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

Ramblings-Misc 2, featuring Childhood Revenge

 

By Hal Collier

 

 

The following stories are true. These are tidbits of things that happened during my career. I was recently asked why I write these stories. Whenever you get three or more cops together, they talk about the good old days. The more alcohol consumed the better the stories. All cops have stories of their experiences. They love listening to a cop’s story and then tell their version of the incident. Some of the replies I get of an incident confirm that my memory is still good. Hopefully, I can put off having my name and address written in my underwear for a few more years.

 

These stories are sort of my memoirs of my career. I always said that good police work was 75% luck. That’s being in the right place at the right time. It’s 25% knowing what to do with the luck when it drops in your lap. Being a cop is rewarding as well as frustrating. Cops rely on instincts due to their training and experience. Now days, lawyers call it profiling. The first story still bugs me to this day. I missed a big one.

 

I’m working A.M. Watch—it’s about 4 A.M. I’m driving in the Whitley Heights area of Hollywood. That’s a nice residential area above Hollywood Boulevard. It’s where movie stars first moved to in the 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s. I see this car driving toward me. It’s a beat up clunker, one head light out. As he passes me, the driver has that ‘oh shit’ look on his face. Even my new probationer partner remarks that guy doesn’t fit this neighborhood.police traffic stop

 

We stop him to investigate. He identifies himself as Roman Jason Elliott III. He says he’s from New York and begins to compliment us on our professional appearance. Ok, I’ve been snowed before, but most attempts were by a female traffic violator. As I question him, I’m thinking he was in that neighborhood to commit a crime or was leaving after committing a crime. His story has so many holes that even the ACLU would be suspicious. His car was registered to a female—he claimed was his girlfriend’s car registered in Kansas. We checked him and the car for warrants and neither was wanted. He gave me permission to search his car. Nothing in the interior, the trunk was locked and he insisted his girlfriend had the key. I tried to figure out a way to get into the trunk. I’ve got that nagging feeling that something is wrong, but I can’t arrest him on hunches. I sent Roman on his way.

 

I’m off for the next two days and when I return, I’m sitting in Roll Call. They pass out a wanted flier for a Roman Jason Elliot III. Wanted for murder. It seems Roman strangled his girlfriend when she refused to be a prostitute and put her in the trunk of her car. He was looking for a place to dump her body. I’ve got that sick feeling in my stomach. I had him and let him slip away. He was later arrested in Florida and convicted. His girlfriend was a farm girl from Kansas. Roman convinced her that he would take her to Hollywood and make her a star. Yea, she was in the trunk when we stopped him. Win some, lose some and I lost a big one.

 

I found an interesting article dated Oct. 25, 1998 in the Lehigh (Pennsylvania) Valley newspaper. This wasn’t the only time Roman met the police. There’s even a line indicating he later had a murder conviction in California. Sadly, this is similar to what happened with Sonoma County Sheriff’s Deputies during the Polly Klaas abduction investigation. It’s one of those times when the law dictates what a cop can do–and can’t. If there was no consent to search the trunk in either case, the officer cannot lawfully do it. this is an example of cops doing their jobs to the best of their ability within the law. Unfortunately, the outcome wasn’t satisfactory in either case, although both men were convicted of murder.  –Thonie

 

OK, on a brighter note, Cliff and I are patrolling a rear parking lot of businesses behind Hollywood Boulevard. As we drive through the parking lot, we see a man come from the back of a business. We grab him and figure we caught us a business burglar. As we question him, I notice a hippy dog with a handkerchief tied around his neck, running around the parking lot. This guy’s story is also full of holes. We handcuff him and put him in the back seat of our patrol car. I leave Cliff to watch over our new friend, while I check which building this guy broke into.

 

I see that damn dog again.

 

As I look for a crime, Cliff calls out to me, “Hal, we got a problem.” I return to our car. That dog belonged to our bad guy. He entered our police car through an open front door and jumped into the back seat next to our suspect. The dog is barking at us and showing an impressive set of canines. The dog won’t let us approach our own police car.viciousmuttdog1200

 

I can just hear the guys laughing at us and imagine the comments and practical jokes.

 

“Hal, why didn’t you just let the dog drive your suspect to the station?”

 

“Hal, are you applying for a K-9 job?”

 

I need time to think.

I go back to checking out the businesses for a crime. Nothing, our suspect might have gone back there to pee or we just caught him too soon.

 

I’ve stalled enough. What do I do with that dog? I get as close as I can to my police car. I tell my suspect if he loves that dog, he had better control him. I even threaten to shoot the dog if he bites me. The guy gets his dog to calm down. We release the guy and the dog, we saved ourselves a bunch of embarrassment. Since then I’ve hated hippy dogs with handkerchiefs tied around their necks.

 

 

I grew up in Eagle Rock and we lived in the hills. Our street was on a hill with the top somewhat level. That’s were all the kids played ball, rode our bikes, played freeze tag and dreaded when the street lights come on, because that’s when we had to go home.

 

At the level spot of our street, lived a man, Mr. Melman, the scrooge of our block. I’ll bet every kid growing up had a Mr. Melman living in their neighborhood. If our ball landed in his yard, he would run out, grab it, and make one of our parents go get it back. If we were just starting a football game he would back his car out of the driveway and park it on our 50-yard line. He just hated kids, but then come to think of it the parents didn’t like him either. Well, growing up you learn to deal with adults.

 

Flash forward fifteen years, I’m a cop patrolling Hollywood Boulevard. My partner observes this guy who resembles a wanted suspect. We stop him and ask for identification. I look at his driver’s license and my mouth drops open. It’s Mr. Melman from my street. I didn’t recognize him and he didn’t recognize me. He wasn’t our wanted suspect but he did have a bunch of unpaid traffic tickets that had gone to warrant. I don’t think I ever enjoyed booking a warrant suspect more. I just wish I could have shared my joy with the kids I grew up with. Most had moved away and I lost touch with them.

 

I still get a warm feeling when I think of sweet childhood revenge.

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Ramblings by Hal

Miscellaneous Ramblings, part 1

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true. I’ll only use first names if I remember them correctly. These are bits and pieces of things that happened in my career. Hope you enjoy. I hope I don’t get sued.  

 

Dale Hickerson and I are working together. Dale and I have been partners and friends since 1971. Partners come and go; friends like Dale are for a lifetime.

 

LAPD 69 Plymouth Belvedere
LAPD 69 Plymouth Belvedere

Ok, enough mush. I’m going to drive today. We check out a black and white (B/W) from the kit (equipment) room. You never know who drove it last, whether it has gas, or has a half-eaten Pinks Chili dog with jalapeños under the front seat that’s been there five days? Anyway, you get your car keys, walk around the parking lot for twenty minutes, looking for your car—they all look alike.  Ok, I found it.

 

I open the trunk and drop in my twenty-five pound equipment bag. Dale is a few steps behind me. He was searching the west end of the parking lot. I open the driver’s door, lean in and put my baton in the door holder. I lean in a little farther to put my clipboard between the front seats. 

 

I freeze. Sitting there between the seats is a pineapple hand grenade. Dale opens his door and I yell freeze. Dale looks down and see’s the hand grenade. Now, anyone who’s been married for a long time knows that husbands and wives often think the same things and finish each other’s sentences. Dale and I have been partners for so long that we both stand up and look for cops or a sergeant laughing at us. No one’s looking at us. We check the fire department next door, (see earlier story about firemen’s practical jokes) nothing. The hand grenade is wedged between the seats. All we can see is the middle part of the body.

 

Dale and I were young cops when the SLA and other subversive groups were targeting police officers. They planted bombs under police cars. We didn’t want our pictures on the wall in the station lobby. That’s reserved for officers killed in the line of duty. We called the bomb squad. 

 

Any time a suspected explosive device is found, you clear a 300-foot perimeter. The entire police parking lot is shut down and it’s change of watch. Detectives are showing up. All they want is to park their car, go to their desks, and have a cup of coffee. Even worse, the previous watch wants to go home and climb into bed. None of that is going to happen until the bomb squad checks out our car. Dale and I look at each other; this day is starting out bad. Detectives are making a Starbucks run and the previous watch is asking if they get overtime because they can’t get to their cars.

 

The Bomb Squad arrives and checks out the hand grenade. Apparently, the thing is a dud. The bottom is drilled out, but we couldn’t see that. Two night watch officers found it in a parking lot, saw that it was a dud and put it between the seats of the police car. At the end of their shift, they forgot about it and went home. They got their asses chewed and Dale and I spent the rest of the day looking over our shoulders.

 

Hollywood StationAt one time, our police station parking lot had planters with some trees. The planters were next to parking spots where officers would have arrestees get out of the back seat of the police car. If officers were not watching, the bad guys would drop their dope in the planters. One year we had a 12-inch Marijuana plant growing in the police station parking lot. The planters were removed when they built the new fire station next door.

 

This is a locker room story. It was a known fact that I was the first one in the locker room every day for almost 35 years. I even beat the probationers. I didn’t like being late or rushed. It was also well known that I always had chewing gum in my pocket and carried a sharp knife. I hand sharpened my knives and liked to keep them very sharp.

Early one morning I’m polishing my badge and Billy is in the next aisle. Billy Berndt yells over the row of lockers,  “Hal, do you have a knife?”  I reply, “Yea but be careful; its sharp”.  Twenty seconds later, Billy asks, “Hal, do you have a bandage?” 

Yea, I had bandages too.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Driving part 4 of 3

By Hal Collier

I swear this is the last Ramblings of Driving!

This will be part 4 of a planned trilogy. I have been accused of being verbose (wordy) or loquacious (talkative). I had to look up both words. I started writing my Ramblings for cops, then found out that they were being forwarded to non-cops, which was fine with me. I learned to stop using cop vernacular and abbreviations that only a cop might know. I also got e-mails from former partners, ‘Hey Hal what about this or that?’, and occasionally I get, ‘Do you remember the time you drove over my foot?’ Come on, I only did that twice! Each of these brings an additional paragraph or two. This is the last Ramblings on driving, I think!

Pursuit driving is whole new ball game. You don’t get to pick the streets, the speed, or the chances you take. It’s a little like riding in the last car of a roller coaster—you’re just along for the ride. You can terminate a pursuit anytime you want. That decision is usually based on your experience and your will to see your kids move out of the house and get married.

I’ve been in a lot of pursuits and as I stated before, I hate them. Some were easy; some made me want to be an electrician like my dad. The risks you take are seldom worth the punishment the culprit will receive from a judge. Most cops’ biggest problem during a pursuit is tunnel vision and your ego. Ego first. The longer you’re a cop the smaller your ego gets! Ego kicks in when some dirt bag challenges your authority by failing to stop at your command. A young cop will chase this guy for as long as it takes, no matter how big the risks! Tunnel vision can be just as dangerous. All you see is the bad guy in front of you, you don’t know how fast you’re going, or how many close calls you just had. A few close calls wised up some of us, others ended up on the Los Angeles Police Memorial Wall!

On the LAPD, we deployed 2 man cars. This made driving easier. The passenger officer could handle the computer and the radio. He was also in charge of checking cross traffic at intersections and in some cases telling you to stop chasing this nut. One man cars were required to relinquish the pursuit when a two man car joined in. It was a challenge to drive, broadcast, and watch for that little old man who didn’t hear your siren—often he will turn right in front of you.

Other driving incidents that most people never think of, including some cops, is police vehicle vs suspect on foot? The LAPD often conducted what they called “Buy-Bust Operations.” It not what your think, It has nothing to do with paying a prostitute or a part of the female anatomy. “Buy Bust” was cop talk for arresting street narcotic dealers. A U/C (undercover cop) would make a buy from a street dealer. The U/C would then radio the dealer’s description and the chase cars would swoop in and arrest him. I was a chase car more times than I care to talk about.

Some days being the chase car was easy, the U/C made a buy and you were sitting in your B/W (black and white) a few blocks away. You got the go signal and drove a block and arrested the culprit. He was then taken to the station for booking. Arresting drug dealers in Hollywood was like fishing with dynamite. Once in a while a dealer objected to being arrested, duh! He would run when he saw the chase car approach—crap.

I remember once Dale Hickerson and I were sitting two blocks east of Hollywood and Western. We got the go word. I drove east on Hollywood Boulevard. I see our suspect running toward us in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard. He’s done this before and when he sees us he turns down a side street. He’s running down the sidewalk and I’m driving—see I’m not so dumb. I look ahead and see a driveway where I can cut him off. I zip into the driveway and cut him off. He dodges around the back of our police car. He might have bumped into the rear fender. Dale jumps out and starts to chase him on foot. Now Dale and I have over 20 years on the job and are too old to be chasing some small time drug dealer. Dale yells, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot you!’ Well damn, our suspect stops. He might have seen that Expert Marksman badge on Dale’s uniform. We didn’t even think he spoke English.

Another time our Sergeant wants to ride with us during a buy bust operation. We put him in the back seat where we place our suspects. We get the go to arrest another dealer. I’m trying to turn left into a parking lot. I stop and wait for traffic to yield. My sergeant jumps out, traffic clears and I move forward. Yep, I ran over my sergeant’s foot. Funny, he never wanted to ride with me again.

One last driving story. This didn’t happen to me but I had to laugh when I heard about it. Delongpre Park was only two blocks from the police station, but they still sold drugs in the park. We often did buy bust operations in the park. The U/C would give the go sign and officers would race into the park to arrest the culprit. The city even installed wheel chair ramps so the cops didn’t have to get out of their car to get into the park. We drive up the ramps into the park and arrest the drug dealer. Experienced officers learned to stay off the grass!!!! Have you ever watched a NASCAR race when a driver spins out onto the grass, the brakes are worthless? Well many a rookie learned that lesson in Delongpre Park. They would dive into the park, turn onto the grass and then brake. They would slide right into a park bench. A few officers paid to have those benches replaced with days off with no pay!

Being retired and driving the LA freeways you drive 70 in a 65 MPH zone everyone else flies by me and shows me that at least one finger is manicured. I’ve still got my driver’s license and I’m just not ready for a golf cart yet. Hal

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Ramblings: Driving part 3 of probably 4

By Hal Collier

I’ll bet that all the non-police that read this Ramblings never gave much thought to what it takes to drive a police car. Trust me, it’s more than leaving the police station and driving to the local donut shop. Most cops can relate to what I’m about to say. Let’s talk about checking out your police car before starting your shift. I’ve found a half-eaten chilidog under the front seat; it would have made a great junior high science project after being there for three days. I once found a WWII hand grenade on my front seat, left by officers of the previous shift. You have to make sure that any dented fenders were reported or you get the blame and maybe days off without pay.

Ok, you hit the streets. You’re looking for trouble. Take for example a simple traffic ticket. Say the driver is late for work and trying to make up a few minutes. He runs that red light by just by a second or two. The cop who sees the driver run that red light will commit three traffic violations just to catch him and give him a ticket. Even worse, he gets the lecture on how dangerous your driving was. Hint: don’t use that as an excuse in traffic court. Judges will still find you guilty! By the way, did you thank that cop for risking his life to give you that ticket? I didn’t think so and his parents probably are married.

Here’s an oxymoron for you. An officer gives you a ticket for talking or texting on your cell phone while driving. Look in his car and you’ll see a computer sitting next to the driver’s seat. I learned to drive, type and read messages all while driving on Hollywood streets. Quite a few officers have run into parked cars while driving and typing. By the way, some cops get days off, without pay, for traffic accidents that were their fault.

Another hazard is patrol! Yea, you’re driving around and looking for that arrest that will make your captain forget you missed court last month. You see an individual you think is wanted. You turn to look at him and don’t see that traffic in front of you has stopped. I had two of those in my career! At least I wasn’t looking at some underdressed woman when I rear-ended a car, honest.

Ok, let’s get down to real police driving-getting there in a hurry. I’m talking, the adrenaline pumping, heart in your throat; did I bring another pair of underwear? It’s not always a high-speed pursuit as depicted on TV.

lapd 69 plym BelvedereOne night I was driving a 1969 Plymouth—the finest police car ever made. My longtime friend Jim Moody was the passenger. A “shots fired” call came out on the very east end of the division. I was driving down Hollywood Boulevard—ok, I was speeding. We wanted to be first on scene. A car pulls out from a side street in front of me. No problem, I’ll turn the steering wheel to the right and tap the brakes, just as I was taught in driving school. Next thing I know the ass end of my police car is in front of my engine. Our police cruiser stops with the rear bumper ten feet from a closed bar. I look at Moody; his knuckles are white as he grips the dash. Our car has stalled, I think the car is amazed that we didn’t hit anything. I finally get it started and arrive last at the call. No shots fired. I learned a lesson that night.

North on La Cienega Blvd. flickr.com
North on La Cienega Blvd. flickr.com

Another time I was racing to a call on La Cienega. I was driving south from Sunset, traffic was light, and I’m sailing along. La Ciengega crosses Santa Monica—big deal, right? La Cienega is a very steep hill and levels off as it crosses Santa Monica then drops down again. That’s right my police car becomes airborne. If the tires are off the ground, the steering wheel and brakes are worthless. Again, I learned a valuable lesson—slow down and live to see retirement.

Next I’ll talk about pursuit driving, code 3 driving, and driving during buy/bust operations? Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Driving, part 1 of probably 3

 

Hal’s post for today is also on my updated website thoniehevron.com under “Just the Facts, Ma’am.” For now the photos aren’t posted but will be soon. Please bear with me during this transition to my website from Wordpress blog.

Thanks, Thonie 

by Hal Collier

Think back to your youth. To some of us that will be a longer reach. Your hormones are racing and you wonder how your parents have survived knowing so little about the real world. You’re about to learn how to drive. You’re good at home for at least a few weeks before you ask mom if your can get a learner’s permit from DMV.

 

You get a permit and pester mom or dad to teach you to drive. It’s amazing how old dad got in six months while you drove in parking lots with no cars and on back streets. You finally get a license to drive. Mom will never sleep well again and dad seems to drink a little more beer at night after a lesson.

 

imagesP2HPK037Flash forward to the day you graduate from the police academy and hit the streets. You’re a rookie and although you have passed an academy approved driving course, in the real world of police work you don’t know how to drive. If you get to drive a real black and white police car (B/W) it’s only to gas it up or have the garage wash your cruiser.

 

I’ll never forget my first time! I’m still in the academy, but in the fourth month, they sent you out into the field for a few days to get a taste of real police work. That means you actually put bullets in your gun and most citizens don’t know that you’re a rookie.

 

On my first day, I show up at Rampart station looking good. I’m assigned to ride along with a Senior Lead Officer (Community Relations Officer). He’s what I later referred to as a slug. We spend the first two hours running off fliers for a neighborhood watch meeting. I got a paper cut but decided not to tell my academy classmates I was injured on duty.

 

We spent another hours following catering trucks to high-rise buildings on Wilshire Boulevard. That was so he could hit on office secretaries. We ate lunch at a dive restaurant only because the meal was half price.

An LAPD no no!

 

After lunch, we’re driving down Wilshire Boulevard and my partner pulls over to the curb. He looks at me and says, “Get Out.” Oh crap, what have I done? He tells me I’m driving. Holy crap. I remind him I’m still in the academy; he laughs and tells me to drive. Cool. I get in and adjust the mirrors, seat, and cinch the seat belt down tight. I’m ready. I ask, “Where do you want me to drive?” He replies anywhere as long as it’s up and down Wilshire Boulevard real slow so I can look at the girls! I swore that I would never be that kind of a cop. He was later fired for using crime statistics to promote his own alarm business.

 

There are reasons that new officers don’t get to drive and I’m going to tell you some of them. The most important is survival! Every cop wants to go home at the end of his shift. The driver of a B/W often holds the life of both officers in his hands. An inexperienced driver can get both officers killed as well as innocent citizens. Trust me, there’s no glory in dying in a car crash that was your fault. 

 

article.wn.com police foundtn dev dr trng trackCops, especially young cops seem to have an invincible attitude or “that’s not going to happen to me.” You have to attend a few police officer funerals to see that you’re not Superman. There is no bigger shock than looking down at a dead police officer in his uniform in a casket. I made my probationers go to at least one cop funeral for that reason alone. Cops have a tendency to want to be the first on scene at a major incident so we drive faster and take more chances. Only with experience do we slow down. Having a family also helps.

 

After graduation, I’m sent to Hollywood Division, the “Entertainment Capital of the World.” I’m pretty proud: we’re driving down Hollywood Boulevard, it’s a Saturday night and the streets are packed. I even have bullets in my gun. I’m perfectly happy to be the passenger—for a while.

 

Next I’ll describe why rookies shouldn’t drive until they have out grown those academy t-shirts.  

–Hal

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Retirement part 2

By Hal Collier

 

In the last Ramblings I discussed being G.P. General Public. That just means that I don’t have an automatic source of information from my former employer because I retired. I’m still a cop and will be until I die!

 

I spent thirty-five years developing that cop sixth sense. My training and experience made me a product of my environment. I still sit with my back to a wall facing the door at restaurants. I still open doors with my left hand, leaving my gun hand free, although I’ll admit that I don’t carry my gun everywhere anymore.

 

I go shopping with my wife and I see shoplifters. I have gotten away from seeing blatant traffic violations and screaming, “Where’s a cop when you need him?” I can drive past a donut shop and not want to stop for a cup of coffee; I still don’t eat donuts. I’ll admit that I drink Starbucks coffee now with the sissy sleeve so you don’t burn your hand, but when I order coffee it’s still only one word, COFFEE.  No half this, half that and no squirts or splashes of anything else.

 

So, what does a retired cop do to pass the time, known as the “Golden Years?” It depends on the cop. Some retire after twenty years and take a second job. They get their smaller pension and collect a paycheck as well. I had lunch with a retired cop the other day and he was collecting four pensions. Twenty years with LAPD, and three other smaller pensions. Before you call some investigative news team, he earned every pension. .

 

Joseph Wambaugh author
Joseph Wambaugh author

Others spent thirty-five years with LAPD to draw a bigger pension and retire for good. Some higher-ranking officers retire from LAPD and become Chiefs of Police for other departments. Quite a few start their own businesses, usually police-related. Security, private investigation, personal bodyguard. Then there’s that strange group of officers who write books, following in the footsteps of Joseph Wambaugh.

 

A lot of cops retire and travel. They spend time with their spouses to make up for the time they missed while working. Sadly, some die within five years due to the stress and challenges of a difficult job. Many retired cops have disability pensions and others just have bad backs, worn-out knees, or post-traumatic stress. Yea, just like a war veteran.

I still have police dreams, you know the ones where your gun won’t fire, or you can’t run away from danger.

 

Some get divorced and their spouse takes half of their pension. So much for that long-range financial plan. Some care for an elderly parent or ill spouse.

 

The WigglesWhat do those that retire for good do? Some of us became childcare experts. Hopefully, not our own, but the grandkids. I have changed more diapers since I retired than I did when my own kids were toddlers. I have watched more Disney Channel shows than Walt ever did. I can sing the entire song, “Hot Potato,” from the Wiggles. I have bought large sets of Lego’s and Lincoln Logs, again!!! Who threw out my old sets and while I’m at it, where the hell are my baseball cards?

 

I have dressed a Bratz Doll with my granddaughter as well as armed Luke Skywalker with a light saber for my grandsons. Bus service, to and from school also includes stops at McDonald’s, Jamba Juice, and Burger King.

 

A lot of cops catch up on home repairs and some learn to cook, without a microwave oven. I mean cook, not BBQ. They just don’t have their own cooking shows, yet. Others garden and some do nothing but attend retirement lunches. More on retirement lunches later!

 

A large group can’t wait to get out of Los Angeles or California. Cops tend to move to areas that have life styles more conducive to the politics of cops. They also have a desire to save their pension checks from tax collectors in states that will double dip. Double dip means that some states will tax your pension, after California has already taxed it. Ouch!!!

 

imagesOM61YRFSRetired cops change after they retire. Some grow long hair or wild mustaches, most of us don’t shave everyday unless we want sex, which is not the priority it once was. I once was given spare change while standing in line at Taco Bell!! I guess I needed a shave and a haircut. What the hell, I ordered an extra taco. Retired cops don’t care about being politically correct anymore so be careful if you ask for their honest opinion. You’ll get it and a lecture as well.

 

A lot of retired cops fish, hunt and golf more than our spouses like, but then I have spent more time shopping than I ever did when I was on the job. Did I mention that I see crooks in every aisle of a store?

 

The first few years after retirement I would stop by the station where I spent thirty-three years and say hi to old partners. Later, I didn’t know anyone and they didn’t know me. Once some rookie cop wanted to direct me to the senior citizen building. Most retired cops will tell you they don’t miss the job but really miss the partners. Partners bond for life. I few years ago I attended a Hollywood reunion and after five minutes, old partners I hadn’t seen in a decade were my best friends again. The internet lets you stay connected.

 

A growing trend among retired cops is retirement reunions or monthly lunches. A group of cops living in a geographical area will meet once a month and have breakfast or lunch. Some groups meet every three or four months but have a three day party. Some meet in Las Vegas, Laughlin, Idaho, Montana, or Missouri. A lot meet in L.A. or surrounding counties once a month. Some will drive 50/60 miles for a meal with old cops. That police experience is a bond that never leaves you. It gives us a chance to tell those stories that our spouses don’t want to hear again. One story sparks a memory and then another story is told. The good thing about retired cops is that their memory has failed them and you can tell the same story every month.

 

Retirement is good but the road to get there was great.       Hal

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Retirement Ramblings, part 1

By Hal Collier

I retired from the Los Angeles Police Department in 2005, after thirty-five years as a street cop. I spent most of my time working Hollywood Division, the Entertainment Capital of the World. It was entertaining to say the least.

I worked with some of the best cops and a few of the worst cops in the world. Together we laughed and far too often, we cried. We attended more cop funerals than we should have and we often hid our emotions. That’s just the way cops deal with the job. Some think that all goes away when cops retire. WRONG.

From your first day of work, you start thinking about the time that you can retire. You envision living on a beach or in a mountain cabin, sipping cocktails as the sun sets. Well the truth is a little different. It’s still good, but just a little more realistic. Some are more likely to find themselves drinking a warm beer while sitting on a Barca lounger chair.

I seldom let my neighbors know what kind of work I did. Example, a neighbor once knocked on my door late one night to settle a dispute with her boyfriend. I told her to call the police. My department frowns on me doing police work in my pajamas. Now that I’m retired I still watch strangers in my neighborhood, but I don’t do police work anymore—at least not when I’m awake. Asleep, I still chase bad guys and once solved the Black Dahlia case. Unfortunately in the morning I couldn’t remember the answer.

G.P.

Shortly after retiring, I’m sitting in my Eagle Rock home and I hear some gunshots. Now I know the difference between gunshots and firecrackers. I also know the difference between an ambulance siren and a police car siren. When you pin on that badge and work for a period of time you become a cop for life. Taking off the badge for the last time does not stop the years of training and experience that cops developed.

LAPD Helo
LAPD Helo

I hear a lot of police sirens and soon the police helicopter is circling about six blocks east of my house. I know it’s something big. A different neighbor who knew I was a cop calls and asks, “what’s going on?” I tell her I’ll find out.

I live in Northeast Division and don’t know anyone in the Watch Commanders office who might know me, so I call the Hollywood Watch Commander. They can check the source of the call on the computer. I call the inside line and get the PSR, (Police Service Representative.) I’ve only been retired a few months but she doesn’t know me. I ID myself as a recently retired police officer from Hollywood and ask her about the shooting in Northeast. She tells me that she can’t give out that information to the G.P.

I ask who the Watch Commander is and she tells me. It’s a sergeant I worked with, he remembers me. Cool, I’m going to get the info. He refers me back to the PSR. She tells me again that since I’m retired, I’m GP and not entitled to the information on the shooting.

A few months earlier I was a sergeant and often the Watch Commander of one of the busiest Divisions in the city of Los Angeles. I made decisions that might cause me an early retirement, the departments choice not mine. Now I’m G.P.

I wasn’t familiar with the term G.P. so I asked what’s G.P.? She calmly and professionally told me your General Public!!! I knew that night that I was retired and no longer a cop. It was a hard pill to swallow. I discussed with my wife getting a tattoo “GP” but she objected.

Next I’ll discuss how cops deal with being “G.P.”

 

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

A Practical Joke

By Hal Collier

 

We had a captain who was a good guy. Not all street cops like or understand their captains. Captains are the ones who call an officer into his office and give him his penalty for some misconduct. Anyway this captain was liked by most cops and all supervisors. I thought he would appreciate a good practical joke. I had my wife, Terri, buy a “for sale” sign. I wrote on it “For Sale, Cheap, make an offer, I have to leave the country” I placed the sign on the captain’s police car, parked in the station parking lot. I used my probationer as a look out, even though he thought he would get fired. I even took a couple of pictures.

 

The Detective Lieutenant saw the sign, ripped it off and stormed into the captain’s office. The lieutenant wanted an investigation and wanted some cop to fry. The captain saw the humor and told the lieutenant to let it go. Whew, I might make retirement yet. I waited a few weeks, had the picture developed and placed in a small frame that Terri bought for me. I snuck into the captain’s office and placed the picture next to his family photos. Six months later the picture was still on his desk. Someone told me the picture was on his desk at his new assignment downtown.

See why he was liked?

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Ramblings by Hal

Tricks of the Trade, part two

By Hal Collier

fingerprint cardI’m amazed when I watch TV and see the CSI shows where they ID a suspect or dead body with a portable fingerprint machine. It’s tells them within minutes who the person is and what he’s been arrested for. I really marvel when they get DNA results on the same day and I don’t know if they even have face recognition systems. These are sure not available on the street cops’ level. I had to resort to different tactics to ID my suspects. Wanted people seldom carried any kind of ID and if they did, it was false.

As I said earlier, you arrest someone and then fill out a (FI) field Interview Card. You get as much information as possible so you can positively know who you’re dealing with. Nothing stings worse than booking a guy for a misdemeanor and watching him released the next day only to find out he was wanted in another state for killing a cop.

I thought I was pretty good but no one was better than Don Bleier. Don could find out the entire criminal history of anyone including politicians. By the way, never run a politician or movie star unless you have them in custody. It sends a red flag to government agencies. Run the President of the United States for warrants and you’ll be introduced to a whole new set of police officers who have lots of questions, maybe on a U.S. base in Cuba.

Anyway, Don could do wonders with the computer in identifying a crook. How many non-cop’s know that your Social Security Number shows what state you signed up for a SS # or now days where you were born. If a suspect gives you a SS# from a state he’s claims he’s never been in, it’s a clue he’s lying.

imagesSE4FARGHI resorted to tricks when I hit a dead end. I had a suspect who I knew was lying but I just couldn’t ID him. I’d go into the burn box (shredder box) in records and pull out five feet of old printouts. I’d open the holding tank door and let the five feet of connected print out fall and say, “Well.” I’d tell my suspect that he had one last chance to come clean or I’d add lying to a police officer to his charges. Believe it or not, two out of three suspects would give me their true name and DOB. Remember I wasn’t dealing with the top of the food chain. After a while, I became known as the “Well” officer at Hollywood.

Another time I tried ‘Well” and my suspect didn’t flinch. I told him that it didn’t matter that he was going to be extradited to Texas on a murder warrant. I mentioned that Texas not only has a death penalty but they actually use it. Surprise, he gave up his real name faster than I could write it down.

handcuffed manI once had a suspect who gave me his name, DOB, prison ID (CDC) number. Everything checked out and when I printed out his rap sheet, I read the last entry. It said, “Deceased in Prison!” He looked pretty good for a dead person. My suspect admitted that he had memorized his former cellmate’s information. He confessed and gave me his true name; he was wanted for a parole violation. Another trick was to run the home address of your suspect for warrants. That will show you all the warrants filed at that address. Hint: never run 226 S. Main St LA. That’s the Union Rescue Mission downtown and will kick out warrants for hours on your computer. Most homeless people use that address when arrested or given a ticket.

One last story, I had a suspect who I couldn’t ID. I was about to release him when another officer walked in the back door of the police station and said hi to my suspect by a name I wasn’t familiar with. That officer knew my suspect very well and gave me all his names and that he was wanted! Luck also pays off.

Matching wits with the criminal element was easy for the most part but every once on a while you lose. It was many of the games cops and robbers play to find the truth.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Tricks of the Trade

By Hal Collier

Ah, the computer age! Most people my age were dragged into the computer age kicking and screaming. We used telephones with wires attached to the wall and rotary dials, in some cases with a party line. We watched TV and got the signal from an antenna on the roof. TV was only in one room and you watched what your father watched. If the channel needed changing the youngest member of the household got up and turned the dial, which was me. Later you could listen to the radio on something called a transistor radio. Life was good.

 

I didn’t own anything close to a computer when I joined the Los Angeles Police Department in 1970. I believe that computers back then were the size of a Volkswagen. I breezed through the 5 months of the police academy. 

 

Ha, some said that the Marine Corps boot camp was easier than the police academy. Any way, you graduate and go to your division and your first day or maybe second you make an arrest. Your partner says run our suspect for warrants and get his Rap Sheet (arrest record). 

 

old computerIn the real old days, you picked up the can with the string and called R&I (Records & Identification) and you gave them the personal information that your lying suspect gave you: Name, DOB, Social Security #, AKA’s. The lovely lady on the other end of the string would hand search and pull your arrestee’s rap sheet. She would then tell you if your arrestee had any outstanding warrants. Later they installed computers in station records and you could check for yourself. All you had to do was learn how to use the computer!

 

As I said, I’m not the most tech guy to evolve. Hell, I didn’t get a cell phone until the late 90’s, long after they were the size of a brick.I believe the phrase “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, teach a man how to catch fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” Well I got a sweet record clerk to teach me how to run my own suspects for their Rap Sheet. After a while, I got good. Later I was teaching other officers including my probationers. After that, computers improved where you didn’t have to have warrants teletyped to the station on an antique machine developed during WW II.  They called me a dinosaur!

 

MAn-in-handcuffs-007After years, you’d learn some tricks not only with the computer but with your suspects. When you arrest some lying dirt bag, you fill out a Field Interview (FI) card. It’s more important than you think. A simple question like, how do you spell your first name, Stephen or Steven? A simple misspelling can show no warrants. I once was filling out a FI card and asked my suspect to spell his last name. He couldn’t. I was always suspicious and knew this guy was lying. O of course he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Hey dummy, don’t make up a name you can’t spell! Another trick was to ask him his name and DOB 10 minutes later.  He’ll forget what he told you the first time. Sometimes it was too easy.

 

Another trick: most Hispanics take both their fathers and mothers name. Example:  Carlos Lopez Garcia, Lopez was his mother’s name and Garcia was his father’s name. Some misguided individuals would interchange mothers name and fathers name when getting a ticket or being arrested. I learned to check him for outstanding warrants using Lopez as a last name and then Garcia as a last name.

 

These tricks worked with some but it wasn’t foolproof. They also changed their date of birth (DOB) as often as a test pilot changes his underwear. I have arrested some individuals who had used dozens of DOB’s. If you thought you had a big fish, you ran your suspect with all his names and DOB’s.  It was time consuming.

 

Another alternative was to fingerprint your suspect and drive downtown to Records & Identification, (R&I). You had a clerk classify the prints then hand search and compare your prints. Then you had to re-run your suspect for warrants. This sometimes took half your watch so you were very careful who you took down this long road.

 

Bill Barren and I were partners when the Watch Commander in roll call said first felony arrest goes home! Another variation of this was first gun goes home. So if you recovered a gun on a suspect after booking him you went home. Going home was cool but I was working morning watch and going home at 4 AM was not much of a thrill. The bars were closed, the Taco Trucks have closed up, and walking into your house early could get you shot by a nervous wife. 

 

So Bill and I know a Transvestite, “Big Mama” who has a felony warrant. We know where “Big Mama, a 250 lb. transvestite, hangs out. We skip coffee and find “Big Mama” within 30 minutes. “Big Mama” had been around the block a few times. Ok, he’d had a street named after him. He had used a couple dozen names and DOB’s. It took Bill and I hours to find his felony warrant running all the names and DOB combinations. If we get him booked right away we’ll still get off a couple of hours early.

 

booking at medicalNot going to happen, “Big Mama” has some sort of medical condition. He needs to see a doctor and be booked downtown. We race downtown and get in line at the jail dispensary. Were number six in line behind two drunks and three motorcops who have DUI suspects. Another hour, and we get the “ok” to book “Big Mama”. “Big Mama” is placed in a cell and we head back to Hollywood. It’s been light outside for 2 hours and were not going home early. 

 

Next I’ll describe some of the other tricks I used to get their real name and DOB.  Hal