A pirate with an eye patch passes us at 12:50 a.m., headed for the Quad. A minute later, as our patrol car rolls quietly down Serra Street, two more goofy-seeming students come into view.
“It’s okay,” deputy sheriff Ali Foss says. “I know Band people by sight.”
That’s part of her job—getting to know students on campus, and giving them a chance to know the campus police as individuals. Foss goes to house meetings in Kimball and dines on burritos at Kappa Alpha. Students working on term papers e-mail her to elicit her thoughts on the death penalty and on sentencing the mentally ill. It probably helps that the 25-year-old officer—one of four female deputies out of approximately 30—looks like a student herself.
If there’s such a thing as a typical midnight shift, it means there’s plenty for Foss and her beat partners to do. The first call on a recent night comes in slightly after 10 p.m., as the four cars on the night shift pull out of the station to begin their sweeps. Word of a broken window on the Quad sends Foss into gear. Maneuvering her Ford Crown Victoria down a narrow bike path, she parks near the George Segal sculpture and approaches Building 80 noiselessly, alert for an intruder.
False alarm. A student banging on a window had shattered the pane of glass. Foss, aka “Q19,” called in a work order, and a code four—no further assistance needed.
At 10:59 we’re easing down Lasuen Street, searchlight on, checking parked vehicles, when the police dispatcher reports that a Synergy resident is missing. It happens a lot, says Foss. A parent doesn’t hear from a student for a while, fears the worst and calls the resident fellow, who calls the police. Twenty minutes later, her estimation is confirmed: an officer has found the student and all is well. “And the kid is probably going, ‘Oh, Mom,’” says Foss.
A car slices past us in the dark. Foss phones in the license plate, then turns on the red and blue roof lights. Are there any outstanding warrants on the driver? Any criminal history? No. Foss stops the car and gives the driver with expired plates a warning and a fix-it ticket.
By 12:39 a.m. we’ve driven Beat One several times. Foss stops a number of vehicles for speeding but lets the drivers off with a warning when she smells no whiff of alcohol and sees no signs of horizontal nystagmus—involuntary movement—in their eyes. “You look at the situation,” Foss says. “Is it an egregious enough violation to warrant a citation? Was the public safety jeopardized by the actions of this person?”
At 12:54 a.m. a 1066 call comes in: occupied suspicious vehicle. Foss is the second officer on the scene, and cautiously approaches the car parked behind the Graduate School of Business before going up to the window and talking with the student inside. She’s in pajamas and having roommate trouble. The deputies calm her, then leave, satisfied she’s not in danger. “We try to approach situations with empathy and kindness,” Foss says.
As the night winds down, a disturbance is reported on the Quad, which turns out to be a yell-leader initiation. Foss stops several cars that are riding the white line. Finally she approaches a car that is stopped near the intersection of Campus Drive and Galvez Street. The passenger door is open and a young man is vomiting in the bushes, thanks to a senior pub night. Foss approaches him, asks a few questions, checks his ID. Handcuffs go on and another officer drives him off to Santa Clara County jail. He’ll be released in the morning, sober and chagrined.
And after 10 hours, Foss will go home to sleep.
