'Party patrol' officers decide when the music is just too loud

The sleek white police cruiser snaked through the Varsity Villas. Occasionally, the car stopped as the officers inside shined a search light onto porches.

The infamous apartments are a prime spot for the Friday night party patrol Bloomington Police Department officers who keep the weekend festivities under control.

Whenever people saw the cruiser heading toward them, they scattered like a school of fish that had spotted a shark. Occasionally, the officers yelled out the window, “Run! It’s the police!”

Senior Officer Paul Post laughed as he put the PA handset back in its holder.

“We know how to ruin a good party,” he said.

He situated himself comfortably in the front seat and positioned his forearm vertically so that his fingers graced the upper rim of the window as they always did when he rode shotgun.

The party patrol is not out to track down everyone with the volume up on their speakers. A majority of their shift is dedicated to keeping party noises at a reasonable level so they don’t get complaints filed against them. If no one complains about a residence, the owners can’t be cited.

If a complaint is called on a certain residence, the officers are notified by a dispatcher.

Upon arriving at the residence, the officers turn off their car and listen for any noise. If there is anything above a volume that can be heard from outside the house, all present residents will be cited and charged $50.

If the officers are dispatched to the same house within 24 hours, the residents can be arrested for disorderly conduct.

Officer Ben Burns, Post’s partner for the evening, turned the car out of the Villas and made a left on College Avenue. Burns put more pressure on the gas pedal and gripped the steering wheel with his right hand, flexing his arm. He switched on the radio and raised the volume.

“We could be a noise complaint ourselves,” he joked.
“Take It Off” by Ke$ha blasted through the speakers. Burns sang along.

And now we lookin’ like pimps
In my gold Trans-Am
Got a water bottle full of
whiskey
In my handbag
Got my drunk text on
I’ll regret it in the mornin’

“Ooo Ooo Ke$ha!” Burns yelled. “Come on Paul! Let’s see your ‘Jersey Shore’ fist pump!”

“Eh, I’m more of a Lady Gaga fan,” Post replied calmly.

Post isn’t really into top-40 music, but he puts up with it for the remainder of the ride down College Avenue to where it merges into Walnut Street. Burns spotted the third Mustang of the night and scoffed that it’s “just a six-cylinder.” His souped-up 2006 ‘stang, Rachel, is parked away safely. It only gets driven on nice days, is never eaten in and never goes out in the winter.

“I’m uncomfortable hearing about your cylinders,” Post said, letting a little humor shine through his typically serious disposition.

The partners couldn’t be any more different.

Post just purchased a Toyota Sienna mini-van, something reliable and safe with enough room for his wife and two kids. When he’s not on duty, he spends most of his time at home with his family, cooking elaborate dinners and reading.

Burns isn’t married. The No. 1 girl in his life is his Pit bull, Aspen. They were currently in a little bit of a spat about a chewed cellphone charger. He had sent her to bed that night without a treat.

When Burns isn’t on duty, he enjoys riding his motorcycle around town. In the winter, he snowboards. Sometimes he gets out his guitar and plays a few songs.

They pulled into a parking lot so that Burns could scarf down his second dinner of a buffalo-chicken quesadilla before another call came in. He had been performing a rigorous exercise routine for two hours every morning and was trying to keep up his strength. The dispatcher’s voice rung throughout the car.

“1507, we’ve got a complaint at East Moody Drive. Loud party.”

Without even looking at the GPS, they took off south. They had to memorize the names and addresses of every building and street in Bloomington as part of their training.

The officers rattled off street addresses like the names of their best friends.

“455 N. College Ave. Smallwood.”

“502 E. Kirkwood Ave. Kilroy’s.”

“2966 E. Third St. Target.”

They knew exactly where the party was.

The officers arrived at the house on East Moody Drive. They switched off their radio.
“I hear thumping,” Post said.

Booming speakers and a crowd scattered around the outside of the house gave the officers the go-ahead to approach the residence.

Post swept around the side of the home with a flashlight, where he caught a girl stumbling forward, drink in hand. She ran to hide behind the back of the house next door.

Burns knocked on the front door.

“Can I please see some ID?” he asked politely, following the procedure he had learned in the academy.

The resident handed Burns his license. He didn’t move. He just stared at the ground.
After several silent moments, Burns handed the tenant back his license along with a citation for a noise violation.

He was also forced to comply with the officer’s request to end the party.

People fled in a mass exodus. The alternating LED police lights made a clicking noise, two beats on red and four on blue. The lights bounced off the panicked faces of the evacuating crowd. Several piled into cars and sped off while others were forced to depart on foot. Many searched around frantically for friends they had lost in the evacuation.

One party-goer tried to sneak out the front door with a bottle of vodka behind his back.
Burns caught him before he could reach the exit. The boy said nothing. He just set the bottle on the ground before bolting from the house.

“They think we’re dumb,” Burns said. “The most unimportant thing everyone tells me is that they’re 21. Then they act like they want to be your buddy.”