Category: Ramblings by Hal

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

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Bizarre

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true and can be verified by three living cops whose names never appeared in the LA times.  These stories are a little bizarre and seldom made headlines in the Los Angeles area.

The first incident involved a radio call in Laurel Canyon.  You only needed a month in Hollywood to know that Laurel Canyon was home to politicians, celebrities, and nuts. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the difference.  Some of their careers were on their way up and many on their way down.  It was known for parties and a little bit of illegal drug use. Ok a lot of drug use.   You just never know what you’ll find up in the canyon.

Laurel Canyon
Laurel Canyon

Most cops hated getting calls in the canyon.  It took a street guide and a half hour to find some street with a hand painted sign attached to a power pole.  It took you an hour to find your way back down out of the canyon.  The passenger had to read the street guide backwards to find your way out, not an easy task for a cop with a GED.  Police cars don’t have GPS systems and if they did it would be full of coffee spots and all night eating spots.

Late or early one night, depending on your point of view, a rash of radio calls came out on one of those winding mountain roads in Laurel Canyon. The radio calls described some nut running around naked.

Ok, it’s about 2 AM. You were about to do some really important police work, coffee at 7-11.   Damn, you have to drive up into the canyon to look for some nut, high on drugs.  You can’t find him so you drive back down toward the 7-11.  You just get to the bottom of the canyon and you get another call, same naked man, only now he’s west a block.  At least you know the way.  Back into the canyon, again you can’t find him, maybe you should have brought the coffee with you.  Did you ever wonder why police cars don’t have cup holders? But I digress.  We never did find the naked man, hopefully he went home.

Flash forward three months.  A young couple in their first home decides to build a fire on a cold winter night.  The house begins to fill with smoke.  They extinguish the fire and see that their chimney is clogged with a dead naked man.  That’s right–the drug intoxicated man climbed into the chimney and died. That explained the strange smell the couple couldn’t get rid of.

True story.  The fire department had to dismantle the fireplace to remove the body.  “Hello Allstate, does my home owners insurance cover a naked dead man in my chimney?”  I can hear the laughter and “Am I on Candid Camera?”

One bright morning a Laurel Canyon resident takes his dog to the Mulholland Dog Park.  His dog loves to run free with the other dogs and sometimes they chase each other into the hillside brush.  This fine morning, the man’s dog exits the brush with something in his mouth.  It’s a human jaw bone.  Now dead bodies are dumped all over the LA area, especially in the hills.  I once was told by a Park Ranger that he thought more bodies were in Griffith Park than Forrest Lawn.  Doubtful but close to the truth.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Jimmy Hoffa isn’t in Griffith Park.

So Hollywood Homicide is called and they search the area but can’t find a body.  Now everyone knows that a body in the hills can be scattered by the animals that call Hollywood their home.  The dog owner became obsessed and every once in a while he would call the police and claim to have found the body.  Once he found a pile of bones and was sure that it was the missing body.  It was a dead deer.  To my knowledge the body was never found and the case remains open.

.

This story has nothing to do with dead bodies but it would have made a great “Cops” episode.   I’m a new sergeant working Southeast Division (Watts) on Morning Watch.  It’s been another slow night and I’m looking forward to getting off work and jumping into morning rush hour traffic through downtown L.A.  A Domestic Violence radio call comes out just as the sun is rising over the Watts Towers.  The suspect is now on the roof of his house and refuses to come down.  Maybe he thought he was in New Orleans?

Pole vaulter photo by USA Today
Pole vaulter photo by USA Today

I arrive and can’t believe my eyes.  This nut is indeed on the roof of his house, but what they failed to tell us was that he was armed with a twenty foot pole.  He refused to come down and if the officers got too close he would pole vault to the house next door.  I watched him vault across three houses and then back.  This went on for over an hour.  I rated his technique as only a five!

Ok, you’re the supervisor at the scene. What tactic would you use?  If you use a taser or tear gas him and he falls off the roof, he’ll probably break his neck and die.  You don’t want to send officers up on the roof and fight this nut, the officers might fall off the roof.  You could call for a crisis negotiator but this guy is high and not very rational.  After Police Academy-taught negotiations fail, you lower your expectations.  Most of his responses are limited to about two words which are about my mother.

Well, patience paid off again.  We kept watching him and at times laughed at him.  This upset him so he tried one more vault, only this time his hands slipped and he fell off the roof.  He bounced once and was taken into custody.  If this had been in Hollywood it would have been covered by 5 news stations with commentators critiquing our tactics.  In Watts, a stalled big rig on the Harbor freeway was the breaking news.  I was just enough overtime that my drive home was traffic free.  I went home and went to bed but I couldn’t sleep because I kept laughing at the Watts pole vaulter.

Cops see some bizarre things not only in Hollywood but in every city. You just have to wait for the radio call.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Vehicle Pursuits, part two-My Best One

Vehicle Pursuits, part 2

The following story is true, best to my fading memory.  Some of my earlier stories dealt with pursuits. One was about my worst car pursuit [see December 22, 2012] and one my worst foot pursuits [see December 4, 2013].  Even the bad pursuits are a fond memory of an eventful career.  As in life not everything is bad.  I actually had a lot of good moments.  Remember my lucky arrests.  Ok, this story is about the best and longest car pursuit I was ever in.

Police pursuit photo by themotorreport.com.au
Police pursuit
photo by themotorreport.com.au

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

Ok, back to my story.  I’m working, yep you guessed it, Morning Watch.  I’m working with Bill, a good partner.  Some partners you just click with.  Bill is driving and I’m keeping the books.  Books are police slang for keeping the log and writing all the reports for the night.  Bill and I had a great system for running license plates that were going away from you.  The driver would look at the first 3 or 4 letters/numbers and the passenger would look at the last 3 letters/numbers.  That way we would have the whole license plate to check to see if it was stolen or wanted.  If you’re following behind the car, it isn’t a big problem because you can read the license as you talk to the dispatcher downtown.

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

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

1974 Ford Pinto photo by www.cargurus.com
1974 Ford Pinto
photo by http://www.cargurus.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

The robbery involved a gay man who picked up our suspect for a date.  Our suspect took his wallet and car.  Not the kind of Armed and Dangerous you see on TV.  The pursuit lasted longer than it took me to write the arrest report.  I think my sergeant is still trying to cash a check in Ventura to buy gas so he can get back to Hollywood.  We don’t miss him.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Vehicle Pursuits, part one

By Hal Collier

 

The story you are about to read is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.  One of my last stories dealt with foot pursuits.  This story will deal with car pursuits.

TV screen shot of police pursuit
TV screen shot of police pursuit

Yea, car pursuits, that’s “Breaking News” in most big city TV markets.  TV channels will cover a car pursuit for hours, often describing how dangerous it is for the public as some jerk hurtles through the streets of Anytown USA.  Suspects running red lights, driving on sidewalks, mothers with children running for their lives–hell, they even have TV shows that only show car pursuits.  I guess that’s entertainment for those who work in a sterile workplace where the day’s excitement is the boss and his/her secretary taking a two hour lunch at some hotel.

My take on car pursuits is that they are dangerous, not only to my health but to the public’s.  If I was going to die doing my job I wanted it to be for something important.  My experience has shown that the driver is avoiding a prison sentence or a ticket that will increase his car insurance rates.  My first car pursuit might have made a big impact on my opinion.  Some cops loved car pursuits, probably due to the adrenaline rush.  The same reason people like roller coasters and those other fast rides at amusement parks.  Ok, my story involves my first car pursuit.

I was a few weeks away from getting off probation.  I was working with a hard charging officer, Larry, who I liked.  Every night we would go out and find and book a drunk driver and write a few tickets.  After 2 A.M. we would turn our attention away from traffic related offenses and focus on crime.  We had one of the highest recaps on the watch.  I was learning a lot, but at times, Larry scared the hell out of me with his driving.  Near end of watch (7:A.M.) we would chase speeders down Barham, sometimes at 70 mph +.  He was a good driver but he took chances that put both our lives in jeopardy. One morning he almost put our police car in the famous Smoke House in Burbank.

We are working A.M. watch, it’s after 2 A.M. and were looking for bad guys.  We stopped a young adult and found marijuana.  In 1971, marijuana possession was a felony.  We had to book this drug abuser downtown.  In 1971, the police cars didn’t have the cages, so the junior officer, that’s me, had to ride in the back seat with the suspect.

Larry is driving, I’m sitting behind him in the back seat and the handcuffed suspect is sitting in the right rear.  We head down the Hollywood freeway.  A radio broadcast comes out: “All units, 6A39 is in pursuit, southbound Glendale Boulevard from Rowena Avenue.”  I look up from the back seat and the next off ramp is Glendale Boulevard.  6A39 is a Hollywood patrol unit.  Larry exits the freeway at Glendale Boulevard.  I ask Larry, “What are you doing?”  Larry replies, “I just want to watch them go by.”

LAPD vehicle in pursuit
LAPD vehicle in pursuit

Department policy was very strict about who could join in a pursuit.  Even though I had less than a year’s experience, I knew that a police car with a felony suspect in the back seat was not allowed to join a pursuit.  Ok, the pursuit is headed in our direction, I can see the heads lights of the bad guy’s car and the red  lights of the police car right behind.  Larry turns and heads right at them.  I yell, “What are you doing?”  When I said right at them I mean head on toward the bad guy’s car.  At the last second Larry swerves to the left and the suspect flies past us.

Larry makes a U-turn and falls in behind the pursuing police car.  My heart is in my throat, I squeak out, “What are you doing?”  Ok, do you see a pattern?  My vocabulary has deteriorated to the same few words.  We’re racing down Glendale Boulevard at about seventy miles per hour.  I’m guessing the speed because I’m in the back seat.

Larry mumbles something about the police car in front of us not trying to catch them and passes the pursuing police car.  My voice is back and I yell again,  “What are you doing?”  We are now behind a square back VW that has been reported stolen.  I can see two adults in the car and something else moving around I can’t identify.  I look over at our suspect and he has that scared look.  I recognize it because I have the same look.

Somewhere, Glendale Boulevard turns into Second Street.  Larry pulls up on the right of the suspect’s car.  No kidding, were paralleling the car we were chasing.  Guess what I yell at Larry?  I look over at the suspect’s car, two adults and a dog with a scarf around his neck.  The dog is jumping around in the back seat. I think the dog and Larry are the only ones enjoying this.  I glance over at my suspect, he’s sliding down in the seat.  He thinks we’re going to exchange gunfire.

OK, here we are, side by side on Second Street.  Second Street goes under the Harbor Freeway–that’s right, a tunnel two lanes until you exit.  With parked cars in our lane, Larry hits the breaks and swerves to a stop behind the VW by inches.  Now I’m screaming like one of those women in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, “What are you doing?”

After a few more turns in downtown were driving behind PAB, that’s Parker Administration Building, police headquarters.  I look up and can see people looking out the windows.  I hope the chief isn’t one of them.  At San Pedro and Temple the suspect’s car spins out and stalls.  Larry is going so fast that he sails right past the VW.

The suspect is trying to restart the car, Larry exits the car and runs to the driver’s door.  I run to the passenger door.  It’s locked.  Larry breaks out the driver’s window with the barrel of his revolver.  I’ll never forget this the driver calmly looked up at Larry and said, “I’m John Fitzgerald Kennedy”.  JFK was yanked from the car and handcuffed.  The passenger was bent over the center console.  He was holding the break lever. Apparently he wasn’t fond of the pursuit either.  The passenger and the dog were hitch-hikers.

I suddenly remember I have a suspect in the back seat of my car.  I look at my police car and can see the suspect’s eyes just above the back seat just like Kilroy, he wants to watch but not get shot.

We broke about every rule in the pursuit manual and an investigation was conducted.  Larry and I were interviewed.  There was no doubt that Larry was going to take some days off without pay.  They also wanted to give me days off for not stopping Larry.   At the start of my interview, the Sergeant, Thomas, (his real name) tells me how the interview was going to go.  Thomas said “I’m going to ask you a question, then I’m going to give you the answer”.  I didn’t ask “What are you doing?”  Larry got 5 days off without pay, I was given a couple extra days of station security but I got off probation.

I was involved in many car pursuits during my career but none as bad at that one.  As far as pursuits go, there necessary, but I’d rather cars would just pull over.

My next Ramblings will be about a calmer but longer car pursuit.     Hal

Hal’s next Ramblings will be on December 26th. We are taking Christmas Day off to enjoy family and friends. We hope you do, too!

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Promoting, part two

My last Ramblings described why some officers promote and others choose to remain street cops.  Here’s my story.  I was a young twenty-one year old kid who was going to save the world when I graduated from the police academy.  I spent five months having law, physical fitness and street survival crammed into my small brain.  I was taught when to shoot, when not to shoot, if you get in a fight, win or you die.

Ok, I graduated on a Friday and worked my first patrol shift on Saturday night at 11:30 P.M.  I spent three nights working patrol and enjoyed it.  Then I came in on my fourth night and discovered I was working Station Security.  What the hell is Station Security?

 

Symbionese Liberation Army photo from tamieadaya.com
Symbionese Liberation Army
photo from tamieadaya.com

 

This was 1971 and the Viet Nam War was on the news every night.  The anti-everybody groups, like the Black Panthers, Weathermen Underground and SLA were targeting cops everywhere. Anti-war groups were demonstrating in front of any government building.

 

Ok, I’m a member of the finest police department in the world and after three entire days of patrol experience they put me out in front of the police station.  I’ve got my six-shot revolver, no radio, but a very sharp #2 pencil.  About two hours of standing in front of the station, I’ve got it figured out.  I’m an early warning system.  I start shooting and the desk officers have time to take cover.  I suspect the Watch Commander will be locked in the captains’ bathroom. It happened once–come on, even lieutenants don’t go to the bathroom for three hours!

 

Another night, I’m assigned to the desk. Oh boy, another fun assignment for a young cop who’s going to save the world.  I spent the night bailing out criminals that couldn’t have committed the crimes they were charged with, according to the family member bailing them out!  I also take a lot of reports with my sharp #2 pencil.

 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you get assigned to the jail.  You now spend all night fingerprinting drunks, drag queens and DUI’S.  Near the end of your shift you get to feed them a delicious TV dinner which some compare to cruel and unusual punishment.

 

Being on probation, you do what your told and don’t complain. The pecking order for cops in Los Angeles was, P-1 probationer, if there’s a dirty job a P-1 gets it.  After a year I’m automatically promoted to P-2.  You were called “P-2 dogs” and if a P-1 was not available, guess who got the dirty job?  P-3 was a training officer.  To be a training officer you had to take a test and then pass an oral.  You were then placed on a department list and when a training officer spot opened you took another oral for the job.  As a P-3 you were given probationers to train, not always an easy task.  You were assigned a regular patrol area with another P-3.

 

So I have about two and a half years of street experience and I’m bouncing around, from car to car with different partners every month.  One five day working period, I’m assigned to Station Security twice, the desk once and the dreaded Jail twice.  The LAPD is wasting my talents.  The P-3 test is coming up and I want to promote.  I start studying and every time I want to take a break, I think of standing outside the station at 3 AM on Station Security.  How am I going to save the world if I’m always at the station?

 

Probationary officers photo by niul.org
Probationary officer
photo by niul.org

I pass the written test and do well enough on the oral to get into the outstanding pool for P-3.  As luck would have it, Hollywood was expanding from six basic patrol cars to nine.  That meant six new P-3 spots.  I was swept into a training officer spot and was allowed to stay on graveyard which I wanted.  Graveyard was where the real police work was done in Hollywood.  Did I mention that I also got a 5% raise?  No more Station Security, Desk, or the Jail.  I did get a brand new probationer every few months, some almost got me killed but that’s another Ramblings.

 

So I’m a P-3 and happy on graveyard shift.  I stay for 14 years, I could have promoted 10 years ago.  I pass up all the sergeant tests. My reasoning–I’m not done being a street cop.  I need to get it out of my system so I don’t find drunks in alleys to hand over to the P-2 dogs.  P-3’s can also work vice or become a detective trainee. Neither of those two assignments appealed to me.  I once had a Captain ask me, “Hal, did you ever consider being a detective?” I told the captain, “I hate working inside and I don’t like talking on the phone all day.” The captain replied, “Hal, your right, stay in patrol.”

 

The next step up the LAPD promotion ladder is P-3+1, a senior lead officer or SLO.  A P-3+1 is another 5% pay raise but the drawback is you can’t work graveyard.  The other plus is I can still be a street cop and my wife will get off my back about always working graveyard.

 

I take another oral and get the promotion.  P-3+1 is just below the rank of sergeant.  One day, I have fourteen years’ experience and no one asks for my opinion.  The next day, I’m sitting in the supervisors meeting and the Captain asks what I think.  I’m also asked to instruct at training days.  Now this is where I excel, training.  I can sell sand in the desert which comes in handy as a SLO.  A SLO is a link between the police and the community.  I had monthly meetings where I had to explain why the police can’t be on their street every half hour.  I was a SLO for nine years and my wife happy. I’ve been working day watch and sleeping at home at night.  She now has someone to nudge in the middle of the night to check out that strange noise.

 

I’m in my early 40’s and believe it or not, I’m thinking of my retirement even though it’s fifteen years away.  Sergeants make more money than P-3+1’s and I’ve given up the thought of winning the California Lottery as my retirement plan.  Your pension is based on your final salary.  It’s 1991 and I take my first sergeants test.  I studied for months and pass the test and the oral.  With my seniority points, I place pretty high on the sergeants list. The only thing that will hold up my promotion is a promotional freeze due to budget cuts.  Guess where I sat, on the list, three away from promotion for almost two years.

 

My last year as a SLO, all the SLO’s were pulled out of patrol and assigned to Community Relations.  At first I resisted, but they let us team up and go into the streets every day.  I still dressed in my uniform and I could make all the arrests I wanted as long as I went to my community meetings.  Then I found out I could schedule my days off and if a fishing trip came up, I could change a day off and go fishing.  Promoting might be a mistake.

 

In July of 1993, I’m going on vacation.  We’re going to Alaska to visit my sister and her family.  The Personnel Department calls me two days before we leave and asks me if I want to go to Sergeants school the following Monday instead of going on vacation.  She has obviously mistaken me for a building boy!  Gee fishing for king Salmon on the Kenai River or sergeant’s school.

 

In case you’re wondering what I did, I’m in Alaska fishing when my son calls me and tells me I made sergeant and being transferred to Watts.  That’s South Central LA, for you that are out of town.  That’s another 5% pay raise for my retirement.

 

Abandoned apartments in Watts, Los Angeles, Ca
Abandoned apartments in Watts, Los Angeles, Ca

I’m now a full-fledged sergeant with the Los Angeles Police Department.  I’m even working graveyard.  One very slow night, I’m driving around Watts–you have to keep moving or they take pot shots at the police.  It suddenly comes to me, as a SLO in Hollywood I was making my own schedule for days off.  I was working all the movie premieres and off-duty jobs I wanted.  I had the captain’s ear and now I’m driving around Watts, “What the hell was I thinking.”  Oh by the way, in the LAPD when you promote to sergeant you lose seniority.  With over 22 years on the job I took a $300 a month pay cut. “What was I thinking?”  I spent fifteen months in Watts and it was a valuable learning experience and I got to work with some of the best cops on the LAPD.  I was transferred back to Hollywood and graveyard.  I’m happy, my wife not so much.

 

Promotion is not for everyone. On some small departments you only promote if someone dies, retires or gets fired.  Then you have to be related or know someone important. We use to get a lot transfers from smaller departments, because there’s was no chance of advancement.

 

Motor cops are a different story.  They only way they will give up their bikes is a serious accident or a doctors warning, “Stop riding or get a wheel chair ramp for your house.”

 

The best promotion I got was March 22, 2005.  That was the day I retired from the Los Angeles Police Department.  No I didn’t take an oral but the test lasted over 34 years, 168 days.

 

What a ride!

 

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Promoting, part one

By Hal Collier

Promoting!  This is a question that every police officer ponders once in a while.  By the way, these are my observations and certainly don’t reflect the opinions of the Los Angeles Police Department or officers everywhere.  These observations are based on a large city police department.  We all have different reasons for wanting to promote.  Actually, some think about it all the time and base their police decisions on, will this hurt my next promotion?  More on these individuals and my own reasons later.

March 23, 2007-Almost Sgt: Last week, Officer Kris Werner informed Arts District residents that he passed the LAPD Sergeant Promotional interview with flying colors--and that he may soon leaving his post of Senior Lead Officer. Standing By: Werner now reports that his "Sgt School" is delayed, so he will be sticking around. Seen behind Werner is the panel of a dancer in a digital mural called "Gabriela", at the Regent Gallery.
March 23, 2007-Almost Sgt: Last week, Officer Kris Werner informed Arts District residents that he passed the LAPD Sergeant Promotional interview with flying colors–and that he may soon leaving his post of Senior Lead Officer. Standing By: Werner now reports that his “Sgt School” is delayed, so he will be sticking around. Seen behind Werner is the panel of a dancer in a digital mural called “Gabriela”, at the Regent Gallery. photo by viewfromaloft.org

There are many reasons for wanting to promote.  Everyone starts out on the bottom of the police food chain.  Some linger on the bottom longer than others.  Some of those on the bottom might have made bad decisions, or they just don’t have any ambition to promote.  Others planned their climb up the ladder from their first day in the police academy.

I’m going to break down some of the reasons for promoting.  Money, ambition, retirement, power and the urge to get out of patrol.  Some put off promoting because of the love of what they’re doing.  Some recruits in the academy thought they would someday run our department or another department.  Only a very few did, none in my academy class, and I was in a good academy group.

We all had ambitions as a young child.  I was going to be a professional baseball player until I discovered that I couldn’t hit a curve ball and when running, I was slower than a turtle.

Like a lot of my partners, I wanted to be a street cop. You know–wearing a blue uniform, driving a black and white police car, chases both on foot and in cars, hours of boredom followed by thirty seconds of sheer terror.  It gets into your blood, it’s addictive and hard to kick.  You make life and death decisions and enjoy the adrenalin rushes.  Your chest swells when you put a bad guy in jail due to your superior observations and tactics. Oh yea, luck entered in a lot.   In my 35 years on the LAPD I observed a lot of cops who pondered over the decision whether to promote or not.

I worked for a lot of good street cops who promoted too soon.  They still wanted to do police work but the LAPD frowned on supervisors being street cops.  By the way, the department told sergeants not to even write tickets.  I remember one sergeant was told turn in your ticket book or turn on your stripes!!  Street cops hated a sergeant who makes an arrest then hands it off.  It’s like someone else catching a fish and giving it to you to clean. Whoopee.

I once had a sergeant drive through a dark alley and found a drunk sleeping in a doorway.  He called me to come book him downtown, he then had the nerve to tell me he was going to eat.  After medical treatment and booking, I had to have my police car checked for crabs, not the Alaska kind.  I worked 3 hours overtime, itched for two days and no, I didn’t get to eat that night.    See who your friends are when you stand naked in the locker room and ask some cop to look for bugs on you.

Those with aspirations of being the Chief of Police got out of patrol as soon as possible.  Patrol produces complaints and complaints slow promotions.  Cops couldn’t take a promotional test until they had four years of seniority, but that didn’t stop them from transferring to an inside job.  We use to call them “building boys.”  The building boys would take a job in Manuals & Orders or Planning & Research, where the biggest danger was a severe paper cut.  They took two hour lunches and hobnobbed with the Department brass.  Now days, they call it networking.  They usually took a promotional test the day after they were eligible and most did very good.  Of course, they helped write the test.

I don’t begrudge the building boys for promoting–that’s what they wanted.  My only problem was when they promoted they were then sent back to patrol to supervise us street cops.  They often made poor tactical field decisions based on very little experience in the field.  I once had a new sergeant respond to a scene and when asked to make a decision, he opened the department manual looking for the answer.  It wasn’t there!  He actually asked for another sergeant to respond and make the decision.  I respected any new sergeant or lieutenant who asked the senior officers for advice.  It was still their decision to make but at least they asked.

I saw a lot of supervisors who didn’t make a decision at all, for fear that it would stall their next promotion.   If the lack of a decision was newsworthy, like during the riots, the supervisor’s career was over and forget about the retirement home in the marina.  No more promotions and something they call freeway therapy.  That’s where you live in northern LA County and your next assignment is in the southern most division in the city. Nothing like an hour and half drive to and from work to get your mind straight.

I use to think that the LAPD needed a promotion tree with two forks.  One fork was for the building boys who promote, they can stay inside and read policy books. The second fork was for street cops who had experience in patrol and knew what worked regardless of what the psychologists said.  I once expressed my two forked tree theory and found myself peeing in a cup and taking a Rorschach exam.  After that I kept my opinions to myself and the dog.

One of the problems with my theory was that the building boys made policy for us street cops and worse yet, they sat as jury on our discipline boards.  Swell, some building boy wearing a uniform that only needs dry cleaning once a month, is going to decide if the decision I made in a split second in a dark alley will determine if I’m employed next month.

Not all supervisors were building boys, thank goodness.  I also worked for some of the best street cops who promoted.  I remember one sergeant showed up at a scene where the suspect was acting up–ok, he was being an asshole.  The sergeant stood back, let me handle the uncooperative miscreant, then turned and walk away, saying, “Good job, Collier.”

Police range training Photo by lastresistance.com
Police range training
Photo by lastresistance.com

I also worked for two of the best captains the LAPD ever produced, Bob Taylor and Garrette Zimmon.  On more than one occasion they would take off their captain bars and work a patrol car, handling any radio call that came in. “Walk in my shoes.”  That’s leadership.  Most captains will ride around with a sergeant for an hour and never get their hands dirty.  Those two captains had the respect of the whole division.  They also showed up at shooting training days and went through the different scenarios, same as the street cops.  They showed the cops that they could shoot just as well as run the division.  If they hadn’t promoted, I might still be working Hollywood patrol.

My next Ramblings will deal with my motivation to promote or not to promote.

Hal

Next Ramblings will be the “why”–what made Hal want to promote?

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Foot Pursuits, part 3- My Best

By Hal Collier

This will be the last installment in foot pursuits.  I was involved in a lot of foot pursuits in my career but most were uneventful.   Some were very short, some involved multiple officers and sometimes I was just out-run by some rookie cop who still had a drawer full of T-shirts with his name on them.  You only had T-shirts with your name on them in the Academy.  These rookies just love running past you in a foot pursuit.  I heard one laugh as he ran by me but I got the last laugh when he ripped out the knee on his brand new uniform pants.  Rookies, you have to get rid of those leather soled dress shoes when you graduate from the academy, no grip on the turns.

On the run photo by Siegels Uniforms
On the run
photo by Siegels Uniforms

There are rules when running after a suspect on foot.  These rules are for officer survival.  Partners should never split up.  It happens but is strongly discouraged by the Department.  If a suspect runs around a corner, the officer should go wide around that corner.  That’s in case the suspect has decided to ambush the officer when he rounds the same corner.

If you jump a wall, don’t go over the same place that your suspect jumped over.  I chased a suspect over a wall once and when I got to the top of the wall I saw him crouched down waiting for me on the other side.  Never run with your finger on the trigger of your gun.  I was chasing this guy. He jumped off a car bumper and over a wall.  I stepped on the bumper and slipped on the dew.  Thank goodness I didn’t have my finger on the trigger or it would have been days off without pay for a negligent discharge.  For my non-police friends, that’s an “awe shit”.

Most cops developed a sixth sense about some aspect of police work.  I knew a cop, Tony Diaz, who could look at a car and tell if it was stolen.  Another partner, Joe Cupo, could look at a guy walking down the street and tell if he was carrying a gun. Some were great interrogators.  Some were great butt-kissers, too many to name–but I digress.

My sixth sense was foot pursuits.  I could tell if a suspect was about to run.  It’s body language.  I couldn’t teach it to other cops but I just knew.  We would be talking to a suspect and suddenly he would turn and run.  Most times I was already taking a step after him before he took his first step.  Partners would ask, how did you know he was going to run?  I couldn’t give them an answer, I just knew.

I was walking a foot beat on Hollywood Boulevard with a partner and we saw this suspicious character.  I approached him and he took off running.  I’m chasing him and broadcasting on my old handheld CC unit.  A CC radio was an antique form of communication before all officers had radios on their belts.  I’m running after this dirt bag and broadcasting my direction, requesting backup and the description of this miscreant.  His description may change if I catch him alone, but that’s another story.

The radio operator must think I’m a rookie, she tells me to calm down, take a deep breath and repeat my message.  As calmly as I can, I tell her that I’m chasing this suspect on foot and after I catch him I’ll take a deep breath.  Three blocks later we catch him.  I got to the station and the W/C told me that Communications Division called and the radio operator apologized, she didn’t know I was running and broadcasting at the same time.

This was probably my most rewarding foot pursuit, not because I caught the bad guy but because I cleared the most crimes by running this guy down.

A little background:  There’s an area just south of the Hollywood Bowl parking lot where the houses can only be accessed by steps and a sidewalk.  Alta Loma Terrace runs west from Highland Avenue and intersects with Broadview Terrace which runs north from High Tower.  There are about 3 dozen homes that line the sidewalks, cozy unless your moving furniture.  These homes don’t get any police patrols because it would require officers to get out of their cars and hike up the stairs and sidewalks.

From policemag.com: to run or not to run photo by policemag
From policemag.com: to run or not to run
photo by policemag

Back to my best foot pursuit.  I’m walking a foot beat on Hollywood Boulevard at 2 A.M.  Foot beat officers had CC units which were hand held radios.  I’m listing to a radio broadcast of a hot prowl burglar on Broadview Terrace.  After the third burglary, we decide to see if we can help.  The suspect was not shy about being seen as he would break into an occupied house.  That makes him very dangerous.  Before we walk up the steps the burglar has committed another crime.  The area is all hillside with lots of foliage and hiding places.

We have six officers and two long blocks to search to see if he’s still in the area.  He’s taken wallets, stereos and some other large items.  We figure he’s got them hidden somewhere in the area.  I found the stolen items on a dirt path at the end of Broadview Terrace.  We decide that my partner and I will hide near his stolen loot and grab him when he returns.   The other officers pretend to leave the area.  We think it’s a good plan.

We only wait a half hour when I see our suspect walking up the sidewalk toward us.  I duck down behind a porch wall and wait.  Our suspect disappears. Oh crap, we’ve blown the stake out.  We hear the elevator that connects Hightower to the steps.  The elevator is going down. Oh shit, my suspect is getting away.  The elevator comes back up and a resident is in it.  He’s not happy with my gun pointed at his head.  He said no one was in the elevator when it came down.  Our suspect is still in the area.

I go back to the spot where I last saw the bad guy.  I step between two houses and look down at an overgrown hillside, adjacent to the Hollywood Bowl parking lot.  It’s dark and all I see is trees and some bushes.  I’m still shining my flashlight around the area when my suspect jumps up and starts running.  I lost him once but not again.  I run down the hillside.  I can only see a foot in front of me but I can hear my suspect, as he crashes through the bushes ahead.  I step into a hollow and land on my butt.  I lose my night stick.  My partner falls into the same hole and picks up my night stick.  My partner is fifteen yards behind me, a non-smoker, and I’m guessing by the sounds, that I’m ten yards behind the suspect.

I’m thinking, I can’t lose this guy, I’m pretty sure I ripped my uniform, I know I have scratches and I’m wondering if there’s poison oak on this hillside.  We break into the clear and my suspect jumps a fence and runs through the Bowl parking lot.  I see him hide in some bushes and I wait for other officers to show up.

We catch the guy, but I’m a little beat up, my uniform is not torn and I didn’t get poison oak.  Our bad guy broke into nine homes that night.  He never made it to court, because he was dying of cancer.  The home owners were happy, my sergeant was happy and I was happy.  Now all I have to do is spend the next six hours writing up an arrest report and booking this guy at a medical facility.

I wish all of my foot pursuits turned out this good.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Foot Pursuit, part 2, Rules

By Hal Collier

The story you are about to read is true.  In my last Ramblings I talked about my worst foot pursuit.  If you remember, it involved slipping on ice plant, being clothes-lined, stepping in a rose bush and getting my hand smashed by the door of a police car.  I laugh when I watch cop shows on TV.  They are always running in good light, the cops take a short cut that leads to a tackle of the bad guy.  They never ruin a new uniform, which in the old days we paid for out of our own pocket.  The officers almost never lose a foot pursuit or get hurt and other police cars show up within seconds to assist.  All false.  The reality is that your often alone, running in the dark, through terrain that only a fool would attempt.

In my early years I was not a fast runner but I could run longer than a cheetah.  I would usually outlast the hypes and high school gym dropouts that I was chasing.  I used to brag that I never lost a foot pursuit.  That lasted about 6 years.  Then one night the inevitable happened.

My partner and I received a radio call of a car stripper in a car port.  We made the usual stealth approach, car lights out, radio turned down, car doors cracked.  As we approached the carport the suspect saw us.  He bolted southbound through the apartment buildings.  I’m confident that I’ll have him in custody in a short time.  I’m also sure that my partner, a heavy smoker, is right behind me.

We bound over a short wall behind the apartment building and run between two other apartments.  We zig zag between some parked cars as we cross the next street and run up the driveway of another apartment building.  He’s got a pretty good lead but I’ve never lost a foot pursuit.  I look over my shoulder–my partner is not behind me.  We run up a driveway and over another short fence.  I hear my partner; he’s in our car on the street we crossed ten seconds ago.  We cross another street and head up a driveway of a house.  In the back yard, the suspect jumps over a six foot wood fence.  As I approach the fence, I slip on something. I’ll bet it’s from a dog.  I get up and start to put my hands on the top of the fence.  I stop.  The fence is spiked with nails, all pointing up.  I’m not jumping over a fence with nails to catch a dirt bag that some judge will give probation as a sentence.  I’m either getting older or smarter.

My partner is one block north of me, as well as the helicopter and other policemen.  They’re looking for me.  This was before we had radios on our belts.  I look at the top of the fence, it’s got blood and some clothing stuck to the nails.  Ha, ha, he’ll pay for running from me.  For the next few weeks I looked at every dirt bag hands to see if he had puncture wounds.

I also had some foot pursuits that were pretty funny after they were over.  We’re responding to a radio call of a crazy man in the middle of Sunset Boulevard, west of La Brea.  We see him in the middle of the street.  We stop our police car in the middle of Sunset and order the nut to put his hands up.  I notice right away he’s a Democrat, because he gives us a one finger wave and runs northbound.  We broadcast that we’re in foot pursuit and chase him.  In the old days the only radio we had was attached to the car.

The suspect runs into a house–ok, not into the house like through a door but into the side of the house.  He bounces off the house, turns around and runs southbound down Formosa Avenue.  My partner is about ten feet behind me, another smoker.  The suspect goes about a hundred feet down the middle of Formosa and runs around a parked car and heads northbound.

He’s now heading right at my partner.  My partner swings his plastic flashlight at the suspect missing his head and hitting him on the shoulder.  My partner forgot his nightstick in the car.  The flashlight comes apart, I step on one of his batteries and land on my ass.  I’m pissed.  The suspect runs westbound through an alley behind a strip club which just happens to be letting out.

Ok, we’ve changed directions twice since my original broadcast.  I can hear the police cars and helicopter looking for us but they’re a block north of us.  I’m about thirty feet behind the bad guy and I see some patrons of the strip club.   I yell at them as I run past, “Call the police and tell them which direction we’re going.”  I hear one of them say, “Aren’t they the police?”  What do you expect from a guy coming out of a strip club in Hollywood?  The suspect runs southbound on Alta Vista on the sidewalk when I see something I’ve never seen before.  A guy in a Porsche pulls across the sidewalk blocking our suspect’s path.

The suspect makes a U-turn and runs right at me.  Ok, I have my nightstick.  I carried a 5 cell sportsman flashlight, good for light but not for hitting someone.  Kept me out of trouble that other officers got into that carried Kel-lites.   A Kel-lite was a metal flashlight which was sometimes used as a club.

As he nears me I raise my stick high and when he put his hands up to fight, I lower my stick and whack him across his legs just below the knees.  He goes down immediately.  We get him handcuffed and I look up to see the guy in the Porsche drive away. He’s giving us a thumbs up.

I look at my partner and ask “Who was that masked man?”  We walked our suspect back up to Sunset where a Sergeant says, “Where the hell have you been?”  He says you were supposed to be north of Sunset.  I look the Sergeant in the eye and tell him, “I guess our nut lost his script.”

That’s right he was crazy as a loon. You guess, if I’m talking about the Sergeant or the suspect.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Foot Pursuit, part 1-My Worst

By Hal Collier

The story you are about to read is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.  I’ll give you a little background before I get to my story.  In May of 1976 I broke my ankle playing basketball at the police academy.  Because it was at the academy it was considered Injured on Duty (IOD).  It was a bad break and I was off work for months, followed by more months of light duty.  For my non-police friends, light duty means answering phones, filing and anything else the department wants you to do.  It’s boring and not what a crime fighting street cop enjoys.  You begin to count the days when a city doctor will release you to full duty.  After lots of therapy, the physical kind, not mental as some of you would expect, I was released to go back to work.

My story is about the worst foot pursuit I was ever in.  Foot pursuits are fun to watch on TV, the cops never lose sight of the bad guy and there is always plenty of light to see.  They almost always turn out fine with the good guys winning.  In reality, bad guys run where they think a cop won’t follow.  The cop never knows if the suspect has stopped after turning a corner and is waiting to ambush him.

Cops have been bit by dogs.  The suspect runs through a back yard and wakes the dog.  The dog figures no one else is getting by and the cop is next to enter the yard.  The cop is now the one being chased!

The cop’s advantage is he has a partner most of the time.  Back up officers are enroute, but only if he remembered to broadcast that he was chasing a bad guy.  There might be a helicopter with a light that can illuminate a city block.

My first night back at work, I was assigned with my regular partner, a senior officer.  He was driving. I was just glad to get back out in the field.  About 3 A.M. we were driving northbound on Formosa Avenue south of Hollywood Boulevard.  Formosa is a residential street one block west of La Brea.  We saw this 20-something-year-old male walking northbound.  He looked over his shoulder at us and immediately put his hands in his pockets.   Ok, his actions would be suspicious even to a card-carrying member of the ACLU.

Catching the bad guy in Lexington, Ky photo by lex18
Catching the bad guy in Lexington, Ky
photo by lex18

My partner and I both agreed, we have to stop this guy.  I open the door and the suspect turns and runs down a driveway.  He looks clumsy, maybe high on some illegal drug.  He attempts to jump over a trash can in the middle of the driveway.  He stumbles as he hits the trash can.  The can goes spinning, I figure I will catch him in about five strides.  I easily jump the trash can.  I didn’t see the ice plant that had over grown on the driveway.  I hit the ice plant and fall hard on my knee.  Ok, now I’m mad. I’m hoping I didn’t rip my uniform.  I watch the suspect climb a three foot wooden fence to enter the back yard.  I see an open gate and run through it to the back yard.  I’m closing in, I’m only about ten feet behind this dirt bag.  I thinking what kind of take down I’m going to use when I catch this guy.

I didn’t see the clothes line!  Remember its 3 A.M. and dark.  The clothes line hits me in the forehead, I go down again.  I stagger to my feet.  The suspect is running through two feet of high grass.  I’m guessing the resident’s gardener has died.   Ok, now I’m really pissed.  I see the bad guy climb a small four foot wall.  As I approach the wall, I see that you can step around the wall.  I step around and right into the rose bush.  You know light duty wasn’t all that bad, I only got paper cuts, and once broke a nail when I couldn’t find a staple puller.

This house has a deep lot and there’s more backyard.  The grass is now four feet high. I lose my baton stepping over a dead tree.  I’m wondering where my partner is.  Department policy says partners don’t split up, especially during foot pursuits.  Well, it can’t get any worse!  I lost some ground and this dirt bag is going to be sorry when I catch him.  He climbs a chain link fence that is leaning over.  I’m using a lot more caution; it’s been said I’m a slow learner.  I carefully climb over the fence.  My bad guy is now running down an alley toward La Brea.  I yell out, “Stop or I’ll shoot”.  Nothing–he didn’t even slow up.  No respect for the law.  He’s now emptying his pockets, throwing pill bottles in the alley.

Another bad guy off the streets of Lexington, Ky. photo by lex18
Another bad guy off the streets of Lexington, Ky.
photo by lex18

I can hear the police siren and squealing tires, I now know where my partner is.  We run across La Brea, I’m gaining again.  We hit the alley on the east side of La Brea.  My partner is right behind us.  I grab the dirt bag by the shoulder and spin him around.  My partner pulls the police car right next to us and flings open the car door.  The top edge of the police car door hits me on my left hand.  I drop the dirt bag and my partner handcuffs him.  My hand immediately swells up.

The sergeant arrives immediately, so the dirt bag won’t get any street justice.  I end up at the emergency room at Cedars Sinai Hospital.  The nurse says it looks like your hand is broken, but we’ll take x-rays.  It’s my right hand, I wonder if I can file reports left handed.

My mind is racing. It’s my first night back.  I’m looking at light duty for months–I   hated day watch.  I hated answering the phones for detectives and being their Girl Friday.  What am I going to tell my wife and kids?  I want a “do over”.

The doctor comes in and tells me it’s only a contusion, not broken.  I can breathe again.  He’s going to give me two days off with pay and sends me home.  My partner had to stay, book the dirt bag and write all the reports.  I had to go back and get my baton, the house belonged to a ninety-year-old lady who doesn’t go outside anymore.

I could have given her a clear picture of her yard and it obstacles.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: LA Olympics, part 3

 

By Hal Collier

This is the the final installment of my experiences during the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.  The stories are true and only first names will be used.  My three days working at the Village are over and I’m back to working patrol.  I’m still working twelve hours shifts, which means fifteen hour days away from home.

 

1984 Olympics photo by business week
1984 Olympics
photo by business week

The competition is about to start and the TV stations are warming up for hours of coverage.  I’m going to miss most of the coverage.  I’m either going to be sleeping or working, with the exception of my days off.  I saw less of the 84 Olympics than any Olympics since I was 12.  A shame since it was in my own town.

 

Some good things came from the Olympic Villages.  The Department was concerned about terrorists so they placed sharpshooters, Counter Assault Teams, (CAT) on the roof tops throughout the village.  Now, most were men sitting on the roofs with a high-powered rifle, equipped with a scope and a radio.  They would sit up there for hours with nothing to do but look for trouble.

 

They found it looking into the windows of the dorms.  They soon learned which dorms held the women athletes.  Ok, they weren’t exactly peeping toms, but some of the European female athletes are accustomed to walking around naked.  Thank god the Russian and East Germans boycotted these Olympics.  Have you ever seen a naked female East German athlete!  If an officer observed a scantily dressed female athlete, he would radio to his partner on the next rooftop.

 

The problem came when the first officer tried to pinpoint to the second officer which window to look into.  The dorms were 12 to 15 stories high and 7 to 12 windows wide.  One officer devised a system.  Count down from the top and left to right.  3 down and 2 to the left meant, 3 floors down from the top and 2 to the left.  Brilliant isn’t it.  I’ll bet that officer never promoted, he was bred to be a street cop.  This system was later used and taught at the police academy to locate bad guys.  3 down and 2 to the right, I’ll bet you never read that in the L.A. Times did you.

 

The nights seemed long due to the lack of radio calls.  The citizens either didn’t call in the chronic noise complaints or our communication division did take them.  Either way we had plenty of time to drive around and wave.  I was lucky, I worked most nights with Chuck, another old timer.  Chuck and I would eat on the hood and use our lunch break to jog.  Eating on the hood meant a Pinks hot dog or some other fast food that we ate on the hood of our police car. A well learned clue, eat after you jog, especially Pinks.  Sometime during the middle of the night we would change into our workout clothes and go for a 3 1/2 mile run.  Chuck carried a 2″ revolver in a sock for protection. Those terrorists are everywhere.

 

We were allotted 1 hour for our lunch break.  One night a Sergeant approached us and said we took 65 minutes for lunch and that wasn’t acceptable. He was another building boy on his way up the chain of command.  We told him we could skip a shower after our run if he wanted, but he decided that 5 minutes was not that big of a problem.

 

Drunk Drag Queen photo by vlmlaw.com
Drunk Drag Queen
photo by vlmlaw.com

I vividly remember an incident on Santa Monica near Western.  A call came out about a 390/415 women.  That’s drunk and disturbing the peace.  We’re close and respond.  Standing in the middle of Santa Monica in front of Sherries Restaurant is a drunk drag queen.  He has a beer bottle in his hand and is yelling obscenities at everyone.  The restaurant patrons have a free floor show, no cover charge.

 

I get out of our police car and order him to drop the bottle.  He says something about my family heritage as I approach.  I’m either going to knock the bottle out of his hand or knock him to the ground.  As I get closer I hear a popping noise and see the queen fall to the ground.  Chuck tased him from just behind me.  End of problem.  Chuck had the nick name of “Sparkey.”

 

The 1984 Los Angeles Olympics were a huge success.  The city made a lot of money, the media praised the LAPD for its handling of the Olympics.  It was a true highlight for the men and women of my police department.

 

The only dark spot was when a Metro officer, Jimmy Pearson, tried to be a hero by removing a bomb from an athlete’s bus at LAX.  The only problem was that he placed the bomb on the bus to gain attention to himself.

 

Lean years would follow for the LAPD with the media beating us up until the North Hollywood Bank shootout.  That was when everyone really got to see live on TV what cops do, we run to the gun fire when everyone else is running away.

 

Olympic Village pin photo by ebay
Olympic Village pin
photo by ebay

Anybody want to buy some Olympic pins?  I found out my dad had collected some.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: LA Olympics, part 2

By Hal Collier

The following story is true.  In my last Ramblings, I dealt with the some of the planning and my assignments during the 1984 Olympics in L.A.  Now let’s get down to what really went on at the Olympics!!  My three days were all at the Athletes Village at UCLA and it was before the competition started.

My first night at the Village, I was assigned to a perimeter car.  We were given a map of the village and where each fence monitor was located.  Fence monitors set off an alarm if anything touched the fence.  The first 3 hours we raced around to see if terrorists were infiltrating the village like they did in Munich in 1972.  We expected to encounter Black September members at every fence activation.  After the first fifteen false alarms, the adrenaline subsided.  We spent most of the night checking out false alarms at the fence.  Early in the morning, the athletes would get on buses to go to their training sites.  We were told not to give rides to the athletes, but what the hell, everyone did.  It was like feeding a stray cat once you started, they all wanted a ride.

1984 US Womens Olympic Shooting Team
1984 US Olympic Shooting Team

We were flagged down by two young British female athletes.  They were competing in the shooting events, first year for females in an Olympics.  We gave them a ride to their bus.  They wanted to know if we had any pins to trade.  Pin trading was a huge phenomenon at the 1984 Olympics.  I think everyone was trading Olympic pins, except me.  There were rumors that sex was offered for an LAPD badge.  The LAPD buttons on my uniform were highly wanted.  Just for the record I have both my badge and all my buttons, it’s my marbles that are missing.

My first night wasn’t that bad, they even fed us a hot meal, not a box lunch.  I’m thinking maybe I should have signed up for more days.  Then day two came.  The athlete’s buses would enter the village through the front gate and drop off the athletes.  The buses would then drive down a hill and pass the athletic field and exit the village.  My post was sitting on a metal folding chair next to the field.  As the buses would pass me they revved their engines and create a cloud of diesel exhaust.  I’m guessing the bus drivers were not pro-police.  This night sucked.  No one to talk to, no female athletes offering to trade pins, but I still got a hot meal and cash overtime, twelve hours at time and a half.

My third night I was apprehensive. Will this be another night from hell or filled with pleasant memories?  I was assigned to the back gate where athletes would walk in and be screened.  I think the purpose was that no one would smuggle in guns, bombs, or maybe some other contraband.  They had those bag screeners like you see at the airport and wands for the athletes.

I think this was my best day.  I was assigned to a screener who enjoyed her work and we would exchange pleasantries with a lot of athletes.  I couldn’t believe some of the American crap they were bringing into the village.  I saw an athlete who was really proud of a felt painting of a bull, I guess the Elvis paintings were all sold out.

Jose Cuervo Tequila photo courtesy of the beverage store
Jose Cuervo Tequila
photo courtesy of the beverage store

A lot of liquor, mostly tequila, Jose Cuervo, if I remember correctly.  For my younger readers, buy stock in tequila companies if L.A. has another Olympics.  I thought these athletes were in training.  I also saw a lot of Levi jeans, of course that was 27 years ago and who knows what will sell now, probably I-Pads or Bluetooth’s.

It was a fun night and the night flew bye.  As I said before, this was pre-competition and I guess the athletes didn’t have a curfew.  They streamed in all night.  I’ll bet the athletes that practiced shooting didn’t do very well.   Another hot meal and cash overtime.  I’ve really enjoy my three days at the Village but now I have to go back to Patrol for the next few weeks.

Next episode is about things you didn’t read in the newspapers. They were just covering the Olympic events and the athletes.

Hal