Tag: Hollywood

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, An Honest Mistake

By Hal Collier, LAPD Retired We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

The story you are about to read is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed. Earlier I wrote about rookie mistakes, some made by probationers, some made by new supervisors, a lot made by me. I thought I was finished with that category but I had an epiphany. This story is short because the practical joke is long.

 

I’m the junior officer and I’m working with Ron on A.M. watch. It about 3 A.M. and the radio is quiet. Ron is driving and complaining about how little sleep he got during the day.

 

Now, to my non-police friends who think cops don’t catch a few winks during the long nights—they probably think their elected politicians have their best interests when passing laws.

 

After about fifteen minutes of Ron complaining how tired he is, I offer to drive and let him nap. I tell Ron I’ll drive around the hills so the sergeant doesn’t catch us. Ron jumps at the chance and pulls over. We exchange seats on Prospect Avenue, a quiet side street on the east end of Hollywood. Ron adjusts the head rest and crosses his legs. I’m adjusting the mirrors because Ron is shorter than I am. Ron’s head rests on the headrest and he closes his eyes. I put the car in drive and accelerate to about fifteen MPH. I drive about two blocks and realize that the seat is too close to the steering wheel. Short partners are great for looking under things, like beds, but not for looking over fences. 

 

I reach down to pull the seat lever to move the seat back. This is before electric seats so you have to push off on the floorboard with your foot to move the seat back. Ok, remember the car is traveling about mph. Ron is reclined and drifting off to sleep. I put my foot down and slide the seat back.

 

The car jerks to an immediate stop, Ron lurches forward almost slamming into the dashboard. I immediately realize that I stepped on the brake pedal.

 

Ron begins calling me names, usually reserved for the low life’s we deal with. I’m thinking of my stupidity and began to laugh. Ron thinks I did it on purpose and spews more profanity at me. The more he yells the harder I laugh. Ron didn’t close his eyes for the rest of the night.

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Ramblings by Hal

A Veterans’ Day Tribute from Hal Collier

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Hal sent this article along to commemorate the day we honor veterans–the real American heroes.

The following story is true and I’ll use real names. I worked many special events during my time in Hollywood. I worked the Hollywood Christmas parade in one capacity or another for 30 plus years. Notice I said Christmas and not Holiday parade. I’ve resisted being politically correct and now that I’m retired I’ve been set free. I’m writing this now because it is appropriate.

 

I worked more movie premieres than Siskel & Ebert. The best job I ever worked was the “Welcome Home Desert Storm Parade” for the military. It was May 19, 1991. It was a tribute to all the soldiers who served in all the American wars. It was especially for the Viet Nam veterans who never were welcomed back.

 

I was assigned to the Green Room with Dale Hickerson. The Green Room for my non-Hollywood readers, is the room where celebrities gather before and after an event. They serve food and drinks and the celebrities mingle. Dale and I have worked the Green Room for the Christmas parades and learned that the best place to stand was at the rear exit. That’s where the stars walk out to get on a float or in a car to begin the parade. It’s also next to where the caterers bring in the fresh appetizers. We had first shot at all the good food. Caterers always take care of the guys with guns.

 

Dale and I are not into the Hollywood celebrity worship thing. We find that most of them are phony and have enormous egos. The Desert Storm Parade was different. They had real American heroes.

 

Dale and I were standing by the back door when two old timers walked up to us and started talking. They both had Congressional Medal of Honor medals around their necks. Damn real American heroes. I had lump in my throat and could hardly talk. One received his medal at Pearl Harbor. I wish I had written down their names but I was star struck.

They spent thirty minutes talking to us. What a thrill.

 

Later we were introduced to General Westmoreland, a general during the Viet Nam War. He was warmer than some of the department brass I’ve spoken to. We met Martha Raye, who entertained our troops during WW II, the Korean, and the Viet Nam Wars. We also met other soldiers but these made the biggest impression. 

 

Dale and I will never forget the sacrifices and the thrill of meeting some of these true American Heroes. To the veterans who read this;   “THANK YOU.”        

Hal 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Hollywood Homicide and Sergeant Frank

 

By Hal Collier, LAPD Retired We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

The story you are about to read is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed. The following story is a little grim so if you’re queasy skip down to the practical joke section.  Of course if you watch any of the Law & Order, CSI or Bones on TV during dinner, your already numb to blood and guts.

 

My partner’s name was Bob. I was working A.M. watch with Bob. Our field sergeant, Frank, was a department mistake. He was nice enough but he could screw up anything you were trying to accomplish. An example: I was at a homicide scene. We had the crime scene tape surrounding the area we were protecting. Sergeant Frank kept walking through the crime scene disturbing the evidence. I reminded Sergeant Frank that he was walking through our scene and he would smile, oblivious to the fact that he was destroying evidence. When the homicide detectives arrived at the scene he asked what I had. I briefed him on the death of a low-life Hollywood citizen and my idiot sergeant kicking shell casings around the crime scene. The detective told me, if he walks through the crime scene one more time the detective will book the Sergeant’s work boots as evidence. Fortunately for Frank, he wised up. Anyone who wants the sergeant’s name this will be a freebee. His fame is renowned to anyone who worked Hollywood at that time.

 

My partner, Bob, was no rookie, and he was an outstanding street cop. In fact Bob is now a Deputy Chief with the L.A.P.D. I’m sure it was working with me that allowed him to promote so high. We get a radio call of shots fired deep in the Hollywood Hills. Most “shots fired” radio calls are false. Some are fireworks, cars backfiring or no evidence of shots fired. These types of calls in the Hollywood Hills are also hard to locate the source. Because of the deep canyons and echo effects, loud party calls can be over a mile away. 

 

We drive into Laurel Canyon with our map book open. Even an experienced Hollywood cop needs the map book in the hills. We find the PR (person reporting). He tells us he was awakened by a loud gun shot. He goes on to tell us that he is a hunter and avid shooter, so he knows the difference. He stepped out on his front porch and he could smell fresh burnt gun powder. We assumed that our PR knew what he was talking about. He said he thought the sound came from across the street. He advised us that a divorced mother and her teen age son lived in the house. Bob and I approached the house. I’m going to have to describe the house—the front had a carport and a solid wall. No windows; to the right, there was a small walkway with an eight foot tall wooden gate. The other side of the gate was a pool area which had sliding glass doors that led into the house.

 

Bob and I approached, using the solid wall for cover. We both felt that the PR knew what he was talking about so we used caution. There wasn’t any outside light so we were using our flashlights. We inched along the wall toward the gate, all the time listening for sounds of danger. I was the senior officer and taking the lead. I looked down and observed an oval object, six inches in length, lying on the ground. I shined my flashlight on it and said to Bob, “What the hell is that”?  Bob gave me that, ‘well, you’re the senior officer’ look.  We both stood there for a minute, our minds racing, what was that? It looked like a piece of meat.

 

We looked around and spotted blood on the eves above our head. We inched closer and could see where something had been dragged back through the gate. There were blood scrapes. Ok, we have a crime scene. 

 

We were going to need additional officers and a supervisor.  For my non-police friends, your first concerns are, is someone injured and in need of medical help, or is there a suspect inside, possibly barricaded? We radio for additional officers and a supervisor. Yep, you guessed it, we have Sergeant Frank responding. Our only hope is that he gets lost trying to find us. Bob and I look at each other and think how can we keep him from screwing up our crime scene?  We formulate a plan on how to get inside the house without a detective booking our boots.

 

Our additional officers arrive and we make up a search team. Sergeant Frank is three streets away and lost. We direct him to our location. I brief Sergeant Frank and ask him to go to the PR’s house and call the Watch Commander. Sergeant Frank trots away. Bob and I conduct a search of the house. We had to go around to the other side of the house. We find a female dead just inside the gate. The top of her head was missing, yep, that was her brain outside. The suspect was gone. I go back out front and tell Sergeant Frank that we have a homicide. I tell him to notify the Watch Commander and Detectives. Sergeant Frank agrees and trots off. Bob says to me, you’re treating that sergeant like your puppet. I was just trying to let him keep his shoes.

 

The suspect was a boyfriend, got into an argument with the victim. She tried to call the police, he shot Ma Bell (telephone) and she ran outside and through the gate. He caught her by the arm and the gun went off. He flew to Florida but forgot his passport and couldn’t leave the country. He plead guilty to manslaughter.

 

Practical Joke

 

I was a sergeant at Hollywood and we had a female captain who was a real diamond. Everyone like her and I never heard a negative word about her. The station needed a paint job inside and the city performs the work. The trim around the door frames and windows was painted a maroon color. The rumor was that the captain picked out the color. Most of the cops figured this was the captain’s female touch to the station. She was getting a lot of ribbing about the color, and well you know I can’t pass up a chance to play a practical joke.  Every day, sergeants are required to turn in a log, informing the captain on the day’s happenings or concerns. Well, I got a sheet of maroon paper and printed out my sergeant’s log on it. I started out with a note to the captain that the paper color would go with the new station decor. I got my log back with a message from the captain.  “Very funny, Officer Collier”. 

Message received.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Practical Jokes

By Hal Collier, LAPD Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the embarrassed. Everyone who was working at the Hollywood Police Station at the time, knows who the involved parties are. My past stories have been true police incidents followed by true practical jokes. The incidents I’m about to tell you will about cover the whole page, all involving the same officers. I will use a first name only to describe them. I did not personally participate in this practical joke but I was aware of it and didn’t object. Feel free to pass this story on, I checked with the ACLU and the statute of limitations have expired.

 

I’m going to have to go into a little background for my non-police friends who read my stories. Each police division is divided into areas. Each area is assigned a police or “A” Car. Remember “1 Adam 12?” Each ‘A” car has a Senior Lead Officer who is responsible for the activities of the “A” car on all three watches. Each “A” car will have its own Black and White (police car) assigned to it. That Black and White is supposed to only be used by the officers working that “A” car. Brand new police cars are always given to the “A” cars. Ok, if you are going to drive the same police car for the next six months to a year, you’re more inclined to take care of it. You keep it clean, inside and out and avoid dents and dings.

 

Here is where my story begins. Paul was a Senior Lead Officer in Hollywood and took pride in his Black and White. He made sure it was washed and serviced regularly. Paul’s downfall was that he cared too much about his car. If an officer on the previous watch was on overtime with Paul’s car, Paul would drive to his location to exchange cars. If an officer checked out Paul’s car who was not assigned to his car, Paul complained to the Watch Commander. I was a Senior Lead Officer for nine years and can understand Paul being protective of his car, but I also figured, the car belongs to the city. Paul was working Day Watch, that’s like 7 A.M. to 3 P.M.

 

Paul’s protective nature of his police car irritated some of the officers on the previous watch, that’s 11 P.M. to 7A.M. The first inkling that something was wrong was when Paul drove out of the police station parking lot and heard a clinking sound coming from the wheels. He drove to the police garage and had the hub caps removed. There were rocks in each hub cap. This went on for weeks. The officer, I’ll call Gary, who was putting the rocks in the hub caps either grew tired of that tactic or ran out of rocks.

 

This is not anywhere near the end of the story. Gary next placed a ball bearing inside the driver’s door. It must have been the size of a large marble. Now you might be thinking, what’s that going to do? Well, a ball bearing rolls. Inside a car door it rolls back and forth. Now just think of a two mile trip to the market. Every time you accelerate the ball bearing rolls to the back of the door. Every time you brake the ball bearing rolls to the front of the door. Each back and forth motion ends with a metallic clank. OK, now that you have the picture in your mind, imagine spending eight hours in a police car. That’s an average of 30 miles a day, every stop, “clank”, every start “clank”. How many starts and stops are there in 30 miles of city driving? I’m sure a Cal-Tech graduate could figure it out but to a street cop it amounts to a jacket with sleeves tied in the back and a rubber walled room. 

 

Paul took the car to the police garage and had the door panel removed but they couldn’t get that damn ball bearing out. About a year later I was driving this same black and white. I slammed on the brakes and that ball bearing rolled forward ending with a “clank.”  I think it had been stuck in the grime in the bottom of the door panel and I freed it. Oh crap, I wonder if those jackets come in extra-long sleeves? I honestly believe that somewhere in L.A. there’s an old taxi cab with a ball bearing inside the door waiting to be released.

 

This is still not the end of the story. One bright sunny Saturday, Paul got his vehicle keys from the equipment officer and walked out into the parking lot. After three trips walking around the parking lot, Paul couldn’t find his car. He suspected foul play, so he walked across the street to the police garage. Sure enough there was Paul’s police car sitting next to the gas pumps. It was sitting on four milk crates with tires removed. A note on the windshield said Paul “your tires are in the property room, have a nice day”.

 

I’m sure this was not the highlight of Paul’s long outstanding career, but I often think of Gary and the amount of work involved. Bringing all those rocks to work. How he got that ball bearing inside the car door and who jacked up that car. He took all four tires off. The tires were then rolled across the street and placed in the property room, which means he had to walk past the Watch Commanders office. Some practical jokes are a lot of work.

 

If I recall, the Watch Commander said “enough” and things returned to normal, if that’s possible in the Los Angeles Police Department at Hollywood Division.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, More Dave Balleweg

 By Hal Collier, LAPD Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us. 

More Dave Balleweg

Another chapter of Dave Balleweg, a true Hollywood Character: The following stories are true unless there’s a civil rights violation, then I made them up. I only worked with Dave for about seven years but we’ve been good friends for over thirty-seven. Some of these stories are from other Ramblings. 

 

Dave and I worked a radio car for a while but then landed a job as a speeder/SPU car. We dealt with the large population of methamphetamine abusers in Hollywood and the crimes they committed. We also addressed the crime problems of our watch. This included many stake-outs. 

 

Stake-outs on TV are fun. The star sits in a warm car eating a donut and drinking designer coffee with that sissy sleeve. In less than one minute the suspect commits a crime and the officers make the arrest and go home on time. If there’s a foot chase the officers run through well-lit streets and alleys, jump over four foot fences and catch the bad guy in seconds.

 

Most real street cops laugh. After a foot pursuit which can last blocks, the officer is out of breath, he’s stepped in dog shit, ripped a clean uniform and lost his police car keys in front of an asshole bar two blocks ago.

 

Most stake-outs involve hours and even days of watching before a crime is committed that’s worth chasing a dirt bag. When sitting on a roof or in a car you get bored and that’s when cops are most dangerous. They look for things to amuse themselves.

 

One of first stake outs with Dave involved sitting on the roof of the Pantages Theater in Hollywood in December. Our latest intelligence (a Ouija board, sometimes pronounced Weeji) said the parking lot guys were breaking into cars while the show was in progress. We climbed up twelve stories to the roof and settled in for a long night. The wind is blowing from the north and it’s cold. No problem, my lovely wife made us a thermos of coffee. No wait. There is a problem. My wife doesn’t drink coffee and when we poured out a cup, it was thicker than that crude oil that came out of that well in the gulf.

 

I have to pee.  No problem. Dave and I pee in the water trough for the air conditioning unit. I later conducted a scientific experiment. If you spit chewing tobacco off a twelve-story building it will parachute half way down and ruin your accuracy, but you hit more cars. On the other hand my wife’s coffee dropped like a Russian satellite. The only crime we saw involved employees from Capital Records who had their Christmas Party. Now that parking lot was busy.

 

The next night we got an office in the Capital Records building. It overlooked the same parking lot and was a lot warmer. Dave is sitting in some executive’s leather chair and I’m looking out the window. We already changed the radio station to Country Music and I hear Dave on the phone. That’s right Dave called the radio station and had a Johnny Cash song dedicated to Dave and Hal, LAPD, on a stake-out. True story.

 

It was some time in the winter. Dave and I got a call to meet another car in the back parking lot of a known dirt-bag hotel (Vine Lodge). We figured they needed our expertise with some speeder.

 

We pulled into the parking lot and the officers were standing at the back of their open car trunk. We got out and walked toward them. We were immediately pelted with snowballs. That’s right–snowballs in Hollywood. Ok, picture this—four LAPD officers running around a parking lot in the middle of the night, having a snowball fight. The officers found the snow on a car in the Hollywood hills. They took some and set up an ambush for us. We all laughed and decided the lieutenant should not miss out in the fun. Dave and I went to the station and coaxed the ell-tee to come outside. As soon as he exited the back door he was pelted with snowballs. He thought this was great fun and didn’t want his Assistant Watch Commander (A W/C) to miss out.

 

The ell-tee walked into the Watch Commanders Office, past the A W/C and closed the door. The A W/C looked up then turned toward us as we walked through the other door. He was suspicious because we all had our hands behind our backs. He jumped up and tried to go through the door the lieutenant was holding closed from the other side. The A W/C was pelted with eight snowballs. We cleaned up the best we could but the custodian wanted to know how the carpet got so wet. Non-cop friends might think this is juvenile, but it relieves the stress and improved morale. Beside how many can say they had a snow ball fight in Los Angeles, let alone in the Hollywood Watch Commanders Office?

 

Next, court, and a few characters Dave enriched with his wisdom.           Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, More Character Short Stories

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

This is going to be a long character story so I won’t start with a couple of short cop stories, but then most of what I’m about to write about is short stories. Some of the stories have been included in other Ramblings but most are worth repeating. A few I’m going to tell for the first time because the statute of limitations has run out and Dave is retiring from his last job in Oklahoma. That’s right: Dave Balleweg

 

A little history. Dave Balleweg transferred to Hollywood in 1975, during the Massage Parlor crackdown. I’m not sure which side he was on, pro or con for the massage parlors.

 

Dave worked Wilshire Division before coming to Hollywood. He use to work PM watch and then go to radio station KGBS at midnight and work as a disc jockey for 6 hours. He would stay after to listen to the radio team of Hudson & Landry, an underrated comedy team.

 

Dave has the personality that charms people. All the years I worked with Dave, we never had to fight a suspect into jail. He even got suspects to come to the station and turn themselves in. One female hype, Dee, came to the station on Thanksgiving, with a turkey in the oven. Others he had arrested, called Dave to snitch on other hypes. Dave’s sense of humor will show itself in the following stories.

 

I’m working Morning Watch. Yea, oh-dark-thirty to sunrise. I walk into the roll call room at start of watch and the first thing I notice is someone is sitting in my seat. That’s right Dave is sitting in my spot. I’m not superstitious about sitting in a certain seat. I knew one cop, Stan, who thought he would be gunned down if he didn’t sit in his regular seat.

Bet you thought all cops were sane.

 

Now, I’m not an old timer, with only 5 years’ experience, but then we have a pecking order and I do have some seniority. Dave is senior to me so I sit right behind him so I can keep an eye on him. The next night I beat him into roll call and sat in my seat, welcome to Hollywood, Dave.  Ha ha.

 

A few days later we were assigned to work together. We hit it right off, it was love at second sight. After work that night my ribs hurt from laughing for 8 hours.  For the next 7 years we sat next to each other in roll call. 

 

Now after 35 years on the LAPD, I’ve worked with a lot of partners, some good, and some bad. Some made 8 hours seem like an 18 hour day, others the time flew by. I was fortunate to work with some great partners who became lifelong friends. Most of my stories are from working with friends not partners. For my non-cop friends, cops develop strong bonds with their partners. They spend long hours riding around and talking. Then, in an instant they are fighting for their lives or protecting each other from harm. It can be a strange relationship.

 

I had a lot of fun experiences with Dave and most would never make a TV cop show—no one would believe them. One night in the late 70’s, it rained harder than it has ever rained in Los Angeles. Streets flooded and Laurel Canyon turned into a river. Cars and people were swept away. I wasn’t working with Dave that night. I was assigned to a damage control car as the city went on Tactical Alert. I was asked to check on Dave and his partner, Dale, who were directing traffic at Mulholland and Laurel Canyon—and had been there for 6 hours. I snaked my up to their location. By now, all the cops are wet. Our blue wool uniforms are soaked and we smell like a wet dog, our underwear and t-shirts have a blue tint from our uniforms. I drive up and there are Dave and Dale in the middle of Mulholland and Laurel Canyon. They’re skipping around and singing like sailors. I learned that the actor, Paul Michael Glaser, had given the officers a bottle of brandy. It was the good stuff too.

 

The next night Dave and I are working a damage control car. We’re checking on residences that had to be evacuated due to mud slide damage, see if barricades are in place on closed streets, etc.  Cahuenga East is flooded and barricades were placed in order to keep cars from driving into 5 feet of water. Dave and I drive up and see the roof of a submerged car.

 

There’s a man bobbing in and out of the driver’s window. Our detailed investigation revealed the man was a Sheriff’s Lieutenant, who had been at a club in North Hollywood and was taking a younger lady to her house for a nightcap. 

 

Some kids moved the barricades as a joke and watched as the lieutenant drove into ‘Lake Cahuenga’ as Dave named it. The lieutenant was bobbing for the lady’s purse. We got the lieutenant’s car pulled out and drove his lady friend home. The lieutenant’s main concern was that the story didn’t get out to his co-workers. We promised silence, but two days later the lieutenant asked to meet us at Lake Cahuenga. He ratted on himself and his friends proclaimed him Commandant of Lake Cahuenga. He tried to bribe us with 2 bottles of Cognac. 

 

Part-2 next week will have more Dave Balleweg stories.

Hal

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Writer's Notes

Ramblings, Short Stories

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us. 

The following stories are true. Hell I couldn’t make this stuff up. These subjects are a sort of miscellaneous collections.

A senior officer was teaching a female probationer out to make sure a gun was unloaded before booking it into evidence. It was a tube feed 22 caliber rifle. The officer was in the station report writing room and showed the probationer that the gun was now empty. To demonstrate he pointed the gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Guess what? A round was stuck in the tube and has now been fired into the ceiling. As luck would have it, the bullet pierces a water pipe which starts to leak water on the computers. The report writing room starts to flood and is spreading to the Watch Commanders Office. How’s that for an “Aw Shit?”

The city decided to stop redecorating the offices of elected officials and spend some money on cops. They started with the detectives’ room. They took out all the old tables and replaced them with cubicles. I found this humorous. Detectives were at work 10 hours a day, 5 days a week. Street cops were using a report writing room 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The report writing room had 5 computers, only one worked, 4 chairs of which only two were not broken. Hell, the detective interview rooms had new chairs. I certainly wouldn’t want a suspect to be uncomfortable.

I printed up a sign and posted it on the door leading to the detectives’ room. “People who work in cubicles are expected to think outside the box.”

My captain was not amused.

Next

Earlier I talked about searches and telling citizens that we had Patty Hearst cornered years after she was arrested. As you’ve read in the papers, we often search a neighborhood and discover that the suspect has escaped. I’m an old timer and after the search was determined to be over, I would call out, “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”  The young cops would scratch their heads in bewilderment and the old cops would bust out in laughter. Guess what? No one ever surrendered. I guess the audience that runs and hides from the police are a younger crowd. Even the younger cops would ask, what’s “Ollie Ollie Oxen free.” No wonder they call me a dinosaur. If you forward this outside the U.S, you might have to explain “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.” Some of you might have to Google it for the meaning.

In the early 70’s, the department decided that the Plymouth police car was not good enough for the LAPD. They bought the Mercury Montego and began distributing them to patrol divisions. The Mercury had a big 429 C.I. engine that could out run any car as long as it was a straight road without dips or bumps. The big engine caused the front end to be very heavy and the car would bottom out at the slightest change in road surface. You couldn’t turn around in a driveway without getting hung up. To turn around in the middle of the block took three turns. The engine ran so hot that even in the middle of the night, you ran the air conditioner to keep from cooking inside the car. Cruel and unusual punishment was making your suspect place his hands on the hood of your police car with the engine running. The cars sucked for street patrol.

The only good thing I remember about the Mercurys was the backfire trick. Bored officers discovered that if you got the Mercurys up to 35 MPH and turned off the key, then turned it back on, the car’s engine would back fire. The backfire was so loud it woke up pigeons and made nearby cops dive for cover thinking they were being shot at. Great fun.

Bored cops would see another pair of cops stopped on an investigation. You would drive by and shut off and on the engine and watch the cops drive for cover when the engine backfired. My partner Jim Tomer was driving one night, and we had this ongoing practical joke with some other cops. Late one morning we saw them stopped on Ivar just south of Hollywood Boulevard. We circled the block and timed the traffic light just right. We drove by the officers at 35 MPH. Jim turned off and on the engine. We traveled about 50 feet past the officers before the car backfired. I looked out the passenger window and watched this elderly lady just getting out of her parked car. The loud backfire startled her and she fell back onto her car seat.

Another year without a pay raise; my kids will never go to college.

Being a big city cop is an ongoing learning experience. I prided myself in learning from other officers’ mistakes and trying not to make the same ones. As you already know, I spent a lot of years working morning watch, or grave yard as it is commonly called. During your 8 hour shift you’re busy until about 5 A.M. When things slow down the cops try to take Code-7. That’s “eating” for my non-police friends. The problem is that only a few cars can eat at a time. If you’re the first to request code-7, you get to eat. If you’re last to request you get put on the code-7 list, which can be longer than a DMV line.

Ok, my lesson: I’m on a search perimeter. It’s in the Hollywood hills and I’ve been standing on a street corner for 2 hours in the cold and dark. The sun is coming up and I’m tired and hungry. This story takes place before each officer had a hand held radio for communication. The radio in the car squawks, “The suspect is in custody.”

Like most cops, I head to the scene. I want to see the guy that made me stand in the dark for two hours. As I follow other officers toward the handcuffed hombre, I see Butch Harris going the other way. Now Butch was an old timer who had street savvy and taught me a lot.

I’m wondering why he doesn’t want to see the bad guy. Seconds later I know, as I pass another patrol car, I hear Butch clear and request code-7. He was the only Hollywood car that ate that day. I went home and ate cold cereal for my code-7 while watching “Adam 12” with my son. I used Butch’s lesson for 20 years after that. I discovered that I could see the bad guy in the holding tank at the station after eating breakfast.

You thought I was slow, huh?

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Radio Call from Hell

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

The following story is true. I call this one, “The Radio Call from Hell.” 

 

In a recent Ramblings, I talked about the radio calls cop hate the most. Well, here is another I saved for your reading pleasure—“Death Notifications.” 

 

I don’t know of any cop who likes telling someone that a loved one has died. Sometimes it’s expected, like an elderly aunt or grandparent. Other times, it’s unexpected, telling someone about a spouse, or relative who died in an accident. These calls usually come in through the Watch Commanders office from a coroner in a distant part of the country or state. Another reason why cops hate “The go to the Watch Commanders Office,” radio call.

 

I’m working morning watch and it’s about 3 A.M.  “Go to the Watch Commanders Office.” Uh oh, I’ll bet it’s that citizen who wanted to make a hit and0 run traffic accident report and we told him to go to the station and wake the desk officer gently. We drive slowly to the Watch Commanders Officers. Maybe we’ll be hit by a drunk driver which will cause short term memory loss.

 

The Watch Commander tells us that a 28 year-old man was killed in a traffic accident in Bakersfield. We need to notify his wife. Whew, I almost confessed to a police department misdemeanor. We get the address which is on Beachwood Drive. I hate this call—wife alone, young. I hope she has family close by.

 

We drive to the address and park our car on Beachwood. Her apartment faces Temple Hill Drive, a cross street. We walk to the stairs and knock. The apartment door doesn’t have one of those peep holes to see who’s at the door and the windows all face the street.

 

A voice calls out, “Who is it?” 

I answer, “Police.”

She says, “I didn’t call the police. What do you want?” 

I didn’t attend the Ann Landers school of etiquette, but I’m pretty sure that shouting through a closed door at 3 A.M., “Your husband is dead,” is not the way to make this notification.

I reply, “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

This is not going well. I tell her, “I really need to talk to you in person.”

She says, “How do I know you’re really the police?”

Fair question. I tell her I’ll stand outside her living room window in the middle of the street.

I walk downstairs and stand in the middle of the street.  I’m in full uniform and looking pretty sharp, if I say so myself. I see her looking out her window at me. She again asks, “What do you want?” 

I didn’t want to tell her that her husband is dead through her front door and I’m definitely not going to yell it from the middle of the street.

She asks, “Where is your police car?”  Ok, that’s another fair question. I’ll go get it. I walk out to Beachwood, drive our official black and white police car and park it in the driveway across from her window. As I’m parking the police car I hear an emergency call for all Hollywood units, “Man impersonating a police officer Beachwood and Temple Hill Drive.” 

“Any Hollywood unit, handle Code 3.”

Oh crap, she called the cops on us! How could this get any worse?  I cancel the radio call. No use in another cop getting hurt racing to this call from hell.

I finally convince her to open the apartment door and let us in.  Now comes the hard part. I had five months training in the academy, I’ve got over seven years police experience working in the field and I’ve never been trained in telling someone that a loved one is dead. She has no family in California and doesn’t know the neighbors. There’s no easy way to say that your husband is dead.  I tell her the worst news she probably will ever hear. 

Her first reaction is denial, disbelief, and then anger. She’s now sobbing uncontrollably. There’s nothing I can say or do that will ease her pain. I won’t go into all the options we offered her but in the end we left her alone in that apartment. Boy, I hated my job that night. 

Now you see why cops hate death notifications. They are never easy. This one still bothers me thirty-four years later.

 

                                           

Hal

Hal’s “Character-Angelyne” will post tomorrow.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: A Cop Character This Time

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

 

The following story is true.  The story is not humorous but once in a while we did real police work. And you thought everything I wrote about was a waste of tax payers’ money. The character is real and again another red headed cop. Darryl Dyment

 

Here I am again on morning watch and responding to an alarm. This alarm was different than most alarms in the middle of the night. It was a robbery alarm at the Gap Store on Hollywood Boulevard. Robbery alarms go off all the time but not usually when the business has been closed for six hours.

 

It’s a slow night and half the division responds. We surround the business which sits on a block of two story buildings. The doors are checked and there are no signs of a break in. As with most cops, we’re standing around and bad mouthing the new sergeant who can’t find Hollywood Boulevard in the daylight.

 

My probationer comes up to me and asks what the difference between a burglar alarm and a robbery alarm? I’m a little annoyed because I have a really good story about this new sergeant. I tell him that burglary alarms are activated by a perimeter break in the alarm system. I then tell him that a robbery alarm is usually set off by a button pushed by an employee during a robbery or when the bait money is taken from the cash register. For my non-police friends, bait money is taken from a slot in the cash register that triggers a robbery alarm when removed.  Banks use bait money.

 

My probationer then asks me, why we did we get a robbery alarm when the business has been closed for hours? Oh shit, this kid has some smarts. I’ll probably be working for him some day, I’d better stop calling him a dumb ass.

 

We go back to the glass front door and look inside. It’s dark inside except for the red light over one of the dressing rooms. Ok, I don’t like shopping for clothes and usually let my wife buy everything I wear. This probationer apparently buys his own clothes and tells me that the red light over the dressing room alerts the staff that someone is in the dressing room. The dressing rooms have a sensor on the floor. I guess it’s some kind of an anti-theft device.

 

We stand there and watch for a minute. I’m missing my chance to tell a really good story about this sergeant. Guess what? A guy peeks out of the dressing room door. I’m pretty sure he’s not an employee who stayed after work to try on the women’s lingerie, but then it’s Hollywood.

 

We break up the coffee clutch and surround the building again. After a search, we discover that two guys tunneled into the Gap from an adjacent stairwell, took the cash (bait money) from the register and then hid. I had to buy breakfast for my probationer. I think he remembered when he was my boss.

 

Hollywood Character: Darryl  Dyment

 

Hi, I’m Larry and this is my brother Darryl and my other brother Darryl! I’m pretty sure this character was one of those Darryls. I’m not sure how my Darryl spelled his name but I’m sure people who knew him will know who I’m talking about–he was colorful to say the least. Darryl was a sergeant in the Los Angeles Police Department and saved a lot of cops butts.

 

Darryl was one of the sergeants who took care of his officers but in a unique way. Darryl’s ways were not always by the book, but by God he got the results the department wanted and cops loved him.

 

I was a patrol cop when Darryl breezed through Hollywood but I got to know him when we jogged together after work. We would go on a 3 1/2 mile run which seemed like a marathon because Darryl had you laughing most of the way. Darryl carried a small revolver and tear gas. It was all I could do just to keep up. Darryl would use the tear gas to spray loose dogs who chased us and the gun to chase away the bigger predators. 

 

Once Darryl wanted to change our running course.  We jogged down Hollywood Boulevard.  What a mistake. The Hollywood Walk of Fame is washed every night, even in drought years. When wet, it’s as slippery as a female mud wrestler. Use your own imagination.

 

Darryl was never one to shy away from a good practical joke and cost was not a problem. Darryl apparently had some front teeth knocked out as a youth. He had caps that he could remove. Darryl had his dentist make him up a few extra sets of caps for special occasions. One set had long hairs protruding from the gap in his front teeth. It was impossible to talk to Darryl and not look at those disgusting teeth. Darryl would engage you a long conversation until you broke down and looked away.

 

Darryl also had a set of teeth that he would put in around Halloween. One of his caps was broken and it came to a point, kind of jagged. He would put this set in and then talk to a citizen or command staff officer. The tooth had a small pouch attached and when Darryl would squeeze the pouch with his tongue a puss like liquid would come out of the jagged tooth. I only saw this happen once but I still have the scar. 

 

That was Darryl, he was a captain’s nightmare but a real good cop and another Hollywood Character. 

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More Characters–Mean Lawrence

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

We are happy that 35-year veteran Hal Collier is sharing his ‘stories behind the badge’ with us.

The following story is true and the character is, or should I say was, real. He passed away years ago. Lawrence Mescher (sp)

First my story: I’m not the most computer-literate person in the Western Hemisphere. I’m always asking kids to fix some problem with my lap top. My generation didn’t grow up with computers. Hell, we had to read the instructions on a new calculator. Our kids taught us how to play the Atari games.

When I made sergeant in 1993, my new captain said that all paperwork shall be completed on the computer. The dumb ass that I am, I raised my hand and advised him that I didn’t know how to use a computer. He rolled his eyes and said we’ll teach you.

A little knowledge is dangerous. I got a ten minute lesson and dived into my first project. I deleted a whole page that took me an hour to complete. I missed the part where they teach you the save key.

My police department has a policy that anything you turn in is called “Completed Staff Work.” Completed Staff Work means no abbreviations, proper grammar, spelling, and everything else I forgot from English class. I signed up to be a cop not an editor for the Encyclopedia Britannica.

As computer dumb as I am there are some cops out there with less skill. Flash forward a few years. I’m learning to use the computer and I can even load paper and unjam the printer. I come to work one morning and after writing a report I press the print button on my computer. The printer is in the Sergeants room behind the Watch Commanders Office. My computer replies that the printer is not working. I check the printer and discover that the printer is jammed with paper. No problem. I unjam the paper and the printer begins to print commands that were sent to it hours earlier.

I figure I’ll look over the newly printed documents and return them to the author. I stumble across an e-mail by a Hollywood sergeant to another sergeant in another division. The e-mail describes his current lieutenant and what a waste of uniform and air this lieutenant is. He goes on to blast the Police Departments promotion process and if this individual ever makes a decision the sergeant might have a heart attack.

These kinds of comments about your boss are not career builders. I agreed with the sergeant’s assessment, but Jeeze, don’t write it down where it might fall into the wrong hands. I sneaked the e-mail to the sergeant and became an accomplice. The lieutenant promoted and the sergeant and I stayed in patrol, which is where we wanted to be in the first place. Sergeants name (RJ) available for a coupon for a car wash.

Hollywood Character: Lawrence Mescher

Lawrence won’t be known to a lot of the officers who came to Hollywood after the 80’s but some of the early cops will recognize him, not by name but by his reputation. Lawrence hated the cops and the feeling was mutual. He was a thief, a pack rat and often made complaints against any officer who questioned his behavior. Lawrence could be found standing in front of a news rack on Hollywood Boulevard, usually after midnight. Lawrence always had a stack of new newspapers under his arm.

I remember once I got a complaint from a businessman about some bum living in a car. I approach the car and it’s filled with junk. I mean the only place to sit down is the driver’s seat. There’s a six inch pile of papers on the dash. Lawrence is sitting behind the wheel. I ask for his driver’s license. Lawrence replies, “I want your business card and badge number.” I tell Lawrence, “It will be on the vehicle impound report when I take your car.” Lawrence pleads, “Don’t take my car.” I’m amazed when Lawrence pulls his driver’s license out from the middle of the pile of papers—and it’s valid. I won this one. Lawrence moved his car.

Later, Lawrence became a training tool for young probationers. A training officer would see Lawrence and advise the rookie that Lawrence was an arson suspect, which he was. He always seemed to be close by whenever there was a trash can fire. The idea was that Lawrence always gave the police a hard time, refusing to ID himself, demanding the officer’s business card and threatening to make a complaint. This was a good training tool for a rookie. The rookie learned that he was in charge and not to back down to someone just because they threatened to complain.

Lawrence was also a thief. He would stand in front of the news rack until he was sure that the police weren’t around then jimmy the coin slot and take all the newspapers. The newspaper guys couldn’t figure out why their racks were empty and no money was in the coin box.
Lawrence was found dead in a motel on Sunset Boulevard. The motel room was filled with unread newspapers. I’d tell you what Lawrence was doing when he died but it might not be appropriate.
I don’t think any Hollywood officers shed a tear.

Hal