By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Sentenced to die, it stands alone and empty awaiting its fate. It was loved and cherished by the many thousands who called it home.
Born in 1955 / Died 2018 / age 63. It opened as the Police Administration Building or PAB. It was renamed “Parker Center” after the untimely death of Police Chief William H. Parker, who served as chief from 1950 until 1966.
Parker Center was many things to many people but revered by those Chief Parker commanded. Standing alone at 150 N. Los Angeles Street, the building occupied the entire block with an imposing position in Civic Center.
Designed by Welton Becket and Associates (who also designed the Capitol records building in Hollywood) and built at a cost of 6.1 million dollars, it was considered state of the art and one of the first centralized police facilities in the nation. The main cantilevered entrance is supported by twelve columns and consists of eight stories of gleaming steel, mosaic and glass.
Specialized features included modern crime lab, lineup auditorium with special lighting, traffic mapping center, two-story jail and modern communications center.
The lobby was home to a free standing 36 x 6-foot mural, “Theme Mural of L.A.” by artist Joseph Young, and a second entitled, “The Family Group.” Closed in 2009, it was home to 6 chiefs and 5 interim chiefs over the 54 years of its use. Occupants included all senior administrators and staff, along with many support divisions, patrol, traffic, administrative, vice, and the elite Metropolitan Division. Specialized Detective Divisions included Homicide, Robbery, Burglary/Auto Theft, Bunco, Forgery, and Narcotics.
The jail housed short term arrestees while in the press room senior “crime reporters” played endless card games.
During its life the building saw the likes of the Manson Family, the Night Stalker, the Hillside Strangler, Skid Row/Central Slasher, Lonely Hearts Killer, Mickey Cohen, O.J., the Onion Field Killers, the Remorseful Rapist, Robert Blake, the killers of Robert Kennedy and Sal Mineo, and so many, many more.
It saw the 1965 Watts riots, Black Panther, SLA (Symbionese Liberation Army) and North Hollywood shootouts. It weathered the debacle following Rodney King along with thousands of others.
It was a home to giants, WWII vets who bigger than life, became legends and forged the mystique of the LAPD, making it the paragon it became.
They, too, have passed into history. Hollywood may have its super heroes, but we had the genuine article. If ghosts could speak.

A project by David Herjecki and Robert Jernigan of Gensler, fabricated by Zahner.
That same period saw 98 Los Angeles Police Officers give their lives in the line of duty. Their names joined the many of the previously fallen on the black granite base and fountain memorial in front of the building.
Yes, it will die soon, a victim of progress; another warrior gone to Valhalla.
To quote Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rest in Peace Parker Center
With much Respect
Ed Meckle #7612, Lt II ret.
By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
Here then are two completely unconnected events in the life and times of Ed Meckle.
I have tried to be as circumspect as possible with what follows out of respect for any female readers.
“Well, if you had you would have seen that little baby footprint they put on there.”
Many, many years later after I retired I received a phone call from a man who had done some handyman work for me years before. Remembering I had been a police officer he wondered if he could ask my advice regarding a problem.
I had worked “upstairs” for some years as a robbery detective and really liked the division. As day watch commander at Wilshire Division I considered myself lucky to have such a good job. It was a good place to work, an old station house but comfortable with a great boss, Captain Pierce Brooks, solid sergeants (over half on probation), tolerable crime stats, and a good group of mostly young officers.
One of the young women that worked the records section was the daughter of a cardiac surgical nurse. I told her, “Call mom ASAP and get me the names and numbers of the three best cardiologists in LA.”
By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
I caught the last car and followed him to the action. As I got close, I heard sporadic gunfire. The scene was an old-fashioned shopping center. Two blocks of older two-story business buildings, glass storefronts, with second floor living quarters, and flat tar-paper roofs. The street was filled with 12-15 black and whites with officers crouched behind them. The sharp smell of tear gas hung in the air.
I watched the window screen fall half off, the gutter downspout shot away and a piece of tar paper flutter to the ground. About the time I wonder what could happen next, I hear the deep throated thomp of the teargas gun. The sound was unmistakable as the stubby barrel launched a “flight right” grenade. It looked like a small rocket. As it cleared the barrel, fins snapped into place to stabilize flight. The round was well aimed and went through the window.
Victim: Hello
As the light changed, the van passed me and sure enough the number matched the one given to me by the unit. I communicated that I was following the van NORTH bound on La Brea, requested back-up and settled in for a possible pursuit. I heard an air unit was enroute, so I hung back. The van proceeded into a residential neighborhood, pulled to the curb and the driver exited. I set up a felony stop, shot gun and all, and told the heavy-set driver to prone out. He turned and ran up a drive way into a back yard. The air unit was now over head and the observer told me to start star walking north.
I had my weapon drawn, facing east when the frail wooden fence shattered into pieces as the suspect ran right through. Behind him were a pit bull and a mutt in hot pursuit!
rking morning watch at Wilshire as a patrol sergeant. Our end of watch was 0800 but I had a report to finish and didn’t leave the station until 1030. I was on my way home eastbound on the I-10, the Santa Monica portion and this time of the morning the traffic still stinks. My patience is boarding the edge of—well, I’m tired and when I get home I have a couple of “honey do’s” to complete before sleep. Drive time, 45 minutes. Crossing the Harbor freeway, the traffic lightened up, so we picked up the speed. I’m in the #2 lane and a yellow city dump truck is in the #1 lane. As we transition from the east bound I-10 to the north bound I-5, the truck—without signaling—cuts me off! Had I not slammed on the brakes, we’d have had a terrific collision. Now I’m going to catch up to the truck and let the guy know who he just cut off! I take my badge place it into my left hand. The badge pin is between my middle and index finger. I catch up to the truck who is back in the #1 lane and now I’m next to him, I roll down my window and as he looks over at me, I produce my badge out the window…….and my badge is yanked out of my hand by the rush of wind! It’s gone, rolling down the freeway. My almost new sergeant badge is GONE!