A former dispatcher for the East Providence Police Department passed away the other day. Long since retired, perhaps unfamiliar to most of the current complement of officers, she will be fondly remembered by whoever worked with her on the job.

Virginia “Ginger” Defreitas served as a dispatcher for many years with East Providence Police. She began before computers and Computer-Aided dispatch systems, using microfiche systems to look up license and registration data and teletype systems to broadcast alerts.

It was a different era.

But her voice on the radio could be both reassuring when you needed it and cutting when you needed it. She took no bullshit from anyone, cops included, but she guarded those same cops zealously.

She was a typical New Englander, often giving out locations by referring to places that had long closed but that she expected you to know.

She tortured those of us who didn’t come from the city or who lacked the cultural experiences of growing up there.

I recall one 4-12 shift in January or February. On a snowy day, with roads slick and covered and accidents all over the place, I was working in a densely crowded area. She gave a call about kids skid hopping on Sutton Avenue. Now, I grew up in Cumberland, so I had absolutely no idea what skid hopping was, but I assumed I could figure it out.

These are the exact words I used that day.

“C7, ah, I don’t see any skid hopping. I just warned a bunch of kids to stop hanging onto bumpers of cars and sliding on the snow.”

If there was any such thing as absolute silence, that’s what I heard. And I knew I had screwed up. Then I got this.

“C7, 10-21 (call the station) immediately.”

I don’t recall her exact words, but Ginger made a point of pointing out how much of an idiot I was and asking why they hire people like me when we have no clue….

We would go on to become great friends. She was one of the best dispatchers I ever worked with.

In some of the larger departments, dispatchers are just voices—important, critical, but often faceless voices.

At least back then, they were all part of the thin blue line in our department. Her voice was always one I enjoyed hearing on the radio when I called for help or when I called dispatch for information. In both cases, I knew Ginger would find a way to get me what I needed. Even if sometimes it meant a slap upside the head.

I last spoke to her a few months ago. She was the same smart-ass, the same ball buster, and the same kindred spirit for those of us who were “on the job.”

I missed her voice when I retired, and, knowing it is forever silent, I will miss it even more.

10-42 Ginger. Job well done.