Category: Ramblings by Hal

After over 3 decades in LAPD patrol, Hal Collier has learned a thing or two. Take a look at some of his stories–you’ll be glad you did.

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Ramblings by Hal

Rambling, Desk Duty, part 4 of 4, Let Me Entertain You

By Hal Collier, LAPD, Retired Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following story is true. I thought my last Ramblings about the desk was the final chapter, but I remembered some incidents myself and I was asked why I didn’t write about so and so. So here goes. You know it almost sounds like working the desk was all fun.

 

Remember these stories are spread out over thirty-five years. I could tell you about the times there were twelve people waiting in line to make a report or get their car out of impound. I could bore you with the time a citizen waited twenty minutes in line to be told he needed to talk to a Detective. The Detective interviewed him for thirty minutes and then walked him back out to the end of the desk line and told the desk officer to take a report. Ah!!! Why didn’t the detective just take the report when he was getting all the information? See? This was why patrol and detectives didn’t get along.

 

There were some pretty amusing stories also. There was a desk officer (JP) who raced out of roll call to be the first one at the desk. No one else rushed to work the desk. After some time the other desk officers discovered that he was placing a sign on the outside of the desk in front of his seat that said “Questions Only.” He didn’t have to take any reports.

It was also common for desk officers to throw items into a desk drawer that needed to be booked into property: found drivers licenses, credit cards, keys, and other items that are beyond description.

 

old grenadeAnother time a little old lady walked into the lobby, with a paper bag. She set the paper bag on the counter and removed a hand grenade. It was something her late husband had brought home from who knows what war. The lobby and the front of the station were evacuated and an hour later, the bomb squad determined it was safe. No reports taken during that hour. This happened more than once.

 

Some nights, there was entertainment at the desk. If Hollywood had a new lieutenant, one of the patrol officers would send “BJ” to the station to greet him. BJ was a well-endowed woman who lived on Yucca. First time I was introduced to BJ was at Yucca and Wilcox. My partner pulled into the parking lot at Playboy Liquor. I hear a female voice calling out, “Officer.” I look up at the balcony and see this woman. She says, “Hi, I’m BJ.” I hunch my shoulders at her and I hear my partner laughing. BJ flops out her boobs and wiggles them at me. Welcome to police work, Hollywood style.

 

Back to the new lieutenant. Some officer would send BJ to the desk and have BJ ask to see the Watch Commander. The new lieutenant would walk out to the desk and you guessed it, BJ would greet the new Watch Commander in the only way she knew how! I never sent BJ to the desk. I had a child on the way and really needed my job.

 

Flash forward a lot of years. I’m a sergeant and the Watch Commander for the day. It’s a Saturday. One of my senior desk officers tells me that a citizen wants to speak to me. Not unusual, people always want to speak to the Watch Commander. I go to the desk and this man says he has a video that he thinks I should see. This is post-Rodney King and we know what a mess that video caused. My heart is racing, I can feel my blood pressure rising, I should have called in sick. I ask him what’s on the tape. He only tells me it pretty disgusting and something needs to be done.

 

I take the tape, and tell the man to have a seat. I go into the captains’ office to watch the tape. I’m thinking, oh please not a video of a policeman involved in some deed of misconduct. I go over the list of notifications if it’s a Rodney King-type tape. If I miss one notification, it’s days off without pay for me. My kids are both in college and I’m broke.

 

RatsI hit the play button and hold my breath. It’s a video of the north side of the police station, near our trash dumpsters. At first, I’m looking for cops, then I see small furry rodents. That’s right—rats, dozens of them. They are living in the storm drain and come out to raid our trash dumpsters.

 

I know from experience they aren’t eating left over jail food. I can breathe again and the only notification I need to make is to the city to rid the station of these pests. Most officers thought all the Watch Commander did was drink coffee and play Free Cell on the computer.

 

Working the Hollywood desk had its moments, but for the most part, it was busy twenty-four hours a day. When I worked Southeast (Watts), the morning watch desk was run by one officer who watched VHS movies on a small TV most nights. The Watch Commander brought in the movies. They even turned off the lobby lights; it looked like we were closed. Different worlds.

 

coffee-readyThis last story is half desk, half Watch Commanders Office. We used to have a coffee machine in the Watch Commanders (W/C) office. It was one of those office machines where someone actually had to make a pot of coffee. No one wanted to make coffee, so a game was devised where you would pitch a quarter at white circle on the tile floor. The farthest quarter from the circle had to make the pot of coffee. You had to be careful that your quarter didn’t end up on its edge and roll into the desk area.

 

Next, it was decided that we would have three quarter pitches. First loser would make coffee; second loser had to buy coffee for everyone in the game. The last loser had to pour coffee for everyone. Soon the third loser had to wear a red waiter’s vest and hang a white towel over his arm as he poured. If you lost all three games, you made the hall of fame and had you picture taken. Sometimes if you had a lot of participants, it could cost you your eating money for the night, not to mention the embarrassment of wearing the red vest. Your tax dollars at work.

 

Working the desk was not a lot of fun, but it had its moments and of course these memories.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, part 3 of 4, On the Desk

 

By Hal Collier, LAPD, Retired

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.   

The following story is true. This is the third and what I thought was last episode of the Hollywood Desk until I had a lucid moment and remembered other incidents that might jog the memories of old retired Hollywood cops. Some of my non-cop friends just find them funny.

 

Hollywood Station front desk
Hollywood Station front desk

I was pretty lucky. I only worked the desk during my first three years on the job, or when I got hurt and couldn’t work patrol. I remember one week I worked five days. Two at the desk, one in the jail, and two on station security. These were called the terrible three’s. This was not exactly what a young cop who’s going to save the world signs up for.

 

In my last Ramblings, I reminisced of the little old lady who came in to the station to get her juvenile grandson. This story is about an adult who made a big mistake, first by being arrested and second by being a Marine at the time. It was common for new Marines to come from Camp Pendleton to Hollywood on their first leave from boot camp. They weren’t hard to spot, short hair, a tattoo and a t-shirt with USMC on the front.

 

I worked with Bill Barren, a former marine. Sometimes he’d see a group of marines walking down Hollywood Boulevard. We would stop the group, line them up at attention, and ask who was in charge. Bill would then lecture them about the evils of Hollywood, things like not everything in a dress is a girl. He would send them off advising them not to tarnish the name of the Marine Corps. Once a marine always a marine. “Semper Fidelis”

 

diOk, back to my desk story. This marine gets drunk and is arrested in Hollywood. He’s placed in a holding tank and the shore patrol is called. Military personnel arrested for being drunk in public are turned over to the Military Police. The shore patrol will give the marine a stiffer sentence than any court in L.A. The marine was being a jerk and yelling things about the Marine Corps that he would never even think of saying sober. He also had a photo album, with pictures of himself in his “dress blues”. In some of the pictures, he was holding the American flag in one hand and his manhood in the other. No explanation needed.

 

The marine is yelling for over two hours when the Shore Patrol arrives. The guy in charge, a staff sergeant I think, walks up to the desk. He asks, “Is that my marine making all that noise?” 

The sergeant is escorted into the Watch Commanders office. He is looking at the photo album and you can see his face muscles getting tense. The sergeant asks if he can see his marine now. The holding tank door is opened and the marine jumps to attention. The sergeant knocks him out cold. The Marine is dragged outside unconscious and thrown into the back of the Shore Patrol’s paddy wagon. I’m guessing that the marine will regret coming to Hollywood and with that photo album.

 

On the bright side, we had a Watch Commander, Bryce, whose pet peeve was officers hanging their car keys from their gun belts. If you walked into the station with your keys in your belt, Bryce would grab the keys and throw them out the front door. I learned to take my keys out of my belt upon walking into the lobby. I only chased my keys out into the street once. I saw another officers keys grabbed from his belt, tossed to a citizen sitting in the lobby, who tossed them out the front door as directed by Bryce.

 

I showed up for work one night and passed Jane Fonda in the lobby. She is one of my least favorite people. She was advising some woman that she has rights and you don’t have to do what the police say. I would have liked to see her in the custody of the shore patrol.

 

In the old Hollywood station, you walked through the lobby to get to your police car after roll call. I remember one night as the line filed down the hallway toward the desk, some of the officers started turning around and back tracking. I wasn’t sure why until I reached the desk. There was a woman of suspicious reputation standing at the desk with officers. I guess some of the officers didn’t want to be seen by this women. Ha ha, I wasn’t afraid. 

 

Of course, there was Gracie Wilde, a homeless girl who lived in a doorway near the station. Gracie wasn’t a bad person, loved cops, and a few officers gave her money for food. Gracie just needed to take her medication regularly. Birdie was another woman who would come into the lobby and look for cans to recycle. She lived in a motor home on the corner. Some of the desk officers saved cans for her.

 

Drum majorThen there was Linda. Rumor said that Linda was a model and came from a rich family. Once a month she would get a check from a trust, clean up, buy some nice clothes, and then get drunk. Linda was an alcoholic and often slept in the lobby during the night. The first few days of the month, Linda looked normal. By the end of the month, Linda was dirty and obnoxious. Actually, Linda was usually obnoxious when drunk and the first thing the day watch desk officers did was throw Linda out. I remember one week, Linda was dressed in Band Majors uniform. 

 

Think policemen are heartless. I remember a young boy, about eight years old, racing into the station lobby, crying, that his new bicycle was just stolen by a bigger kid. After a search proved fruitless, the desk officers replaced the bike with the help of a local bicycle shop. 

 

I wonder what ever happened these characters. These people all existed and helped pass the time on the desk.   

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Desk Duty, part 2 of 4–Fun in the Jail

By Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

 

The following story is true. The names and the stories are to the best of my memory. This is the second of four parts of working the Hollywood desk. The desk was next to the infamous Hollywood Jail. A door led from the desk to the jail. This made it easy for bailouts to leave and cops to get in on a fight. Sometimes when things were slow at the desk I’d walk into the jail to see what was going on. This leads up to my story of things you will never see on TV.

 

I would open the jail door and asked Fitzgerald, our grumpy jailer, “Hey, Fitz. Anything going on?” 

 

One day Fitz says, “Hey, go back in the misdemeanor section.”

 

I walk back and everyone is awake. It’s about 3:30 in the morning. I announce to no one in particular, “What’s going on?”

 

One of the guys in a cell says, “Hey officer, watch this guy.” He points to a cell. There’s a guy sitting alone in the cell. He is shirtless and his head is wet. He’s sitting on the cell floor, cross-legged, with his hands in a prayer motion in front of his face. 

 

I said to him, “Ok, show me what you got.”

 

He stands up, walks over to his toilet, firmly places his hands on the toilet bowl rim, and does a perfect handstand. I’m impressed. He lowers his head into the toilet bowl water, maintaining his handstand. The drag queen in the next cell reaches through the cell bars and flushes the toilet. Everyone cheers and the man stands up, returns to his sitting position on the cell floor.

 

flushing toiletI congratulate him on his strength, poise, and balance, then ask him, “Can you do it again?” Without a word, he returns to the toilet and completes the above described task. I give him a 9.7. I deducted some points when I saw a little wobble on the handstand.

 

Only in Hollywood.

 

I show up for work one night after spending the whole day in court. My plan is to leave roll call and head to Pinks, because I haven’t eaten since the day before. Back in the old days our vending machines only contained candy bars and peanuts left over from the ‘65 riots. In roll call, I’m informed I’m assigned to the desk. I’m starving and they didn’t make food runs for the desk officers in the old days. 

 

About 3 A.M. I poke my head in the jail and ask Fitz if he would put an extra jail breakfast in the oven for me. All arrestee’s are fed three times a day. The meals are similar to a TV dinner, kept in a freezer, and cooked in a large oven. The breakfast meal consisted of a small sausage patty and a slice of French toast and something resembling eggs. Trust me these were nothing like the Swanson TV dinners you had in the 50’s and 60’s. They served it with coffee, not Starbucks, but some instant coffee made with warm water from the tap. The coffee foamed up when you poured the water in. 

 

Jail mealFitz tells me my breakfast is ready. Two bites and I understand cruel and unusual punishment. I was always taught to never leave food on your plate but I did that day. I rushed home and had a bowl of cereal with my kids while watching cartoons. Never again was I tempted to eat jail food. 

 

I worked with an old timer at the desk, Gerst, who lived in his car with his dog. Yea, he was a cop and I think he had the first dollar he ever made. I’m not saying Gerst was cheap but I think he considered underwear a frivolous luxury. He would go around the jail and gather up the uneaten food. He said it was for his dog, but I wasn’t sure. I felt sorry for the dog.

 

Once a woman came into the station to pick up her juvenile grandson. He was in a holding tank, yelling, and screaming about how he was picked on because he was black. He was going to sue everyone. The arresting officers wanted to kick his butt but remained professional. His descriptions of police officers would make a sailor blush. 

 

His grandmother and guardian, a polite Southern woman, heard him yelling and asked if we would release him now. Her grandson walked out into the lobby. He was about a foot taller than his her. Grandma promptly slapped him across the face and said, “Nigger, shut the f–k up.” She then apologized to the officers and grabbed her grandson by the ear. She led him out the lobby doors, still holding on to his ear saying, “Just wait until I get your black ass home.” As she walked him to her car, she was kicking him in the butt every few steps. I was glad she didn’t live in Hollywood. I know there was a child abuse call about to occur. It brightened everyone’s day at the desk.  

 

Old lady on phoneMrs. Croft used to call the desk all the time. I never met her in person but it was obvious she was lonely. If I had the time, I would talk to her. After a while, she would ask for me by name. Once she promised to buy me and my wife a new Cadillac. I knew that wasn’t going to happen because she lived in a flop motel on Western. She was nice, just down on her luck.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Desk Duty, part 1 of 4

By Hal Collier Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

The following story is true. The names are true to best of my memory. In past ramblings, I talked about my experiences working the Hollywood Jail and Station Security. This is the third in the trilogy of the worst jobs in the LAPD, unless you count kissing the butt of some staff officer. I heard of one sergeant changing his religion to gain the favor of a deputy chief. Of the three, the desk was the best—you were inside, warm, and had someone to talk to.

 

The desk, to a young officer who wants to save the world from evil, is not a career goal nor is it included in the pamphlets to join the LAPD. Some days, ok, maybe weeks go by without any event worth mentioning. Most of my desk duties were on Morning Watch, 11:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M. 

 

Watching a wife come in at 3 AM to bail out her husband for drunk driving or picking up a prostitute was always an adventure. Picture your wife walking into the lobby of the police station. She will usually have one to three kids in tow, in their PJ’s. The wife is pissed, the kids are cranky, and the desk officers are amused. The story the husband told his wife is usually a little different than what he was charged with. She insists that he was working late in some other part of the city. The desk officers often bet on when the wife will challenge his story or explode in a rage—in the lobby where he’s safe from spousal abuse, or outside on the sidewalk. The wife will ask if the desk officers know a good divorce lawyer. Some officers do—their ex-wife’s lawyer. Desk officers never follow them outside. They might find themselves in the middle of a domestic fight. On a quiet night, you could hear the yelling as the couple walked to their car.

 

The Hollywood desk in 1971 was antique to say the least. The desk itself was a big wooden monster. The phones were rotary dial— remember those? We had an old switch board (PBX) for calls coming in from the Gamewell call boxes. It had the lights on top and you pulled out the cord and plugged the cord in under the lit light. You flipped up the toggle switch and talked into a head set. Just like that Lily Tomlin skit as Ernestine. Go ahead—Google it.

 

My first night on the desk, I met Mrs. Simpson. Mrs. Simpson lived a block away, she was elderly, and had placed all her marbles in a bag then misplaced the bag. She was not allowed to come into the station lobby anymore, because she had the mouth of a sailor and hated anything in a uniform. Some nights Mrs. Simpson was content to stand outside the front door and yell obscenities at the desk officers. Other nights when there was a medication problem, she would stand in front of the open lobby doors, open her coat, and show the desk officers her birthday suit. Not a pretty sight, but sometimes the highlight of the night.

 

I was fortunate to work with a veteran, Charlie, a Medal of Valor officer. He treated you like an equal while he taught you the ropes. The first night he told me if you get in a fight at the desk, drag the asshole over the desk to your side. That way you have help. I’m wondering why would a desk officer have to fight anyone? My second night I understood. No one comes to the desk at 2 A.M. to tell you what a great job you’re doing and please accept this donation to the Policeman’s Ball.

 

People come to the desk to make a report that their car was broken into, they got a ticket they didn’t deserve, or to bail out someone who was wrongly arrested. No matter what the reason the cops were wrong or not doing their job. I don’t think there is a police officer who hasn’t heard, “I pay your salary.” Working at the desk required you to complete reports, and answer the phones, which always ring, even in the middle of the night. I know Hollywood never sleeps, but explain to me why a guy who lives in Castaic, gets his car broken into at Disneyland in Anaheim, stops by the Hollywood desk at 3 A.M. to make a crime report?

 

When answering the phones you meet an unusual mix of people. There’s the rich folks who remind you of how much they pay in taxes and name drop all the important people they know. I’m laughing to myself because I’m at the bottom of the barrel. I don’t know Jack Shit. Then there are the nuts who only call late at night, because the daytime cops hang up on them. If you’re working the desk in the middle of the night, you get bored and are willing to listen to the crazies to break up the night. The following characters I met over the phone.

 

Laser Lady: 

 

I don’t know of any cop alive today that hasn’t talked to Laser Lady at one time or another. For my non-police friends, Laser Lady calls and tells you about lasers coming into her windows, usually from aliens. I understand she has been transferred all around the city, including the Chief’s Office and Air Support (Helicopters) who should know about aliens. She was fun to listen to unless you were busy. She was advised to put aluminum over her windows to reflect the lasers. When she called back and said it didn’t work, she was told to change the foil every two weeks. Put foil between the mattress and box spring, in the freezer, aluminum hats, etc. If I had any money, I would have bought stock in Reynolds Aluminum. She was intelligent but I think her marbles were in the same bag as Mrs. Simpsons. I’m convinced that there was more than one Laser Lady or she is about a 100 years old.

 

Big Dick: 

 

This nut case use to call the station desk with the hope of a rookie officer answering the phone. The phone conversation went similar to this.

 

Officer:  Good morning Hollywood police station, may I help you.

 

Big: Hi, how big is yours?

 

Officer: Excuse me?

 

Big: How big is yours? 

 

Officer: How big is what?

 

Big:  I’ll bet you have a big one!

 

The next question by the officer depends on where he graduated in his academy class.

 

The upper 10% hung up. The lower 10% still didn’t know what “Big Dick” was asking.

 

True story. Ask anyone who worked the Hollywood desk in the 70’s.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, part 8, Miscellaneous-A Slow Chase

By Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following story is true, best to my fading memory. Some of my earlier stories dealt with pursuits. One was about my worst car pursuit and one my worst foot pursuits. Even the bad pursuits are a fond memory of an eventful career. As in life, not everything is bad. I actually had a lot of good moments. I remember my lucky arrests. Ok, this story is about the best and longest car pursuit I was ever in.

 

If you remember, I said I don’t like car pursuits. They’re dangerous and they seldom seem worth risking your life. Think about hurtling through the streets at breakneck speeds, because someone doesn’t want a ticket, they’re drunk, or they’re driving a stolen car. Even a stolen car will only get them a few months in county jail. A lot of cops die chasing cars. I knew of one cop who loved pursuits. He would hide out on Forrest Lawn Drive, see a speeding car, and let him get a good head start, before turning on the red lights and siren. The speeding car would figure he had enough of a lead to outrun the cops and take off. 

 

Ok, back to my story. I’m working; yep you guessed it, Morning Watch. I’m working with Bill, a good partner. Some partners you just click with. Bill’s driving and I’m keeping the books. Books are police slang for keeping the log and writing all the reports for the night. Bill and I had a great system for running license plates that were going away from you. The driver would look at the first three or four letters/numbers and the passenger would look at the last three letters/numbers. That way we would have the whole license plate to check to see if it was stolen or wanted. If you’re following behind the car, it’s not a big problem because you can read the license as you talk to the dispatcher downtown.

 

police traffic stopWe’re stopped at a red light at Franklin Avenue and Bronson Avenue. A car drives southbound on Bronson past the front of our car. The driver looks at us then quickly looks away. Ok, if you’ve got kids you know that look when you catch them doing something wrong. Bill and I look at each other, without saying anything. We both know he’s dirty. We pull in behind the car, a 70’s Pinto, and run the license plate. The dispatcher tells us the car is stolen, taken in a robbery, the suspect is considered armed and dangerous.

 

The adrenalin is starting to flow. We request back up and an air unit (helicopter). This is where the action begins. We have a backup police car behind us, a helicopter overhead, and a full tank of gas. That’s important as you will see later. We cinch up our seatbelts and turn on our red lights and siren. The Pinto accelerates to a top speed of 45 mph. To my non-police friends, Bill is responsible for driving the car. I’m responsible for broadcasting streets, direction, and suspect description. Both officers watch for oncoming cars, cross traffic, pedestrians, and Department Brass. 

 

The Pinto drives westbound Hollywood and northbound Cahuenga. I don’t think we’re going to have any trouble keeping up with this 4 cylinder Pinto. After all were driving a high performance, police equipped V-8 that the city bought from the lowest bidder.

 

The next 20 miles is pretty boring. The Pinto drives onto the northbound Hollywood Freeway (101). The Pinto is straining to get over the Cahuenga Pass. I’m broadcasting our location as we pass the off ramps. We are now in the San Fernando Valley and as we pass each on ramp we see two police cars waiting to get into the action. The Pinto is now up to 65 mph. We have a sergeant with us who keeps our pursuit from becoming a 30-car procession of police cars. 

 

Ford Pinto
Ford Pinto

As we head into the west end of the valley, our radio begins to break up. Another item bought from the lowest bidder. Communications advises us to let the helicopter broadcast the pursuit. Ok, I hang up the microphone, put up my headrest, and tell Bill to wake me if the Pinto exits the Freeway. Ok just kidding, but the Pinto is not going to outrun us or the helicopter. 

 

We leave L.A, County and enter Ventura County. I see Ventura County Sheriffs sitting on the on ramps. We travel through the communities of Agoura, Westlake Village, and Thousand Oaks. The Pinto strains to get up the hill on the Conejo pass. On the down side it reaches speeds that top 70 mph. We are driving into Camarillo when our helicopter advises us that he is low on gas and has to turn back. Ha ha, we filled up at start of watch. I think were in Ventura when the Pinto slows and exits the freeway at Victoria Ave. He’s out of gas. Hum!

 

The end of a pursuit is usually a dangerous, tension-filled occurrence. Cops are mad because of the danger this dirt bag has put them through, the adrenalin is flowing and after a close call, revenge is on most cops minds. These are the times when police officers lose control of their emotions and end up on You Tube and in court unemployed. This was different. After this slow, long pursuit, the adrenalin has left us. We order the driver out of his car and he complies, unlike Rodney King. He lays down on the street and I handcuff him. I put him in our car and we begin the long drive back to Hollywood. Our Sergeant has to stop and get gas, to get back to Hollywood. The pursuit was 56 miles in 53 minutes.

 

We’re on our way back and I ask the suspect, “Why did you run?” He said, “I was in West Hollywood and I saw the Sheriffs kick a guy’s ass for flicking a cigarette. I’m driving a stolen car, I was just putting off an ass kicking. You guys didn’t even hit me”.   I told Bill, “Stop the car. Let’s kick this guy’s ass.” The guy’s eyes got big and Bill and I both laughed. 

 

The robbery involved a gay man who picked up our suspect for a date. Our suspect took his wallet and car. Not the kind of Armed and Dangerous you see on TV. The pursuit lasted longer than it took me to write the arrest report. 

 

I think my sergeant is still trying to cash a check in Ventura to buy gas so he can get back to Hollywood.

 

We don’t miss him. 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, part 7, Miscellaneous-Practical Joke Target

By Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following story is true. Lately I’ve used real first names. When I used a fake names, like John, I would get a dozen e-mails asking if that was officer so-n-so. My last couple of stories involved catching burglars and a car pursuit to Oxnard. This story will get back to the funny side of police work. I can talk about this now because I don’t have to have public approval for a raise.

 

Have you ever noticed that some people just beg to have practical jokes played on them? They get all excited, and are fun to watch as they swear revenge.  Some are just easy to fool with.  

 

This is the story of Chris, a Sergeant/Detective in Hollywood during the mid/late 70’s. Chris was a good cop and was always getting into pursuits and shootings. Some thought he was crazy, others believed he was a dinosaur who failed to evolve. Either way, Chris was the role model for a victim of practical jokes.  

 

brigham-acadian-pipeChris was a pipe smoker. He was always waving his pipe around as he talked. He was always looking for his pipe. He would set it down and then accuse someone of taking it. One day he set his pipe down and Randy palmed it. Randy, a Viet Nam Veteran, removed a small amount of gunpowder from a bullet and mixed it in Chris’s pipe tobacco. Chris picked up his pipe and lit it. The gunpowder flashed in Chris’s face. Chris chased Randy around the station twice, threatening to shoot him.

 

I remember one morning, yea, Morning Watch, Chris gets in a pursuit. Chris broadcasts that he’s southbound La Brea from Franklin. Great, I’m at La Brea and Fountain. I’ll wait for him to drive the six blocks and be first in line to join the fun. He’s now passing Hollywood Boulevard, then Sunset. I can hear the siren but I don’t see him. He broadcasts that he’s passing Fountain. I look at my partner—we’re at Fountain and we don’t see him. Oh crap. He’s not on La Brea he’s on Highland four blocks east of us. The pursuit ended when Chris used the pit maneuver, twenty years before it was approved by the department. That’s just Chris being Chris.

 

Another time, Chris parked his black and white in the captains’ parking spot. Someone opened Chris’s car door and tied a huge plastic blow up whiskey bottle from his rear view mirror. The Captain came to work early and could be heard asking Chris why he had a whiskey bottle in his car, and if was just recently promoted to captain?

 

Flash forward a year or two. Chris is now working Detectives, but not out of reach of practical jokes. Randy’s partner, Gary is the master practical joker. Remember the rocks in the hubcaps and ball bearing in the door panel? That was Gary.

 

thZE4DK00ZIt started out innocently enough. You recall the old style phones where you could unscrew the earpiece? Every day, Gary would unscrew the earpiece and put a layer of scotch tape over the inside of the ear holes of Chris’s phone. By the end of the week, Chris was screaming into the phone: “I can’t hear you, speak up.” It was funny to watch. The other detectives were not as amused.

 

Now, Gary could also pick locks, especially the lock on Chris’s desk drawers. Once he placed a homeless man’s dirty underwear in his drawer. The coup-de-grace was the day Gary opened Chris’s desk and removed all his papers and personal items. He gave them to the Detective in charge. He lined Chris’s desk drawer with a plastic trash bag. Gary filled the drawer with water. He carefully closed the desk drawer and relocked it. Good thing Gary didn’t have any goldfish. Now half the officers and supervisors are in on the practical joke. The Detective squad room is packed with uniformed officers who suddenly have business with Detectives.

 

In walks Chris. He hangs up his coat and stands in front of his desk. The squad room gets quiet. He puts his key in his desk drawer lock. Everyone is looking at Chris. Chris turns and walks away to get a cup of coffee. Everyone takes a breath and acts as if they are working. Chris returns to his desk. 

 

I’m surprised a big city detective like Chris didn’t notice that all these uniforms in the squad room. Detectives and uniform cops don’t usually like each other. Detectives complain that uniform cops make crappy arrests. The uniform cops complain that the detectives won’t get off their butts and investigate the arrests they make. 

 

Ok, everyone, myself included, is anticipating Chris opening his desk drawer. He returns to his desk, sets down his coffee cup, and pulls out the drawer. Water slouches out onto Chris’s shoes. Chris has that “what the F—” look on his face. He pulls the drawer all the way out. All the water lands at his feet. The Detective squad room breaks out in laughter. A few run and get a mop and clean up the mess. Chris is sitting at his desk an hour later, staring blankly. A smile comes over his face as he appreciates the humor, but then a stern look creeps across his face as if to say “Why me?” Time for me to get lost before the bullets fly. Chris later retired and runs a gun shop in Simi Valley. 

 

Your Tax dollars at work. You know before everyone got so touchy, about race, religion, sexual orientation, and suing everyone, this was fun place to work. It relieved stress and built camaraderie. I still miss the good old days. 

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Miscellaneous, part 6-Extortion Can Be Fun

By Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following stories are true to the best of my memory, which is suspect at best. I sometimes sit down at the computer and think of an amusing incident that occurred and write it down in my bullets (like normal people use a list—Thonie). When I pick a subject I go over my bullets and see if any will fit into my Ramblings. These are short and didn’t seem to fit into a story. Anyway, here goes. 

 

photo from wtaq.com
photo from wtaq.com

One night my partner, Bill Barren (RIP) and I were assigned to a Z-car. A Z-car means you don’t have radio calls and you can go out and look for bad guys all night long. It means you can go elephant hunting as we use to say. Just big time bad guys, no traffic warrants, drunks, or petty thefts. When assigned to a Z-car you want to show the Watch Commander that he made the right choice in picking you for this pinnacle of assignments in patrol. You stop everything that moves; you even skip coffee breaks and eating. 

 

This night there wasn’t any crime in Hollywood. Ok, none that we could find. About 6 A.M. we’re getting desperate. We see this car on a dark side street with a license plate light out. We stop the car hoping to find a body in the trunk or a back seat full of stolen property. We get the driver out, a young black man, and ask for his driver’s license.  

 

As he’s flipping through his wallet I see him pass by a California driver’s license and then produce another California driver’s license. His license say’s his name is Cleophus Whitehead and he’s 18 years old. Ha ha, we got him; I’ll bet he’s wanted in three states. I ask to see the other driver’s license. He produces it. Same picture, same address, but the name is Rene Whitehead and he’s now 21 year’s old, and of drinking age. Of course, I ask him, “Who’s license is this?”  

 

Ok, you think you’re ready for the answer. He says with a straight face, “It’s my brother. It’s the only picture I have of him.” I fall back against my police car laughing. Bill hunches his shoulders and says, “I give up, let’s go eat.” I give both licenses back to Mr. Whitehead and send him on his way. No elephants tonight. You can’t make this stuff up.

 

 

It’s a nice quiet Sunday morning and I’m the assistant Watch Commander. Yea I’m working day watch. I get a call from Tony Diaz, a great cop and now a detective assigned to Homicide. Tony asks me if the janitor has emptied the trash cans in the detective’s room this weekend?  Huh, I haven’t a clue and should I know what the janitors schedule is?

 

I reverse the scenario; I interrogate the detective. “Ok Tony, what’s up?.” Tony tells me the following story. He got into an argument with Russ Custer (RIP), the OIC of Homicide, on Friday afternoon. During the argument, Tony took off his badge and threw it in the trashcan, proclaiming, “I quit!” Tony was always getting into arguments with Russ and they soon made up over drinks after work. I suspect they were alcoholic drinks.

 

Cool, I got a confession with one question. Tony tells me he went home and didn’t remember until Sunday morning that he left his badge in the trash can.

 

I ask, “Tony, are you asking me to go through the trash cans, looking for your badge?” Tony hems and haws. Oh yea I’ve got him, but Tony doesn’t have anything I want. I don’t need a plea bargain, or a get out of jail free card. Yet. I also haven’t given Tony his Miranda Rights, so his confession is no good in court. Tony says he’ll wait while I go look. I tell Tony I’m pretty busy, I’ll have to call him back when I get a chance. This is so bizarre, a patrol cop sweating a homicide Detective. This is more fun than the time my captain asked if I had a key to his office for the third time.

 

I like Tony, so I go back into the detective room. I dig through the trashcan that Tony described and I find the badge. I call him back and make a ransom demand. Tony laughs and tells me where to put his badge. Tony got his badge back and I got this story.

 

 

dogintoupeeHave you ever been driving around and you see people driving with their dog in their laps standing looking out the driver’s window? We’re driving down Hollywood Boulevard about sunrise and stopped at a red light. I love dogs but I don’t think that dogs belong in the drivers lap. I’m the passenger and I look to my right. There’s a 60+ year old man in the car next to me. On the headrest is something close to a large rat or a very small dog. Yea I said on the headrest, right behind the drivers head. The dog or whatever it was, is giving me that mad dog look.  I’m bored and we’ve had a bad night.

 

HairpieceI stare at the dog and pretend to be barking at the dog. The real dog goes berserk, jumping around and barking. The dog dislodges the driver’s hairpiece. Now tell me that wouldn’t make you laugh. I start laughing so hard my partner thinks I’ve lost my mind. The driver looks over at me and gives me that I hope you’re not getting a raise this year. When the light turns green, he drives off with a yapping rat and a dislodged hair piece. 

 

It’s hard to believe they paid us for doing this job!

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Miscellaneous, part 5-A Smart Burglar

 

 by Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following story is true. In my last Ramblings I bragged a little— ok, a lot about my best arrest. This story is about a business burglar who fooled me. The name of the suspect is real. It’s funny that I can’t remember the name of my best arrest, but this guy’s name is always on my mind. It’s probably because I had him and I let him slip away.

 

I’m working A.M. Watch and I have been studying the Daily Occurrence (D/O) sheets for crime in my area. I patrol the central area of Hollywood which is largely businesses along Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. I notice a pattern of burglaries in small businesses. Some don’t have alarms and the items taken are small. I find myself driving through rear alleys and parking lots along Hollywood Boulevard. I jump on any alarms that are dispatched but don’t have any luck. The crimes continue and I’m getting frustrated. 

 

dark alleyHollywood is unique in that there are always people out in the middle of the night. Most cities don’t have pedestrians walking the side streets and alleys at 3 AM. I remember once I’m working with Frank, who just transferred into Hollywood. I’m driving down Hollywood Boulevard at 4 A.M. and Frank yells, “Stop. Turn around; go up that side street.” My adrenalin starts rushing. I whip the police car around and I just miss hitting a homeless man. I figure we got us a crime in progress. Maybe the Watch Commander will get off my back for not writing enough tickets.

 

Frank directs me to stop this pedestrian. Ok, we got him stopped. I ask Frank, “What do we have?” Frank looks at me like it’s my first day on the job. He says, “You’re kidding, right? We have this guy walking up this dark side street at 4 A.M.” In all fairness, in the Hollenbeck where Frank came from a guy walking up a dark side street is suspicious—in Hollywood nothing”. Remember Hollywood never sleeps.

 

Back to my burglar. I hear a broadcast of a burglar alarm in my area on Hollywood Boulevard. I’m only a block away. I immediately drive to the back. I approach this common courtyard which serves about ten businesses. This guy exits the courtyard. We grab him, I’m sure we got our burglar. 

 

The questioning goes something like this. “What’s your name?” 

“Steven Cox.” 

 

“What are you doing back there?” 

 

“I know it’s wrong but I had to go to the bathroom. Go ahead look under the fire escape”. 

 

I have my partner fill out a Field Interview card. I check under the fire escape and sure enough, someone has defecated. It’s fresh. I won’t go into a description of how I know it’s fresh, just trust me. I check the rear doors and windows of the business where the alarm was activated. Nothing. I look around at the other businesses. I can’t find any evidence of a burglary. We run him for wants and warrants over our police radio. No wants or warrants. I’ve run out of ideas. We release him.

 

burglar by aneta.orgTwo days later, I have the burglary detective yelling at me. Steven Cox is a wanted business burglar and he wants to know why I didn’t arrest him. The detective says that Cox has a warrant. He’s calling me all kinds of names because I didn’t check him. I explain that I did run him for warrants and the detective cools down. His boss is on his case because Cox is stealing Hollywood blind. The detective wants to know why I didn’t recognize Cox. I arrested him two years earlier inside Mike Smith Volkswagen on Cahuenga. He used the name Mark Johnson then. Hell, the detective had to look at my nametag to see who I was and I have worked with him in the same station for years.

 

Cox was caught a few weeks later and sat down for an interview. He was one smart burglar. He pre-planned his crimes. He would case the business during the day when they were open, then come back at night. He always urinated or defecated somewhere close to where he was breaking in. That way he would have an excuse for being at the rear of a business. He would take two swigs of alcohol before going out and act drunk if stopped in an alley. He would breathe in an officer’s face and stagger around. He fooled two Metro Officers that way when they caught him at the rear of a Mercedes Dealership. He would take out a whole windowpane so it didn’t look broken. He would go inside a business run around and see what property he wanted, then exit and wait for the police to check out the business. If the cops left, he knew he had all the time he needed.

 

Cox discussed the time I stopped him. He panicked and gave me his real name and date of birth. Why his warrant didn’t show up when I checked him is anybody’s guess. He admitted he fooled me and was burglarizing a business five doors away from where the alarm was activated. I still have the tape of Cox’s interview. Cox was one smart burglar. 

Sometimes even when you’re lucky you miss a big one.

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Miscellaneous, part 4-Hard Work

By Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

The following story is true. I’ll use only first names to protect the embarrassed. My last ramblings dealt with good arrests that resulted from luck. Most officers have an arrest that they deem their best. This was mine. It didn’t involve saving a life or a heroic act. It was the result of good old-fashioned police work, involving determination, perseverance, and patience. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?

 

I’m working A.M. Watch. I was a firm believer in the D/O sheet. For my non-police friends it was a Daily Occurrence of crimes that occurred the day before. I would study it for suspect descriptions and crime patterns. I would write down license plates of wanted cars in my officer’s notebook. I always had one or two D/O sheets in my sap pocket. 

 

My theory was: don’t just drive around, hoping to stumble on a crime in progress. Later the department called it “random patrol produces random results.” Look for patterns and concentrate on those areas. Holy cow, I sound like one of those building boys.

 

I was working with a strong-headed probationer. I believe he was the beginning of the “Why Generation.” 

Me: “Skip, do this.”

Skip: “Why?” 

Me: “Did you check under the back seat?” 

Skip: “Why?”

I was trying to teach my probationer how to study a D/O sheet. “Why?” In the beginning, it was all uphill. 

 

Hollywood has an area in the foothills west of Ferndale Park, and north of Franklin, called the “Oaks” because all the streets are named oak something. Live Oak, Mountain Oak, Spring Oak. etc. It’s not hard to get lost in the Oaks. The houses are all expensive and celebrities dot the neighborhood. Elvira, “Mistress of the Dark” and our former Chief of Police, lived in the Oaks. 

 

My patrol area was central Hollywood, miles from the Oaks. Like most cops, I couldn’t resist the adrenalin rush of making a good arrest. Checking my D/O sheets, I noticed a pattern of hot prowl burglaries occurring in the Oaks during A.M. Watch. “Hot Prowl” means the burglar enters a house when the residents are home. They are the most dangerous. They sometimes just take property, sometimes they rape or if caught in the act, murder.

 

The odds of catching a hot prowl burglar in the hills at night is similar to winning the lottery. It’s quiet and a suspect can hear cars coming for blocks. The winding roads and hills cut down on your field of vision. It’s almost impossible to stumble upon a burglar entering or leaving a residence.

 

Almost nightly, a hot prowl occurred in the Oaks. The suspect description is male black, NFD. (no further description) Whenever we get a few available minutes, we’d drive up through the Oaks. We don’t see anything but deer, skunks, and an occasional flat opossum in the roadway. We usually only get a few minutes to snoop around before we get a call taking us back to the flatlands. This goes on for weeks. We talk to the Burglary Detective. He says the suspect doesn’t seem to care that he’s seen. He once tells a witness, “You won’t be able to identify me anyway.” We even end up handling a few of the crime reports. Now it’s personal and we’re pissed.

 

My probationer is getting involved. He’s collecting his own D/O sheets. I must have found that soft spot in his hard head. One night after handling a bunch of radio calls, my probationer says, “Can we head up into the Oaks? I’d sure like to catch that SOB.” Ok, he’s got the fever that inspires cops. I break regulations and tell him don’t clear until we get up into the Oaks, that will give us a few minutes to look around. 

 

Hot prowl I drive up Brier Cliff to Verde Oak. It’s all uphill. We crest a hill and as our headlights lower I see a flash of something run behind a car. I thought it might be a coyote or one of the smart opossums that actually made it all the way across a street. I drive up alongside the car and it’s a male black crouching down in front of the car. I can’t believe our luck. 

 

I question him. He lives at 42nd and Western and he says he jogged to Hollywood. Funny, he hasn’t broken a sweat. His sweatshirt matches one that was described by a witness on an earlier burglary. The rest of his story is also unbelievable. An alarm company car comes by and tells me he stopped the same guy a week ago in the Oaks. We place this prize in our back seat. The radio operator is trying to give us a radio call in the flatlands. Sorry, we have bigger fish to fry. 

 

I can hardly control the adrenalin rush. This is what most cops work for. The hours suck, the pay is below standard, you work holidays, you get spit at, called names, and the media portrays you as a bottom feeder. This arrest was better than that old E-Coupon ride at Disneyland. We got a couple of commendations, but they pale in comparison to that feeling cops get when they catch a bad guy. 

 

Ok, we caught this guy, now it’s up to the Hollywood Detective to connect him to the crimes. We caught a big break. This detective is an up and comer in the LAPD. He makes our suspect on two burglaries, with prints, three more with witness identifications. He contacts Northeast Detectives and learns they also have a rash of hot prowl burglaries bordering our division. The detectives connect our suspect and clear by arrest, fifty residential burglaries in both Divisions.

 

Sometimes you’re lucky, and sometimes hard work pays off! That night I was rewarded with a little luck, due to my hard work.

 

Epilog:  This suspect was convicted and spent four or five years in state prison. He was released and later caught again committing hot prowl burglaries in the Oaks. So much for prison reform.

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Miscellaneous 3: Just Lucky

By Hal Collier

 Hal Collier is a retired LAPD veteran of thirty-five years. He’s been gracious enough to share his “Ramblings” with us.

 

The following stories are true. I couldn’t make up this stuff. These stories are my experiences as a police officer. I only mention this again because some of my old partners who read these stories have fading memories. They get halfway through one of my stories and can’t remember if they took their morning pills. As I mentioned in one of my last Ramblings, sometimes good arrests just fall into your lap.

 

Most non-police people think cops eat a lot of donuts. If a cop does eat a donut you can bet it won’t be a white powered variety. Blue wool uniforms and white power don’t mix. The public bases their conclusion on the fact that they see two or three cop cars parked at a Winchell’s, or Cooper’s Donuts. 

 

I just aged myself. 

 

Today’s cops hang out at Starbucks, or Goldstein’s Bagel Shop. Most cops don’t eat donuts, but almost all drink coffee. Be honest— just about everyone gets a coffee break. I won’t even get into some of today’s cops ordering a cup of coffee with the word latte in it, or with a squirt of this or a 1/2 and 1/2 of that. Ordering a cup of coffee shouldn’t take twelve words. And what’s with that little sleeve to keep you from burning your fingers? Today’s cops are a whole new breed.

 

O

Yum-Yum Donuts
Yum-Yum Donuts

k, back to Ramblings. I’m working A.M. Watch, you know–that 11 P.M. to 7 A.M. nightmare. My partner and I are going to need some caffeine to get through the night. After Roll Call, we drive to the Yum-Yum Donut Shop at Melrose and Highland. We drive into the parking lot and are greeted by the baker. He’s yelling something in Spanish. My knowledge of the Spanish language is to tell a suspect to put his hands up and that his mother is a member of the world’s oldest profession. All I understand him saying is black guy and robbed. He’s pointing toward the alley. I guess our coffee break is going to have to wait.

 

We drive into the alley and see two black guys pushing a car. They finally get it started and jump in. We stop them. Yep, they had just robbed the donut store. Ok, not everybody I arrested was a Rhodes Scholar, but come on, don’t rob a place and then find out your car won’t start. Double dumb: the driver was arrested once before for robbing this same donut store. I think my commendation said that I have superior knowledge of crime trends, keen observation skills, and outstanding tactics. Reality, I just wanted a cup of coffee.

 

I’m still working A.M. Watch. It’s been raining most of our shift. We’re driving eastbound Hollywood Boulevard, approaching Western Avenue. We see two black guys running across Western and into a parking patrol car at nightlot behind the Bank of America. Ok, running in the rain is not unheard of. Gene Kelly made a fortune dancing in the rain. It’s when one of the guys looks over his shoulder at us and they both duck down behind a parked car. Ok, we’re going to investigate.

I pat down one of the chaps and feel a large bulge in his right front pocket.

I ask, “What’s that?“

He says, “My money, about $12. You can check if you want.”

I pull out a wad of crumpled up U.S. currency. It’s over a hundred dollars.

My partner, Cliff, looks at me and says, “What do we do now?”

I tell him “We wait for the radio call.”

Three minutes later, ”Any Hollywood Unit, 211(Robbery) just occurred Hollywood and Western at the taco stand. Suspects two male blacks.”

With a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat, I pick up my radio and broadcast, “Code 4, suspects in custody”.

Again, the commendation said something about experience, tactics, blah, blah, blah.

Reality, luck, and right place at right time.

 

On TV, a burglar alarm at a closed business means a crime is in progress. In reality, 95 % of burglar alarms are false. It’s often employee error when closing, or the wind, or rain. One hot day, we had a power failure and it triggered every business alarm in a five block area. Yea, we had to check out every business per department policy. A.M. Watch is a little different. Sometimes the alarms are good. Most business burglars prefer to work when everyone is asleep.

 

I’m working A.M. Watch. Yea, I know, I’m always working AM’s. In fact, I spent nineteen of my thirty-five years working in the dark, maybe that’s why I now get up at 4 A.M. everyday. Anyway, a burglar alarm comes out at a business on Melrose. Doug, a good street cop, who succumbed to a promotion to Sergeant, responds. Doug, being a good cop, drives to the rear alley. Low and behold a business burglar. Doug has caught him red-handed. The only problem is that Doug is in the wrong alley. He’s north of Melrose and the alarm is on the south side. Well, Doug has caught some business burglars. The real alarm was false.

 

Hotel laundryWe got a suspect and the getaway car. We have to search the business. I’m on the perimeter when the officers search the building. It’s a commercial cleaners, drapes, curtains, and large items. Jim the senior officer comes out of the building and says he can’t find anyone but he has that feeling an experienced police officer gets. Jim feels that someone is in there. He says, “Hal, you take a look. I think someone is in there but I can’t find him”. I think Jim has read my above commendations, he knows I’m not good, just lucky.

 

I go into the building and look around. Nothing. I’m standing in the work area of the building. I don’t want to doubt Jim’s sixth sense. I noticed a large pile of drapes lying on the floor. I stared at them and they appeared to be breathing. Yep, the burglar was hiding under that pile of drapes. The Judge laughed out loud when I testified in court that the drapes appeared to be breathing.

 

See you don’t have to be good all the time, just lucky.