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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Rain Stories

 

According to the Los Angeles Almanac, the 1977-78 El Nino dumped 33.44" of rain on Los Angeles. That's more than 18" above average rainfall.
LA River–’78 flood from Waverly Drive.  Photo Clarence Inman Collection, 1978. Shot from a backyard on Waverly Drive facing Atwater

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true.  I use to change the names to protect the embarrassed, but since I have not been paid to be quiet, I’m going to use real first names.  Of course some of these stories are 30 years old and my memory is only so good.

 

 

I figured since we’re in a dry spell, I would write about some incidents I had working in the rain.  Now, most of my non-police friends like the rain.  At night or on weekends, they would cuddle up in front of a fireplace or pull the bed covers up tight at night.  They would listen to the sounds of the rain and drift off to sleep.  Hell, they even sell machines that have the sound of rain to help people fall asleep.

 

To a patrol cop working during a storm, it can be a day from hell.  Southern Californians can’t drive on dry streets. Add a little water and the thought that they are going to be late and it’s a disaster in the making.  Traffic accidents increase and burglar alarms on every closed business are activated. 

 

These all cause a patrol cop to get out of his car and get wet.  Think about standing in a flooded intersection, directing traffic for thirty minutes.  The streets are blocked and some citizen pulls up to your flare pattern, rolls down his car window a 1/4 inch and says, “Can’t I drive through, I always go home this way?”  Your mind is racing: can I drag this dumb ass out through that 1/4 inch opening and will anyone see me if I do.

 

In the late 70’s, I was working A.M. Watch (grave yard) and we expected a storm.  My partner, Randy, and I loaded up on sunflower seeds and prepared for eight hours of being wet.  Only rookies wore a clean, un-mended uniform on a rainy night.  Sometime around midnight it started raining.  Then, it rained harder than I have ever seen it rain.  We had to a pull into an elevated parking lot.  The streets flooded. Worse yet, our sunflower seed source, Lime-Lite Liquor, had three inches of water inside.  This was getting serious.

 

 

 

A flood scene from last year
A flood scene from last year

The entire city went on tactical alert.  Laurel Canyon was a raging river.  There were reports of citizen being swept down the street.  We were designated as the Hollywood Damage control car.  We responded to calls of stranded citizens, houses sliding off their foundations and closed streets.  The damage was enormous.  Cars were stacked five deep at the bottom of Laurel Canyon.  They used a skip loader to move mud, rocks and cars to check for missing motorists. 

 

Two officers, Dave and Dale, were assigned to traffic control at the top of Laurel Canyon at Mulholland Drive.  They were standing in three inches of water at the top.  It was rumored that an actor gave the officers a small bottle of brandy to fight off the cold.  At 3 P.M., we were told to go home.  This eight hour day turned into a sixteen hour marathon.  When I took off my uniform, my white J.C. Penney’s t-shirt and underwear were LAPD blue.  I had to work that night so I was back at work at 10:30 P.M.  My boots were still soaking wet.

 

A few days later I was working with Dave.  We were assigned damage control and security for some of the abandoned houses due to slide damage.  There was one house high in the Hollywood Hills that was wide open in the rear.  The slide covered the back yard as well as knocking a two foot hole through the back of the house.  Actually, a hole was not an accurate description.  The two feet was all across the bottom of the rear of the house.  There was 2 feet of mud inside the house.

 

 

Myrtle Beach Storm
Myrtle Beach Storm

Dave and I were checking on the house to make sure no one was walking away with the resident’s valuables.  It was midnight and very dark as we walked through the side gate.  We were halfway in the back yard, ankle deep in mud, when I froze in my tracks.  I spotted a swimming pool filter in the corner of the yard.  Oh crap, somewhere under this mud there was a swimming pool.  I don’t know if mud over a water filled pool would make quicksand, but I didn’t want to be the “Breaking News” story.  We backtracked our steps and left.

 

A few nights later Dave and I were driving northbound Cahuenga Boulevard where it parallels the Hollywood Freeway.  There’s a section where the road drops down then rises to enter the 101 freeway.  Where it drops down, water collects if the drain is clogged.  The city put up some barricades so sober folks wouldn’t drive into Lake Cahuenga as we dubbed it.  The lake was about five feet deep and sixty feet across.

 

Dave and I drove up Cahuenga to make sure the barricades were still in place.  The barricades were missing and we could see the roof of a submerged car.  I hoped no one was inside, I was wearing my last dry uniform.  As we approached we could see this man bobbing in and out of the window of the car.  We called him over to dry land and he badged us.  That’s right he was a Deputy Sheriff with the L. A. County Sheriff’s Department.  A lieutenant at that.

 

flicker lafdDave and I fought to hide our amusement, but it was a waste of time.  The Lieutenant’s story went like this.  He met this girl in a bar in North Hollywood and he was giving her a ride home.  He was southbound on Cahuenga when he drove into Lake Cahuenga.  As the Lieutenant and his female companion swam out of their car they saw three guys laughing and driving away.  The guys had removed the barricades and stuck around to watch the fun.  The Lieutenant was bobbing for her purse in the front seat.  We arranged for a tow truck. 

 

The lieutenant asked us if we could drive the young lady home, which was two blocks away.  His bigger request was that we not tell anyone in the sheriff’s department.  We agreed.  A few days later we got a phone call from the Lieutenant.  He wanted to meet with us.  Uh oh, now what.  We met at the scene of the crime.  Lake Cahuenga had been drained by then, the fishing sucked anyway.

 

The Lieutenant showed us a large proclamation, promoting him to Commandant of a U-Boat in Lake Cahuenga.  He told on himself.  He asked about his lady friend and we told him that driving into the lake was the best thing that happened to him that night.  Oh yea, he tried to bribe us with two bottles of cognac.

 

Practical Joke

 

This might have been an honest mistake, but I have my doubts.  It had been raining on and off all night.   About dawn a short police pursuit occurred in Hollywood.  The suspects fled on foot and were hiding in the neighborhood.  The rain had let up and the sky was clearing.  We removed our rain coats and we were formed into search parties.  I was one of the senior officers and led my group.  The helicopter was overhead directing officers to likely hiding places.  The helicopter observer directed me into a back yard with a huge weeping willow tree in the corner.  He said the suspects might be under the tree.  I walked under the tree with gun drawn.  The helicopter dropped lower, I assumed to watch me.

 

Ok, do you know how much water collects in a weeping willow tree after a night of rain?  Have you ever stood next to your dog when he shakes after a bath?  The prop wash from the helicopter immediately dropped all the water in that tree—you guessed it, on me.  I might as well have taken a swim in Lake Cahuenga.  Another day with blue underwear. 

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Working Hollywood

by Hal Collier

The following story is true.  There won’t be any false names. This story is my view of my tour of Southeast Division.  The following comments and observations are mine alone and do not have the approval of the Los Angeles Police Department—like I need their approval anymore.  To my non-police friends, Southeast Police Station is synonymous with Watts or south central L.A.

 

OK, a little background in case no one has read my biography (available in paperback through LittleReadBooks.com).  Upon completion of the L.A. Police Academy my first assignment was Hollywood Division. I was twenty-one years old, very naive as to the real world of crime and human depravity.  Twenty-three years later, I was a seasoned veteran and had seen more than my share of death and human nature.  I figured if I wanted a larger pension I needed to promote to the rank of sergeant.  I studied and passed the exam.

 

I was not unhappy in my current position as a Senior Lead Officer. I had all the holidays and weekends off I wanted.  I could set my own hours or change my days off to accommodate a fishing trip.  I was moonlighting at the Hollywood Bowl during the summer and worked more movie premiers than Siskel & Ebert.  I had a great partner, Dale, and minimal supervision.  If I promoted, I would also take a $300 a month pay cut.  You lose your seniority when you promote to sergeant.  OK, why would I want to give all that up and start again at the bottom of the L.A.P.D. food chain?  What was I thinking??

 

 

Watts Towers photo by Wikipedia
Watts Towers photo by Wikipedia

Terri and I were on vacation visiting my sister and her family in Alaska.  My son called to inform me that my name was on the transfer list as a sergeant.  I was going to Southeast Division—that’s right, Watts.  I had been to Watts twice in my life.  Once as a child to see the Watts Towers and again to play a high school football game at Jordon High School.  The game was only weeks after the 1965 Watts riots.  I remember lining up on the line of scrimmage and the opponent whispering “burn baby burn”.  I probably would have had an accident except I was too scared.

 

Now working Hollywood was no piece of cake. We had shootings, murder, street robberies, domestic violence and more than our share of vice crimes.  As I said, I was no rookie, but Southeast (S/E) had their own language and a different brand of police work.  Let’s start with the language.  S/E had three projects, Jordon Downs, Nickerson Gardens, and Imperial Courts.  These were all occupied by low or no income families.  The Police Department wanted us to refer to them as housing developments.  I thought projects was a kind name for these rat-infested, crime-ridden, sewer dwellings.  The first lesson was never go into the projects alone.   Radio calls in the projects always required two cars.  The cops would meet at an outside location and caravan to the call.  It was common for the lower IQ residents to ambush the police.

 

 

Dog packs photo by Rollingstone
Dog packs photo by Rollingstone

In Hollywood, a dog running loose was a dog.  In S/E they’re called ghetto elk and they run in packs.  When I say packs, I mean twelve to fifteen dogs running the streets, day and night. During long boring nights I would count how many in a pack.  I think seventeen was the record.  Now, that many dogs running around loose, well, some get hit by cars.  Now, some of you think cops are cold-hearted, but one day two animal loving officers scooped up a dead dog from the middle of a busy street and took the Sheppard mix to the station.  The dog was propped up in a beach chair outside the back door.  An hour later he had sunglasses, then someone added a scarf and a cigarette.  I don’t think I’m in Hollywood anymore!  Now before you call the SPCA we had one officer who rescued injured dogs and paid for their vet bills by selling baked goods.  I think the dog in the beach chair would have enjoyed them more than I did.  S/E cops go through a canister of pepper spray a month, mostly used on ghetto elk to keep from being bit.

 

I mentioned a different brand of police work.  In Hollywood, a crime victim described a suspect by his/her physical description.  In Watts the suspect was described by his/her name and where they lived.  It seem that most of the people never left the area and everybody knew each other.  I remember an incident where a man was beaten and his foot chopped off with an axe.  Responding police asked the witness for a description of the perpetrator.  The witness responded, “It was his brother.”

 

The gangs in Watts were designated by the streets where they originated.  Denver Lane, Hoover Street, Main Street, Grape Street, etc.  Most of the gangs didn’t get along. Boy that’s an understatement.  An example, Main Street Cripps and Back Street Cripps were separated by an alley.  They hated each other.  I was shocked to learn that Watts was 52% Hispanic.  The L.A.P.D. didn’t want any mention of racial discord, so if a black suspect did a drive by on a Hispanic and a Hispanic retaliated it wasn’t racial.  I was right, I’m not in Hollywood anymore.

 

In Hollywood, after completing a radio call you might sit in your car and catch up on your paperwork.  In Watts, you never sat in your car on a public street for fear of ambush.  In Hollywood, if you heard gun shots, you got on the radio and reported how many shots and from what direction.  You immediately drove to the sound of the gun shots.  In Watts, you counted the shots and guessed what kind of gun was used.  Shots in Watts were so common that officers ignored them unless they were directed at them.  I remember being on a major street in Watts and counting five different gunshot shell casings in the street.  All were old.

 

Hollywood had more than its share of homicides, and Hollywood cops were good at setting up crime scenes.  S/E cops had witnesses located, the suspects name and address, crime scene secured and coffee on the trunk of a police car, all before I arrived at the scene.  S/E belonged to a Bureau of south central police stations.  They had so many homicides that they formed a South Bureau Homicide Unit.  I was at one homicide and requested the homicide unit.  I was advised that I was number five in line.  One team investigating five homicides in one night, equates to some photos, a sketch of the scene, collect any evidence and move on to the next body.  It’s easy to see why the “Grim Sleeper” suspect eluded arrest for two decades.

 

Following the oil trail.  A lot of stolen cars end up in Watts, stripped.  I don’t mean stereos, or doors.  They take engines, transmissions, fenders, seats and whatever else they can sell to a pick-a-parts business.  After removing the engine and transmission they would push the car a few blocks away.  S/E cops would follow the oil trail back to the suspect’s house, arrest the bad guy and recover the stolen car in hundreds of pieces.

 

I responded to a supervisor request one night. The officers followed the oil trail to a house.  After knocking on the door, they discovered thirty-five illegal immigrants on their way to central California to work in the fields.  The Immigrants were smuggled across the border in a truck, held overnight at this house, then shipped like cattle, to points north. 

 

We called immigration.  They asked us to hold them for three days without charges and they would try to come and pick them up.  I think you can see the problem with our immigration system

 

 

Jordan Downs Projects by articles.latimes.com
Jordan Downs Projects by articles.latimes.com

The problem was solved when two S/E officers pursued a stolen car into the Jordan Downs Projects.  The suspects bailed out of the car and ran.  One of the officers exited her car and was immediately shot with an AK-47 by one of those lower IQ individuals I spoke of.  We abandoned the illegal immigrants and responded to assist the officer.  The officer recovered from the gunshot wound but she later had to be pensioned off. 

 

Southeast was not all gun fights and crime.  There are a lot of good, hardworking residents who like the police.  The media just doesn’t see a news worthy story in someone liking the police.  Day watch in Watts will drive your sense of smell crazy.  85% of the businesses do BBQ as an additional source of income.  Everyone has a fifty gallon drum, cut in half and made into a BBQ grill.  Southeast is the only place I know of where you can get your tires rotated and BBQ hot links all done by the same guy.  A lot of businesses have signs stating “Fish, you buy, we fry”.  The alleys are used by everyone to dump trash. 

 

Some nights when the fog rolled in, you couldn’t see across the street.  Crime takes a holiday when the fog is thick.  I remember anticipating my first summer in Watts.  Summer nights in Hollywood were crazy.  Radio calls all night long, some handled three hours late, due to the volume.  Little time for anything other than “Chasing the Radio” as we used to call it.  Now some call Watts the murder capital of California and summer nights should be prime.  I discovered that these bad guys go to bed about midnight.  This led to what I call 90 mile nights.  A 90 mile night, is a night where it’s so slow that you drive around for 8 hours, remember you don’t park alone in Watts.

 

New Year’s Eve in Watts is similar to the battle for Fallujah.  Bullets are flying everywhere.  They double up the sergeants and at thirty minutes to midnight they bring in all the police cars.  Why give them a target?  Everyone is shooting, mostly in the air, but what goes up must come down.  Two cops’ personal vehicles had bullet holes in their roofs.  I’m definitely not in Hollywood anymore.

 

I enjoyed my fifteen months in Watts and the police officers were some of the best I’ve seen, but I couldn’t wait to get back to Hollywood.  My first day back in Hollywood was a Sunday.  It was a clear day and quiet as I left the station parking lot.  I drove up into the Hollywood hills.  Families were walking with their kids

The greeting for Hal's welcome home photo by Beverlynews. BlogSpot.com
The greeting for Hal’s welcome home photo by Beverlynews. BlogSpot.com

or dogs.  As I passed them they waived, with all their fingers.  I was home.   

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Cop Funerals, Part Two

By Hal Collier

This Ramblings took me a long time to write and it’s Part 2. 

 

I try to keep most of my Ramblings fun and on a positive note but the fact is that there are a lot of negative aspects of police work.  If you work for over three decades in a dangerous job, there’s going to be some tragedy.

 

I saw a lot of partners seriously injured and pensioned off.  Some couldn’t even work other jobs.  Think of being sentenced to watching soap operas, or Oprah every day. It’s just like being retired but without good health.  Believe it or not some of them were the lucky ones.

 

I attended more police funerals then any cop should have.  In the Police Academy they had a class on officer survival taught by Bob Smitson.  It was very graphic with pictures of dead cops on a morgue table.  The class taught that you had to survive any confrontation.  After the class, I walked to my car with my hand on my gun—and I was at the Police Academy.  A month later, I was sent into the streets of Los Angles praying that I’d never be in the pictures shown in that class.

 

photo by californiareport.org
photo by californiareport.org

I wasn’t even off probation when I attended my first police officer funeral.  My training officer told me that I had to attend; it was my duty. I was a training officer for twenty years and made my probationers attend at least one police officer funeral.  It’s something that you will never forget.  You see an American Flag-draped coffin, knowing that it contains a police officer who last week was doing the same job you did last night.  If it’s an open casket, seeing a cop lying there in uniform is a sight you’ll never forget.  You see the grieving wife, kids and family.  It’s a real wake up call.  You suddenly realize that you’re not invincible.

 

I couldn’t tell you how many cop funerals I attended, but it was more than I should have.  For a while I attended every LAPD officer’s funeral, and a few LA County Sheriffs.  There were also a few smaller city officer’s funerals.  It was the least you can do for officers who have paid the ultimate sacrifice.

 

The news media will make an appearance and show a thirty second clip of the funeral on the 5 o’clock news.  They will then show two minutes on a drug rehab for out-of-work actors.

 

 

Funeral band on badge
Funeral band on badge

A police officer’s funeral is a fitting tribute.  I have seen officers attend from all over the country.  All wearing their best dress uniforms, their leather gear shined to a high gloss.

   

All had that black elastic band across their badges.  Some come thousands of miles to honor a fallen comrade.  I have been at funerals where the procession of police cars stretched for miles, sometimes lined with citizens who appreciate the sacrifices we make.

 

The first funerals I attended just had the service and the 21 gun salute at the cemetery.  My partner, Jim Tomer, collected a shell casing from each funeral we attended.  Later funerals had a helicopter flyover with the missing man formation. 

 

Riderless horse
Riderless horse

The LAPD Mounted Unit has a riderless horse with the boots reversed in the stirrups.  Then there’s those bag pipes.  Those damn bag pipes!!!  I can usually control my emotions at funerals until those bag pipes play Amazing Grace.  I have learned to bring enough Kleenex for both my partner and I.

 

Most of the funerals I attended, I didn’t personally know the officer. They were easier, if there is such a thing.  You still see the grieving family and know that their Christmas, birthdays and anniversaries will never be the same.

 

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Cop Funerals

This is the first of two Hal Collier Ramblings about Cop Funerals. This is a topic no police officer wants to deal with and yet we have to. Hal speaks eloquently of the friends he has lost.

Thonie

By Hal Collier

I’m about to describe the funerals where I knew the officer and in some cases the family. These still haunt me after four decades.

 

It was raining, just six days before Christmas, December 19, 1984.  I was on a day off when the phone rang. It was Keith, a partner and he flatly stated, “Did you hear the news, Duey Johnson was shot and killed in China Town!” Duey and his partner had responded to a robbery alarm at a jewelry store. 

I swear, it took me minutes to breathe again. Duey was a probationer that I had trained just two years ago.  I had trained over hundreds of probationers, but I never lost one.

 

Duane C. Johnson
Duane C. Johnson

Duane C. Johnson, was a “Baby Huey” type of kid. He had a heart as big as he was. Duey had 3 loves, His wife “Cat” Catherine, the United States Marine Corps and finally the LAPD.  Duey use to brag that he was in one of the Rocky movies. He was in the Marine Corps color guard in the boxing ring.

 

Unlike most probationers, Duey stayed in touch. We even talked about having dinner together sometime in the future.  It was a few days after, that I got a call from some officer downtown that I was asked to be a pallbearer at Duey’s funeral.  I had attended dozens of cop funerals but I was never a Pallbearer.

 

I spent the next two days shining everything that was visible on my uniform and everything that was under it.  I wanted to make Duey proud.  Along with a few dozen other Hollywood cops, all in their finest dress blue uniforms, black elastic bands across our badges, we headed to the church.

 

I walked into the church and almost fainted. Duey’s twin brother, Dana, met me. He was in his Virginia Beach Police uniform and I swear he was the spitting image of Duey.  Duey and Dana were both cops. They gave each pallbearer a pair of white cotton gloves. I’ll talk about those damn white gloves later.

 

The service at the church was very difficult for me and ride to the cemetery seemed to take forever.  I don’t think I brought enough Kleenex.   At the cemetery, you put on those white cotton gloves.  The gloves look nice and have a dignified appearance.  The casket is removed from the hearse and the pallbearers will now carry Duey to his final resting place.

 

As I mentioned earlier, Duey was large boned and the casket was heavy.  I could hardly hold the polished handles of the casket with those damn white gloves.  The graveside service was a blur, I remember the 21 gun salute and the folded flag from Duey’s casket being presented to “Cat”.  The pallbearers then walked up to the casket and placed the white gloves on Duey’s casket and said good bye.

 

We left the cemetery and headed back to Hollywood.  My shift started in 2 hours.  I have never let a December 19 pass by without thinking of Duey.

 

Russ Kuster
Russ Kuster

October 9, 1990 I, arrived at work early to go for a pre-watch run. I saw the Hollywood Homicide Detectives already at work. They informed me that Russ Kuster had been shot and killed at a restaurant by a deranged Hungarian mobster.  Russ was a renowned Hollywood Homicide Investigator and had handled many high profile cases.  Russ had returned fire and solved his own homicide.

 

The drive to the cemetery was lined with citizens. Firemen had American flags draped from their hook and ladders. I attended the funeral with my current female probationer, she forgot her Kleenex, but no problem I had plenty. They played those damn Bag Pipes.

I have been a pallbearer at two other Hollywood officers’ funerals and attended a lot of others.  They were all just as emotional. 

Joe Rios,

Joe Rios
Joe Rios

5-27-93, a Viet Nam Veteran who always said, “Hal, got a quarter for a cup of coffee for a Vet?”  Joe owed me over 10 dollars.  James Pagliotti, 6-22-87 who I played flag football with on Hollywood’s team.  Rob Cottle, 3-24-10, who I supervised at Southeast Division and later at Hollywood.  Rob died in Afghanistan serving as a Marine reserve.  He was a SWAT officer on LAPD.  He always went out of his way to say “Hi Sarge!”

  

Pagliotti
James Pagliotti

 

I don’t go to cop funerals anymore, I just can’t handle the emotions, some nights I don’t sleep very good with all the memories of lost cops!  I don’t know how their families live with it.

 

Rob Cottle
Rob Cottle

You might think I had dozens of those black elastic bands that go over your badge.  No, the sad part is I just saved one and kept it in my locker and wore it every time we had a cop funeral.  I still have it.

 

Still want my job? These scars don’t show on the outside.     

Hal                                                                            

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Ramblings by Hal

Hal’s Last Rookie Mistakes…I promise

 By Hal Collier

 The story you are about to read is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.  As usual I will call my accomplices by first name only.  This should be my last rookie mistakes story, unless I have an epiphany. Ok, how many of you are looking up the definition of epiphany? Webster defines it as “a moment of revelation or insight.”  See, I already improved your quality of life.

 

I was on probation and my training officer, Joe, was a Jedi Master of reading people.  He could read body language and tell if a person was carrying a gun or about to run.  During interviews he could tell if a person was lying.  His favorite trick was to ask a question with his hand on the suspect’s heart, males only of course.  It was kind of like a hand lie detector.  If the suspect’s heart was racing, he was lying.  As all good training officers, Joe was trying to teach me the fine art of reading suspects.

 

 

Lucky Strike cigarettes photo by tobaccopub.net
Lucky Strike cigarettes
photo by tobaccopub.net

During a pedestrian stop, Joe told me to place my hand over the suspect’s heart and see if he was lying.  As a green rookie, I did as I was told.  Joe asked a few questions and then asked me what I thought.  I replied, “Cigarettes, Lucky Strikes, I think”.  My hand was over a pocket on the suspect’s shirt, which did in fact hold a package of cigarettes.  They were Camels.  I guess I’m going to need more training. 

 

We had a new lieutenant who was pretty proud of his new rank.  This wasn’t anything new with some.  All they needed was a good lesson in humility[TH1] .  There was this lady in the station who was hysterical.  She was screaming and all the efforts of the police officers to calm her down were in vain.  Our new lieutenant said maybe if she had a lieutenant talk to her she would be reasonable.  The lieutenant said “Hi, I’m Lieutenant Doug.”  The lady kicked Lieutenant Doug right between the legs.  The officers came to the lieutenant’s rescue, but I think some had a smile on their faces.

 

 

In 1976, the old Hollywood station was scheduled to be torn down.  We would move into an interim station a half a block away.  I was light duty due to a broken ankle which I broke playing basketball.  Anyway, I was assigned to Detectives on Day Watch.  I answered phones, distributed crime reports and was a gopher boy.  On a bright sunny Saturday, I was on the second floor of the old Hollywood Station.  I didn’t mind Saturdays because the detectives were all off and I had the bureau to myself.  Some slow Saturdays I would change chairs of Detectives who gave me a hard time.  Don’t screw with a bored cop!

 

I answered the occasional phone call from a citizen and read teletypes.  I noticed that the phones had stopped ringing and things seem rather quiet.  I saw one of the phone lights, light up and I picked up the phone.  I heard the old time desk officer answer the phone.  I asked why he was answering the detectives’ phones and he said because they all moved to the interim station.  I went downstairs and found all the doors locked and a sign directing people to the new station down the street.   I’m not sure whose rookie mistake that was but I had the distinction of being the last officer to actually work in the old Hollywood Station.

 

After a few years we were set to move into the new Hollywood Station.  They had a big new men’s locker room with over 400 lockers.  A bathroom, showers and a weight room.  There was even a running track on the roof.  They needed to assign the 300 or so officers to their new lockers.  They gave the assignment to a brand new rookie sergeant.  I’m sure this new sergeant wanted to do a good job but lacked the foresight to accomplish his mission.  He assigned all of A.M. Watch to the first two rows of lockers.  That’s about 40 officers all trying to dress at the same time in the same 2 rows of lockers.  The locker rows were as crowded as a shower on a cruise ship.  If you’ve ever been on a cruise you know how small the showers are. 

 

Cooler heads prevailed and the officers from all the watches were spread out.  That probably saved the sergeant’s life and career.

 

Practical Joke

 

During the fun days of the L.A.P.D. practical jokes were a way of dealing with stress.  Now days a practical joke is considered racial, sexual or gender bias.  I guess we’re all lucky to have retired with our pensions.

 

We had a sergeant who thought more of his personnel motorcycle then he did of the working officers under his command.  I made the mistake of parking my police car right next to the back door.  I had a Hollywood nut case who was handcuffed and hog tied. That’s feet bound up so he doesn’t mule kick you or the back window of the police car.  We will have to carry him to our car.  The sergeant arrives at work and wants us to move our car so he can park his motorcycle.  I explained my dilemma, but he wasn’t impressed.

 

oil-stained-asphalt-texture-600x400I spent the next few weeks putting a small puddle of oil under his motorcycle.  I even put some on the bottom of his motor.  I wonder how long it took him to figure out his motorcycle didn’t have a leak?  Your tax dollars at work.   

 

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 [TH1]

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Ramblings by Hal

When Are Cops Really “Off Duty”?

 By Hal Collier

When are cops off duty and when can they relax?  My answer, never!  Ok, I don’t take a gun into the shower at home like one officer said he did, but I’ve been retired for eight years and I’m still looking around for trouble.  No, I’m not going to take police action but I’m certainly going to protect my family.  Then you never know when that cop buried in you will rise above your control.

 

I’ll bet there isn’t a cop alive who hasn’t run into some dirt bag he’s arrested, but now you’re off duty.  Did he bring his gun? Did you bring yours?  You both make eye contact and immediately your mind races, where do I know him from?

 

I once walked into the lobby of the Hollywood Police Station and an attractive lady was sitting on the bench.  She smiled and said hi as I walked by.  I snubbed her although her face was familiar.  I’m thinking have I arrested her?  I sit down in the report writing room and Alan, a fellow officer says, “Hal, how was your night?”  That real dim light comes on in my brain.  Shit, that lady was Alan’s wife. I knew her from our softball games.  I darted out her and apologized saying I had a bad night.  I never told her or Alan that I couldn’t place her face and thought she might have been a prostitute I encountered.  On duty, of course!

 

So ask yourself when is a cop really off duty?  Do you ever let your guard down and if you do will it cost you your life?

 

August 21, 1975, LAPD Officers John Hall and J.J. Bryan are having Code 7 (eating off duty) at the IHOP at Sunset & Orange in Hollywood.  Coincidentally I’m eating six blocks away at the Copper Penny at Sunset and Hudson.  Hall and Bryan finished eating and as they enter their police car an emergency call comes out.  They sped out of the IHOP parking lot.  It saved their lives.

 

 

Sara Jane Olson
Sara Jane Olson

Kathleen Soliah, aka Sara Jane Olson, a member of the SLA [Symbionese Liberation Army], had placed a large pipe bomb under their police car.  The bomb failed to detonate by 1/16 of an inch.  The bomb would have killed both Hall and Bryan as well as a large number of patrons in the restaurant.  My police car might have been targeted but I was sitting in a window seat and could see my car on the street.  Up until the day I retired, thirty years later, I looked under my police car for bombs before driving away.  See my Ramblings about the time I found a hand grenade in my police car.

 

November 29, 2009, four members of the Lakewood Washington Police Department were doing paperwork in a coffee shop prior to work.  All four officers were shot to death as they worked on their lap tops.

 Detective Thomas C. Williams

 

October 31, 1985, Tom Williams, LAPD Detective was shot and killed while off duty.  Williams was picking up his six year old son from school.  He was targeted because he was testifying in a court trial.  Williams was protecting his son from gun fire when he was shot nine times. 

 

Stacy LImJune 9, 1990, off duty LAPD officer Stacy Lim is driving home when potential car-jackers shot her in the chest with a 357 Magnum handgun.  Lim returned fire and killed her attacker.  Lim barely survived her injuries and is still an LAPD Officer.  I worked with Stacy Lim in Southeast Division. She is one tough lady.

 

October 9, 1990 Russ Kuster an off duty Hollywood Homicide Detective was at a local restaurant.  A man was creating a disturbance and the owner warned the man that Kuster was a cop.  The man produced a handgun and shot Kuster in the chest.  Kuster returned fire and killed the suspect.  Kuster died from his wounds after solving his own homicide. 

 

I was once on my way home when I noticed a car behind me.  It seemed to be following me.  After five miles of surface streets it was still behind me.  I drove past my street and thought about driving to the local police station. I had placed my gun between my legs miles ago.  I turned down a side street and the car went on by.  For months after I drove different routes home, I even cleaned the rear view mirror of my truck.

 

One Hollywood officer was driving away from the police station after work.  Four blocks away, a local gang member stepped into the middle of the street and pointed a handgun at him.  The officer shot at the suspect through his own car windshield.  After that I carried my gun between my legs to and from work.  

 

I don’t carry my gun everywhere any more but let the bad guys guess when I have it!  I still sit with my back to a wall and watch the front door at restaurants.  I still open doors with my non-gun hand and am constantly looking around for danger.

 

Am I paranoid or just a product of my environment?  I don’t know but I’m still collecting my pension!!   Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Off duty adventures

By Hal Collier

Ok, you’re a cop, big city, small city, Mayberry, it doesn’t matter. Are you ever off duty?  I’m about to explain why a cop is never off duty, even after retirement.  Are we paranoid, maybe a little, or maybe were just a product of our environment.

 

There’s an element in society that resents authority–any authority.  The focus might be the leader of a country or a local politician but they are usually well protected so let’s look smaller. Who doesn’t see a cop every day, especially if you make an illegal U-turn? Cops are everywhere, if you can’t find a cop go to the donut shop! What cop hasn’t heard that?  In the business world everyone has coffee breaks, it’s just not in the public view and wearing a uniform that tells everyone what you do.

 

So just when are cops off duty or not a target? When can a cop relax and be a normal human being? Taking the uniform off? Driving home? Eating at a restaurant with your family? How about off duty in uniform, but in court, or just eating your only meal of a 12 hour shift?  LAPD considered your meal time off duty. If you relax you can die. Paranoid? You be the judge.

 

Most non-police will not understand what I’m about to describe but I doubt there is a cop in America who won’t be able to relate to some of what I’m saying. You are sitting in a restaurant eating and some citizen walks up and say’s “I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” then they do just that.

 

 

Tiny Naylor's back in the day
Tiny Naylor’s back in the day

Let’s start out with the tame stuff. I’ll start with a very old story. 1971: I’m at Tiny Naylor’s a 60’s drive inn restaurant at Sunset and La Brea in the heart of Hollywood. A car hop places two cups of coffee on a tray that rests on a half rolled up window. After one sip from your coffee, two cars race from the intersection. Everyone at Tiny Naylor’s looks at you and their look says, are you going to do something? Yea, you place the tray on the ground and race out of the parking lot. The truth is you go to Winchell’s down the street for the cup the coffee you just gave away.

 

You’ve worked all night and finally get a break to eat, your first meal in 18 hours. You walk in and sit in a booth. You notice a man at the counter who doesn’t have any shoes. Strange, it’s winter and cold outside. You waitress tells you he had steak and eggs for breakfast. Question do you order food or see if he can pay for his meal first. Right, he couldn’t pay and had to go to jail, we’ll eat tomorrow!

 

How about this story, you worked all night and then spent all day in court. You grabbed a few hours’ sleep and went back to work. You’re going to eat as soon as you hit the streets. You go to one of those all night Mexican food places and are eating some carnitas on the hood of your police car. You hear glass break. Crap, some miscreant is breaking into the business across the street. Next time I’ll park with my red lights on.

 

 

Cops eating
Cops eating

Here’s an interesting story of an encounter I had. I’ve had a really bad night. I’m tired and hungry. All I want is a break and some food. I’m sitting in a booth which is next to the window on Hollywood Boulevard.

 

I get served my meal and after my first bite this homeless man leans on the window just outside. The only thing separating us is the glass. He’s looking down at my plate and tears start to come from his eyes. I try to ignore him but now the rest of the restaurant patrons are watching.

 

I can feel my blood pressure rise. Now he comes inside and I reach for my baton. He stops at the cash register and asks for change. He steps outside and goes to the newspaper rack. By now the whole restaurant is watching him and me. I should have been an electrician like my father wanted.

 

He puts his money in the news rack and it won’t open. The patrons all moan. He reaches into his pocket and grabs some more coins. This time the news rack opens and he takes out one paper. He walks into the restaurant and heads right for me.

 

I’m thinking, do I choke him out, or just wrist lock and handcuff him. He’s walks up me and hands me the newspaper and says, “Have a nice day officer.” He then walks out of the restaurant and disappears. The other patrons laugh and continue their meals. Me, I’m not hungry anymore and the paper is the LA Times–that anti police rag.

 

Next I’ll describe some more off duty incidents that were not so tame.

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Hal’s reply to his email audience…

Good morning.

I was recently asked about my Ramblings and how long I had been writing them. I wrote my first in October 2009. In May 2013, I was introduced to Thonie Hevron who writes cop books–very good by the way. She started posting my Ramblings on her blog. If you’re interested, a lot of my older stories are on her blog. My Ramblings appear on her blog once or twice a week . Just click on the “Just the Facts, Ma’am” below. You might enjoy them.

Feel free to leave a comment.

Hal

Thonie Hevron
Writing the stories behind the badge
Author of INTENT TO HOLD available from Oak Tree Press in 2014
and BY FORCE OR FEAR available on Amazon.com

Contributing author of Felons, Flames and Ambulance Rides Anthology
and
Beyond Boundaries-Redwood Writers 2013 Anthology
Thonie’s blog
Just the Facts, Ma’am
website-thoniehevron.com

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Ramblings by Hal

Rookie Mistakes by the Brass

By Hal Collier

The following story is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.  Rookie mistakes are not all made by new police officers.  Some of the biggest police blunders are made by senior sergeants, lieutenants, and captains.  Often they make these blunders because they haven’t worked in the field in years.  We call them “building boys”.  To my non-police friends, building boys work non-patrol assignments to further their careers.  I don’t fault them for their ambition to promote as long as they listen to those who have spent their time in the field.  As usual I’ll only use first names to protect their identity.   I’ve found most of my cop friends are willing to pay me to learn their real names.  Nothing like a little dirt on a supervisor to get your requests granted.  No coins this time guys.

 

Cash
Cash

We had a lieutenant–Phil, nice guy but a building boy.  LAPD policy dictates when you bring in an arrestee who has a large amount of cash, a supervisor has to do a money count.  This cuts down on complaints that the officer stole money.  Ok, the officer brings in the cash and asks the supervisor to count it.  The supervisor counts the money and initials a money envelope.  So this “building” lieutenant takes the cash out of the envelope, all bills and begins counting.  He licks his finger after every few bills to separate them.  After a few seconds of this, he asks the arresting officer who he arrested.  The officer stated he arrested a female prostitute in rather skimpy clothes. The lieutenant licks his finger again and asks the officer where she had the money.  The officer says, without missing a beat, she held it her love vault.  OK, if you need a further, more graphic description of a love vault, you need to get out more.  This same lieutenant bought some ocean view property in Hawaii, sight unseen.  Problem was no roads, electricity, and water, none planned for twenty years, but it had a nice view.

 

Couldn't find the Wrigley's ad Hal talks about.
Couldn’t find the Wrigley’s ad Hal talks about.

The second supervisor was again a nice guy, not a building guy. Hell, he’d get lost in a building with more than one story.  He sits in the Watch Commander’s office with the narcotics scale and weigh things.  I walked in one night and he asked for my badge.  He wanted to know if a sergeant’s badge weighed more than a policeman’s badge.  Duh.  He also weighed a pack of Wrigley’s gum.  At the time, there was a commercial on TV with a person walking around with a pack of gum under his arm.  This sergeant calculated that the pack of gum would be too heavy to carry.  Your tax dollars at work.  He was a sailor.  Always talking about sailing and buying a bigger boat.  His wife was a home decorator who made a good salary. They bought a home in the marina with a boat slip, closed escrow, and then found out their boat was too big for their boat slip.

 

The third rookie mistake is all mine.  I’m driving and responding to domestic violence radio call.  I drive to the location and park two houses away. That’s an officer safety tactic so you don’t get ambushed.  See, I’m cool and thinking.  We approach and hear arguing coming from the house.  We deploy, which means taking cover in case someone comes out shooting.  We knock and yes, there’s a family dispute in progress.  They really look surprised to see us and ask who called.  We never tell them.  We separate the parties and determine there is no crime.  We offer our expert advice and tell them we don’t want to return or someone will go to jail.  That always scares the shit out of them.  Yea, right.

 

We get in the car and I’m telling my probationer, John, “See, that’s how you handle these domestic calls.”   I drive to the end of the block and look at the street sign.  I’m on the wrong block, just like the song, “Silhouettes on the Shade”.  I drive to the next block and the right address.  Guess what–a domestic dispute.  Again, we handle a domestic dispute.  This time, I didn’t offer any advice to my probationer.  John didn’t make any comments which might have been the reason he made it off probation.

 

Practical Joke

 

I worked with a Viet Nam Veteran, a quiet unassuming guy.  He did his job and never talked about his war experiences.  If you spend 8 hours in a police car with someone you get to know the person. That’s why police officers are so close and protective of each other.  We found out that we both grew up in Eagle Rock and played in the same Little League.  I later found out that he was awarded the Silver Star for heroism. One day, were driving around and he says to me, “Hal, lets catch us a pigeon.”  I’m thinking, why? They’re flying rats, and my previous experiences with pigeons was not fond.  He tells me that pigeons are blind at night and you can catch them easy.  I remind him we’re working day watch and I don’t want some busy body citizen calling the Watch Commander, complaining about two policemen chasing pigeons.  I was the senior officer so I won the argument. At least that’s what I thought.

 

The next day, this mild-mannered officer was working with someone else.  I’m driving into the station as he’s leaving.  We smile and wave.  I go into the station for about 30 minutes.  When I come out to my police car I have 4 pigeons inside.  Not only are they on my head rest, front seat and MDT (that’s the computer in police cars), they have all relieved themselves numerous times.  Lesson learned, don’t ever trust the quiet guy.

 

This same quiet officer, had a habit of tying a fishing line to the inside police car door handle and to the siren switch.  When the unsuspecting officer opened his car door the siren would wail and the officer would relieve himself in the parking lot.  This officer later went to the Bomb Squad.

 

Your tax dollars at work.

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Rookie Mistakes

By Hal Collier

 

The story you are about to read is true.  The following mistakes were mine and mine alone.  Some I have repressed for over three decades, but I have come to the conclusion that my career is over.  I was a slow learner when it came to my career.

 

LAPD Academy graduates
LAPD Academy graduates

I mentioned station security in one of my earlier stories.  One of the important jobs of the station security officer was that the flags be posted at dawn.  The old station was two stories and the flag pole was outside a second story window.  To attach the flags to the pole you had you lean way out the window and attach both the American and California flags.  One morning after eight hours of standing in the dark and leaning out the window, I hung the California flag upside down.  I was tired and didn’t notice.  The Captain drove into the station parking lot and wanted to know who thought the California bear should be on his back.  After apologizing to the Captain.  He suggested that I have two more days of Station Security to practice posting the flags the proper way. It never happened again.

Most probationers are pretty proud of being a cop. Unfortunately most citizens aren’t that impressed.  I’d been in the streets for about 6 weeks and I learned that people were always watching you. I want to make a good impression.  It’s Saturday night in Hollywood, the streets are crowded, young ladies stare as you drive down Hollywood Boulevard.  I’m pretty impressed with myself.  I’m the passenger officer in a 1969 Plymouth black and white–the best police car the department ever used.  It’s only 2 years old but already has over 70,000 miles and the dash has holes in it.  The seat belts are tied in knots so you couldn’t wear them if you wanted to.  In the hands of a good driver that car could take a corner on two wheels and not lose speed.  My partner Rick was just that kind of a driver.

1969 Plymouth Belvedere patrol car
1969 Plymouth Belvedere patrol car

We got a code three radio call. That means red lights and siren.  It was halfway across the Division. Cool, I’m going to have hundreds of citizens watching their tax dollars at work.

Now Rick is in rare form. He’s taking corners that would make a stunt car driver proud.  Were southbound on Fairfax approaching Sunset.  The streets are packed and they have all stopped to watch us make a right turn onto Sunset.  John takes the corner like a pro, I grab the inside door handle to fight the centrifugal force.  The door handle comes off in my hand and I slide across the seat.  I’m now sitting next to Rick as if we were on a date.  I scoot back across the seat to my side of the car and look out the window.  I see all these people laughing.   I’m guessing they won’t vote us a pay raise this year.

Another early lesson you learn is that you’re wearing a blue wool uniform.  Wool uniforms attract animal hair of any kind.  When a little old lady invites you to sit on her couch, ask if she has cats.  Lint brushes hadn’t been invented yet so you spent the rest of the night looking like a fur covered cop.  That was not even my rookie mistake.  I was wearing a long sleeve, blue wool uniform one cold night.  We had an encounter with a combative drag queen.  I said I wouldn’t be politically correct, for my non-police friends, a drag queen is a man who dresses in women’s clothes.  The choke hold was a department approved tactic and was even encouraged in the early 70’s.  It was never fatal and saved you from hitting the bad guy with your night stick.

This gentlemen in women’s clothing decided he was not going to jail. The fight was on.  I applied the department approved choke hold.  The gentlemen soon went to sleep for about 30 seconds and was handcuffed.  As I stood up my partner was laughing at me.  I looked down at our suspect, he was wearing a rabbit hair coat.  My uniform was covered in rabbit hair and my sleeve had pancake make-up all over it.  Sometimes rookie mistakes can’t be helped. Yea it was the first day of a clean uniform

Practical Joke:  People in all walks of life have played practical jokes on fellow friends, employees, and spouses.  Most people in emergency services use practical jokes as a morale booster and stress release.  Most old timers will say they miss the old days.

We had a Lieutenant who was liked by the whole watch.  He rode a Harley Davidson motorcycle and considered anyone who rode a different motorcycle a lesser form of life.  His motorcycle was his pride and joy.  One boring night on A.M. watch, the Lieutenant had his motorcycle parked at the rear door of the station.  The Lieutenant was distracted by some accomplices, while another officer pushed his pride and joy into the Captains Office.  An hour later the Lieutenant was called into the Captains Office, where the Captain wanted to know why the Lieutenant’s Motorcycle was dripping oil on his carpet.  Ok, not all practical jokes are well thought out.  The Lieutenant was more concerned if his motorcycle was scratched.

Hal