Tag: watch commander

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings, What Scares Cops?, part 2

By Hal Collier LAPD, Retired

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

Ok, so what does scare a knight in armor?  Be prepared to be shocked. 

 

First and foremost, the number one thing that scares a cop is that radio call, “Go to the Watch Commander.” Really, how bad can that be? You’ve spend half a shift doing everything right—well, maybe mostly right. You and your partner immediately go over all the radio calls and traffic stops you made that night. Did we piss off some tax paying citizen and he’s making a complaint? Did the Watch Commander discover that I missed court to go on that three day water skiing trip? Whatever, it can’t be good.

 

When I was the Watch Commander I would monitor the patrol units to see who was working and who was goofing off. If I had a simple request for the transportation of an arrestee to court or the downtown jail for medical treatment, I would get on the radio, and in my best “oh shit” voice tell the goof-off unit to come to the Watch Commander immediately. The officers would come into the watch commander’s office with their tails between their legs just like your dog did the last time he got into the trash. I enjoyed that—they weren’t doing anything productive anyway.

 

So what else scares cops? You handle a call with a drunk or drug crazed individual and you end up in a fight for your life. These fights are never pretty. You win the fight and go home. The next day you discover someone filmed the fight and it’s all over the news and YouTube. You watch the news broadcast and discover the media has edited the fight and only shows you beating the guy who just seconds earlier tried to take away your gun. They show the clip over and over again. Even you begin to think you over reacted.

 

Soon a maelstrom of vocal people are calling for an investigation including the President of the United States. Later a jury sees the entire video and acquits you. But it’s too late, you have been tried and convicted by the media. Your career is over. I’ve seen cops arrested then later acquitted when all the facts were presented. Rodney King happened over twenty-four years ago and is still brought up regularly. This is happening all across the United States. That scares a cop. These types of incidents are usually followed by a large lawsuit filed against you, the city you work for, and the Chief of Police. I’ve seen police officers homestead their homes so they don’t lose them in the lawsuit.

 

“Officer Needs Help” calls scare a cop.  In the 70’s some LAPD car radios had what we called cheaters. A cheater was a second radio that allowed everyone to hear an officers broadcast. This allowed an officer to know what other officers were doing and where they were doing it. The main point was you could hear the officer’s voice inflection. Was he excited or calm?  Ok, the scary part—the cheater radio suddenly blasts out “Officer needs Help.” The officer is screaming into the microphone. Your adrenaline has jumped so high you can hardly breathe. It doesn’t matter how close or how far you are from this officer you’re going to break all department rules to go to his aid. If the officer adds, “Shots Fired or Officer Down” to his broadcast, you’re glad you wore your ballistic vest and you unlock the shotgun. Are you scared? Bet your ass you are! Scared for the officer, scared for his wife and family. It may take hours for the adrenaline to leave your body.

 

Here’s another one that scares cops. You’re on a day off or just off hours. You’re relaxing in your living room watching the ball game. They break into the game to announce, “Breaking News.” An LAPD officer has been shot in the division where you work. Of course it could be any division, we move around in LAPD. They don’t have much information and they hopefully don’t give out the officer’s name. So you sit there and rack your brain, who’s working today and what are my partner’s days off? Yea, you could call the station and try to get some information but you know their busy, so you just wait. You just wait and listen to the news men report what they don’t know. That scares you.

 

Even after they report the officer’s name, and if you don’t know him/her, you’re still scared. Is he or she married and a father or mother. How old are the children? It scares you because you know that could be you someday.

 

You finally retire and figure nothing is going to scare you anymore. Wait, your son or daughter has decided to follow you into the noble profession of police work. You’re proud but you know the dangers. Suddenly all the above fears come rushing back only with a few new ones. Now you know what your spouse went through all those years. A late night phone call or knock at the door will send chills up your spine. Ok, the phone call was a drunk asking if this is Madam Whoopee’s all night massage parlor, but try getting back to sleep after that. The knock on the door is never good, especially if the people on your front porch are wearing uniforms.

 

Ok, now you know some of the things that scare cops and I’ll bet I missed a few. Give me your fears and I’ll add them to my list.  Oh by the way some cops really are afraid of snakes.       

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Dorothy, the Button Lady, Characters 10

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 real.  The character might still be out there, but I doubt it—Dorothy, the Button Lady

These stories involve naked women. Nothing can get a policemen hurt quicker than a radio call of a naked women. The radio code is “311 woman.” Male officers will race all the way across a division to see a naked women. I’ve handled a lot of naked men calls but none of them bring back any memories. Must be a guy thing. Female officers are smarter.

My thirty-five years’ experience taught me that most “311 women calls” were not worth the effort or risk. After reading two of the three examples of incidents I’m going to describe, you’ll probably agree.

Its early Day Watch and rush hour traffic has the streets of Hollywood clogged. Most of the cars contain business men and women on their way to a low paying, boring desk job. This story is old, before everyone was on their cell phone. The only entertainment was the car radio and what they saw on the way to work.

A call comes out of a 311 woman at Franklin and Beachwood. Let see, I’ve had my coffee, I’ve got nothing else to do, why not go see a naked women? I fight traffic and drive East on Franklin. I see a police car ahead. Traffic westbound is stopped dead. I get out of my car walk up to the other police car. Standing in front of a convalescent home is a 60+ yr.-old naked woman. She’s dancing around and flopping her shriveled up boobs at traffic. I look over my shoulder at the backed up traffic. There’s nothing but smiles or a bewildered look on their faces. In today’s cell phone world it would have been videotaped and on You-Tube before I got my second cup of coffee.

The officer in charge, Wendi Berndt, is ordering the female to turn around and put her hands behind her back. This lady could be from the convalescent home or high on drugs, it’s never easy to tell and both can be dangerous. Wendi again tells the lady to turn around. The naked lady complies, then shocks everyone within eye sight. She bends over and spreads her ample butt cheeks and moons everyone. If I’d had that second cup of coffee, I’d have peed in a clean uniform. Yea, she was from the home and refused to take her medication. I would have loved to hear some of the conversations in the office that morning. “You’ll never guess what I saw on my way to work this morning.”

The second incident also involved rush hour traffic. Radio call, “311 woman at Santa Monica and Highland; school kids in area.”  It’s my call so I respond. Yep, there she is, a 70 year old homeless women standing behind the bus bench. Her pants are around her ankles and she has relieved herself on the sidewalk. The traffic is stopped and everyone is watching us. I tell the lady to pull up her pants. She tells me to do something that is anatomically impossible. I tell her I’ll arrest her and she says, “Go ahead, I’ll crap in your car.”

Just then, I get a brilliant idea—something new to me. I tell her she will go to jail and I’ll throw away everything in her shopping cart. She says, “Officer, don’t do that.” She immediately pulls up her pants. I tell her to walk westbound on Santa Monica Boulevard to West Hollywood. I follow her into the county’s jurisdiction. Let the sheriffs deal with her.

This last one is the exception to the “311 woman” curse. I’m working Morning watch and it’s about 3 A.M. We finish handling a radio call and drive slowly down the street as my partner is writing in his log.

The only car on the street stops us and asks, “Are you looking for the naked lady?”

Huh? “What naked lady?”

The driver says there’s a naked lady running around on the next street.  OK, my interest is piqued and my partner has put down his log. We turn the corner and see something duck down behind a parked car.

I drive up next to the car and get out.  This twenty-something, drop-dead glorious young lady stands up. She’s not even wearing shoes or earrings. I’m a trained observer.

I ask her, “Why are you running around naked in the middle of the night?”

She says her parents don’t want her to sleep in the nude and she wants to feel free. She asks me my opinion as she stands in front of me, unashamed.

I just swallowed my gum.

I beginning to understand this young lady has some mental issues.  We put her in the back seat of our police car and drive around the corner to her house. We wake up mom who brings out a blanket and takes her daughter inside. Those are just a few of the incidents of naked women I’ve run across in Hollywood.

Character:  Dorothy, the Button lady

I became aware of Dorothy in the 80/90’s.  She got her name from the numerous buttons and pins she had on her coat.  I would see Dorothy walking westbound on Hollywood Boulevard early in the morning. She would sit on a bus bench in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater and wait for the first tour bus to arrive. When the tourists saw Dorothy they wanted to take a picture with her. She would oblige for a small donation. Dorothy preceded the costumed super hero’s that now clog Hollywood Boulevard.

For the most part Dorothy was not a problem, but if anyone tried to encroach on Dorothy’s territory, she would call the police. One morning, I’m a Field Sergeant and a radio call is broadcast. “ADW (assault with a deadly weapon) suspect in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, Suspect is attempting to hit tourists with a chain.”  I drive up and Dorothy points to a male who is skipping rope. He’s a boxer and is doing the fancy rope skipping.

The tourists are taking his picture and not Dorothy’s. Dorothy wants him to leave. I tell Dorothy that he has every right to be there and I leave. I drive to the station and I’m in the Watch Commanders office when Communications Division calls and says that there’s a lady on the phone who wants to make a complaint. It’s Dorothy and she says that she called the police and the police (meaning me) didn’t do anything. I adjudicated my own complaint in five minutes.

Under Chief Parks it would have been a four week investigation.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Miscellaneous, part 5-A Smart Burglar

 

 by Hal Collier

Hal is a thirty-five year veteran of LAPD. We are pleased he is sharing his stories with us.

 

The following story is true. In my last Ramblings I bragged a little— ok, a lot about my best arrest. This story is about a business burglar who fooled me. The name of the suspect is real. It’s funny that I can’t remember the name of my best arrest, but this guy’s name is always on my mind. It’s probably because I had him and I let him slip away.

 

I’m working A.M. Watch and I have been studying the Daily Occurrence (D/O) sheets for crime in my area. I patrol the central area of Hollywood which is largely businesses along Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. I notice a pattern of burglaries in small businesses. Some don’t have alarms and the items taken are small. I find myself driving through rear alleys and parking lots along Hollywood Boulevard. I jump on any alarms that are dispatched but don’t have any luck. The crimes continue and I’m getting frustrated. 

 

dark alleyHollywood is unique in that there are always people out in the middle of the night. Most cities don’t have pedestrians walking the side streets and alleys at 3 AM. I remember once I’m working with Frank, who just transferred into Hollywood. I’m driving down Hollywood Boulevard at 4 A.M. and Frank yells, “Stop. Turn around; go up that side street.” My adrenalin starts rushing. I whip the police car around and I just miss hitting a homeless man. I figure we got us a crime in progress. Maybe the Watch Commander will get off my back for not writing enough tickets.

 

Frank directs me to stop this pedestrian. Ok, we got him stopped. I ask Frank, “What do we have?” Frank looks at me like it’s my first day on the job. He says, “You’re kidding, right? We have this guy walking up this dark side street at 4 A.M.” In all fairness, in the Hollenbeck where Frank came from a guy walking up a dark side street is suspicious—in Hollywood nothing”. Remember Hollywood never sleeps.

 

Back to my burglar. I hear a broadcast of a burglar alarm in my area on Hollywood Boulevard. I’m only a block away. I immediately drive to the back. I approach this common courtyard which serves about ten businesses. This guy exits the courtyard. We grab him, I’m sure we got our burglar. 

 

The questioning goes something like this. “What’s your name?” 

“Steven Cox.” 

 

“What are you doing back there?” 

 

“I know it’s wrong but I had to go to the bathroom. Go ahead look under the fire escape”. 

 

I have my partner fill out a Field Interview card. I check under the fire escape and sure enough, someone has defecated. It’s fresh. I won’t go into a description of how I know it’s fresh, just trust me. I check the rear doors and windows of the business where the alarm was activated. Nothing. I look around at the other businesses. I can’t find any evidence of a burglary. We run him for wants and warrants over our police radio. No wants or warrants. I’ve run out of ideas. We release him.

 

burglar by aneta.orgTwo days later, I have the burglary detective yelling at me. Steven Cox is a wanted business burglar and he wants to know why I didn’t arrest him. The detective says that Cox has a warrant. He’s calling me all kinds of names because I didn’t check him. I explain that I did run him for warrants and the detective cools down. His boss is on his case because Cox is stealing Hollywood blind. The detective wants to know why I didn’t recognize Cox. I arrested him two years earlier inside Mike Smith Volkswagen on Cahuenga. He used the name Mark Johnson then. Hell, the detective had to look at my nametag to see who I was and I have worked with him in the same station for years.

 

Cox was caught a few weeks later and sat down for an interview. He was one smart burglar. He pre-planned his crimes. He would case the business during the day when they were open, then come back at night. He always urinated or defecated somewhere close to where he was breaking in. That way he would have an excuse for being at the rear of a business. He would take two swigs of alcohol before going out and act drunk if stopped in an alley. He would breathe in an officer’s face and stagger around. He fooled two Metro Officers that way when they caught him at the rear of a Mercedes Dealership. He would take out a whole windowpane so it didn’t look broken. He would go inside a business run around and see what property he wanted, then exit and wait for the police to check out the business. If the cops left, he knew he had all the time he needed.

 

Cox discussed the time I stopped him. He panicked and gave me his real name and date of birth. Why his warrant didn’t show up when I checked him is anybody’s guess. He admitted he fooled me and was burglarizing a business five doors away from where the alarm was activated. I still have the tape of Cox’s interview. Cox was one smart burglar. 

Sometimes even when you’re lucky you miss a big one.

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Ramblings by Hal

Police Burglars, part one

By Hal Collier
December 7. A day that will live in infamy! No, not that fateful day in 1941 but that day in 1981. I know what you’re saying, Hal has lost his mind, nothing eventful happened on December 7, 1981. Well, it did for me and all LAPD cops. That was the day that Jack Myers and Ron Venegas, LAPD cops, were arrested for committing burglaries on duty in uniform in Hollywood.

This Ramblings has taken a long time to write and I still find it hard to talk about it 3 decades later. This was as personnel as losing a partner and attending his funeral. I still feel the pain.

Ok, a little background. As you probably know by now, I worked Hollywood Patrol for 33 years of my career. I took pride in my being a LAPD cop and Hollywood being one of the best police divisions. I busted my butt to keep crime down and earn the respect of the citizens who paid my salary.

I also had a lot of fun and many days I couldn’t believe that they were paying me. If you didn’t have fun in this job you were doing it wrong and headed for one of those coats with long sleeves that tied in the back!

The following opinions are mine alone and certainly differ from those of the LAPD Command Staff. I was there. It happened all around me and I didn’t need a blue ribbon panel to tell me how it happened. That is, after it was discovered.

First, let me give you my opinion of the two main players. Jack Myers was a senior officer. I wasn’t fond of Jack and didn’t care for his style of police work. Ron Venegas was a very likable officer and popular among the Morning Watch Officers and Supervisors. Jack and Ron both played softball with the watch in Griffith Park on Sundays mornings. I knew Ron’s wife and kids by name and even attended a Christmas party at Ron’s house.

As I related earlier I was working a Morning Watch Foot Beat when the watch commander told me that they were disbanding the foot beat to make room for a new Burglary Alarm car. It was called the “Code 30” car. They would respond to all burglary alarms, of which in Hollywood there were many. The officers picked were Jack Myers and Ron Venegas. I’m guessing that sometime down the road the LAPD found that decision a major disaster. Venegas and Myers were close friends who both lived in Simi Valley. They worked movie jobs off duty together and I’ll bet they considered themselves good partners!

I was assigned back to my patrol car and my area was Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards with most of the major Hollywood businesses. I began to notice an increase in business burglaries in my area. I was an addict of reading the Daily Occurrence or D/O sheet. The D/O sheet listed all the crimes that occurred the day prior. I paid particular attention to crimes in my area and looked for patterns that might lead to an arrest.

So every day I’d sit in roll call and ignore the Watch Commanders speech on how the brass was going to make my job easier and study the D/O sheet. I raced to every business burglar alarm call in my area. I drove down dark alleys with lights out. Sometimes I’d park and just listen for the sound of breaking glass. I was getting frustrated and my watch commander was wondering what I was doing all night. There has to be a clue that I’m missing!

I once took a report at Lido Cleaners, a dry cleaners, where most of Hollywood Division and I had their uniforms cleaned. They were the victim of a burglary and cash was taken. Ok, this is getting personal.

I don’t know when the burglaries started but I’ll never forget the day they ended. Part 2, I’ll talk about the aftermath of those arrests. Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Partners, part 2 — the good ones

By Hal Collier

In my last Ramblings, I described the bad partners I worked with. Most were probationers and you might think that I didn’t like newbies. Actually, it was just the opposite.

 

St Cloud Police outlook.stcloudstate.edu
St Cloud Police
outlook.stcloudstate.edu

Training a probationer was a lot like watching your own child grow up. You nurse them, teach them, and often laugh at the mistakes they make. Some learned to walk faster than others. Some days you’re frustrated and ready to give up, then you see the light come on in their head and you know they’ll be ok. Think potty training. You coax them along then send them out into the real world hoping for the best. When you really care, you worry.

 

As I have said, I probably trained over 100 probationers and most made it through an entire career, a few resigned in lieu of being fired. There were ones who became your boss. You bragged how you trained them. Thank goodness they didn’t hate me. If I named each good partner I worked with, it would take up pages.

 

What is a good partner? That’s a loaded question! Is it someone you have a lot in common with? Now, I loved partners who had nothing in common with my interests. He/She didn’t like sports, He/She didn’t like hunting, He/She was a Democrat or Republican. Some came from rich families and others lived paycheck to paycheck. And yes, some even had a lot of education.

 

Bill Barren (RIP) was a good partner. He loved Ohio State, I loved USC; he hated the outdoors, I loved camping and fishing; but when we pinned on those badges, we were as close as twins. Dale Hickerson another great partner. We have fished, hunted, and watched each other’s kids grow up. At times, it was as if we were an old married couple. Dave Balleweg another great partner wasn’t into playing sports like I was, but we have remained close even when he moved to Oklahoma. There are dozens more I could name including supervisors but I don’t have enough space.

 

UC Davis Police Department police.ucdavis.edu
UC Davis Police Department police.ucdavis.edu

 

Good supervisors:  I had many and I often tried to copy them when I became a supervisor. So, what does a patrol cop look for in a good supervisor? A supervisor who cares more about his officers than his next promotion; a supervisor who shows up at your call and lets you handle it. They’ll save you from making career ending-decisions. They’ll offer advice when asked but don’t butt in and screw up the situation you had calmed down. I once had a neighbor dispute almost handled. My sergeant showed up and escalated the incident which later found me in civil court on the wrong side of a lawsuit. I won but what a headache.

 

Some of my favorite sergeants, Gil Jones, Terry Seagraves and Roger Jackson would show up stand back and let me handle the incident. They offered advice based on their extensive field experience. These sergeants were more concerned with doing good police work than impressing the chief. Some days, when I was the Watch Commander and I was ready to retire, I would walk into Mike Diaz’ office and close the door. Mike would let me vent, pat me on the back, and then send me back into battle.

 

I had other supervisors who had no field experience; we called them “Building Boys.” Some had trouble finding Hollywood Boulevard even though you could see it from the front door of the police station. I had one brand new sergeant show up at one of my calls and when confronted with a decision, requested another sergeant to decide how to proceed. Jeez.

 

Some partners you just bond with. There’s a chemistry, somewhat like being married. You can finish each other’s sentences, know what he/she is thinking and spend hours together and never be at a loss for words. Craig Bushy knew when his partner, Randy Walker, was losing patience. He would take off his glasses and set them on the hood of the police car. Luckily, when you divorce from these partners, you don’t lose half your pension.

 

A good partner is someone you put your trust in, even more importantly–your life. Often, before going to your family, you confide in a good partner and listen to his/her advice. A good partner is someone who can make you laugh, even when you ready to cry and believe me there are times you’re ready to give it all up. The stress can kill you if you don’t laugh.

 

OB-policemen-0022So, what’s the clue? Hell, I don’t know. But when you spend a few hours together, you’ll know. I had many good partners who I hunted and fished with and a few who (outside of police work) I had nothing in common with. When working with a good partner, you looked forward to going to work. Even if you got all the crap calls that night, you still had fun. You just knew that it was going to be good shift.

 

The good partners let you forget the bad partners and allowed me to spend 35 years on the LAPD. Good partners were gold and made the job fun; I miss the good ones and still have nightmares about the bad ones.

 

FYI more than half the people who I sent this to were considered good partners. Thanks-Hal

[editor’s note: this last paragraph refers to those on Hal’s email list. This is how he first disseminated his Ramblings. You know who you are and you should be proud–Thonie] 

 

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Prostitutes, part 5 of a trilogy

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true to the best of my memory, but then I’m beginning to write my name and address in my underwear. Now, if I would just remember to wear underwear.

 

I never worked Vice or PED (Prostitution Enforcement Detail) but I did spend a lot of time, pissing in the wind, trying to stem the flow of untaxed prostitution.

 

I was working the best job I would ever have on the LAPD.  I was walking a foot beat on Hollywood Boulevard.  I still laugh when some supervisor on a cop show threatens to send a cop back to pounding a foot beat.  Anyway, I’m working a morning watch foot beat assignment on Hollywood Boulevard.  A morning watch foot beat is unheard of in other divisions.  That’s right 11:30 P.M. to 7 A.M.  Anyway, I got a handle on the drag queen problem—they’re all working east of Vine.

 

My lieutenant says “Hal, the whores on Sunset are out of control and Vice can’t work all night. I want your foot beat to go down to Sunset and give them some attention.”  Uh oh, I’m going to need another recipe box.  PED hadn’t been invented and Public Nuisance laws hadn’t been enacted.  Anybody who knows the law, knows that uniformed police officers don’t make arrests for prostitution.  Only a Darwin Award candidate would go up to a uniformed cop

Here is a picture of Jim Tomer, a partner of mine. He was giving a traffic ticket to a soiled dove in Hollywood. Hal
Here is a picture of Jim Tomer, a partner of mine. He was giving a traffic ticket to a soiled dove in Hollywood.
Hal

and offer a sex act for a specific amount of money.  So, all I could do was write them tickets or book them for the tickets that I wrote them and they didn’t pay for. The circle of a Hollywood cop’s life.

 

So, Randy Witkamp, my partner at the time, and I headed down to Sunset.  We began filling up a recipe box with a whole new circle of friends.  Mud Ducks from the East side and the more attractive and expensive girls from the west end.  I knew they were girls, because if you remember, [see post from May 3] I’m a department expert on drag queens.

 

We immediately encountered one girl at Sunset and La Brea.  Her name was Bobbie XXXXXX. I remember her last name but she’s probably a member of some city employees staff and I can’t afford a civil suit.  Bobbie was attractive, smart and only dated regular customers.  Vice had a hard time arresting her. I think she actually graduated from college; her brother went to UCLA and played football.  Any way Bobbie had a bad attitude toward the police and we became her new favorite nemesis.  Randy and I would drive down Sunset, right after stopping at Limelight Liquor for sunflower seeds and cigars.

 

If we saw Bobbie, we would park right in front of her.  Bobbie always paid her tickets so all we could do was put her out of business.   Bobbie once told me she makes a $1,000 a week, tax free.  I was making about a $1,000 a month, before taxes.  So we would sit in our car and Bobbie was put out of work for the night.  Because we didn’t have to respond to radio calls we could sit for an hour at a time.  One night we brought a thermos of coffee, pulled up in front of Bobbie poured ourselves a cup and sat back drinking coffee and eating sunflower seeds.

 

Taxi and prosBobbie said something about a waste of tax payers dollars and jumped into a taxi cab.  She’s not paying taxes so who cares.  We followed her southbound Hollywood Freeway to southbound Harbor Freeway.  The taxi exited at Century Boulevard and so did we.  We got back on the freeway and stopped at PAB and topped off our gas tank.  We got back to Sunset and La Brea just as Bobbie was getting out of the taxi. We made sure that Bobbie didn’t make any money that night.

 

One night we were sitting in front of Bobbie when we heard this car speeding northbound La Brea. It was a van and it sped right through the red light at about 60 mph.  Randy and I looked at each other as another car somewhat slowed and ran through the same red light.  This has to be better than watching Bobbie give us the finger.  We turned northbound and followed the two cars.  They both ran the red light at Hollywood Boulevard and again at Franklin Avenue.  We hear a horrendous crash.  The van was still going about 60 mph when it ran into a block wall where La Brea ends.  I won’t describe the driver’s condition but he died within minutes.  His van crashed into the block wall right in front of the yellow street sign that said “END”  The second car was an off duty cop who saw the van speeding and thought he had just committed a robbery.  The irony is the van driver was drunk and going home to the 1900 block of South La Brea.  He died in the 1900 block of North La Brea.  Right street, just going in the wrong direction.

 

I’m working station security one night.  This white guy pulls up in a pick-up truck.  He shows me an LAPD badge and asks if Sergeant Houchin is the Watch Commander.  I tell him yes and he sprints into the Watch Commander’s office.  I notice the guy is bleeding from his head.  Minutes later, I hear a crime broadcast, murder just occurred at the Sahara Motel on Sunset, suspect is described as a male white in a pick-up truck.  I’m putting 2 and 2 together and this time I come up with that’s the murder suspect.

 

Turns out he’s a Wilshire sergeant who picks up a black prostitute and goes back to her room for that 30 minute nap.  He’s just entered her room when the pimp emerges from the closet and tries to rob the sergeant.  The sergeant takes a couple of hits to his head, pulls out his gun and sends the pimp to the afterlife.  The homicide was ruled justified but the sergeant’s career path hit a major speed bump.

 

The real Farrah Fawcett
The real Farrah Fawcett

Ok, last story on prostitutes, I think.  We’re driving down Sunset early one night and we spot this attractive prostitute, new to us.  We stop her and she informs us we just arrived in Hollywood from Fresno.  She tells us they needed to turn a few tricks for motel money.  I’m no English major but I pick up on we and they.  I ask who’s she with, thinking it might be a pimp.  She tells us her girl friend just got a date before we stopped her.  I ask whats her girlfriend look like?  She tells me she looks just like Farrah Fawcett.  I’m thinking yea, right, they are on the west end where the better looking hookers work, but come, on Farrah Fawcett!

 

We drive around for an hour looking for Farrah, when we see a line of cars trying to pick up a hooker.  Yep, it’s Farrah. Damn if she doesn’t look just like Farrah, even with the famous hair style.  We get in line and it’s surprising how many cars ahead of us give up their spot.  We interview Farrah.  Yea, she got the looks but three words out of her mouth and you can see why she is a prostitute.  She couldn’t make change for a dime.  I swear my Lab has a higher IQ.

 

I’m not going into stories about the following but these are locations which catered to male prostitutes.  Most of my retired cop friends who worked around Hollywood could tell you stories that will amaze you.  Non-cops will find them unbelievable.

 

Ferndale #4–A men’s bathroom at the end of Ferndale Park.

 

Barnsdale Park–During the day a world class art gallery and Hollyhock House, after dark dozen of men running around looking for someone to share that 30 minute nap.

 

La Jolla and Waring–Nice neighborhood in the daytime, men having sex on your front porch at night.

 

I didn’t like working the prostitutes and equated it with standing Station Security.  Very little return for your effort.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings Prostitutes, part 4

By Hal Collier

The fourth part of a planned trilogy.

 

If you missed the first 3 parts, e-mail me and I’ll send them to you free of charge.  Of course I live in California so I’ll have to charge you a tax of $12.96.

 

My last Ramblings talked about how to identify a drag queen. Now I’m going to tell you how I became a Department expert in a field so disgusting.  My background: I worked A.M. (graveyard) watch for the first fourteen years of my career on the LAPD.  The hours were roughly 11:30 P.M. to 7:30 A.M.  During those hours the prostitutes come out from under which ever rock they dwell.  It started out innocent enough.  I took a couple of reports when men dressed as women robbed their customers.  The suspect usually gave a first name to their new-found love.  Usually Steven was changed to Stephanie, Robert to Roberta etc. and there were always an abundance of Bambi’s, well, you get the picture.  After a number of reports where Roberta robbed Paul to pay Peter the pimp, I thought that Roberta was driving up Hollywood’s crime stats.  All I needed to do was ID and arrest Roberta. KISS—”keep it simple stupid.”

 

green recipe boxI began stopping drag queens who matched Roberta’s description. I filled out a field interview (FI) card and if possible took a picture.  After collecting a few dozen FI cards I needed something to store them in.  My wife bought me a green plastic receipt box.  It was the perfect size and became known as the “The Green Box.”  A few officers called it the “Drowning Rat File.”

 

Soon the “The Green Box” became two boxes, A thru L was the Green Box an M thru Z was a tan box.  Whenever possible, the suspects were taken to the station where we had a strip mug photo machine.  Just like you had at the carnival, four pictures for a buck.  The “Green Box” became popular not only among officers but the drag queens themselves.  If an officer was looking for a particular he/she, he would look thru the “Green Box.”  The drag queens wanted to see if we had a good picture of them. One even offered to go to the station for a better picture.  The Green Box evolved into two I-Card books.  Each individual had it’s own card with all it’s alias’s, DOB’s (date of birth), criminal arrest numbers and a small picture.  Once a homicide detective used my Green Box to ID a murder suspect.

 

I was the keeper of the Green Box or the drowning rat file books.  I guarded them with your tax dollars.  The information contained hundreds of hours of computer time as well as a who’s who in the drag queen hall of fame.  I once used the Green Box as a Christmas list.  I checked the current Hollywood drag queens for warrants.  I used the wanted queens as a shopping list.  Two days before Christmas I arrested and booked the “Ladies” who caused the most crime.  It was my present to Hollywood Officers who might otherwise have to take crime reports with drag queens as suspects.

 

Some of my non-police friends might wonder why I spent so much time and tax dollars on drag queens.  It was because of RD’s (Reporting Districts) and crime stats.  Each police car is assigned an area which is broken down into RD’s.  The officers assigned to an area are somewhat responsible for the crimes in their area on their watch.  Sometimes the Watch Commander (W/C) would say “Collier, why is your area leading the division in robberies?”  I’d say, “It’s the prostitutes, they’re robbing their customers.”  Wrong answer! The watch commander would counter, “Collier, what are you doing about it?”  Do you still believe it’s a victimless crime? My robbery statistics and watch commander didn’t say so.

 

My W/C said I had to do something, so I figured I would move two hundred drag queens out of my area and give my problem to the bordering car’s area. My area was Hollywood Boulevard from Highland to Vine, Franklin to Fountain.  I couldn’t drive them west, that’s where the Chinese Theater was.  Unwritten rule, no prostitution around the tourist attractions.  I’ll just get them to go east of Vine St.

 

I started telling the queens who frequented my area that if they worked east of Vine I wouldn’t harass them, I mean give them selective enforcement.  I even wrote up an east of Vine pass.  About a dozen of them started working east of Vine.  I would stop by and compliment them on their nice clothes and make-up.  I didn’t write them any tickets or check them for warrants.  My crime statistics dropped, and crime went up east of Vine.  Other officers started giving out RD (reporting districts) maps detailing which areas they could ply their trade.

 

From Hal's own library
From Hal’s own library

Some officers become department experts in narcotic sales and identification.  Me, I became an expert in drag queen recognition.  It started out one night when my partner and I saw this guy trolling for a drag queens.  We ran his license plate and it returned to a John XXXXX, legal owner, LAPD Credit Union. Oh, oh, my partner recognized the name as a classmate who was now working Rampart Division.  We looked at the driver and sure enough it was an off duty cop. After notifying a supervisor we kept an eye out for the cop.  A month later a Hollywood sergeant stopped the cop with a queen in his car.  He resigned but later requested a trial with a police review board.  That’s where I testified as an expert on the recognition of men dressed as women.  This was in the 70’s and cops supporting the oldest profession was a no no.

 

Last entry on drag queens and a kind of funny.  This is the very early 70’s and we stopped this young, I want to be a lady at a bus stop.  It was about dawn and the normal citizens were coming out and heading to work.  After a consent for drug search the queen took off his blouse and then took the dirty socks from his bra.  He removed his bra and shoes and placed them on the hood of our police car.  I noticed this little old lady sitting on the bus bench.  She was watching us and had a “Oh, my God look on her face.”  I walked over to her and advised her that it was a man, a prostitute and a drug abuser.

 

LOL waiting for busShe thanked us for protecting society and got on her bus.

Hal

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Ramblings by Hal

Rookie Mistakes by the Brass

By Hal Collier

The following story is true, the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.  Rookie mistakes are not all made by new police officers.  Some of the biggest police blunders are made by senior sergeants, lieutenants, and captains.  Often they make these blunders because they haven’t worked in the field in years.  We call them “building boys”.  To my non-police friends, building boys work non-patrol assignments to further their careers.  I don’t fault them for their ambition to promote as long as they listen to those who have spent their time in the field.  As usual I’ll only use first names to protect their identity.   I’ve found most of my cop friends are willing to pay me to learn their real names.  Nothing like a little dirt on a supervisor to get your requests granted.  No coins this time guys.

 

Cash
Cash

We had a lieutenant–Phil, nice guy but a building boy.  LAPD policy dictates when you bring in an arrestee who has a large amount of cash, a supervisor has to do a money count.  This cuts down on complaints that the officer stole money.  Ok, the officer brings in the cash and asks the supervisor to count it.  The supervisor counts the money and initials a money envelope.  So this “building” lieutenant takes the cash out of the envelope, all bills and begins counting.  He licks his finger after every few bills to separate them.  After a few seconds of this, he asks the arresting officer who he arrested.  The officer stated he arrested a female prostitute in rather skimpy clothes. The lieutenant licks his finger again and asks the officer where she had the money.  The officer says, without missing a beat, she held it her love vault.  OK, if you need a further, more graphic description of a love vault, you need to get out more.  This same lieutenant bought some ocean view property in Hawaii, sight unseen.  Problem was no roads, electricity, and water, none planned for twenty years, but it had a nice view.

 

Couldn't find the Wrigley's ad Hal talks about.
Couldn’t find the Wrigley’s ad Hal talks about.

The second supervisor was again a nice guy, not a building guy. Hell, he’d get lost in a building with more than one story.  He sits in the Watch Commander’s office with the narcotics scale and weigh things.  I walked in one night and he asked for my badge.  He wanted to know if a sergeant’s badge weighed more than a policeman’s badge.  Duh.  He also weighed a pack of Wrigley’s gum.  At the time, there was a commercial on TV with a person walking around with a pack of gum under his arm.  This sergeant calculated that the pack of gum would be too heavy to carry.  Your tax dollars at work.  He was a sailor.  Always talking about sailing and buying a bigger boat.  His wife was a home decorator who made a good salary. They bought a home in the marina with a boat slip, closed escrow, and then found out their boat was too big for their boat slip.

 

The third rookie mistake is all mine.  I’m driving and responding to domestic violence radio call.  I drive to the location and park two houses away. That’s an officer safety tactic so you don’t get ambushed.  See, I’m cool and thinking.  We approach and hear arguing coming from the house.  We deploy, which means taking cover in case someone comes out shooting.  We knock and yes, there’s a family dispute in progress.  They really look surprised to see us and ask who called.  We never tell them.  We separate the parties and determine there is no crime.  We offer our expert advice and tell them we don’t want to return or someone will go to jail.  That always scares the shit out of them.  Yea, right.

 

We get in the car and I’m telling my probationer, John, “See, that’s how you handle these domestic calls.”   I drive to the end of the block and look at the street sign.  I’m on the wrong block, just like the song, “Silhouettes on the Shade”.  I drive to the next block and the right address.  Guess what–a domestic dispute.  Again, we handle a domestic dispute.  This time, I didn’t offer any advice to my probationer.  John didn’t make any comments which might have been the reason he made it off probation.

 

Practical Joke

 

I worked with a Viet Nam Veteran, a quiet unassuming guy.  He did his job and never talked about his war experiences.  If you spend 8 hours in a police car with someone you get to know the person. That’s why police officers are so close and protective of each other.  We found out that we both grew up in Eagle Rock and played in the same Little League.  I later found out that he was awarded the Silver Star for heroism. One day, were driving around and he says to me, “Hal, lets catch us a pigeon.”  I’m thinking, why? They’re flying rats, and my previous experiences with pigeons was not fond.  He tells me that pigeons are blind at night and you can catch them easy.  I remind him we’re working day watch and I don’t want some busy body citizen calling the Watch Commander, complaining about two policemen chasing pigeons.  I was the senior officer so I won the argument. At least that’s what I thought.

 

The next day, this mild-mannered officer was working with someone else.  I’m driving into the station as he’s leaving.  We smile and wave.  I go into the station for about 30 minutes.  When I come out to my police car I have 4 pigeons inside.  Not only are they on my head rest, front seat and MDT (that’s the computer in police cars), they have all relieved themselves numerous times.  Lesson learned, don’t ever trust the quiet guy.

 

This same quiet officer, had a habit of tying a fishing line to the inside police car door handle and to the siren switch.  When the unsuspecting officer opened his car door the siren would wail and the officer would relieve himself in the parking lot.  This officer later went to the Bomb Squad.

 

Your tax dollars at work.

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Females part 3: Why I Liked Working with Females

by Hal Collier

 

This is the final installment of my Ramblings involving female officers.  I wrote all three Female Ramblings before e-mailing the first out.  That was in case someone tried to talk me out of writing more.

 

LAPD officers
LAPD officers

Like most dinosaurs of the LAPD, I had my reservations about working with a female officer. Sure they were good to look at and they smelled nice but would they help me kick some doped-up speed freak’s ass?  After all, cops depend on their partners to back each other up.  Some of the females were only 5′ tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds.

 

As I mentioned, I worked with the first female patrol cop assigned to Hollywood.  It was a good experience and we got along fine.  A short time later, I was assigned another female officer.  No problem, they knew their job and didn’t shy away from a fight.  I seemed to get assigned every new female officer that came to Morning watch. 

 

This displeased my wife very much.  I lied when I told her they weren’t very attractive and she didn’t need to worry, after all I was a professional police officer and a model husband. Yeah, right.

 

Once, before direct deposit, my wife accompanied me to the station to pick up my pay check.  She stays in the car as I run into the station.  As I’m coming out the back door I run into Linda, one of my female partners.  She is returning from court and has on a black dress and her long blond hair is down.  Now I have never seen Linda with her hair down, but wow!  Linda was a body builder and in that tight-fitting dress, she was very attractive.  My wife asks me is that the captain’s secretary?  Like the dumb ass that I am, I say, “no, that’s Linda, my partner.”  I would tell you the ride home was quiet but the fact is it wasn’t and I didn’t say much.  My wife knew that a lot of male officers left their wives and kids for a younger female partner.  I know of a captain who has 3 ex-wives, all cops (names available for a cashier’s check or a new deep sea fishing rod). 

 

There was a good reason why I was assigned a lot of female partners. One, I had the patience of an oyster, two, I was trusted not to date my probationers.  I was more afraid of the Watch Commander at home than the one at the station. 

 

We had some officers who were never assigned a female probationer, or at least a second time.  Example:  Bobby Cxxxxxxxd, you fill in the missing letters.   He was assigned a young attractive, unmarried, female officer.  He spent half the night telling her not to date any cops until she got off probation.  He went on to warn her that she would be asked out after work because she was single and attractive.  After work, Bobby asked her out for a drink.  Bobby was never assigned to work with a female probationer again.  I believe Bobby had 3 ex-wives. Duh.

 

I once was asked by a female partner why I didn’t stare at women like the other male cops she had worked with.  I told her, “I stare, I just don’t make it obvious.”  I’ve been married for a long time and I wanted to keep it that way.

 

As I said at the beginning of this Ramblings series, I was a training officer for 21 years.  During that time I learned that it was easier to talk suspects into jail than fight them and ruin a good uniform.  Now, a lot of young cops are macho and have to prove themselves.

 

Females were more persuasive.  I saw many a suspect that would fight me but not a female.  I once had a large drug addict that told me he wasn’t going to jail.  I’m taking off my watch, removing my pen and pencil and getting ready for another big fight.  These are items that get broken or tear uniforms in a fight.

 

My partner, Bambie, (her real name) says to me, “let me talk to him.”  In a calm, non-threatening voice she convinced this drug-crazed dumb ass to submit to arrest.  I might get another day out of this uniform yet, but where the hell did I put my watch?

 

 

American female officer photo by copshop dot.com
American female officer photo by copshop dot.com

I actually liked working with female officers as long as they came to work, were ready to work, didn’t throw up at decaying dead bodies, as some of the men did, and didn’t want to exchange recipes.  I did have a few problems during the transition period.  The transition period was for both of us.  The females had to learn that police work is not pretty and I had to learn that you treat them just like everyone else. 

 

The biggest conflict I had was that my mother taught me to always be a gentlemen. Tip your hat, stand when a lady enters the room, open or hold the door for a lady.  That last one caused me the most conflict.  We’d handle a radio call at an apartment building and upon leaving I couldn’t stand walking through the door ahead of a women.  One female officer challenged me not to treat her as a women.  I told her, “It’s in case there’s a sniper outside, you’ll take the first shot.”  That knocked her down a peg or two.  That line worked for years.  Most of my partners laughed. Yea, I still open the car door for my wife.

 

I had a partner who I was bringing along during her probation.  We took a Burglary from Motor Vehicle report where the witness gave us a suspect description and we searched the area.  A 1/4 mile away my partner, screams “there he is”, waking up sleeping birds.  I was surprised the suspect didn’t take off running.  He might have been as shocked as I was. 

 

One of the worst radio calls a man can handle is a rape investigation.  Imagine a female’s worst nightmare and two burly men show up and want to ask you all these personal questions.  Some victims referred it to being violated a second time.  I’ll be the first to admit that some male officers were less than sympatric.  Female officers were more understanding and able to get the necessary vital information for a complete investigation.  I once got a call to take a rape report at Central Division.  My partner got a commendation and I got a cup of coffee from a machine at Parker Center.

 

Another transition working with females was they were like your mother.  They didn’t want to eat at Pink’s, or Astro-Burger.  They wanted to eat healthy and they wanted you to, also.  The good old boys club has become the little boys club.  I started eating salads every day, and using less dressing.  I had one partner who would save some of her meal for stray animals.  We would then drive around and look for hungry dogs or cats.  Once we spotted a kitten with a potato chip bag stuck on its head.  Picture this, two of LAPD’s finest chasing this cat around the streets of Hollywood. It probably looked like one of those funniest home videos.

 

Female police officers Venice Beach, July 12, 2012 photo by flickr.com
Female police officers Venice Beach, July 12, 2012
photo by flickr.com

This was the day when I knew that the Good Old Boys club was dead:  I’m the Watch Commander. My Assistant Watch Commander, Storm Officer, and ACC (computer) operator are all females.  Most men would think this is heaven, surrounded by these young, attractive and vibrant females.  Well, I’m deep in paperwork, when I over hear the hub of the command center discussing how long it takes to recover from a breast enhancement and how dilated they were when they gave birth.  Yea, the good old days were gone forever.

 

Now, before I get a hundred angry e-mails, from both sexes, I enjoyed working with females.  Some taught me more than I taught them.  I sometimes found their approach to police work refreshing and other times frustrating, either way it was fun.  My only complaint was when a women got a promotion over a man because of affirmative action or quotas, even though she had half the experience.  Send all comments with a cash payment, no stimulus checks.   OK, fire away.           Hal

 

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Ramblings by Hal

Ramblings: Females, Part 2–On Patrol

By Hal Collier

The following stories are true and again are only my opinions.  I’m sure that other officers of both sexes have different views of female officers in the LAPD.  I welcome hearing from anyone.

In the early 70’s, most people didn’t think women should or could be police officers.  Even Chief of Police Edward M. Davis was against women working patrol.  I worked with a lot of females throughout my career and they had a lot of different reasons for joining and diverse backgrounds.

Here are a few.

One female officer said she was looking for a husband, cops have a good steady job, they’re clean, (disease free) and they’re in good shape.  Another said she was an interior decorator in Texas and came to California for work. She found out that everyone in California was an interior decorator, so she applied to be a cop.  She was the one who thought we carried dynamite (road flares) in the trunks of our police cars.

I worked with one female who drove an expensive BMW and had expensive clothes.  In her previous job, she made double my salary, so I asked her why work for LAPD?  She said the money was nice but her job was boring.  She was looking for some excitement.  She found it on the LAPD.  Quite a few said it was the only job they could find with benefits.  We had one female probationer who arrived at work each morning, dressed like she just slid off the pole at a strip club.  She was not retained when it was discovered she was dating both her male training officers at the same time.  A few slept their way through probation and promotions.

LAPD women
LAPD women

I was a training officer for over twenty-one years and worked with a lot of probationers or “rookies,” as some called them.  As I stated in my first Ramblings, I worked morning watch with one of the first female police officers.  My wife didn’t like that I was working with a female, alone all night.  I discovered that my wife was not the Watch Commander at work, only at home.

The first thing I noticed was that on almost every call you had a back-up unit.  As I stated, we were a good old boys club and most men didn’t think females could do the job.  Some of the officers were there to save my butt, if need be, and others were there hoping the female would fail.

I’ll never forget my first fight with a female partner.  It’s Christmas Eve and we get a domestic dispute radio call.  Two brothers, drunk, get into an argument and one punches the other in the nose, breaking it.  The brother with the broken nose wants his brother arrested for battery.  No problem, right? A simple citizen arrest and report.  We might even get off on time.

We handcuff the brother and put him in our police car.  I’m driving, of course, and sitting in the police car.  My female partner is in the back seat with the drunk brother.  Just as I’m about to drive away the brothers’ mother comes running out and says, “You’re not arresting my son on Christmas Eve.”  She reaches in the driver’s window and grabs me by the neck.  I open the car door and knock the mother to the ground.  She’s about 110 pounds and I later learn, a 60 year old grammar school teacher.  I step out and she jumps up and attacks me.  I grab her arm and spin her around in a rear wrist lock.  I hear a familiar snap. Oh shit, I just broke her arm.

This can’t get any worse right, wrong.  The son, handcuffed in the back seat screams, “What are you doing to my mother?”  My partner comes to assist me in handcuffing the now one armed school teacher.  The son begins kicking the door window of our police car.  My partner subdues him with a few punches to the ribs.  Everyone goes to jail for Christmas except the son with the broken nose.

There were changes to be made and it wasn’t going to be the women who changed.  Think of it as a marriage, who changes?  First, the men had to stop swearing in roll call, although some of the females swore like a sailor.  Next, no more blond jokes or for that matter all female gender jokes were banned.  No more jokes on how many female officers does it take to screw up a crime scene.

LAPD officers
LAPD officers

Women as a rule were of smaller stature, which presented a whole new set of issues.  Some of the shorter women couldn’t close the police car trunk from the back bumper.  They had to step to the side fender where they could reach the trunk lid.  In the 70’s, all the police cars had bench seats.  Go ahead—let your 5 foot 3 inch partner drive and spend the night with your knees in the dash for eight hours.

I’m going to leave you with one more female cop story.  I’m not working with a female this night and a “robbery just occurred” call comes out.   A female officer arrives and puts out a crime broadcast.  She describes the suspect, male white, 6-0, 180 pounds last seen westbound Sunset in a fuchsia colored Ford.  It might have been the interior decorator.  I look at my male partner and ask what the hell color is fuchsia.    Most of us good old boys never graduated past the primary colors, you know the ones that make up a rainbow.  After 35 years as a big city cop, I still don’t know what color fuchsia is.

Next Ramblings, why I liked working with female partners.     Hal