Tag: sergeant

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More on Scheduling Days Off

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

So you carefully plot out your days off for the following month. You submit your request and hope you get something close to what you asked for. The rookie sergeant has the entire watch’s days off requests. That’s usually about thirty to thirty-five highly trained officers, all with loaded guns. You don’t want to piss them off.

 

The first thing the sergeant does is put everyone days off on a master sheet. He is given a “haves” and “needs” for each day. “Haves” are how many officers show working that day by their requests, the “needs” show what the bare minimum number of officers you need to work. You almost always have too many officers working mid-week and never enough asking to work weekends. The master sheet would look something like this: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, you had 30 “haves” and only 20 “needs.” Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, you had 10 “haves” and 20 “needs.”  Let me do the math for you. To balance the days off, you have to take away 10 officers weekends and give them a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. That’s just one weekend.

 

Some brand-new sergeants who didn’t spend much time in the field and is only working patrol until he/she gets off probation. He/she didn’t care if the officers got crappy days off. They only want to get back into the building to network with the brass. If the new sergeant takes the short-cut, he just takes away officers’ days off requests. Some officers get nothing they asked for and end up with a bunch of singe days off. Nothing worse than a single day off on Morning watch (graveyard). An officer could end up with days off that go something like this: work 2, off 3, work 1, off 2, work 10, off 1. The sergeant who did those days off was likely to have a flat tire on his personal car.

 

The new sergeant, who was pretty proud of himself, submitted the days off to the Watch Commander (W/C) for approval. 10 minutes later, the sergeant got them back to do all over again. The W/C probably saved the sergeant’s life.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Dispatchers and Computer

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Computers changed police work in a disturbing way. I was taught to use police instincts which you only gained by experience. You questioned what was obvious and never take what someone says at face value. It didn’t matter whether you were questioning a victim, a witness or the suspect, they all told their story that benefited them. Good questioning is now a dying art.

As an example I was training a young probationer and, to put it mildly, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. We stopped a car and I told him before he got out of the car, “Careful. I think the cars stolen!”

He walked right up to the driver’s window with his flashlight in his gun hand!

Geez, no wonder I lost my hair. The car was an unreported stolen and later, when I asked the probationer why he walked up to the car he answered, “The computer said it wasn’t stolen!” The new generation of cops are relying on computers to tell them how to do police work.

 

As everyone knows computers can have bad days or maybe they just screw up. I was walking my foot beat in a dark alley when this Ford pulls into the parking lot.  The driver looks rather nervous as he walks away from the car.

I run the license and the RTO (Radio Telephone Operator or dispatcher) replies, “No want. DMV [says it’s] a 75 Chevy R/O (Registered Owner) lives in Northern California.”

Cool. I have me a possible stolen vehicle with cold plates. This car is a Ford. I track down the driver and using the academy-taught tactics, I make him lie on the ground while I point my Smith & Wesson 38 Caliber revolver at center body mass!

As I’m handcuffing him he is demanding my badge number and name. I have had so many people ask for my badge number I thought it was common knowledge. It was Policeman Badge #3845 for those of you that forgot it.

I had the RTO run the VIN [vehicle identification number] and she returns with a 75 Ford, and the license plate that’s on the car.

Oops. How can that be she just told me it was a Chevy? The RTO runs the license again and even a third time, it’s a 75 Ford registered to my soon to be dusted off suspect. My suspect hands me two forms of ID, one is a California driver license and the other is a LAPD ID card which indicates my suspect is a RTO for the same department I work for. How can this get any worse?

My sergeant comes out to the parking lot and documents the RTO’s complaint. I go to the station to try and figure what the hell went wrong! I barely get in the back door and the Watch Commander [W/C] tells me I have a phone call from the Communications Watch Commander.

Oh goody. Probably more bad news! I was about to be surprised.

The Communications Watch Commander advises me that the RTO was not in error but the computer fouled up. She also told me that the suspect RTO I stopped is a disgruntled employee and no one likes him. The Communications W/C says they will be doing an investigation on him for being in a known drug location while on a sick day. See? Sometimes the sun shines in the middle of the night. I never heard another word about the incident and I didn’t ask either.

 

Ok one more story about Dispatchers. I was a sergeant in Hollywood, that’s right working in the dark just before the newspaper boys deliver your paper. An ambulance “cutting” call comes out at 1640 Las Palmas. That’s just a half a block from Hollywood Boulevard. I’m sitting in my car as the RTO broadcasts another ambulance “cutting” at Hollywood and Las Palmas. I advise the RTO that it’s the same call and to cancel the second unit.

The RTO responds, “No the computer says it’s a different reporting district.”

I advise her, “It’s the same call and the computer is wrong.” I’ve just committed a sin; computers don’t make these kind of mistakes.

She again politely tells me that there two different calls.

Ok, time to stop arguing. In my best firm “I’m the Sergeant” voice I say, “I’ve worked Hollywood for 30 + years and I’m looking at both locations from the front seat of my newest model police car. Assign me the second call!”  It was the end of our discussion.

Trust the veteran who’s at scene.

 

Next — open microphones!   Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: More on Dispatchers

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

Now, I once had a partner who didn’t like the RTO’s. I probably shouldn’t have let him talk on the radio but I was young and it was my turn to drive. We had just finished code-7 (eating) and my tasteless partner clears then burps into the microphone. The RTO professionally thanks us and gives us two calls at opposite ends of the division at EOW(End of Watch). Her revenge!

 

One night I handled most of Hollywood Division due to low deployment and other units being tied up. I cleared the backlog and requested to eat. After my request, a rape investigation call was broadcast for any Hollywood Unit. I knew I was going to get the call unless another unit cleared. The RTO broadcast the call three times trying to avoid giving me the call. I thanked her and bought the call. The RTO was trying to help me. I worked three hours overtime and didn’t eat that day. By the way, the rape was a prostitute who didn’t get paid.

 

As a sergeant in Hollywood, I often was asked to give new RTO’s in training a ride along. I gave them quite an eye-opener. I would first drive them up through the nicest neighborhoods and point out which celebrities lived where. Then I would show them the seedy side of Hollywood. Some couldn’t keep their mouths closed, not from talking but from AH! Last, I would drive by where the drag queens were parading the streets of Hollywood. The most common comment I heard was they look better than some women. I reminded them that from a distance in the dark, yea, but as the night wears on the 5 o’clock shadow appears and you’ll notice that they have stuffed a size 10 foot into a women’s size 7 open toe shoe!

 

Not all dispatchers were great at what they did night after night. We all have some bad nights but when it comes to officer safety, you have to be professional.

Next I’ll give some examples of the lazy dispatchers.   Hal

 

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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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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…

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, A Cop’s Irony, part 3

By Hal Collier, retired LAPD

 

I worked a lot of overtime but once because of overtime, I missed my son’s baseball game. The only one glad to see me when I got home was our dog.

Ironic

 

I once was chastised by my sergeant for driving through a red light after stopping, it was on a backup call. The irony is that he had thirteen on duty collisions and once used the pit maneuver decades before it was approved. He said he didn’t want me to follow his example?

Ironic

 

The news crew shows up at a homicide scene and films the sheet covered body. They then leave and come back when the coroner wheels the body into the back of the van hours later. Admit it—how many times have you seen the dead body on a gurney being wheeled to the coroners van on TV?

Ironic.

 

Here’s something really ironic: officers are involved in a shooting or major use of force. Suddenly politicians, college professors, and the media become experts on how the officers should have handled the situation. This is of course, weeks or months after a commission investigation. They also have all the information and make their analyses in a calm environment. No adrenaline, bad lighting, or stress. They have never been a cop or faced the danger that they just judged. They usually recommend more training for cops.

Train the public. Clue, if you point a toy or BB gun at a cop you’re going to get shot.

 

Next: How some cops deal with the sights, sounds and smells we encounter!   Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Code-7 the Last One, Really

By Hal Collier, LAPD retired

Ok, enough of interrupted code-7’s

I’ll finish with a few facts. Some days you worked alone or if you got stupid and promoted to sergeant you almost always ate by yourself. Now, you don’t usually want to eat with the patrol cops because they won’t relax around a supervisor. That’s their time, leave them alone. Now, every once in a while I was asked to eat with them, that’s a sign that you are accepted and an honor.

In my later years, I brown bagged Code-7. Actually I ate better than most cops. I brought in leftovers from my dinner from the night before. When eating at the station, I was not chasing perpetrators. Of course, I was often interrupted by the desk officers asking a question or advice.

Let me leave you with one last thought. If you eat a heavy meal, don’t get in a foot pursuit. Now days, people will have a video tape of you throwing up on You Tube before you finish your shift.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Code-7 Interrupted

By Hal Collier, Retired LAPD

This is not the last Ramblings about eating Code-7.

Most cops need a break from the usual stress of being a police officer. Admit it—every time you see a police car you look to see what they’re doing and if they’ll notice that you’re not wearing your seat belt.

 

With everybody having a cell phone, Joe Citizen is recording your every move on duty—you’d better watch where you scratch. If they saw a UPS or mail truck they wouldn’t give it a second look.

That’s the life of being a cop!

 

So you get that break and sit down to eat.  Your meal is served and you don’t want to be bothered. You just want to unwind. Some good intended citizen comes up to you as your putting that first fork of dinner into your mouth and says, “I don’t want to interrupt your meal but,” then they do just that! Ten minutes later they say “Well, I’ll let you get back to your meal.”  Unfortunately your 23 minute Code-7 is almost over. 

By the way—that code-7 is on the officers own time. In the LAPD if you worked an eight hour shift you worked eight hours and twenty-three minutes. If you’re on a twelve-hour shift you worked twelve hours and forty-five minutes. If you didn’t get Code-7, you could put in for overtime but then you had to listen to the wrath of your sergeant for abusing the system. 

You would’ve thought that the overtime was coming out of your sergeant’s pay check.

 

Next week , a few examples of my interrupted code 7’s.

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, Losing an Officer

By Hal Collier

Retired LAPD

Did you ever have one of those incidents where one minute you were calm and actually got to finish a cup of coffee while it was still hot and the next minute is the exact opposite?

My night is going smoothly and I’m hoping to coast for a few more hours and then go home and enjoy my next three days off. We’d just put another bad guy in jail and finished our arrest report. The sun will be coming up in a few hours, my favorite time of the day. It’s about 4:00 a.m. as I drive out of the Hollywood Police Station parking lot. I turn north on Wilcox and head toward Hollywood Boulevard. The Boulevard has been deserted for at least an hour. The bars and clubs have closed, the drunks have found their cars and the predators of the weak have given up and gone home.

Or so I thought.

 

I just crossed Selma Avenue when I notice a strange light lying in the middle of Wilcox. I drive up to the light. It’s a metal flashlight. Just like the kind most cops use! In a millisecond chaos erupts.

A citizen drives up to us and asks me, “Are you looking for that cop who was in a fight?”

“What cop?”  There goes that coasting to EOW (End of Watch)!

I ask the citizen, “Where did he go?”

He replies, “I don’t know, I lost sight of him when I turned around.”

Ok, I’ve got a lost cop who probably needs help. I pick up the police radio to broad cast “Officers needs help!”

Suddenly I hear a shot.  Oh shit, this is turning real bad in a hurry. My heart has jumped into my throat and my mind is racing.

Now in the middle of a big city with lots of buildings, it’s often hard to tell from where a sound is coming. I’m guessing it’s from the street west of me. I speed around to the next street and turn south. I don’t see anything at first. I slow down and hear a voice yell, “Over here!”

There’s a cop sitting on the ground in a parking lot. He’s pointing to another individual lying on the ground in front of the Chesterfield Hotel. That individual has been shot! I get on my radio and soon the entire division has thrown out their coffee and joined us, including the Watch Commander. An ambulance responds and treats the individual for a gunshot wound and my cop for a contusion to his head.

Not only are we not going to coast to EOW but we’re not going to get off on time, and my three days off are going to be cut short by at least a day. It’s overtime but my pillow is going to miss me!

Here’s what happened:  The cop was a Hollywood sergeant just driving down Hollywood Boulevard. He heard what he thought was glass breaking. He pulled to the curb to investigate.

A Drag Queen named, Otha, had just smashed the display window to Playmates, a famous Hollywood Boulevard lingerie shop. I guess he was doing a little early shopping. This was in the 70’s and the only police radio was in the car. If you were out of the car and needed help, you had to run back to the car radio or fight for your life. My sergeant confronted Otha and the fight was on. Otha gained control of the sergeant’s flashlight and hit the sergeant in the head. The sergeant was dazed but not about to give up the fight.

 

 

The two combatants ran westbound through the parking lot. Otha climbed over a four-foot chain link fence next to the Chesterfield Hotel. The sergeant was starting to feel the effects of the blow to his head. Fearing he might pass out and lose his weapon to Otha, the sergeant fired one shot. The bullet hit the chain link fence and split into two fragments. Both fragments hit Otha.

The sergeant survived, as well as Otha, except that Otha went to jail after being treated for two wounds from one gunshot. Me, I had trouble sleeping that day. I kept waking up, it sometimes takes a long time for the adrenalin to leave your body and let you coast.

Hal

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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.