An Ann Arbor cop learns a frosty lesson

I've heard several stories this year of children getting their tongues stuck to frozen flagpoles or fence posts. Haven’t these kids seen Flick’s plight in A Christmas Story?

It reminds me of a story when I was on patrol about 25 years ago, when Ann Arbor was suffering through a frigid winter with subzero temperatures. The manager of an apartment building in the city was inspecting his property and found some frozen aerosol cans of insecticide.Â

The apartment manager decided he would try to save the bug bombs by warming them up. Unfortunately, he either didn’t believe the warnings on the can or had never taken the time to read the warnings about heat and aerosol cans. He decided to warm the frozen cans in the oven of a vacant apartment.

Once the bug bombs started to heat, they metamorphosized from bug bombs to incendiary bombs. The aerosol cans blew up and started a major “working” fire - a term used when a first responder finds flames visible on arrival.Â

The fire department was already on the scene when I arrived. The fire was in a second-floor apartment, and I could see flames from floor-to-ceiling through the door wall of the apartment.

The fire occurred late at night. It was cold that evening, with temperatures hovering around zero degrees, which is probably why the bug bombs froze in the first place. One of my observations over the years has been it seems the fire department has a high probability of responding to major fires on the coldest or snowiest nights of the year. This year was no exception.

My police mission was to assist the fire department with traffic at the intersection of State and Packard streets. It was so cold that I decided I would endure the wrath and snickers from my peers and don my furry blue “trooper” hat. Trooper hats look goofy but they're warm. It wasn't cold enough to pull the flaps on the trooper hat down because it just looks too ridiculous in uniform.

I pulled up the collar on my coat, adjusted my scarf and jumped out into the intersection.
I drew my genuine department-issued gleaming chrome Acme Thunderer whistle from my pocket and commenced directing traffic through the intersection. The whistle is attached to an officer’s uniform shirt by a chrome chain attached to the epaulet. The whistle had been warm and snug in my pocket and under my jacket.

Traffic was moving smoothly, and thankfully, there were few cars at that hour. A motorist stopped next to me and asked for directions. It was then I made a mistake I would never repeat. I dropped the whistle out of my mouth and let it dangle on its ornamental chain. I cheerfully gave the driver directions and bid her farewell.

I turned back to my duties, retrieved my whistle and replaced it in my lips. That's when I realized my folly. I was immediately shocked by how quickly the metal whistle had chilled.

The whistle was stuck to my lips. If faced with a similar situation, my advice is to keep your lips sealed and slowly use your tongue to warm and moisten the frozen metal implement of torture. I only lost the skin off my top lip.Â

From then on, my Acme Thunderer was equipped with a rubber cover preferred by coaches and PE teachers. The lesson I learned has been passed on to every police academy class since 1996. Who would have thought…..?

Lock it up, don’t leave it unattended, be aware (metal whistles freeze quickly) and watch out for your neighbors.

Rich Kinsey is a retired Ann Arbor police detective sergeant who now blogs about crime and safety for AnnArbor.com.