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

Police Burglars, epilog

by Hal Collier

Epilog to the Hollywood Police Burglar scandal:

After the smoke cleared and believe me this took years, I pieced together the following events of the Hollywood Burglaries. Ron Venegas made a deal and cooperated with investigators. He resigned from the LAPD and last I heard he was driving a truck for the movie studios. He was sentenced to probation and never did any jail time. Jack Myers died in an automobile accident shortly after his arrest. It was ruled accidental, most speculated he committed suicide or was run off the road by an unknown officer to silence him.

Twelve officers and supervisors were either charged criminally or administratively. One sergeant was actually tried in court. The judge found him not guilty. The only evidence was Venegas’s statements and the Judge said, “Venegas is an admitted criminal and I wouldn’t believe him if he said the sun will rise in the morning.” All resigned and were never charged, one other officer got probation. Those of us left behind were on probation for decades. In an earlier Ramblings, I described ugly partners who tarnished the badge. There wasn’t enough Brasso to clean my badge because of these officers.

Venegas, Myers and others were responsible for over 100 Hollywood business burglaries. Some resulted from taking property after a business was already broken into and others they went “shopping.” Shopping involved businesses that had something the officers wanted. The officers carried a slingshot and marbles. They would smash out a window and wait for the alarm call. They would then request backup officers to search the premises for suspects. When the uninvolved officers left, they would take whatever they needed.

Some of the businesses they broke into baffled me. Lido Cleaners, where we all cleaned our uniforms! They broke into the cleaners a couple of times. They not only took cash but their clean uniforms. Some of businesses were video stores and they took video players and video discs. They broke into a couple of pharmacies and took prescription drugs. Hardware stores, auto repair shops for batteries or tools. Strange but IA couldn’t find out if they sold anything or pawned it. A lot of the stolen property was piled up in their garages.

In an odd twist, one sergeant was suspected of being a burglar and his house was searched. Nothing was found and Internal Affairs returned a month later and wanted to search again. They didn’t have a search warrant and ordered the sergeant to give up his civil rights. The sergeant sued the department and won a million dollar settlement. We all have to play by the rules!

One of the officers was rumored to be involved with a prostitute on the west side. She was later found dead in a motel. Last I heard her murder is still unsolved!

All supervisors were transferred out of Hollywood. Captains, lieutenants, sergeants, even if you’d never supervised the involved officers. The department was cleaning house! To some, it was a blessing. Hollywood was not a fun place to work anymore. Most were given the division of their choice, closer to home. Of course, in their new division they were looked upon as guilty, just not caught. Think about it, you transferred out all the supervisors, now you have to replace them. We get a bunch of new Hollywood sergeants, who probably don’t want to work in a slowly decaying division. I’m wondering who to trust and I’m questioning my own judgments on a person’s character. The new Captain, Bob Smitson and my Lieutenant, Tom Elfmont, were hand-picked by the chief to clean up Hollywood Division.

I remember one sergeant, Doug Campbell, who befriended me. He seemed like a good guy, but I’ve been burned and not very trusting. Doug turned out to be a great guy, a good street cop in sergeants stripes, and still my friend today. He made the transition much easier.

Last few paragraphs, I promise. The Department’s conclusion was that poor supervision led to the burglaries. That’s partly true since a few supervisors were involved in the thefts. It was also suggested that some of the officers, although not involved, should have known. As I said before I was looking for burglars, I just wasn’t looking in my own yard! I have received many responses from former Hollywood officers. They saw patterns after the arrests that might have made us more suspicious of our co-workers.

Most of the involved officers moved on with their lives and put their past behind them. I’d hear that so and so was working for this company and doing fine. I once was told that Ron Venegas was at a movie shoot in Hollywood, and asked if I wanted to see him. Now, Ron and I had been friends but I had nothing to say to him now.

I thought I was over the scandal when I attended a Department school for Watch Commanders. It was 1996, fifteen years after the scandal. I sat quietly in the back row of the class—I got there early. In the front of the classroom, this young sergeant was talking about police corruption and the Hollywood Scandal. I let him finish and when he asked for comments, I jumped up. I’d been silent for too long. There were two sides to this story and he was only telling the command staff’s side. I was there and this sergeant was still in High School when it occurred. After I vented, I sat down. A couple of old timers approached me at the break and thanked me for speaking up, but I still carry the scars of betrayal three decades later.

Lt. Dan Cook, LAPD spokesman at the time said, “We’ll recover from it but we’ll never forget it.” I’m not sure I’ll ever recover or forget.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Police Burglars, part 3 of 3

This post is part 3 of 3. Oh, except for the epilogue, which will be posted tomorrow. Because the end of this series is so lengthy, I’ve split it in two. For police personnel or civilian, Hal’s take on this scandal is worth reading. He was in the trenches and sadly, is still feeling the betrayal three decades old. –Thonie

 

By Hal Collier
My first Ramblings on the Hollywood Burglary Scandal dealt with a rash of business burglaries that occurred in Hollywood, most on my shift. My second Ramblings described the arrest of Venegas and Myers and how they were caught.

This Ramblings will describe the aftermath and the effect it had on not only me but the entire LAPD. This might take a few pages so get yourself your favorite beverage and sit back. Again, these are my observations and any resemblance to the opinions of the Los Angeles Police Department is purely coincidental. I’m already getting opinions and theories from other Hollywood officers who have read my first Ramblings.

So here goes:
The next night I go to work wondering what to expect. Venegas and Myers have been relieved of duty and we were told an investigation into their activities had been started.

Nothing earth shattering there. The rumors started and the dumb questions were asked. Is anyone else involved? Cops on other watches, some former partners would ask, “Do you have a Video Recorder for sale.” Not funny after the 50th time. Another officer and close friend asks, “Hal, did you know?” That question hurt. Maybe it was just me but it seemed like I was being watched and under suspicion by everyone. Supervisors showed up at more of my calls. I was beginning to spend a lot of time looking over my shoulder.

After a few weeks things seemed to calm down, then another officer was taken out of the field and assigned to the desk. A week later he was relieved of duty. Then another two officers were assigned to the desk. They also were relieved of duty. The Hollywood desk was getting crowded.

One night I showed up for work and see that I’m working the desk. I ask the Watch Commander if I was I being investigated. He assures me, “No, it’s just that were running short of officers.” All night I’m at the desk and I hear, “Oh, Hal, not you too.”

Some of rumors were beautiful, some we made up ourselves. It was common knowledge that one of the involved parties was cooperating with Internal Affairs Investigators. That’s fine as long as the person is truthful. What if he has a grudge against an officer? It could ruin an officer’s career.

In 1981, there was a cowboy craze throughout America. A lot of cops were wearing cowboy boots, hats and big belt buckles. Yea, I even had them. One day this officer comes up to me at change of watch. He says, “Hal, I hear they searched everyone’s house.” I was tired of the rumors. I said, “Yea, they took all my boots, belt buckles and my favorite cowboy hat.” It spread like wildfire, before I got changed to go home it was all over the station. I still have that cowboy hat!

Another rumor that was going around was that Morning Watch Officers would meet after work and divide the stolen property. We were also rumored to have prostitutes at after work bull sessions. After relieving so many officers, the department had to replace them. Any new officer was immediately believed to be a department plant to get information on us. You need to trust your partner, not be suspicious of him.

Those of us still left, became paranoid. I remember one day I’m on a day off and sitting in my kitchen. My wife yells at me, “Hal, Internal Affairs is across the street and they’re looking at our house.” I look out the window and sure enough that’s a four-door plain police car with two plain suit detectives. I don’t care if they have a search warrant, but I’m wondering did we make the bed this morning. I’ll plead innocent to the kid’s bedroom, I don’t know what’s in there. I watch them for a while and discover they are looking at the house next door which has a for sale sign. They are shopping on duty. Ok, now my wife and I are both ready for those long sleeve coats with the buckles that fasten in the back.

After a while, the interviews started. I.A. would show up at the station and just like the enemy, they attacked at dawn. They would bring in an officer, sit him down and ask him questions about radio calls he had been at months or even a year ago. Who was there, what did you do, what did you see, do you own any of these items? Hell, a year ago? I have my name and address in my underwear. You would think that they would ask all their questions one time and they would be through. Ha, every officer they interviewed gave them some information they didn’t know about and they would have to ask each officer about that incident. As near as I can remember, I had six separate interviews. They always said I wasn’t a suspect but I sure felt like “a person of interest” like they mention in the news.

After a round of interviews, new rumors would fill the station halls. Cops can spread rumors faster than TMZ! Soon, I’d get calls from friends in other divisions who heard the rumors. It became hard to avoid the distractions.

See Just the Facts, Ma’am/Ramblings tomorrow for the epilog to this story.

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Ramblings by Hal

Police Burglars, Part 2 of 3

By Hal Collier

 

December 7, 1981. It was a Monday and I had the day off, which meant I spent the night in my own bed. I could live like a regular person for another day. Sleep at night; eat breakfast as the sun rose. I don’t remember what the weather was but it was about to cloud up and rain all over me for years.

 

My kids are getting ready for school when the phone rings. It’s Randy Witkamp a morning watch partner. Randy says, “Big things happening at Hollywood Station.”

 

“Ok, Randy what’s up?”

 

Randy says that Venegas and Myers were arrested by I.A. (Internal Affairs) for committing a burglary at a video store on Melrose Avenue. “On duty,” he said.

 

Now, I suspected that Venegas and Myers were goofing off (sleeping) at times and there was a rumor that they attended a party on duty in the Hollywood Hills. But committing a burglary? Come on, we’re cops. We stop crime, we don’t commit crimes!  At the time, I didn’t comprehend how this would affect me for years.

 

burglaryThe arrest went down something like this. A video store on Melrose had its alarm activated and Venegas and Myers responded. In 1981, video players cost over $1,000 each and the DVD’s were big disks, too expensive for most cops. I couldn’t afford one for years; my daughter needed braces.

 

The business back door had been pried open and money was lying about inside. The building was searched by backup Hollywood officers for possible suspects. A suspect wasn’t found so the other officers left Venegas and Myers at the store to await the owner and complete the crime report. That is standard procedure.

 

photo by laweekly
photo by laweekly

After completing the report, Venegas and Myers drove off.  They were stopped a short distance later and arrested. One of the officers had money in his pocket and another had a sling shot with marbles!? The money was covered in a powder that shows up under a black light. The money had been planted by I.A. All Hollywood officers working that night were checked for that powder residue.

 

Ok, I never had an opportunity to read the official file on the Hollywood Burglary scandal. What I’m about to tell you is what I’ve pieced together, from numerous interviews by I.A., talking with supervisors and other Hollywood cops. Some were rumors. I’ve been putting the puzzle together for decades; I think it’s pretty accurate.

 

The investigation began at the Canadian Border. Greg Cullins, an LAPD cop, and friend of Venegas and Myers was arrested trying to drive a stolen car across the border. As with most crooks, Cullins offered to give information about some corrupt LA cops for immunity or a lesser sentence. The FBI wanted to handle the investigation but then Police Chief Daryl Gates, said, “No, we’ll clean our own house.”

 

The arrest of Venegas and Myers was not the first attempt at a sting to catch the crooked cops by I.A. I unknowingly screwed up one attempt. As I said in my earlier Ramblings, I was trying to catch the burglars. Little did I know that I was sitting next to them in Roll Call!

 

Here’s what happened: An alarm is broadcast at Hollywood Sporting Goods on Hollywood Boulevard. It’s my area and I’m close. I arrive first and see that there’s a broken front window. It’s looks like someone threw a rock through it. It’s not big enough for anyone to enter and too far away from the display items to take anything. I request the owner to respond and secure the business. A few minutes later Venegas and Myers drive up. I tell them I already have the owner enroute and my probationer has started the report. They tell me they have other calls, so I tell them I’ll handle this call. My probationer needs some practice taking reports. They drive off and I sit awaiting the owner.

 

I’m sitting in my car outside the business waiting for the owner. After about thirty minutes I ask Communications if the owner has an ETA? I’m told to stand by. About 10 minutes later, I’m told to clear the scene, the owner is not responding! I’m thinking, you want me to leave a business unsecured? I verify they want me to leave, they said “yes.” I’ve never heard of that but I don’t want to waste the night sitting outside a business when I’ve got a burglar to catch.

 

After Venegas and Myers are arrested a light comes on in my small brain. I screwed up an I.A. sting! That’s right I.A. smashed the window and waited for corrupt cops to steal property. They just caught the wrong cop, me. I later heard that I.A. was watching me the whole time and they cleared me as one of the burglars. On another sting attempt, I.A. watched two real burglars break into a business.  They were arrested after leaving Hollywood Division.

 

MAn-in-handcuffs-007You might think the arrest of Venegas and Myers was the end of my story, actually it’s just the beginning.

 

Next the aftermath of the their ARREST.   Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Police Burglars, part one

By Hal Collier
December 7. A day that will live in infamy! No, not that fateful day in 1941 but that day in 1981. I know what you’re saying, Hal has lost his mind, nothing eventful happened on December 7, 1981. Well, it did for me and all LAPD cops. That was the day that Jack Myers and Ron Venegas, LAPD cops, were arrested for committing burglaries on duty in uniform in Hollywood.

This Ramblings has taken a long time to write and I still find it hard to talk about it 3 decades later. This was as personnel as losing a partner and attending his funeral. I still feel the pain.

Ok, a little background. As you probably know by now, I worked Hollywood Patrol for 33 years of my career. I took pride in my being a LAPD cop and Hollywood being one of the best police divisions. I busted my butt to keep crime down and earn the respect of the citizens who paid my salary.

I also had a lot of fun and many days I couldn’t believe that they were paying me. If you didn’t have fun in this job you were doing it wrong and headed for one of those coats with long sleeves that tied in the back!

The following opinions are mine alone and certainly differ from those of the LAPD Command Staff. I was there. It happened all around me and I didn’t need a blue ribbon panel to tell me how it happened. That is, after it was discovered.

First, let me give you my opinion of the two main players. Jack Myers was a senior officer. I wasn’t fond of Jack and didn’t care for his style of police work. Ron Venegas was a very likable officer and popular among the Morning Watch Officers and Supervisors. Jack and Ron both played softball with the watch in Griffith Park on Sundays mornings. I knew Ron’s wife and kids by name and even attended a Christmas party at Ron’s house.

As I related earlier I was working a Morning Watch Foot Beat when the watch commander told me that they were disbanding the foot beat to make room for a new Burglary Alarm car. It was called the “Code 30” car. They would respond to all burglary alarms, of which in Hollywood there were many. The officers picked were Jack Myers and Ron Venegas. I’m guessing that sometime down the road the LAPD found that decision a major disaster. Venegas and Myers were close friends who both lived in Simi Valley. They worked movie jobs off duty together and I’ll bet they considered themselves good partners!

I was assigned back to my patrol car and my area was Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards with most of the major Hollywood businesses. I began to notice an increase in business burglaries in my area. I was an addict of reading the Daily Occurrence or D/O sheet. The D/O sheet listed all the crimes that occurred the day prior. I paid particular attention to crimes in my area and looked for patterns that might lead to an arrest.

So every day I’d sit in roll call and ignore the Watch Commanders speech on how the brass was going to make my job easier and study the D/O sheet. I raced to every business burglar alarm call in my area. I drove down dark alleys with lights out. Sometimes I’d park and just listen for the sound of breaking glass. I was getting frustrated and my watch commander was wondering what I was doing all night. There has to be a clue that I’m missing!

I once took a report at Lido Cleaners, a dry cleaners, where most of Hollywood Division and I had their uniforms cleaned. They were the victim of a burglary and cash was taken. Ok, this is getting personal.

I don’t know when the burglaries started but I’ll never forget the day they ended. Part 2, I’ll talk about the aftermath of those arrests. Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Bits and Pieces

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. 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, does it have gas, does it have a half-eaten Pinks Chili dog with jalapenos 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 25-pound equipment bag. Dale’s 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 sees 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. Now, 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, so 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 desk 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.

 

At 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 twelve-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—it’s sharp”. Twenty seconds later, Billy asks, “Hal do you have a bandage?”

Yea, I had bandages too.

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Ramblings by Hal

Partners, part 2 — the good ones

By Hal Collier

In my last Ramblings, I described the bad partners I worked with. Most were probationers and you might think that I didn’t like newbies. Actually, it was just the opposite.

 

St Cloud Police outlook.stcloudstate.edu
St Cloud Police
outlook.stcloudstate.edu

Training a probationer was a lot like watching your own child grow up. You nurse them, teach them, and often laugh at the mistakes they make. Some learned to walk faster than others. Some days you’re frustrated and ready to give up, then you see the light come on in their head and you know they’ll be ok. Think potty training. You coax them along then send them out into the real world hoping for the best. When you really care, you worry.

 

As I have said, I probably trained over 100 probationers and most made it through an entire career, a few resigned in lieu of being fired. There were ones who became your boss. You bragged how you trained them. Thank goodness they didn’t hate me. If I named each good partner I worked with, it would take up pages.

 

What is a good partner? That’s a loaded question! Is it someone you have a lot in common with? Now, I loved partners who had nothing in common with my interests. He/She didn’t like sports, He/She didn’t like hunting, He/She was a Democrat or Republican. Some came from rich families and others lived paycheck to paycheck. And yes, some even had a lot of education.

 

Bill Barren (RIP) was a good partner. He loved Ohio State, I loved USC; he hated the outdoors, I loved camping and fishing; but when we pinned on those badges, we were as close as twins. Dale Hickerson another great partner. We have fished, hunted, and watched each other’s kids grow up. At times, it was as if we were an old married couple. Dave Balleweg another great partner wasn’t into playing sports like I was, but we have remained close even when he moved to Oklahoma. There are dozens more I could name including supervisors but I don’t have enough space.

 

UC Davis Police Department police.ucdavis.edu
UC Davis Police Department police.ucdavis.edu

 

Good supervisors:  I had many and I often tried to copy them when I became a supervisor. So, what does a patrol cop look for in a good supervisor? A supervisor who cares more about his officers than his next promotion; a supervisor who shows up at your call and lets you handle it. They’ll save you from making career ending-decisions. They’ll offer advice when asked but don’t butt in and screw up the situation you had calmed down. I once had a neighbor dispute almost handled. My sergeant showed up and escalated the incident which later found me in civil court on the wrong side of a lawsuit. I won but what a headache.

 

Some of my favorite sergeants, Gil Jones, Terry Seagraves and Roger Jackson would show up stand back and let me handle the incident. They offered advice based on their extensive field experience. These sergeants were more concerned with doing good police work than impressing the chief. Some days, when I was the Watch Commander and I was ready to retire, I would walk into Mike Diaz’ office and close the door. Mike would let me vent, pat me on the back, and then send me back into battle.

 

I had other supervisors who had no field experience; we called them “Building Boys.” Some had trouble finding Hollywood Boulevard even though you could see it from the front door of the police station. I had one brand new sergeant show up at one of my calls and when confronted with a decision, requested another sergeant to decide how to proceed. Jeez.

 

Some partners you just bond with. There’s a chemistry, somewhat like being married. You can finish each other’s sentences, know what he/she is thinking and spend hours together and never be at a loss for words. Craig Bushy knew when his partner, Randy Walker, was losing patience. He would take off his glasses and set them on the hood of the police car. Luckily, when you divorce from these partners, you don’t lose half your pension.

 

A good partner is someone you put your trust in, even more importantly–your life. Often, before going to your family, you confide in a good partner and listen to his/her advice. A good partner is someone who can make you laugh, even when you ready to cry and believe me there are times you’re ready to give it all up. The stress can kill you if you don’t laugh.

 

OB-policemen-0022So, what’s the clue? Hell, I don’t know. But when you spend a few hours together, you’ll know. I had many good partners who I hunted and fished with and a few who (outside of police work) I had nothing in common with. When working with a good partner, you looked forward to going to work. Even if you got all the crap calls that night, you still had fun. You just knew that it was going to be good shift.

 

The good partners let you forget the bad partners and allowed me to spend 35 years on the LAPD. Good partners were gold and made the job fun; I miss the good ones and still have nightmares about the bad ones.

 

FYI more than half the people who I sent this to were considered good partners. Thanks-Hal

[editor’s note: this last paragraph refers to those on Hal’s email list. This is how he first disseminated his Ramblings. You know who you are and you should be proud–Thonie] 

 

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Partners, part 1 “the bad”

 

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true. After 35 years of working patrol, I have been exposed to a variety of partners. Some were rookies, some became your close friends, some were your immediate supervisors, and some were the captains of your station. Some were “good,” some were “bad,” and some were just plain “ugly.”

 

Dallas police partners
Dallas police partners

I read in the paper recently where the L.A. Sheriff’s Department has a program where they rate their leaders, anonymously of course. Some of their quotes were amusing and some probably true. I’ll pass on a few.

 

“I wouldn’t follow him to a free buffet lunch.” “I wouldn’t follow him out of a burning building.” “He couldn’t lead a sing along.” “He couldn’t inspire a flea to jump.” He plays favorites like a DJ at the VFW.”   “Couldn’t make a decision if he had a pocket full of quarters.” OK, the last two were mine.

 

In some business environments, you work around a co-employee. If you’re talking about a patrol partner, you spend eight hours or now days, ten to twelve hours in a car with your partner. After a few days working with the same person, you know everything about them. Their financial situation, how their marriage is working out, and yes, even their sexual history. You know their kids and their wife’s/husband’s names and in some cases, you know her menstrual cycle, like it or not. Partners become very close, or bond as they say. Some are easier to bond with than others.

 

I’m going to break down partners into four categories. Those partners you work directly with, those who you supervise, or who supervise you and your commanding officers (if you’re lucky they don’t even know your name).

 

First, I’ll talk about probationers, or rookies to my non-police friends. Probationers graduate from the police academy, wide-eyed, and ready to save the world. They are going to turn prostitutes away from a decadent sex life into the adults their parents hoped they would become. Drug addicts will turn into health freaks, and bums into productive members of society. After their first month in patrol, their balloon has burst or you hope they have come to their senses. Cops deal with the shallow gene pool of humanity and our short interaction won’t change their lifestyle.

 

In the early days, the training officer probably told them the first day, “Forget everything they taught you in the academy, I’ll teach you the right way!” That means search and seizure rules went out the window. It’s the way you write the arrest report and laws of arrest are a little stretched. If force was used, it depends on how many independent witnesses were present, if it was excessive. Your first day or night, you talk about an hour to get to know your probationer.

 

The first question you ask is, “Is your gun loaded?” Don’t laugh, some forget or think they’re still in the academy. One real story goes like this. The officers are enroute to a shooting in progress call and the training officer is advising his brand new partner to be careful and stick close to me. The probationer turns to his training officer and asks, “Should I load my gun now?” Never mind, we’ll get coffee first! Don’t laugh, it happens. I’ve had partners with college degrees but not a lick of common sense.

 

Some partners had the same views and values that you have. You could spend six hours on a stakeout and never be at a loss for words. Then again, I once spent three hours with a probationer who didn’t say a word. No kidding, not a word, for three hours. We didn’t have much in common, I liked John Wayne and she liked sci-fi movies. She didn’t even get out of the car for coffee.

 

I’ll start out with the bad and in some cases, they were also ugly. You’ll see. I was blessed with some very good probationers which I’ll talk about in later Ramblings. One of the bad probationers didn’t seem suited for police work. I was looking for a common bond to talk about and I asked him his hobbies. I said, “I hunt, do you hunt?” He replied, “No, I don’t think I could kill anything!” Stop the car!!! A lot of cops don’t believe in hunting but do I want to work with a partner who might have reservations about using his gun to save a life, maybe mine?

 

Exeter PD rookie nbcnews.com
Exeter PD rookie
nbcnews.com

Part of the training program is letting the probationer drive. Driving a police car is more than just driving down the street. Officer safety is very important to his partner who is looking forward to retiring alive. Probationers have a tendency to park right in front of the location of a man with a gun, or they will look for a legal parking spot. They often park next to a trashcan, mailbox, or fire hydrant so the passenger can’t get the car door open.

 

I had one probationer who thought that red lights were for non-cops. I let him drive twice and both times, I took the car keys away from him. He kept driving through major intersections against the red light figuring that no one would hit a police car. I once supervised a probationer who had never driven a car. He lived in New York and always took a taxicab. I watched his training officer’s hair turn grey. We had a few female probationers who weren’t use to driving big four-door cars with a powerful engine. We didn’t have any two-door police equipped BMW’s.

 

Florida police partners photo by policeone.com
Florida police partners photo by policeone.com

The worst probationer I had was Jeff. Jeff was a graduate from USC and thought that being a cop would be fun. Jeff couldn’t write a sentence without help. No, he wasn’t an athlete. He told me that he paid someone to write all his college papers. I thought that was strange because Jeff was the cheapest cop I ever met.

 

We were eating at Denny’s one morning and I just had coffee, Jeff had steak and eggs. Jeff wanted to split the bill down the middle. Another time Jeff and his partner walked into a restaurant to eat and spotted a wanted burglar sitting at the counter. The whole watch was looking for this crook. They grabbed him and Jeff objected. He wanted his half price meal instead.

 

The worst trait about Jeff was that he was a coward. Yep, Jeff wanted to wear the uniform and collect the paycheck but didn’t want any of the danger that came with the badge.

 

We had a “man with a gun” radio call and the witness told us the armed suspect went into a parking lot. Jeff and I were to go down one side of the parking lot and two other officers were to check the other side. We started searching the parking lot. I was in the lead after about thirty yards I looked back, Jeff was still out on the sidewalk hiding behind a building. I motioned for Jeff to join me; he refused and said it was too dangerous!

 

Another time Jeff and his partner got into a pursuit. The suspect’s vehicle crashed and the driver fled on foot. Jeff’s partner chased and caught the suspect. He looked around and no Jeff. The partner walked back to the police car and there was Jeff. Jeff said he was guarding the police car! Jeff was asked to leave the LAPD.

 

I had another probationer, Tom, a nice enough guy, but he use to sit at code-7 (meal break) and tell me he had the next day off. He would ask me if he should get drunk and go to bed or sleep then get up and get drunk. I sent Tom AA cards for years after we worked together. Another time, he informed me that he went to a Doobie Brothers concert in Santa Barbara instead of sleeping. Tom asked me if we could coast tonight. I told Tom that if I caught him with his eyes closed, I’d send him home. He’s my back up. Am I hard ass or just a music critic? Come on—the Doobie Brothers!!

 

During the height of affirmative action hiring, I had a probationer who had no common sense and couldn’t make a decision. We once were given a bag of possible narcotics to book. He took custody of the bag and then informed me that he had gotten some of the powder on his hand and had touched his lips! I told him that if he started acting strange, I might have to shoot him.  I hope he’s now working as a Wal-Mart greeter.

 

Some thought my hair loss was hereditary. I think it was probationers. We all learned the hard way.

 

Next I’ll describe some of the best, or good, partners I worked with or for.     Hal

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Prostitutes, part 5 of a trilogy

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true to the best of my memory, but then I’m beginning to write my name and address in my underwear. Now, if I would just remember to wear underwear.

 

I never worked Vice or PED (Prostitution Enforcement Detail) but I did spend a lot of time, pissing in the wind, trying to stem the flow of untaxed prostitution.

 

I was working the best job I would ever have on the LAPD.  I was walking a foot beat on Hollywood Boulevard.  I still laugh when some supervisor on a cop show threatens to send a cop back to pounding a foot beat.  Anyway, I’m working a morning watch foot beat assignment on Hollywood Boulevard.  A morning watch foot beat is unheard of in other divisions.  That’s right 11:30 P.M. to 7 A.M.  Anyway, I got a handle on the drag queen problem—they’re all working east of Vine.

 

My lieutenant says “Hal, the whores on Sunset are out of control and Vice can’t work all night. I want your foot beat to go down to Sunset and give them some attention.”  Uh oh, I’m going to need another recipe box.  PED hadn’t been invented and Public Nuisance laws hadn’t been enacted.  Anybody who knows the law, knows that uniformed police officers don’t make arrests for prostitution.  Only a Darwin Award candidate would go up to a uniformed cop

Here is a picture of Jim Tomer, a partner of mine. He was giving a traffic ticket to a soiled dove in Hollywood. Hal
Here is a picture of Jim Tomer, a partner of mine. He was giving a traffic ticket to a soiled dove in Hollywood.
Hal

and offer a sex act for a specific amount of money.  So, all I could do was write them tickets or book them for the tickets that I wrote them and they didn’t pay for. The circle of a Hollywood cop’s life.

 

So, Randy Witkamp, my partner at the time, and I headed down to Sunset.  We began filling up a recipe box with a whole new circle of friends.  Mud Ducks from the East side and the more attractive and expensive girls from the west end.  I knew they were girls, because if you remember, [see post from May 3] I’m a department expert on drag queens.

 

We immediately encountered one girl at Sunset and La Brea.  Her name was Bobbie XXXXXX. I remember her last name but she’s probably a member of some city employees staff and I can’t afford a civil suit.  Bobbie was attractive, smart and only dated regular customers.  Vice had a hard time arresting her. I think she actually graduated from college; her brother went to UCLA and played football.  Any way Bobbie had a bad attitude toward the police and we became her new favorite nemesis.  Randy and I would drive down Sunset, right after stopping at Limelight Liquor for sunflower seeds and cigars.

 

If we saw Bobbie, we would park right in front of her.  Bobbie always paid her tickets so all we could do was put her out of business.   Bobbie once told me she makes a $1,000 a week, tax free.  I was making about a $1,000 a month, before taxes.  So we would sit in our car and Bobbie was put out of work for the night.  Because we didn’t have to respond to radio calls we could sit for an hour at a time.  One night we brought a thermos of coffee, pulled up in front of Bobbie poured ourselves a cup and sat back drinking coffee and eating sunflower seeds.

 

Taxi and prosBobbie said something about a waste of tax payers dollars and jumped into a taxi cab.  She’s not paying taxes so who cares.  We followed her southbound Hollywood Freeway to southbound Harbor Freeway.  The taxi exited at Century Boulevard and so did we.  We got back on the freeway and stopped at PAB and topped off our gas tank.  We got back to Sunset and La Brea just as Bobbie was getting out of the taxi. We made sure that Bobbie didn’t make any money that night.

 

One night we were sitting in front of Bobbie when we heard this car speeding northbound La Brea. It was a van and it sped right through the red light at about 60 mph.  Randy and I looked at each other as another car somewhat slowed and ran through the same red light.  This has to be better than watching Bobbie give us the finger.  We turned northbound and followed the two cars.  They both ran the red light at Hollywood Boulevard and again at Franklin Avenue.  We hear a horrendous crash.  The van was still going about 60 mph when it ran into a block wall where La Brea ends.  I won’t describe the driver’s condition but he died within minutes.  His van crashed into the block wall right in front of the yellow street sign that said “END”  The second car was an off duty cop who saw the van speeding and thought he had just committed a robbery.  The irony is the van driver was drunk and going home to the 1900 block of South La Brea.  He died in the 1900 block of North La Brea.  Right street, just going in the wrong direction.

 

I’m working station security one night.  This white guy pulls up in a pick-up truck.  He shows me an LAPD badge and asks if Sergeant Houchin is the Watch Commander.  I tell him yes and he sprints into the Watch Commander’s office.  I notice the guy is bleeding from his head.  Minutes later, I hear a crime broadcast, murder just occurred at the Sahara Motel on Sunset, suspect is described as a male white in a pick-up truck.  I’m putting 2 and 2 together and this time I come up with that’s the murder suspect.

 

Turns out he’s a Wilshire sergeant who picks up a black prostitute and goes back to her room for that 30 minute nap.  He’s just entered her room when the pimp emerges from the closet and tries to rob the sergeant.  The sergeant takes a couple of hits to his head, pulls out his gun and sends the pimp to the afterlife.  The homicide was ruled justified but the sergeant’s career path hit a major speed bump.

 

The real Farrah Fawcett
The real Farrah Fawcett

Ok, last story on prostitutes, I think.  We’re driving down Sunset early one night and we spot this attractive prostitute, new to us.  We stop her and she informs us we just arrived in Hollywood from Fresno.  She tells us they needed to turn a few tricks for motel money.  I’m no English major but I pick up on we and they.  I ask who’s she with, thinking it might be a pimp.  She tells us her girl friend just got a date before we stopped her.  I ask whats her girlfriend look like?  She tells me she looks just like Farrah Fawcett.  I’m thinking yea, right, they are on the west end where the better looking hookers work, but come, on Farrah Fawcett!

 

We drive around for an hour looking for Farrah, when we see a line of cars trying to pick up a hooker.  Yep, it’s Farrah. Damn if she doesn’t look just like Farrah, even with the famous hair style.  We get in line and it’s surprising how many cars ahead of us give up their spot.  We interview Farrah.  Yea, she got the looks but three words out of her mouth and you can see why she is a prostitute.  She couldn’t make change for a dime.  I swear my Lab has a higher IQ.

 

I’m not going into stories about the following but these are locations which catered to male prostitutes.  Most of my retired cop friends who worked around Hollywood could tell you stories that will amaze you.  Non-cops will find them unbelievable.

 

Ferndale #4–A men’s bathroom at the end of Ferndale Park.

 

Barnsdale Park–During the day a world class art gallery and Hollyhock House, after dark dozen of men running around looking for someone to share that 30 minute nap.

 

La Jolla and Waring–Nice neighborhood in the daytime, men having sex on your front porch at night.

 

I didn’t like working the prostitutes and equated it with standing Station Security.  Very little return for your effort.

Hal

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Prostitutes, part 4

By Hal Collier

The fourth part of a planned trilogy.

 

If you missed the first 3 parts, e-mail me and I’ll send them to you free of charge.  Of course I live in California so I’ll have to charge you a tax of $12.96.

 

My last Ramblings talked about how to identify a drag queen. Now I’m going to tell you how I became a Department expert in a field so disgusting.  My background: I worked A.M. (graveyard) watch for the first fourteen years of my career on the LAPD.  The hours were roughly 11:30 P.M. to 7:30 A.M.  During those hours the prostitutes come out from under which ever rock they dwell.  It started out innocent enough.  I took a couple of reports when men dressed as women robbed their customers.  The suspect usually gave a first name to their new-found love.  Usually Steven was changed to Stephanie, Robert to Roberta etc. and there were always an abundance of Bambi’s, well, you get the picture.  After a number of reports where Roberta robbed Paul to pay Peter the pimp, I thought that Roberta was driving up Hollywood’s crime stats.  All I needed to do was ID and arrest Roberta. KISS—”keep it simple stupid.”

 

green recipe boxI began stopping drag queens who matched Roberta’s description. I filled out a field interview (FI) card and if possible took a picture.  After collecting a few dozen FI cards I needed something to store them in.  My wife bought me a green plastic receipt box.  It was the perfect size and became known as the “The Green Box.”  A few officers called it the “Drowning Rat File.”

 

Soon the “The Green Box” became two boxes, A thru L was the Green Box an M thru Z was a tan box.  Whenever possible, the suspects were taken to the station where we had a strip mug photo machine.  Just like you had at the carnival, four pictures for a buck.  The “Green Box” became popular not only among officers but the drag queens themselves.  If an officer was looking for a particular he/she, he would look thru the “Green Box.”  The drag queens wanted to see if we had a good picture of them. One even offered to go to the station for a better picture.  The Green Box evolved into two I-Card books.  Each individual had it’s own card with all it’s alias’s, DOB’s (date of birth), criminal arrest numbers and a small picture.  Once a homicide detective used my Green Box to ID a murder suspect.

 

I was the keeper of the Green Box or the drowning rat file books.  I guarded them with your tax dollars.  The information contained hundreds of hours of computer time as well as a who’s who in the drag queen hall of fame.  I once used the Green Box as a Christmas list.  I checked the current Hollywood drag queens for warrants.  I used the wanted queens as a shopping list.  Two days before Christmas I arrested and booked the “Ladies” who caused the most crime.  It was my present to Hollywood Officers who might otherwise have to take crime reports with drag queens as suspects.

 

Some of my non-police friends might wonder why I spent so much time and tax dollars on drag queens.  It was because of RD’s (Reporting Districts) and crime stats.  Each police car is assigned an area which is broken down into RD’s.  The officers assigned to an area are somewhat responsible for the crimes in their area on their watch.  Sometimes the Watch Commander (W/C) would say “Collier, why is your area leading the division in robberies?”  I’d say, “It’s the prostitutes, they’re robbing their customers.”  Wrong answer! The watch commander would counter, “Collier, what are you doing about it?”  Do you still believe it’s a victimless crime? My robbery statistics and watch commander didn’t say so.

 

My W/C said I had to do something, so I figured I would move two hundred drag queens out of my area and give my problem to the bordering car’s area. My area was Hollywood Boulevard from Highland to Vine, Franklin to Fountain.  I couldn’t drive them west, that’s where the Chinese Theater was.  Unwritten rule, no prostitution around the tourist attractions.  I’ll just get them to go east of Vine St.

 

I started telling the queens who frequented my area that if they worked east of Vine I wouldn’t harass them, I mean give them selective enforcement.  I even wrote up an east of Vine pass.  About a dozen of them started working east of Vine.  I would stop by and compliment them on their nice clothes and make-up.  I didn’t write them any tickets or check them for warrants.  My crime statistics dropped, and crime went up east of Vine.  Other officers started giving out RD (reporting districts) maps detailing which areas they could ply their trade.

 

From Hal's own library
From Hal’s own library

Some officers become department experts in narcotic sales and identification.  Me, I became an expert in drag queen recognition.  It started out one night when my partner and I saw this guy trolling for a drag queens.  We ran his license plate and it returned to a John XXXXX, legal owner, LAPD Credit Union. Oh, oh, my partner recognized the name as a classmate who was now working Rampart Division.  We looked at the driver and sure enough it was an off duty cop. After notifying a supervisor we kept an eye out for the cop.  A month later a Hollywood sergeant stopped the cop with a queen in his car.  He resigned but later requested a trial with a police review board.  That’s where I testified as an expert on the recognition of men dressed as women.  This was in the 70’s and cops supporting the oldest profession was a no no.

 

Last entry on drag queens and a kind of funny.  This is the very early 70’s and we stopped this young, I want to be a lady at a bus stop.  It was about dawn and the normal citizens were coming out and heading to work.  After a consent for drug search the queen took off his blouse and then took the dirty socks from his bra.  He removed his bra and shoes and placed them on the hood of our police car.  I noticed this little old lady sitting on the bus bench.  She was watching us and had a “Oh, my God look on her face.”  I walked over to her and advised her that it was a man, a prostitute and a drug abuser.

 

LOL waiting for busShe thanked us for protecting society and got on her bus.

Hal

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Prostitutes, part 3

By Hal Collier

 

 

 

The following stories are true and I remind you I never worked vice, or PED (Prostitution Enforcement Detail).  I was a street cop who got dragged into the underworld of prostitution.  Come to think of it, I got paid, so I guess I was a member of the oldest profession. I just didn’t have a pimp or have to take off my clothes.

 

This is the third part of a trilogy, or what I thought was a trilogy until I received comments from part 1.  I get, “Hey Hal, remember what’s her name or did you ever hear about this or what about the contests?”  I also get questions about the “Green Box.”  Some of these comments spark a memory, so please feel free to pass along your stories to me. 

 

Lets talk about “Drag queens,” as most street cops refer to them.  The politically correct call them transvestites, transsexuals, cross dressers, or a man trapped in a woman’s body.  I’m old school and not paid to be politically correct anymore, so I’ll refer to them as Drag queens.  If this offends you, I’m sorry.  Drag queens may take two or three Ramblings to fully explain.  They’re very complex. We’ll see.

 

My first experience with a drag queen was an eye opening experience.  I had a whole three days out of the academy. I responded to a radio call of a stabbing at Franklin and Cahuenga.  We get there before the ambulance and see this girl lying on the ground.  She’s bleeding from a stomach wound.  This other young girl, hysterical, is kneeling over our victim.  My partner, a senior officer, tells the second girl to move out of the way.  The hysterical girl refuses and pushes my partner.  He slaps her across the face and knocks her down.  I’m shocked!  I was brought up to never hit a woman.  Later, I was told that neither of them was a woman.  Now, I’m really shocked.

 

It takes a while and some training to tell who is female and who is male, especially in Hollywood.  This training is not a one or two day lesson, it takes years and even decades to become an expert.  Some men still can’t tell the difference, or so they say.  Unfortunately, I’m considered a department expert.  No extra pay, no ribbon to wear on my uniform, like pink sock-filled bras.  It was just determined by a couple of captains during a trial board.  I’ll explain later.

 

Guessing a person’s gender is a slippery slope at best.  Guess wrong and you get sued, guess right and you still get sued.  It’s not an exact science.  The first trait I was taught was to look for an Adam’s apple—only men have them.  Bet the men check that on your next night out at a bar.  Better to find out in a bar than in the backseat of your Chevy.   Next, look at their hands, women usually have smaller hands and slim fingers.  Third, look at their feet.  Did you ever see a man try to fit his size 12 foot into a women’s open toed shoe.  The toes bunch together like sardines.  Last but not least, women don’t get a 5 o’clock shadow after 3 A.M., well, unless you’re dating a female Russian athlete.Trans

 

Ok, now you have the basic knowledge for gender classification.  You think you know their sex and something goes wrong.  I had a partner, Randy, who had booked this drag queen a half dozen times.  Always a man, this time the queen had the sex change operation.  Male officer strip searches a “now legally female” spells lawsuit and became the lead story on the 5 o’clock news.  Drag queens now have the Adam’s apple shaved, electrolysis, and breast implants.  Some of these medical changes were paid for with your tax dollars.

 

During the early years of my indoctrination to the, “women trapped in a man’s body” life style, I saw some amazing sights.  Subjects with no breast implants, used to stuff their bras with dirty socks.  The wigs they wore still had the shards of glass from the window of that wig store on Hollywood Boulevard. Smash and grab.  

 

photo courtesy of Wikipedia.com
photo courtesy of Wikipedia.com

Some of the queens put a lot of effort into their dress. Others, like Eddie Johnson, didn’t have their heart into it.  I’m going to finish up this segment with Eddie Johnson. Eddie could fill up a whole page but I’ll just hit the highlights with my encounters.  Eddie was a young black man who scratched out a meager living as a prostitute.  Eddie wore an ill-fitting blond wig and a pair of cut off Levi’s.  Eddie passed for a women to only the most inebriated tricks.  Oh, by the way Eddie was also an alcoholic.

 

I once got a radio call of a woman down in the ice plant.  It was just getting light and the call was up in the hills near the Hollywood Reservoir.  I was met by this doctor on his way to work when he saw Eddie face down in the ice plant.  He said the girl was breathing but probably drunk.  I recognized the blond wig and cut off Levi’s.  I yelled, “Eddie, wake up.”  Eddie rolled over and said, “Good morning, officers.”

 

I put Eddie in the back seat of my police car and headed downtown to the drunk tank.  I asked him, “how in the hell did you end up in the Hollywood Hills?”  Eddie slurs something like, “last thing I remember I was sitting in the back seat of another police car!”

 

Last time I saw Eddie was downtown.  I had just finished booking someone at PAB when the B-Wagon (drunk wagon) backed up to the ramp.   Out steps Eddie, blond wig on sideways and the same cut-off Levi’s.  Yes, Eddie was drunk.   Eddie moved from the glamour of Hollywood to the alleys of skid row.        

Hal