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: A True Chain Saw Story

Here is the link that goes to LA Times news article from Nov. 24, 1987. The “George Collier” is our own “Hal”.

-Thonie

Murder Suspect Says He Used Saw to Cut Up Dog

The following story is true. I haven’t changed the names this time because they are a matter of public record.  On August 28, 1987, I was working a radio car on Day Watch in Hollywood Division.  I had about 17 years on the job and was working with a probationer.

We received a radio call, “Go to Jack’s Rents on Santa Monica Blvd”.  See the manager, possible blood on a rented chain saw.  Ok, people always say, “I’ll bet you’ve seen everything”, but I tell them if you work Hollywood long enough you’ll realize you’ll never see everything.

I told my probationer that an old partner raised cattle and today’s rustlers use chain saws to cut up the beef and sell it. Now there aren’t a lot of cows in Hollywood but we do have a large deer population in the Hollywood hills.  I also told him don’t believe everything you’re told.  It might not be blood at all.

We arrive at Jack’s Rents and speak to the manager.  He says that a man rented a chain saw last week and returned it a day later.  An employee put the saw under a work bench until he could clean it up.  A few days later, he took out the saw and noticed that the saw was covered in blood and flesh.  The manager said after conferring with the company attorney, they called the police.

Now, I have seen a lot of dried blood in my career, but I’m not a forensic expert or a technical adviser on any of the CSI TV shows.   I looked at the saw, and damn, it looks like blood and flesh to me.  My probationer gave me that you’re the senior officer look when I asked his opinion.  The manager showed me the rental slip.  The saw was rented to a Max B. Franc of West Hollywood.  The phone number that he gave was local.

I’ve been through three Hollywood scandals and know better than to kiss off anything that might come back to bite me.  I called the head detective of Hollywood Homicide, Russ Custer.  I explained what I have and he said, “Well Hal, call the guy and see what he used the saw for.”

I call Max Franc and asked him, ” Did you rent the chain saw and why does it look like there’s blood on it”?  Max tells me he did rent the saw and used it to cut up a dead dog.  I asked who’s dog and he said he didn’t know.  How did the dog die, I inquire.

Max, (See? We’re on a first name basis) said he hit it in Beverly Hills and wanted to get rid of it.  It was too big to throw in the trash can so he cut it up.  I asked where is the dog now and he said he buried it off the 5 Freeway north of L.A.  When I questioned Max about why he cut up someone else’s dog he became vague.  I told Max to hold on a minute and I talked to Detective Custer.  I told Custer, this guys story is crazy, even for Hollywood.  When I returned to Max he had hung up.

Custer and I discussed Max’s odd behavior and answers.  Custer didn’t want to get bit either and said,  “Let’s play it safe. Take the saw to SID (Scientific Investigation Division),”  our CSI. They tested it and confirmed it was blood, but would have to do more tests to determine if it was human.

I was off the next day and got a call from Lt. Ed. Hocking, the Officer in Charge of Hollywood Detectives.  He said the blood was human and they were going to conduct a search warrant of Max’s residence.  He asked if I wanted to go, because it was my superior investigative skills that broke the case.  Ok, maybe that’s not quite the truth but that’s they way I want to remember it.  I had to beg off because I was working an off duty job at the Hollywood Bowl. My daughter needed braces.

The search warrant confirmed that someone was cut up with a chain saw in Max’s bathtub.  Coincidentally, a set of arms and legs were found off the 5 Freeway near Magic Mountain and a head and torso were found in a field near Fresno.  Max was arrested the next day by West Hollywood Sheriffs and charged with murder.

Funny, LAPD determined that a crime had occurred and where and we collected evidence.  The LA County Sheriffs took over and took the credit for the arrest and prosecution.

Max was a Public Administration Professor at California State Fresno College and kept an apartment in West Hollywood where he would entertain male homosexual prostitutes.

The victim was shot and then dismembered in Max’s bathtub.  The murder weapon was found in Max’s desk drawer in his office at CaIifornia State Fresno.  I testified in court, (C-Attachment) and Max was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years to life.  In Sept. of 1997 Max suffered a heart attack and died in prison.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Fighting in Uniform: The Worst and the Longest

This will be the last Ramblings on fighting in uniform.  As I said before I didn’t fight a lot but sometimes I just couldn’t talk my way out of wrestling match.

I worked a few plain clothes assignments but never vice.  Vice officers are always fighting.  They get a violation and the criminal either decides he’s not going to jail on a morals charge, or he claims that he didn’t know it was a cop.  Suspects always use the defense they didn’t know it was a cop when arrested by a plain clothes officer.

Ironic that all the times I was dressed for a fight, you know jeans, tennis shoes and an old shirt, I never had to fight.

Not all my fights were with men as you might expect.  I was brought up to never hit a girl but once as a child I learned a valuable lesson.  My sister had been picking on me and hit me.  I hauled off and hit her back.  She never hit me again. Hum.

It’s December 24 at about 3 A.M.  My partner a female and I get a domestic family dispute call.  We arrive and expect it to be a husband/wife dispute.  No, it’s brother against brother and both have been drinking.  Brother “A” punches brother “B” in the nose, breaking it.  Brother “B” demands a citizen arrest of brother “A”.  Both brothers are in their 30’s and by law we are required to accept the arrest.

Brother “A” gets handcuffed and placed in the back seat of our police car.  I’m about to drive off when the boys’ mother, also drunk, races out of the house and screams, “You’re not taking my son to jail on Christmas Eve!”  She reaches in my open window and grabs me around the neck.  I swing open the car door and knock mom to the ground.

As I step out of the car, Mom attacks me. Mom is about 5′ 3″ and 100 lbs. soaking wet.  I declined using the department approved choke hold and go for a rear wrist lock. I’m thinking it will be more humane for a little old lady.  I hear a familiar snap sound—shit, I broke her arm.  Mom and the son both went to jail on Christmas Eve.  Mom first stopped off at an emergency room to have her arm set.

 

Police grab a union worker as others protest during a tense moment as union workers block a grain train in Longview, Wash., Wednesday, Sept. 7, 2011. Longshoremen blocked the train as part of an escalating dispute about labor at the EGT grain terminal at the Port of Longview.(AP Photo/Don Ryan)
Police grab a union worker as others protest during a tense moment as union workers block a grain train in Longview, Wash., Wednesday, Sept. 7, 2011. Longshoremen blocked the train as part of an escalating dispute about labor at the EGT grain terminal at the Port of Longview.
(AP Photo/Don Ryan)

Another time I’m walking a Morning Watch foot beat.  We are walking thru an alley just south of Hollywood Boulevard at Highland.  We see two guys and a girl standing next to a parked car.  They are acting suspicious and we approach in the dark.  When we get up on the car we see a second girl crouched down.  I walk up on the girl, she screams, jumps up and grabs my badge.

 

Cops are very protective of two things.  Their gun (which if taken away from them will get them killed) and their badge.  The badge is earned and carried with a cop at all times.  An officer keeps the same badge throughout their careers unless they promote.  Most cops shine it every day before pinning it on their uniform and if shined enough the windows of City Hall were rubbed smooth.  My badge said “Policeman”.  Later, when females were hired for patrol, the badges said “Police Officer.”  I use to say that I spent more time sleeping with my badge than I did with my wife.

 

Anyway this young girl grabs my badge and is attempting to rip it from my uniform shirt.  Without even thinking, I grab the girl by the neck and lifted her with one hand and threw her on the hood of the car.  The girl had been to a club drinking and when they got to their car, she decided she had to pee.  She squatted down when we walked up on her.  She was embarrassed being caught and even more embarrassed when she went to jail.  Yea, she made a complaint against me.

 

This last story involved the longest fight I was ever in.  The Hollywood Palladium in the 70’s was notorious for booking rock groups.  With rock groups, comes drug abuse.  I’m working with Officer Bob and we get a call of a 415 Man (disturbing the peace) a block from the Palladium.  The citizen says this guy was running around in his yard acting crazy and jumped over his fence.  He went east.  We tell the citizen the standard Adam 12 line, “We’ll check it out.”  We get back in our car and drive east.  We only travel a few houses when another resident runs out and asks us if were looking for the drunk nut.   The resident says he sitting in his driveway.  Oh crap, we’ll have to take the drunk downtown to book and it will take us a couple of hours.

 

We walk up the driveway and see our suspect sitting in some tall grass.  He’s looks stoned and I can’t see his hands due to the grass.  I walk behind him and grab his hands.  As he stands up he digs his heels in the ground and throws me back against a block wall.  I apply a department approved choke hold as taught to me by Bob Jarvis at the Police Academy.

 

This suspect is only about 5′ 6″ and a 130 lbs.  I’m 6′ and 160 lbs. of a fighting machine.  My partner, Bob is a weight lifter and very strong.  Somehow my choke hold slips and this little guy refuses to pass out.  I’m trying to reapply the choke hold and Bob is whacking the suspect across the shins with his baton.  Both of these tactics just anger our suspect.  I vividly remember Bob throwing his baton away and ripping his clip on tie from his shirt and jumping in to control this drug crazed lunatic.

 

We can each control an arm, but when we try to pull his arms behind him, so we can handcuff him, he gets a burst of strength.  We’re rolling around on the ground for a good ten minutes.  With our body weight we can keep him pinned to the dirt.  We count, 1, 2, 3, and swing his arms behind his back.  After 5 minutes we get one hand cuffed. 1,2,3, pull his arms back, this time we were inches from cuffing him.  This goes on for another 10 minutes, 1,2,3, ah shit we almost had it that time.  After a long time we get this little guy cuffed.  The resident watched from his kitchen window and couldn’t believe the strength of the little guy.  We would need him as a witness later when our suspect made a complaint against us for excessive force.

 

We booked our suspect at Hollywood Jail and the next day he couldn’t walk to the Sheriffs bus due to the whacks across the shins.  We had a couple of interviews with Internal Affairs and were cleared of the charges.  Our suspect was loaded on PCP.

 

There’s a funny ending to this story.  Six months later, I get a radio call to an apartment regarding a loud party.  We knock on the door and the owner gets right in my face about what a brutal cop I am.  That’s right it was the little guy I ruined a uniform fighting with.  I run him for warrants and sure enough, he didn’t show up for court on a traffic ticket.  I can’t arrest him in his residence at that late hour due to a law.  I advise him to take care of his warrant and he tells me to do something anatomically impossible and said something about my mother.

 

The law restricted his arrest in his apartment until 6:00 A.M.  At 6:01 A.M. that same morning, I knocked on his door and asked him if he had taken care of that warrant.  He said he hadn’t.  Guess what, he went to jail again.  Don’t talk about a cop’s mother.

 

As I said before I didn’t like fighting, even when you win, you lose.  Torn uniforms, Citizen Complaints, but thank goodness your skin grows back. 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More on Fighting

Police in a joint immigration task force take down a prisoner who will be expelled from Canada for being in Canada illegally. All images ©2013 Peter Bregg
Police in a joint immigration task force take down a prisoner who will be expelled from Canada for being in Canada illegally.
All images ©2013 Peter Bregg

I said I didn’t get in a lot of fights and I guess I didn’t for someone who spent his whole career in patrol.  Most cops who fight a lot have two to four years of experience.  After four years they get smart, I think its policy.  That is not based on any scientific data, but on years of my own experience.

 

See, young cops have to prove they are the king of the hill.  They will fight any dirt bag until they get tired of replacing expensive uniforms and waiting for their own skin to grow back.

 

I’m going to take you on a little side trip.  You see, in the academy the city gives you two brand new uniforms, free.  Of course they fitted you for the uniforms after three months of intensive physical training.

Some recruits hadn’t been in good physical condition since high school or boot camp in the military.  So now they head out into the world of crime and bad guys.  Those new uniforms, which by the way cost over a $120, will last as long as you can still fit in them and they don’t get ripped in a street fight.  The next set of uniforms, you paid for out of a less than generous paycheck.  In later years, officer’s got a uniform allowance check, mine was used to pay off credit card debts from Christmas.  I couldn’t afford to fight for 6 months.

 

You pay to replace a few uniform shirts or pants instead of going to a movie and dinner with your family and you’ll wish you had paid more attention in that class on the art of persuasion. It was called “Verbal Judo.” 

 

Nothing will ruin a nice expensive 100% wool uniform faster than a roll around on an asphalt street with some law breaker who will get timed served by some judge.

 

Ok, another reason not to fight is that you might get hurt.  Getting hurt is a part of the job but sitting at a desk for a couple of months while the dirt bag you fought with is out committing more crimes is just not fair.  I know of a half dozen cops who have broken their hands hitting some bottom feeder in the head.

 

I remember Officer Bill punched a guy in the face when it appeared the guy was kidnapping a women.  He broke five bones in his hand.  The husband was only trying to get his drunk wife in the car. Oops.

 

Officer Dale broke his hand hitting some well-deserved recipient and was chastised by the Captain. The Captain then showed Dale the proper way to hit a suspect without injury to your hand.  Dale still had to work the front desk until his hand healed.

 

Most cops are accused of racial profiling certain people.  The fact is that certain groups of people are prone to fight, especially when drunk.  I’m a product of my environment.  Now, Hollywood is multi-racial so we didn’t have an overwhelming population of any race.  My experience tells me that if you want to fight with a Hispanic, say something about his mother.  I’ve been told that after payday Harbor Division Longshoremen get drunk and want to fight.  I also heard that Samoans love to fight.  But no cop disagrees that a drunk American Indian will fight for no reason other than he’s drunk and you’re there.

 

In Hollywood, we didn’t have a large population of American Indians, but I know that Central Division had a lot.  I suspected that Central cops would put a drunk Indian on a bus, one way, to Hollywood.

 

When you get in a fight, you seldom have time to prepare, but every once in a while you know it’s going be unavoidable.  I had one classic time that I knew we were going to be rolling around on the ground. 

 

We were driving around Hollywood one beautiful night when we get an “Arson Suspect” call at the Greyhound bus station on Vine.  It’s about 2:00 in the morning and the bars have just kicked out the last patrons.

 

We drive up to the bus station and see a trash can bon-fire in the middle of the street.  A small group of people are standing on the sidewalk.  I lean out the car window and ask who “Started the fire.”  From behind the smoke and flames, I hear, “I did, what are you going to do about it?”

 

I look at my partner and say, “We have a freebee.”  My partner is already taking off his watch and removing his pen & pencil.  Watches get broken and pens and pencils rip uniforms in a fight.  You guessed it—our suspect is a drunk American Indian.  We tactically deploy; ok, we split up a little.  We tried to talk the Indian into surrendering without a fight.  Later the Department gave classes and called it “Wooshaw.”  Getting a suspect to surrender without a fight, with words.  Well, this Indian missed the class and charged my partner.

 

The two of us and this drunk Indian roll around on the ground for a good ten minutes.  We finally avenge Custer’s fight at the “Little Big Horn” and handcuff our suspect.  Our suspect looks us in the eye and says, “Ok, fellows, good fight, let’s go to jail.”  All he wanted to do was fight before he got a bed and three meals on the city.  Me, I got a few abrasions but my uniform only got dirty.  My partner got a nice tear on a new pair of pants.  What the fight cost:  Indian, free meals and a bed, me, two band aids and some antiseptic, my partner a new pair of pants $80.

 

Next the worst and longest fight of my career.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Have you ever been in a fight?

Have you ever been in a fight?  Yea, we’ve all been in fights in school, some on the playground some with our siblings when mom was busy.  I once had a fight on my way home from junior high with a school bully.  I remember it as winning because after that he left me alone—but then I got my growth spurt before he did.

As a rule I wasn’t a big fighter and usually tried to talk my way out of confrontations.  That served me well through most of my career with the LAPD, but every once in a while words were not enough.  You see it every day on the news: some guy gets high and when the cops arrive he has to prove that he’s a man.  He refuses to comply and squares off.  The cop’s thinking, This is not only a clean uniform but it’s brand new.  I don’t want to wrestle this dirt bag and ruin my uniform.  Cops paid for their own uniforms in the early days.

The drunk’s probably expecting the Marques of Queensberry Rules and expecting a fair one-on-one fight.  The cop’s thinking, I’ll get him to raise his hands to hit me and I’ll whack him across the shins with my Baton.  When he collapses, me and my 12 buddies will jump on his back and handcuff him.  I used this tactic more than once and didn’t get dirty or tear a uniform. 

By the way, we don’t fight fair—we fight to win as fast as possible.  Two, three, five, fifteen cops, whatever it takes to win.  The problem with multiple cops was that most cops who got hurt were hit by another cop by accident.  Doesn’t it just make you want to barf when on TV, the good guy throws away his gun and squares off against the bad guy as all those cops watch?

In the Police Academy they teach you that if you lose a street fight you die.  No time out, no King’s X, no do-overs, no “Ok, you can go free.”  You lose a fight you die.  Ok, with that mindset, you head out to the mean streets of Los Angeles.  I’m 21, in good shape and armed with the latest fight techniques, taught at the finest police academy in the world.

Now, my training officer tells me to calm down.  I see violent confrontations around every corner.  I’m thinking she’s 80 but that cane could be deadly and who knows what medication she’s on.  Young cops are eager to prove that they will back up their partner in a fight and take care of business.  Not all new cops fought when they should have and a few were fired for being cowards.  One probationer watched as his partner was fighting a drug intoxicated suspect and didn’t help.  His reasoning was, “it looked like a fair fight!”  Another male probationer screamed as he stood frozen while his partner was fighting for his life.

Photo of a policeman fighting. Photo courtesy of nadir.com
Photo of a policeman fighting.
Photo courtesy of nadir.com

After a few years, on the street a cop can tell when talking will work or when a fight is imminent.  Craig B. said that he knew when his partner was about to fight.  He took off his glasses and set them on the hood of the police car.  It wasn’t always that easy to see the fight coming.  I had a few occasions where I thought I had the situation calmed down and my suspect suddenly decided he wasn’t go to jail without a fight.

Sometimes the sound of you opening your handcuff case would send your suspect into a fighting stance.  I once had a suspect tell me that he was going to kick my ass and I agreed with him that he could—he was huge.  I talked him out of the fight when I told him that after he kicked my ass he would have to kick the ass of my partners and half the officers working Hollywood that night.  I told him that he could spend the night in the Hollywood Jail, or go to the hospital or maybe even the county morgue.  It worked he went to jail without a fight.  See, I’m smarter than you thought.

As I said I usually tried to talk my way out of a fight, but one time my emotions got the better of me.  It was close to Christmas and Tom, my son was about three.  I responded to a family dispute radio call.  The mother answered the door holding a 3 year old, blond haired boy with big eyes. He reminded me of Tom.   The mother was crying as she told us that her husband came home drunk.  He broke the Christmas tree and threw the little boys presents against the wall.  I asked where the husband was and she directed me to the bedroom.  He was sound asleep.

I had fire in my eyes and rudely awoke the drunk.  I’ll admit now, I was very pissed off and tried to provoke a fight.  I finger poked the husband in the chest as I threatened to kick his ass.  I waited for any sign of resistance so I could use all my Academy training in martial arts.  Nothing.  He was either too drunk or a coward.  I told him that if I had to come back to their apartment he would not go to jail, he would be admitted to a local hospital with $20 worth of nickel knots.  Let me save you some time that’s 400 knots.

My partner was as wide-eyed as that little boy.  He had never seen me that angry.  When I got home, I hugged Tom and showed him the proper way to shake a Christmas present to reveal the contents. True story…

Next, I’ll talk about the hazards of fighting and an unusual fight I was involved in.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Marmont Manor

5/22/2013

I’ve worked Hollywood Patrol for over 33 years. It’s the “Entertainment Capital of the World.”  I had more than my share of meeting celebrities.  I worked the Green Room at the Hollywood Christmas Parade for years and I was at more movie premieres than Siskel & Ebert.

I wasn’t that impressed.  Some were very nice and thanked the cops for their dedication and professionalism.  Others had a real disdain for the police and considered us a necessary evil.  One of the things I loved about working Hollywood was you never knew who was standing behind the door of your next radio call.

I won’t give out names of the celebrities I’ve encountered.  If I was going to tell, I’d have sold the information to TMZ or the Enquirer.  I once handled a screaming women call at the home of a rather famous female star and sex symbol.  She was having a domestic dispute with her then husband.  She looked like crap, but then who looks good at 3 AM in a fight with a spouse? I was later in her house high in the Hollywood Hills on a burglary alarm.  I was shocked that she had very little furniture, her TV was on the bedroom floor and it was obvious that she was a slob.

Another time, I handled a burglary call at the house of a former Playboy Playmate of the month.  The year was 1985, that is the only clue I’ll give you.  Anyway, the front door was open and we entered to see if there had been a break-in.  Right behind the front door was a stairway to the second floor.  On the wall above the stairway landing was a picture from the playmate’s centerfold.  The picture was huge, about 3 feet by 3 feet and it showed more than I saw in that emergency birthing class at the academy.  As we searched the house for a bad guy I noticed that she had a small child.  Now, I’m a bit modest but not a prude.  I just don’t know if I would want a picture of me naked for my kids to see as well as the Sparkletts delivery man.  Maybe it’s about ego.

By the way, want to piss off a celebrity?  I was at a radio call of a band leader of the most watched late night talk show.  He answered the door in his whitey tighty underwear and gold chains around his neck.  After discovering that his problem was over hours ago, I asked for his last name for my log.  He was indignant that I didn’t know who he was. I knew, I just wasn’t as impressed with him as he was.  You won’t see that on the “Rich and Famous”.

Ok, I’ve gotten a little off track.  A lot of celebrities live in Hollywood and I’ve been in a lot of their houses.  I was told that Johnny Mathis had an indoor swimming pool just inside his front door.  I often drove by the large castle sitting on a hill within view of the Hollywood sign.  It was once owned by Bugsy Segal and later Madonna.  I never made it inside. I once had a list of celebrity residence addresses, but the list was like a list of wanted suspects–they’re always moving.  Most really big stars have numerous houses and are upgrading or downgrading depending on which way their career is going.

I used to give tours to new captains, radio dispatchers, and ride-alongs.  Hell, I even gave a tour for my son when he was applying for the LAPD.  That’s the house where Jan of Jan & Dean lived.  That’s the house where Errol Flynn really lived and later, Ricky Nelson’s daughter and even later, Helen Hunt.  Right around the corner was the Space Needle house built on a pedestal.  I knew where Drew Carey lived on Mullholland and Steve McQueen on Nicholas Canyon.  I knew where Judges and has-been actors lived.  I could point out famous crime houses.  One of my favorites was a house in Beachwood Canyon that looked like a medieval Castle.  I could have printed a map to stars’ homes that would have made Starline Tours jealous.

So I’ve seen big houses and small houses–I wasn’t impressed.  Now, Hollywood doesn’t have the huge properties that Beverly Hills, Bel Air, or Brentwood has.  I was never invited to the Playboy Mansion or a beach house at Malibu.  What we did have is “Marmont Manor.”   Never heard of it, did you? It’s only a few blocks away from an old Burt Reynolds house.

It was clear beautiful day, a Friday, I think and a radio call came out “All Hollywood units, 211(armed robbery) silent (alarm) at the residence XXXX Hollywood Boulevard.”  We drove down Sunset Blvd and turned up past Marmont Chateau Hotel, where John Belushi overdosed.  I arrived first and was met by the owner of the house.  This was a large house—no, it’s gigantic by the standard house in the Hollywood Hills—above the Sunset Strip.

We were met at the gate by the owner.  She apologized and told us that they were having a wedding Saturday and one of the workers set off the alarm.  I mentioned that she had a nice house.  She replied those three magic words: “Want a tour?”

Marmont Manor
Marmont Manor

I could hardly contain my excitement.  She walked us up a path past lush green lawns, where white swans were walking about.  She led us to a large pond.  I could see fish swimming.  She told me they had trout, sturgeon and catfish in the pond.  Being a fisherman, I was going to ask, but she read my mind.  She said her husband would catch trout for dinner.   Past the pond was a bird aviary with exotic species.

Marmont Manor
Marmont Manor

She pointed out the guest house (picture #1).  It was bigger than most houses. She said the architect lived there.  My favorite room was the game room behind the swimming pool on the left.  It had all kinds of exotic stuffed game animals.  Included were a full size bear, African lion, and a tiger.  The walls were covered with both North American and African head mounts.  It was a kind of party room, lots of couches, a bar with an open ceiling and a 2nd floor balcony all the way around the inside of the building.  To the right of the swimming pool was the pool room, it had a full chefs kitchen, another bar and bathrooms.  It was bigger than my

Marmont Manor
Marmont Manor

house.

I never made it inside the main house, the maids’ quarters or to the tennis courts.  She did tell me that they had 5 full time gardeners and a vet who came out regularly to check out the birds and the fish. I thanked her for the tour and as I left I asked for her last name for my log.  I expected a famous name, but when she told me it didn’t ring any bells in my small brain.

For years I couldn’t get the size and grandeur of that house out of my mind.  I said that I’m not that impressed with celebrities or their houses, but this one is amazing.  I added the house to my tour of famous Hollywood spots.

I just recently saw that Marmont Manor was for sale, for a mere $24,500,000 dollars it can be yours—14 bedrooms, 17 bathrooms, gardeners not included.

Hal

I found another link to the inside of this mansion. Click here for more pictures.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Stupid crime stories

Just about everybody is aware that criminals are not the smartest individuals on the planet.  If you doubt me just check out the web sites and TV shows that show crooks at their worst.  If you spent any time around the criminal element you’re not amazed, but you’re shocked when a jury returns a verdict of not- guilty. The jury’s reasoning is nobody’s that stupid. Really?

Well, let me tell you that after 35 years of working the streets, mostly in Hollywood, yeah, they are and they are reproducing at an alarming rate.  I’m going to describe some of the “stupid criminal” incidents I investigated.

I responded to a radio call of a taxi cab robbery on the eastside of Hollywood.  It was after midnight.  I drove up and the cab driver was standing outside his cab.  He told my partner and I that he picked up a fare in front of a bar on Hollywood Blvd.  The fare directed the cab driver to this residence and upon arrival, the fare/suspect told the cabbie, “I have a gun give me your wallet and any cash you have.”

The cab driver gave the suspect his wallet and money then watched as the suspect ran between the houses.  My partner began taking the report and I surveyed the crime scene.  I found a wallet in the back seat and proudly told the cabbie that at least he left your wallet.  The cabbie looked at the wallet and declared, “That’s not mine!”

I looked inside the wallet and found a CDC card with a picture.  “CDC” stands for California Department of Corrections.  That’s right—it was the suspect’s prison ID card. And his picture was identified by the cabbie as the guy who robbed him.

The suspect ran east between the houses.  Now, I’m not the smartest cop on the planet, but I did know that a halfway house was one block east of us.  A halfway house is a home for parolees released from prison.

We drove to the next block and the director told us our parolee had just come home.  He’s now looking at an additional 5 years of state aid by the state of California.

Duh, if you rob someone don’t leave your ID at the crime scene.

It was late into my shift and I needed to write a ticket.  It was the end of the month and my sergeant was on my case because I had written only one ticket all month.  I’ll admit that I hated writing tickets and only wrote enough to keep my sergeant from following me around all night.

Cop writing a ticket
Cop writing a ticket

I saw this car commit a traffic violation and I figured it was an easy ticket.  I won’t even have to go to traffic court on my day off.  My partner and I stop the violator and he gets out of his car.  The usual conversation occurs: he admitted the violation and produces his driver’s license.  Above the violator’s right ear is a hand rolled marijuana cigarette.  At the time, this was a felony so we arrested him.  During the booking process, I asked him why he smoked marijuana and he replied, “It makes me more alert.”

Except when stopped by the cops.

Crooks who drive are also just as dumb.  On more than one occasion a suspect would commit a Robbery and as the officers were taking the report the suspect would drive by.  It went something like this—Officer: “what kind of car was the suspect driving?”  The victim would look around and say it was just like that car. Wait that’s the car and the guy that just robbed me.”

Why cops don't eat white powdered sugar donuts
Why cops don’t eat white powdered sugar donuts

Most non-police people think cops eat a lot of donuts. If a cop does eat a donut you can bet it won’t be a white powered donut. Blue wool uniforms and white powder don’t mix. The public bases their conclusion on the fact that they see two or three cop cars parked at a Winchell’s, or Cooper’s Donuts—where we can get a quick cup of coffee. I just aged myself.

Today’s cops hang out at Starbucks, or Goldstein’s Bagel shop.  Most cops don’t eat donuts, but almost all drink coffee.  Be honest—just about everyone gets a coffee break. I won’t even get into some of today’s cops ordering a cup of coffee with the word latte in it, or with a squirt of this or a 1/2 and 1/2 of that. Ordering a cup of coffee shouldn’t take 12 words and what’s with that little sleeve to keep you from burning your fingers? Today’s cops are a whole new breed.

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

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

Reality, I just wanted a cup of coffee.

How many times have I arrested a suspect with a gun that wouldn’t work because he had the wrong ammunition?  Here’s a classic.  I was investigating a shooting where a suspect ambushed the victim in the dark parking lot behind an all-night hot dog stand.  The suspect shot the victim with a shotgun at fairly close range.  The victim sustained non-life threatening wounds to his left upper body and face.  The victim was shot with #8 shotgun shells.  That’s small birdshot.  Two days later, I arrested the shooter in a motel on Sunset Boulevard.  I’d like to tell you it was my superior investigated skills but the true is, a snitch told me where he was staying.  When I arrested him he had the shotgun and a bandolier full of shotgun shells.  My suspect was mad that he didn’t kill the victim.  The bandolier had shotgun shells that contained #4 shotgun shells.  #4 shot would have easily put the victim into the next world.  My suspect just didn’t know that #4 shot shells were larger than #8’s. Stupid, huh?

In 1993 I made a mistake and promoted to Sergeant.  I was transferred out of Hollywood and sent to South Central Los Angeles, AKA Watts.  I left the town of glamour, movie stars, and millionaires.  I spent the next 15 months watching the sun rise over the Watts towers. Impressive but not Hollywood.

One of the favorite crimes in Watts was stealing cars and taking the engine and transmission.  The culprits would then roll the car a few blocks away and abandon the car.  The cops would then follow the oil trail back to the thief’s house and arrest the occupant with the oil on his clothes and an engine in the living room.

Not only are the crooks stupid but sometimes I suspect that cops are in competition.  Hollywood had an officer who married a “reformed” prostitute.  He showed up for work late one night and saw his bride handcuffed to the hallway bench along with the rest of the soiled doves.  He released his wife out the back door of the station without the proper paperwork.  I believe he’s now a greeter at Wal-Mart.

We had another JPL (Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena-suggesting he wasn’t a rocket scientist) reject who wanted to book a suspect for possession of a controlled substance.  The officer displayed the drugs to the Watch Commander in the suspect’s prescription bottle in the suspect’s name.  The W/C explained that if he had a prescription, it was not a crime.  Our brilliant officer scratched off the suspect’s name and went to another supervisor and obtained booking approval.  The former officer was later observed selling magazine subscriptions.

It’s not just the junior officers who do stupid things.  I had a Captain who was arrested by an outside agency for making and selling pirated DVD’s.  She was arrested at Hollywood station and walked out the back door in handcuffs.  How about the Hollywood Sergeant who owned a big sail boat.  He bought a million dollar home at a marina only to discover that his boat was too big for the boat slip at his new house that just cleared escrow.

Last stupid cop story.  My partner and I are having a cup of coffee at the Winchell’s at Melrose and Vine.  We were about 2 sips into our coffee break when a hot shot radio call comes out.  I toss my almost full cup of coffee and jump into the driver’s seat.  My partner takes his coffee with us. I’m racing northbound on Vine Street and as I cross Santa Monica the road rises and then drops.  My partner screams out in pain.  He was cradling his hot coffee over his lap. Think about jumping on a trampoline with a hot liquid poised over your privates.  By the way the coffee was free.  Saving a free cup of coffee verses cleaning a uniform or possible burns to your groin area, stupid.  Footnote:  The officer recovered and later had children.

They’re out there and they’re reproducing.  I won’t even get into politicians.

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Ramblings by Hal

The Story of Ramblings

I’ve been writing my Ramblings for over a couple of years now and have e-mailed out over a hundred cop stories.  Who knew my remembrances of a cops career would go this far? Hell, English was my worst subject in school.  Spell check has saved me the trouble of wearing out a few Webster’s.

 

I started out writing about my family life and watching our grandkids grow up.  I got tired of writing about changing diapers and watching the Doodle Bops.  I thought I would share some of the cop stories I use to tell at steak fries.  I sent out my first stories to a few retired cops that I worked with.  They forwarded them to other cops and friends and before I knew it my stories spread like a bad rash.  Soon, my stories were going to 4 different states.  I heard from old partners and that encouraged me to continue writing.  I guess my ego kicked in.

 

The New Centurions by Joseph Wambaugh copywrite 1970
The New Centurions by Joseph Wambaugh
copywrite 1970

Some of my Ramblings inspired numerous replies and others nothing.  I have always written true stories about incidents that I either participated in, or heard about from a partner.  I sometimes added a little embellishment and I always tried

to add some humor.  Not everyone remembers or participated in the practical jokes that I described.  Some didn’t approve, but then I didn’t like everything that Wambaugh wrote about either. 

 

I have been discouraged at times but every so often someone will write how they liked a story and told of similar experiences.  I recently got an e-mail from a retired cop who I didn’t even know.  He told me that he has gotten my Ramblings and forwarded them to other retired cops across the United States.  Now, my Ramblings have been forwarded to at least 19 states and three countries that I know of.  I’m sometimes asked when I am going to write about this incident or that subject.  I usually look at list of my bullets and pick a subject.  Sometimes a Ramblings is written in a few hours and other times its takes weeks.  I write the most while the grandkids are watching Sponge Bob or the Disney Channel.  I usually have 3 to 5 stories written ahead before I send them out.  My lovely wife edits my stories for spelling, sentence structure and grammar.  She also tells me to tone down some of my political sarcasm.

 

I was even asked if some of my Ramblings could be used in a cop book by an author in the San Francisco area.  I’m still thinking about that. (That would be Just the Facts, Ma’am blog—and obviously Hal decided to send his stories to me) Anyway, I’m going to continue to write Ramblings as long as my memory comes up with stories and incidents that cops can relate to.  If anyone wishes to be removed from my mailing list, let me know.  I’ve been told that my stories are verbose and loquacious and I admit that I use a lot of words to describe an incident.  In my defense, some of my stories are passed onto quite a few non-police recipients who are not familiar with police terms.  I can handle rejection—just look at my promotion record.

 

Thanks for your support and encouragement as well as criticism.  I still have some cop stories to write about, but I know that someday I’ll have to go back to writing about our grandchildren and our dog.  

 

Did I mention I have the smartest dog in Eagle Rock?

 

Be afraid.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More Off Duty Jobs (part 3)

More Off Duty Jobs

by Hal Collins

Another Ramblings that deals with off duty jobs. 

A lot of non-police think that cops make a good salary, and we do, but it’s mostly in benefits. You can’t spend a benefit. 

 

I’ll tell you how poor cops are. We got paid every two weeks on a Wednesday.  This is before direct deposit, so you had to actually hand a check to a bank teller to deposit your pay.  After they deposited your check you asked for cash back so you and your kids could eat that night.

 

Think I’m kidding? Listen to this: on payday, the checks were delivered to the station around noon.  Payday was like attending a reunion in the Watch Commanders office.  Lots of us rich cops were waiting to grab our paycheck before the ink was dry.  There were times when the checks were late and I had to push my way past detectives to get my check and race to the bank before they closed.  This is the reason we worked off duty jobs.  We wanted to buy new cars before ours was impounded as abandoned.  A lot of the wives didn’t work so we had a lot of one income families.  The others were known as “DINKs” for Double Income No Kids.

 

El Capitan movie premiere set-up photo courtesy of Wikipedia
El Capitan movie premiere set-up
photo courtesy of Wikipedia

After 14 years, I moved up to the big time. I became a Senior Lead Officer and worked Day Watch.  I soon was asked to work movie premieres at the Chinese Theater as well as a few special events.  Movie premieres were a choice assignment.  You get paid right away, the crowd is usually packed with tourists and the atmosphere was festive.  You got to see movie stars if that’s your thing—it wasn’t mine.  I often had to ask the tourists who was getting out of the limo.  It was a double treat if you also got to work the after-party.  See last weeks post for more on that.

 

I got on the fast track for good off duty jobs.  Mercedes had a car dealership on Sunset Boulevard just west of Vine.  Once a year they invited past customers to an open house to show off the new cars. They had great caterers and let face it, people who drive Mercedes don’t usually cause a lot of problems.  Of course, I had to wear my best suit. Okay, it was my only suit, but that’s why I was working off duty.  I was saving up for a newer Warehouse for Men’s suit.  I had one lady come up to me.  She thought I was a salesmen and asked if she could buy a Mercedes station wagon.She had her check book in her hand.  The sales commission would have been a lot more than I earned that night.  I opened my coat a little and the look on her face when she saw my gun was priceless.  I never was a good salesmen.

 

Another lady who drew my attention.  She was dressed in her only go-to-church dress but didn’t fit in with the other Mercedes owners.  She had her invitation but spent more time at the caterers tables than looking at new cars.  I even saw her loading up her purse with shrimp.  I’m guessing that she won some money on a lottery ticket and bought a Mercedes.  She now attends every open house.

 

I worked the Jewish Women’s Club auction every year and I’m not even Jewish.  They hire the best caterers.  I also worked a Leeza Gibbons wedding.  I was close enough at the church to watch an aide slam her limo car door on the hand of another aide.  For three years, I watched some of the wealthiest young females graduate from the Marlborough Private High School.  Names like, Dodger owner O’Malley, Rockefeller, Doheny—well, you get the picture.  I was glad I had my only suit dry cleaned.

 

I once worked a private party at a large house in the Mt. Olympus area of Hollywood.  I got an uneasy feeling and refused to work it the following year.  It turns out the resident was suspected of being in the Russian Mafia and was being investigated by Organized Crime Officers.  See–I’m not a whore–I won’t work every job.  I had enough off duty job opportunities that I could pick and choose.  I avoided any job at the Palladium. I spent the first 5 years of my career, on duty, dodging rock and bottles from the rock group crowds that played there.

 

I once worked a short stint at the Shrine Auditorium guarding the box office.  I remember one day I was on suspension and worked without a gun or badge.  I did have a very sharp #2 Ticonderoga pencil.

 

Next I’ll discuss some of the better off duty jobs I worked and some that I regretted.  If you know me, you’ll know that I didn’t get rich but my daughter has straight teeth and I still only have one suit.

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Off Duty Jobs, part 2

Off Duty Jobs, part 2

By Hal Collier

May 20, 2013

As I said in my previous Ramblings, I worked a few off duty jobs just to keep my head above water.  Like most parents we wanted our kids to have the things that we didn’t have growing up.  No, we didn’t buy our kids new cars or send them on vacations to exotic places.  Hell, we had to go to the police credit union and get a signature loan to take them to Disneyland.  If you had kids growing up you know what kind of expenses come up.  My daughter attended a week long camp for drill team in Orange County.  My son lettered in football and wanted to buy a Letterman’s jacket.  Cool, I had mine for years, long after I graduated from high school.  A Letterman’s jacket in 1986 cost 3 1/2 off duty jobs or 6 times what mine cost in 1965.  I told my son that the jacket was free until he gave it to some cute little blond who batted her blue eyes at him, then he had to buy it. 

 

Now cops work a lot of overtime but we seldom got paid cash for our time.  We often worked past our EOW (end of watch) and we were always in court on our day off or after work.  The city of Los Angeles is always broke.  They made us bank our overtime.  You could bank over 400 hours and there was a time when I took off two months a year, half vacation, half banked overtime.  If the city had money I could have cashed out for over $12,000.  See: rich in benefits poor in cash.

 

I know of one officer who mortgaged his house to pay for a daughter’s athletic team trip to Europe.  I got off lucky.  No matter what the reason we worked off duty jobs to make a better life for our family and in some cases make up for all the time we weren’t home.

 

As I said, I worked enough off duty jobs that I could pick and choose.  I preferred jobs where I got paid right away and didn’t have to fight some drunk asshole in my only suit.  Worse yet, a police uniform cost more than a suit at “Suits for Less” and a uniform came with only one pair of pants.

 

Movie premieres could be the best, especially if you got to work the after party.  The after party didn’t include you hob-knobbing with the elite Hollywood crowd, but it did mean double-pay.  Sometimes the premiere party was fun, even if I was on the wrong side of the barricades.  I think two of the best premieres I worked were westerns.

 

Silverado
Silverado

Silverado was fun.  They had a BBQ on the roof of the Holiday Inn and a western theme.  I met this really old codger who had two very young and pretty women on his arm.  He said that he trained the actors how to fast draw and shoot. He asked me if I ever watched Gunsmoke.  Well, of course I had.  He said that in the opening credits, Matt Dillon, squares off in a gun fight in the middle of Dodge City.  Yea, I’d seen that.  He said that he was the other gunfighter.  He had taught James Arness how to draw and shoot.  I asked him if he could teach me to quick draw, but he looked at my break-front police holster and laughed.

 

City Slickers was also fun.  Billy Crystal drove up in a limo.  He stepped out of it with a 200 lb. calf. The calf was put in the limo around the corner and the 300 foot drive almost made the calf have an accident inside the car.

Just about everyone knows the name Fredrick’s of Hollywood.  I worked an off duty job at Fredrick’s grand re-opening.  I showed up in my best suit, ha ha, and they gave me my pay check which included a $50 gift certificate.  Cool, I can now afford that leopard skin thong.  Ok, I’m standing at the front door for over two hours and ten of most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in one place walk by me.  One even winks at me.  They were the lingerie models.  The show starts and these same models strut out wearing next to nothing.  I’m thinking I’m the luckiest man alive.  Then reality sinks in, I got money in my pocket I can’t spend, I’m looking at gorgeous women I can’t have and my Harris & Frank wing tips are hurting my feet.

 

I spent a couple of years working for the Lake Hollywood Home Owners Association. There is a small park and overlook just below the Hollywood Sign that was frequented by young kids on weekend nights.  The home owners paid me and another cop for four hours on Friday and Sat. nights to keep the kids from causing a disturbance.  The kids would show up after 10 pm with a case of beer. All I had to do was chase the kids out of the area.  If they left the beer, I got to keep it.  It was not a bad job other than the hours.  I usually got off my patrol job at 3:30 PM and went home to sleep for four hours.  My shift started at 9:00 PM and I left at 1:00 AM.  I would drive home, grab a three hour nap, get up and go to work.  I made $80 a night plus beer.

 

I also worked some jobs that I got screwed.  I was asked work a party for the new TV show, Melrose Place.  They actually closed Melrose Avenue and had a big party in the middle of the street.  The job was easy until it came time to pay us.  They refused to give us our money and later sent us a 1099 statement.  I ended up working for about $7 an hour.  My wife will never see Hawaii on $7 an hour.

 

Another job, which I turned down was at the Henry Fonda Theater.  The officers worked the event and they refused to pay the officers at all.  They had to sue to get their money. 

 

Hollywood signAnybody remember when Fox TV went network?  It was 1987 and Fox covered up part of the world famous Hollywood sign. The sign read FOX and was lit up from dusk until 10 PM. for a whole week.  I somehow ended up doing the scheduling and worked every night.  Some of the home owners didn’t want any extra attention to their neighborhood and threatened to vandalize the sign.

 

Things went fine until someone snuck up to the sign in the dark and set the “F” on fire.  I worked seven nights in a row and had to submit a bill to the advertising company for everyone that worked. I made too much money and they gave me a 1099 Tax Form.  I ended up making less than minimum wage.  My wife will be lucky to see Indio in the summer instead of Hawaii.

 

I also worked the Hollywood Bowl during the summer.  The Philharmonic is an easy crowd and you didn’t have kids trying to sneak in to see Violins and Cellos play Beethoven.  I loved working the west gate.  That’s where the VIPs’ enter.  I saw more celebrities at the Hollywood Bowl than any movie premiere.  I did work one concert at the Bowl that I regretted.  Jimmy Buffett.  I knew there was going to be trouble when I saw people getting off the Park and Ride buses with 12 packs of beer.  They were already drunk.  I vowed to never work a Buffett concert again.

 

I never bought a fancy sports car, or took exotic trips with the money I made working off duty.  I’m still married to my original bride and my kids grew up to be good responsible citizens.  I did see some interesting people and how they live and act when in a crowd.  I never asked for an autograph or took a picture with a movie star.  I did see a lot of actresses without underwear trying to get out of a limo in a short dress.  Those pictures are imprinted in my mind.

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Off Duty Jobs, part 1

 

Off duty jobs part 1

The following story is true. It is based on fact, but also the fading memory of a retired member of the finest police department in the world.  I’ll give you a little background on myself so you can better understand a cop’s desire to work off duty jobs.

 

In 1970, I was delivering produce to restaurants, caterers & convalescent homes for $2.25 an hour.  I was married and with my wife’s income we paid our rent on time and made enough to eat.  I had ambitions to be a police officer since high school and I even worked for a cop at a hamburger stand for a few years.  Two days after my 21st birthday, I applied to the LAPD and was given an October 5, 1970 appointment date.  Starting pay was a whopping $842 a month.  That came out to $5.26 an hour.  I remember saying to my wife what are we going to do with “all that money!” 

 

While in the academy I received my first pay check.  I suddenly realized that all those cards they had us sign the first day were payroll deductions.  There was 7% taken out for my pension, the Federal and State wanted a share.  Then there was health, dental and life Insurance, charity contributions and who knows what else.  Lack of “all that money” helped us decide to take better care of our older car and renew my wife’s bus pass.  It’s a well-known fact that cops are rich in benefits but poor in the wallet.  Cops are not paid cash for overtime, get no Christmas bonuses, and pay raises barely cover inflation.  We had to buy our own uniforms and if your child needs braces, or your wife wants to see Hawaii, you work off duty jobs. 

 

The New Centurions movie
The New Centurions movie

I was still on probation when our class D.I. informed me that they were going to make a film at the Police Academy and they needed extras for background shots.  The extras had to look like recruits and have their academy uniforms.  They were going to pay us for three days of standing around, running and doing PT on the baseball fields.  They even had us “Hit the Hill.”  Only old time cops will remember hitting the hill. They even had Bob Jarvis in the movie, he is a legendary instructor at the academy.  The movie was the “New Centurions” starring George C. Scott, Stacy Keach and Eric Estrada.

 

I showed up and learn that making a movie is slower than watching an opossum try to cross the street.  After 3 days I’ve come to the conclusion that movie stars aren’t that special but they do eat well and a lot.  Much later the movie is released and we all went to the theater to see if we were on the big silver screen, or on the editor’s cutting room floor.  To answer your question, yes, I’m in the movie.  You just have to know where to look and remember that I was 21 years old, had hair, and was a slim fighting machine.

 

After that I worked off duty jobs at the Hollywood Bowl.  The Bowl hired cops to stand on the streets surrounding the hills to discourage kids from sneaking into the Bowl for free.  This was not a problem with the Philharmonic crowd, but in the 60’s & 70’s the Bowl booked rock groups.  The neighbors complained that kids were trampling their flowers.  For this I received $26.00 in cash.  The cash almost covered the cost of cleaning your uniform for the month, depending on how many fights you got into.

 

The Hollywood Bowl
The Hollywood Bowl

I remember one night at the Hollywood Bowl, I was stationed on the bathroom roof, just outside the ticket gate.  A rock group was performing and kids kept trying to climb the hill behind the bathroom.  I’d already chased away a half dozen kids who wanted to get in for free.  The crowd was large and the line for the women’s bathroom was already out the door.  Women everywhere can relate.  I heard a commotion on the back hill.  I walked to the back and saw a young lady on the hill.  I told her to get back down but she pleaded that she was only going to pee.  I told her to get down, but she protested and said I could watch if I wanted.  Not for $26.00.

 

The jobs were few and far between.  I wasn’t going to see Hawaii unless I watched an episode of Huell Howser on TV.  Over the next 10 years I picked up a job here and there but certainly nothing that allowed me to buy a new car.

 

One of the more unusual jobs I got was to get off work at 7:00 AM drive to Van Nuys, pick up a movie cop car and drive it to Griffith Park for a Burger King commercial.  Then drive it back at noon, all for $50 cash.  Well, we got to Griffith Park and the director didn’t like the sun position.  He wanted to wait until the sun was setting in the west.  We negotiated that for all day we would get $100 cash.  We slept, played football with the crew and ate every few hours.  I got into a poker game with a well-known actor/environmentalist  and won $50.  Some of the cops lost the days wages.

 

I knew cops who worked movie jobs.  Filming for movie jobs usually run 12 to 18 hours a day.  Too much standing or sitting around for me.  I worked with one officer who showed up for work with a week’s change of clothes.  He finished his patrol shift and went to a movie job.  He would return to work his next patrol shift.  He bought a very nice house and fancy cars for his wife.  After a few years she divorced him and took everything.  He remarried and started working the movie jobs again.  Big house, fancy cars and another divorce.  I don’t know if he ever figured out the problem was that he was never home.

 

Others worked security for celebrities, some at the celebrity’s residence and others traveled around the world with them.  Both were time consuming and frowned on by the Department.  The Department had a rule that you could work no more than 20 hours off duty a week.  It was seldom enforced.  For my non-police friends, a little known fact was that to work off duty you had to fill out a work permit form.  The form listed who you worked for and what your duties were. The form had to be approved by the Department and there were restrictions on certain employers.  Cops couldn’t work for a bar or strip club, or for employers of questionable reputation.  That alone wiped out most of our elected officials.  Just kidding.

 

My next Ramblings, I’ll discuss my moving up to the big leagues of off duty employment.  Movie Premieres, celebrity events and private parties.  It also included higher pay.