until I had driven away before I called him a helluva lot of unkind things.

I suppose, in the overall scheme of things, three out of four good cop experiences ain’t too bad.

Ed Miller ([email protected]) has more than 40 years of management and ownership experience in the trucking industry. Today, he is a part-time tour bus driver, published author of “A Trucker’s Tale”, and regular contributor to Supply Post. He is a father of three and a grandfather of two, and lives with his wife in Rising Sun, Maryland.