The 1970’s were known as the “Golden Age of Terrorism” even more so than today. With 9840 incidents with 7000 dead worldwide, the responsibles were the Black Guerrilla Army, Black September, Red Army, Irish Republican Army, Symbionese Liberation Army and on and on.
It’s 1974 in LA and the Patty Hearst media frenzy is in full swing: where is she? She is here, she is there, she is everywhere, she is nowhere. She has become “Tania” posing with the seven-headed cobra.
Except for an aborted attempt by mobster Mickey Cohen to run a con on the Hearst Family, we have managed to stay away from the circus—until now.
“We” are the Organized Crime Intelligence Division (OCID) of the Los Angeles Police Department. I have been assigned here since 1969. I am a lieutenant in my 18th year with the department. It is a very good assignment. No—actually, it is a great assignment and I not only love it, but I am very good at what I do.
My immediate boss is Captain Don E. Miller. He is serious, smart and pretty much by the book. I am now standing in front of his desk as he utters thes seven words, “They want you to kidnap Otis Chandler.”
I am seldom at a loss for words but managed, “Who is ‘they’?”
“They,” it turned out, is Ed Davis, the Chief of Police. During a “working lunch” with Otis Chandler and their respective staffs, the subject of Patty Hearst’s kidnapping, terrorism, assassination, etc. came up and Davis warned Chandler he could be a likely target. Chandler wouldn’t hear of it and boasted of his security at the Times Building.
I now assumed that Davis wanted to prove him wrong and assert “bragging rights.”
Let me explain who Otis Chandler is: since 1960 he has been the publisher of the LA Times, with the largest circulation west of the Mississippi. He is also one of the most powerful men on the west coast.
I asked, “Does the chief want me/us to get inside the fortress (Times Building), find and confront Chandler and do a “Gotcha?”
“Yes, and you can’t use police ID. Also, can you do it tomorrow?”
For some strange reason, the motto of the Seabees came to mind, “The difficult we do immediately, the impossible takes a little longer.”
As I sat at my desk I formulated a ridiculous plan that just might work.
I never worked the Bomb Squad, I never wanted to work the Bomb Squad; their black jump suits added ten pounds to my toned body. I didn’t like responding to any of the bomb calls.
There are two kinds of bomb calls. “Bomb threats,” usually a phone call or letter. Now days, there might be emails or texts. The other is a suspicious package. Suspicious package can be anything from a brief case to a back pack both can get you hurt if the call is good. I used to think about my wife worrying about me every time I left for a normal day’s work—whatever normal is! In the Bomb Squad, you get a call out in the middle of the night and your spouse knows you’re driving to danger. You can tell your spouse not to worry. “I’ll be careful,” but that only reassures them for a few minutes. I’ll bet after you leave they look for an all-night news station on TV. They know you might never come home again.
My first personal experience with explosives was with fire crackers that I smuggled across the border from Mexico. Oh come, on I was only twelve! I once lit a fire cracker in a model airplane that I built. Did I mention that I had put some gasoline in the plane? I light the fuse and after the explosion, I spent the next ten minutes putting out the small brush fires it started. “Stupid is as Stupid Does.”
I think that Bomb Squad officers are smart and professional and more than qualified to handle any suspicious package as most bombs were called, but every once in a while something goes very wrong. No “take overs” with bombs!
I remember a few early suspicious package calls both at the old Hollywood Police station. The first was where some good intended citizen placed a package at the back door to the station. The bomb squad blew it up with a water cannon. It was a chocolate Easter Bunny. The second was placed in front of the station and when blown up 500 pieces of a jigsaw puzzle were scattered across Wilcox Avenue. Both of those might have been a test to see how we’d react.
My first real recollection of a true bomb was August 1975. That was the night that the SLA (Symbionese Liberation Army) placed a bomb under a police car at the IHOP. I was eating six blocks away and thought it could have just as easily been under my police car. The bomb squad later placed that same pipe bomb under a car and set it off. It would have killed both officers and a lot of IHOP customers. For the next thirty years, I bent down and looked under my police car to see if there was a bomb.
That’s tough on the knees especially when you get in your 50’s.
My last Ramblings described why some officers promote and others choose to remain street cops. Here’s my story. I was a young twenty-one year old kid who was going to save the world when I graduated from the police academy. I spent five months having law, physical fitness and street survival crammed into my small brain. I was taught when to shoot, when not to shoot, if you get in a fight, win or you die.
Ok, I graduated on a Friday and worked my first patrol shift on Saturday night at 11:30 P.M. I spent three nights working patrol and enjoyed it. Then I came in on my fourth night and discovered I was working Station Security. What the hell is Station Security?
Symbionese Liberation Army photo from tamieadaya.com
This was 1971 and the Viet Nam War was on the news every night. The anti-everybody groups, like the Black Panthers, Weathermen Underground and SLA were targeting cops everywhere. Anti-war groups were demonstrating in front of any government building.
Ok, I’m a member of the finest police department in the world and after three entire days of patrol experience they put me out in front of the police station. I’ve got my six-shot revolver, no radio, but a very sharp #2 pencil. About two hours of standing in front of the station, I’ve got it figured out. I’m an early warning system. I start shooting and the desk officers have time to take cover. I suspect the Watch Commander will be locked in the captains’ bathroom. It happened once–come on, even lieutenants don’t go to the bathroom for three hours!
Another night, I’m assigned to the desk. Oh boy, another fun assignment for a young cop who’s going to save the world. I spent the night bailing out criminals that couldn’t have committed the crimes they were charged with, according to the family member bailing them out! I also take a lot of reports with my sharp #2 pencil.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you get assigned to the jail. You now spend all night fingerprinting drunks, drag queens and DUI’S. Near the end of your shift you get to feed them a delicious TV dinner which some compare to cruel and unusual punishment.
Being on probation, you do what your told and don’t complain. The pecking order for cops in Los Angeles was, P-1 probationer, if there’s a dirty job a P-1 gets it. After a year I’m automatically promoted to P-2. You were called “P-2 dogs” and if a P-1 was not available, guess who got the dirty job? P-3 was a training officer. To be a training officer you had to take a test and then pass an oral. You were then placed on a department list and when a training officer spot opened you took another oral for the job. As a P-3 you were given probationers to train, not always an easy task. You were assigned a regular patrol area with another P-3.
So I have about two and a half years of street experience and I’m bouncing around, from car to car with different partners every month. One five day working period, I’m assigned to Station Security twice, the desk once and the dreaded Jail twice. The LAPD is wasting my talents. The P-3 test is coming up and I want to promote. I start studying and every time I want to take a break, I think of standing outside the station at 3 AM on Station Security. How am I going to save the world if I’m always at the station?
Probationary officer photo by niul.org
I pass the written test and do well enough on the oral to get into the outstanding pool for P-3. As luck would have it, Hollywood was expanding from six basic patrol cars to nine. That meant six new P-3 spots. I was swept into a training officer spot and was allowed to stay on graveyard which I wanted. Graveyard was where the real police work was done in Hollywood. Did I mention that I also got a 5% raise? No more Station Security, Desk, or the Jail. I did get a brand new probationer every few months, some almost got me killed but that’s another Ramblings.
So I’m a P-3 and happy on graveyard shift. I stay for 14 years, I could have promoted 10 years ago. I pass up all the sergeant tests. My reasoning–I’m not done being a street cop. I need to get it out of my system so I don’t find drunks in alleys to hand over to the P-2 dogs. P-3’s can also work vice or become a detective trainee. Neither of those two assignments appealed to me. I once had a Captain ask me, “Hal, did you ever consider being a detective?” I told the captain, “I hate working inside and I don’t like talking on the phone all day.” The captain replied, “Hal, your right, stay in patrol.”
The next step up the LAPD promotion ladder is P-3+1, a senior lead officer or SLO. A P-3+1 is another 5% pay raise but the drawback is you can’t work graveyard. The other plus is I can still be a street cop and my wife will get off my back about always working graveyard.
I take another oral and get the promotion. P-3+1 is just below the rank of sergeant. One day, I have fourteen years’ experience and no one asks for my opinion. The next day, I’m sitting in the supervisors meeting and the Captain asks what I think. I’m also asked to instruct at training days. Now this is where I excel, training. I can sell sand in the desert which comes in handy as a SLO. A SLO is a link between the police and the community. I had monthly meetings where I had to explain why the police can’t be on their street every half hour. I was a SLO for nine years and my wife happy. I’ve been working day watch and sleeping at home at night. She now has someone to nudge in the middle of the night to check out that strange noise.
I’m in my early 40’s and believe it or not, I’m thinking of my retirement even though it’s fifteen years away. Sergeants make more money than P-3+1’s and I’ve given up the thought of winning the California Lottery as my retirement plan. Your pension is based on your final salary. It’s 1991 and I take my first sergeants test. I studied for months and pass the test and the oral. With my seniority points, I place pretty high on the sergeants list. The only thing that will hold up my promotion is a promotional freeze due to budget cuts. Guess where I sat, on the list, three away from promotion for almost two years.
My last year as a SLO, all the SLO’s were pulled out of patrol and assigned to Community Relations. At first I resisted, but they let us team up and go into the streets every day. I still dressed in my uniform and I could make all the arrests I wanted as long as I went to my community meetings. Then I found out I could schedule my days off and if a fishing trip came up, I could change a day off and go fishing. Promoting might be a mistake.
In July of 1993, I’m going on vacation. We’re going to Alaska to visit my sister and her family. The Personnel Department calls me two days before we leave and asks me if I want to go to Sergeants school the following Monday instead of going on vacation. She has obviously mistaken me for a building boy! Gee fishing for king Salmon on the Kenai River or sergeant’s school.
In case you’re wondering what I did, I’m in Alaska fishing when my son calls me and tells me I made sergeant and being transferred to Watts. That’s South Central LA, for you that are out of town. That’s another 5% pay raise for my retirement.
Abandoned apartments in Watts, Los Angeles, Ca
I’m now a full-fledged sergeant with the Los Angeles Police Department. I’m even working graveyard. One very slow night, I’m driving around Watts–you have to keep moving or they take pot shots at the police. It suddenly comes to me, as a SLO in Hollywood I was making my own schedule for days off. I was working all the movie premieres and off-duty jobs I wanted. I had the captain’s ear and now I’m driving around Watts, “What the hell was I thinking.” Oh by the way, in the LAPD when you promote to sergeant you lose seniority. With over 22 years on the job I took a $300 a month pay cut. “What was I thinking?” I spent fifteen months in Watts and it was a valuable learning experience and I got to work with some of the best cops on the LAPD. I was transferred back to Hollywood and graveyard. I’m happy, my wife not so much.
Promotion is not for everyone. On some small departments you only promote if someone dies, retires or gets fired. Then you have to be related or know someone important. We use to get a lot transfers from smaller departments, because there’s was no chance of advancement.
Motor cops are a different story. They only way they will give up their bikes is a serious accident or a doctors warning, “Stop riding or get a wheel chair ramp for your house.”
The best promotion I got was March 22, 2005. That was the day I retired from the Los Angeles Police Department. No I didn’t take an oral but the test lasted over 34 years, 168 days.
