Tag: LAPD

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More on Dispatchers

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

This is where I really stick out my neck. I hope I still have the friends who were dispatchers (or RTO’s as us dinosaurs called them). First let me give you the disclaimer. I spent most of my career working in the middle of the night and a lot of those were weekends.

What does that have to do with RTO’s? I’ll tell you, most of the computer systems, DMV, Wants & Warrants etc. are taken off line in the middle of the night for service and updating, especially on weekends at night. I guess the normal part of the world thinks crime only occurs weekdays, during daylight hours. Most of this story happened before the in car computers that changed police work for ever.

Back in the mid-1970’s, I worked swing shift on the weekends (low seniority) and remember an officer running a warrant check on a driver in a traffic stop. The national computer said there was a warrant “hit” on the on a driver. But, it was mandatory for dispatchers to confirm the warrant with the originating agency—in this case, it was with the Texas Department of Justice. When I called it was closed. For the weekend. The guy went free because we had no valid warrant info to keep him.

I would run a license plate and the RTO would reply, “No Want, DMV down.”  Not un-common. But after a string of “No Want, DMV’s down,” you get suspicious. I’d run a license plate off the hot sheet. It was listed as “Code 6 Charles,” in LAPD vernacular that meant “Wanted Armed and Dangerous!!” If the RTO returned “No Want, DMV down,” you knew the RTO was not running the license plate. The RTO might have been in the middle of a good mystery novel but our life could be in jeopardy. If the RTO returned, “Code 6 Charles,” you replied, “Information only.” Just checking.

 

I once responded to radio call of a citizen who earlier had his car stolen at gun point. A day later he found his car a few blocks away. I ran the license plate and the RTO said, “No Want, DMV down.”

I asked the RTO to re-run the license because it should return “Code 6 Charles.”   She knew she had been caught and ran the plate.

I’m guessing there was a one on one conversation with the RTO and her Supervisor.

During my tenure from 1975-2011, it was not unusual for officers to run license plates on parked cars at motel parking lots on slow night. Their hope was to find a stolen vehicle. On weekend nights, that could be over fifty plates per officer. But it was our job to do this. I’ve seen dispatchers answer, “DMV down,” but never participated in it for the reason Hal articulates here. What if a car was stolen, the driver was behind the wheel and armed? It could go to hell in a handbasket fast. This is not a good job for a lazy person.

 

I was trying to catch a Hollywood Business burglar who was stealing my car area blind. I was getting heat from my watch commander as well as the burglary detective. They thought I was sleeping on duty. Heck, it was Little League season and I wasn’t sleeping much during the daytime either. I was really busting my butt trying to catch this asshole but I was always just a few minutes behind him.

I responded to a business burglary alarm on Hollywood Boulevard. I immediately drove to the back and caught a guy walking out from behind a group of businesses. Ah ha! I caught him.

I checked the source of the alarm and found no evidence of a break in. He told me he had to use the bathroom and left evidence under the fire escape. I checked. Now, I’m no expert on human crap but it looked fresh to me. Steam rising!

I ran him for wants and warrants and the RTO returned “No want.” I reluctantly let him go.

A day later, I’m standing in front of the Burglary detectives desk getting my ass chewed for letting our burglar go. After ten minutes being call incompetent in front of the whole detective bureau, the detective demanded to know why I didn’t run him for warrants, as he was in the system as a “Code 6 Charles” suspect. I waited until the detective was hyperventilating. Then I calmly told him, “I did run the suspect and the response was no want!”

As I walked out of the detectives’ room I heard him on the phone to a communications supervisor. Let him chew on someone else’s ass.

Side note: My burglar and his defecating at the rear of a business was his MO and excuse for being in the alley. Fooled me.

 

Next, computers have changed the job for both cops and dispatchers.   Hal

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Welcome to the 19th Century

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

After slightly less than a year at the jail, I had the opportunity to transfer to “University Division.” A division in L.A.P.D. terms is a designated geographic area containing a police station and providing all manner of law enforcement. Back east it would be a precinct. I had no idea what/who or where the university was, but I soon found out. The area was due south of downtown L.A. and was approximately 45 blocks north to south and about 60-65 blocks east to west. It was a low income area with a very high crime rate. Smack in the middle of this morass, sat two gleaming islands—the Memorial Coliseum and the campus of the University of Southern California.

 

 

The station house on Jefferson Boulevard looked to have been built in the latter half of the 19th century. Judging by the architecture it had the stone fortress look.  The interior contained all manner of gee-gaws and jim-cracks common to the time period. The building had as the saying goes “seen better days” and was “on its last legs.” The building itself was two stories tall and took up one half of  a block with the balance given over to the parking lot. For some unknown reason there was a former hamburger stand glued on to one end of the building [more on that later]. Rumor had it the building was sinking into a subterranean cavern. This was partially borne out by the fact that most of the interior doors would not close properly. Round objects such as pencils rolled off desks and the elaborate and ornate interior stairway had separated from the wall about half way between floors, leaving a gap of about 4-6 inches and giving the stairs the appearance of “floating in mid air.” The department of building and safety however was “Johnny on the spot” putting up a barricade at the separated place with signs warning users to use the outer edge of the stairs only. It was like that when I arrived and like that when it left two and a half years later. I thought however, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen because finally I was on the street and going to learn how to become a police officer.

 

Except for a few youngsters such as myself most of the uniforms and detectives were WWII vets who had “been there” and seen it all. I was lucky; I had been assigned with two of the best.

Check in next Wednesday, August 24th for the next of three installments.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Dispatchers

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

From Hal: Thonie, here’s part 1 on Dispatchers. I have another 1 or 2 parts to finish. I’d like a dispatcher’s point of view from the other side of the microphone. Are you game?  –Hal

Why, yes. Yes, I am!–Thonie

Ok, I might be stepping on a landmine, but here goes my take on dispatchers or RTO’s (Radio Telephone Operators—This is what my first dispatcher title was when I started at San Rafael PD in 1975), later called PSR’s (Police Service Representatives). They were my lifeline. If I needed help, who do you think I called first? That’s right my RTO—no one could get me help faster. Once during a foot pursuit in the olden days (no radio on your hip) I ran through a parking lot behind a strip club as it was closing. I knew I had changed directions twice since my last broadcast. I asked a patron to call the police and tell them what direction I was going. I heard him say, “I thought they were the police.”

 

No, he didn’t call the police for us. This is why dispatchers do “status checks” after a designated period of time; depending on the call but usually about four minutes. After the mid-70’s my agencies had portable radios so it was easy to ask an officer who just checked out on a domestic if he was okay or needed more units. Traffic would be: “1L30, your status?”

A satisfactory answer would be, “Code 4,” which means, “sufficient units on scene.” An unsatisfactory answer would be, “Send me another unit,” or no answer at all. For the first, another unit would immediately be assigned, usually they’d volunteer. For the second, a two-man unit or two cars were sent to the physical address where the officer checked out. If we were lucky, the officer had his portable turned down and didn’t hear the status check. Sometimes, back-up units drove up on the officer fighting for his life. That’s why we do status checks.

 

Now some of our RTO’s were very good. As an example, you should hear the North Hollywood Bank Robbery broadcast. That had chaos written all over it, but some very seasoned RTO’s handled it as true professionals. Just imagine over twenty very excited cops yelling in the microphone at once.

 

I made it a point to be friendly to my RTO. I always said “Good Morning” when I cleared for my start of watch. I knew that the RTO had the ability to determine what kind of night I was going to have. Did I want to spend the night getting all the crappy calls or just my share?

Not all of my co-workers felt the same way. We had one Hollywood officer who hated the RTO’s and the feeling was mutual. Dispatchers cultivate the nuances in language, diction and mood of their officers. This isn’t taught in a book, but with any luck by a seasoned trainer who knows the voices of their team. Often, a dispatcher can pick up on stress before other units can. They knew him by voice and they could check the officers assigned to each patrol car by the computer when you logged on. He wondered why he got all the crappy calls! Duh.

Some cops could hear the RTO’s giggling and talking when there was an open microphone and they called it a knitting circle. I knew several dispatchers who knit. Knitting isn’t inherently funny. However, in down-time, especially after a busy night, dispatchers need the “pressure relief valve” that officers (and firefighters, and medics and corrections officers—it’s a standard in first responders) have. Think about this, that North Hollywood Bank Robbery call—what had the dispatcher been doing just before the officer called out the armed robbery? Doesn’t matter. Her reactions had to go from zero to sixty in warp speed to take care of business. She did a great job, by the way.

 

I knew that they had a hard job and I sometimes tried to give them a smile. Hal, this is usually very appreciated. Dispatchers are pleased to have a connection with their officers. Hopefully it’s pleasant and as in your case, funny. Often after finishing a radio call, the protocol was to say “clear.” I often said “transparent” just to see if they were listening to me.

Once, the RTO asked me to repeat my message three times before she got it. Dispatchers are usually sharper than that.

Part two, next Sunday

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The Call Box

The Call Box: More Sully Stories

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Here is an addition to Ed’s first post about Sully (posted here on June 1, 2016).

 

Sitting across from him in a cafeteria watching while he poured dressing on his salad, then discovered he had not removed the plastic wrap. I watched him mop up the dressing and squeeze it onto his salad never once giving any indication he had done anything wrong.

 

Interviewing witnesses on the street and later discovering that Sully had written notes on the white roof of a police car. Yes, we found the car.

 

Walking out of the room and leaving a man seated across from me at the squad table. When the man begins applauding, I asked, “What the devil are you doing?”

 

“That Detective [Sully] told me to keep clapping while he was gone so he would know I wasn’t stealing anything.”

God, I wish that had been my line.

 

When he gave directions to “turn right when you see the sign for the sheriff’s station” and the sign turned out to be the Shalom Jewish Cemetery with the six-pointed star. Think about it.

 

The day he poked me in the ribs with a half-eaten Milky Way candy bar to get my attention. I was wearing a suit and we both looked at the glob of chocolate on my jacket, we both looked at the candy bar and then as a small child would, he put the candy behind him, looked off into space and said, “What?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

 

His name was RICHARD L. SULLIVAN and he is gone now. I loved him and miss him. He was my best friend.

 

We have all heard of the celebrity doing something with his five hundred best friends. Not likely. Best means just that: the best.

 

How do I define “best friend?” He shows up at 3 am with a shovel and a bag of quick lime when you have phoned him to tell him you killed someone. Sully was my best friend.

 

I will leave you to wonder………………

 

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The Call Box

The Call Box: Tom Scebbi

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

In May 1956, I graduated from the Los Angeles Police Academy along with 33 fellow recruits. Some of the lucky ones went straight to patrol, some went to P.I.C. (pedestrian intersection control). White hat, white gloves, directing traffic in downtown LA, smog and all (ugh) and the rest of us went to the main jail. Now, this was nothing like the large county jail. This was almost a non-jail jail for misdemeanor prisoners only awaiting court. Everyone was moved quickly through. Prisoners from all over LA.

 

And here was I. Late one night talking to a classmate also working there who told me he wanted to get married but his girlfriend was concerned about his safety. She worried that as a police officer he might get shot. With all the wisdom that comes with being twenty-one years old and having two to three months on the job, I told my friend, Ramon Espinoza, “Come on, Ray. Be logical. With all the thousands of cops on the job, what are your chances of even being shot at no less wounded or killed?”

 

This was in the summer of 1956, he later married the girl and had a son Ramon Jr. We both managed to get transferred out and by June 20, 1958, I was working vice and Ray was in a radio car in Wilshire Division working nights. His partner was a 24-year-old officer named Tom Scebbi, a good friend of mine. We had lunch at the academy the day before.

 

 

On that night they stopped a pedestrian at 3rd and Kingsley who just happened to be an ex-con carrying a stolen pistol. With which he shot both officers. Tom was killed instantly and Ray was shot in the stomach. This being long before

body armor. Ray still managed to shoot and wound the gunman who was arrested hiding nearby. He was later executed on May 13, 1960.

They did things differently then, I have replayed that late night jail conversation over and over in my mind. Ray retired with his wounds and both received the medal of valor. I just read recently where Ray Jr. retired from the LAPD. He carried his father’s badge while on the job.

Something else I think about in the wee hours of the morning. Tom Scebbi will always be 24.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More Foot Beat Stories

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

My apologies for posting this and Hal’s last in the wrong order. This should have been “Foot Beat Stories One” and his previous post should have gone second. I promise I’ll do better with “Foot Beat Three” and Four. –Thonie

The following story is true and most of the officers are real live cops, some are legends and some fall into the infamous category.  I often say the best of all my jobs on the LAPD was when I worked a Hollywood Boulevard foot beat.  That’s not easy to say: I was a Sergeant for 12 years, a Senior Lead, (Community Relations Officer) for 11 years—both good jobs but my 3 1/2 years as a foot beat officer were the best.

 

Most of the names are real Hollywood cops and most of the stories are true.  Some were passed down by other Hollywood cops and they might be legends.  That’s in case some ACLU attorney is looking for a civil rights violation.

 

The foot beat cop of the 50″s 60’s & early 70’s were the toughest cops in the division.  They ruled their beat with an iron fist, with the emphasis on fist.  They didn’t have radios.  If they got in a fight, they won or lost their life.  Foot beat cops walked their area every day and knew the store owners, pimps, drug dealers and pan handlers all by name and those same people all knew his name.  If a store owner was having a problem with an individual he would tell the foot beat cop and the problem disappeared, don’t ask me how.

 

 

If you ever watched the TV series “The Blue Knight” or read the Wambaugh novel, that was a tame version of what a foot beat cop was.

 

First the legends of Hollywood foot beat cops:  Gene Fogerty. I didn’t know Gene very well and never worked with him.  He was the typical old time foot beat cop.  He ruled Hollywood Boulevard and no one had any doubts who’s boulevard it was.  I was told that Gene never paid for anything.  He ate for free, shopped in the boulevard stores and walked out saying “foot beat gratuity.”  Those days were gone when I came on. We were told in the academy that a free cup of coffee led to corrupt cops.  Come on, my standards are higher than 10 cents, the price of a coffee in 1971.  Throw in a glazed donut and I might consider a bribe.  Just kidding, I was never big on eating donuts.

 

One of Fogerty’s regular partners was Jim Conrad, a former boxer.  Together they handled anything and everything.  I was once told that a street person walked up behind Conrad and tapped him on the shoulder.  Conrad felt the guy was too close to his gun, spun around and knocked him out cold.  Police work in the 60’s was a lot different.

 

As you already know and are tired of hearing, is that I worked Morning Watch for the first 14 years I was on the job. That’s 11:30 PM to 7 AM. I only saw the Mid PM foot beat for a few hours before they went home.

 

 

In 1977, Hollywood Boulevard was out of control on Morning Watch after 2 A.M.  We had two businesses in the area of Hollywood & Highland, that were open all night.  The “International Hot Dog Stand” known by all cops as just the hot dog stand and “Danielle’s.”  The hot dog stand was just that, a small hot dog stand, but it was open all night and behind it was a dark parking lot perfect for dealing drugs or any other crime you can think of.  Danielle’s was a coffee shop which catered to drag queens as we called them in the un-politically correct ‘70’s.  I always thought it curious that Marilyn Monroe’s star was right in front of Danielle’s, a drag queen hangout.  Danielle’s is now a McDonalds’.

 

The drag queens would eat at Danielle’s, then go to work on Highland.  By work I don’t mean that they were setting out traffic cones for Cal-Trans, they were collecting money for a service for which they paid no taxes or Social Security.  A Drag Queen’s overhead was the cost of their clothes and whatever they stuffed into their bras, usually yesterday’s dirty socks.  No kidding.

 

Anyway when the rest of Los Angeles closed up, Hollywood and Highland was just starting to go strong.  I approached my Lieutenant and asked if he ever considered a Morning Watch foot beat?  He cocked his head to the side, somewhat like my dog does when I talk to her, and he asks, “What did you have in mind?”  I laid out my plan and the following month I was told I would be working a Morning Watch foot beat.  I was then asked who I wanted to work with.  Holy cow, I was never ever asked who I wanted to work with.

 

I selected Randy for my partner.  Now Randy was not the easiest cop to work with. In fact half the cops on the watch didn’t like Randy and he felt the same about them.  I picked Randy because he worked. All I needed to do was keep him on a short, tight leash.

 

Most people think that walking a foot beat is just walking along and watching for crime.  I thought so, too.  I was told that I needed some foot beat experience.  Let’s see: I have 7 years on the LAPD and I’ve been walking since I was around one.  My childhood records have been sealed so I’m guessing.

 

The next month I’m going to be assigned to work a Mid Day foot beat.  Mid Day, that’s when the sun and all those citizens who pay my salary are out.  Crap.   I going to learn foot beat techniques from a Hollywood Legend, J.J. Brown.  J.J. took over the the Mid Day foot beat when Fogerty retired.  J.J. had been walking a foot beat since before I was a rookie.  This should be fun.  Next chapter, I’m learning how to walk all over again.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Reprise: Foot Beat 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 was originally posted 7/24/2013. Thought you might enjoy it again.–Thonie

The following stories are true and I’ll use real names as long as it doesn’t get anyone indicted or divorced.  Several posts ago, I talked about how my favorite job on the LAPD was walking a foot beat.  I never worked Vice but I did do a three month undercover tour in an elite West Bureau unit whose chain of command was a sergeant, then the Bureau Deputy Chief.  I still had more fun on the foot beat than any other job.

You ever watch a movie or TV show and the Captain threatens the officer that he will have him pounding a foot beat?  I’d have volunteered in a heartbeat.  I snowed my Lieutenant into letting me walk a Morning Watch foot beat, but first I have to learn how to walk a foot beat.  They assign me to Mid Day Watch with J.J. Brown.  Cool, J.J. is a Hollywood legend on the Boulevard.  He’s been walking for over 28 years, so how hard could this be?

I show up for work like I’m working a radio car, I carry my 40 lb. gear bag with riot helmet, extra ammo, tools, street guide and every report known to the LAPD.

J.J. just laughs at me and says, “We walk little lighter!”  My first lesson, we only need one traffic citation book, one parking ticket book and one handheld radio.  The radio was a Dumont and it only worked on a nice day without any tall buildings between you and the radio tower on Mt. Lee.  Everything you needed, you carried in your pockets or on your belt.  Hats were a must, department policy and you carried a baton which often became your best friend in a fight.

We get out of the car and J.J. asks, “Where’s your flashlight?”  Lesson 2:  You need a flashlight for dark bars and the very dark porno theaters.  Ok, I’ve got my pockets stuffed, I’m ready to start walking.  J.J. said, “Where are you going?”  I’m starting to walk eastbound with traffic.  Lesson 3: Foot beat officers always walk against traffic.  This walking might be harder than I thought.

J.J. and I start walking, facing traffic.  I’m thinking how cool I must look in my fresh uniform and in front of all these business people and tourists.  Three buildings later J.J. grabs me by my Sam Brown Belt and says, “Slow down, we’re going to be walking for the next 6 hours. You’re walking like your late for dinner.”  J.J. tells me, “You walk at a much slower pace and stop every so often.”  OK, I’m wondering if I need to write all this down.  J.J. is very patient with me.  I feel like a rookie.  If I find myself walking too fast I stop and find J.J. 30 feet behind me and laughing.  I’ll learn, maybe.

I soon find that J.J. knows everyone on Hollywood Blvd and everyone knows him.  We stop at various businesses and J.J. introduces me to the owners or managers.  I have worked Hollywood for over seven years and I don’t know any of these people.  We stop at London Britches, a clothing store and J.J. introduces me to the manager.  I don’t remember her name but I’ll never forget that smile. She was gorgeous.

I remember another group of businesses, Artisans’ Patio.  This young sales clerk walks out to talk to J.J.  She is also very pretty, I’m beginning to like this Day Watch foot beat.  J.J. is talking with the young lady and I glance over, she is wearing a white cotton full length dress.  When she stands in the sunlight I can see that she isn’t wearing anything under her dress and I mean nothing.  J.J. asks, “Ready to go?”

I said “Ah, not just yet, I have to, ah, catch my breath.”

J.J. also introduced me to some of the Boulevard people, Bill Conkey & Tillie who were street people.  J.J. and the other foot beat officers took care of them.  Giving them money, buying them clothes and taking them for medical care.  You don’t see that much anymore.  The less friendly street people are advised of the rules of Hollywood Boulevard, known as the “Boulevard Rules.”

Remember the movie, “Pretty Women” where female prostitutes worked Hollywood Boulevard?  Boulevard Rule #1, no whores on Hollywood Boulevard.  They were always politely directed to Sunset.  The tourists were on Hollywood Boulevard.  I soon learned that there were all kinds of rules.  Businesses couldn’t put signs on the sidewalks, no blaring music and most important don’t piss off the foot beat cops.  My second day, we did bar checks and wrote parking tickets.

The Nest Bar was on Hollywood Boulevard and was a known biker hangout.  Not so much on day watch but at night the bikers and the cops were always in conflict.  Parking regulations for motorcycles were simple.  Back tire must touch the curb.  If a foot beat cop can slide a thin piece of paper between the back tire and the curb, the motorcycle got a parking ticket.

I was told that on occasion a passing car would throw something at the foot beat officers.  The foot beat cop would write down his license plate and issue him a parking ticket.  The motorist found out six months later when he tried to renew the registration to his car.  I never did that or saw it done, could be a legend, I just don’t know.

Bar checks—how hard could that be?  Well, you don’t just walk into a dark bar from the sunshine of the Boulevard.  Pause inside the door and let your eyes adjust to the light.  One officer walks to the back and the other stays by the front door.  The foot beat officers didn’t enforce ABC (Alcohol, Beverage & Control) violations, like serving a drunk or bugs in a bottle. We mostly wanted the owners and patrons to know that the cops were around.

My favorite bar was the Tourist Trap.  The Tourist Trap was a dive and certainly not for tourists.  It was a bar frequented by black pimps and drug dealers.  I loved walking to the back where the pool table was.  I would stand next to the pool table, in front of the pocket where the pimp was going to shoot his next shot.  They always missed the shot.

There were other bars on Hollywood Boulevard, like The Powerhouse, The Alley bar, The Frolic Room and a few others I have forgotten.  There were also a couple of porno theaters.  The Cave comes to mind.  It had a live strip show during the day that packed the house.  Porno theaters are not my cup of tea.  They all have the same smell and sticky floors. Use your imagination.

I remember one girl who approached us walking on the Boulevard.  She was sweet and I thought, what a nice girl, I’ll bet her parents are proud.  Later that day I caught her show at the Cave.  Now, I hope her parents don’t know.

I enjoyed working with J.J. a Hollywood Boulevard Foot Beat legend.  J.J. has read this chapter and approved its contents.

Next chapter: The following month I’m assigned to work mid PM’s. A different set of Blvd rules and new partners…

Categories
The Call Box

The Call Box: Perceptions

By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD

Perception—an interesting word as any police officer will tell you. The luxury of calm reflection is not always possible. Too often, it is “act and react.” What you think you see and hear is not always what you get. With that in mind, I give you—

The Screaming Woman

I was a uniformed sergeant assigned to the 77th Street Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. It is a high crime area of South LA. I am working the night watch and am in my black and white patrol car parked on a nearly deserted restaurant parking lot on Manchester Boulevard, a main thoroughfare. Parked next to me, driver door to driver door is a uniformed traffic sergeant we will call, “Rudy.”

We are having a conversation about who knows what. It is late and quiet, the streets are empty. A speeder goes by eastbound toward the freeway. Rudy later guestimated his speed at 75 mph plus. Tally ho and away goes Rudy with me right behind. It took several miles but Rudy “lit him up” and the car pulled over immediately.

Rudy stopped directly to his rear with me behind. We are both out and up toward the driver’s side. As Rudy gets to the front of his patrol car, the sound of a woman screaming takes him to the passenger side of the speeder’s vehicle.                                      

As I get to the left rear, the driver jumps out screaming something I can’t understand. He’s flailing his arms while running toward me. He tries to push past me to follow Rudy. I can’t allow that, so I grab his right shoulder but he spins out of my grip. I grab him again and he turns to face me screaming unintelligibly while still flailing. Even though smaller, he was very strong and determined to get by.

As a police officer, I carried a “sap” or blackjack. It was now in my hand and I smacked him behind his left hear. He went down like he’d been shot, first to his knees, then fell on his face.

I then approached Rudy. “What have we got?”

“She’s having a baby and it’s coming right now. Call for a G-unit (ambulance).”

Which I did.

 

The baby, however, would not wait and Rudy delivered while I assisted mostly by giving unneeded advice. The entire time, while waiting for the ambulance, all I could think was, “I cold-cocked daddy.” How do I explain that?

When the ambulance arrived, the too charge, pronouncing mother and child in good condition. They revived “daddy” and treated the lump on his head. As soon as he found out momma and baby were fine, he actually apologized for “making me hit him.” He had been screaming in Romanian or Lithuanian—he was so excited, he forgot to speak English.

A big relief.

Nowadays there would be a major investigation of “use of force” with statements, photos, deposition and on and on—

Mine was handled by a line in my log: “Assisted 12TL30 with birthing a baby.”

 

Perception…

Categories
Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: The Mistress

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

It’s taken me a long time to write about this subject and I don’t think I’ll have my wife read it before I send it out. I met my wife in high school and we fell in love. We were married a couple of years after graduation. I never thought I would love anything more than my wife, maybe not more but just as much. I was young and I guess a fool! How can you have two loves and still be faithful? The temptations are out there and they come in many forms. I was strong for quite a while and then I fell in love again. I was still in love with my wife but I fell for one of those temptations that come up in your life. I call it my second love!

 

Now before you delete this and take me off your Christmas card list let me explain. My “mistress” was the Los Angeles Police Department!

 

Let that sink in for a minute. How can work be a mistress that consumes and dominates your life for over three decades?  If you don’t understand then you’ve never been a cop. Being a cop gets into your blood—somewhat like a cancer but there is no known cure. Once you hooked you might as well just go for the ride, and by the way, hold on, it’s a roller coaster.

 

You’ll work long hours, weekends, holidays, miss your kids’ school plays, football games and that special event that your wife told you about six months ago. You’ll work at night and sleep in the day time. You’ll eat breakfast for both meals—that is, if you get two meals in the same day. You communicate with your wife with Post-it’s on the refrigerator. Your dog begins to growl at you when you come home late or early. You’ll ask your wife, “Honey, how long have our kids had braces on their teeth?”

 

Somehow through all this you fall in love with the job. You see horrific things that may scar you for life. You will have days were you smile all the way home and can’t wait to share your story with your other love. You remember the highs and the lows and often dream about them. It doesn’t matter, by now you’re hooked, you’re an addict. Non-police friends and family will never understand and question why. They wonder at the things you think are funny. You don’t care—you’re in love and your favorite line is, “I can’t believe they pay us to have this much fun.”

 

What’s the big temptation? You work long hours often in the dark, sometimes alone. You meet a lot of interesting people and some of them are lonely, looking for companionship. Sometimes, it’s your partner. Your diet is the exact opposite of what you learned in health class. By the way, I’ve never seen a cop eat a kale salad on the hood of his police car during a barricaded suspect call out. If someone had a kale salad they hid it from the rest of us. The ribbing would be unbearable!

 

How many people watch their kids grow up to be responsible adults and are proud? As a training officer, I had a new probationer every few months. Some gave me enormous headaches but occasionally you could see the light come on and you knew they were going to be ok.  Some later thanked you for bringing them along.

 

As a cop, you don’t make acquaintances, you make lifelong friends. You may not see them for a few years but there still close friends. There will always be that bond that other jobs don’t develop. You’re going to hit speed bumps along the way but you’ll never turn your back on something you love.

 

So just what is it that makes you love a job with so many downsides?  Why do people go on roller coaster rides, or watch scary movies? Who stands in a hour line to ride the Matterhorn at Disneyland?  Being a cop gives you the same adrenalin rush whether you want it or not. Try hurtling through the streets during rush hour traffic to catch a suspect that a judge will give probation to as a sentence! Stake out a location for hours and when your suspect arrives you lose him. That will eat at you for years! The other side of that coin is catching the suspect you have been trying to catch for weeks. Other rewards are a simple handshake or hug. I once helped a little old lady and she shook my hand. Her hands were crippled with arthritis. She then went home a wrote me a hand written note to thank me. That’s why we love our job. Young kids still love cops and often wave, later maybe only with one finger?

 

Being a cop, you feel the anger when a fellow police officer is shot or injured even when you didn’t know them. You never really retire. You take the badge and gun off but it’s too late. It’s inside you, that cancer that will be with you until you die. Most of us say we miss the people but not the job. B.S. we miss the job too. Some of us will outlive our wives but never our Mistress!

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, 9-11-2001 in LA

 

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Ramblings: 9/11/2001 for June 26th, 2016

9-11-2001:  Just about everyone can tell you where they were on 9-11-2001 when four airplanes were hijacked and two planes slammed into the World Trade Centers. It was a Tuesday and the temperature was forecast for mid-70’s. I was scheduled to work the field on day watch as a supervisor. I was preparing for Roll Call when the first plane, American Airlines, flight #11 slammed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center at 5:46 AM PST. As usual the TV was on the news in the Watch Commander’s (WC’s) office, the off-going watch wanted to know if they will hit traffic on the way home. The WC’s Office soon filled with officers watching the horror on TV. Most were wondering what caused a plane to veer off course and hit a building in New York. At 6:03 the second plane, United Airlines flight #175 slammed into the South Tower. The wondering stopped.

We were at war with an unknown enemy! The speculation started on who could do such a thing. Some guessed correctly that it was the work of Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden.

We went to Roll Call and the room was quiet. Hardened cops couldn’t believe what they were seeing on the television. We had an abbreviated roll call and hit the streets. We knew that what happened in New York was going to affect everyone. I headed to the bathroom, figuring it might be six hours before I had another chance.

When we cleared for patrol, we were immediately hit with a barrage of suspicious package

calls. People suddenly saw suspicious packages that they had probably passed a dozen times before on their way to work. I personally handled three bomb calls alone. One was an empty box on Hollywood Boulevard, another was a large cylinder attached to a power pole on Highland Avenue.

America was suddenly waking up to terrorism on our own turf. I raced from call to call for about three hours when I was directed to come to the station. The LAPD had gone in Tactical Alert and each division activated their command post. I was a member of the Hollywood Division command post cadre. I spent the rest of my shift in the command post.

Months and even years after 9-11 we responded to possible terrorist sightings. One Hollywood Hills resident saw a Middle Eastern man asking how to get to the Hollywood Sign, normally a common occurrence. We sent a police car to check him out. Nothing!

Because of terrorism, airport lines have caused hours long delays. It now takes longer to go through the screening process at the airport than it takes to fly to Las Vegas. You can’t even go to a baseball game without being screened.

Bombs have been around for a long time but now they are in the everyday activities of citizens.

–Hal