Month: April 2018

Categories
Roll Call

Roll Call: The Light Switch

By Mikey, Retired LAPD

LAPDofficersRiflesOne of my passions during my law enforcement career was officer safety and I preached it at every opportunity. Officer safety is a philosophy not a program; programs fail, and you can’t fail at officer safety. It is all about situational awareness. In terms of cognitive psychology, situational awareness refers to a decision-maker’s dynamic mental model of his or her evolving task situation. In other words, what you perceive, and your response is all about experience vs. the situation. It all starts at the threshold of the event. What do I have? Do I understand what I have? Can I handle the situation/event with what I have at my immediate disposal?

A good example was a radio call of a robbery in progress at a bank. As a training officer and his probationer rolled up to the front of the bank an armed suspect with a shot gun exited the front door. He saw the officers and immediately dropped the weapon. Back at the station the probationer asked the training officer why he hadn’t shot. He said he did not observe the suspect’s left shoulder drop or the barrel of the shot gun swing in their direction. If any of those two events had occurred, he said he would have shot. The training officer asked the probationer why she hadn’t shot, her answer, “’Cause you didn’t.”

 

LAPD SWAT exercise
LAPD SWAT training exercise

 

Another point I would emphasis is “partners can not get stupid at the same time, ever!” On the LAPD, the majority of patrol is conducted with “A” or two officer patrol cars. There are very few “L” or one officer patrol cars. On smaller agencies, “L” cars are the norm. Depending on the patrol policies of the agency, two or more “L” cars can be dispatched to a radio call, depending on the seriousness of the call. So, the point is made regardless. Cool heads must prevail, or partners will suffer the negative consequences of an internal/external investigation, lawsuit or termination. I responded to an officer involved shooting in Rampart in ’92. Because of the officer’s bill of rights, there are few questions me as a supervisor can ask. Before I asked the questions, one of the officers involved said, “Sarge, we didn’t get stupid at the same time. We didn’t get stupid at all. We just want you to know that.” They displayed effective controlled fire and communicated throughout the event. Guess they were listening at roll call training.

 

“O.W.B.E” or Over Whelmed by Events is not an option. Stay in control is the overall theme here. For some reason in critical situations that I have been in, I visualize a light switch. Who is going to turn it off? Is it my switch? Is this it, and is this how it ends? No, you work the problem because there is always something else to do. I have often said that if the light switch is turned off, it’s because, “I didn’t see it coming.”

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In training, I put LAPD on the chalk board and ask the officers if they are willing to die for these letters? Next, I put a street gang name on the board and ask why a banger can take multiple gunshot hits and live? Because he willing to die for his gang and will continue to fight to the end. That’s what he lives for—expecting the worst. He expects the worst!

Most coppers don’t have that mind set going into a critical situation. A good example was a sergeant I worked for at Northeast Division in 1977. He rolled up on a ‘415 man with a gun’ call at a bar and as the sergeant entered the bar, alone, he confronted the man and was immediately shot. I am going to quote the sergeant. “I got shot and said to myself, well I’ve been shot so I guess I’m supposed to fall down.”

And that is what he did. He said he was lucky the guys didn’t stick around to see if he was dead.

I hope this ROLL CALL sends a message and stimulates some critical thinking.

 

Categories
Writer's Notes

April Fool: Oh, the Mistakes I’ve Made by Judy Alter

 

Alter cover 3x4.5hires (002)

By Judy Alter

Looking back, it seems I’ve played the fool many times in my life. In matters of the heart for sure; as a parent, though I lucked out there and my four children turned out to be absolutely wonderful adults. But then there’s the matter of my career as an author. Oh, the foolish mistakes I’ve made.

I’d venture that ninety percent of authors, even successful ones, start out timid, insecure, and—here’s the biggie—apologetic. A post from an unpublished writer asking for advice recently said she’d submitted to an agent, hadn’t heard anything in almost year, hated to be a nuisance but what should she do. Whoa! Hated to be a nuisance? I wanted to shout but I managed to keep a level tone and my fingers off the cap key as I advised, “It’s your career. Take charge of it! You’re not badgering the agent; you’re asking for him or her to do his job. Don’t apologize!”

That’s a lesson I learned in hard knocks well after I’d begun writing. My first agent, way back in the eighties, specialized in young-adult fiction set in the American West, and that’s what I was writing. We met at a conference, and he approached me, so I was spared the long, painful search for an agent that so many authors go through. I hadn’t yet met the world of reality

When I did, it was a shock. By early in this century, the western market as I’d known it had fallen off, and I wanted to turn to mysteries. Only then did I begin to search for an agent—and realize what a difficult, long process it was. When an agent who knew my western work offered to represent my first mystery and gave me a year-long contract, I was grateful. Grateful for locking into a year-long contract? I should have been indignant, angry, at least reluctant. His initial enthusiasm turned to indifference and finally resentment. Promised new assignments never materialized, reports of submissions of my work and reactions were rare, and to this day I suspect he was doing precious little. I was on hold for a year, at the end of which he had, so he said, submitted my manuscript to all then-six major publishers, effectively killing it at those houses for another agent.

My next submission was to a highly respected smaller house that took non-agented submissions. They liked it, but they just weren’t sure. Could I give them more time? Each time I agreed, until they finally said they were sure—I was an almost-ran. They didn’t want my manuscript, but they did want me to feel free to submit another manuscript any time. Another year wasted.

One more time: I called an editor at a major mystery publishing house, a man I’d known as a colleague during my years with Western Writers of America. He was interested but liked my ideas for the sequel better and wanted me to make that the first book in the series. I declined, pleasantly I hope. I had the series story in my mind, and it began where I’d begun it. Many authors would say I’d been the fool again, turning down a tentative offer from a major house. But it was the first time I felt I’d taken charge of my career, and it worked out.  I published five novels in the Kelly O’Connell Mystery series and two in the Blue Plate Café Mystery series with a small indie publisher before the company went out of business. By then, I felt I had enough readers to become an indie author, and I’ve been driving the train myself ever since. I just wish I’d started years earlier.

In each of those three years where I allowed others to put my career on hold, I was essentially a victim. And that was my foolish mistake. Today, I’d take charge, give deadlines, be pro-active and less submissive.

In retrospect, I think it’s a lack of self-confidence that leads us to play the fool as authors, lovers, or parents. We carry out apologetic tone into all areas of our life, whereas we need to arm ourselves with a strong sense of our own worth.

~~~

Alter cover 3x4.5hires (002)Murder at the Bus Depot is the fourth Blue Plate Café Mystery by Judy Alter. In it she explores the tension between a developer who sees great possibilities in a small town and residents who want to preserve the history and atmosphere of their town. The conflict is complicated by a resurgence of interest in a thirty-year-old unsolved murder.

Buy it here: Amazon Murder at the Bus Depot

 

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Judy Alter is the award-winning author of three mysteries series: Kelly O’Connell Mysteries: Skeleton in a Dead Space, No Neighborhood for Old Women, Trouble in a Big Box, Danger Comes Home, Deception in Strange Places, Desperate for Death, and The Color of Fear; three in the Blue Plate Café Series: Murder at the Blue Plate Café, Murder at the Tremont House, and Murder at Peacock Mansion; and two Oak Grove Mysteries: The Perfect Coed and Pigface and the Perfect Dog.

 She is also the author of historical fiction based on lives of women in the nineteenth-century American West, including Libbie, Jessie, Cherokee Rose, Sundance, Butch, and Me, and The Gilded Cage, and she has also published several young-adult novels, now available on Amazon.

 

Categories
More Street Stories

Guest Post: What is Your Badge or Star Worth to You?

By Anthony Morgan, Retired Oakland Police Department

What is your badge or star worth to you?

To the new officer it is a sign that says “Look at what I have accomplished, look at what I am.” It doesn’t take long for the badge to become a part of the owner and the owner part of the badge. Maybe that is because it was earned through the trying months of the academy and field training, a successfully completed probation and becoming part of a team.

In the early years of a career the badge rarely leaves the officer. When not adorning the uniform it can be found on the pants belt or filling a badge wallet. It would not be a surprise to find that it was pinned to a shirt while sleeping. Before the newness wears off, the owner’s hand will periodically check to see if it’s still in place. Woe to the person that loses his or her badge.

As the years pass less thought is given to the badge. It becomes part of the daily uniform donning ritual, as common as just putting on a pair of socks. After a shift it frequently remains pinned to the uniform shirt and hung up in the locker to await another shift. Short of an occasional buffing no unusual thought is given to it.

As law enforcement officers we place a black band across the face of the badge in memory of a fellow cop who has fallen in the line of duty. We take a closer look at it and may start carrying it more often. We may think about the meaning of that piece of metal and appreciate it a bit more. When you see the badge of the fallen officer handed over to a family member you are made aware of the value it holds for the spouse, a child, a parent. They rub their fingers over the number, the agency name trying to get a sense of their officer.

It really isn’t until one leaves the police service that the importance of the badge is realized. That badge—your badge—was issued to you a long time ago. It was the ultimate sign that you took the “test” and were found worthy of that piece of designer metal. You were one of dozens, maybe hundreds, of individuals who attempted to meet the standard set so high for police officers.

Each day validated your fitness to be called a cop. You earned the right to wear that symbol of law and integrity by taking on the tasks that others could not or would not do. You sacrificed your youth to wear that badge honorably and to make a difference.

Eventually, the day comes that you walk into the Personnel Office and lay your badge on the counter. A part of you goes with it. That badge said who you were and what you have become. It accompanied you to every disturbance, every heart-wrenching call and, to every funeral. It is the symbol that made you stand apart from others who were not fortunate to wear the badge. That badge is yours. It sat on your chest next to your heart and became an extension of it. When that “cheap” piece of metal, which was paid for at such a high price, is handed over, so goes a piece of your soul and heart.

It is on that day that you remember what that badge did for you the first time you held it. The pride and the excitement that coursed through your mind and body. On your last day you are now aware how important that thing is to you and that it wasn’t just part of the uniform. For good or bad, it is you. It accompanied you on the path of spirited rookie to wizened veteran. And now retiree, who must hand it over.

Some departments have a badge waiting for the newly retired officer. It is something that can be displayed with pride in the following years. Often it is just a substitute for YOUR badge which will probably be resurfaced and reissued to another spirited rookie. Some departments issue a flat badge or nothing at all.

I was very lucky. My Sergeants star was an older style with a different design. I never compared it to any of the others, so I didn’t notice any difference. The Personnel officer said “wow, is that one old. I haven’t seen one of these in a few years. We’ll get you a new one with the ‘RETIRED’ flag on it.”

No way. I wanted my star. He assured me that he would get it back to me after the flag was attached. He was true to his word after many months of waiting. I still carry my star in a wallet to this day.

I happened to write a letter to my chief asking permission to have a copy of my Sergeant Star and my Police Officer Star made for a shadow box. I must have caught him on a good mood day. He granted my request. I have my Sergeant Star #209 and my Police Officer Star #426 hanging side by side along with other mementos on a wall in the house.

It is amazing that a cheap piece of metal with a shiny covering could mean so much. A lifetime of memories and dreams are embedded in each star. Each one is important to its bearer. I hope that everyone who wears a star or a shield will feel the same way.

What are my stars worth to me? They are priceless.

Anthony Morgan
Oakland Police Department
1974-1998

 

 

Categories
Writer's Notes

April Fool: Foolish Things by Ann Parker

By Ann Parker

 

Parker ADyingNote-FrontCover-FinalSM“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.” ― Colette

Since April is the month Thonie has asked us to confess those times when we might have lost our minds and all good sense, I had to think hard and go back a ways in time and space.

There was that summer, decades ago, when I rather blithely (and, yes, foolishly) stuck out my thumb and hitchhiked (! solo !) in patched jeans, embroidered workshirt, and “Janis Joplin” style wire-rim glasses through parts of Wyoming. (Truckin’ by The Grateful Dead sums up the gestalt of those long-ago days.) Let’s just say that, since I’m writing about it now, all’s well that ends well… but it could just as easily have all gone sideways on me and very badly at that.

More recently, while conducting research for my Silver Rush historical mystery series, I foolishly ended up in a “tight spot” on a deserted road in Leadville, Colorado. “The Boulevard” appears in early Leadville articles and descriptions—in fact, it’s mentioned several times in an 1880 Daily Chronicle article, quoted here, about Ulysses S. Grant’s visit to town. (You can also find a great photo of The Boulevard by William Henry Jackson on my Pinterest site, here.) However, by the time I went looking for it in 2005 or so, it seemed to have fallen off the map. Honestly, how could a wide, macadam road described as “so smooth that it had nary a straw to impede the wheels of a carriage” disappear so completely? Finally, in an early-version Google Maps satellite image, I spotted the faintest track heading out of town in the right direction through a wooded area.

Determined to set foot—if not wheels—upon The Boulevard, I printed out the grainy blown-up image and drove my little gutless rental car through a church parking lot at the edge of town, looking for a trace. And, by gosh! There it was! A barely visible dirt road.

Or was it a hiking trail?

I hesitated a moment, warnings and legal admonitions from the rental car agreement flashing through my mind. No unpaved roads. Assume all liability. Etc. Etc.

I put the car into gear, eased off the clutch, and pushed on.

I drove that poor little car, shuddering and grinding, down the rubble-strewn more-a-track-than-a-road for maybe a quarter of a mile. The rocks littering the “boulevard” got larger. I slowly negotiated a sweeping curve and, dead ahead, there it was: a huge boulder. Blocking the… well, it was no longer a thoroughfare but more like a path.

That was the end of the road for my yellow rental economy sedan. And there was, alas, no room for turning around. So, I shifted into reverse and backed up the curve and around all the rocks and rubble. I held my breath the entire time until I had completed my retreat to the parking lot.

Parker TradeCardsSince then, I’ve kept my foolishness limited to impulse buys (! for research !) on eBay. Which is how I’ve managed to amass a modest collection of Victorian trade cards from 1880s for my most recent book in the series, A DYING NOTE. Imprudent, perhaps, but much safer than off-roading or hitchhiking, since the only victim is my wallet.

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

AnnParker headshot
Author Ann Parker

About Ann

 

Ann Parker authors the award-winning Silver Rush historical mystery series published by Poisoned Pen Press. The newest, A DYING NOTE, brings her protagonist Inez Stannert to Victorian San Francisco, California. During the day, Ann wrangles words for a living as a science editor/writer and marketing communications specialist (which is basically a fancy term for “editor/writer”). Her midnight hours are devoted to scribbling fiction. Visit annparker.net for more information. You can also find Ann on Facebook, Twitter, and muddling around on her Pinterest boards.

 

A DYING NOTE is available in paper and e-book—find buy options here

 

 

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: A Slam Dunk Case?

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Now, I’ve been around the block a few times and not so naïve that I believe all cops tell the truth. Every so often a cop somewhere gets caught lying on an arrest report or in court. Now days there are cameras that record everything you do. Pick your nose and it goes viral on You-Tube. So, my point is why lie to put some bottom feeder in jail for a few days? Or worse yet, on unsupervised probation.

If you get caught lying, you get fired and lose whatever pension you have acquired. The prospect of getting employment at another law enforcement agency is slim and you’re too young to be a Wal-Mart greeter. Oh, and you might go to jail!

So why do cops do it? It comes down to us versus them—and cops hate to lose. The laws of search and seizure are made to protect the citizens of America but they are also protecting the criminals who commit the crimes. Most cops live within the guide lines of the law but usually right on the edge. Ok, enough of that drivel. This Ramblings is aimed at what happens when you write the truth and no one believes you. 

I was working morning watch and driving down a residential street in Hollywood. It was about 4 AM and a rather quiet night. I figured my partner and I would stay out of trouble and eat about 5 AM. I didn’t want to be too full before I went to sleep at 8 AM. 

 

 

burglar-157142_960_720We come to a side street and see a car parked on the wrong side of the street with the motor running. It’s not the paper boy. Then, I see a guy looking in an apartment window next to the car.

Now, even a rookie cop might find this suspicious and falls well within the guide lines of Probable Cause as defined by the California Penal Code! So, we get out and question the individual about his activities. He’s more nervous than a long- tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He gives conflicting accounts of his presence and why he parked on the wrong side of the street.

I walk over to his still-running car and shine my flashlight in the interior. Nothing in the front seat but the back seat has an open brief case containing numerous small baggies containing a green leafy substance, resembling marijuana! Now, I’m standing on a public sidewalk and looking in the car, so I don’t have any Search and Seizure issues.

Los_Angeles_County_Jail__Twin_Towers_Correctional_Facility_I’m no narcotics expert but then again, I know that those small baggies are for sale and not personnel use. I arrest this individual for sales of marijuana and book him at downtown Jail Division. It’s where we had to book narcotics arrestees at the time. In the next few days a narcotics detective would gather up all the arrest reports and take them to the district attorney (DA) to file charges.

The L.A. County District Attorney has a conviction rate of 88/89%. Hard to believe that they couldn’t convict OJ. They only file cases that they think they can win. Now, I figured this was a slam dunk case, no stretching of Probable Cause or Search and Seizure; the arrest was handed to us on a silver tray. A few days later I got a notice from Narcotics Division that said the arrest was rejected by the DA. Their reasoning: “No one’s that stupid.”   

LA_County_DA_SealNow I don’t usually get too involved in my arrests after I finish the paperwork. I have had a lot of arrests rejected. I try to learn how to write better reports or learn more about search and seizure laws (which by the way, are always changing with each new court decision). This one kind of nagged at me, so I called the filing detective at Narcotics Division. He bluntly told me the DA didn’t believe my arrest report and didn’t want to see me perjure myself on the stand. 

So much for playing by the rules. I guess I’ll get over it someday, just not yet!   

Hal

Categories
Writer's Notes

April Fool: When the Standard in Forensics Falls Short, By Scott Decker

Recounting Cover hi_res

By R. Scott Decker
http://www.rscottdecker.com

I began my FBI agent career in 1990 chasing bank robbers through the streets of Boston—the quintessential work of Mr. Hoover’s Bureau. As a new agent with pre-bureau training in science, forensics found me a willing student.

Lead composition analysis—only the FBI offered it—was on the forensic menu. Comparing spent rounds with unfired slugs intrigued me. A match would provide compelling evidence, ensuring prison time for the guilty party. Working the streets of Boston, coming up against its most violent, being lied to, wondering if my newest informant was setting me up, the FBI Laboratory had my back, irrefutable science when I went to court.

One afternoon all hands responded to a bank robbery with shots fired on the South Shore. The bank manager had taken a bullet in the abdomen—he faced months of complicated surgeries. Next in line for a case, it was mine to solve. I put out the word and soon my telephone rang. Sean Dryer and Brian McNelley* had done the heist—Dryer was the shooter—a career criminal known for violence. Within hours I had outlined a search warrant and presented it to the US Attorney.

Our search turned up little, but we did find .38 caliber ammunition; surgeons had recovered a .38 caliber slug from the bank manager and I had dug a second from the bank lobby wall. I wrote a request to the FBI lab for a lead composition comparison and sent my evidence to Washington, D.C. While I waited, more information came in about Dryer. He was suspected in the robbery and fatal shooting of a money courier north of Boston. I retrieved the autopsy slugs and shipped them to the lab—more chances for a positive match.

While I waited for the answer, I scanned each day’s Boston Globe. There in the national section was an article about the FBI laboratory and a statement from its Assistant Director. He had ordered a forensic technique discontinued, a technique only his lab offered. An attempt at revalidation showed flaws; results could not be reproduced. From today forward, the FBI Lab was discontinuing its use of lead composition comparisons.

I glanced at the newspaper’s date—the first week of April, beginning with—All Fools Day! At first I thought the article was a joke, but the gag was on me. My infallible FBI Laboratory, the nation’s leader in forensics, had fooled us. Each case using lead composition analysis would be re-examined, the guilty requesting release from prison, new trials ordered. And I was back to square one, embarrassed for believing in a technique that had never been fully validated, knowing that as I read, Dryer and McNelley were undoubtedly planning their next caper.

*Dreyer and NcNelley are pseudonyms.

 

~~

For 30% off, use this link: https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781538101506

My book, Recounting the Anthrax Attacks released from Amazon today (but pre-orders were beginning to ship ten days ago).

~~~

S Decker PSWA 2016Scott Decker, PhD, began as an FBI Special Agent on the streets of Boston, pursuing bank and armored car robbers. Following September 11, 2001 he transferred to counterterrorism, and investigated the country’s first lethal bioterrorism attack. In 2009, he was awarded the FBI Director’s Award for Outstanding Scientific Advancement. His first non-fiction book, Recounting the Anthrax Attacks: Terror, the Amerithrax Task Force, and the Evolution of Forensics in the FBI, won first place for non-fiction book in the Public Safety Writers Association’s writing competition.

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: The Shallow End of the Gene Pool

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Somewhere recently I read or heard the phrase, “It is the ignorant that keep us employed.” I laughed and then began to think about it. There really is a lot of truth contained in that thought.

I will grant you police work encompasses so much more than dealing with the “rocket scientists” of the world. But they really prove the old saying, “It was a battle of wits and he came unarmed.” 

Every officer has a collection of “dumb crook” stories. They even have their own TV show. We have all heard the tales of the bank robber writing the holdup note on the back of his parole papers or holding up a store where he is known. In Wilshire, we had a holdup man take down Sears, run out the front door, past the police station next door, and into the middle of change of watch.

“I didn’t know it was a police station. I thought it was an armory,” he said. With a parking lot full of black and white cars?

But these people do supply us with an endless supply of stories and are an important outlet. Comic relief so to speak.

Here then, are several additions.

 

“The Predictable Bandit”

revolver-982973_960_720Working Metro, my partner Frank and I were directed to report to Robbery Division along with another team. They had a limited stakeout and needed two teams. The detective doing the briefing related the following:

A lone bandit had been hitting cabs and without provocation pistol whipping the drivers and, in several cases, causing serious injury. He had been working about once a week and had hit five times so far. He usually picked up the cab at or near the bus depot downtown and took them to one of two locations (you have to be kidding) either 32nd and Halldale (three times) or 27th and Denker twice. 

The detective concluded, “You know what to do and how to do it. Keep in mind he is armed with a revolver and is one vicious S.O.B. Decide between yourselves who goes where. Be careful and good luck.”  

We flipped, I won. He had done Halldale three times so is due at Denker. We took Denker.

It was a perfect spot to sit—a good spot to hide the car and plenty of cover. We wanted him out of the car and before he hit the driver.  We went over our signals and settled in to wait. We were like two kids awaiting Christmas morning. The anticipation was almost unbearable. It was every coppers’ dream. We had just been given a 50/50 chance of being handed an armed bandit. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Not thirty minutes later the radio tells us they got him at Halldale. Oh, so close, but no cigar, but that’s the way it goes; either chicken or feathers, but that one really hurt…

 

“The Somnambulant Burglar”

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It was Metro custom to discuss successful assignments at the next roll call. We worked this one and had to listen to another team tell it.

We were staking out for a cat burglar who came in through the business sky lights. I believe it was in the downtown jewelry district.

He’d lower a rope ladder or knotted rope and was assumed to be very athletic. The toughest task was sitting in the dark and staying awake. 

Anyway, the lucky team heard the skylight being opened. Down comes the rope followed by Mr. Burglar. As he stepped off the rope the officers turned the lights on. 

Without missing a beat, he asked, “What time is it?”

They said he was so casual about the question they almost looked at their watches. He then claimed he was sleepwalking and used the same defense in court. No go.

 

Again, I defy anyone to tell me of any other job where you can meet the class of people we do and have nearly as much fun.

##

 

Categories
Writer's Notes

April Fools: Learning From My Mistakes

By Force or Fear, Intent to Hold, and With Malice Aforethought

Conference picBy Thonie Hevron

It’s after April 1st, so the pranks and jokes are over. But not the theme for April’s Writer’s Notes-April Fool. So, funnies aside, this could be terribly serious. We all have felt the fool. We’ve all made mistakes. We hope to learn not only from ours but from others. No joke.

Looking back on my writing career, I’ve made some serious gaffes. With regret but not misery, I offer them for you. You might learn something.

  • The first foolishness was waiting so long to write with purpose. By saying, “write with purpose,” I mean having an objective. I write novels—thrillers in the police procedural genre. Oh sure, it took 35 years to gain experience in law enforcement. Then, to discern my statement: Police work is a noble profession that should attract courageously moral. But on this journey, I could’ve written more than procedure manuals and newspaper columns. I’d like to have a drawer full of short stories and more of the stories inspired by the people they’re about. Like the detective who almost went postal because someone took his typewriter. Or the young girl who slept with men to smooth her path to police officer. Then there’s the rookie cop who makes a bad/good choice that follows him throughout his career. Conversely, the veteran who faces a career-altering situation and must decide in a second.

The good news is, I have a cigar box filled with scraps of paper. Future stories—short or novel, doesn’t matter. I’ll never run out of ideas!

  • The second relates to the first. It is procrastination. In my mid-fifties, I decided to write seriously—I mean, write a mystery. Mysteries have always been my genre choice. From Mary Stewart and Victoria Holt as a teenager, Michael Crichton, Robin Cook, in my thirties and now Patricia Cornwell, PJ Parrish, David Baldacci, Michael Connelly and Lee Child. It wasn’t until I read Paul Bishop’s Tequila Mockingbird (an LAPD detective, BTW), that I learned to find my voice. Thank you, Paul! Storytelling became so much easier. That is, factoring in organization–a game plan, an outline, synopsis or whatever I needed to guide me through the clues, red herrings, and car chases. Finding that structure led me to complete my first novel, and encouraged the next one. And so on. I must acknowledge my local chapter of California Writers Club, Redwood Writers for not only cheering me on, but offering the kind of education I needed: goal setting, planning, craft techniques and my critique group.

It’s a wonderful thing to be in a room full of introverted writers who are there for the love of the craft.

  • Which brings me to the third: believing those strident interior voices who say I’m not good enough. Like when I was a young girl, I told my mother I wanted to be an archeologist when I grew up. She said, “Only rich people can afford to do that.” Silly me, I believed her. After parenting my own kids, I was able to understand my mother’s motives—she wanted me to get a good, stable occupation, like a teacher. Still, I chipped away, writing inconsistently and often not finishing stories. Later, in the mid-1990s, my husband offered to take over the laundry, cooking and household while I wrote. I knew that I had enough talent to see my project through. I mean, what makes a man gives up fishing for a vacuum cleaner? He must have believed in me. Through his validation, I internalized my own. I decided I didn’t need an MFA to write good stories. Granted, and MFA could make mine a great story, but I don’t have the time for that now. I have stories in my head that are screaming to get out.

Thankfully, I have readers who enjoy them.

~~

On April 13th, Scott Decker, retired FBI agent and author of Recounting the Anthrax Attacks, writes about being fooled by the lab (FBI) with forensic methods purported ready for prime time—but after using them and hoping to take the results to court, finding out the techniques were all bogus. Ann Parker’s post on April 20th will take you on an adventure she’d rather not repeat. On April 27th, Judy Alter’s post features some hard-learned lessons about waiting for agents.

Please join us on Writer’s Notes every Friday morning—see if you can learn (as a writer) from our foolish tales. Then, on Sunday morning, read the real stories behind the badge written by LAPD veterans from different eras.

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Every Day’s April Fool’s Day

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1

Our lieutenant was a very nice, elderly gentleman awaiting retirement who has been with us for a very short time and has no idea of whom he supervises.

He was the “victim” when, while during pistol inspection, he stood with an empty gun pointed at Tom Ferry’s “netherlands,” Sully set off a fire cracker behind him, convincing him for a few seconds he had just shot one of his detectives. Enough background.

This lieutenant and his wife were childless and the love of his life (besides his wife) was the family car. A 1950’s something Oldsmobile 88, red and white, polished to perfection and the object of his affection. In short, he loved his car.

While at home one night, it was stolen. He was almost inconsolable. He nagged the auto theft team every day about the car and talked of nothing else.

On day 4 or 5, I sat at the squad table across from Sully while we both worked on reports. To this day, I will swear I “heard” the idea formulate in his mind. I looked up and he sat there with a faraway look in his eye and the hint of a smile. I gave him the “what’s up” eyebrow and he nodded toward the door. I followed to the records room, teletype section.

Teletype_with_papertape_punch_and_readerTo the very young of you, a teletype was the then police method of reaching a lot of other agencies en masse.

Consulting the code book for proper and convincing numbers, et cetera, he composed something along the following lines:

From Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Office, be advised. On [date] 1st National Bank in Cedar City held up by following subjects.
Names of two made up persons with descriptions and CII (California Information and Identification-indicates a person has a rap sheet or criminal history with the state of California) numbers were here inserted.
The teletype went on to recount a gunfight in which bandits’ vehicle was riddled with bullets, a wild chase on back roads, minor collisions, more bullet holes until they were captured.
Particulars were inserted: weapons recovered and where stolen from; attention particular departments, suspects admit crimes your weapons, et cetera. Last: “Attention L.A.P.D. Wilshire dets (detectives) veh (vehicle) is your stolen, 1950′ Olds 88 red/white,” et cetera.
Veh impounded, many bullet holes, and damage. Please advise re: dispo (disposition) Not drivable.

Sully typed it–did not send, naturally, and took the only copy, inserting it into the lieutenant’s daily mail.

We sat back to watch.

 

1955 Olds 88_LI
1955 Olds 88-wrong color for Sully’s lieutenant but you get the idea.

When his “victim” read it, he stood and tried to walk in 2 or 3 directions at once, sat down, picked up the phone, put it back, stood up, sat down and just stared for a moment or two. The lieutenant suddenly turned and caught Sully and I watching him.
He pointed at us and nodded.

 

Then smiled. His car was eventually recovered undamaged.