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The Call Box

The Call Box: Parker Center

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Parker-Center demo

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.

LAPD_-_Departamento_de_Policía_de_Los_Ángeles_ロサンゼルス市警察_-_panoramioParker 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.

RFKDuring 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.

-Los-angeles-police-department-memorial-for-fallen-officers
2010: The LAPD Memorial for Fallen Officers — at the New Parker Center, Downtown Los Angeles.
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.

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Two Short But True Stories

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

In May of 2016 when Thonie agreed to give my tales a chance I realized that with a fading memory it would be best to create a list of story ideas as they would occur to me. My handwriting has deteriorated so over the years that when I went to examine the list I got one of three results.

1) I think that will make a good story

2) What the hell was I thinking ?

3) What the devil is “finat whreps snangle”?

Moving my list to the computer helped along with using complete words.

diceHere then are two completely unconnected events in the life and times of Ed Meckle.

Working vice was a real blast. Plain clothes after time in uniform was a little strange but good partners along with a fun assignment made coming to work a pleasure. As the newest guy on the detail I got all the “interesting” jobs, like going through bedroom windows in the middle of the night.

Assigned primarily to gambling enforcement meant arresting “illegal gamblers.” Finding the games was easy. We had a list of regular locations and tips were plentiful. Games usually held in private homes, were so noisy they could be heard a block away. One of us (me) would gain quiet entry to the house and open the door for my partners.

On this occasion I was in plain clothes, going through a back-bedroom window about six feet off the ground. The hour was late and the light in the room was very dim. They boosted me up and as I went through I lost my balance. I fell about 2-3 feet landing on a bed on top of a sleeping male.

Now stop for a moment and think what your reaction would be under these circumstances. I know mine but that’s not what I got.

Sitting bolt upright, he said, “DAMN OFFICER, YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH.”

~~

bus stop silhouettesI have tried to be as circumspect as possible with what follows out of respect for any female readers.

BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS…

I was working Metro with my regular partner Frank Isbell and we were in uniform in a black and white, assigned to some daytime detail or another in Hollywood.

We were east bound on Hollywood Boulevard crossing Cahuenga. Frank was driving. On the southeast corner was a bus bench occupied by three people with another half dozen standing behind them.

The center person on the bench was a twenties something male with a bouncing newspaper on his lap, head back and eyes closed.

I said, “Bus bench.”

Frank replied, “Got it.”

Three right turns brought us north on Cahuenga to Hollywood. We parked, approaching on foot. Paper was still bouncing, and he still was unaware of our presence.

One of us removed the newspaper. Here goes—he was having carnal knowledge of a cantaloupe. {honest, that’s the best I could do, people}

At the station, we had to admit we don’t have a victim, so he goes to jail for traffic warrants.

I can just hear Hal saying, “OK, so what did he do wrong? This is after all Hollywood!”

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Random Thoughts

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1Any copper’s career is made up of many, many hundreds of moments frozen in time, some memorable for one reason or another and some gone as they occur.

I have tried to take note of as many as I can remember as they come back to me. Here, then, are two.

I was a police officer assigned to Metro on a training loan to Juvenile, working alone I am seated with the Vice Principal (VP) in her office at a local high-school about to interview a grand theft suspect. 

Th student is sullen and given to one-word answers or shrugs and I am getting nothing. 

He finally asks, “Why are you accusing me? You don’t have no evidence of nothing.”

Bluffing, I ask, “How about your finger prints?”

“I never been arrested, and nobody ever took my fingerprints so how could you think they was mine?”

Where this thought came from I will never know but I said, “You were born in a hospital, weren’t you?”

He shrugged.

“WERE YOU?”

He nodded—yes.

Ok. “Ever see your birth certificate?”

No answer.

Inkedbirth cert_LI“Well, if you had you would have seen that little baby footprint they put on there.”

No comment.

“That footprint is the same as your fingerprint.”

The VP gave me a “What in the hell are you talking about look?”

My frown and shake of my head silenced her.

Sometime later he stated he might have been there and might have touched something.

The VP just rolled her eyes and gave me the tiniest of smiles.

~~~

revolver-982973_960_720Many, 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.

He lived on the second floor of an apartment building in a small nearby town and while seated at his kitchen table cleaning his legally owned handgun noticed what he took to be rust spots on the barrel.

Knowing he could see them better in the sunlight rather than under artificial light, he stepped onto his balcony, held the gun up and examined it.

At that precise moment a woman across, the way saw him and did what some women are prone to do—screamed at the top of her lungs then ducked back inside her apartment. 

Hearing the screams but not seeing the woman, unnerved him to the point of ducking back inside his own apartment wondering what had just happened. Should he go back and check? Does the woman need help? Should he call the police? What to do?

The decision was made for him when he heard sirens, the sounds of running feet, shouts and then the whomp, whomp of a helicopter.

After a few minutes of silence, he opened his door to find a police officer, gun drawn, crouched close by. 

“Get back inside,” the officer commanded.

“What’s wrong,” he asked.

“Stay inside. There’s a man brandishing a gun on the loose in the building.”

I gave him the advice he needed to get his gun back.

 

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Take Care of Your People

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

The noted poet and playwright, Oscar Wilde, is credited with the phrase, “No good deed goes unpunished.” Nonsensical when first heard, it makes sense when you think about it. Described as a “sardonic commentary on the frequency with which acts of kindness backfire.” 

As a 19-year-old corporal, then 20-year-old sergeant in the Marines I learned many things. Number one was, “Take care of your people.” Now, a 34-year-old lieutenant with the LAPD, it is ingrained, something I did not think about; something I just did.

detectiveI 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. 

We were 25 years post-WWII and the veterans were starting to retire. My only concern was trying to put together my daily deployment (car plan) when over half the watch is composed of young officers on probation.

They were a good bunch and I remember losing only one who after the lengthy vetting, and unforgiving academy should suddenly discover he was not suited for and did not like the work. 

Suggested reading: some of Hal’s older blogs, “Recruits from Hell.”

As part of this mix I was blessed with *James Ballinger. He looked as though he stepped from a recruiting poster. Former Marine NCO (non-commissioned officer), former fire-fighter (smoke jumper with the Forest Service), sharp as a tack, mature beyond his years and was developing into a really good street copper. The kind of officer you wish you had a dozen of.

Then, as though done specifically to screw up my life, I got “the letter” from personnel division.

Ballinger had some sort of “heart condition” that had evaded the examining physicians when he took his entrance physical. Now discovered in hindsight, his probation was terminated, and he was fired.

I was to collect his badge and gun and have him report to personnel division to complete the paper work. 

Without a second thought, this was now “my problem.” Ballinger explained that it was an error on personnel division’s part. He had supplied paper work to the city to explain the situation. If the city cardiologist had even read the report this would not be a problem. 

cardiologistOne 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.”

Ten minutes later, number one’s receptionist is explaining that he is booked for 6 months. I heard myself saying things like, “exceptional young man, veteran, career-ending, injustice, terrible error, life and death,” and so on.

She replied, “Tell him to be here at 5 with his paper work. I can get him 10 minutes with the doctor.”

I tell Ballinger to buy a potted plant for the receptionist and ”go get it done.” He got an hour. The city doctor had been a student of “our consulting physician.” The cardiologist authored a report which the city accepted and reversed the termination. 

When I got the good news some time later I felt smug for having beaten city hall and saving one of “my people.”

To put me in my place and show me who was boss, they transferred Ballinger for no apparent reason.

Twelve years passed. I am retired, when in December 1981 a major scandal rocks Hollywood division. A dozen officers and one sergeant are arrested for being part of a burglary ring. All are fired or resign in disgrace. The sergeant is *James Ballinger.

I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. 

In June of 2014 Hal wrote a four-part series detailing the activities of all the parties. A must read.

Lt. Dan Cooke the press relations officer was quoted “We will get over it, but we will never forget it.” 

* James Ballinger is not his true name, he went on to have a successful career in another field  so I will let it rest there.

As to heart trouble, he wasn’t the only one affected. He broke mine.

 

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Partners

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Ask most street cops what they consider truly valuable: what is the most important part of their professional life, if forced to, the last he/she would consider giving up.

I feel the answer would be their partner.

Partner defined: “One associated with another, especially in business or action.”

“Associate or colleague.” OK so far.

“Either of two persons who dance together.” (define dance)

“One of two or more persons who play together in a game against an opposing side.” and “sharing risks and profits.” Yes and yes.

You should pick your partner with the same care as you pick your mate because you are going to be as close to and spend as much time with them as you do with the person you married. Choose wisely.

Start with the obvious—you need someone who you can get along with; who will be there when your life depends on it. Someone dependable, someone who will not lose it when the “fit hits the shan.” Trust me it will, and that’s a hell of a time to discover you picked wrong.

Choose someone with a mindset such as yours yet different enough so you complement each other. He/she sees what you might miss and vice-versa. Someone in whom you can see and appreciate the good qualities and ignore the unimportant bad ones; someone you feel comfortable and communicate easily with.

 

“On the right, by the alley.”

“Got it.”

 

Police partners
Sgt. Michael Biddy, front, and Corporal Aaron Whitehead use a radar gun to detect the speed limit of drivers on Tinker Air Force Base, Okla. The two DAF civilian police officers were both prior military before joining the civilian security forces here on base. Civilian officers are federally certified law enforcement officers and perform the same duties as the military security forces. (Air Force photo by Kelly White)

Someone who knows what you are likely to do in a particular situation; who can understand and also convey a message with a shrug, nod, grimace or some other gesture you hadn’t even thought of.

Your Huntley to, his/her Brinkley (dating myself here); during a stop and on your feet taking and maintaining a good position. Moving sometimes as though choreographed. His/her Rogers to your Astaire (yet again).

And when it’s “come and get it time,” and the world is spinning out of control, his Butch to your Sundance.

As the saying goes, “someone who runs TOWARD the sound of gunfire.”

Consider the following:

You begin your tour by seating yourself side by side with your partner in a visibly marked vehicle. You are going to spend the next eight plus hours together directed by the radio to solve various problems.

When free from the radio you are on the “prowl” and “looking for trouble.” Let me repeat that: looking for trouble.

Does this sound like the sort of job description where you drive to the labor pool and pick someone from the crowd? I think not.

You hope to find out before it becomes critical that you have chosen to right person, since by then it will be too late.

They say you are lucky or rich if you have one truly good friend in your lifetime. I would think then that if the same could be said of partners. I am truly blessed.

Ward Fitzgerald and Hal Brasher, both WWII vets, taught me “the game.” Both were my kindly old “uncles.”

Frank Isbell and I were the “proverbial identical twins separated at birth” who found each other, while Richard L. Sullivan “Sully” and I were truly soul mates.

I will lie for you, I will bleed for you, I will take a bullet for you and I will, die for you.

Dedicated to PARTNERS everywhere.

Thanks, Ed. Any readers recall great partners? Leave a comment, let us know who and why.

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Baldwin Hills Dam 1963

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

In 1947 the L.A. Department of Water and Power began construction on an earthen filled dam in Baldwin Hills. The location was in a low set of hills south and west of downtown L.A. surrounded by residential neighborhoods.

There was debate at the time as work proceeded, since they were building on an active earthquake fault line. Against expert advice and despite all concerns the project was completed, and the reservoir filled by 1951.

All went without incident until approximately 11:30 AM on Saturday morning December 14, 1963. A routine daily inspection disclosed a small leak near the base of the dam, increasing in size by the hour. The Department tried to stem the flow without success. Realizing it would take 24 hours to drain the lake, LAPD was immediately contacted, and an evacuation plan put into play. This was a Saturday and a lot of people would be at home instead of work. It was estimated 1600 people were in harm’s way.

Motor officers from all over the city were summoned as well as all available black and whites. Evacuations began at 1:30 PM.

Metro Division was alerted but could not be on the scene for several hours.

About 3:30 PM on that cold December day the unthinkable happened. At the point of the leak a large “V” shaped fissure appeared. An estimated 250-300 million gallons of water was released to flow northward through residential neighborhoods roughly bounded on the west by La Cienega, east by LaBrea and Jefferson on the North. 

The area was roughly several hundred blocks square. TV station KTLA had a helicopter up at the time of the breach and it is believed to be the first aerial coverage of its kind. It can be viewed on Google. 

The wall of water estimated at 50 feet high by several hundred feet across destroyed or damaged 277 homes in a matter of minutes. Five lives were lost along with 29 LAPD motorcycles as officers had to scramble to rooftops to escape, many to be rescued by LAFD helicopters.  It took an estimated 77 minutes to completely empty the lake. 

As a sergeant working Metro, we were on scene by late afternoon. The evacuations were a great success thanks to quick work by LAPD. 

Unfortunately, due to licensing issues, I cannot post photos of this horrific incident. For pictures, google “Baldwin Hills Dam disaster.” 

We were to be there for the better part of a week, twelve hour shifts to prevent looting and provide whatever assistance we could. 

If the Bel Aire fire 25 months prior had seemed a barren moon scape this was something beyond description.

I spent the entire week on the night watch. 6 PM to 6 AM. Always dark, always cold, always windy, and always damp. as I remember it. Lifeless everywhere you looked. Houses with no roofs, roofs with no houses. I remember a living room couch in a tree, a kitchen table and clothing in others.

As the water sought lower levels, it pushed cars ahead of it, sometimes leaving them stacked 3-4 high like children’s toys. 

The coroner had parked a refrigerated truck at the University police station but there were only five fatalities.

The cold and wetness seemed to accentuate the smell of death that hung in the air. So many dead pets and the occasional found body. A lot of the streets were not drivable, so we worked the perimeter. Within the flooded area were fixed posts, cold and desolate, most with trash can fires to keep warm. It was a scene from another time, another place, but where? The silence and sense of aloneness was downright eerie.

Destruction and devastation everywhere. It left a lasting impression on us all.

Many of the residents never returned to rebuild. The reservoir was never rebuilt and is now the site of a park.

 

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Gas Pains

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Tear Gas: [definition] A solid liquid or gaseous substance that on dispersion in the atmosphere irritates mucous membranes resulting in blinding of the eyes with tears, used chiefly in dispelling mobs.

Okay, so everyone knows what tear gas is right? Well, yes and no. You know what it is but unless you have been subjected to its use, you can never really appreciate the effect it has upon the body. How it removes any desire to continue your present activities.

Three years USMC plus two reserves, LAPD academy, plus five Metro years has given me more than a nodding acquaintance. I heard the lectures, gave the lectures, been gassed, gassed others, watched film and demonstrated its use.

However, I had never seen it used under actual field conditions, until this night.

I was assigned to Metro and was on my way home at end of watch. It was probably somewhere between 0100 and 0200 hours. I lived close to downtown and always tried to use surface streets at that hour. Any morning watch copper can verify that the streets are usually strangely quiet and empty—almost otherworldly—a science fiction movie and you are the last person on earth.

I awakened from my reverie when an overtaking black and white blew by me code three. Seconds later, it was followed by a second, then a minute later, a third.

I stopped, rolling down all the windows to listen. The air was filled with sirens. Something big was going down and I wanted to be there.

Westlake_Shopping_Center_3I 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 parked about a block away and walked in. No challenge. I am in civvies, so I hang my badge, but didn’t draw even a glance.

The center of attention is a second floor, corner apartment at the far end of the block. A police search light was set up mid-block and focused on the windows fronting the street. The rest of the block was an unreal collection of light and shadow. An expended tear gas canister lay on the sidewalk below the window.

At this point I assumed a barricaded suspect as I was at the wrong end of the block and too far away to get involved. I picked a good spot and settled in to watch.

Behind the light, a sergeant with a bull horn talked to the suspect. Then the suspect suddenly appeared and fired two quick shots at the light. By the time the officers reacted, he was gone but “what the hell.” They volleyed 2-3 rounds each.

Have you ever seen an action movie where a machine gun fires dozens of rounds and strikes a house in slow motion? Amazed, I watched as glass shattered and window sills splintered. I could almost hear the old building moaning.

This scene plays out a few more times with the same results.

I was out of the line of fire when the suspect shot so I wasn’t worried about my safety. Not so the officers. Several are around the corner shooting at the side window and there have been several ricochets.

Tear gas launcherI 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.

We wait. Gas drifts from the window. No suspect.

Two officers with gas masks enter and then returned quickly, holding up four fingers. “Code four,” all over.

in those days, things were done in a more casual manner. This was before SWAT. No one had ever heard of “fire discipline” and officer involved shooting teams were in the future.

As a result, half the cars were gone within five minutes.

I figured I would find out the results when I went to work that night.

I did: twenty-five to thirty officers fired several hundred rounds at the suspect with zero hits.

Then, a sergeant fired one round from a teargas gun. It struck and killed the suspect. Killed by something that looked like a Buck Rogers toy rocket ship.

Go figure.

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The Call Box

The Call Box: The Newhall Incident

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1The 1963 kidnapping of two LAPD plainclothes officers and subsequent murder of one sent shock waves through the department and law enforcement.
This could not happen to US—WE ARE THE BEST OF THE BEST. NOT HERE, NOT NOW, NOT EVER.

But it did, and it shook us to the core.

Seven short years later, four young California Highway Patrol Officers (CHP) lost their lives in a 4 1/2-minute gunfight, 270 seconds, 4 dead.

It came to be known as the “Newhall Incident” or “The Newhall Massacre.”

The officers (partners in first unit): Walter Frago, age 23 and Roger Gore, age 23. In the second unit: James Pence, age 24 and George Alleyn, age 24.

Each of them had less than 2 years on the job. Just recently a stretch of I-5 has been named in their honor.

I write this due to the fact some of you might have been too young to know of it or perhaps you never knew the story. Worse yet, maybe you have forgotten it.

The killers were two hard core ex-cons: Jack Twinning, age 35, graduate of eight different prisons including Alcatraz where he had killed another inmate on parole 11 months. Bobby Davis, age 27, on parole 8 months. They met and allied in prison.

Shortly before midnight, Sunday April 5, 1970 Davis brandished a handgun in a traffic dispute near the Grapevine on I-5. The citizen contacted police and the suspect vehicle was spotted southbound toward L.A.

Frago and Gore follow while Pence and Alleyn waited in nearby Valencia to assist if necessary.

The suspect vehicle exited the freeway on Henry Mayo Drive, entered and stopped in the parking lot of “J’s” restaurant.

Davis exited the driver’s side while Gore approached and prepares to search him.

Frago armed with a shotgun held at port arms, across his chest at a 45-degree angle, covers Gore.

 

THE CONFRONTATION

As Gore prepared to search Davis, Twinning suddenly exited the vehicle on the passenger side. Armed with a handgun, he fired 2 shots at Frago, hitting him twice and killing him. Gore turned has attention to Twinning, drew his revolver and traded shots with him, both missing. Davis now behind Gore pulled his revolver and shot Gore twice in the back, killing him. All of this in the blink of an eye.

Shortly afterwards Pence and Alleyn arrived and there was a furious exchange of gunfire. Twinning was struck in the head by a bullet fragment suffering only superficial injuries. Alleyn was killed, and Pence seriously wounded, when Gary Kness age 31, a former Marine and civilian, enroute to work saw the gunfight. He came to assist the officers. He attempted unsuccessfully to drag Alleyn to safety unaware he was deceased. Then, he armed himself with Alleyn’s revolver and joins the gunfight. Twinning got behind Pence while he was reloading, shot him twice in the head and killed him. A fragment from a round fired by Kress struck Davis in the chest but was ineffective.

 

At this time a third CHP one-man unit arrives and there was a further exchange of fire. Both suspects fled on foot armed with the officers’ weapons.

Twinning takes a hostage but is surrounded by Sherriff’s Deputies. After an all-night standoff he shot and killed himself.

Davis stole a car but was quickly arrested. Convicted of multiple murders he was sentenced to death; later commuted life in prison. He committed suicide in 2009.

This incident as you can imagine caused many changes in training and tactics.

“J’s” coffee shop no longer exists however half a dozen eateries are at that off ramp which leads to Magic Mountain.

Seriously consider taking time to google “Incident or Massacre at Newhall” for a virtual shot by shot account of the gunfight and the heroic actions of these brave young warriors.

I’d like to include photos and the link to this but copyright issues preclude it.

–Thonie

Remember this when you hear people bad-mouthing the police. Thanks also to Gary Kress, the former Marine.

 

Semper Fi and GOD BLESS AMERICA

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Learning to Detect

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD                                                    June 3, 2018

The year was 1959, the Dodgers playing at the coliseum are about to start a world series. I was newly assigned to Metro Division and on a one-month training loan to Newton Detectives, (nicknamed Shootin’ Newton). My partner, mentor is Sergeant Bill Pinkston (Pinkie). His specialty was Business Burglary. He was an old timer and very good at what he did. 

He never lectured. I just watched, listened and learned. 

In area, Newton is one of the smallest divisions, just South and East of downtown L.A. What it lacks in size it makes up for in crime. The area contained the usual residential and small businesses however the entire East side was warehouses, loading docks and light manufacturing. 

One morning “Pinkie” handed me an evidence report regarding a recovered firearm taken in one of “his” burglaries in 1948. He told me if I wanted to be a detective, I should detect. “Find the owner,” he said, then left to go to court.  

I assumed by now the owner/victim would be gone and I was correct. He had been a broker for a meat packing company and neither he nor the company were any longer there. The new tenants had no information but one of the neighboring business men remembered him. Said he left/retired and moved East. He did recall that he had a son who sold real estate. 

The California State Real Estate Board had only one person with that last name and he was my guy. He remembered his father’s burglary and gave me his number in “Sun City” or whatever. The conversation went something like this:

 

Charter_Arms_BulldogVictim: Hello         

Me: This is Detective Ed Meckle, LAPD. I would like to speak to Mr. “Victim.” 

Victim: Speaking, how can I help you?       

Me: We recovered your gun

Victim: (silence)         

Me: Hello?       

Victim: What gun?         

Me: The one you reported stolen in 1948. 

Victim: You found it?     

Me: Yes Sir, we have been working the case full time for the last 11 years and finally found it. 

Victim: Tell me you are kidding.   

Me: O.K. I’m kidding.

Victim: I thought things like this only happened in the movies. 

I released the gun to the son.

~~~

Pinkie had an interesting habit of jotting down names/DOBs (dates of birth)/and drivers licenses numbers of selected people we talked to during the day. When we went back to the office at end of shift, he would go off to do other paper work while I called R&I to “run” everyone on the list. I called records and identifications division to check them for felony wants or warrants. Usually the list numbered 20-25 people. 

This one evening I told him as follows: 

“Remember the skinny old guy with the eye patch from the flophouse on Central? Well, he is wanted for escaping from a prison train in Texas in 1929. How about that! Want to go pick him up?” 

Pinkie thought for a few seconds. “Let’s get him in the morning.”

At the boarding house the next morning, the landlord said. “I bought this place in 1945 right after the war. He was living here then. When you guys left yesterday you were barely out of sight and he was packed and gone. Damnedest thing—he lived in that one room for who knows how long.”

And like a wisp of smoke from an old fashioned locomotive, he was gone.

 

 

 

Categories
The Call Box

Roll Call: Short Dogs

By Mikey, Retired LAPD

The Yellow Van and the Robbery Suspect

Wilshire

It was late 1990 and I was working Wilshire Division day watch patrol as a new field sergeant. Wilshire Division is bordered on the north by Hollywood Division, on the west by West Los Angeles Division on the east by Rampart Division and on the south by South West Division. At about 1130am I monitored a broadcast of a robbery that had just occurred in South West. The suspect was described as a heavy set male black, driving a yellow van, last seen south bound on La Brea Boulevard. I was stopped for a red light at Washington and La Brea facing south when I spotted a yellow van approach the interaction going north. The South West robbery suspect was last seen proceeding south on La Brea. The lettering on the van identifyed it as rental van. I radioed my location and asked communications to ask the South West unit if the van had writing on the sides. I was told that there was, and they added that it had a number on the back.

LAPD_Bell_206_JetrangerAs 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.

“A little faster, Sarge,” the observer said, so I picked up the pace. I passed three residences and was approaching the last house before the end of the block when I was told to run to the end of the block and take cover facing east, so that’s what I did.

“Wait for it, Sarge.” Looking east I could see a wooden fence paralleling the street, west to east and the sidewalk next to it. This time the observer chucked as he said, “Here they come.”

They, here they come?

hurry-up-2785528_960_720I 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!

The guy saw at me and began yelling, “Shoot the dogs, shoot the dogs!!”

The aircrew must have been laughing hard because I heard the engine whining down (pilot not paying attention) but my attention was on our robbery suspect. The dogs got alarmed when they saw the vehicle traffic did a 180 and headed for home.

“Shoot the dogs,” ran into a responding black and white and the rest is history.

You know for a heavyset guy, he was running pretty good. Well, he was highly motivated!

Morning Watch and the Flying Badge

Wilshire

It was late 1990 and I was woLAPD sgt badge movie prop etsyrking 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!

Told you I was tired, lacking any judgment and now my badge was gone. I got off the freeway and went back to the location.

Somewhere in badge heaven that badge is telling the story of the first and last knuckle head he was with.

I sure showed that driver, huh?