Category: The Call Box

How things were back in the day. Ed Meckle of LAPD, retired, shares fascinating stories.

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: An Adventure in the Rose Garden

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

There are some things we do that we can really take pride in. An exceptionally good arrest, for instance, is why we are who we are.

But honestly most of our daily contacts are non-criminal and non-confrontational. From directions to the bus stop to assisting the motorist who locked his keys in the car.

There are those special few though that make us smile when we remember. This is one such encounter.

 

University Division, where I am working night watch with my partner Frank Isbell, is known for three things—

1) home to the campus of the University of Southern California (USC).

2) the Memorial Coliseum, home to the 1932 Olympics, the Rams, Trojans, Bruins and many major sporting and other events. It will be temporary home to the Dodgers in a few years.

3) high crime.

As we clear the station, there is still some daylight left when we receive a call. “Unknown trouble” at the Coliseum rose garden. This type call can mean anything and usually does.

Los_Angeles_Memorial_Coliseum_(Entrance)The coliseum which is a stadium capable of holding in excess of 100,000 spectators along with parking covers many, many city blocks. The surrounding area is park-like in appearance comprised of grass lawns, numerous trees, benches etc. Also adjacent to the stadium is the Rose Garden, a several hundred-yard square area given over to hundreds and hundreds of roses of all species. There are winding paths and benches to just sit and enjoy. The garden is surrounded by a 31/2 to 4-foot-tall brick wall, covered in what else? Climbing roses. In the evening when there is even the slightest breeze, the fragrance of the roses can be detected blocks away. Entrance to the garden is by one gate on the south wall and one gate only. Affixed to the gate is a small sign, “This gate will be locked at five P.M.”

Main_entrance_to_Esposition_Park-_Figueroa_Street-_Los_Angeles_Coliseum

As we enter, the park has turned quiet and seemingly deserted. It will soon be time for the night people to appear.

Approaching the gate, we see the subject of our call: two majestic appearing “grande dames,” approximate age late 70’s. They were dressed in all their finery tall as wealthy women are required to be, sporting large brimmed sun hats, gloves and carrying hand fans (yes, fans).

Regal in both appearance and manner, they are both corseted and queen-sized in lavender and lace and they are also inside the locked gate.

One has been crying but now has it check, both are trying to maintain control and seem slightly distraught, but still formidable. They had lost track of time while enjoying the flowers and somehow attracted the attention of a passing motorist, hence the call.

We determine they are uninjured and we attempt to calm them and assure them we will get them out as quickly as possible. Now finding the man with the key seems a long shot. Calling the fire department would only embarrass the ladies and show them we couldn’t handle our own problems. No way.

Memorial Rose Garden LAOk, so how do we do this?

Now, Frank and I are both fairly good sized, very good shape, former Marines, able to leap tall buil…well, you get the idea. The fact remains that these are women of ample proportions, both of whom outweigh us. This has to be handled diplomatically.

The only object of any use in sight is a heavy-duty city trash can with lid chained to the wall adjacent to the gate. Looking around we realize just one long block away at the Figueroa Street entrance to the park there is a family style restaurant.

Maybe?

Exposition_Park_Rose_Garden_LA_bannerAfter hearing my tale of woe, the maître de sends me back with a step-stool, a sturdy wooden chair and an even sturdier busboy. By his looks, a student athlete. The maître de thought he might come in handy.

With three of us, it was a no brainer. Frank and busboy on the inside. Matron onto stool then to trash can then wall. Busboy hops fence with step-stool and down she comes. Number two was even easier. Some nervous laughter, some “Oh’s and ah’s” and here we are.

The women forced a “tip” on the reluctant busboy who told me it had been an adventure and a nice break from the kitchen. The matrons dutifully recorded our names and serial numbers in a tiny notebook with a tiny pencil. We escorted them to their vehicles and saw them off.

Frank and I waited, in vain, for many years to see if we had been named in their wills.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WMA on Amazon

Just the Facts, Ma’am readers-

Thonie’s new book is available on Amazon in eBook format. Don’t do digital reading? Don’t worry, With Malice Aforethought will be offered soon in print format, too!

 

 

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: The King and I

By Ed Meckle, retired LAPD

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

…….Or how I met the king of Cambodia, almost

It is about 1960 and I am a policeman working Metro, the division that seems to do a little of everything (stakeouts / plain clothes patrol / crowd control, etc.). This day with 6-7 others, I have been assigned uniformed security for the King of Cambodia.

He is in L.A. for 3-4 days for “trade meetings.” He and his entourage have taken over the top two floors of a hotel near the airport (LAX).

Now this is my first experience with royalty and I am discovering they are much like rock stars of a later era. When I say entourage, I mean entourage. There are chancellors and councilors and ministers, all of whom require an assistant. Each assistant is required to have at least two or more assistants. And everyone is important.

There are also ten or twelve very hot-looking ladies who seem to move as a herd or flock. I can only assume they are secretaries or researchers or whatever.

Last, is their own security detail, who seem equally divided between very short muscle-bound natives in ill-fitting suits who scowl a lot and some truly tough looking European types who I am guessing are mercenaries.

They also have what I can assume is State Department security when they leave the hotel. When they move, we stay put. Fine with me. We are “in house” only.

We have been briefed by our own supervisor and a government functionary. We have a suite to ourselves, and are told we can order our meals from room service (be still my heart). But, don’t get greedy and no booze.

Norodom_Sihanouk_official_1955_portraitOne of the guys on the detail is a friend and former Marine Bob Steele. He had served at the US embassy in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, many years prior and had actually met the king on several occasions. The king is Norodom Sihanouk, or as Bob referred to him, “Snookie,” a beloved and revered figure in his country.

It was what would be called a “cushy” detail: boring but good chow. We did two, 2 hour shifts at a desk outside his suite with absolutely nothing to do. The balance of off time, we watched TV, ate, or napped.

One interesting side note: a passing patrol sergeant saw our black and white in the parking lot and assumed one of his units was up to some hanky-panky. He obtained the key from the desk and since the group was out, there was no one at our desk to stop him. He made a grand entrance and demanded, “Who are you?”

I was seated on the couch in my underwear, (naturally, eating) and watching TV. I replied “Metro special detail. Who are you?”

LAPD_Classic_Cruiser_1958_Chevrolet_West_Valley_StationNow, I am sure he was mentally picturing my trial board and sentence to a Turkish prison as a result of his great work. “Uh, I was just driving by and thought I’d check to see if you needed anything.”

“Thanks, Sarge. We’re good.”

Despite the lack of English speakers when they left, there was a lot of bowing and smiling and each of us was presented with a gift: A fancy comb and equally fancy letter opener made of ivory inlaid with filigreed silver. I still have both.

I later found out “Snookie” had been deposed in 1955.

Oh, by the way. I never did see the king.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WMA on AmazonThonie Hevron’s newest book, With Malice Aforethought, has just been released! It’s available in eBook format only for $4.99 on Amazon. Check back on Just the Facts, Ma’am for the release date of the print copy!

 

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Daydreaming in Copland

By Ed Meckle, Retired  LAPD

What follows is a collection of random thoughts, of people, places and things. No rhyme or reason, just remembering…

River Dwellers

I am a policeman working Metro with my regular partner, Frank Isbell. This night, we are working the streets, plain clothes patrol. We have seen a bulletin for a suspect wanted for multiple murder up north in what was then called a “hobo jungle.” He had killed a group of his fellow vagabonds and was believed headed to L.A., where he had, in the past, frequented the encampments under the bridges crossing the L.A. River.

We enlisted another Metro team, Paul Franey and Dave McGill, and we “worked” as many bridges as we could. We started in Glendale (north of L.A.). Working our way down river on opposite sides of the river after agreeing to stay abreast of each other for cover.

 

 

 

For those of you not familiar with the area, a major flood in 1938 brought the Army Corp of Engineers who cemented in the entire basin and turned the riverbed into a large bathtub-like structure with gently sloping sides and a flat drag-strip type center line.

 

The river—if you could call it that—was confined to a 6-foot-wide channel that for most of the year was only a few inches deep. Entry to the river was through one of several obscure tunnels.

 

Driving from bridge to bridge was on a smooth cement “roadway.” We would park under the bridge and climb up the slope to the underside. Once at the top and now truly under the bridge was a “shelf,” 10-12 feet wide allowing for ample living room. There was also enough head room for a 6-foot person to stand upright without stooping.

What surprised me was their separate world as it existed. I knew that people lived under some of the bridges but had no idea how many. There were only a few locations where we found only few cardboard boxes and blanket scraps. Almost every bridge, and (we checked probably 15-18) contained everything from small communes to complete villages. The items that found their way to the camps were impressive: rugs, bedsteads, mattresses, tables, chairs, couches, overstuffed arm chairs, camp stoves, lamps and lanterns, BBQ’s, dresser drawers, ice chests and at two locations, generators.

We showed the mug shot and talked to a lot of people and although I would love to tell you we captured him, no such luck. As I remember, he was caught up in Kern County.

What impressed me the most about the whole episode was the ingenuity of the people and their ability to survive. We estimated the population at several hundred living right under our noses without us having a clue.

Something else to consider: this was about 1960. Now fifty-seven years later the problem has multiplied and is in our faces.

A Little Street Music

Around the same time period Frank and I are on the streets, still working plain clothes patrol. As we drive up, we see the aforementioned Franey and McGill standing on a street corner talking to a group of four young men. Actually nobody is talking, the group of four is—singing!!

I am now at a stage in my life where nothing surprises me but I have to know what’s going on.

We ask Franey and McGill, “What’s up?”

Says they, “We spotted them cruising a side street, said they were a singing group looking for the address to their gig. We said, ‘prove it.’ So, now they are auditioning. Pretty darn good, aren’t they?”

Don’t anybody ever try to tell me that the job can’t be fun and as Hal Collier says, “They pay us, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Working Robbery

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

polic-call-box-pedestal-lapd-gamewell-DCAL2786_dt1In early 1965, I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. Not from Don Corleone but from Captain Ed Jokisch. I had been at Metro for five years, the last two as a sergeant—an absolute jewel of an assignment and one highly sought after. Now, however, I was offered a chance to not only work for probably the best detective commander on the job but to work robbery as well. The two “big dogs” in detective land are homicide and robbery. Now I had a chance to work robbery. This was not to be offered twice if turned down once.

Each division/station was home to not only patrol (uniforms) but to detectives as well. At that time, the L.A.P.D. had I believe 14 geographical divisions. I was to be assigned to Wilshire Division which is due west of downtown.

Wilshire was a fairly busy house, home to three robbery teams. I was to be a part of that crew.

 

Dwight Stevens and Richard L. Sullivan were the “’business robbery team.” Tom Ferry and Jim Nichols were “rolling business,” being cabs, buses, (yes, buses) Helms Bread trucks. Helms sold fresh baked goods door to door ringing their bell as they moved through the neighborhood, like the poor push-cart ice cream vendor (also a favorite target). I swear if there had been trains and stagecoaches, they would have hit them too.

Dale Brown “Brownie” and I rounded things out by working “street robbery,” which included purse snatchers, street toughs, muggers, hugger muggers (hookers), drunk rollers, pick-pockets and anything that did not fit any other category.

 

Papa Bear and Detectives cropped.jpg

The division was fairly large and stretched from the edge of the downtown area west to the “silk stocking” district—poverty to fabulous wealth. Mom and pops to Saks, I. Magnin and Perinos on the miracle mile.

 

Captain Jokisch was a no nonsense WWII veteran, a Navy chief petty officer, who did not suffer fools gladly and passed out compliments like they were gold nuggets. “You did okay there,” was considered high praise. To his face he was Boss, Skipper or Captain. In our little world, he was “Papa Bear.”

As I have said before, the TV detectives have CEO size offices. In our 19th century building we were (all six of us) crammed into a room, approximately 8’ x 10’ (I may be overly generous with my fading memory). One long table, four phones, 2 or 3 file cabinets and one antique manual typewriter. The standing joke was, “it was so small that if you wanted to change your mind, you had to step outside.” We were separated from the even smaller homicide room by an opaque glass partition ending several feet from the ceiling.

Arrestees that came in overnight were parceled out to the various teams and interviewed as early as possible to determine charges, if any, and whether they merited further investigation. The overnight crime reports were read also to decide future action.

Standing between us and the captain, was our immediate supervisor, Lieutenant Bob “Red Jet” Helder. I’d known him for years; he was laid back and great to work for. “I don’t like to be surprised. Make sure I’m not and you will never know I’m here.”

A good number of our cases contained little or nothing considered useful in follow up. We did re interviews on cases with vague or worthless descriptions if for no other reason than to placate our victims. Maybe—just maybe—we’d come up with something. When we got that something to “run with” we were all over it. We loved slamming the door on the type of bad guy we dealt with. Many our victims were older, defenseless people, some treated badly by the suspects.

These people were our clients and we took satisfaction in bagging another bad guy. We stayed busy since the only thing we had more of than victims was crooks. We handled so many bodies (arrestees) and cases it seemed we lived in court. 10-12 even 14 hour days were not uncommon.

I worked with Brownie for two and a half years and look back with pride and satisfaction. I worked for Papa Bear for two and a half years and got a couple of “You did okay there’s.” I worked Wilshire robbery for two and a half years and never heard judge nor jury say, “not guilty.”

A I have said before, police work is intangible and you have to take pride in what you do. I worked Wilshire robbery until I promoted out. Did I make a difference?

I like to think so.

This column is dedicated to all the names mentioned above.

All good friends, all good men and all gone to soon.

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: A Rose is a Rose

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

I am a sergeant assigned to the robbery detail at Wilshire detectives. This week I am working with Tom Ferry. Our respective partners are off for some reason and we have teamed up until they return.
Tom’s regular assignment is “rolling business,” mine “street robbery.” We are hoping for some quiet time so we can catch up on the paper work that always seem to dog us and is usually overdue.
I have known Tom since our metro days. We never worked together but I know he’s a good solid investigator. Physically, he resembles the old movie actor, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. Now, you youngsters have not a clue who I am referring to but he is a look alike, mustache included. He dresses impeccably and can be considered suave and debonair, “Mr. Cool.”

Our hope for some quiet goes out the window early when we are notified of the armed robbery of a payroll messenger carrying just under 100K, in cash. Why cash? I don’t remember, but it was destined for a publishing house on Wilshire Boulevard.

Upon arrival, the radio car was just finishing their report. A careful interview of the messenger revealed the two stickup men were “mouthy” and let it be known they knew details of the delivery.
I don’t recall particulars but after talking to a lot of people, we got a solid lead that within hours gave us the names of both gunmen and set us on the hunt. We spent the rest of the day and well into the night after them.
We caught the first one just about midnight and missed number two at LAX as he took off for Houston (extradited within the week).
We got some sleep and back at work, we filled in the lieutenant. He briefed the captain, who showered us with accolades, “You did o.k. there.”
Several weeks later after the extradition and the preliminary hearing, we are once again back with our own partners.
Now I mentioned earlier that the victim was a publishing house and the boss deals in, what else? Words. So, he felt the need to write a commendation. Alright!!
In his letter, he expressed the chief what a difficult task he had and praised him for a wonderful job, and on and on and so on. Finally, he got around to the robbery which he recounted and then as my fading memory recalls said something along these lines: “…and there appeared before me two rather large, imposing very well-dressed gentlemen who looked as though they had been sent by central casting to play detectives.” He continued in that vein until he mercifully concluded with, “…they are, in my consideration, the flower of the community.”
Oh my God, did he really say that?
Not content to just send the letter to the chief where it would have disappeared into our files never to be seen or read again but no, he copied the captain who posted it on the bulletin board.
The bulletin board…. flowers…. community…for all the world to see.
We took a lot of ribbing until something better came along.
Both robbers pleaded guilty and most of the payroll money was recovered from one of their attorneys (who else?).
Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Motor Cop Stories

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
I was present for the first two of these tales, as to the third the officer who told the story to a group claims it happened to him. Knowing him, I find it very easy to believe.
I’m working Metro Division, plain clothes patrol in the early evening. We have just turned from a side street to southbound Avalon Boulevard, a busy thoroughfare in south L.A—and a high crime area. As we make the turn, directly in front of us are two L.A.P.D. motor officers. They are about to stop a vehicle containing two males that is directly in front of them. The vehicle is signaled to the curb. Although slowing, the driver seems reluctant to stop. It creeps along for almost a block, is signaled again and makes an abrupt turn to the curb. As the motor officers make the stop, we both observe a small bundle thrown from the passenger window landing in the gutter. It is obvious neither motor officer saw it.
We immediately pull over to watch. One officer writes the driver while his partner stands not three feet from the bundle. When the citation is complete, he is signaled to leave but is again reluctant to move. Signaled again, he slowly leaves. A few moments of conversation and the motor officers leave. We check the package which appears to be heroin. Who could have guessed?
We replace it and conceal ourselves nearby. We wait a long three or four minutes before the car returns. Now, they can’t find the right spot and are off by several car lengths. Finally, finally, they spot it and when one of them picks it up, we introduce ourselves.
~~
Years later, I’m a detective sergeant working robbery when two motor officers bring in an armed robbery suspect for booking approval. It seems the officers were “sitting in” at a major intersection on the high income west side when they observed a male “jaywalk” directly in front of them. While one officer wrote the citation the other gazed about the landscape.
Soon, he saw a well-dressed male, his feet bound at the ankles, hands tied behind him and wearing a gag, hop out of a nearby jewelry store.
Going from traffic enforcement mode to law enforcement mode they immediately suspected something was amiss with their jaywalker. His sweater had been tucked into his trousers and was stuffed to overflowing with jewelry. Underneath it all, a pistol.
I give them booking approval and instructions on writing the report and disposition of the evidence and then complimented them on a damn fine arrest. Instead of being pleased they are “pissed” at losing time from ticket writing to make a felony arrest. I later found out the last thing they did when they booked him: made sure he signed the ticket.
~~
The retired motor cop relating this story tells us he and his partner were working Hollywood Boulevard, night watch when a cabbie with a fare commits a flagrant violation right in front of them. The next night before roll call, the sergeant takes him aside and asks if he examined the ticket after the cabbie signed.
“No, sir.”
“Take a look at the signature— ‘I’m being held up.’”
True? He says so.
Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: The Hat Squad

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Robbery defined: 211 P.C. (California Penal Code):

  1. 1. Taking money/goods/property
  2. 2. in possession of another
  3. 3. from their person or immediate presence
  4. 4. by use of force or fear.

People are robbed, despite what the press says. Houses and cars are burglarized, not robbed.

 

Detectives assigned to the Robbery Detail, despite their actual size, seem larger than life. I won’t call it a swagger but more of an aura, an overpowering sense of quiet intimidation, or awe. They project a competence and a message stating, “I am not to be trifled with.”

Job Description: take down the bad guys.

Into this mix in the late 1940’s, we have The Hat Squad, one half-ton of “bad man” hunter.

Now, men wore hats back then, fedoras or flat caps in the winter, straw hats or skimmers in the summer. This group however wore identical fedoras with 3″ brims, and tailored suits. There were 2 teams of 2, all 6’2″ or over. The lightest weighed in at 235.

 

They were Max Herman and Clarence “Red” Stromwall, Harry Crowder and Eddie Benson. Much has been written about them, all based on interviews and research. I, however, knew them.

 

They were at least 10 years ahead of me on the job but in later years, I got to know all of them socially. Gentlemen to the letter. But on the job, they were legends.

Stories abound from the stickup men who gave themselves up when they heard the Hats were after them, to the “never mind any damn badge. My ID is on my head.” One story that made the rounds: A witness looked through the door peep hole of his second-floor apartment building and saw two of the Hats. He was so frightened he jumped from his bathroom window. He broke an ankle upon landing. He was a witness, yet.

Truth?  Urban legend? Who knows but the Hat Squad were and still are revered.

Now robbers are generally not very nice people. They take things away from defenseless victims sometimes hurting them in the process. They usually are armed which makes them think they are bigger and smarter than they really are.

The Hats always seemed seven feet tall and their bulk would blot out the sun. They were Tonton Macoute, the boogie man, and the thing that goes bump in the night.

 

They made a bad movie about them, all riding together in a dark blue 1948 Buick convertible. Please. Also, a TV show; thankfully, one season only.

Their era ran from the late 40s through the early 60s.

Cropped Hats

The photo you are looking at was published with a Los Angeles Times article and now hangs in the current Robbery / Homicide squad room.

All were WWII vets, Eddie a paratrooper, Harry Air Corp, Max and Red Marines. Eddie, who played some pro football with the N.Y. Giants died too young of natural causes. The other three went to law school and became practicing lawyers while Harry and Red went on to become superior court judges.

They are gone now and have become part of the history and lore of the L.A.P.D. We shall never see their like again which is probably just as well in our politically correct world, populated by so many girly-men. Sorry, governor.

They can be found under L.A.P.D. Hat Squad on your computer.

 

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: LAPD Metro in the 1950’s

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

The Metropolitan Division of the Los Angeles Police Department came into existence in 1934, as did I. Now known simply as “Metro,” it was formed to work the picket lines of strikers. By the 1950’s, it had morphed into two separate yet attached units.

 

Captain Joe Stevens was the boss and held the title, “Captain of Labor Relations.” He and a small staff somehow maintained labor/management peace. In five years in the division, I worked only one picket line and that was non-labor related. The “House Committee on Un-American Activities” held hearings in L.A. and every character under the sun showed up. 

Lieutenant Bill Bornhoeft, six sergeants, along with sixty men comprised the working side. I say men because there were no women in the division. Metro was considered a “choice” assignment and is still referred to today as “elite.” Volunteers were many but only a select handful ever made it.  If I may suspend modesty briefly, they were considered the best of the best, all top ten percenters, all self-starters, all experienced street cops, all go getters and all “hunters.” My regular partner, Frank Isbell and I were lucky enough to come in together after our Vice tour was up.

The division spent most of their time on one of five types of assignments:

 

STAKEOUTS

Detectives would recognize a “workable” pattern of robbery / burglary / sexual assault, et cetera, and put us in the best positions to make arrests. Some suspects armed and might fail to comply. they suffered the inevitable consequences. Again, modesty aside, we were usually successful. And very good at what we did. 

 

PLAIN CLOTHES PATROL

When there were no stakeouts, we worked the highest crime areas in plain cars. This was our “meat and potatoes” and we thrived. Using U.S. Air Force terminology, the areas we worked were a “target rich environment.” Divisional ”F” cars were manned by officers with suit and tie. We wore sports jackets and shirts and were known on the street as “no tie heat.”

LAPD_Classic_Cruiser_1958_Chevrolet_West_Valley_StationWe were free to hunt as we didn’t have to respond to radio calls like the black and whites. I think any officer will tell you observation or eyeball (known as on view at my agencies) arrests are the most satisfying. 

 

 

 

 SSecretservice_Pope_BenedictPECIAL ASSIGNMENTS

 

These could cover a multitude of events from body guarding a special individual to living with a secret witness. One night in your best suit drinking soft drink cocktails at a fancy soiree waiting for something and the next night/day mingling with a crowd trying to spot the pickpockets. If you liked variety and living with uncertainty, this was the place to be.

 

TRAINING LOANS  

This was a much sought after assignment. Whenever a detective or special unit needed short term man power, we would loan one or more people for a specified period. Excellent detective training.

TRAINING DAY

Three or four times a year, the entire division would spend the day at the academy. Classes, training films, tear gas training, riot control, etc. Finishing with a night shoot was followed by BBQ and beer, a great morale builder.

I was fortunate enough to spend three years as an officer and then came back for two more as a sergeant. As an officer, I worked almost entirely with Frank Isbell. I also had the pleasure and privilege of working with some of the greatest street cops in the world. Those were heady times and we seemed to move easily from one adventure to another.

 

There is so much more I wanted to say but upon reflection (even though a long time ago) some things are best left unsaid. Will we ever see the likes of this group again?  I think not; it’s a long-gone era when the lines were not blurred between good and evil. Looking back from 50 plus years, it sometimes seems almost dreamlike to have been a part of the “golden era” of the L.A.P.D.

LAPD OCCUPY VEHICLES

However, I am told the modern current Metro grown vastly in size and sophistication is more than worthy of carrying on the tradition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Singin’ in the Rain

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

I am working P.M. Watch Patrol (3A15) at the old University Station with Frank Isbell. We think almost as one. We are in our first partnership which is to last many years. Frank and I have just cleared the parking lot enroute to our patrol area. It is early evening, plenty of light and it has been raining for several days. I am driving.

Less than two minutes out, I turn north from Washington onto Vermont. Directly in front of us is a motorcycle, single male rider, young, no helmet (not then required).

It is listed on the “hot sheet” as stolen. I activated lights and siren.

 

As reported in a previous episode when the siren pitch goes up, the car slows down (hi- tech). We have solid reds on the roof looking like Mickey’s ears and no seatbelts. When you made a turn everything and everybody slid.

At the sound of the siren the motorcycle took off like the proverbial scared jack rabbit and left us like we were standing still. Frank put us in “pursuit” on the radio.

Side bar: during the first half of the 20th century street cars were a major form of transportation in L.A. All major streets had trolleys and naturally, tracks. At each stop was an area in the street bordered by heavy duty traffic “bumps.” Each was the size of a trash can lid in diameter standing 3 to 4 inches high to protect the passengers/pedestrians. Sounds primitive but that’s the way it was. 

It’s still raining and our hot motorcycle is walking away from us and has a full block lead.

As he approached Olympic Boulevard, a major intersection, we have been on him for about ten blocks. He is about to become a memory.

At this point everything slowed as the motorcycle hit one of the “bumps” at about 70 mph and went airborne.

 

We watched as it soared end over end, gaining an altitude of 12 to 15 feet. Bouncing once in the intersection without striking anything or anybody, it continued on its journey and crashed into the side of a store on the northwest corner.

The intersection is in a slight depression and had an inch or two of standing water. The rider propelled from the bike, hit the surface of the water like a flat stone skipped across the surface of a pond. He scrambled to his feet and was gone between the houses.

While examining the motorcycle, a citizen (we now had a small crowd) told me there was something laying in the intersection. It turned out to be a wallet. Want to guess who it belonged to??

Now, as if this isn’t improbable enough, our suspect shows up in the crowd. When I went to cuff him, he pleaded, “You can’t arrest me. It’s my birthday.”  We told him that only applied to adults. He was 16. He did smile, though, when we  sang “Happy Birthday” on the way to booking.

The really amazing thing is after going down at 70 mph he did not require medical treatment.

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Daydreaming in Copland

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

One of the benefits of becoming a “senior” is that many of your mannerisms and idiosyncrasies are overlooked or excused with a shake of the head and a shrug. Occasionally, while lost in thought or just plain daydreaming, I will sometimes smile, chuckle or even snort while reliving past experiences.

As I have said before, any officer with any tenure has a collection of funny, weird, strange or just plain memorable events, adventures, urban legends, or just out and out whoppers.

I will share a few.

She was a sweet old lady and due to the number of calls to her home and visits to the station, most of us knew her or of her. Her constant fear was of exploding; yes, exploding. She knew someone was bombarding her body with electrical rays and she was fearful of a fatal buildup. She was always treated with utmost respect, but, we could not solve her problems with explanations and logic. Finally, someone came up with a brilliant solution.

Fuel trucks, as I am sure you are aware (especially gasoline) drag a chain (or nowadays, a grounding strap) from the rear axle-area that touches the road as they move. This grounds the truck and reduces static electric buildup which could cause an explosion.

This was all explained to her very carefully. Someone even tied a red ribbon to her brand-new chain which she dragged any time she felt a “buildup.”

~~

Sergeant Stan Modic was a quiet, intelligent man but when he did have something to say he was generally pretty funny. On this occasion, he also displayed an unusual type of courage.

As a patrol sergeant, he responded one night along with the radio car assigned to the call: “See the man about a lion.”

Meeting the party reporting, Modic asked, “You mean like a bobcat or mountain lion is what you think you saw in your backyard?”

“No, sir. It was a real honest to God African lion with a big mane and everything.  and I did see it.”

The two officers and Stan began a search of a very large and very dark back yard overgrown with bushes, hedges, etc, when what should stick its head out of a large bush but “a real honest to God African lion with a big mane and everything.” Not one to negotiate, Stan stepped in, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and pulled a half-grown honest-to-God African lion with a mane and everything out of the bush. The lion did not object.

He handed it to Officer Sid Nuckles (my friend and the man who told me this story). “Here, you know what to do with him,” said Stan, as he departed. Now this is in the day before seat belts so the lion sat comfortably in the center of the rear seat, unshackled, his yellow eyes watching both officers on the trip to Ann Street Animal Shelter. Once there, they obtained a leash and marched him indoors. 100 plus dogs immediately went totally and completely berserk when they caught the lion’s scent.

Mr. Lion, (I’m sorry, I never found out his name) let loose a deep roar that would have made the MGM studios proud. Sid said you could hear a pin drop.

Some years later I had the good fortune to work for him when I was a new sergeant and he a new lieutenant. I asked him about the incident and how he could do what he did without fear of being bitten? He just gave me a half smile and said, “We had met before.”