On Night Patrol in Edgartown

By MANDY LOCKE

It's 10 o'clock on Friday night in Edgartown. Kids with ice
cream cones and fathers with strollers disappeared from Main street
hours ago. A sea of 20-somethings and 40-somethings who dream about
being 20-something again has replaced the crowds of families
shuffling through the streets of downtown.

Women glide down the brick sidewalks in runway fashion in
their newest brightly colored tank tops. Men trail them, staking
claims early. One cannot mistake a certain urgency in the crowd's
pace. Only two and a half hours until the bars close. Drinks to be
consumed, phone numbers to be exchanged.

It's a scene that Edgartown police officers have seen a
million times before. Yet they watch with the attentiveness of
newcomers. Anything could happen along the pristine streets of
Edgartown, and they want to be there the second anything is amiss.

10:04 p.m. A call comes in from an off-duty officer who
overhears a few underage women asking a young man to buy them
alcohol. A lengthy description of the buyer and young women screeches
across the scanner in the unmarked police car of Sgt. Antone
Bettencourt. Officers patrolling the downtown area keep their eyes
peeled.

10:18 p.m. An officer spots a young man who matches the
buyer's description using the pay phone near The Navigator. Within
minutes, four officers surround the befuddled man. A brief line of
questioning and a request for identification reveals that the buyer
is underage as well. A missing hologram on a Georgia driver's license
is all special officer Sean Kelleher needs to see. Within minutes,
the officers locate the three cases of beer he purchased for the now
missing underage women. Officer Will Oteri escorts the handcuffed
young man to his car for a trip to the Dukes County jail.

Back in the car, Sergeant Bettencourt shakes his head about
the incident.

"People don't think it's a big deal to buy alcohol for
minors," he says.

"I feel like I saved myself some work for later on," he says,
proud they could remove the alcohol from the hands of underaged
drinkers.

10:34 p.m. Back at the station, officers fight yawns as they
change shifts. Even the officers just beginning the shift feel the
strain of the long holiday week. While vacationers headed to the
beach and to the Fourth of July parade this week, Edgartown officers
worked double time. Many of them clocked as much as 40 hours of
overtime in just a week.

"It's not a nine-to-five job. It never has been, and it never
will be," says Sergeant Bettencourt, whose shift ends at 2 a.m. and
whose next shift begins just six hours later.

10:50 p.m. All is quiet along the roads leading into
Edgartown. The streets are secure with 12 officers in cruisers, on
bikes or on foot patrol. Sergeant Bettencourt listens to the scanner
as he drives along West Tisbury Road. An officer across town pulls
over a speeder, a car doing 65 miles per hour in a 25 zone. He calls
an officer stationed downtown on his Alltell phone to check on the
crowds. About half the officers carry these phones, making
communication much easier without having to fight the heavy scanner
traffic.

Sergeant Bettencourt turns into the airport for a quick loop.
With one eye on the road ahead, he surveys the buildings along the
strip, looking for any unusual activity.

"I'm always looking around. I'm not trying to be heroic; it's
just normal," he says.

11:47 p.m. Detective Craig Edwards pulls his unmarked
Navigator into an empty space along Main street. He stops to chat
briefly with Sgt. Richard Krauss, who keeps guard on the corner of
Main street and North Water. From his vantage point in front of the
Edgartown Paper Store, Sergeant Krauss can make eye contact with
nearly all of the officers posted up and down the streets.

"It's interesting to see people stone sober walking down Main
street. Then three hours later, you see them again, completely
altered," Sergeant Krauss says.

In front of the Wharf, the smokers spill onto the sidewalks,
obeying the new smoking ordinance in Edgartown. A haze of smoke
floats above their heads, and a sea of cigarette butts litters the
sidewalk and street below their feet.

It's about 20 minutes from last call when some of the crowd
begins to stagger from the bar. Women clutch arms to keep from
tripping on their stacked shoes.

Officers move in closer to the scene, preparing to block off
the lower portion of Main street when the bars officially close. The
now-chatty bar crowd stops to talk with uniformed officers, asking
about where to find a taxi. The alcohol robbed them of a concept of
personal space, and officers try to keep a professional distance from
women drawn to their uniforms.

One woman shouts in her whisper voice, "Why are there so many
police around? There's no crime in Martha's Vineyard."

Sergeant Bettencourt shakes his head.

"I should let her read the log," he says.

12:32 a.m. Bouncers begin directing the crowd onto the
street, where they linger, shielded from any sense of rush. Some head
to Dockside, driven by the lure of late night munchies and coffee.

People begin to pair off. Others hail a cab with a group of
friends. Officers allow the taxis to break the normal loading and
unloading time restrictions. They want to see the crowds get home
safely, and each taxi eliminates a potential DWI call later in the
night. Detective Edwards confesses that they do not tow cars left
overnight in Edgartown.

"We should reward people instead of penalize them for knowing
when to not drive home," he says.

1:07 a.m. Only a small remnant of the crowd lingers in the
streets. The officers reopen Main street, allowing the cabs to sweep
in and grab the remaining people. Bar closing passes without
incident, something all of the officers like to see.

1:28 a.m. Officer Oteri hops in his cruiser to respond to a
noise complaint in Dodger's Hole. This is a familiar drill for
Officer Oteri. With an ordinance restricting any noise that can be
heard more than 50 feet from a house between 10 p.m. and 7 a.m.,
breaking up house parties is a regular part of weekend duty.

Two more Edgartown cruisers follow Officer Oteri to the
scene. A few state police cars follow suit, offering backup if
necessary. Unsure of the size of the party, the police prepare for
anything.

Dodger's Hole tonight looks more like an interstate at rush
hour than a residential development asleep for the night. Nearly 75
poorly parked cars line the narrow streets. Officers step from the
cars and inform the new arrivals that the party is officially over.
The officers are momentarily confused as they hear noise bellowing
from more than one house. They follow the crowds of young college
students, certain they know where the big party is.

Small groups of people - they look barely older than
teenagers - loiter in the yard of the house and nearby street. Beer
bottles litter the driveway. Officers begin to direct the oblivious
crowd to cars. The nightmare of unclogging the traffic jam follows.
Officer Oteri searches for the renters of the house. After asking for
identification, he calmly explains the noise ordinance in Edgartown.

"If we have to come back, then we will make arrests. We don't
want to come back any more than you don't want us to," Officer Oteri
says.

After the officers reduce the hundreds of people into a
manageable 12, they circle the neighborhood again. The thumping of
rap music echoes from the first house they passed. A few guests talk
on cell phones in the yard, but most of the partiers remain in the
house. The drill repeats itself as Officer Christopher Dolby tells
the renter about the noise ordinance. The renter starts to argue with
the officer, but she knows she stands no chance.

"I'm just suggesting to you to turn the music all the way
off, so that we don't have to come back. I guarantee you that your
neighbors will continue to call and complain if it remains on,"
Officer Dolby says calmly.

"Telling us to turn off the music is like telling us not to
be black," one of the guests says with a laugh.

The music stops, the guests return inside, the officers get
back into their cruisers.

It's nearly 2 a.m. on a Saturday morning in July. Four hours until
daybreak, four more hours before the end of the night shift for the
Edgartown police.