Code Tom - 76th and Figueroa

I recalled an incident today that occurred in the mid to late '80s that was sort of interesting. Let's see if I can recall enough to make it worth reading.

One warm and sunny day, I was northbound on the Harbor Freeway in south Los Angeles, assigned to South Traffic Division as a motorcycle officer and working by myself. It was sometimes difficult to hear the police radio when riding a motorcycle, especially at higher freeway speeds, but I heard the words "... Code Tom at 76th and Figueroa..." come over the air.

A Code Tom is a taser... and it usually means a violent confrontation is pending or already occurring. I was approaching the Florence Avenue offramp and since 76th Street is the first street at the bottom of the off ramp, and Figueroa was one very short block west of the Harbor Freeway, I exited to see if I could help. Because of my proximity at the time of the call, I arrived about twenty seconds after I heard the broadcast and was the first arriving additional unit.

At the time, there was a vacant parking lot at the southeast corner of the intersection. A rather violent traffic collision had occurred and two female 77th Street Patrol Officers had been passing by and stopped to take action. They had the male black driver standing in this parking lot with his legs spread and his hands behind his head. He was a pretty fair sized guy (6-2, 180ish) and not an ounce of fat on him. One of the officers was a P-3 (two stripes) Training Officer. The other was a probationer that somehow got hired despite the Department's minimum height requirement (five feet). If she was five feet tall it was just barely. It's hard to tell from 6'7".

The P-3 had a Taser pointed at the guy's stomach (he was wearing only a pair of levis. No shirt and no shoes or sox (in other words obviously not armed). Things were sort of stable.

I honestly didn't know what to do because I felt like I had to concern myself with the female mind. In other words, if I jump in and help do they get offended because they believe I think they can't handle the situation? I decided to walk up to a tactically advantageous position and wait for the P-3 to give some direction. So I walked up and waited, and waited, but it was like I wasn't there. These girls were badly scared.

They decided they wanted to search the guy for weapons (I don't know where he would have had a weapon but the book says search so, by golly, we're going to search). The next thing for them to decide was what type of search. The possibilities include suspect standing or kneeling (usually done for non-violent, misdemeanor suspects), or prone (laying flat on his stomach with everything spread) which is done with more serious criminal offenders.

Training at that time called for the search to take place BEFORE handcuffing so that the suspect won't have access to a weapon while he is being handcuffed. Personally, I always preferred handcuffing ASAP and THEN searching because I can get handcuffs on a suspect before he has time to think about what's happening. THEN I tell him he's under arrest (in case he hasn't already figured it out) and do a more thorough search.

The two ladies discussed the problem for quite awhile before deciding on a kneeling search. They still hadn't acknowledged my presence. Well, the P-3 was a blond caucasian woman in pretty decent shape and the barely five foot probationer was a cute little hispanic girl. This guy's cultural background was not going to agree with letting these women make him kneel in front of them. And the fun begins. They ordered him to his knees and he ignored them. They did it again several times, threatened to taser him, and threatened other actions but he continued to ignore them.

I finally stepped closer and asked if they wanted some assistance. I don't recall their response, but we finally got him handcuffed without resistance (he never went to his knees).

I asked the P-3, "By the way. What is this guy under arrest for?" She says, "I think he is on PCP." I was, at the time, a court qualified Drug Recognition Expert, and had not observed any symptoms of intoxication at all with this suspect, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn't know what the officers might have already determined prior to my arrival. So I said, "Why don't we go ahead and put him in your police car?" I guess that seemed like a good idea because they walked him over to the police car.

One of the officers opened the back door and told the suspect to sit down. He ignored them. They tried to push him into the car and he refused to go. The probationary officer took her baton out and started jabbing him in the stomach in an attempt to get him into the car (not allowed, by the way). The force of her baton jabs might not have been felt by this guy because they were soooo weak.

I went to the other side of the police car and, using a tactic that apparently isn't in the book, opened the opposite back door, reached through, grabbed the guy's handcuffed wrists and pulled him into the car.

But here is the best part: The little five-foot probationer, trying to seatbelt this guy in for the approximately 350 yard drive to 77th Street Station, leaned across him to put the seat belt in on his other side. He lifts his head up and gives here a nice, gentle and affectionate nibble on one of her breasts.

Boy was she angry (and embarassed). I think that's the only time I have seen a Hispanic turn obviously red. She pulled her baton out again and this time I though she might actually hurt the guy, so I reached in again, fastened the seat belt for her and told her to calm down. It's all over.

The little probationer went on to become a Lieutenant and was my boss (Watch Commander) at West Traffic Division a few years later when I was a Motor Sergeant there. Nice lady. And we shared a few laughs over that whole "Learning Situation" (as we decided to call it).

FOR SALE - 25 Years of Blood, Sweat, Tears and Love

We bought this place in October 1983. Nearly 25 years later, if we can sell it, we are moving on. This house has actually been very good to us. This is the place our boys have called home for most of their lives. Adam, our youngest, was four years old.

We worked hard to polish the place up. Some people wonder why, but the real estate market is such that we wanted to give ourselves every edge. I have taken a few pictures to display here, and there are twenty or so more plus a virtual tour on realtor.com (MLS Number P636302). Of course, if it doesn't sell, we'll just have to stay awhile. Either way, I'm retiring on August 30, 2008, and that's a good thing no matter what.