By Mikey, Retired LAPD
Probation in Rampart ’73-’74
Back in the day, there were no holds barred when it came to messing with rookies—NONE. Of course, I fell victim early on.
One shift, I had court all day and made it back to the station just in time to get ready for PM Watch roll call. I opened my locker up and stripped down for a shower. I must have been in the shower for maybe 8 minutes—TOPS! After drying off, I returned to my locker to find my uniforms GONE. Yup, GOA (Gone On Arrival-an often used disposition the reason for the call was not present when the officer arrived-Thonie)!
The senior guys were getting ready. They said nothing; the other rookies dare not say anything. Didn’t want to sound like a baby so, I said nothing. The guys began exiting the locker room for roll call and I stood there, thinking. I wasn’t going to be late for roll call, so I started eyeballing my civilian clothes when my military training kicked in.
“Overcome and conquer.” Whatever, so I made my moves. All the “rooks” had to sit in the front of roll call and the senior guys in the back. Our PM watch commander and supervisors entered the room and the lieutenant took his place at his desk, at the head of the room, facing us.
He started calling the roll and our assignments when the snickering and muffled laughs became overwhelming. He looked up and began scanning the room when his eyes hit the front row left, last seat, against the wall. His eyes bugged out of his head.
He was looking at the rookie wearing his cover, his yellow rain coat and boots and his Sam Browne waist level outside of the rain coat.
He bellowed, “Diaz, what the hell are you doing, son?”
Now the laughter was overwhelming, and I had to wait to answer until the noise settled down. “Misplaced my uniforms sir, returned from the shower to my opened locker and found that I had misplaced them, sir.”
“G-D D—N it! Whoever find’s Diaz’ uniforms gets an early EOW, (end of watch).”
I heard scuffling in the back of the room and then voices yelled out, “We found where Diaz misplaced his uniforms, lieutenant!”
I think I saw a slight twinkle in the lieutenant’s eyes when he made his declaration.
The rest of the night was uneventful.
As the light changed, the van passed me and sure enough the number matched the one given to me by the unit. I communicated that I was following the van NORTH bound on La Brea, requested back-up and settled in for a possible pursuit. I heard an air unit was enroute, so I hung back. The van proceeded into a residential neighborhood, pulled to the curb and the driver exited. I set up a felony stop, shot gun and all, and told the heavy-set driver to prone out. He turned and ran up a drive way into a back yard. The air unit was now over head and the observer told me to start star walking north.
I had my weapon drawn, facing east when the frail wooden fence shattered into pieces as the suspect ran right through. Behind him were a pit bull and a mutt in hot pursuit!
rking morning watch at Wilshire as a patrol sergeant. Our end of watch was 0800 but I had a report to finish and didn’t leave the station until 1030. I was on my way home eastbound on the I-10, the Santa Monica portion and this time of the morning the traffic still stinks. My patience is boarding the edge of—well, I’m tired and when I get home I have a couple of “honey do’s” to complete before sleep. Drive time, 45 minutes. Crossing the Harbor freeway, the traffic lightened up, so we picked up the speed. I’m in the #2 lane and a yellow city dump truck is in the #1 lane. As we transition from the east bound I-10 to the north bound I-5, the truck—without signaling—cuts me off! Had I not slammed on the brakes, we’d have had a terrific collision. Now I’m going to catch up to the truck and let the guy know who he just cut off! I take my badge place it into my left hand. The badge pin is between my middle and index finger. I catch up to the truck who is back in the #1 lane and now I’m next to him, I roll down my window and as he looks over at me, I produce my badge out the window…….and my badge is yanked out of my hand by the rush of wind! It’s gone, rolling down the freeway. My almost new sergeant badge is GONE!
By Mikey, Retired LAPD
For the last ten years, I have worked Christmas Eve for any young sergeant who should be home with his wife and babies. They don’t know until December 23rd, and then I tell the chosen one, “I got it.” Tonight, is the last one for me. I will be 6L20 watch 3. Start of watch is 1815 until 0700 Christmas Day. I got a true story to tell you about Christmas Eve 1992. Its’ a really good one.
Here is where it gets good, but at the time I did not know it was good. There are several hills in Rampart that allow some cool views of downtown L.A., so I go looking for one to enjoy the view and have that smoke. I found myself going up a side street off Temple Street that I’d never been on before and could see that I was going to have a really neat view of downtown. The street is steep, so I know I will get a great view. About three quarters of the way up I see this small-framed woman pushing a shopping cart up the hill. Well heck, I am there to “Protect and Serve,” so I stop the cruiser and get out to help. The look on her face told me I was the last thing she expected.
I was reading Mikey’s blog about “Short Dogs” and it sparked a very old memory. I started the police academy on Oct. 5, 1970. The first month they crammed our brains with criminal law, self-defense tactics, PT (physical training), which I was told was rougher than Marine Corp boot camp. They also had us throw some lead down range at some silhouette targets. The second month they sent us out to patrol for one day on weekends. We were as green as could be, but we were dressed as real cops and even had loaded guns.
The next bench has four men sitting upright. We get out of the car for this group. Again, there’s a bottle in the brown paper bag on the ground. The men all have bloodshot eyes and one’s starting to lean to the port side. My partner asks the men to stand. None of them can. They seem to be a happy bunch as we put them into the back seat of our car.
We drive to PAB (downtown) where the local jail is for Rampart Division. We pull into the back of the misdemeanor section of the jail and then my partner taught me a lesson I used for the next 35 years. He handed the bottle of wine that we had found in the park and handed it to the four men. They each took a long drink until the bottle was empty. No one complained that they preferred white wine. I walked the first drunk up to the booking officer and the officer called my first arrestee by his first name. They were happy and gave us no problems during booking.
It was early Summer ’93 and I was working Rampart Day Watch as the Watch Commander with the usual inside staff, a couple of desk officers, an assistant Watch Commander and eight units out on patrol. It was a Sunday, quiet and everything was going well until about 12:30 pm when a patrol unit broadcasted that they were in pursuit of a stolen vehicle northbound on Alvarado approaching the 101 freeway. The pursuit then proceeded onto the Northbound 101 and because traffic was light the stolen vehicle accelerated away from the officers.
Crap. I was getting ill just thinking of the s—t storm this was gonna cause and making notifications. I asked, “How many people were in the car?”
But this was Northeast, not Rampart, in the pursuit. The pursuit wound its way through the hills of Northeast heading toward Rampart, so the lieutenant headed in that direction. The road narrowed and the lieutenant saw the air unit. He realized that the observer in the air unit was screaming, “Shop 592, the pursuit is coming at you; Shop 592, the suspect vehicle is approaching you, “Shop………………” Well, guess who driving shop 592? Yup, the lieutenant. He terminated the pursuit with a classic TC (traffic collision)!