By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
In May of 2016 when Thonie agreed to give my tales a chance I realized that with a fading memory it would be best to create a list of story ideas as they would occur to me. My handwriting has deteriorated so over the years that when I went to examine the list I got one of three results.
1) I think that will make a good story
2) What the hell was I thinking ?
3) What the devil is “finat whreps snangle”?
Moving my list to the computer helped along with using complete words.
Here then are two completely unconnected events in the life and times of Ed Meckle.
Working vice was a real blast. Plain clothes after time in uniform was a little strange but good partners along with a fun assignment made coming to work a pleasure. As the newest guy on the detail I got all the “interesting” jobs, like going through bedroom windows in the middle of the night.
Assigned primarily to gambling enforcement meant arresting “illegal gamblers.” Finding the games was easy. We had a list of regular locations and tips were plentiful. Games usually held in private homes, were so noisy they could be heard a block away. One of us (me) would gain quiet entry to the house and open the door for my partners.
On this occasion I was in plain clothes, going through a back-bedroom window about six feet off the ground. The hour was late and the light in the room was very dim. They boosted me up and as I went through I lost my balance. I fell about 2-3 feet landing on a bed on top of a sleeping male.
Now stop for a moment and think what your reaction would be under these circumstances. I know mine but that’s not what I got.
Sitting bolt upright, he said, “DAMN OFFICER, YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH.”
~~
I have tried to be as circumspect as possible with what follows out of respect for any female readers.
BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS…
I was working Metro with my regular partner Frank Isbell and we were in uniform in a black and white, assigned to some daytime detail or another in Hollywood.
We were east bound on Hollywood Boulevard crossing Cahuenga. Frank was driving. On the southeast corner was a bus bench occupied by three people with another half dozen standing behind them.
The center person on the bench was a twenties something male with a bouncing newspaper on his lap, head back and eyes closed.
I said, “Bus bench.”
Frank replied, “Got it.”
Three right turns brought us north on Cahuenga to Hollywood. We parked, approaching on foot. Paper was still bouncing, and he still was unaware of our presence.
One of us removed the newspaper. Here goes—he was having carnal knowledge of a cantaloupe. {honest, that’s the best I could do, people}
At the station, we had to admit we don’t have a victim, so he goes to jail for traffic warrants.
I can just hear Hal saying, “OK, so what did he do wrong? This is after all Hollywood!”
2 replies on “The Call Box: Two Short But True Stories”
Second story reminded me of a time way back when I was a high school kid riding the streetcar–spotted a friend so stood to talk to her, her seatmate had a strange looking sausage of some sort in his hands–well–when I realized what it was a ran to the conductor to tell–and the man was right behind me, gave me a dirty look and got off the streetcar.
I had a similar experience with a guy in a car. It was raining and I broke my umbrella over his windshield. Alas, no action could be taken even though I got his license plate because I couldn’t identify the guy’s face. Now if they’d had another kind of “line-up” I might have been able to!