Category: Street Stories

Stories from the streets-law enforcement memories

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Street Stories The Call Box

The Call Box: Burn Barrels

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

During the first half of the 20th Century (through 1957 and who knows how long before) everyone–businesses included, burned their trash in backyard incinerators. Everyone had a burner. The residential ones were what you would imagine a “pueblo” bread oven or a pottery kiln to look like.

Residential burners were usual 4 to 5 feet square and about 5 feet tall. They had a front-door loader and a 5 to 6-foot-tall chimney. Business/commercial ones were monsters the size of a family sedan on end with a 10-12 foot chimney. Even today some still survive.

The many Indian tribes that inhabited the LA basin in centuries past referred to the area as “The Valley of the Smokes” due to the inversion layer holding the smoke close to the ground.

Why have I filled your head with this bit of trivia?

Because after burning was outlawed the incinerators became favorite hiding/disposable spots for stolen items, guns, knives and a good stash spot for narcotics. Even the occasional body.

Modern incinerator-note stack on upper right

I was a detective sergeant working Robbery out of Wilshire Division. We had been inundated with a series of brutal street robberies over a period of several months. Our victims, usually elderly women, were beaten and robbed of their purses. We finally were able to identify our suspect and put together a bulletin for the patrol units. Within a few days a radio car bagged him. Half a dozen of our victims made him in a show-up and after some lengthy conversation he gave it up and admitted to 20-plus robberies.

What about the purses? There was an abandoned and shuttered apartment building on his block. In the rear there was a commercial burner and by stacking boxes up he was able to reach the top and drop the purses down the chimney.

I felt a great deal of satisfaction as I pulled purse after purse after purse out of the burner door, clearing a case with every one. I even thought to keep them in order to match crimes reports by date. 

As I recall there were 24 purses, 3 or 4 not even reported. Our robber was cooperative to the point of showing us where he had sailed several onto rooftops.

I think any officer will admit that when you do something even as simple as this, that you not only make someone’s life a little better but it gives you a sense of satisfaction—a sense of why you do what you do. 

Some of our victims even cried when reunited with items thought gone forever. We always thought of them as “our ladies.”

~~~

Don’t forget to check out Thonie’s three thriller/mysteries: By Force or Fear, Intent to Hold and With Malice Aforethought. All three are currently available through Amazon.com. She’s putting the last touches on Felony Murder Rule, the fourth in the Nick and Meredith Mystery Series.

By Force or Fear, Intent to Hold, and With Malice Aforethought
Categories
Ramblings by Hal Street Stories

Ramblings from Hal: Reprise of A Funny

LAPD Police car

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Originally posted August 2013, I thought it would be fun to read some of Hal’s classic pieces. -Thonie

The following is not really a practical joke, it’s just funny as hell.  I worked a Morning Watch Foot beat on Hollywood Boulevard in the late 70’s.  As I’ve said before, it was probably the best job I ever had. For my police friends, yes, there was plenty of work to do on morning watch.  Remember, Hollywood never closes and after midnight most of the crime involved drugs, prostitution and street crimes.  I actually walked my foot beat until 5 A.M.

It’s about 2 A.M. and I’m talking with my sergeant, a former Metro cop, and a good guy.  I’m about a half of block from the famed Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard. We’re discussing our new lieutenant who would need a street guide to find Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue. We see two obviously intoxicated fellows walking toward us.  They need the entire width of the sidewalk to keep from falling into the street. As they near, we notice that one of the chaps has a Metro door panel under his arm. For my non-police friends, a Metro door panel is a magnetic panel, 4 ft by 3 ft that Metro officers attach to the doors of their plain cars.  It has a city seal and the cars shop number.

Ok, my investigative senses kick in and I stop the pair.  I’m thinking they stole it off a parked Metro police car.  I ask where did they get the door panel.  The least drunk of the two slurs, “Hello chaps, we traded for it”.  I detected a strong accent and an even stronger odor of numerous alcoholic beverages. I asked where they were from and they said they were Bobbies (cops) from England, in America on holiday.  I asked again where they got the door panel.  The spokesman said they met a couple of our comrades who invited them to their training site for a few pints. That would be the Police Academy Lounge. They traded a real Bobbie helmet for the door panel. I looked at my Sergeant and he just shrugged his shoulders.  Thank goodness, they were not driving.

Somewhere there is a retired Metro officer with a Bobbie helmet in his den and a retired Bobbie with a Metro door panel on his icebox

Categories
Roll Call Street Stories

Young Memories, Old Bodies

By Mikey, Retired LAPD

Re-enacted Viet Nam Fire Support Base at March Field Air Museum

Annually, March 29th is National Vietnam Veterans Day. At the March Field Air Museum, we celebrate the day with an open house, open to all veterans, of all conflicts. This year will be no different but let me tell you about last year’s open house. 

In hosting the day, the museum brings on additional docents to assist the museum’s guests and answer questions. Nelly, one of our docents was asked to docent at the museum’s Vietnam support base exhibit. The area contains several helicopters flown in the NAM and the exhibit is configured to resemble a support base, but, on a smaller scale. Several hours had passed since the museum opened for the day and things were going smoothly when I saw Nelly enter the museum. Nelly was crying and when I approached her, she told me that she needed a little time to compose herself, but that she was ok.

Nelly and Mikey

Several of the vets who had gone to the support base entered the museum and I could tell that they had been crying as well. So, what happened? I proceeded to the support base but found nothing amiss, so I had to patiently await Nelly’s explanation. Nelly finally approached me in the museum’s hangar and somewhat composed, she told me the following story. 

Several vets had gathered around one of the museum’s Huey (Bell HU-1) helicopters and some small talk between the vets netted a couple of stories.  The vets were standing next to the aircraft when one of them shared a story about a lift mission his squad had experienced in 1967 as an Army grunt. He was standing at the opened cargo door looking at the passenger seat as he told his story. According to Nelly, who was standing near the vet, he named the NAM location and other information pertinent to the event. The mission started normally but as the chopper neared the landing zone (LZ), the machine took hits from ground fire and the landing went badly. Several of the soldiers were killed and some injured. As the vet continued with the story, another vet who had been standing in front of the chopper turned his walker and faced the rear of the aircraft intently listening to the story teller.

He walked toward the story teller and stopped next to him. The story teller noticed the vet standing next to him. Both men looked at each other. The vet with the walker asked some pertinent questions about the crash. The story teller told the other vet that he was on a Huey that crashed, and it sounded like his incident. The story teller said that an unknown soldier had pulled him from the burning helicopter, but he never knew who it was. The injured soldier was medevac’ed out before he found out the identity of his rescuer. The first vet asked the second vet to describe what he looked like at the time of the incident and the second vet described to him his appearance at the time. The first vet said, “It was me who pulled you out!”  They both went on, through tears and hugs to describe the event and its aftermath. 

Huey HU-1

According to Nelly, there was not a dry eye on that support base.  What were the odds for that chance meeting? 

“Welcome Home Vietnam Vets” took on a whole new meaning that day for Nelly and those Nam vets.

This year, I hope the two men attend this year’s celebration, I’d like to welcome them home personally.

Categories
Street Stories The Call Box

The Call Box: Intangible

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

INTANGIBLE definition: Unable to be touched or grasped; not having a physical presence

An architect can point to a building or structure he (we are using the editorial “he” here, no disrespect to females). A contractor or plumber can lay claim to any number of projects. Even a factory worker can point to an X count of widgets at day’s end.

There are service persons by the score-waiters, clerks, doctors, lawyers, nurses and the list goes on. But what of the description, “First Responders?”

The law enforcement officer (LEO), aside from arrests and tickets, usually has only his personal satisfaction in providing the daily chores that make up his life. LEO’s must and should take motivation from the service they provide. From finding a lost child, recovering a stolen vehicle or property, and/or settling a dispute ad infinitum. The satisfaction of looking back at shift’s end and knowing that he made a difference in someone’s life (hopefully a good one).

He must take pride in whatever it was he did or didn’t do to resolve the situation; to take from that whatever he needs to bring him back day after day, to provide the fuel that feeds his enthusiasm and drives him no matter how jaded or disillusioned he has become. To prove, if to no one but yourself, that you are a person of character. Then, and only then have you accomplished something.

CHARACTER definition: The mental and moral qualities distinctive to an individual. I prefer, ‘doing the right thing even when no one is watching.’

Part II

DEFERENCE AND RESPECT

Have you ever experienced a LEO being introduced to a stranger and watched how guarded he is until told that the other person is or was a LEO? You would’ve seen a complete personality change right before your eyes. There is almost a “formal rule” or ritual that both parties go through, probably done unconsciously. If you doubt me, read law enforcement blogs or Facebook police pages.  Aside from the usual kidding you will notice a sincere sense of mutual respect and love, yes love. You’ll see an almost elaborate politeness, a sense of warrior meeting warrior.

Civil war painting-unknown battle
Civil war painting-unknown battle

In July 2016, I wrote, “I’ve been to see the Elephant.” This term was common to the Civil War wherein the young soldiers tried to put into words the horror they had witnessed. An unspoken, “we have been there, passed the test and I recognize you for who and what you are.”

Granted not all LEO’s go through this ritual but enough for me to notice. Other than the military no one besides LEO’s are that closely bonded.

I have heard too many eulogies, read to many End of Watch (EOW) notices and heard to many tales of friendship and daring-do to wonder why we don’t reach out—right now—to our old friends and partners and tell them of our feelings. Tell them you appreciate all the times together and tell them as only one man can tell another, “I love you, man.”

It was Shakespeare who told us we were a “BAND OF BROTHERS,” are we not? 

Better they hear it now than before it’s too late. Tell them now.

Categories
Street Stories The Call Box

The Call Box: A Caper Story

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

What follows, is a true story as I lived it and remember it.

Nobody ever called me at 3 AM with good news. No one told me I won the lotto, or to take the next few days off and get some rest. No sultry voice ever asked me if I would like to— OK forget that one.

The voice that morning belonged to the Wilshire Division watch commander (WC)where I was assigned as a Detective Sergeant Robbery Squad. A stickup had gone bad, the victim was injured, four were in custody and one was dead as a result of a gunfight with an officer. The WC concluded with, “Oh, and we can’t reach your partner, so you are solo on this one. DHQ is here and got things started.”

NOTE: DHQ or DHD (Detective Headquarters Division) are the people who roll out usually in the middle of the night and hold the fort until the responsible investigators arrive.

I was briefed as follows and later filled in the blanks.

A 30-something ex-con (XC) had “reliable” information regarding an elderly man with a big safe full of money. The information was from a hooker who made house calls and saw the safe and “it just had to be full of money.”

XC recruited some of the local intelligentsia ( ages 16 to 20) with a get rich promise. One was to steal a truck to transport the safe and another to steal a getaway car. The victim was to be out of town so stealing the safe should be a piece of cake. Right? 

Now we have all seen the “caper” movie where a well-organized, intelligent and skilled set of thieves pulls off some improbable job. That however does not describe this bunch.

They had agreed to meet at 1 AM. However, nobody was on time as nobody, repeat, nobody had a watch. One of the group was a no show. The truck turned out to be a large unwieldy flatbed which meant the safe would not only be visible but as conspicuous as a frog in a punch bowl.

The hooker had not provided the address and gave only a description of the house which the XC had not bothered to scout. It is now very early AM, the stolen vehicles are driving the streets looking for the right location while dogs bark, house lights go on and people call the police. All of this while our robber band still looks for the right house.

Finally, locating it, the truck backed into the driveway while the getaway driver found a place to wait—which was not only several blocks away but unknown to any of his cohorts. 

Breaking into the house awakened the owner. Yeah, he was home—and he attempted to resist. One of the group, without sharing the information, had brought a revolver. He used it to pistol whip the victim demanding the combination to the safe which turned out to be an old bank veteran weighing in excess of 600 pounds. It was unlocked and contained 30 or so long-play record albums, which are placed on the truck. One more pistol whipping for good measure and they were off. 

As the police arrived everyone scattered. Speeding around the first corner, the truck turns the albums into frisbees flying off into the dark. The getaway driver left alone while the pistol whipper makes the fatal mistake of firing at the police and pays the ultimate price. 

DHQ had the body transported to the Wilshire station garage where I had the victim ID him. I spent the rest of the day with reports and tying up loose ends. Our juvenile unit agreed to handle the getaway driver who was very thoughtfully driving the stolen car when they got him.

I know this sounds like some wild ass made up tale, but every word is true as near as I can recall.

Categories
Street Stories The Call Box

The Call Box: A Common Law Divorce

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD      
 

For: Maura, Mary, Anne, Megan and Bill Fitzgerald

If I had to guess I would imagine the average age of the officer out there in the black and white right now would be mid 20’s. This is totally unscientific and based only on observation.

However, it was not always so. My first year in patrol was 1957. The PD was populated with returning WWII vets and both of my partners (teachers) were ex-military and probably in their 40’s as seemingly most of the department. Officers looked like what you would imagine a copper should look like. Something from a 40’s black and white crime movie. Large, tough and no nonsense. This was the era of the hat squad and in my opinion,  it was these older uniforms and detectives that made the LAPD what it is today and earned the reputation as the “Best of the Best.”

Chief William H. Parker spoke at my graduation and his words still ring true. Paraphrased, he said, “You now inherit the good name and are part of a very well-respected organization. You stand on the shoulders of giants.” Without actually saying so, we were told not to “f**k it up.”

My partners were Ward Fitzgerald and Hal Brasher. Both vets and looking back I consider myself a very lucky man to draw two of the best. They were very much alike and (if this makes sense) very different. Both were soft spoken, and I never heard either raise his voice or lose his temper. They never lectured or preached but let me learn by example. They naturally shared experiences and tips and I felt like a little leaguer hanging out with the N.Y. Yankees.

Hal had a great sense of humor and shared stories. Ward was always cheerful and in good spirits, quieter than Hal but when he spoke you listened because he had something to say. Both had a way with people. Hal, smiling and kind of easy going while Ward had a very calming manner about him which lowered most semi-hostile situations. 

Our patrol area was the northwest corner of the old University Division (3A15). A residential/business mix, old, poor and more than our share of crime. Despite this I felt most of the residents were hardworking, law abiding, God-fearing citizens. 

One fairly common call was, “see the man/woman, family dispute.” We were expected to act as marriage counselors. This is the story of one such call.

Working with Ward we responded and found the couple to be elderly, polite and respectful to the law. 

Usual practice was to separate them, speak quietly and hope to defuse the situation before it could turn violent. They listened politely and then said that they just didn’t think they could continue living together. 

Ward gave the usual pitch about seeking professional help or in the extreme, divorce, etc.

Their answer was a classic. They couldn’t divorce because they never married. They were “common law.”

{ASIDE} Common law briefly means living together and holding yourself out as a married couple resulted after a while in a “common law” relationship. It was a routine situation for the time and place, but too complicated to discuss here. 

By this time in my training process I had learned to let nothing I saw or heard surprise me. 

Wards statement did. He told them that police officers were permitted by law to perform “common law divorces.” 

I was sent to the car to retrieve the Vehicle Code. It was the dimensions of the Readers Digest but about 2-3 inches thick. 

In bold print on the cover were the words VEHICLE CODE of the STATE OF CALIFORNIA. Holding his thumb over the word “Vehicle” he let them see the rest of the title.

If they wished to go through with this, he told them they would place their left hands on the book holding the right hand up. At this point Ward rattled off some very impressive mumbo-jumbo. Did they wish to proceed? Oh, by the way, one of you has to leave the house and never return. They conferred and decided they would try to work it out. 

Later in the car I commented on his expert flim-flammery. His answer: “We kept the peace and did no harm, right?”

That was pure Ward, my teacher and friend.

RIP Sir.

Categories
Street Stories When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly: When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

LAPD Bell 206 Jetranger

By Ron Corbin, Retired LAPD, LVMetro PD

LAPD Airship

There was a new sergeant at Air Support who felt that one of the air crews was wasting time; that they should be doing more proactive patrol from the skies and providing quicker responses to patrol calls. In an effort to oversee what was actually being accomplished, one night this sergeant went on a ride-along with “Pilot Jones” and “Observer Smith.”

Flying for two-plus hours at a time, sometimes “Nature” calls. So when air crews need to use a restroom, there are fewer locations to take advantage of this physiological function then there are for street officers. There are no “porta potties” floating around among the clouds. Landing at an airport is an option, but takes longer for actual landing clearances and a dash for the pilot’s lounge. The best options were helipads on one of the newer police stations, but there were only a couple of these. Terminal Annex, LA’s main postal building, had a rooftop helipad with a stairwell door leading to a small restroom. It was not much larger than a commercial airplane lavatory. This was the most convenient place for air crews to use when flying in the downtown area.

With over an hour left scheduled in the patrol flight before returning to the main heliport, the sergeant notified the pilot over the intercom that he had eaten too many burritos from the local “roach coach” and needed to “hit the head” … with an emphasis on “quickly!” Realizing that the interior of a police helicopter was a cramped and confined space with very little air circulation, Jones turned and dove the ‘copter at warp speed towards Terminal Annex. Flaring the aircraft as if in a combat zone under fire, the skids had no sooner touched down when the rear door opened and the sergeant bailed out, running and unbuckling his “Sam Browne” equipment belt at the same time. By the time he reached the stairwell door, his pants looked like some of the fashion statements that certain ethnic, young guys wear today in public.

After a few minutes, a radio call came-out that officers were in foot pursuit of a suspect with a gun. This is a type of call that needs an air unit, and fast. So, without hesitation, Jones took-off while Smith communicated to Dispatch that the air unit was en route to the location. Just as the skids cleared the edge of the roof top, the sergeant came running out onto the helipad while simultaneously trying to buckle his pants. Without a radio, he was stranded in the cold, night air for nearly an hour before Jones and Smith returned to pick him up.

When they landed, the air crew could see the “daggers” emitting from the sergeant’s eyes. As soon as he boarded into the rear seat, got strapped-in, and connected his helmet to the intercom, Jones gave a sarcastic apology saying, “Sorry to leave you Sarge, but a priority call came out and we’ve been told that we need to be more proactive in our mission.”

Flying back to Air Support’s heliport, not a word was spoken between the sergeant and the crew. As soon as the landing was finished, he exited the aircraft and “stormed-off” to the operations trailer. Jones and Smith burst-out in uncontrollable laughter. The sergeant never again said anything about air crews not properly responding to calls.

“Negative flyby, Ghostrider, the ‘toilet’ pattern is full.”

~~~~

After military service, Ron joined LAPD in 1971 with the ambition of becoming one of their helicopter pilots. He achieved this goal in 1974, working his way up from Command Pilot status to an Instructor Pilot. In 1976, he was involved in a training crash that killed his student pilot and left Ron with 2nd and 3rd degree burns over 70% of his body.
He was given a disability pension in 1977. During many months and years of hospitalization, post incident surgeries and physical rehabilitation, he finished his education earning a BA, MS, and PhD. He rebuilt his life around new careers, including being a school teacher and principal. However, law enforcement and security was still his primary love. Unable to do police work, he pursued various jobs in private security and training in personal safety, including being a body guard, director of security, consultant and trainer for security forces at DOE nuclear facilities.
He moved to Las Vegas in 1993 and joined LVMPD. On behalf of the Department, he served as a CPTED (Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design) expert consultant to various public and private entities in Las Vegas. He retired in 2011 after several years as the Police Academy Training Manager.
Ron has won sixteen awards for his writing skills from the Public Safety Writers Association. He has been married to his HS sweetheart for over 52 years, and has three children and seven grandchildren.

Categories
Street Stories The Call Box

The Call Box: L.A. County General Hospital


By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Opened in 1923, it was 20 stories of imposing granite and dominated the skyline in East L.A., 800 beds, the largest hospital west of Chicago. Its art deco interior gave the massive entry way a cathedral-like atmosphere. One of the largest public and teaching hospitals in the U.S. it also trained military doctors in trauma (gunshot wound) care. 

L.A. was able to supply plenty of those. One million ambulatory cases and 150,000 E.R. patients annually. Appearing in numerous TV shows and movies, it has, since 1975, been the “establishing shot of T.V.’s General Hospital. 

LA County General Hospital

A portion of the 13th floor was constructed as a jail ward, 50 beds for ill or injured prisoners. Run by the county it was officially “L.A. County General Hospital,” known in the medical community as, “The Great Stone Mother.” By the cops, it was, “County Generous.”

I was there that day with my partner Richard L Sullivan (Sully). We were detective sergeants assigned to Wilshire, Robbery Detail and there to interview/interrogate a bandit shot during a holdup. The questioning should’ve been brief—no more than 10-15 minutes. 

A word about Sully who has been my subject of stories several times in the past. Among his many attributes, besides being a very good detective, he was a world class practical joker. He would be my friend for 50-plus more years.

Most of the beds were filled but the nurses were nowhere in sight. As I finished my interview, I turned just in time to catch him as he pulled the sheet up over the face of the prisoner sleeping in the next bed. The prisoner’s head was back, mouth open, and snoring softly. 

Hospital ward

As we left, I retrieved my weapon, thanked the deputy who was reading a magazine and went straight to the elevator. Without any consultation I knew my role. Sully also picked up his gun and engaged the deputy in small talk until the elevator arrived. As I held the elevator door he said casually to the deputy, “Did you know you got a dead guy in there?”

The deputy scrambled as the door closed behind us. 

On the ride down, still the picture of innocence, he said, “The sad part is I never get to see the end of things like that.”

Another time, still Wilshire Detectives Robbery—

Sully had a middle-aged female victim of a robbery who, after having a gun stuck in her face was understandably reluctant and frightened about the pending line-up. Not in the least bit stymied, he convinces the somewhat cooperative and not terribly bright holdup man to identify the victim—a reverse line-up.

It played like this:             

The victim was on the far side of the room with several other women.

Robber was led in.

Sully: Do you see anyone in this room you recognize?”         

Robber: “Yes, that lady there.”

Sully: “How do you know her?”

Robber: “I robbed her.”

Sully: “Do you have anything to say to her?”

Robber: “Yeah lady, I’m sorry I robbed you and scared you with the gun.”

Imagine how powerful her testimony would sound in court when she related the above.

And that was just a very, very little bit of Sully.

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More Street Stories

War Stories

By Thonie Hevron

As you know, I host this blog every Sunday morning related to law enforcement. Currently I have several retired LAPD veterans who write posts, like war stories at briefing. While their readership is growing, I’ve been thinking of mixing it up a bit—with prompts. I ask and you answer. “Tell me about the time you…”

A retired deputy friend of mine, Will Wallman, gave me an excellent idea: When did you first know you were no longer a rookie cop?

Some future prompts might be like this:

  • When did you realize you couldn’t tell civilians what you did for a living in a social situation? What did you say was your occupation?
  • Do/did you experience burn-out? If so, what do/did you do about it?
  • What do you do to stay sharp on the job? To decompress or blow off steam?
  • Talk about the proudest moment of your career.
  • What was your idea of the best job ever?

To answer, click on “reply,” then “accept” cookies and type your comment in the “reply” box. You may have to create an identity in Wordpress but you will be prompted if you need to. If you have an idea for a prompt, feel free to PM me or send me your ideas at badgec65@gmail.com.

Situational answers are great, one-liners work, too. My audience is mostly mystery writers and other cop-like folk. Caveat: please, no politics or religion unless it relates to the story.

Here are a few examples of real answers to “When did you know you were no longer a rookie cop?” from a private LE Facebook page I belong to:

TB (Northern California rural deputy): The first time I thought I might get shot on duty. Or, when I drove around the corner after making a death notification for a 5-year-old girl, who was spending the night at her cousins, and started crying. Time on the job sometimes doesn’t mean a lot, but experience does.

WM (suburban municipal police Northern California): It was when I graduated from SRJC (Santa Rosa Junior College) Police Academy! With no prior police experience just 8 years in the military, as a supply clerk. I was on my own about 2 weeks after I was hired. No FTO. I had been on the street pretty much in solo units for 18 months before starting Academy. California police work was a lot different back in the 1960’s.

KG (small northern California municipality): My father died from suicide with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head, I knew one day that call would come. I remember it being all business on scene but later it hit me. I didn’t have a meltdown or anything and I’m pretty sure I didn’t cry. As time went on, I actually felt pretty good about being able to do the job and checking my personal stuff at the door. I had maybe two years’ experience then, and the rule was rookie for 5 years, but I knew then I was capable so in my head I was no longer a rook.

CL (rural California sheriff’s deputy): Hired by HPD after being a reserve for a few months. First day on the job it was me and the chief. My first call was from the chief and it was “10-50x at Silviera Pontiac. We were using the old nine code back then and I had no clue what I was going to and wasn’t going to ask! Drove there kinda fast and it was a VIN verification. Not a veteran yet.
That took six months and a big bar fight at Norm’s and a head injury requiring a trip to ER, stitches and time off to let the swelling go down.

Please feel free to share (anonymously if you wish). We’d love to see your answers.

–Thonie

Next week, Ed Meckle will be back with a few stories about Wilshire Detectives.

By Force or Fear, Intent to Hold, and With Malice Aforethought
all available on Amazon
Categories
Street Stories When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly: Snow Happens

By Ron Corbin, Retired LAPD

Like cops, firefighters apparently get bored, too. Sometimes, boredom turns into pranks. There once was an LA City fire station in South LA manned by firefighters who liked to “bomb” police officers who were making traffic stops nearby.

LAPD Air ship

It all started one day when some officers reported that they were being pelted by water balloons from an unknown source. Hearing this on the police radio, and it being an unusual call, Air-3, a police helicopter crew, flew to the scene hoping to assist in spotting the origin of the “aerial attack.” The air crew knew that there had been prior reports of this strange occurrence from previous roll call briefings.

Arriving overhead, the only uncommon activity the ‘copter crew observed was some firefighters standing on top of their fire house and waving with big, sheepish grins on their faces. Thinking that it was unusual for the firefighters to be up on their roof, it could only be imagined that these were the culprits. Other than that, the source of the water balloons could not be found. The air crew decided to fly away but radioed to another ground unit to park nearby and watch for any suspicious activity that might be coming from the fire station roof.

It wasn’t but a few minutes later that water balloons were observed being catapulted over the parapet of the fire house roof. Again Air-3 flew back over the scene and once again saw that the firefighters were standing and waving innocently. They didn’t know that they had been caught in the act.

Apparently, the firefighters had rigged-up some surgical tubing and made a huge sling-shot. For self-amusement, they would assemble water balloons and take them to the roof. There they would watch for police cars to stop within a block or two of the station. At that time, and hidden from view, they would commence their airborne assault. Now discovered by Air-3, the “air war” was on. It would be time for “payback,” LAPD vs. LAFD.

A few weeks later, it snowed on some of the higher mountains surrounding Los Angeles. The Air-3 crew decided it was time for payback. Sneaking a small, Styrofoam picnic cooler onboard, the crew of Air-3 flew up to the hills in the northwest part of Devonshire Division; landing on the helipad of an abandoned Nike missile site where it had snowed. The observer exited the ‘copter and quickly packed several snowballs, placing them in the cooler. Then Air-3 flew down to the fire station hoping that the “fire perps” would be outside. And, as luck would have it, they were; washing and polishing their beloved fire truck.

As Air-3 circled overhead, the pilot and observer waved, only this time, they were the ones with sheepish grins. When the firefighters went back to their task of cleaning, several snowballs came out of the sky, sending the firefighters scurrying for cover. As some snowballs pummeled the fire truck, a few of the firefighters waved back, only this time with one finger. The pilot came on the PA and yelled down, “For the Water Balloons…SNOW HAPPENS!”

A few days later, a photograph was received in the mail at Air Support’s heliport marked with “Attention to Air-3.” In it was a single picture without words. It depicted an LA City fire helicopter dropping its load of water … all 360 gallons. Thus, an undeclared truce was immediately put into effect.

“This is what I call a target rich environment.”