“If you can keep your head when all about you

                                    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

                                    If you can trust yourself for their doubting too;

                                    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting;

                                    Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

                                    Or being hated don’t give way to hating,

                                    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise; …”

 

                                    Excerpted from “If”, by Rudyard Kipling

 

I parked the tan Cadillac Deville on a quiet street on the West side of Milwaukee.  Getting out, looking around casually, I popped the trunk, tucked my gun and badge under the spare tire and slammed the lid a little too forcefully. A trickle of sweat rolled down my back, despite the freezing cold temperatures outside. I turned on the audio and video recording device secreted inside my jacket, pulled my collar up around my face and walked towards the small corner tavern with a faded Blatz Beer sign above the door.  Inside the bar, which was reportedly owned by one of the last vestiges of an old Milwaukee La Cosa Nostra crime family, were ten illegal video poker machines and an illegal gambling operation in a back room.

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A number of regulars nursing their drinks turned and looked at me, mixed looks of suspicion, hostility and boredom on their faces.  A sign behind the bar had a picture of a gun and read “Warning, Never Mind the Dog, Beware of the Owner.”  I took a seat at the end of the bar, where I could watch the bartender and also the old brown door at the back of the room, where an informant said the video poker and gambling occurred.  The old bartender silently approached, he threw down a cardboard coaster and asked what I was drinking, “a Miller tap, and a shot of Wild Turkey” I replied placing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.  The bartender silently turned, picked up the twenty, and went about his business.  A few minutes later he returned with my change which he placed next to the shot and beer, “haven’t seen you around here before,” he said.  As I was about to reply, the back door opened distracting the bartender, as two men walked from the back room into the bar area.  I could clearly see the row of brightly lit poker machines along the back wall, each with a metal stool positioned in front.  One of the men from the back room handed a white slip of paper to the bartender.  The bartender reached below the bar and removed a metal strong box, which he opened and started counting out cash.  The bartender counted the cash twice, made a notation on a small spiral notebook and handed the man a wad of bills.  Trying not to be obvious, I observed what confirmed the informant’s reporting, and hoped the video and audio recording had captured the illegal gambling transaction I had just witnessed.

 

The previous Fall, I had made it through the two-week hell of FBI undercover school held at a large hotel and casino in Florida, where sleep deprivation and constant stress were added to the various scenarios practiced each night after a full day of classroom instruction.  Now, six months later, I was starting my second undercover operation, working for Steve, a local Agent and close friend who was investigating the crime family and their gambling operation run out of bars and restaurants throughout the South and West side of Milwaukee.  The gambling operations were a means of money laundering for the crime family, and the strong box and ledger seemed to bear this out.

 

Doing undercover work is dangerous and stressful.  Being around criminals and criminal activity, often alone without backup close by, can lead to real psychological problems if the proper support is not available.  Most law enforcement officers doing this type of specialized work need mental health support and need to learn and practice regular self-care techniques.  

 

The FBI Safeguard program provides just this type of support and counseling to its undercover Agents.  It is ironic that in the FBI, like many other law enforcement agencies, there is still a stigma against seeking counseling or mental health treatment.  In fact, doing so can risk losing one’s Top Secret security clearance and all that goes with it.  One notable exception is the Safeguard program, which makes it mandatory for all Agents doing undercover work to go for counseling every six months.  This program is widely regarded nationally and internationally as one of the best support programs for those engaged in this type of challenging work.  I found Safeguard to be a welcoming and empathetic place where the doctors and staff really understood the rigors and stresses on Agents and their families caused by living dual lives and identities, sometimes for months or years at a time.

 

I ordered another beer, and asked the bartender if the machines were working in back?  A guy in a leather jacket sitting at the bar who gave off a bad vibe, turned towards me and asked matter of fact “Who the fuck are you, are you a cop?”  I returned his glare and replied, “I hate cops.”  The bartender asked to see my driver’s license which I produced from my wallet, full of pocket litter – assorted cards and identification which said I was John May from Madison.  He walked away with my fake license, returning a few minutes later.  Before handing my license back he asked, “what’s your date of birth?” “January 1, 1962, a New Year’s baby.”  “Good for you,” he replied sarcastically tossing my license on the bar, “yeah you can go back.”  I grabbed my beer and change off the bar and walked past leather jacket who had given me the hairy eyeball earlier.

 

After an hour in the back room playing video poker I emerged with a white slip of paper that I handed to the bartender.  Again, he reached under the bar, produced the strongbox, wrote something in the ledger and counted and re-counted the $80 I had just won in the back room.  The goon in the leather jacket was gone and the bartender was more relaxed and tried to make small talk.  “Come back anytime, the machines usually pay out better than most.”  “Thanks” I replied, putting a $5 bill on the bar and walked out into the cold night air.

 

I drove around a while before heading to the pre-arranged meeting spot to meet Steve, the Case Agent, to turn over the recording equipment, expense money and cash I had won in the back room.  Steve did a quick review of the video recording and stopped when the goon appeared on camera.  “Wow, do you know who that is?” “Nope, but he’s an asshole” I replied.  “Yes, he is,” Steve said.  That’s Carmine, the son of the Underboss, he’s a killer.  We think he’s responsible for a number of unsolved murders over the years.”  “Nice” I replied.

 

Driving back to Madison in the Cadillac, gave me time to think and to decompress from the evening’s operation.  I thought to myself and smiled, now I’ll actually have something to talk about at Safeguard when I go next month.