Post by coots on Aug 25, 2014 23:05:27 GMT -5
Wall Street Journal
Officer Popo Deters Speeders, Wins Hearts, Although He's a Real Dummy
The most popular cop in Ada, Okla., isn't a real person. It's a CPR dummy that residents call Plastic Popo, and it has become a celebrity around town.
ADA, Okla.—This city's police chief last year made what would become a very popular decision, assigning a rookie to traffic duty even though the new officer was known to be heartless.
Since the greenhorn's patrol car began appearing in neighborhoods where people had complained about speeding drivers, he has become so beloved that townspeople are buying him doughnuts, praising him on Facebook and working his name into sermons.
The officer proved better suited to the task of deterring speeders than experienced cops, says Police Chief Mike Miller, because of a compelling attribute: He's a dummy.
"He didn't cost us anything," Mr. Miller says of the rookie, a CPR manikin that the department dresses in police blues and props behind the wheel of a spare cruiser.
Cash-strapped police departments have long used faux cops to stand sentry on city streets. But few decoys have achieved the celebrity stature of "Plastic Popo," as Ada's officer is known in this city of 17,000 people about 80 miles from Oklahoma City.
The first time some in Ada saw the stiff cop with his eyes always closed and his mouth agape, they worried he was a real officer in distress. "Everyone knows everyone in this town" says Deena West, a professional dog walker and volunteer firefighter, "and people started asking about the cop."
The department moved Officer Popo around town, parking him near a school one day, near a park the next—wherever it got complaints about speeders. Citizens say Popo was effective, leading drivers to slow down when they saw him.
When he was unmasked as an impersonator, Ms. West says, "it almost felt like the Ada police was pulling a joke on us."
Then Popo began garnering social-media buzz. After Ms. West created a Facebook fan page for Popo this spring, residents began taking selfies with the dummy and building a social life for him.
He was seen at the Church of Christ, one resident wrote in May, "mouthing a silent prayer."
"He hung out by my house for a few days so I did what any good citizen would do," wrote another, posting a photo of a chocolate doughnut on Popo's windshield.
Popo's popularity grew in May after he played a role in collaring a suspected drunken driver. The suspect crashed into the manikin's car, and Popo suffered blunt-force injuries. He survived, but other officers had to apprehend the driver.
"I saw Plastic Popo sitting in his car and I thought surely she sees the car," recalls Gregory Carter, an Ada truck driver who watched the accident unfold in what seemed like agonizingly slow motion. "My first thought was holy s—, she hit Plastic Popo."
Soon, residents were sending get-well letters to Popo at the police department. A rumor circulated that he had lost his legs in the accident. In fact, the police earlier had removed his appendages and gun belt so he was easier to maneuver.
"If you are the officer assigned to have to drag him around, you can get tired of it," explains Ada Police Sgt. Dewayne Campbell, who says Popo tends to lose his head when moved. Popo duty can be "sort of embarrassing to some of the officers."
The department assigned Popo to desk duty after the accident while it looked for a substitute patrol car. To put residents at ease during the convalescence, Carol Crews, Ada's municipal-court clerk, began posting Facebook photos of a bandaged Popo propped behind various desks at city hall.
"Thanks for all of the concern," Ms. Crews wrote on June 25. "He has been released for light duty." Late last month, Popo returned to patrolling.
Rusty Fuller, pastor of Trinity Baptist Church, says so many congregants were talking about Popo he worked him into a recent Sunday sermon addressing the importance of submitting to authority.
"The scripture teaches us to live under the authority of man and government," Mr. Fuller says. "We submit to the authority of policemen and we even, in a real way, submit to the authority of Popo."
Officer Popo was given 'desk duty' after a collision damaged his patrol car. Carol Crews, Ada's municipal-court clerk, began posting Facebook photos of a bandaged Popo propped behind various desks at city hall.
One blazing-hot afternoon this month, Popo sat in his cruiser monitoring traffic from a parking lot along a busy stretch of state highway where there have been complaints of people speeding.
In the parking lot, a snow-cone vendor sold the Plastic Popo Special, featuring blue and white coconut-flavored syrups on crushed ice. "He deserves his own snow cone," says Melanie Carson, owner of the operation, Jungle Ice.
She gave out free cones to living police officers and first responders because "I don't want everyone else to feel bad," she said. "Popo gets all the notoriety."
Ada Mayor Bryan Morris worries Popo may be losing his element of surprise, although he says he would rather not be the one to find out. "With my eyesight I can't see if it's the dummy, so I slow down."
Tabitha West, who works at a local nursery, concurs. "I still hit my brakes whenever I see him," she says. "I always say, 'You never know if it's Vivo Popo or Plastic Popo.' "
To retain the surprise factor, the Ada police will occasionally put a wig or sunglasses on Popo and then swap in a real officer wearing the same disguise. The live cop will sometimes nab speeders, says Mr. Miller, but drivers tend not to exceed the limit where Popo once patrolled.
Mr. Miller says he doesn't intend to give Popo a promotion, but some residents say the ersatz officer has proved to be a capable crime deterrent even beyond traffic.
Debra Bailey first encountered him when she walked out of a doctor's office having "accidentally" pilfered a waiting-room magazine.
"I started to open my car door and there was the cop," she says. "It suddenly hit me: I'm stealing a magazine!" She was relieved to find it was Popo. "He's the guy you love to see," she says. "You're so happy that he is plastic."
Officer Popo Deters Speeders, Wins Hearts, Although He's a Real Dummy
The most popular cop in Ada, Okla., isn't a real person. It's a CPR dummy that residents call Plastic Popo, and it has become a celebrity around town.
ADA, Okla.—This city's police chief last year made what would become a very popular decision, assigning a rookie to traffic duty even though the new officer was known to be heartless.
Since the greenhorn's patrol car began appearing in neighborhoods where people had complained about speeding drivers, he has become so beloved that townspeople are buying him doughnuts, praising him on Facebook and working his name into sermons.
The officer proved better suited to the task of deterring speeders than experienced cops, says Police Chief Mike Miller, because of a compelling attribute: He's a dummy.
"He didn't cost us anything," Mr. Miller says of the rookie, a CPR manikin that the department dresses in police blues and props behind the wheel of a spare cruiser.
Cash-strapped police departments have long used faux cops to stand sentry on city streets. But few decoys have achieved the celebrity stature of "Plastic Popo," as Ada's officer is known in this city of 17,000 people about 80 miles from Oklahoma City.
The first time some in Ada saw the stiff cop with his eyes always closed and his mouth agape, they worried he was a real officer in distress. "Everyone knows everyone in this town" says Deena West, a professional dog walker and volunteer firefighter, "and people started asking about the cop."
The department moved Officer Popo around town, parking him near a school one day, near a park the next—wherever it got complaints about speeders. Citizens say Popo was effective, leading drivers to slow down when they saw him.
When he was unmasked as an impersonator, Ms. West says, "it almost felt like the Ada police was pulling a joke on us."
Then Popo began garnering social-media buzz. After Ms. West created a Facebook fan page for Popo this spring, residents began taking selfies with the dummy and building a social life for him.
He was seen at the Church of Christ, one resident wrote in May, "mouthing a silent prayer."
"He hung out by my house for a few days so I did what any good citizen would do," wrote another, posting a photo of a chocolate doughnut on Popo's windshield.
Popo's popularity grew in May after he played a role in collaring a suspected drunken driver. The suspect crashed into the manikin's car, and Popo suffered blunt-force injuries. He survived, but other officers had to apprehend the driver.
"I saw Plastic Popo sitting in his car and I thought surely she sees the car," recalls Gregory Carter, an Ada truck driver who watched the accident unfold in what seemed like agonizingly slow motion. "My first thought was holy s—, she hit Plastic Popo."
Soon, residents were sending get-well letters to Popo at the police department. A rumor circulated that he had lost his legs in the accident. In fact, the police earlier had removed his appendages and gun belt so he was easier to maneuver.
"If you are the officer assigned to have to drag him around, you can get tired of it," explains Ada Police Sgt. Dewayne Campbell, who says Popo tends to lose his head when moved. Popo duty can be "sort of embarrassing to some of the officers."
The department assigned Popo to desk duty after the accident while it looked for a substitute patrol car. To put residents at ease during the convalescence, Carol Crews, Ada's municipal-court clerk, began posting Facebook photos of a bandaged Popo propped behind various desks at city hall.
"Thanks for all of the concern," Ms. Crews wrote on June 25. "He has been released for light duty." Late last month, Popo returned to patrolling.
Rusty Fuller, pastor of Trinity Baptist Church, says so many congregants were talking about Popo he worked him into a recent Sunday sermon addressing the importance of submitting to authority.
"The scripture teaches us to live under the authority of man and government," Mr. Fuller says. "We submit to the authority of policemen and we even, in a real way, submit to the authority of Popo."
Officer Popo was given 'desk duty' after a collision damaged his patrol car. Carol Crews, Ada's municipal-court clerk, began posting Facebook photos of a bandaged Popo propped behind various desks at city hall.
One blazing-hot afternoon this month, Popo sat in his cruiser monitoring traffic from a parking lot along a busy stretch of state highway where there have been complaints of people speeding.
In the parking lot, a snow-cone vendor sold the Plastic Popo Special, featuring blue and white coconut-flavored syrups on crushed ice. "He deserves his own snow cone," says Melanie Carson, owner of the operation, Jungle Ice.
She gave out free cones to living police officers and first responders because "I don't want everyone else to feel bad," she said. "Popo gets all the notoriety."
Ada Mayor Bryan Morris worries Popo may be losing his element of surprise, although he says he would rather not be the one to find out. "With my eyesight I can't see if it's the dummy, so I slow down."
Tabitha West, who works at a local nursery, concurs. "I still hit my brakes whenever I see him," she says. "I always say, 'You never know if it's Vivo Popo or Plastic Popo.' "
To retain the surprise factor, the Ada police will occasionally put a wig or sunglasses on Popo and then swap in a real officer wearing the same disguise. The live cop will sometimes nab speeders, says Mr. Miller, but drivers tend not to exceed the limit where Popo once patrolled.
Mr. Miller says he doesn't intend to give Popo a promotion, but some residents say the ersatz officer has proved to be a capable crime deterrent even beyond traffic.
Debra Bailey first encountered him when she walked out of a doctor's office having "accidentally" pilfered a waiting-room magazine.
"I started to open my car door and there was the cop," she says. "It suddenly hit me: I'm stealing a magazine!" She was relieved to find it was Popo. "He's the guy you love to see," she says. "You're so happy that he is plastic."
