“First Person” shares the stories of people who make a life here, in their words. Conversations are edited for clarity and length.
George Bradbury is a father of three who has worked his entire adult life as a law enforcement officer, serving as a detective and shellfish warden and patrol deputy with the Cumberland County Sheriff’s Office. He currently works as a patrol deputy assigned to Harpswell, where he moved in 2002. He has become a familiar face to residents who encounter him on patrol and via his monthly “Island Law” column in the Anchor.
How did I decide to get into law enforcement? You’re going to laugh at this one. I couldn’t beat ’em, so I had to join ’em. Growing up in Freeport, I was always speeding and driving like an idiot and getting tickets. I had a warning letter from the state saying, “We’re going to take your license if you get one more conviction.” I did a soul search and figured out this is what I wanted to do.
My philosophy is to be fair, enforce the law and help people as much as I can. If you break the law, you break the law. But I try to help people work through it and get to the other side. My big thing is, don’t hold grudges. That also goes for people who file complaints. Some things we can’t fix, but we like the opportunity to fix them before you take it into your own hands. I don’t like it when people want to get back at somebody and try to use the law to do it.
For 13 years, I ran the marine shellfish enforcement program. The town hires marine patrol officers to oversee clam harvesting. We check to make sure the harvesters have their licenses, get the right size clams, and dig in an area that’s open and clean. When I first started in 2002, it was like the wild west out there. People would just grab boots and go dig without a license. We chased quite a few of them across the mud.
These days, the town has aggressive septic system enforcement. But when I began, we had about 286 buildings flushing their toilets right into the ocean. The funny thing is, the clams love it. They grow really fast and it’s a great area to dig. But, of course, they’re polluted and can make you sick. Some old-timers developed a tolerance and would eat them anyway. I once had a clamdigger harvest in a closed area and I said, “What are you doing? You know this is closed.” He goes, “Oh, I’m just grabbing a quick peck for my cousin’s wedding. It’s a wedding gift.” I wrote him a ticket and he was mad for a few days, but he got over it.
With so many elderly residents in Harpswell, we deal with a lot of fraud. One big scam involved gift cards. They’d get a call from someone saying, “Your grandson’s been arrested. He’s in a jail cell in Texas and needs $1,500 to get out. You need to go to Target and get that much in gift cards and give us the numbers.” Once you read off those numbers, the money’s gone. Or they’d be promised a $36,000 Corvette; all you have to pay is the shipping. A lot of people fell for it. Remember: If it sounds too good to be true, it is.
There have been a few kids who I’ve talked to over the years and said, “You’re going down the wrong road” with driving or whatever. I hate the term “scared straight,” but you tell them what the possibilities are. But I hate it when a parent says, “If you’re not good, this officer’s going to arrest you.” Don’t ever say that to your kid. We want your kid to trust us, to come to us if they need help.
It used to be fun being a cop, but now it’s not so much because of the cameras and cellphones and the mentality of young people thinking you’re bad just because you’re doing the job. I will say this: If you have a bad cop — and there have been a few over the years — they get weeded out pretty quickly.
We get a lot of death calls — people who die of natural causes and people who are depressed and take their own lives. I have to investigate to make sure there’s no foul play. Once it’s clear there’s not, we call the funeral home, notify relatives and call their primary care physician. People like me to show up because they know me and having someone you know come into your home when a loved one has passed is easier than some officer you don’t know.
About 10 years ago, a man on a motorcycle hit a house and died. I realized, “Jeez, I know this person.” I handled the notification to his parents. I didn’t think it affected me that much because I handled myself properly. But it messed me up. About a year later, somebody crashed and, while no one got seriously hurt, I got all wishy-washy inside. I’m like, what’s going on?
I told my supervisor and he sent me to talk to a counselor. I went every week for a year and a half and realized I had PTSD from that motorcycle death and all the other things I had seen throughout my career. I had suppressed it — rough, tough, can’t get enough, you know? But it was eating away at me and I had to see that counselor and talk everything out. It really helped.
I just turned 60 and I still love the job and helping people. I can’t cut a board straight to save my life, so I’ve got to be a cop. I can deal with people at their worst and drunk and throwing up on me and I don’t get ugly and beat them up. I have my place, my niche in the world, being a deputy. That’s just what I do.
