To Hear "Car 54", Wait a few minutes after page opens to let the file load. Then click on Right Controls to Play.(otherwise it'll break up as it is not "streaming" audio.) I am working on a way to preload it as it is a large file.
This area will be for your stories. Keep 'em fairly clean, no personal "attacks" and lets keep the gruesome stuff to ourselves.
Send Us Your Favorites And We'll Be Sure To Share.
I moved the opinion piece below here, as sort of a disclaimer, it's not our fault we find humor in other peoples misery.
"Cop Humor ?"
I'd like to share with you all my theories on "Cop Humor" and how I view it as a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Prior to Vietnam we didn't know there was such a thing as PTSD, returning veterans were simply referred to as suffering from "Shellshock". It's a reactionary device to allow persons who routinely deal with death and stress to function daily in their duties. That's why, I feel, most of us share this warped attitude, with ER Nurses, Doctors, Firemen, Paramedics, Dispatchers etc.
It's obviously been around forever, called variously as "Trench Humor", "Gallows Humor", "Jailhouse Humor" (a slightly different variety) but usually sharing the same general attitudes.
So in a nation and society rapidly becoming a caste system of various victims, using my theory, we can now proudly say, "It's not my fault! I'm a victim of Cop Humor. I'm not really warped, these voices in my head make me smile at the wrong times."
I think we should start a movement to get compensation from the government since as a new class of victims, we have obviously been ostracized from society and suffered immeasureable anxiety due to our affliction.
A class action lawsuit against Dunkin' Donuts is also on my agenda if this idiot suing McDonald's is successful. We may even be able to seek compensation under the new terrorist guidelines, as these foreign nationals are knowingly giving away free, health damaging substances to our Homeland Security, first line defenders.
So keeping my theory in mind, please don't be offended if an occasional reference to a tragic situation shows up as a "knee slapper".
It's Not My Fault!
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Title or Topic |
Submitted By
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76
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Fred Bolin
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75
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Withheld
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74
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Bud Rappe
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73
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Fred Bolin
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72
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Mike Healy
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71
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Mike Healy
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70
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Fred Bolin
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69
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Bud Rappe
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68
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Bud Rappe
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67
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Bud Rappe
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66
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Fred Bolin
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65
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Bud Rappe
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64
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Bud Rappe
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63
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Ron Baran
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62
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Bud Rappe
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61
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Fred Bolin
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60
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Fred Bolin
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59
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Bud Rappe
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58
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Bud Rappe
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57
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Bud Rappe
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56
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Stan Schultz
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55
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Fred Bolin
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54
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Al Fournier
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53
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Fred Bolin
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52
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Mort Podolsky
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51
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Fred Bolin
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50
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Fred Bolin
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49
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Ron Baran
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48
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Jim McGuire
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47
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Ron Baran
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46
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Dick Oldenburg
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45
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Dick Oldenburg
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44
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Ron Baran
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43
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Fred Bolin
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42
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Dick Oldenburg
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41
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Dick Oldenburg
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40
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Dick Oldenburg
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39
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Dick Oldenburg
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38
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Dick Oldenburg
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37
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Fred Bolin
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36
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Fred Bolin
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35
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Fred Bolin
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34
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Fred Bolin
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33
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Fred Bolin
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32
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Fred Bolin
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31
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Ron Baran
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30
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Ron Baran
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29
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Ron Baran
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28
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Fred Bolin
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27
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Ron Baran
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26
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Fred Bolin
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25
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Fred Bolin & Frank Nierman
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24
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Helen Albrecht
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23
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Fred Bolin
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22
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Fred Bolin
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21
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Fred Bolin
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20
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Ron Baran
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19
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Ron Baran
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18
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Ron Baran
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17
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Ron Baran
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16
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Don Satiro
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15
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Jim Hart
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14
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Fred Bolin
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13
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Fred Bolin
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12
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Mike Manahan
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11
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"Passing Gas" Part II w/ Corrections
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Dick Oldenburg
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10
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Fred Bolin
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9
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Ron Baran
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8
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Fred Bolin
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7
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Fred Bolin
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6
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Stan Schultz
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5
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Stan Schultz
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4
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Fred Bolin
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3
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Fred Bolin
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2
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Stan Schultz
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1
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Fred Bolin
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A Gratifying Non-Arrest Halloween Story.
Sometime in the mid to late 70's I was working the midnight shift. While on patrol I came across the garden center which was formerly on the S/E corner of Dempster & Crawford and observed 5 LARGE people carrying away pumpkins. I hit the lights and they ran every which way, dropping the pumpkins as they fled, all but one. He huffed and puffed and tried to out run the squad S/B in the 8700 block of Crawford's east alley.
About half way down the block I could see he was tiring out, but he didn't want to drop the prize 45 pound pilfered pumpkin, pooped or not. Remembering my vow to NEVER get into a foot chase I got on the P.A. and announced “Why don't you just stop and quit making an ass of yourself!” and to my surprise, he did.
I piled my profusely perspiring and panting profligate politely into the patrol car and proceeded back to the “scene of the crime” where I again used the PA to pronounce a peaceful proclamation to the still at large pumpkin plunderers that surrender was in their best interest and to please parade back to the pumpkin patch.
Slowly, they all returned from their hiding places, paled by the perception of police persona causing a perplexing resolution to their gambit. In interviewing the perpetrators it was discovered that they were all offensive linemen for the perpetually purple clad Yea! Rah! college team of Northwestern University in pleasantly peaceful Evanston. Gathering their ID's, I let them go with this caveat, “Perhaps you are wondering why I am so willing to pardon the purloining of pumpkins you men have committed this evening. Well gentlemen, I can only say that sometime this week, you will have a surprise. An unusual event will occur which will affect each of you. When it happens, you will immediately know that the punishment purveyed to you is compliments of police Patrolman Fred Bolin, and I am not a prevaricator.”
The next morning, I called my new next door neighbor (I no longer recall his name.) He had recently moved into the area after being hired as offensive line coach by I believe, Dennis Green, the then new head football coach at Northwestern. I told him the story and he, being a bit of a mischief maker himself told me he had the perfect solution. He called me a few days later, giggling like a school girl after her first kiss to tell the “rest of the story”.
“Fred,” he said, “It was awesome, they never saw it coming. We always close practice with wind sprints but before they were dismissed to shower I called them all up to the front of the entire team.”
“I have some information that these men have gone a step further to improve their conditioning gentlemen, and have taken to doing some extra curricular training, albeit at 2:00 in the morning. So I have called them up here to demonstrate their new technique.”
“I had five pumpkins under the trainers table and sent them to retrieve one each. They then had to run another 20 minutes carrying the pumpkins in their 40 yard wind sprints. You were called some amazing names my friend, but they were totally befuddled at how I found out. Let me know if I can help again. It was fun!”
That was far more satisfying than doing three hours of paperwork.
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| People Asked About Him When I was at the last picnic a few people asked me
about 'him'. Recently in the last newsletter someone
wanted to know if anyone knew of his whereabouts.
After some soul searching I decided to dredge up some
of those memories. Its hard to put things in
perspective after 40 years but as my memory fades,
somewhat, I will try only because you have the right
to know. You are part of this story whether you want
to be or not. As with any historical event its not
important who tells the story, only that it gets told.
So I will ask this site keeper to withold my name out
of respect for "him" and his family. Railroad men
have tales about rounding the Shelbyville curve doing
60. Machinists talk about the first time they used
the Munson 680. This is our story. This is who we
were. This is what we did.
Everybody knew we were buds, we rode motorcycles
together, went fishing on our days off, lived
relatively close to each other. Our families hung out
together. I guess it was natural for them to think I
knew what he was up to nowadays. I only know some of
the details that led up to his moving-on. I don't
know much about after he left. Last I saw he was
remarried, had a good job he was happy with and the
kids were doing ok. It aint a pretty story, but its
part of our history. If you are not into history,
then don't read this, skip to the joke book section of
this site. No happy endings here, but he was one of
us and his story deserves to be told. A great cop, a
hard worker, each day he could make anyone of us laugh
no matter how low we were. Always had a joke or
anecdote to fit any situation. He was the only guy
Ernie would allow to get away with telling a joke
during rollcall. The worst thing I ever heard him say
about someone was that he was a 'giblet'. We, who are
happily retired, generally received the blessings of
the community we served and have been enriched by that
service. Our families are proud of us. We all had
nice retirement parties and we go to the picnics every
so often. A few of us, however, never reached that
goal. Some careers ended with a shootout at Muskets
or the swift lot. Others ended with a squad crash at
Main and Skokie or Oakton and Niles There were many
and assorted endings none of which could be
anticipated. His career ended in Emily Park, in the
floodlit darkness that will never be erased from the
memories of those of us who were there. He was one of
us and I hope my recollections do him and his loved
ones justice. If I make a mistake with the names of
persons involved or what they did please forgive me,
it was forty years ago. I tell this story because our
memories are fading. The official reports were long
ago relegated to a cardboard box in the police station
basement. Expungements ensued and records were
destroyed. When our memories desert us there will be
nothing left of our way of life. Its important for us
to remember everyone who served here, because in their
own way they contributed to our legacies.
He came up in the 50's in a small town called Mattawa.
A few farms and a church sitting on an old Indian
trail along the east bank of the DesPlaines.
The great American statesman Adlai E. Stevenson was
from Mattawa (by way of Lake Shore Drive) but he told
the world he was "The Man From Libertyville." 50's
presidential campaign spin. His opponent General
Eisenhower hailed from Gettysburg a place that evokes
memories of patriotism and valor. So suddenly Adlai
was the native son of Libertyville, the cradle of our
American way of life, notwithstanding he actually
lived 5 miles down the road in tiny Mattawa.
His mom and dad were caretakers of what was called a
gentleman's farm. They grew the crops, tended the
livestock, kept the grounds in order, and maintained
the machinery, leaving the hard work for the
gentleman. His dad took him fishing and his mom
canned fruit, put up vegetables, and at Christmas time
they baked pies and traded fruit preserves with Adlai
who was their next door neighbor.
Shortly after high school graduation he married his
high school sweetheart. They took up housekeeping in
Mundelein where he got a factory job. When there was
an opening he joined SPD where he immediately became a
popular officer. The family which had grown to a
pre-school girl and a toddling boy moved into one of
the apartments behind Niles East where they began a
new life and career. Them days Skokie was like a
little town neighbors knew each other, folks were
friendly and kids played about the streets and parks
largely unsupervised; therein lies the tale.
It was a warm afternoon mom was sitting on the front
steps watching the neighborhood kids playing. Her
daughter was playing hopscotch and the little boy was
digging in the dirt. As the afternoon latened, mom
went inside, just for a moment to check on dinner.
When she returned the boy was gone. The other
children were sent in all directions to find the
youngster, but in a while they returned without
success. A call was made to SPD and the beat officer
was sent to investigate. He rode around the area and
when he saw no sign of the boy he called for backup.
Sgt. Davis was the watch commander. He called for all
available to respond to the scene and assigned
officers to search basements, apartments and garages
on the block. I can still remember the damp, rancid
odors of those basements. No one would believe how
many abandonned refrigerators and stoves were in the
basements and garages of those buildings. We looked
in washers and driers. We asked people to let us look
inside their apartments, under beds and in closets.
After an hour or so we spread out into the district.
Can you imagine what it was like to search the areas
along the railroad tracks, praying that you won't find
what your looking for lying along side of those
tracks? We all searched in earnest, each of us hoping
that we could be the one to return the boy to his mom,
who sat weeping on her front steps. As darkness
became our enemy, Jumbo turned his focus to Emily Park
and its scum and weed infested lagoon. SFD divers
were called in and the Civil Defense set up portable
floodlights. As the sun set the lights were turned on
and then the worst was discovered. You see, in the
daylight with the pond covered in scum it was
impossible to see below the water. But, under the
bright lights you could clearly see the outline of the
youngster just inches below the surface. Can you
imagine how badly some of us felt? We had passed that
spot several times during the afternoon, but we just
couldn't see him. We all gathered together and tried
to console one-another. How could this toddler have
wandered off and then fallen into this lagoon? What a
terrible misfortune. It wasn't long thereafter that
Jumbo gathered us together and announced that homicide
had been commited. We were stunned and shaken almost
to the point where some of us found it difficult to do
the jobs, that so desparately needed to be done.
After more searches for evidence and witnesses were
made we were ordered to the station for recall at
about 1 AM. Many of us sat in stunned silence trying
to make sense of what transpired. We were supposed to
be seasoned and tough, yet our sense of loss was
overwelming. After a couple of hours we drifted home,
we now had to face our wives and families and explain
to them what had happened, most times that was the
hardest part of the job.
The next day, I believe it was a Saterday, we all kind
of drifted back to the station. We all felt compelled
to assist in any way we could. Soon Lt. Halas, who
was in charge of the dicks and the investigation, put
us in pairs and sent us into the district. We used
our own cars because there weren't enough squads.
There were no portable radios back then so we were
told to call in on a box every hour. " Stop whoever
you see. Make out field slips on them. Go to
peoples' doors, ask questions, don't take "I don't
know for an answer." I was teamed up with Len
Jaglarski and we were assigned to the area around
Oakton Bowl. We parked his car in the lot then walked
up Louise street ringing doorbells in the numerous
townhouses that lined both sides. In about an hour we
made our way back to the lot. Len was tired of
ringing doorbells. He didn't think that would be the
answer to catching this child killer. He felt there
was going to be some type of task force. He began his
politiking to get on this task force by picking up the
call box in the parking lot and getting hold of
somebody in the station who could make it happen. Now
comes the unbelievable part of this tale.
As we are standing by the call box Len talking to
headquarters a group of preteen boys approached us.
They were excited to hear any details of the crime and
speculated as to whom may have been the perpitraitor.
Then as though God had willed us to be at that
locality at that time. As if God willed these
youngsters to be there the same time as we were. As
if God willed one of the lads to blurt out the
following story, everything came together for SPD.
Luck, karma proven police proceedure, whatever you
wish to call it, we met the devil himself in the
person of little Erik. He was blond and blue eyed,
but he had the kind of eyes like those kids in the
horror movies. When you looked him in the eye you
could see all the way to Hades. As the other lads
clammored about us for attention Erik spoke up with a
clear voice that stopped Len and I in our tracks. "I
know who did it," he proudly proclaimed. Erik told us
it was an older boy he knew by name and that he saw
this boy lead the toddler across the tracks toward the
park on the preceeding afternoon. We immediately
called into the bureau. We were instructed to take
the boy home and stand-by for the dicks.
Mort podolski and Kenton Cody were partners and
journeyman youth officers. They ran the 'bad cop,
ugly cop' routine on kids and it worked real well for
them because they used to clear a lot of cases. I'm
not saying who was who, they know who they are. They
sized-up little Erik straight away. They along with a
lot of other dicks, worked their magic and by bedtime
that same night they had little Erik booked into the
Audey Home for the murder of the toddler.
Little Erik was in fact a sociopath, a cold blooded
killer. We learned that the crime had been committed
because Erik had in some way been accosted by an older
boy. Erik conceived, planned and carried out the
crime in order to seek revenge on the older boy.
After a few weeks Erik's parents didn't like the idea
of him being a murderer so they got a lawyer. It was
not long thereafter that Len and I along with the
Dicks were summoned to juvenile court. The judge
demanded that we show a chain of evidence from Emily
Park back to Erik's apartment. So early one morning
we piled into a squad and were escorted to the
courthouse by non other than the field captain. In
his words, "I don't want youse guys stopping off for
White Castles or Italian ices, or getting lost or in
an accident. Your all going to court and you better
testify good and put this little bastard away for
life." I guess what Len and I had to say was
important. It had to do with us observing and noting
a child's pair of muddy shoes by the back door of
Erik's apartment. Anyway the trial was pretty much a
sham. It was all poor Erik this and child of a broken
home that. It turned out that according to the judge
and Erik's lawyer, Erik was adopted. His mother and
adoptive father had gotten a recent divorce. His
mother and new father were expecting a new baby. So
this heinous crime had been committed because little
Erik had trouble grasping this. The main thing I
recall about the trial was that the bailiff had
everything he could do to keep the judge from jumping
down off the bench and kissing little Erik's ass. So
Erik was sent off to some counsuling. After a few
months the family packed up and moved to parts
unknown. This was supposed to bring some closure to
the victims. Little by little life returned to normal
around the squadroom but I know for a fact that the
family had been devistated.
Today, a cop gets a little to much grande in his
Starbucks latte and they call out Crises Intervention.
"And how did that make you feel?" In the 60s we only
had a couple of ways to work things out. You went
over to the pub. A few people may have made some
contact with their local groupies. Some may have
taken it out on their spouses. Most of us just rode
around in the squad stewing over things until we
popped a citizen, or shot at his dog, or mouthed off
to the sargeant. A couple of days off were a good
cure for any crises. The grand masters of all of
weaseldom were at work here. The politician met with
the lawyer and the insurance man and they decided that
sending a police officer or firefighter for help could
be detrimental to the Village. Lets say an officer
pops someone and it comes out in the lawsuit that the
cop received intervention the Village could be liable
for a lot of money.
Our friend came back to work and he still continued to
be a good guy. He did a good job, he met all goals
set for him. He scored high on the sargeant's exam,
he could have made rank.
Can you imagine as a father, a husband and a cop the
most horrific thing that could happen occurs to you?
You still have to come to work every day and you have
to listen to some citizen beefing about someone in his
parking space. The sargeant yaking at you because
your sideburns are below your ears. What about his
wife? She has to choose between Captain crunch or
Cocoa Puffs and balance the checkbook, when all she
wants to do is lie her head on the nearest railroad
track.
First they moved out of Skokie 8 miles up the road.
Then they moved 30 miles up the road. That didn't
seem to be far enough away. The decision was made,
resign the job and move 1300 miles away. After that
they ran into ocean, they couldn't get any further
away so eventually they split and went their separate
ways.
If you were on the job back then, believe me, this
incident had a profound effect on all of us. Mostly
in our lives there were victims, bad guys, and us. We
were able to compartmentize and in so doing we dealt
with what we had to do. But now we too were victims.
This senseless act could have happened to anyone of
our little Johnies or Jennies-and there for the grace
of God go I. We all suffered and from that day on we
all whistled past the graveyard.
Our story, unfortunately, has been told. I regret
having to be the one to tell it. Too bad for me I was
a little too close to it.
As for little Erik. It was just dumb luck that we ran
into him that day at the bowl. It could have been any
one of you. We were part of Erik's plan and we just
happened to be there. If we had gone west bound
instead of east Erik would have caught up to one of
you. So you too earned your keep on that day. I'm
proud of the way we all did our jobs.
I've been retired almost 19 years. Sometimes, I watch
the news and the story is about a Ted Bundy guy, a BTK
guy or a child molester. They show the guy's picture
and immediately I go back to work trying to put 40
years onto a 12 year old's face. Am I looking into
Erik's eyes? Is he still out there? Did he ever
finish his theropy? You think about it for a while.
Finally, its pretty easy to find lost friends these
days, with all the technology we have. Its a lot
harder to leave them alone and in peace.
And to my old friend if you should by chance read
this, you and yours are in our thoughts and prayers.
I hope that after all these years you found your
place, far enough away-but not too far.
To everyone else have a good retirement, you've earned it.
(Name witheld by request)
Ed Note:
I remember that night all too well
also. The body was found by FF Chuck Henrici. He
called me over and handed him to me, while he was still standing
in the pond. I carried him up the slope and laid him in the grass.
I felt like crap thinking the poor little kid had fallen in and
drowned, but when I rolled him over, I found his hands had been
tied and they were still clutching seaweed and muck from the bottom
of the pond. In the ensuing years, I had the experience of being
the first officer on the scene of finding several more bodies (at
least five), some homicides, some suicides but I can still close my
eyes and see the faces of only two of them, his and the baby
sitter from Lincolnwood, dumped in the alley around 8200 Springfield.
As we all know too well, some things never go away.
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|
| Winters In Skokie Pretty much we're finished with winter. As I look out my window I'm seeing the crocus and iris starting to show color. It was a fairly easy winter this year. Only used the snow blower once or twice. No below zero days that I remember. As I recall, however, seems to me that when I was a patrolman working the street, winters were a lot rougher. Is it my imagination or do you also remember some of these things about winters in Skokie. Winter arrived a little after Thanksgiving and lasted through Easter. Generally you were in good shape if you didn't ever have to get out of the car. It would snow one day and there would usually be 4 to 6 inches of white fluffy stuff for an hour. Then the snow would turn grey, then brown and finally black. The stuff would freeze solid and it would last a minimum of 8 weeks. Over time storms, flurries and snow showers would add to the quanity and whenever you did get out of the car there would be a huge pile of it between you and your destination. After the prescribed period of time, we would get a thaw, melting most of the snow. Then a few days later the whole cycle would start all over again. Sometimes mother nature would do something called 'the lake effect' which would dump anywhere from 10 inches to 2 feet on us, just a little bonus. Cold weather also had a big impact on us. One year in the late 70s we had several days of what they called "the Alberta Clipper" with temperatures falling to about 20 below zero. I swear, and some of you may remember, that after about a week of this it finally warmed up to about 18 degrees above zero. People were actually in their driveways washing their cars. Youngsters were running around in their shirtsleeves and those that had them were driving their convertibles with the top down. And remember that on any given day there was the dreaded wind chill factor. What we lacked in the way of winter weather, Sol Kale made up for in the material, design and supply of our uniforms. As I recall those uniforms served two functions. They kept us very cold in winter, and very warm in the summer. Starting from the top down our class A winter uniform consisted of the following: Saucer hat, which truly acted like a flying saucer every time it was caught by a gust of wind. On wet days you were allowed to cover your hat with a clear plastic rain cover. The fur lined hat wasn't approved until about the mid 70s. You were allowed to wear earmuffs. Leather motorcycle jacket. A few years earlier the standard refer overcoat was replaced by the leathers. The jacket had a minimal tufted lining and it only came down to your waist. To make it really comfortable there was an open gore on each side. Those of us who had high rise holsters wrapped the gore around the gun butt. If you had a slung holster the gore only served as a kidney cooler. The parka was not part of the uniform until sometime in the late 70s. You were allowed to wear a plain black scarf and plain unlined leather gloves. You wore a grey long sleeve shirt with a blue wool johnny coat. Vests were not allowed until the 70s. 16 ounce wool pants. After 1 day in the snow the cuffs of your pants turned white from the leeching of the road salt which worked its way up your boots onto the woolen material. Long johns were optional. Problem with them was that if you spent any time in the car you grew unconfortable. Shoes were plain black leather. Rubber boots were allowed as long as they were plain and black. You didn't ever want a certain lieutenant to catch you wearing sneakers or gym shoes under those boots. At any rate mukluks or any other lined or protected footwear were not allowed until the 70s. With all due respect to the department uniform committee our uniforms were woefully lacking in confort and protection. Once you started your shift you were ok. Everything was fine if the weather remained stable. If, however, there was any sudden change such as a drop in temperature or precipitation in the form of sleet or snow all hell would occur throughout the district. Traffic accidents would occur by the tens sometimes tying up the whole shift. Of course you had to stand by in the cold/snow and direct traffic because in most cases one or both cars needed towing. A traffic accident occurring at 5pm or 8am would insure that you would remain wet, cold and miserable for the remainder of the tour. The traffic signals had an inherent defect. It seems that the slightest amount of dampness coupled with a sudden temperature drop would cause them to stick. The beat car was called to the scene and traffic would have to be directed especially during rushes. Some of us had a highly coveted traffic signal box key. The door could be opened the signals put on flash and the officer returned to the safety and warmth of the car. If you didn't have a key you were stuck out in the cold/snow until relieved or the electrician from Meade arrived. This brings me to two stories that I would like to relate about those signals. I obtained my key when I was called to a malfunctioning box. As was the practice you got out of the car went to the box and kicked it as hard as you could. Sometimes jarring the box would recycle the signals. When I got to the box, there it was, someone had forgotten his key which had been left in the lock. Truely it was like finding money on the street. No longer would I have to depend on the kindness of other officers to respond with their key to help me out. At any rate the people at Meade electric got mad that we were putting the lights on flash. It seems that if the lights were left alone in there malfunctioning state it would be easier for the electrician to diagnose the problem. So in their wisdom the brass thought it better to waste a perfectly good 7 dollar an hour officer out in the wet and cold than have to have a 22 dollar an hour electrician diagnose a circuit. Orders came down. We were no longer allowed to put the lights on flash. Not long thereafter I was called to Touhy and Carpenter for malfunctioning signals. Of course me figuring that I was way more important than any electrician, immediately put the signals on flash. Unfortunately for me a certain lieutenant who was on his way home to dinner saw me do it. "Now Brucie you know we're not supposed to do that. See me in my office when you are through here. Oh yea give me 'the key'." Disciplinary action would follow. In the mid 60s a young recruit joined our ranks. He was here only for a short time, so a lot of you probably don't remember him. If not, you can ask old Satiro, he can tell you a story or two. It seems that this young recruit had a special relationship with his mom. She would drop him off at work at 3pm and be there promptly at 11pm to take him home. She packed him a lunch every day and on special occasions would meet him at the station on his lunch hour where they would share an egg salad sandwich. As winter approached she would send him off to work with a thermos of hot cocoa to fight off the cold. Everything was going along well for the two of them until one December rush hour when a viscious sleet storm struck town. As was the usual case in about 10 minutes time there were 5 or 6 car crashes, the power failed on the east end, alarms went off in the factories and of course the signal lights froze up in a few locations. Our young friend was sent to Dempster and Gross pt. where the lights were stuck on red. He was there for about 20 minutes when he called the dispatcher requesting relief. He was told to stand his assignment everybody was busy. About 20 minutes later he called radio again, complaining that the assignment was creeping into his lunch time. Again he was told to standby. About 15 minutes later he called to have a sargeant meet him. Of course our friend was upset. He missed lunch, was being ignored by the dispatcher, was cold and wet, and worst of all couldn't get to his car to have a cup of hot cocoa! Soon after he was relieved he appeared at the station where he began whining about his maltreatment. Sgt. Satiro is a veteran GI and an ex firefighter. He was intimate with deprivation and knew first hand the rigors of being cold, wet, hungry and tired. He didn't have much sympathy for the recruit so he just told him to put on some dry clothes and get back to work. As far as Satiro was concerned, although some of his officers would be miserable, on this particular night none would be harmed or injured as a result of the elements. Life went on, in June nobody would even remember this night. So, he thought until shortly after returning the recruit to the street his mother showed up at the counter. "How could you disregard the health and safety of her son. Why wasn't he relieved?" Satiro took an earfull, but acted like a gentleman. But I'd give a day's pay to see the look on his face. Shortly thereafter the young recruit and his mom were dismissed from the department. What part of 'probationary' didn't they understand? School/church crossings were trouble for me because I used to forget about them. I didn't mind having to handle them, 20 minutes spent on a crossing were twenty reasons that you couldn't write a ticket. One particular crossing had the officer tied-up for about 20 minutes at a time about 4 times from 3:30 pm to 7:30 pm every day. It was for a religous school. The congregation leader thought that if he had a police officer standing in front of the school it would induce more parents to send their kids there. So orders came down, no more sitting in the car on this crossing, getting out only when kids showed up. This one you stood the elements for 20 minutes at a time whether there were kids present or not. On one particular bitter, windy day after arriving at the crossing I lingered in the car just a little too long. A certain lieutenant who was monitoring my activities immediately pulled up. Now Brucie you know the orders for this crossing. See me in my office. Disciplinary action would ensue. The Old Orchard detail made a lot of Christmases a whole lot better for a lot of us. It meant getting the kid a ten speed instead of a five. The wife maybe got a piece of jewelry instead of a mix-master. Oh but it could get pretty cold out there especially in the dreaded wind tunnel. Now some lieutenants were a pleasure to work for. They would even come by and let you warm-up in their car. However, there was this certain lieutenant whose orders were that you will stand your post. No going inside the stores, no sitting in cars. Of course on this one particular day this lieutenant assigned me to the tunnel. It was cold and snowing, and there were no shoppers or cars to be seen anywhere in the area. I ducked into the drugstore which was less than 25 feet from the post. Now Brucie you know what my orders were. See me in my office after the detail. When this lieutenant would sign up for the detail, no officers would work it. Everyone figured you could get into more trouble with him than what the detail was worth. It got so bad that they would trick us by switching lieutenants at the last minute. Anyway, disciplanary action did follow. Working the swift was another good detail. Many a garage was built and a lot of kitchens got remodeled as a result of that detail. The old timers used to hog all the fair weather months leaving the winter months for us new guys. When the weather turned bad the refuse department used to put out a 55 gallon garbage can in front of the swift. There was always garbage in it and if you were assigned that day you would pick up a few scraps of wood. When you started to get cold you threw a flare in the can and presto there was heat to warm frozen fingers and toes. Some citizen got mad, didn't like having to wait at the stop sign while a couple of lazy cops stood around a fire. Orders came down from Broadway Joe ( who was a gentleman and had some sympathy for us.) "Fellas he said, lets say you would accidentally throw a used flare into the can and the trash accidently caught fire, that's ok. But, no more throwing boxes and railroad ties onto the fire, Ok guys." That seemed fair enough until this one below zero evening when the fire started to dwindle. I picked up a two by four scrap that was nearby and pitched it in. Within seconds a certain lieutenant pulled onto the scene. Just barely opening his window an inch, so he wouldn't get too cold, the heater on that #20 Pontiac going full blast, uttered the following. Now Brucie you know what the captain said. See me in my office tomorrow. Disciplanary action was imminent. So, maybe now you can understand why my winters were so rough. I know that they were hard on some of you also, otherwise so many of you wouldn't be retired to the Gulf or Pheonix. You guys were so traumatized by the winters that today your willing to put up with 108 degree summers rather than face another winter in Skokie. Yea, yea I know, its a dry heat! Hello to all my friends (regardless of where you live.) Enjoy your retirement you've earned it.
Bud Rappe
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| Plain Talk For Plain Folks Recently I read an article that Police departments and emergency dispatch centers throughout the US are dropping the 10 code system in favor of plain English. Now for most of us, plain English can be butchered readily enough, but never was there a better example of 10 code gone awry than the winter of 1965-66.
In our recruit class which hit the street in Oct '65, we had a likeable guy who just wanted to be a cop in the worst way, but had difficulty understanding that this job wasn't for him. For this story I'll call him Rudy. Rudy was quite a bit under average in stature and not what you could call an imposing figure even decked out in his leather and carrying his .357, which, had his career continued would have given him water on the knee it drooped so low against his shortish legs. Rudy had made a previous attempt at becoming a police officer by joining the Chicago police department, a year or so before getting hired by Skokie. The administration should have known something was up when doing his background check and finding out he washed out of CPD recruit school, or early during his probationary period. We all knew it, because once the word got around that he was back at the Chicago Police Academy, we were paid almost daily visits by various instructors. They would barge into the classroom and doing their best Marine Corps D.I. imitation shout out Rudy's last name. When he would rise they would ask "What the f--- are you doing back here!?" Rudy wasn't the best student and had a tendency to ask repeated "But what if...?" annoying, inane and pointless questions thus not exactly endearing himself to the staff. A practical joke played on him at the CPD firing range under Soldier Field didn't help either. Someone in the class snuck a real .357 load into his pocket of wadcutters, after cutting off the bullet. The resounding large report of that Magnum load going off, caused Rudy to drop his weapon and considerably angered the Range Instructor!
Getting to the point of the story, Rudy somehow managed to complete recruit school and his field training period and was unleashed on the citizens of Skokie. Rudy was trying, oh so hard, to be conscientious. He was going out of his way to try and be correct and precise because he had been warned that there would be no "second chances" this time. He would study his ordinance book and carry his procedures manual with him daily to consult and make certain he would avoid slip-ups. He had the Universal 10 code list in the plastic liner of his hat and wouldn't pick up the microphone wihtout first consulting the list. So the day he called in "313, Skokie",was answered with "313, go ahead.." his precise response of "313, I have a 10-50, J-2 at Lincoln & Galitz !", our dispatch staff knew what to do (after looking at the list themselves.) Everybody knows a 10-50 is an accident, J-2 on the list represented, "Personnel Involved, Possible injuries". Skokie Fire was notified and responded in usual manner with a squad and an ambulance, the station emptied of brass and rushed to the scene, street supervisors and neighboring beat and umbrella cars also converged to Lincoln & Galitz.
The late Fred Stewart drew the PERFECT cartoon of the scene and I wish I had it now to illustrate what everyone found upon arrival. Picture this in your head, Ambulances, Fire Trucks, squad cars, Brass all screeching up to find our hero, Rudy, standing on the sidewalk holding the fallen street sign of Lincoln & Galitz, which had been blown or pulled off the post and found lying on the ground. Seems Rudy had said "10-15 (have in possession) J-2 (property), and wanted to know what to do with it. I believe he was told by several white shirts!!
Rudy left us shortly thereafter, I think he probably went on to become an advisor to the Homeland Security Department co-ordinating FEMA responses.
Fred Bolin
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| "He'll just tell you what we already know..." Tuesday afternoons used to be open house at the Second District ASA's office. If we refused to take a complaint, the "victim" could take a copy of our report up there and try to convince the ASA that an arrest should be made. I don't know if the ASA's ever said yes or not. That piece of background info is important to the next story. It involves another drunken domestic, this time with a falling-down drunk husband who locked his wfe out of the house. That alone would not normally be enough to grab our attention, but when she tried to get back in the house, he called SPD and reported a burglary in progress. Talk about attention. Every available SPD beat car plus three detectives. As we sorted things out, the extra units started to drift away, leaving two beat cars and a detective. Unhappy with our refusal to arrest his wife, the drunk jumped up from his chair to lunge after her. He succeeded only in bouncing off the barrel chest of the then-young detective (now a Commander). A forgivable error on the husband's part, at least until he accused the detective of pushing him down. With all attempts at mediation exhausted, and a battery to a PO having occurred, the husband was placed under arrest and transported to SPD. At some point the husband decided that he had been mistreated, objecting to being referred to the Tuesday ASA complaint session for any complaints against his wife and taking exception to the language used by the arresting Officers (somehow or another he concluded that someone had called him an A@#hole). Now of course this accusation of name-calling was untrue, as during the reign of St. Bill the Hypocrite profanity was unacceptable under any circumstance ( except maybe one, as we'll see later...). Still, the husband persisted he'd been maligned, and insisted on an immediate audience with the Watch Commander. The arresting Officer quickly agreed. The young detective blanched. During a quick hallway conference the detective saw the advantage of the plan, and the Watch Commander was summoned. The Watch Commander (at the time a sergeant, later rising to the rank of Captain) was known not only for his frugality but also for his infinite patience for BS. He listened as the husband outlined his complaints, then tried to explain the law to the drunk. Still the drunk persisted. Finally, his limited patience exhausted, the Watch Commander rose from his chair, pointed his finger at the husband and bellowed "That's it. If you wanna complain, take it to the State's Attorney on Tuesday. He'll just tell you what we already know-THAT YOU'RE AN A@#HOLE!" The ensuing IIR was unfounded.
Mike Healy
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| AND I SUPPOSE YOUR NAME IS MIKE TOO, HUH? This one is impossible to eliminate personal references from... One starry midnight shift, three Officers were assigned to a report of Domestic Battery at a house in the area of Golf and Central Park. When the Officers arrived, they were met at the door by a distinguished gentleman (a professor at Northwestern, I believe) and his besotted wife. She promptly launched into a drunken tirade about her no-good louse of a husband, whom she claimed had pushed her down the stairs. She insisted that he be arrested immediately. She bore no visible injuries from this supposed tumble. The husband explained that she had been drinking all night (NO S*&T...) and had become irate when he dumped all her remaining booze. The Officers concluded there was no merit to the complaint, and told the wife they would not arrest the husband. She turned her anger at them, with pointed comments about their parentage and sexual preferences (build a thousand bridges...). She concluded her comments with the typical " I'm gonna call the Chief" and pointed a trembling finger at the first Officer. "What's your name?" , she asked. "Mike", said he. "And what's your name?" , she demanded of the second Officer, her anger mounting. "Mike" was the reply. "And I suppose your name is Mike too, huh?", she spat at the last Officer. "Well ma'am, as a matter of fact it is" answered the third. At this point she lost it, launching every imaginable invective in the direction of the Officers. Having exhausted herself and her considerable store of profanity, she stomped off to her bedroom and slammed the door. The Officers said a polite goodbye to the long-suffering husband and returned to their cars. "What a piece of work" said (then) Officer Mike Ruth. "I'll say" replied (then) Officer Mike Krupnik. "I just hope she calls the Sergeant tonight instead of waiting to call the Chief tomorrow" observed (then) Officer Mike Healy. The Sergeant that night? Mike Maher.
Mike Healy
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| A Day With The Pope Not really a police related incident, but a very interesting day none the less.
Bud Rappe's recent story titled “Brucie and The Queen” started me thinking about one of the most memorable experiences in my life. A little autobiographical information is needed to fill you in on how my life long work seems to have centered around driving.
Shortly after joining SPD in 1965 Jack Rabey and I were having coffee in the squads, side by side as we all did so often. The conversation turned to family; bills etc. and he suggested that I join him driving school busses at Maeirhofer. The pay was awesome, $4.00/hour I think, so working a three hour run each morning would result in an extra $60 a week or almost ½ of our starting monthly salary on the PD of $505. (That's right fellow retirees. A full time school bus driver was making more than twice what a rookie cop was!) A week later I found myself in a big yellow school bus, trying to make ends meet in our growing family (first baby already on the way) and beginning a string of part time employment and eventually a career all centered around driving something BIG.
I found driving a natural, relaxation for me. Trouble was, as I progressed into bigger and bigger vehicles there was actual work involved. I moved into straight trucks, then semis and interspersed those jobs with an occasional stint driving coaches for the soon to be defunct Evanston Bus Company and later Mid-America Coach Lines in Elk Grove. It was with them, on October 5, 1979, that I was given the job of driving the press pool bus in the motorcade around Chicago during Pope John Paul XXIII's visit.
Approximately two weeks before the event, Mid-America contacted me and told me of the assignment. They needed my permission to release some information to the Secret Service, who had the responsibility of protection during the Pope's visit to the U.S. They had a questionnaire for me to fill out, the usual stuff, kind of like an application for employment. I dutifully complied, had to be fingerprinted by Elk Grove P.D. and eventually was told to pick up the coach and report to the east entrance of The Palmer House on Wabash, at 4:00 a.m. on the 5th.
Leaving home at 2:00 a.m., (I never liked to be late, despite my record of not being able to make a 6:45 a.m. roll call) I knew the day would be interesting and fairly easy, since I was to be relieved by a North American Coach around noon. I wasn't there but a minute, when I was approached by the Secret Service Agent in charge of the press pool. I can't recall his name anymore but there was no doubt who he was. Almost all of us have worked on a presidential detail in Skokie with visits from Presidents Ford and Carter and this guy was no different than the president's detail, all business and very well prepared. He called me by name and explained the drill then surprised me by asking if I had my weapon. Those who know me are aware that I didn't carry off duty; in fact I never took the gun home after I was awakened by an irate, sleep walking wife who was upset that I wouldn't get out of bed to take the baby off the top shelf of the closet! When I told him that I did not, he said, “That's good, you're not supposed to have one, but what kind do you carry.” I told him that I had an old Colt detective special. Within a very few minutes, a Colt detective special and ammo pouch appeared with an explanation of “I kind of like to know there is an extra bit of help if I need it, but not all of these reporters are reporters either.” The gun went into my driver's bag and stayed there all day thank goodness.
I began to wonder why all this security could possibly be necessary, I mean this is the Pope for gosh sakes, who wants to hurt him? Years later I found that there had been some kind of threats and dead birds ceremoniously slaughtered on the grounds of Quigley South, one of our eventual stops for the day. Guess they were not taking any chances, wouldn't look good in the International papers, if the Pope got axed in the U.S.
The day began with an assortment of travel weary press types, bleary eyed, spilling coffee and cussing, begrudgingly being ordered onto the bus like a seventh grade class beginning their field trip to the museum. We were escorted to Holy Name Cathedral where a squadron of black stretch limos was lined up and I was directed to take a position behind nine of them. The first would contain the Pope, and the other eight were full of American Cardinals and other clergy hierarchy accompanying the Pope during his U.S. tour. In short order the Pope's limo arrived, coming from the Cardinal's residence at State & North and the procession began.
Our first stop was at Providence of God Church, 18th & Union in the Pilsen neighborhood. This is directly under the 18th Street exit from the Dan Ryan. A huge crowd was assembled there but we stopped there only for 15 minutes or so where the Pope stood in the opened sun roof of the limo and blessed the mass of people there. I began to notice that there was a sense of magical charisma about his man. Although I am not Catholic, I did have a 9 year parochial education in the Lutheran church. I was aware of the importance of this visit but did not expect the adoration showered upon this minister of the people. The people in the crowd were cheering, waving and crying as if they had seen the second coming of Christ himself. These were poor people, mostly Latin immigrants, a great number of school children among them, who were brought to their knees simply by the sight of this man. A huge plaque now adorns the front stairs to this church, commemorating the day when the Pope simply stopped in front of this building.
My Secret Service agent sat in the first row seat immediately to my right all day, communicating with his “wrist radio” and earpiece and directing my movements. He made several comments all day about what a piece of cake it is coming to Chicago. “You guys in Chicago know how to handle crowds and motorcades man. The last two days we were in New York and Philly. New York is always a circle jerk and I don't think Philly cops have an idea of how to move traffic, but we come to Chicago and it's `Oh yeah, no biggie'. I know New York has conventions too, but here, they handle everything like a walk in the park.” I was to find out later in the day exactly how the Secret Service handles parks.
We left that church and drove to Five Holy Martyrs, 43rd and Richmond (2 blocks west of California). I believe the route was 22nd St. to California. The entire route was lined with people and a squad car at every intersection. We circled south of and west of the church while the limos drove up Francisco, my agent had me turning through alleys, “Can you fit there?” “No, but what choice do I have?” “None, drive.” Driving one of these Prevost highway coaches is like driving a 45 foot Cadillac, a 45' Cadillac that's 7 & 1/2' wide and 12' tall. They don't fit well in alleys, they're taller than garbage trucks so branches don't get out of the way, and turning at a “t” in an alley is kinda like trying to make love in the back seat of a Volkswagen. You know you want to do it, you gotta do it, but something's gonna get hurt or broken. Miraculously, I emerged from this alley right in front of the church, pulled a half block north onto 42nd St., turned right then backed up across the intersection and parked on the north side of the street facing east. The anticipated crowd was set at 20,000 people. The actual crowd was officially estimated at 75,000 and apparently my bus was blocking the view of 74,000 of them. My agent told me to “just ignore them”, this is where I would stay during the Mass. I began to be thankful that he had given me that gun.
The Mass at Five Holy Martyrs was to celebrate the large Polish population in Chicago and their pride in having a Pole named Pope. They began arriving at 3 a.m. in anticipation of getting a glimpse of him or at least have a chance to say they were there. The shouts and hoots from the crowd were becoming painfully personal when a sweet little woman, no more than 5 feet, wearing a babushka and her best Sunday floral dress began knocking on the drivers window of my coach with her Rosary clenched tightly in her fist. I know, the agent said to ignore them, but how could I, this poor, sweet little thing might need the restroom or something, so I slid the window back, smiled and said “Yes, Ma'am, can I help you?” With the voice and volume of a teamster she screamed “Hey Busdriver, move your f----in' bus, I'm tryin' ta see da Holy Faddah!” I slid the window shut, retreated to the back rows and read my book for the next hour. Guess she didn't have to pee.
The Mass at Five Holy Martyrs was celebrated in the parking lot adjacent to the church. The altar and covering are still in place and a Mass is celebrated there the first Sunday of every October in commemoration of that event. This was the Pope's 3rd visit to the church but his only visit as Pope.
From there we went to Quigley Prep. South, now St. Rita's High School at 7740 S. Western Ave.. Again, the entire route of the motorcade was lined with people and police cordons at every intersection. A Marine helicopter was stationed in the parking lot just west of the building. The Pope gave a short address there and was to have lunch in the cafeteria afterward, then be flown back to the Cardinal's residence to prepare for the Mass in Grant Park that afternoon.
After his address, my agent and his press corps reloaded and I drove unencumbered by the motorcade back to the Palmer House where my day was to end. Upon arriving, I pulled up behind the North American Coach Company's bus, opened the door to unload and began working on my log. My agent then did the unthinkable, “Don't go anywhere yet, I'll be right back.” A few but not all of the press pool got off, presumably to reload on the other bus and grab a bite to eat. The next thing I see is the North American Bus pulling away in a cloud of blue diesel exhaust and my agent sheepishly grinning and walking back to my door. “Hey, what's going on?” I asked. “Oh nothing, we like what we've got, no rubbernecking and stuff , so you're staying with me.” Great, I've already been in this bus for over nine hours and now I can't go home `til when, midnight? The plan as explained now is this, we're going to the Cardinal's residence, pick up the Pope's motorcade, go to Grant Park for the Mass, hang around there, then back to the Cardinal's residence, then back to Holy Name, then back to the Palmer House. “Hey Dude,” I complained, “I haven't had anything but a Thermos of coffee all day, do I get to eat or anything?” “Yeah, maybe in awhile.”
A seemingly fresh crew of reporters, really the same bunch but a few new TV faces were added, began filing onto the bus. Among the first to get on, stepping out of his own limousine, was an extremely perturbed Bill Kurtis, then of CBS's Channel 2. You could hear the conversation with the Secret Service where he was demanding to be allowed to take his own transportation to Grant Park because he had a schedule of his own to keep, blah, blah.. Mr. Kurtis got on the bus, unfortunately he sat in my agent's seat. These two were just not hitting it off, and poor Mr. Bill had to ride with his knees tucked up one row back, just like everybody else. TV anchors don't like to be treated like everybody else, probably why they enjoy humiliating presidents so much, they are after all part of the “Elite” you know.
After loading everyone, I was told to follow my escort, a Chicago PD traffic unit from downtown. This was shortly after State St. had been closed to vehicular traffic. Remember when they tried to make it a mall, and only CTA was allowed on it? The squad took off turning west and then north on State with me in hot pursuit in my 45' Prevost. So this guy is lights and sirens, I mean like we crossed Wacker Drive doing close to 60 and I'm thinking, “What the f--- is he trying to prove?” My agent is white knuckling and Mr. Kurtis has his head down. South of Division, around 1000 north or so, Rush Street joins State at an angled intersection. There's kind of a jog or chicane through the intersection, like a high speed slalom. My escort blows the red light about 45 and I'm within 50' of him. I stepped on the air horn and without slowing did the right, left, right sway right behind him. The air ride suspensions in highway coaches are not made to react like a sports car so the result was a severe side lean with an equally severe whiplash back. We pulled up at the curb on the west side of the Cardinal's residence at North Ave. and I let my anchormen out. Resembling “Bumper Morgan” from “The Blue Knight” or George Dahlman to more locally identify the character, the traffic cop emerges from his squad and comes waddling back to my bus. Now I am NOT a fan of Chicago PD traffic cops, remember them, they wore the white hats? At least 3 times in my years of driving trucks throughout the city I have been stopped by them and suggested that if I might buy lunch for them they could see their way clear of an alleged equipment or licensing infraction, once even being cited for an ordinance that didn't exist, despite my being a cop and despite being out of his “jurisdiction” but that's another story. So “Bumper” walks to the open door and my agent is stifling his laughter, “OK, I've been doin' that to bus drivers for 25 years and NOBODY has ever caught me! You ain't no bus driver, so what is it a cop or a fireman?” I guess he thought it was funny to risk the lives of 47 passengers to play his game. So did I.
The Archdiocese of Chicago owns the Cardinal's Mansion on the south side of North Ave. east of State St. There is a small clearing on the north side of the street in a park which had been surrounded by snow fencing. This was to be the landing area for the Marine helicopter carrying Pope John Paul XXIII when he returned from luncheon at Quigley. A smaller crowd of 1500 or so had surrounded the clearing, when the thunder of the helicopter as it approached became deafening. After the dust had settled and the rotors stopped spinning, the Pope emerged and began walking with his escorts to the awaiting limo. Suddenly, a man jumped the snow fence and began sprinting towards the Pope. He was chased down and tackled by several other plainclothes “parishioners”, handcuffed and was being led away, when the Pope waved at them very animatedly. We didn't know what was going on, but the next thing you know is they're walking this guy over to the Pope near his limo. We could see him kneeling or bending in front of the Pope and apparently receiving a blessing. By this stage in my life I had been a cop for 14 years and was, I thought, pretty world and street wise. Jaded and mistrustful of almost everyone, but I had to wonder just what kind of man this was. Someone who could inspire reverence and admiration from all he met. Someone who could instantly see the innocence in a perceived hostile action and act with grace and forgiveness, sorry, I can't relate to that personality, yet here I was, in awe of what I had just seen. More was to come.
In about an hour the Pope emerged and the motorcade began anew. The entire day had been choreographed and scheduled to the point that you began to think “They must have to schedule his bathroom stops.” My agent had retaken his seat next to me, sometimes standing in the stairwell as we drove. He had brought a cold hamburger, fries and a coke for me to eat while we were at Grant Park, nothing but the best for the bus driver. The trip down Lake Shore Drive and into the back of the crowd was uneventful, no crowds or motorcade like experience this time. Grant Park itself was a sea of humanity. In addition to the seating there were many, many thousands of worshippers surrounding the amphitheater/outdoor cathedral. The Mass was scheduled to begin at 3:00 p.m. and I settled in to eat my “lunch” and take a nap. It was a very warm afternoon and within a very few minutes there was a rapping of a nightstick on the bus door. “Hey man, you got the air on?” was the question from a uniformed CPD officer. “Sure, c'mon in.” OOPS, within 5 minutes I had 40 or so sweaty CPD security detail cops in various stages of undress and awakeness in the coach taking a much deserved 1 hour break.
The Mass itself and the departure thereafter was totally uneventful. My busload of cops cleared out to resume their perimeter security positions and in a very short time my press crews were returned to the Palmer House for an hour dinner break. I left the bus idling there and tried to find a McDonald's or something nearby to maintain my junk food diet. The best I could do was a burger near the old downtown Greyhound station, but that had to do. We reloaded a half bus full of press, this time only the foreign press pool, drove to Holy Name Cathedral and waited outside while the Pope and entourage listened to a concert by the Chicago Symphony. By the time I returned to the Palmer House it was well after 10:00 p.m. My agent thanked me profusely for putting up with a “few changes” in the schedule and introduced me to his liaison from the Archdiocese. A priest who seemed to be more of a P.R. man, he thanked me for helping and mentioned that the Secret Service was pleased to have a police officer at the wheel today. He shook my hand and left. That was it. I am nearing the end of what was to be 20 hour day and that's what I got, a handshake from one of the richest Archdioceses in the U.S. An Archdiocese that just spent several million dollars on pomp and circumstance, security and transportation today and no extra $20.00 for the bus driver. I guess since they knew I was a cop, they figured I couldn't accept a gratuity. Well, charitably thinking, that's what I want to believe. You see, just a few weeks before, I had driven a charter for a Gospel choir from Pilgrim Baptist Church 33rd & Michigan to Milwaukee, Wisconsin for a concert at a suburban Brookfield evangelical church.
 Pilgrim Baptist Church was destroyed by a fire 1/7/06.
On the way up there I learned that the director of the choir was a very famous gospel song writer named Rev. Thomas Dorsey, no relation to the other Tommie Dorsey. Rev. Dorsey had written several famous songs, one of which is “There will be Peace in the Valley”. I got on the P.A. and told everyone that I had volunteered for the run because I love gospel music and if I didn't start hearing some soon I was turning around.
That's all it took. I was serenaded for the next 45 minutes by some of the best, down home, tent raising, foot stomping music I had ever heard. Returning home, I heard the choir “passing the hat” behind me in the bus. The choir's elder presented me with a brown paper bag and said, “It ain't much, but we appreciate how comfortable you made us.” When I got home I found $68.00 and change, nothing over a $5.00 bill, from the poorest people of Chicago. As I was leaving the Palmer House I kinda wished that Archdiocese P.R. man could go with me the next time I took that choir out. It'd never happen.
Lessons learned from my day with the Pope.
Never think an old woman is sweet just because she reminds you of your gramma.
Television anchors are elitist, effete jerks.
You can teach old Chicago cops new tricks.
The secret service is really good, I mean really good.
And more importantly:
I have long ago given up my long held, long entrenched teaching, that only the “right” believers will go to heaven. I now believe that God alone will determine who joins him and that no religion is the only correct one, despite the pomposity of some, the piety of others and the apparent hypocrisy of most, only He will make that determination based solely on what you believe, not what you do or show. Yet there are people put on this earth to lead us somehow. For centuries men have killed each other in the name of God. This continues now and will until the end of time. But John Paul XXIII was sent here for his mission in the Roman Catholic Church and his universal appeal and example to all religions should serve as an inspiration to all. He moved me in ways I had believed were impossible by a mere man. I was saddened by his loss last year and wish we had men like him leading our country.
Fred Bolin
|
The Karps from Bud Rappe
|
| Get A Job There were people who wanted to be cops. There were
people who just needed a job. Then there was me I
wanted both. If you were like me, either way, you
would of done the low belly crawl just to get into the
door.
Being recently discharged (honorably) from the army it
was time to get a job. I liked being an MP in the
army, riding around in a patrol car while all the
other troops were going to the boonies or digging
holes and marching. So the process of filling out
applications, taking tests and jumping through hoops
began. I know you all did the same thing and I was
just wondering if you recall some of these aspects of
trying to get a job on the police force.
DON'T PISS IT AWAY
First, I took the test in Evanston. Having passed I
was summoned to the second floor of a city garage
building for a "physical". Upon entry I was met by a
20s something nurse in white uniform. She hands me a
dixiecup and says "pee." I say "where". She says
"right here". Then she's sitting there watching me.
I say "I don't think I can do this, I think I need a
little privacy." "No privacy" she says "you could
switch samples either pee in the cup or you don't get
the job." I tried like hell but I was locked up
tighter than grannies panties on Sunday morning. As I
walked out dejected she told me "you can come back
tomorrow to try again, shorty." I didn't get that job
but as I recall they were only paying $375 a month.
HAMON THE PRICE IS RIGHT
Next was Chicago. They were paying $395 per month. I
took the test at Wells High School. As I entered a
young hispanic man asked me " hey mon ju wannto buy
the answers to these test?" There were several
thousand applicants that showed up. I passed the test
and was wait listed maybe about 1000th on the list.
WAITING ON LISTS
Then came Skokie. $474 per month, wow! I took the
test along with a few hundred hopefulls. We were
graded right of way and then sent assembly line like
to take the physical agility portion. Several days
later I received a letter that told me I was accepted,
however, I needed to wait until the politicians passed
a budget, which could be anywhere from a month to a
year. So now I was in trouble, I still needed a job and I was without any prospects.
GOING BUNKERS
I know that this is hard to believe today. Some of us
knew an old time Skokie Cop who was driving a milk
truck in the morning, was called up in the afternoon
and told he was hired and worked the midnight shift,
uniform, gun and all, that same night. I had kind of
a similar story. There was this girl I knew whose
mother was secretary to the Glencoe Village Board.
The mother arranged for me to have an interview with
the public safety director and this was my entry test.
"Can you drive a truck?" "Sure, I drove one for a
plumbing supplier after high school." He handed me a
map of his town. "Do you think you could learn all of
these streets by next Monday? You know we got over 22 square miles of streets. Stand up let me look at you.
wow, what size shoes do you wear." "Size 14 sir."
"Gee I don't know if we have any bunkers that'll fit
you." Im going, what the hell are bunkers? Then he
says "OK, we'll have to order some. Your pay is $225
per month, you work 24 hours on then your off for 48
hours. The first 8 hours you patrol in the squad.
The second 8 hours you come into the station, do
filing and maintenance. The third 8 hours you sleep
in the upstairs dorm and wait for a fire call." "Oh",
I says to myself, "thats what bunkers are, it's where
you sleep!" So I was hired as a public safety officer
half fireman, half policeman and half file clerk. I
was in dire straits. These guys patroled in
stretcher cars. If the alarm sounded they drove to
the station picked up a fire truck and went to the
fire. I was hired on a Thursday, I was told I would
start on the following Monday. Two days later on a
Saturday morning I went to the mailbox and there was a
letter from Skokie telling me that I was hired and
final testing was to proceed. During the interval
between the test and the letter they raised the pay to
$505. In 2 days I doubled my salary and cut my
workload by 2/3rds. I was really, really happy.
Needless to say that girl or her mother never spoke to
me again. The chief had ordered size 14 bunkers and
now he had to send them back.
TESTING, TESTING 1,2,3
I think the tests were given in the order of how
expensive they were. You did the cheap tests first in
case you failed they would have spent the least amount
of money on you.
JARS TAKES A BRIBE
Not long after getting the letter, a young detective
by the name of Bob Mason shows up at the door one
evening. I guess he sent your prints to the FBI, he
probably asked the neighbors some routine questions.
"Did ja ever see him staggering around the yard drunk?
About how old was he when he stopped molesting small animals?" So he came in nosed around a little and
started asking me some questions that were on a clip
board. He was on the third one when old mom entered
into the hiring process. "Do you have much crime at
your police station?" "No maam just the usual
stuff-stolen car, couple burglaries." "Oh, thats good
I wouldn't want my Brucie to be anywhere dangerous."
We were up to question 5. "Can I get you anything, I
got a pot of golumkis on the stove." "No maam I
couldn't." "But look at you, your all skin and bones,
doesn't your mother feed you? How about a nice plate
of pirogas?" "No thank you maam, we're really not
allowed to." We were up to question 7 when mom
chimed in again. "Do you have guns at your police
station? "Yes maam." "I don't like the sound of
that, someone could get hurt playing with those
things." "Don't worry maam well train your son." Mom
looked at him suspicious like, "how much will that
cost?" "For free maam, we'll even pay him while he's
learning!" "You're a nice boy, I just took a peach
pie out of the oven, I'm going to cut you a big
slice." "Yes maam," Bob said, having been totally
overwhelmed. Joking aside Bob is a good friend to a
lot of us, he is a real gentleman, was an excellent
criminalist and a first class supervisor. I can't
help but feel that mom's pie went a long way toward
getting him past all of those high heel pumps in my
closet and my collection of gladiator posters hanging
in the room. "Would you like a little ice cream on
that pie young man?"
GOOD BOX BAD BOX
We were sent downtown to J.M. Reid. They hooked you
up asked some routine questions then hit you with the
big ones. " Do you like Broadway show tunes, did you
ever wear women's underwear, did you ever go on a date with a man, would you like to, do you want my number."
"Ok your done, I'll be right back." Ten minutes later
the door opens and this big ugly guy comes in. "You
got a problem kid, test shows you stole something from
your employer. You need to tell us about it or you
won't get the job." "Mistake" I say, "I only worked
at two places in my life, the plumber and the army.
What am I gonna steal a 300 pound gate valve, a pup
tent." Then he points his chubby finger, with bloody
well gnawed nail at me and says those famous words
that we've all heard, "the box don't lie." I told the
truth, but I never felt dirtier in my life. A few
years later a friend of ours ex SPD cop Tom Lund, got
his degree, quit the job and went to work for Reid.
When I told him of my experience he related that about
95% of the candidates that are dismissed are because
of the admissions they made to the examiner. Oh yea,
he told me a whole bunch of them down there got canned because they were 'a little light in their loafers'.
PORN
Having passed the box we were then sent to the shrink.
Dr. K. had the contract to give us our psychological
exam. This guy was so impressed with himself he even
had his own institute, which he named for himself.
The 'K--- Institute' consisted of a desk and 2 chairs
in a dingy, cluttered 1 room office on Lasalle St.
"Draw a man. Now draw a man in the rain. Look at
this picture and tell me how it makes you feel." In
conclusion, he whips out the inkblots (Rhorshack
test). "What does that look like to you." Carefully,
I examine the blot, looking at it from all
perspectives, then I answer. "Looks like two naked
women dancing." "How about the next one", he asks.
"Hmmm, I don't know, it kinda looks like a woman's
private parts. "OK, what about this one." "Gee doc
that looks like a man and a woman, and they look like
they're doing it. "Brucie," he says, "I think you are
a very sick man." "Me sick, I protest, "you're the
one with all the dirty pictures." I know that's a
very old joke, however this guy wasn't. A few years
later Dr. K. was arrested by Chicago PD in his Hyde
Park apartment along with a couple of 16 year old
girls doing some serious drugs and re-enacting some of
the scenes depicted on those inkblots. How many good
cops were nayed, how many bad cops were yeaed by this guy while he was on LSD.
SIGN IN PLEASE
The village canceled its contract with him and hired a
woman Doctor whose office/home was on Babb St. Once I was assigned by the desk to take an envelope to her house. She invited me in and I related some of my
physc. testing experiences to her. She told me that
the pictures and blots were just a way of catching you
off guard, the real test is when she asks you to print
your name and write 25 words about your life. "you
see," she says, "I can tell how fit a police officer
is just by looking at his handwriting."
Now if your like me, you lose your glasses, you forget
an appointment or your anniversary, you get upset over
some small thing. You say to yourself, "am I loosing
my mind?" No my friend, your not going crazy, you
always were crazy and SPD has the test results to
prove it. Every time you signed your name!
ASSMAN
Now the village is coughing up the big bucks. We're
over at the clinic at Skokie and Church. The usual
stuff, blood sample, urine test (this time they let us
use the washroom) couple xrays check the ole nards,
EKG and then...
People sometimes ask me what was the most difficult
thing I had to face as a cop. Without hesitation I
say it was definetely the Proctoscope part of the
entrance physical. The nurse gives you an enema and
she actually said "pardon my cold hands." As I'm
running into the bathroom she says "no, don't
evacuate yet if you do it too soon I'll have to give
you another one. As I exploded in that small toilet I
realized that there were a lot of people obsessed with
the bodily functions of a police officer. Some of
them want you to pee, then there are the ones that
don't want you to poop. The box guys were watching
through a 2 way mirror to see if you were sweating and
the guy on LSD was wanting to know how many nocturnal emissions you had during the day time. Right then and there I decided this is going to be a rough job. I didn't know if my matabolism would be up to the task!
To complete the exam they put you face down on a
table that tilts you on about a 60 degree angle with
your butt in the air and then they litterally stick
the pipe to you. I guess that I passed that test ok,
but to this day I still can't figure out why the
Proctologist had me wear the cheerleader's outfit?
LARRY, CURLEY AND MOE
Then, they called me up, told me I had to interview
before the Fire and Police Commission. There were 4
of them in this small room above a fire station. The
first guy, he's all sweaty he asks a couple. I field
them pretty good. Then this next guy, he can't look
you in the eye. He wants to know if I got any trouble
doing shift work. The third guy talks like he got a
mouth full of marbles. I could hardly hear him. He
thinks I'm deaf, so, he asks me if I have all of my
faculties. I thought he asked if I had my facilities.
I say, "no sir, I still live with my mom and dad,
but, I'm getting married in a couple of months and
we're looking for a house in Glenview or Northbrook."
This lady who is recording the meeting in shorthand is
laughing her ass off. It was very 3 stoogish. Then
this commissioner called the 'Tuna' asks me the
defining question of the interview. It all came down
to this. "If you saw me speeding would you give me a
ticket?"
DON'T FOUL UP THE MAJOR'S TEE TIME
I learned this in the MPs, I had the answer. The army
taught us this in case we ever stopped a captain or
general. "Sir," I say, "I would act in accordance
with general orders, special orders and written
directives issued to me by my commander."
The army did this for a reason. There would always be
a PFC stopping an officer. If the officer would order
the PFC to let him go the PFC by repeating the above
cited paragraph would let the officer know that he
already had an order countermanding the officer's
order. Because the most important thing in the army
are tee times at the post golf course this circumvents
a whole lot of problems. It maintains discipline,
esprit de corps, and no higher authority could take
away the provost's favorite tee time because of a stop
made by one of his MPs. Each night when the sargeant
would turn us out for duty he would warn us, "Don't
f--- up the major's Tee time.
CALLING IN SICK
"That isn't the answer were looking for young man,"
the Tuna says looking at me with his beady eyes. "Its
late at night, its just you and me and I'm speeding.
You gonna give me a ticket or not?"
I looked at the other commissioners and they were
actually slinking down in their chairs, they looked
embarrassed. I was only a kid but I had them all
figured out. Like they were going to wash me out
after spending all this money on me. "Yes sir,
regettably, I would have to." The Tuna smiled. He
was more pleased with my discomfort than the answer,
but that's what bullying is all about. The day they
gave political ethics in Skokie these guys all called
in sick!
'THUMPER' AND 'THE TUNA'
Now this story would be funny by itself, but truth at
least in Skokie is even funnier and more pathetic than
fiction. It seems that several years later one
midnite shift a car was being erratically driven up
Main St. A good friend of ours, and a tough street
cop by the name of 'Thumper' stops the car. When he
sought to ticket the driver, it turns out to be none
other that the Tuna. "Its late, I'm speeding, what
are you going to do." Thumper ain't stupid, he's not
all polished like some cops but he's the guy I want
patroling my street when I tuck the wife and kids in
for the night. Thumper probably would have smoothed
things over with the Tuna but the first thing the Tuna
does is flash his commisioner's button and order
Thumper to let him go. Wrong answer Tuna. Thumper
and about 99% of all the other cops would of done the
same thing. Thumper wrote him. Tuna drives to the
station orders the watch commander to void the ticket.
The watch commander orders Thumper to void the
ticket. Thumper refuses, is suspended, brought up on
charges and is ordered to trial before the commission.
Thumper near as hell looses his job for the very same
thing that the Tuna admonished him and about 40 other
cops to do during their interview. About that time
morale in the department went through the crapper. We
kind of owed it all to those other commissioners,
polititions and administrators who didn't have the
calzones to stand up to this blimp. How could they
let this fat slob hi-jack not only their integrety but
the political process that maintained esprit de corps
and chain of command? How could the village
administrators not back their cop. They knew what the
Tuna's MO was, he'd been bullying police officers for
years. It would have taken just one of them to stand
up to this sack of crap. Skokie, punch a card,
'Numerous thefts of spinal columns.'
WHAT A BUNCH OF MOPES
So we passed all the tests. We were about to become
police officers. We were going to go to The Chicago
Police Accedemy for our training. We were going to be
the best trained and the best paid cops not only in
the state but the entire country. I came on with a
group of about 15 or 20 other cops. If you look
around on this host's web site you will probably find
some pictures of us getting sworn in. (Click Here) We all appeared en masse at the hall one Monday night. The trustees and the mayor eyed us nervously and probably thought, "What kind of major mistake did we make?" As the
picture records for posterity- what a bunch of mopes
we were, but--- It was good to be young. It was good
to have a job. It would remain to be seen whether or
not it was good to be a cop.
MOPERY AS A GROWTH INDUSTRY
We took the oath, started our careers, and then went
to 'The Coach and Four' to celebrate. The Greeks who
ran the place looked at all of us piling into the
place and decided right then that they would need to
expand. Shortly thereafter the place closed down,
remodled and reopened as 'The Desiree'.
ITS A GREAT JOB UNTIL SOMETHING GOES WRONG
Hello to all and best wishes to everybody. To those
retired I hope you are enjoying yourselves, you've
earned it. To those of you still on the job, pay
attention to what you are doing, listen to your sarge
and be careful. The hardest test you will have is
reaching retirement.
Your friend Bud Rappe
|
At the recent SPD picnic some persons (not all)
suggested that I might send in some more stories. In
light of recent problems in Dutch Aruba this
particular memory came to mind.
|
| The Phanton Driver We all know how law enforcement has changed over the years. No story more perfectly exemplifies these changes in what you used to be able to get away with and gallows humor than this.
I met a Hammond, Indiana police officer while attending a class many years ago and as is usually the case everyone in the room was exchanging war stories. He had begun his career on the Whiting, Ind. police department. Whiting shares borders with the City of Chicago around Wolf Lake and under the Chicago Skyway. He and his partner were working midnights and while patroling in an industrial park, came across an illegally parked, occupied car. Thinking what we all did, "Aha, lovers!" they laid back and waited for a few minutes before approaching. To their astonishment, it wasn't lovers at all, but a man seated behind the wheel with his brains blown out, gun in hand. Not a pleasant circumstance under any situation. His partner reasoned, "Hey, this car has Illinois tags, a Chicago vehicle sticker and the city is a block and a half away." In the same general industrial area. So they did what any normal cop would have to avoid the paperwork. They reached through the window, put the car in neutral, and using their squad and the curb to steer, gently pushed the car back into Chicago and into the State of Illinois where the damn thing belonged anyway.
They went to grab a cup of coffee and wash up. After about an hour they decided to check up on their chicanery and see if Chicago PD had found their man. Well apparently they did, in fact, they found their man, car and all, back in Whiting in the same spot! Seems like somebody in Chicago didn't want to do paper work either.
"Those sons a bitches! Now I'm pissed!" was his partners immediate response. "I'll fix their wagon!" The dynamic duo then repeated their slow move of Mr. Dead and returned the poor soul to the streets of Chicago. Then his partner did something even more unusual as he pulled his car into a gas station and went to the pay phone dialing 911. Screaming in his best falsetto his partner told the 911 dispatcher, "Oh my god! It's terrible, there's a dead man in a car at ..... send help right away!" and hung up. Returning to their squad he said, "let's see those assholes get away with that now!"
Poor Mr. Dead had driven a half mile after leaving this earth. Had this happened in Skokie, I'm sure a few of our supervisors would have wanted him cited for operating without a valid license too.
Fred Bolin
|
| I Knew Michael When He Wasn't A Pervert or I Watch Way Too Much TV.
Watching Michael on the news triggered a memory. In the early 70s one midnight shift the entire watch was summoned to The Skokie Hilton. It seemed as though someone leaked info that the Jackson Five were staying there and at 1 AM about 75 screaming fans appeared in the lobby and parking lot clamoring to get a look at the group. In those days there was a theater in Golf Mill that was a popular venue for various concerts and plays. The out of town performers would stay at the Skokie Hilton as this was the only hotel available in the area. When we all arrived the Sargent had us clear the lobby and cordon off the front entry. We waited for about 15 minutes at the front entry and then 2 limos appeared in the parking lot and stopped at the front door. An entourage of about 10 people emerged from the autos, waved at the assembled fans then disappeared into the hotel. All I can remember of Michael was that he was very small among the others and he looked very sleepy as he passed by. I don't remember much about the incident but I would be able to testify, if called to the court in Santa Barbara that on the time and date in question I witnessed no perversions.
Walking through the cosmetics department of Fields one afternoon I stopped at the counter of one of my friends who worked there and to my surprise the customer that was standing at the counter happened to be the actress Della Reese. Before Ms. Reese was an actress she was a blues singer and she often made appearances at the Golf Mill Theater, overnighting at the Hilton. She spent her off duty hours shopping at Fields and Saks. The clerk told me that Ms. Reese was a regular, but never bought anything that was'nt on sale and always insisted on a complimentary gift.
Jimmy Carter, courting the Jewish vote, appeared at the syn agog located at Dempster and Kolmar to give a speech. There were a great number of State troopers, county deputies, secret service types and Skokie Police both on duty and hire back. Law enforcement outnumbered guests( who paid to get in) about 2 to 1. On completion of his speech Mr. Carter emerged from the auditorium into the foyer where I had been posted. There were numerous dignitaries and politicos crowded around him seeking a word and a handshake. As he finished up he thanked everyone and then looked toward me at my post. He made his way over to me and shook hands with me and told me "tell your chief thank you very much you all did a good job." Apparently he could tell by my uniform that I was a local and not one of the numerous personnel that had been assigned to escort him. I always regarded that as a sincere and gentlemanly thing that he did, which I will always remember. Mr. Carter was rather slight and bony in stature but I recall that his hand was "muscle bound" and skin was rather calloused. The poor man probably shook over a million hands in his career!
Speaking of synagogues, the people of Skokie and all the congregations in Niles township by various collections and fund raisers contributed 2 ambulances to the people of Israel sometime back in the late 60s. The ambulances were stored at the village garage for safe keeping until they could be shipped. Painted on the sides of the vehicles were words to the effect of "A gift to the People of Israel from the people of Niles Township." Recently while watching a documentary on the Israeli conflicts I saw some vintage footage of a bombing victim being placed into one of our ambulances.
I know that a lot has been written on and many of you have your individual memories about the Nazi march on Skokie, after reading last month's news letter, this is my personal recollection of what happened. Thousands of citizens surrounded village hall on that day. I believe we were put onto a Meirhofer bus and transported to the scene and interspersed around the building. About 15 minutes before H. hour someone in government decided to stop the march. About 8 or 10 names were read off and we along with a supervisor (I think it was LeRoy) were put into 2 squad cars and told not under any circumstances to let the group set foot into Skokie. We all raced down to Touhy and Cicero and it was about this time that we realized that most of the names chosen all weighed in excess of 250 lbs. and were all over 6 ft. tall. At the time we had compact sized Plymouth Satellite cars. I think the most amazing thing that happened that day was getting all of us fully equipped in riot gear into those cars! At any rate an intelligence unit who was following the group told us to stop them at Cicero south of Touhy. I think the group consisted of 2 carloads of about 7 teenage kids wearing disheveled brown uniforms with Nazi armbands. The Sargent spoke with them gave them some sort of writ, they piled back into their cars and returned to Chicago. Contrary to being disappointed the youngsters looked relieved. Everyone involved realized they would have gotten their asses kicked or possibly killed. I am sure and I believe intelligence at the time indicated that JDL people were there and that they may have been armed. When we got back to the hall we found that it was the gathered citizenry that was disappointed. Most present were raring to kick some butt. Recently I saw a TV documentary on The American Nazis and a small segment of footage depicted some of you on the steps in full riot gear. If you were on the department back then you would have been there and you probably have some different memories.
When Phil Donahue began his daily TV talk show which originated in Chicago he took up residency in Winnetka. Subsequently he married "that girl" Marlo Thomas. I first met Ms. Thomas when one of her step daughters required youth services of some sort due to an incident that happened in Old Orchard. She seemed to me to be a regular person that had a genuine concern for her child. A few years later I walked into the Skokie Valley ER for a break where I again saw Ms. Thomas as well as Mr. Donahue and several other people in the waiting room. The party seemed distraught. Ms. Thomas recognized me and approached. She told me that Mr. Donahue's teen age son had been involved in a roll over accident and was in grave condition. Shortly thereafter Mr. Donahue approached me and said that "when the news and TV find out about this they will be crawling all over the place." We arranged for the family to be put into a private waiting room and kept a watch at the entrance for the remainder of the night. No one leaked any information to the press and reporters never appeared. The young man recovered but only after some surgeries. Years later during a TV interview Mr. and Mrs. Donahue related that that incident had been one of the defining moments in their lives. At the time I recalled that they were just regular people who would have done or given anything to get their kid out of trouble.
On another occasion I walked into the ER to find her honor mayor Jane Byrne sitting on a gurney with a big bandage wrapped around her hand. It appeared that Ms. Byrne apparently slammed a car door on her finger. Thinking that this would not look good on her political resume she made arrangements with a family friend (an off duty Skokie Police Officer) to take her to a discrete emergency room for treatment. When I told friends of this incident they said "nah". But sure enough Ms. Byrne who happened to be in the habit of speaking demonstratively with her hands appeared on TV with a bandage on her finger. Again not too long ago while watching a retrospective of Chicago politics on TV there was Ms. Byrne giving a speech for posterity with a big black hematoma under one of her fingernails.
Finally, one night around shift change in the mid 80's, sitting in the Niles Twp. lot I see a suspicious auto cross the intersection of Lincoln and Gross PT a couple of times. On the third time I stopped the luxury auto at Lincoln and Laramie. I called for a 28 then got out to talk to the driver. He showed me a valid DL and registration and told me he had gotten off Edens to get gas but couldn't find an open station. I gave him directions and let him go. When I got back into the car, radio gave me the registration check. Within 10 seconds there were at least 5 squads there. "Did you know who that was?" I'm thinking I must have had some major felon that I just let go. Apparently I stopped some famous Chicago Bear Player. Not being an avid Football fan I did not realize who he was and to this day I could not recall his name but it must have been a big deal to draw so much attention. To add insult to injury I stopped the man right in front of the Indianapolis Colt's office building. Thank you for your attention. I hope that you have enjoyed these stories and that they may have spurred some memories within yourselves, so that you too may share some of your experiences with us. We are fortunate to have a forum such as this to relate our experiences and to record some of these incidents for history's sake. I know a lot of you are sitting on some pretty good stories. Give them up.
Best wishes and happy new year to all. Your friend Bud Rappe
Ed. Comment:
I recall the Nazi or KKK march in Wilmette, where we were given the perimeter of the park while the rally and speech was going on. At the conclusion of the festivities, Illinois State Police, Cook County Sheriff's PD, Evanston PD and Wilmette PD were all relieved by their commanders and left while we had to remain, until the park emptied. Of course being the only symbols of authority to remain we were targeted by a few irate JDL types and a few rocks were thrown, no big deal, but I never comprehended why we had to stay behind when even the local PD was allowed to depart!
Regarding the Hilton, President Ford was spending a night there and we were in a cordon at the front of the building where some demonstartors had congregated. One guy in particular caught Sgt. Phil O'Keefe's eye and he approached him in line. The guy was quite belligerent and Phil ordered him to take his hands out of his pockets, before the dude got "you" out of his mouth following the F word, 3-4 secret service guys had him on the ground, cuffed and machine guns displayed. They apparently had also been watching him and were right on top of it. As the commercial says, "These guys are GOOD!"
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| "The Anatomy (female) Of An Auto Accident Or Why I Watch The Evening News."
Think back to working midnights. There was that time of the shift when the people ending their day and those who were about to start the new day were all home in bed. Nobody on the street but you and four or five other knuckleheads just like you who were on duty. If you did see something move you knew it was either some bad guy or some raving lunatic. It was just such a morning when I pulled out of one of the factory lots onto Touhy Ave. Right before my eyes was a huge ball of flame. Pulling up to the scene I find an auto resting in the bushes of one of the factories that lined the south side of the street. Instantly, I thought a stolen car had been dumped and the thief had set it on fire to cover his tracks. Then I hear this blood curdling scream emanating from the adjacent bushes and there I behold my first, last and only naked lady call. Karen was a beautiful 21 year old. She was the kind of girl men wanted around them, and other women hated. You knew by looking at her that she had always gotten everything she ever wanted, she was queen of the prom, she always had a date on Saturday night and nobody ever said no to her. She was about to graduate college and enter the world of journalism. You also knew she would probably make good because she had poise, personality and talent in the form of a set of perfect knockers courtesy of Dow Chemical. She was engaged to be married and when she stood next to her fiance they appeared to be Ken and Barbie for all intents and purposes. Yes, she had it all, she even had a dirty little secret. Karen was a very naughty girl. So what's this girl doing in the middle of the street, naked next to a wrecked car? Karen was in a state of shock, screaming at the top of her lungs "oh my God, what have I done? Oh my God!" At this point I assumed that there was another person in the car and I immediately ran toward the conflagration intending to be a hero. Forget it, no way was I going to save anything other than my big ass. Retreating back to the squad, I realized that my sole purpose this day was to render aid and comfort to this poor helpless naked lady. I put her in the back seat. All I had to offer her to protect her modesty was a dirty car wash towel and my field reporting manual. It was at this point that I discovered that she had been burned. Her entire backside from her buttocks to her ankles was red and blistered. All we could do was watch the car burn and wait for SFD. Next about 7 or 8 firemen were arguing and drawing straws to see who would get to rub salve on this poor girls burnt parts. At the scene we all thought she had had her clothing burned off of her. It was only after the real police from Lincolnwood arrived and found that her clothes were in a pile on the floorboards of her car, wrapped around the brake pedal, that we realized something was amiss. Sgt. Fisher was a real gentleman and an astute supervisor. He recognized the significance of how a naked lady call affects the career of a young patrolman. "Brucie, he says I want you to handle this call, and I know you'll do a good job." When I got to the hospital about a half hour later, I could overhear the nurses talking to Karen in the cubicle. They were commenting on her boobs, what a good job that Dr. so and so did and how much did they cost, which hospital did she go to etc. etc. When I finally got in to see her it was like I was her savior. She wept and hugged me and she kept on saying what a sick person she was. When I asked her what happened the whole story just poured out. Karen, it seems since the time that she got her learner's permit would from time to time sneak out of the house, borrow daddy's car and cruise the streets of Chicago looking for a thrill. Over the years one thing led to another and it appeared that the only way she was able to obtain a modicum of excitement was to drive around town at high rates of speed in the nude. On this particular morning while studying for finals she became bored and decided to go for a little jaunt. Somewhere around Clark and Devon she caught the attention of a couple of men in a truck at which point the fun began. As she led the men up and down the various streets, she reached a very high state of tension and somewhere in the 3500 block of Touhy things got out of hand, so to speak. Traveling west bound at a high rate of speed with an 18 wheeler in hot pursuit, at the exact same time she lost control of the muscles in her lower pelvic regions she also lost control of her fiance's late model Olds. When she came to her senses she found herself on top of some junipers that lined the foundation of one of the factories on the south side of Touhy. Realizing her predicament she tried to back out of the bushes but unbeknown st to her the wheels of the car were up in the air. She raced the engine for several minutes until the transmission started to overheat. When smoke filled the interior of the car she opened the door and the oxygen rushing into the car created a back draft effect causing the interior of the car to burst in flames. Apparently when she attempted to flee the car she was unable to as her blue jean shorts which at this point were around her ankles had entangled with the brake pedal. She fell from the car head first exposing her buttocks, private parts and legs to the licking flames. She told me that she didn't remember how she escaped but she would never forget the searing pain of the burns. She said she needed help and that she could not keep going on like this because her escapades were getting more and more bizarre. As we waited for her fiance and the Lincolnwood police to arrive she told me her life story. She aspired to be a TV anchorwoman. Her father had spent tens of thousands of dollars on orthodontists, speech coaches and even breast implants. She had several leads on radio and TV reporting jobs and she already had an agent lined up to flood the industry with her name and photos. When the Lincolnwood officer arrived we compared notes and just about everything she had told me had been borne out by his investigation. When we went back into the cubicle he asked her if she had been hurt at which time she removed the white sheet that covered her displaying her burnt backside plus a few other goodies that were not quite as burnt. By this time the Ken portion of her life arrived and protectively took charge. When the officer gave her a ticket Ken protested loudly "on what grounds?" The officer could have created a real scene had he gone into details but being a gentleman he told Ken she was driving negligently by having her pedals blocked. After taking a bond card Lincolnwood left and a short time later Karen was checked out of the hospital. In the waiting room after her release Ken and Barbie had a terrible fight, Ken accusing Barbie of being a whore and all whatnot. The nurses told them to take it outside where you could hear them carrying on in their car for several minutes. When things calmed down I went back inside to finish my report and recap events with the nurses. When I returned to the parking lot 15 minutes later the windows of their car were all steamed up and they were in the process of some type of lovemaking. All I could tell you is that Karen was quite a woman. In the span of about two hours she wrecked a car, almost burned down a factory, nearly killed herself, received some painful burns, racked up some serious hospital bills, was charged with a misdemeanor, lost a good portion of her wardrobe and was now doing the Chevy shuffle out in the parking lot of the hospital, all before sun-up. You could just imagine what the rest of her day would be like. When she appeared in court the Lincolnwood officer related that she pled guilty, lest the true story come to light. He also told me that she sent her regards to me and wanted me to know that "I would always be her hero." For quite a number of years whenever I travel to a strange city I find myself tuning into the ten o'clock news. I'd like to think that its my natural interest in current events but maybe its something more psychological. Once, I think it was in Columbus, Ohio there was a newswoman by the name of Karen. I thought it could've been her but I wasn't sure, she had her clothes on. Greetings to all and best holiday wishes, your friend Bud Rappe
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"...oops, Pardon Me!"
I was working beat 7 and had a couple of cups of coffee and it was time to get rid of the stored up liquid. Sis Weber was working dispatch when I called out of the car on a personal at Dempster and McCornick.
I had just entered the rest room at the Standard station and was enjoying the relief of a good pee when I heard my portable squack "307" I didn't answer. Again, this time Sis was a little louder, "307!"
As I was finishing my watering, I keyed the mike so she could hear the splashing, then flushed the toilet and said "307, go ahead"
All I heard was Sis saying " Opps, pardon me, I'm sorry.'
I did the customary shake and zip and went back to the car and cleared.
Sis didn't acknowledge me.
Ron Baran Top
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| "Sex At The East Door" Officer Gillono called me over to the east door of Fields to back her with a suspicious man she observed loitering in the area. It was quite an experience to witness the following: Janice observed the man darting about. He was wearing a suit with a tan trench coat that was open. On his head he wore a sequined yalmaka. The man's pants were undone and his fly was open. When she questioned him he spoke with a heavy Yiddish accent. "Excuse me sir, what are you doing?" "Ohym waitink for mine fadder to pick me up." "Sir your pants are open, you can't walk around here like that there are women and children present." "Ohym zo zowrie, but I godt kloutz." Sir, I don't care who you know your going to have to button your pants." "Yes mam ohym zowrie." By this time she realized that the man may have been slightly "special" in that he probably rode the short bus to school in his formative years. She cautioned and released him, hoping that the man's parents would soon collect him. About 10 minutes later she again observed the man walking aimlessly about, again with his pants undone. Janice being impressed with neither the subject's manhood nor his political connections, sought to arrest him for disorderly conduct. At the station through his tears all the man could say was: "Ohym zo zowrie but mine doktur toldt me I koudt die from bloodt kloutz if I wearn mine pauntz too tight."
On a different occasion, we received a call of a man driving near the bus stops in Old Orchard naked. Janice observed the car stuck in traffic at the east door of Fields. She called for back-up then left her squad that was facing the wrong way in one of the adjacent aisles. Approaching the suspect from behind and in his blind spot she reached through his driver's side window placing her hand on his shoulder and announcing that he was under arrest. Promptly, the suspect lost control of his sphincter and defecated in his pants. This act in itself would have been most unpleasant for any officer handling the case, except this guy wasn't wearing any pants. When I got there, she politely announced, "here's the pervert whose been riding around your beat exposing himself, he's all yours!"
Greetings to all, your friend Bud Rappe
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| "Joan Rivers He Wasn't" I was reminded recently about an incident involving a truly genuine man, Ed Tatum. Ed was a giant, with hands as large as hams yet he could be gentle and caring while maintaining a simple straightforward principle of right and wrong. I have three Ed Tatum stories to relate, one involving a lesson he taught me about how blacks perceive attitudes of other blacks, another about how I learned to respect a different man because of the character he showed at Ed's funeral, and this one, much more lighthearted.
We were working midnights, Lt Filipowski was the shift commander, Sgt. Fred Stewart was the patrol Sgt. this evening, when an alarm call came in from the fur store on Dempster, near the Swift. Fred Stewart was almost on top of the call and observed 2-3 subjects running from their car while in the act of a smash and grab. He pursued one northbound and called for help while he was struggling with the offender making the arrest. I was close and assisted Fred in cuffing the subject and transported his prisoner to SPD. Lt. Filipowski and Ed apprehended another and took him in also. If you'll remember the old north door booking area, there was at the time one desk upstairs and another in the basement. When we got in I had my prisoner in a chair and Lt. Filipowski told Ed to take the other prisoner downstairs and talk to him.
After a few minutes we heard this loud "Whoomp!" sound and then the unmistakeable voice of Ed shouting, "Get up you s...o...b... and I'll knock you down again!" We ran downstairs thinking a problem had developed, and Lt. Filipowski asked Ed what was wrong. "Nothing" he replied. "Well what happened ? I told you to just take him down and talk to him."
"Oh" Ed answered sheepishly, "I thought you meant TALK to him !"
Fred Bolin Top
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| Trick or Treat Just a quick Halloween story. Do you all remember the traditional egg fight at Fairview South on Halloween Night. There used to be nearly 100 kids in combat there. One Halloween a 7-11 attendant tipped me off about a carload of kids who had just bought about 7 dozen eggs, they left in a 70's Bonneville convert, with the top down. I found the car and stopped it. Five kids all proclaiming total innocence, except I could see the egg cartons with the lids torn off stashed in the "boot" area of the lowered convertible roof. That particular car had the powered roof switch immediately below the top of the padded dash and withing reach of a devilishly inclined police officer. As the top was raising from the rear, five future lawyers found out what it was like to become an ingredient in a Pontiac omelette; I'll bet they were washing Mom's car out all night !
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| Seeing Eye To Brown Eye With Your Sergeant When you look up the word jokester in Webster there is a picture of Danny Koncolski next to it. Him and his cohorts would spend all their waking hours thinking up nutty things to do to each other. So when old baby huey came along it was like the most fun that any of them ever had. Don't remember the circumstances but one fall midnite shift shortly after graduation I was partnered up with Danny. Maybe about 2am comes the setup "we get a lot of stolen cars dumped out by Niles West keep your eyes open". As we're driving down Gross Pt I see one out in the middle of the football field. "I don't want to drive out there", he says, go sneak up on it, check it out". Now comes the payoff. I get my six cell flashlite and walk out to the convertible sitting on the fifty yard line of the football field, I shine my lite in the window and I see nothing but one big, hairy ass, butt looking back at me. Then Im all like your watching a cartoon when I discover that the butt is attached to my sargeant. "Get the f out of here you f. ing rookie, where the f is my gun I'm going to shoot your ass. Now I'm running as fast as my jelly legs will carry me back to the squad that's no longer there. Then I look around and up in the parking lot there are 3 or 4 other squads parked all watching me all laughing their asses off. And old Danny he liked to pee his pants. "Don't tell me that was Sgt. so and so, who was he with?" Next, were driving over to the Touhy house, he near as hell gets me killed and he wants to get hamburgers before they close. Let me assure any young police officer that may read this story, you do not perform studious interruptous on your sgt. without reprecussions. Retaliation was immediately forthcoming and brutal. It seems that for a long time the officers knew that this Sgt upon completion of his tour would go to Mikes' for a couple of cokes then pick up a young lady and repair to the Niles West football field where she would assist him in studying for the upcoming lieutenants exam. Everybody except me knew better than to interfere with the process. So I guess when I came along he took it as a direct assault. From that day until he left the department a couple of years later he had some bad feelings toward me. Within an hour he had gone home, changed into his class A uniform, strapped on his hogleg and came into the station demanding that the desk sgt call me in. From what I heard he was going to either fire me or gun fight me depending on my attitude. When the patrol sgt. heard about the commotion he arrived and ordered the sgt out of the station. He then told us to go to the other side of town and stay out of sight. I heard that this sgt. drove around our beat looking for us until daybreak. I was advised to stay away from this guy for a few days until he cooled off. When I saw him about a week later I appologized profusely. There were other officers around at the time so he laughed and slapped me on the back and told me "its allright, then he wispered, don't worry about it, in a couple of months you"ll be stocking shelves at the Jewel and everyone will forget about you and what happened." Back then due to a shortage of brass some sgts were made watch commanders. So when shifts rotated you know he was my boss. I got the worst beat the worst assignments, the worst cars days off etc. etc. In those days when you were on probation any supervisor could fire you for any reason and you had no recourse. He memorized my anniversary date and would remind me every day how many days he had left to catch me screwing up. If I was in beat 26 he would assign me to the Niles north crossing. A nickle coke machine sat outside the Sgts area. Each day it was my job to collect the empties lying around the station and put them in the rack. They used to have this old green 1947 GMC paddy wagon that they turned into the dog catcher's truck. When you got a dog call-loose dog, dead animal you had to go to the station pick up this truck drive to the call pick up the animal and then take it to Evanston to dispose of it. Every such call I was assigned to. Winter was coming and I ordered a johnny coat from Kales, he rejected the request on the grounds that I wouldn't be here by the time it got cold. Car 24 was a 64 ford in perfect condition. One night kids hung a dead skunk from the Oakton overpass. "Easy" was assigned, he collected the creature and threw it in the trunk where its scent organ burst and rendered the vehicle a total loss. The garage attempted to mitigate the circumstance by fumigation and cleaning but nothing worked. Of course I was assigned that car. When it sat all day it didn't smell but as soon as the muffler heated it up it would reek to high heaven. After a couple of days of using the car and getting sick I appealed to a Captain who happened to be a gentleman and they took the car out of service. They transferred it to another department, but for years the car sat behind village garage. When it was finally sold it was in mint condition and had about 8000 miles on it. Every report I wrote was under his personal review. He would wait until end of watch then make me write them all over again for any little mistake in spelling or punctuation. As you can witness by reading this essay I spent a lot of time after work rewriting reports, gratis. My evaluations were dismal. I really thought that I would never get a pay raise. It was quite a time in my career. So as I was first advised I kept my mouth shut and I made my year, I bought my own sweater at sears which was about $15.00 cheaper than what Sol charged. After some time he kind of let up on me. He left the department and so did Danny for better jobs. Im pretty sure that just about any job back then even stock boy at Jewel paid more. Oh yes I traded in that six cell light for a little penlight because believe me some things you just do not want to see. Greetings to all and I hope this incident may have sparked some of your memories. The Sgt in question was a real good man he was smart and he knew the law. He was a WWII vet and it was guys like him Satiro , Filipowski and a few others that served that made our dept what it was in those days. I know at the time we thought they were nutty but they were doing what they were taught and they were looking out for our better interests. Im sure we are all a little better for having worked with them. Your friend Bud Rappe.
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| Travel To Poland By Kayak As recreation, I have taken up kayaking-a good way to combine exercise and communing with nature. Been to about every river, creek, lake and lagoon in northern IL and so. Wisc. So when a friend told me about the new paddling facilities built by the Skokie Park Dist. on the canal at Oakton, I had to see it for myself. On visiting one hot afternoon, this past August there were several canoes and boats in the water and the boaters were having a good time. The site was very nice and I could see herons, egrets and kingfishers feeding along the banks. Poy fish could be seen in the water. This was not the canal that I remembered. When a couple of kids hopped out of their kayak into waist deep water I had a sudden queasy feeling not unlike the one that I felt some thirty odd years earlier. The canal as I recall was built as the North Shore Sanitary and Drainage District around 1910 in order to drain some of the truck farms and vacant land that existed north and west of Chicago. If the marshy ground could be dried out then the area could be developed. The district, a precursor to the Water Reclamation district (Metropolitan Sanitary District) was an autonomous body with taxing powers and at one time even had its own police force that patrolled McCormick Rd. with motorcycles. Over the years political corruption and unscrupulous developers turned the canal into an open sewer the remnants of which existed on up into the 1990s. I am aware that many of you have some exciting stories to tell that relate to the canal. Floating corpses, stolen car chases on Channel Rd. even Paul Kozub who won an award for jumping in to rescue a child. My story, however, is about a Polish immigrant named Ted, cold war politics and a hot summer's day that all came together kind of like "the perfect storm" under the Main St. bridge. Rush hour on a hot afternoon sometime in the early 70s we were sent to Main and the canal to investigate a man in the water. Looking down from the bridge we could see him swimming in the water as naked as a jay bird. As he floated closer we pled for him to get out, but he refused. He dove under the water, did the back stroke and spit water from his mouth as though he was in a pool in Key West. He literally turned our stomachs. As he frolicked amongst the sewage, "urban jellyfish" (rubbers), industrial debris, jewel shopping carts and gravel barges, no amount of our pleading or admonitions could get him to come out. We were getting frustrated and it was hot. Cars were stopping, people were getting out to watch us. When we went to the west bank he swam over to the east side and vice versa. The banks were slippery and we were endangered with falling in ourselves. I had an empty McDonald's bag and a soda cup in the car so I filled it with garbage to make it look full then showed it to him. We invited him to come out and have a picnic with us and that did the trick. Apparently he hadn't eaten all day and when he came close to the bank we grabbed him, yanked him from the water and hauled his naked butt into the station. Very soon we learned that our swimmer, a Pole, spoke very little English. Through my dad who acted as an interpreter over the phone we were able to piece together the following story from Ted and the people he lived with. Thaduzc came to Chicago from Poland on a visitor's visa. He liked what he saw here and when his time was up he forgot to go back. He got a job as a painter's helper and lived in his employer's basement on the northwest side. One day while working in an apartment on the gold coast the client asked the painter if he could hang some very expensive hand crafted wallpaper which was popular with rich people at the time. Painters and paperhangers refused to work with the stuff because if they made a mistake or it didn't look good when they were done the client wouldn't pay them. Ted, who was some sort of a technician back home had never as much as bought a roll of wallpaper let alone hung any immediately volunteered, taking the job on a moonlighting basis. The paper was hung perfectly, he was paid more money than he had ever made in his life and the woman was so pleased she gave his name to the wallpaper retailer as well as her interior decorator. Before he knew it Ted had a thriving business, plying his trade up and down the north shore making a thousand dollars a week when most of us were making hundreds. He fancied himself as an "artiste", grew his hair long, wore a tam and bought a sports car to punctuate his role in life. North Shore matrons served him lunch while he was doing their jobs and interior decorators bribed him to put their work at the head of his list. Until that fateful day at the canal America had been very, very good to Ted. Then Ted learned what all Americans eventually find out. "What the US gives you it can very easily take away." As he was hanging some expensive wall coverings in An Evanston home he received a phone call from his landlord. The INS was at his doorstep with deportation order in hand. So Ted laid down his tools got into his newly purchased used Firebird and drove to the canal. He parked, got undressed and jumped in. Now, apparently between the time he jumped in and our arrival, the purple green iridescent oil slick that passed as water somehow brought him back to his senses, in that he did relate to my dad that his ultimate purpose was to do himself in. Dutifully, we called INS but as luck would have it they were closed for the night. The desk sgt didn't want anyone nuttier than himself in the station, so it was off to Reed Zone for Ted. He was given a tetinus shot, some white pjs., a brown blanket and led off to a nice 5x8 padded cell where we said good by. By the time my head hit the pillow , I had all but forgotten Ted except for an unusual co-incidence. My uncle Ben Rappe was an old time ward healer and what the Poles call an "advokat." For the proper vote on election day or the right fee you could get just about anything done. He was a regular fixture down at Polish Times Square and from his small office in the back of a paint and hardware store at Fullerton and Central he practiced his paralegal skills. This was an ideal set-up for him. A homeowner needing a sash fixed and his property taxes appealed; a contractor needing a box of bolts and a building permit; or a landlord wanting a key made and a code violation quashed could get both things accomplished in one stop. So when a painter came in to try to get his helper out of jail it was business as usual for Ben. When he heard it happened in Skokie he called me. When I told him I handled the case he thought it was a slam dunk. He was wrong. Back in those days the INS actually used to enforce our borders. They wanted Ted out because he flaunted the system, was working illegally and failed to show for several of his status hearings. The Polish authorities wanted him back because the artel he worked for had time and money invested in his training. Anyway you just didn't walk away from communism, it set a bad example for others. The State of Illinois wanted him gone because they didn't want any foreign lunatics polluting either our drainage ditches or gene pools. Ted told Ben that there was several thousands of dollars stashed in his room and Ben, being the facilitator that he was knew people at the Polish consul who might be more receptive toward Ted if some of those greenbacks could be spread around down there. However, when the landlord went to Ted's room to look for the stash it was mysteriously missing along with the title to the Firebird and Ted's documentation. Suddenly the painter/landlord lost interest in helping Ted and there wasn't too much else that Ben could do. So after a week or so the INS checked Ted out of Reed, put him on a plane and he was never seen or heard from again. Polish jokes, not withstanding, today Poland is one of the most successful of the former eastern block countries. Its economy is booming fueled by a several billion dollar per year outflow of US dollars traded by its citizens who are here either legally or not. Polish cities have been restored to their once ancient beauty and many US citizens retire there to receive duplicate benefits. One time displaced persons now had duel citizenship. Once unable to vote at all Poles can now participate in the elections of their adopted as well as native countries. Absentee ballots flow back and forth from each side of the Atlantic. At one time forced to work as virtual slave laborors Poles now enjoy the benefits of trade unions even striking from time to time to make their point. Finally, in many eastern European countries it is not uncommon in many parks, seashores or on river banks to see people either swimming or sunbathing in the nude. Poor Ted was just a little ahead of his time. This would not be a complete story unless a little irony was thrown in for good measure. Any officer who ever worked the Swift could tell you that during those years a secret economy existed on the North Shore. Daily, suburban housewives would pick up their cooks, nannies, housekeepers or gardeners who arrived via The Swift at Dempster by way of Mexico, Honduras or Latvia. Good help was hard to find, especially if they didn't steal from you or eat your food. So it was easier to facilitate your domestics with their legal residence here than to hire new people every time one of them was sent back. The less money they paid their domestics the more they could spend at Old Orchard or the BMW dealer. So, a couple of weeks after Ted was deported Ben got a phone call from a woman in Evanston. She tracked him down wanting to know when Ted was coming back to her home to finish the wallpapering job. The reader knows without finishing the story that, of course, her husband was a lawyer, not without some familiarity with the workings of INS. He was even able to help some of their neighbors and friends by assisting their domestic help in getting green cards, extensions and even citizenship. "If only Ted had told me, we could have done something for him. By the way do you know anyone who can hang wallpaper." We don't know whatever happened to Ted we can only assume that such a gentle, resourceful fellow would of prospered whether he lived freely or not. All we can say is that it was Ted and the thousands of others like him, with their own stories that made up the day to day existence in a police officer's life. Dzien Kouim Ted.
Bud Rappe Top
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| "In Your Travels ...." Since retiring we have been fortunate enough to be able to travel somewhat. Being that we now have the free time we are able to pick up and go at the drop of a hat. Most trips taken have been to Europe in that we have found travel there is usually much cheaper than here and we have just about run out of interesting places to go in the US. However, wherever we go we find that you can't leave Skokie too far behind. Often the slightest incident will trigger long lost memories.. An old saying that the radio operators used to have was "in your travels check on this or be on the lookout for that." If I may I would beg your reader's indulgence and share some of my travel experiences with them. In Europe train travel is cheap, fast and convenient. Generally Trains travel between cities at @120 MPH. We've been on trains that have gone as fast as 180 MPH. Somewhere near Namur, Belgium the train we were on came to a screaching halt. We were delayed about 90 minutes. The best info we had was that the train had hit something. As we sat waiting I recalled an incident that had long ago been filed away. On a bitter January night in the mid 60's about 9:30 or so I had stopped out on Lehigh Rd. as I would sometimes do to watch as the Hiawatha made its final approach to Chicago from Seattle. The Milwaukee Line between Rondout, Il. and Irving Pk. Rd. is as straight as an arrow. Train drivers often used this stretch to gain back time lost during the course of their journey. Many times officers would time the various trains with radar. It was not unusual back then for them to reach speeds upwards of 90 mph. The gates at Howard went down and after several minutes when the train failed to approach I went out on Lehigh to investigate.
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In the 7800 block where it sat, the engineer and conductor were out of the cab standing in ankle deep snow. They shouted to me that they had hit a car a couple of crossings back. We called Morton Grove and all 2 of their officers decked out in their best white socks checked their crossings but could not find anything. By this time the poor train driver was inconsolable. The man was actually sweating in below zero weather. In tears, he told me that he was going about 60 (Iknew better) and that the car drove around the gates in front of him. He said he could even see the people inside and swore it was a family. We relayed this data to M.G. but they were adament, nothing was found. I thought maybe this guy fell asleep and dreamt this or perhaps he was smoking dope, but then the train crew showed me the damage on the front of the engine and I could see for myself, this was bad. So there in the cold snow and moonlight police and firemen;train crew and passengers along with workers from the adjacent factories and passing motorists started to search for the gruesome remains of train vs. the car. The pieces that were left were no bigger than an open newspaper and had been strewn between Lincoln ave and Oakton St. Several suspicious stains were seen in the snow but no body parts were found. After about an hour of searching during which I was sure I suffered frostbite radio informed us to call off the search. When I got to the station I was told that it seems that one of Morton Grove's regulars after hoisting a few at Dilgs roadhouse came out, got into his car and drove it onto the tracks where it immediately stalled. After several attempts at restarting he gave up and went back into the tavern to warm up whereupon the evening Hiawatha wrote the rest of this story. I'm sure that the engineer probably left a world class load in his pants. Passengers were delayed and missed connections, but that's part of the excitement of travel. We never found out what delayed our train, we really didn't want to know..been and done. I thank you for your indulgence in airing this matter if you should still remain interested perhaps in the future I could relate some other amusing stories.
Bud Rappe Top
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| "No, You Bring The Beer This Time !" In reading the story, by Dick Oldenburg, of Herman Carter's trip to the morgue, I couldn't help but recall an incident I had with dear old Herman Troy.
It was one fine spring day on the day shift when I came in to the station, after lunch, to gas up the squad and turn in all the paper work I had generated that far. I came out onto the old ramp and was about to get back into the car and leave when Herman came over and got into the front seat and told me he needed to get out of the building and get some fresh air. I told him that a walk around the block would do him more good then going with me and that he was not my immediate supervisor anyway. He insisted so what could I do? We drove out and I began looking for some way to get rid of him, who enjoys a supervisor riding with him anyway?
I drove down to Touhy and Lavergne and stopped the car, facing northbound. A few minutes later a semi comes lumbering over the Edens bridge headed westbound. I don't remember the drivers name anymore, but it was headed to the beer distributor at Lincoln and Klehm. The lightbulb in my head virtually exploded into the on position and I pulled out behind him and followed till he turned north on Niles Center Road, where I made the stop. I quickly got out of the car and told Herman to call us off with the stop. I hurried to the cab of the rig and told the driver, who was upset because he was not fully loaded anyway, at being stopped. I apologized and told him no tickets would be issued and that I just wanted to have some fun with the guy that was with me. He agreed to go along with the gag.
We walked to the back of the trailer and I told him to open the tailgate. He obliged and once open, as Herman walked up to us, I said: “it looks like you are about ten cases of beer overloaded.” He responded with: “oh for god sake, I know where your car is parked, just go and leave the door unlocked and it will be loaded before you get off duty.” Herman appeared to clutch his chest and ran back to the squad car and dove in through the passenger door. I walked back to the cab with the driver and made sure H.T.C. saw me shake the drivers hand. I returned to the squad car and got in. Herman screamed: “take me back to the station, right now.” I said: “You just came out?” He said: “I said right now and that's an order.” I returned him to the ramp and he didn't even wait till I came to a full stop when he jumped out and ran into the building. I started to leave when I saw Capt. Joe Varallo pull up. I approached him and told him what I had done. We both laughed and he said he would have a little fun with him later.
This was in the days when we had to fill out an activity sheet and turn it in every day. The shift ended and I came in to turn in my reports and time sheet, in the old squad room that could be accessed through the old garage when it was attached to the main police station. Herman Troy was collecting paper work and I turned mine in. He didn't even look up at me. I stepped into the hallway and into the locker room to change. As I was leaving the building to go home, Capt. Varallo was coming down the hall toward the door. As he reached the squad room door, I was going out the back door to the ramp. I heard Joe kick the squad room door open and ask Herman, in a loud voice: “Hey Herman, is any of that beer you guys got today, cold enough to drink yet?” HERMAN'S HEART STOPPED AND HE NEARLY FELL OVER IN A HEAP. I ran to my car, but he caught me and I won't repeat the exact words he used, but he said something about us being indicted and sent to jail for an ungodly amount of years. I told him that he should have told Joe that the party would be tomorrow night at his house and we would bring a couple of cases. He broke his pen in half and growled something as he walked away.
Stan Schultz Top
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| "What Was That Again?" Here's one we all heard through the years, I wasn't there but it goes like this.
A certain Lieutenant was reading a description of an offender at roll call,
"...the subject is 18-25 years old and is described as very lean and argyle." were his words.
George Dahlman, sitting in the last row as usual was heard to reply, appropriately,
"It's invenereal to me."
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| "The Job Is Never Finished Until The Paperwork Is Done" It was November of 1976 and Mike Langer, Jim Dahlman and myself all shared offices in Planning in the basement of the old building. Mike had been out of town and Jim and I didn't have very much to do (that was obvious) so since Mike was coming back the next day, we decided to fill his office with crumpled newspaper.
We drove to a recycling center to get the large amount of paper we needed and started crumpling and filling. It took hours to do and during the day everyone in the building at one point or another came and helped. When we were finally finished we closed the door (filling that space with paper also) to wait for his return.
 During the night a thought struck me that if one little
spark got into the room the whole station would go up in flames.
(Ed. comment, Al, shouldn't the "planning dep't" have thought about that little fire hazard in advance?)
On his return the next day Mike did not enjoy the humor that we had found in the project, (another Edit. comment, Mike didn't enjoy a lot of my humor either, for details read next story.) and after pushing out enough paper so he could get into the office, proceeded to try and ignore the situation. Pretty soon the paper from the office filled the basement to knee height.
It sure took a lot more bags of trash to get rid of the paper than it did when we got it at the recycling center....
But it was worth it !!....
Al Fournier
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| "There must have been a mistake..." It was no secret that I HATED "In Service" training. This is a story that happened around June of '76. I had just completed my second year of Law Enforcement classes at Harper JC and the last semester was Criminal Law, a complete review of IRS Chap 38. In those days the department would reimburse your tuition expenses as well as assist in scheduling days off to coincide with your class schedule. Lt. Mike Langer was in charge of the training division then, and scheduled a department wide "in service"for, yep, Criminal Law. A week in the summer spent at Portland Cement building without air conditioning was not my idea of a fun time. I went to Mike and begged to be excused from the class as I had just finished the same subject in school and it really seemed to be a waste of department funds to pay me twice for the same class. Two years earlier I had received a commendation, while in the detective bureau, because the State's Attorney's office would call ME for advice in preparing criminal complaints and case review to make sure that all the elements of the offense had been met.
Mike was adamant, all personnel had to attend the "in service" training as scheduled. I dutifully complied and attended the class, which as all in service classes do, turned into a week of "war story"exchanges, and arguments about "what if's" that always strayed from the topic being discussed. And, as usual, at the completion of the class, an exam was administered, to verify our competence (or lack thereof) in the field. These things always amazed me, I mean, WHY? If you flunked the test, they never gave you extra training to help anyway, and the only purpose was to get another neat little diploma or certificate for your wall, right? So, while taking the test, I searched for the best possible "wrong" answer to every question, I had enough certificates and really wasn't excited about having one more, from Portland Cement University. The following morning I was summoned to an office by a grim faced Lt. Langer, where I was introduced to the head instructor for the week.
"Did you have a problem with the test?" they queried.
"No." was my response.
"Did you have the template lined up properly?" was next.
"Yeah, Why?" I offered.
"You only had one question right, we know you know this stuff, what happened?"
"There must have been a mistake... I tried to get them all wrong, must have been a trick question." was my next answer.
Needless to say, that didn't draw the laughter it should have, although the instructor was smiling, Mike was quite red by now. I explained that I didn't want the certificate and I could see no reason to pass the silly test because I knew the answers anyway and I could care less if they knew I knew. There was no point in belaboring the discussion further, and later that afternoon, during "graduation" ceremonies I was presented with an empty envelope. (Turns out it WAS a trick question, one of those "what if's" I mentioned earlier, and I maintain to this day they had the wrong answer as right.)
A few days later I was given another envelope, but this one had the "official" charges of insubordination and something else like "conduct unbecoming" with an appointment date at the Fire and Police Commission. Seems like I single handedly had brought the entire department into a state of disrepute with the instructor, by admitting I flunked on purpose (none of the 4-5 others who failed were even questioned.) I guess, fortunately for me, a larger discipline problem (sponsored by the CCPA) arose on that 4th of July, and I was no longer considered such a rebel, and to Mike's credit, he dropped the charges. I don't believe I ever got him to see the humor in the situation however. See, what they didn't explain to us at the time was, if an officer failed the exam, the Village wouldn't be reimbursed for the salary and fees connected with the training. We were old enough to be told that, but it was probably withheld so more of us didn't get the idea to flunk.
If you ever come to visit, I'll show you the empty frame containing the contents of my graduation envelope from Portland Cement U. It's right there on the wall next to the framed copy of my appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Fred Bolin
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| My First Day I'm going to take you back to my first bit of "on the job training" provided by the S.P.D. ... my first day as a new Police Officer in June of 1958. It started like this...My Captain, (Art "Schlumpy" Henning) had me assigned to the 4 to midnight shift. My initial training duty was to sit at the "desk" and read (memorize) the Village of Skokie local Ordinance book. Assigned to the Desk that evening were permanent Desk Officer Sgt. Pat Melody, and Officer Roy Beeman. (Back then the Detective Bureau was headed up by Captain Ed Caulfield and Sgt. Roger Milz.) At around 7 P.M. Detective Sgt Milz and Detective Jim Halas came by the "Desk" and asked if I wanted to come with them on a suicide investigation call. Can you imagine how excited I was? My first day on the job and I was going to accompany the Detectives on a call..... The three of us arrived at a private residence on the southwest side of town and were ushered into the basement where we saw an old woman hanging from a basement rafter, apparently dead by her own hand. The Detectives began their investigation and photography work and were granted permission from the coroner (back then Haben Funeral home was our coroner) to "cut her down" and they would come for the body. Well by now you probably guessed what the next series of events was....Sgt. Milz told me to hold the body while Det. Halas cut her down... (Brand new on the job and I was assisting the Detective Bureau...WOW) Now my training really began...I found out the hard way what the term "Dead Weight" means...Sure enough, she came toppling down with me holding on to her...We hit the floor with her on top of me. It was, in my opinion, forever....but actually only a moment or two, just long enough for Milz and Halas to finish their laughing before they got the body off of me and helped me to my feet. First lesson learned....Detectives were all jokesters... I couldn't wait to become one of them.
Regards from Mort Podolsky TOP
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| Just Another Chase Here's a tale that everyone of us participated in at one time or another, but this one had so many additional events it got kinda funny. It was a summer evening midnight shift, early into the shift around midnight or so. We were still in the old building, and for some reason, Sgt. Mike Langer was the desk officer that night. If you'll recall, Mike had a "nervous tummy" and was known to take a lot of Maalox when situations became "excitable". This evening I think we may have set a record. Jimmy Anglin ran a 28-9 on a plate and it came back hot. He reported he had the vehicle, occupied, eb Dempster from Edens and within seconds the chase ensued. We had plenty of cars on the street that night, I believe the task force was out in addition to the"Devonshire Park" hireback detail, several youth officers and detectives and our normal midnight crew of around 10 plus supervisors. I happened to be right in the path of the approaching chase around the 4600 block of Dempster. I did something only youth and stupidity can explain and positioned my squad broadside to the approaching, 85 mph stolen vehicle. You really can't block a street as wide as Dempster (4 traffic lanes but at least 6 lanes wide) with one car. As the pursued car got closer he swerved to go behind me, so I backed up, causing him to veer violently to the right, where I pulled forward and in one of the luckiest nights of my life I just barely touched the side of his car with the r/f bumper of the squad. A PIT maneuver before it was ever called a PIT maneuver, caused the vehicle to spin 540 degrees, and slide a half block, before coming to rest on the parkway north side of Dempster just west of Kolmar. As the vehicle was spinning the passenger was trying to jump out and got his hand or clothing caught in the door and was dragged along the outside of the car as it slid to a stop. Although the impact of the speeding stolen car only caused a 3 " dent to the fender of the squad (#9, Don Satiro's favorite, so I was very lucky indeed!) it peeled an 8 foot section of the stolen car kinda like the rim from a can of coffee when you used to open them with a key. (Dating myself again aren't I ?) The engine in my car had died and I was able to restart, throw it in gear and start to move just about the same split second that Jimmy Anglin came whizzing by in front of me. Fortunately for me, his reaction time was better than my peripheral vision and he avoided my lurching squad car. We rolled up on the stolen car with the driver bailing one way and the passenger, freeing himself from the door handle, going another, so we're now in a foot pursuit. A sidebar here is in order.
{I was not then nor am I now a fan of running. I have often stated my credo of 'I bought a car for anything over a hundred yards' and took a vow when joining the department NOT to engage in foot pursuits having only broken that vow a handful of times in 23 years. Although I possessed blazing speed, having twice beaten Len Ramirez and Dave Kaufman in the 60 foot dash down the firstbase line in softball, they may dispute that victory to this day, I nevertheless really hated physical exertion to capture a bad guy. They should know an escape is futile and just give it up before they embarrass themselves further!}
I saw the driver disappear between houses and followed through the yards, trying to keep him in sight, a cry of "Halt Police !!" could be heard above the cacophony of the sirens which had been left running as officers bailed from their squads to join in the fun, followed immediately by the sound of two CRAAACKS, and ZZZZZZIPPP, as the bullets came by my head. To protect the innocent I will not reveal the name of this 300# youth officer that swears he was shooting into the ground. I found the driver about 5 houses north of Dempster and had him up against the garage, where I handcuffed him and removed a replica .25 Auto combination cigarette lighter and flashlight from his waistband. He had removed the light bulb from the barrel so it would look more like a real gun, what a genius! Imagine being shot for pulling out your cigarette lighter. As I was finishing the search of the suspect, Ofcr. John Lucadello, (remember him, he left us to become a fireman, proving he was smarter than us all, came up to assist me and administer some 'subduing'. John was VERY excited, and shouting some real unpleasantries at the suspect, and had to be subdued himself.) While all this was going on, another officer over on Kolmar tripped and fell down while rushing after the second suspect, the radio reports started coming in "Officer Down !" "Shots Fired !" the combination of which will set off an adrenaline rush and make your hair, if any, stand on end, but in this case they were unfounded, however, our trusty desk sgt. didn't know this and was quickly entering a melt down phase of his own. The second suspect was also captured and we transported them in to the old north door booking area.
Inside, poor Mike Langer was beside himself, "Why don't you guys tell me what's going on, Who's hurt, who got shot?!!" The pink bottle hastily unscrewed sitting on the desk, the phones still ringing off the hook. We finally got Mike calmed down and listened to the string of calls he was receiving. As you know, in a chase situation, everything is happening at once, the street officers are oblivious to what the radio is telling them, often concentrating solely on the task at hand in front of them, so we had no idea that so many citizens had been calling in to report what they had seen and heard. I grabbed one of the calls myself and perhaps this one call would sum up the attitudes of citizens in Skokie towards their police department in the 60's and 70's, better than any number of words. Remember, stolen car, sirens, foot chase, officer down, shots fired and this citizen tells me, "Hello officer? Yes, I don't know what's going on outside, but a few minutes ago there was quite a ruckus here and I think someone should know. I just heard a police officer use some of the foulest language I've ever heard in my life and he must be disciplined!" My immediate gut response was, "Really? Did you hear this one? F--- You!!" and slammed down the phone. The job had it's good times, it's sad times and it's fun times, hard to categorize this one, but it does stay with you for a long time.
Fred Bolin TOP
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| "We're Going Where?" O.K. I wasn't part of this one and maybe it's part "urban legend" but the story goes like this.
For you younger guys, in the days before paramedics and emt's and Mobile Intensive Care Units, we answered "Pullmotor" calls. This means a victim of a heart attack or whatever, was adminstered oxygen, snatched up on the stretcher, and rushed to the hospital. We affectionately called it "Death Valley" in lieu of Skokie Valley, but again the younger guys probably only know it as Rush North Shore. Also in olden days, after a patient was pronounced dead we had to use an old Fire Department station wagon to transport bodies to the Cook County Morgue if it became a coroner's case.
So, here's the story. George Dahlman and George Heeres were assigned to transport a victim to the morgue in the above described manner. Doctors routinely pronounced the victim in the ambulance in those days, rather than go through the "admissions" procedure, so in effect, the patient never made it to the E.R. Not sure of the particulars in this case but the Georges dutifully were doing their job and transporting the deceased SB on the Kennedy Expy. The story I heard is that George Heeres was the driver, as he approached "Hubbards Cave" the decedant sat up and shouted "Hey, Where the f--- are we going!!"
It was then that both Georges nearly had heart attacks as Heeres nearly lost control, narrowly missing the walls before finally stopping the vehicle on the shoulder. So one of the luckiest men in the world owes his life to the SPD as Death Valley would have had him in the deep freeze in 5 more minutes.
Fred Bolin
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| "...oops" It was the early 70's and my wife had planned a trip to visit her parents in Maryland for 2 weeks. I couldn't get the time off because I was fairly new and couldn't get a summer vacation.
While she was gone I decided to have a little party at my house. I invited a number of my coworkers to attend the BYOB party.
There was a young lady who lived in town who had a rather tawdry reputation. I figured she would be a perfect date for young and single John O'Connell. At this time, John was still living at home. I made the phone call to his home and his Mom answered. I inquired if John was home and could I please speak to him. Mrs. O'Connell said, "One moment," and called out John's name informing him he had a phone call.
John said "hello" and before he could say another word I began telling him about the party I was having and the young lady I could fix him up with. I don't remember the exact words I used but I went into graphic detail explaining how she could suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch and would screw him cross-eyed, etc., etc., etc.
After a few minutes of telling him what a great time he would have I asked, "Well, do you think you can make it."
It was at this time the voice on the other end said, "You must want to speak to my son, John Junior."
With a chuckle in his voice, John's dad shouted, "John, this call is for you, Good luck."
Needless to say I wanted to crawl under a rock.
Ron Baran
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| Another Meaning To "Pulling The Plug" As I was looking through some of the pictures you had posted on the Web-site, I saw one of an older switchboard at the P.D. It reminded me of an incident that involved Frank Nierman. I started on 3-1-61 and did not start school until 4-1-61. That first month I was doing multitude of jobs that no one wanted to do. One of those jobs were runnning the stations switch board. This switchboard required you to answear the incomming call with the front plug and using the back plug to connect the call to whomever they wanted to talk to. I was relieved at 4:00 P.M. by Frank Nierman. He took one look at the multitude of connected calls and said what is this? I said those are calls connected to people in the building. He said you are not leavimg me with this mess and pulled all the plugs out. I abruptly left only to find out the next day that Frank was forbidden to work in the station by order of then Chief Tom Ryan.
Jim McGuire
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| Stuck On You The "Grape" was training Kathy Krueger and while on patrol noticed that the
sole of his shoe was flapping. He instructed Kathy to stop at a store so he
could get some glue and fix his shoe.
Super glue was fairly new so "The Grape" thought he would give it a try. He
purchase the glue and spread it liberally between the flapping sole and the
bottom of his shoe. This completed, he firmly pressed his foot on the
floorboard of the squad car. Shortly thereafter a burglary in progress call
came out and Kathy sped to the scene. As they arrived "The Grape" told her
to take the front and he would heard around back. Kathy sprinted from the
car and "The Grape" tried to do the same, but discovered that his shoe was
glued to the floor of the squad. He slipped his foot out of the shoe and
covered the back until other units arrived on the scene.
The recruit learned a valuable lesson that day. Never glue your shoes to the
floor of a squad car.
Ron Baran
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And while we're on the slightly macabre:
"This is how you make Lieutenant!" Again it was the late '70s or early '80s. I was on midnights and had been given an ambulance call where the party had apparently been deceased for several days. As was the policy at the time and because the death was due to unknown causes, I called for a supervisor. Sgt. Herman (Troy) Carter responded to the scene. He had just been promoted the week before! The incident was obviously a Coroner's case and it became my job to transport the deceased in one of the old Fire Dept.station wagon "ambulances" down to the County Morgue.
These transports always required 2 people because you had to lift the stretcher with the deceased onto the loading dock in the rear of the morgue. Because there was another supervisor working that night and because in his 11 years with the dept. he'd never been to the morgue before (it was approx. my 4th or 5th time in 15 years), I talked Sgt. H.T.C. into being my "backup" on the transport.
We got the deceased loaded unto a gurney at the morgue and wheeled it inside. It must have been a busy weekend in Chicago because the halls were lined with gurneys with bodies on them. Sgt. H.T. started turning a little green around the gills, but he was determined to tough it through. I found one of the deputy coroners working on a body in one of the examination rooms. He was just removing the scalp and the top of the skull from a cadaver prior to removing the brain.
It was exactly at that moment that the "devil" whispered in my ear! I asked the coroner to wait just a minute and I called Sgt. H.T. into the room. I asked Sgt. H.T. if he recalled ever being at the morgue before, to which he of course replied "no". "Oh!" I said. "Then you don't remember being made a sergeant?" At this point the coroner was removing the brain from the cadaver and replacing it with a big ball of cotton. Sgt. H.T. just got a kind of a green grin on his face. Not satisfied with that, I just had to follow up with, "And when you make Lieutenant, they just bring you back down here and they take the cotton out!!!".
I don't know to this day if Sgt. H.T. ever made it to the morgue again!
Dick Oldenburg
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| "They didn't teach THAT at Skokie Valley" I was working the desk one afternoon in the late '70s(?), when a CSO (I think her name was Laura?) came excitedly walking up to the window facing Records (this was before the major construction and changes to the building - when the front entrance was still on the Lincoln Ave. side) with kind of a fixed stare on her face and she kept repeating over and over again to me, "The cell block! The cell block!". I kept asking her what she was talking about, but all she could stammer out was "The cell block!" After a ½ minute or so of this I finally got up and went to look in the cell block for whatever it was that she was so apopletic about.
Sure enough, the one prisoner we had that day had decided to hang himself with the blanket. I ran for the keys and told Nicky Koretos that I needed some help. He held the guy up while I cut him down. We got him laid out on the floor on his back, but he was blue and wasn't breathing. Neither one of us was particularly excited about doing mouth to mouth on this guy (he was pretty "scuzzy"). Nick stood there for about 5 secs. and then ever so gently placed his foot on the guy's chest and gave a couple of quick pushes. Believe it or not, the guy started breathing again and his color started coming back!!!
The ambulance crew was there by that time and took the guy away. I was forever tempted after that to introduce the "Koretos Maneuver" at one of our cardiopulmonary training sessions, but I would get to laughing remembering it, so I could never have done it with a straight face!
Dick Oldenburg
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| Yes, But Will He Respect Me In The Morning ??? I was dispatched to a report of a traffic dispute in the parking lot at Skokie Valley Hospital. Upon my arrival I observed a car and a motorcycle parked. A man and a woman in motorcycle jackets were yelling at a man and woman who were standing outside of the car. I tried to get their attention to no avail. They were so busy screaming at each other they didn't even notice me. As I was trying to get them to quiet down, my backup Terry Proudfit arrived on the scene. He quickly accessed the situation, rushed over to me, grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. You could have heard a pin drop in that parking lot. The four people involved in the dispute stood there with their mouths agape.
Terry calmly said, "Now that we have your attention maybe we can get this matter resolved." Without saying a word, the couple got on their motorcycle and the other couple got in their car and both drove off shaking their heads.
Terry just smiled, got into his squad and drove off.
I was just as dumbfounded as those involved in the dispute.
Ron Baran
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| "The Worst Forgery, Ever" (But it worked)
When I was in the detective bureau for 5 years or so, I handled checks, credit cards and other financial crimes. You develop a relationship with the various bank officers and sometimes they feel free to call you directly when they have a problem rather than go through the process of having a squad car come out for an initial report. For the purposes of this story, we will call the Vice President of Old Orchard Bank, Pete Oaks.
One morning, Pete called to see if I was in as he needed to sign a complaint on a cashed stolen check and he knew who had cashed it.
The check, (a high tech reproduction appears below) had been stolen a few days earlier in a theft or burglary at the old Jordy's Hot Dog Stand in the 9500 block of Skokie Blvd. It had been altered and endorsed by a part time employee of the stand, we will call Mikey. Mikey was 6'5", 400+#, and a mush.
 Mikey felt Jordy had owed him some money so he felt it was O.K. to help himself to the check and change it to get his money. He was well known to everyone on the department and with a body like that, unlikely to mistake. I got the details from Pete over the phone and told him to come in around 1100 or so and we'd get the complaints signed and a warrant issued, and I started working on the paperwork.
Pete had told me that the check had been altered to $225.00 from the original $25.00 but that's all I knew. When he arrived in the detective bureau I had the complaint and warrant ready to go before the judge when Pete showed me the check. The second example below is an accurate depiction of how this clever criminal Mikey was able to defraud the prestigious Old Orchard Bank.
 That's right, penciled in the margin were the words "two hundred" and a 2 had been placed above the dollar sign. Choking back the laughter I pulled out another set of complaints and told Pete he'd have to sign another charge now. "Against Whom?" he asked.
"Your G--D--- teller for being TOO STOOPID to live!!!"
If you'll recall, this is the same bank that refused to cash a payroll/cashiers check from their own bank, drawn by the Village of Skokie, for one or our officers in uniform and a marked squad car, because HE didn't have an account there.
EPILOGUE:
Things didn't go well for Pete in later years. He lived in my neighborhood in Gurnee, and I learned what happened to him after he suddenly quit working at the bank. Pete had an affair and left his wife and family to marry his new love and moved to one of those states west of the Mississippi. Pete and his new wife settled in to their new life style where he again found employment in a bank. Trouble is, he also found a way to "borrow" some of the banks money and was last known to be doing a stretch in a federal prison.
At least Mikey got probation with restitution.
Fred Bolin
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| When Not Napping, The Boys On Midnights Are Really Horny Bastards !!! Part 1 I couldn't have been on the street by myself for more than about 3 weeks in 1964 when this happened. I was on days and was taking over the squad ('64 Ford) from the midnight officer who I will euphemistically call Off. "Huge" - an ex-motorcycle cop. Those of you who remember the old Fords will remember that the engineer who designed them must have thought that everybody was 6' or better in height. When I got into the squad to position it by the gas pump, I had to adjust the bench seat (no buckets then) almost all the way forward in order for my vertically challenged body to reach the pedals. This was further exacerbated by the fact that Off. "Huge" had the seat all the way back and still didn't have enough room because of his size, so he had forced the back of the bench seat to a 25°-30° angle. That made it difficult for me to comfortably reach the steering wheel even with the seat almost all the way forward. I was still doing everything by the book and the book said to thoroughly check out the interior of the squad when relieving somebody. When I moved the seat all the way forward I noticed something pink sticking out from under the rear of the passenger seat. I, of course, investigated and found, Lo and Behold!, a pair of women's panties and a bra! I knew that Off. "Huge" wasn't a Transvestite because even one of his legs wouldn't have fit into the panties and it's doubtful that he could have fastened the bra around his head, much less his chest. Not quite knowing what to do with the "items", I left them on the seat while I gassed the squad. While I was still gassing, Off. "Huge" emerged from the back door on his way home. I calmly took the items from inside the car and said to Off "Huge", "Here! You must have forgotten these!" I didn't think it was possible for a man that size to move that fast!!! Before I could even finish the sentence, he had grabbed the "items" from my hand and stuck them in his pocket in one big blur of motion while at the same time saying, "J__us Ch___t!!! Don't let anybody else see those!!!" He then proceeded from the ramp mumbling something like, "GD rookies!!!" That was my very first encounter with the Midnight Horny Bastards
Dick Oldenburg
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| When Not Napping, The Boys On Midnights Are Really Horny Bastards !!! Part 2 Several of the older guys were notorious for getting their jollies by catching lovers "In Flagrante Delecto" on the midnight shift. Most notorious of this group was George Heeres when he still on the street. There didn't appear to be any ends that George wouldn't resort to in order to catch lovers. Finally his friends decided to have some fun with George. What is now the Skokie Swift parking lot used to be an open and often very muddy field.
George reportedly was in the habit of removing his shoes when he was about to sneak up on a pair of lovers. One night, several days after a fairly good rain, George's friends (I think Roy Beeman was the instigator) had a civilian vehicle parked out in the field in the middle of a big mud puddle with one of them in it playing a lover with his head bobbing up and down. It didn't take George long to spot the car because this was one of the favorite places for lovers to park in the nearly pitch darkness. Here comes George, shoes in one hand and flashlight in the other! Just about the time that George stepped into the mud puddle, the car drove off leaving him standing there cursing and up to his ankles in mud. He didn't find out that he was the butt of a joke until later when the group was together and couldn't help but begin laughing hysterically when he approached. That did not cure him however!
Dick Oldenburg
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| When Not Napping, The Boys On Midnights Are Really Horny Bastards !!! Part 3 One of George's favorite places to catch lovers was in the parking lot of the tavern on the southeast corner of Skokie and Main (I don't remember the name now - Skokie Inn maybe or was that the Carlstedt place?). Anyway, George would watch and wait for couples to emerge and get in their cars at around closing time and to see which ones didn't immediately leave the parking lot (The old "Candy's Dandy but Liquor's Quicker Watch")! He would then spring into action, again shoes in hand. The regular patrons finally got wise to George, which forced him to get more inventive. He decided to store a ladder at the rear of the tavern and climb up on the roof just before closing time. From the vantage point of the east side of the roof, he could observe the whole parking lot and his squad would be undetected when parked on Washington St.. He especially liked to watch the lovers who were parked underneath the eaves of the east side of the tavern. He could look right down through the windshield at the front seat lovers (better than a porn movie!). Well, it didn't take long for his friends to catch on to these shenanigans too. One night while George was preoccupied on the east side of the roof, one of his "friends" (Roy B would never admit to it) took the ladder down and laid it on the ground as though it had fallen down. They left him up there!!! Word was that he had to wait until the owner closed up and George hailed him from the roof to put the ladder back up (this was before the advent of portable radios). God Only knows what story George came up with to explain to the owner why he was on his roof!!!
Dick Oldenburg
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| When Not Napping, The Boys On Midnights Are Really Horny Bastards !!! Part 4 This one also involves George, but not Heeres. Taking up in GH's footsteps was George Curtis. GC made catching lovers into a science where to GH it was just an art. As a sergeant on midnights I'll bet that GC spent more time looking for lovers than he ever spent watching the troops. After catching several lovers myself I soon found that it was much more fun to "burn" the cops catching lovers than it was to catch the lovers themselves. I got GC good one night. I spotted his empty squad parked on Elmwood just south of Searle Parkway. It didn't take long to spot him sneaking up on a car in that little triangular shaped parking lot formed by Niles, Elmwood and Searle Parkway. He was in his classic crouch (almost a duckwalk) which he had developed in order to get right up to the front door of the lover's car without being detected. I let him get all the way up to the back door of the Lover's car before I turned on my headlights and hit the lover's car with my spotlight. I wish I had had a movie camera at this point. George began frantically trying to wave me off at the same time heads, arms, and clothes were flying around in the front seat of the car. I turned off the spot and drove away with George shaking his fist at me halfway up Elmwood. I'll bet I had him looking over his shoulder for another squad for quite awhile while he was sneaking up on other lovers. Heh! Heh! Heh!
Dick Oldenburg
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| When Not Napping, The Boys On Midnights Are Really Horny Bastards !!! Part 5 I'd always heard that Irishmen were a horny bunch, but I never met one hornier the Jack O'Malley (rest your soul, Jack old buddy!). Jack and I used to meet for coffee almost every night on midnights in the parking lot of the Evanston Country Club. Invariably when I got there with the coffee (Dunkin' Donuts was closer to my beat than his), he would be perusing the pages of a Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, or other off-the-wall "girlie" magazine. He seemed to have a never-ending supply of them and I found out why. He had made a deal with the pharmacist at the drugstore at Main and Crawford. Whenever a new edition of a "girlie" magazine came out, the pharmacist would give Jack the expired edition. Many times when we had finished drinking, reading, and talking, Jack would leave and minutes later I would hear him calling off at his house for "dinner"! Poor Carole! Five kids to get off to school in the morning and a horny husband to wake her up at 4 in the morning!!! Sure'n you were a good Catholic (Irish)man, Mr. O'Malley!!!
Dick Oldenburg
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| My First Catch After reading all those stories submitted by Dick Oldenburg about, "lover hunting", I am reminded of the first ones I caught. Sad to say I was a real rookie then, probably in my first weeks alone and didn't handle the situation properly at all. The guy should have been locked up and put away, and probably would have been 3 months later. I was intimidated and wanted to end the situation I found myself in, but life has a way of correcting itself...read this whole story to find out how.
As I said I was a rookie patrolling old beat #27, and found this brand new 1965 White Cadillac convertible, engine running, all steamed up, in the rear lot of Oakton Park. My training Officer, John Johnson, also liked surprising "kids" in the act, so I had been taught the fine art of sneaking up on "rockin'" cars and did it perfectly. Observing the man having his way with a young blonde, I flung open the door and made a startling discovery. Here was a prominent local attorney, politically connected, screwing his baby sitter while "driving her home". This was not your run of the mill pair of lovers, but was a foreshadowing of things to come for this idiot, and gave new insight into some lawyer's judgement.
In his embarrassment, the lawyer was very, very flustered. He was, however, able to react as only a lawyer could. After zipping up, he reached into the glovebox, pulled out the title to the car and handed it to me saying, "I'll have it delivered anywhere you want, tomorrow, just let me get her home right now." This was the first time I had been offered a bribe and should have realized why this guy was so anxious to be let go, as the girl was very under age. But, in my naiveté, I was just glad she was O.K. and not being raped ("Please don't tell my parents, officer!"), and told them to get out of there immediately. The next day, before roll call, I mentioned to George Heeres about being offered the car the night before. He whipped out his notepad and said, "You dummy! What's that guy's name and address, I'll go get it!" Of course, he was just kidding and that was the end of it, or so I thought. Now, as Paul Harvey would say,
"For the REST of the story."
Seven or eight years later I was in the detective bureau. This particular case was handled by John Pawelek. A few of the details may be sketchy, but it's pretty much the way it went down. Mr. Bigshot Attorney, by now a well known local defense attorney, and as you might expect, one of the slimiest assholes to ever walk into a courtroom, reports his home burglarized. Among other things taken was a very expensive coin collection, sure to bring a healthy insurance settlement. But, Mr. Bigshot wasn't content with the progress being made in the case, and wanted to embarrass the village and the police department. He started a publicity campaign, writing letters to the local papers about the ineptness of SPD and how unsafe he felt as a resident, now that he himself had become a victim. I don't recall why he started this vendetta, perhaps John can fill that in for us, but I think he wanted a political position in local government and would do whatever he could to get noticed and obtain leverage. Since stuff flows downhill, the Chief got calls from village hall, he called the Lt. and then John was called in. Unfortunately for Mr. Bigshot, John was a VERY good burglary detective, with family ties and connections to CPD and a lot of resources.
I guess Mr. Bigshot had never heard of the Pawnshop Detail in Chicago. His coin collection showed up and, gee, can you guess this part, it had been pawned by a known burglar, who, coincidence upon coincidence, also happened to be a client of Mr. Bigshot. Since there is no honor amongst thieves, the burglar rolled on the attorney. He had done the job as a form of payment for services rendered. Mr. Bigshot ended up being arrested for conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, filing a false police report and was disbarred. I don't remember if he and his client both got time, but as I said, life has a way of correcting itself.
Fred Bolin TOP
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| Speaking Of Horny Bastards... As we all know, police officers are subjected to all types of temptations, some respond better than others, some pursue, and without judgement, we're all far from perfect. This is a brief story of one of those officers who was known to stray and give in to those urges (this was known even by his wife at the time, so no great revelation is occurring here.)
This officer, we'll call Ofc. Lothario, had fallen in lust with an extemely attractive and overly endowed young woman, who it was known to have been "working" the conventioneer crowd near the Hilton Hotel.
It turns out she had been arrested by our neighbors to the south, doing the same thing near the Hyatt Hotel. Her photo and arrest information was forwarded to the detective bureau amd Mike Manahan and Jim Clark, felt it their duty to present this information at the midnight shifts roll call.
It seems Ofc. Lothario had made it less than a secret that he was giving "special" attention to the young woman in the form of "counseling" or something involving oral communication of some form or another, on a near nightly basis.
Jim Clark could hardly contain himself as he addressed the troops to explain that the young woman, known for the purposes of this story as Josephina Guadalupe, was a known practicing prostitute and that they should be aware of her activity, and passed the photo around the room.
Ofcr. Lothario became enraged, shouting back words very close to,
"You f---in dicks, she's had a really rough time of it, she's been forced to do this to pay for her kid and parents and no one gives a shit! She's not hurting anyone!"
It was then that Jim popped the surprise,
"Are you finished Ofc Lothario? Cause if so you guys should also know that her real name is not Josephina but JOSE, and he hasn't had his final operation yet, there's still other parts left there, or did you already know that?"
Ofc Lothario ran into the locker room and the sounds of lunch blowing could be heard for 10 minutes.
Fred Bolin
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| More Horny Bastards While many of us owe a huge debt of gratitude to our dispatchers for life saving action and covering our asses, there were a few who knew what the 5 a.m. time signal was really about. While the Point to Point Radio was crackling with,
"Paw Paw to all districts, stand by for the Michigan State Police road and weather report"
A few of our female type had a different approach. Using the most syrupy of voices, where you could almost hear the slurp of the microphone, how many of you were "aroused" from a sleepy eyed stupor, to
"KSA 886, 0500 hours"
Clicking microphones, meant I wasnt the only one to hear it. Women should never have been let it on our secret or given that much control over us !!!
Fred Bolin
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| Leave The Driving To Us! Sorry, writing that story about Mike Manahan at the Skokie Swift brought to mind this incident.
Do you remember when Dempster St. was being rebuilt I think in the early 80's? They had everything torn up and the center of the street excavated with about a two foot deep area where a median was to go, and one lane of traffic each direction, right in front of the Swift.
While on patrol I found a total bottle neck from Niles Ctr. to the Swift with nobody moving, driving sometimes on the sidewalk, (no small feat with the squadrol) I managed to make my way up there and found a Greyhound Bus, stopped blocking the entire street, with it's rear wheels about to drop into the hole, as it was turning w/b from the driveway. I got out and went up to the bus to inquire the whereabouts of the driver. The passengers informed me that she had stopped the bus there, became hysterical, and ran crying into the terminal.
Since I had been driving coaches part time for a tour bus company, I released the brakes, backed up three feet and then pulled into the w/b lanes and parked it on the sidewalk. Then went to find the driver.
She was sitting on the floor of the Greyhound office sobbing hysterically with the phone in her hand. I asked if she planned on finishing her trip. "I can't move it and no one is answering at dispatch" she wept. I gestured to the bus and suggested that she'd better leave now or she'd probably get fired. Reluctantly she accompanied me back to the bus to continue on to Milwaukee. The passengers, (there was at least one good sport in there) handed an envelope to me and asked if I would accept that money to drive them to Milwaukee in place of their driver. I declined of course, and she managed to get the bus rolling again. You ever wonder why you see so many of them rolled over? I don't.
Part Two:
I guess I had a penchant for finding lady bus drivers. This one was a CTA driver, who overshot her turnaround on Touhy at Kedzie and attempted a U Turn behind a factory. There it was a huge CTA bus pulled up to within inches of a factory wall. The driver, just sitting there. "What's going on," I asked, and was told she had already called a supervisor who was coming out to help her. "Bus break down?" "No," she mumbled,
"I don't know how to put it in reverse."
Fred Bolin
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| Traffic Direction Pt. I, Using Visual Aids This is a story about Mike Manahn and how he learned to do a little more to get drivers to pay attention. Mike if you read this and I have a lot wrong, please write so I can set the record straight.
Scene: The Skokie Swift.
We all had to do it, sometimes as a hireback detail, others as an assignment (when the Village was saving money). Taking a turn at directing traffic at the Swift exit onto Dempster. I'm quite sure over the years they paid triple the money to us that they eventually spent putting in traffic signals, but we're not the "professionals" are we?
We all had close calls there, as I recall some of us even were injured by drivers clipping a hand as we were waving frantically for them to stop. One evening Mike Manahan, turned the corner on using visual aids while directing traffic.
A woman, coming e/b, either refused to heed Mike with his flare waving directly in the center of her lane, or was DWHUA. (An ancronym I first learned from an Illinois Trooper, think about it, you'll get it) At any rate the woman refused to stop or even slow down, and Mike in his best imitation of a toreador making a pass with the cape, drove the spiked end of the flare firmly into the fender of the woman's car, and deftly got out of the way.
She was easy to find, because after driving all the way home, with a fire burning on her car she called to complain about the bad officer. If I'm not mistaken here, Mike was happy to answer the call and write the citation. (Supervisors would not let our bull fighter adminster the "coup d'grace")
OLE!
Fred Bolin
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| Traffic Direction Pt. I, Using Metaphors This story and the one above are probably the reasons they never let Mike Manahan or I teach traffic direction in the recruit schools.
It was a very cold, slushy, winter evening around 9 pm. There had been a double fatality accident on Touhy Ave at the exit from the tennis club just west of McCormick, on the Lincolnwood side. I had been assigned to McCormick and Touhy to shut off w/b traffic, while the victims were being extricated and paramedics did their thing. I positioned my squad across the w/b lanes, and placed flares across e/b lanes.
I sat in the car and as vehicles approached I would motion them to turn right or left, UNTIL...
This very large, very black, Beamer or Mercedes pulls right up to my squad and starts blowing his horn. I was more than a little irked as I repeated my gesturing to him and he shook his head no, pointed to himself and then straight ahead. I couldn't even open my car door as he was within a foot of the squad. He finally understood enough to back up 3ft. and I got out in the sleet, and approached his car.
"What is it you can't grasp here, sir? I obviously have the street blocked, you can see all the flashing lights up ahead, you can't go through!" I politely explained.
"Oh No, not me officer, I'm only going to the tennis club, so get out of my way so I can get through!"
Patience worn even thinner by that remark, I showed remarkable restraint and told him,
"Sir, there were two people killed in that accident, it will be awhile before we open the street again, turn right and go around the back of Klein Tools, park there and walk over."
To which he replied, quite shocked,
"Officer, quite obviously you don't understand me, I am paying for court time at the club, and I'm already late, you must move your car and let me pass, NOW!"
Well that did it, here I am getting wet, my coffee getting cold, and this pineapple is telling me I don't understand how important he is, I momentarily lost my sense of humbleness and explained,
" Pal, YOU don't understand, you are going to move your car NOW or you will find your tennis racquet 2 ft. up your ass!"
He harumphed, threw his car in reverse and sped off n/b McCormick, never to be seen again. After being relieved at the end of shift I drove in and immediately set to work on my "To-From" explaining my side of the incident, but miraculously, he never called to complain. Sometimes you have to be explicit to get drivers to understand simple gestures.
Fred Bolin
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| Santa Comes To Town It was Christmas Day night and things were quiet in Skokie.
Carl Trombatore knew I had a Santa suit, called me at home and wanted to know if I wanted to have some fun with a certain pipe smoking sergeant, who was the only supervisor working.
Of course I jumped at the chance.
Carl told me to get dressed in the Santa suit and he would have "The Grape" pick me up. The "Grape" was a training officer at the time and was training Kathy Kruger.
They arrived at my home and I Ho-Hoed my way into the back seat.
They transported me to Crawford and Dempster and told me I was to get out and walk along the median ringing my bells and act intoxicated.
No Problem!
After a few minutes of ho-hoing and ringing my bells, the "Thumper" came speeding up with the mars lights on, screeched to a halt, grabbed me and made me assume the position over the hood. He advised dispatch he would be out in the 8700 block of Crawford with a drunken Santa. As he started to frisk me, "The Grape" and Kathy arrived as his back-up.
Just when they were placing me in handcuffs, we heard the squeal of brakes and two cars collided in the intersection of Dempster and Crawford.
Carl said, "Oh Shit" and told John and Kathy to handle the accident and he would transport me to the station.
We arrived at the north booking area where I was seated, still in cuffs.
Emperor Ming, the good sergeant, came back to see what was going on.
He asked me my name and I told him I thought everyone knew that.
"It's Santa", I said.
"No sir, I mean your real name" asked the good sarg.
"Oh, it's Saint Nicholas"
The muscles in his cheeks were starting to twitch and he gave me his best, "I want the truth look", and said, "I want your given name."
I smiled through my white whiskers and slurred, "Well why didn't you say so in the first place. It's Kris Kringle."
At this point I thought he would bite his pipe stem in half.
He looked at Carl, whose eyes were twinkling more than Santa's, and told him to lock me up at which time he stormed back to his office.
After waiting about 10 minutes, I walked back to his office, pulled down my beard and wished him a Merry Christmas.
I can't repeat what he said, but it sure wasn't Merry Christmas.
By the way, the people in the accident never mentioned that they were watching Santa get arrested and not paying attention to their driving.
Ron Baran
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| SLEEPING BEAUTY #1 It was a certain Officer Frank who enjoyed getting 40 winks once in a while when he was on midnight shift.
It was in the early a.m. and our friend was nestled under the pine trees at the Gross Point Rd. entrance to Memorial Park.
The watch commander happened to drive past and spot our "Sleeping Beauty." Did the supervisor write our dozer up? No!
Did he severely chastise our dozer? No!
This supervisor left our friend in dream land and drove around until he found an ugly, scraggly, mean old ally cat. He managed to grab the cat by the scruff of the neck and returned to the area our friend was napping, coasted past his squad and threw the cat into our friend's open window.
The cats main objective was to get out of the car as fast as possible. Letting out a blood curdling scream and digging into "Sleepys" legs with his claws, the ferocious feline exited the car.
It was about that time our napping friend also screamed in fright and says he still has the scars on his leg from where Sylvester, or maybe it was Felix, dug in.
Pleasant Dreams!
Ron Baran
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| SLEEPING BEAUTY #2 Perhaps our friend didn't learn his lesson the first time. Lo and behold, some of his fellow officers found him in dream land behind Wards Automotive. Everyone put their heads together and came up with an idea. His friends? went to the dumpsters in the Old Orchard area and retrieved cardboard boxes and paper and returned to our "Sleeping Beauty." The boxes were quietly stacked on the hood of the squad car, paper was stuffed in the open spaces and when the work was completed it was set on fire. It took a few minutes for the flames to really get going but when they did, we called our friend on the radio. I don't know if at first he thought the sun was rising because it took him a few seconds to realize the entire top of his hood was ablaze.
He quickly shifted into reverse and accelarated backwards, dumping the boxes on the ground. Kind of goes with the old saying, "There's a hot time in the old town tonight."
Ron Baran
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| As Long As We're At It....... I was on midnights and had stopped in the station for fuel and to chat for a few minutes, and answered the desk phone. The caller said, "I really don't want to cause trouble, but you probably should check the intersection of Skokie & Main, there's something you should know about there." He then hung up.
My curiosity piqued, I immediately left the building to see what the call was about. There right, smack dab in the middle of the intersection sat a squad car, engine on, lights on, driver, head back, mouth wide open and sound asleep. The officer, a large, very red-headed person, could not be awakened. I knocked on the window, beeped my horn, banged on the roof of the car,called him on the radio, nothing worked. Finally he came to with a spotlight shining in his face from 3 ft. away.
A month earlier, on the same shift, he had called for assistance down at Meyer Paving. Do you all remember the huge pit they had up on the hill there under the asphalt making machine? This officer, no doubt, had spotted something nefarious going on up there, and in his pursuit of his duty to investigate, had backed his squad car into the hole. Well, really just the back axle. When I arrived to help him, the squad was perched on the precipice, front bumper sticking up at a 45 deg. angle. We had to have the car towed out of course, and I'm sure the arrival of the tow truck scared away the offender the officer must have been pursuing, in reverse.
Fred Bolin
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| I thought he had a new partner? As we all remember, Carl Trobatore could at times be unorthodox when handling a call. He was dispatched to a report of suspicious noises at a residence. When he arrived at the scene he recognized the female complainant from a previous encounter that took place at a different address.
Her complaint was there where ghosts in her home and they were bothering her by making all kinds of noise. Carl asked her if she had lived somewhere else in town. She told him she had but they had moved because of ghosts in the other house. She felt that the ghosts from her previous home had hid in her luggage when they moved and were again bothering her.
Carl told her not to worry, the P. D. had just acquired an invisible ape who was trained in getting rid of ghosts. He went out to his squad and came back into the home with his arm in the air as if he were holding a leash.
He told the woman that she didn't have to worry about feeding the gorilla but she should put a large bowl of water in the basement, near the furnace, so the ape could drink. Being it was winter, Carl knew the water would evaporate quickly. He assured the lady the ape would do the job and left the scene.
About a week later, Carl was called into Capt. Halas's office. It seems the woman called the P. D. and was switched to Capt. Halas. She informed him that that nice Officer Trombatore had dropped off the ghost chasing gorilla and she had been setting out water every day because it drank so much. She also said the gorilla had done it's job and the ghosts were gone and the department could come pick up the gorilla in case someone else needed it's services.
Needless to say, Carl was sent back to the home to pick up Magilla and assure the woman if she ever needed him again to make sure she requested Officer Trombatore.
Ron Baran Top
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| Passing Gas Part III Once upon a time SPD came up with the bright idea of issuing cassette tape recorders to detective personnel for recording their follow up reports. The tapes were then transcribed and typed,submitted to the investigators for signature and filed.
The service division was run by Capt. Jim Halas and Sgt. Roger Milz, two very busy, executive types who found the best use for these cassette recorders and undoubtedly were co-responsible for their demise.
As mentioned elsewhere in this website, Jim & Rog never missed a meal, and for a little guy, Jim Halas could really pack it away. Trouble was, with breakfast at Desiree, lunch at Sicilianos' or whatever it was called, there was a lot of expansion occurring in the gastro intestinal tracts of our heroes.
Neither of these two guys ever really grew up and toilet humor was a virtual certainty between them. Using our latest addition to the SPD aresenal they decided to make a continuous recording of their flatulence.
"BRRRRAPP!"
"PSSSEWOPPP"
"BLAP P P P"
"SSSSS" "Oh, Oh that was wet!"
"FLUBBBBPT"
There ended up a tape with over an hour of continous sounds, interspersed with laughter and an occasional "Christ, take it outside will ya!"
Wish I knew where that tape was now, it should be permanently archived and used in management training courses throughout the country, in fact, word is that was the single most motivating factor in getting the department "Certified" under Chief Miller.
Fred Bolin
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| This is why SPD never had a Marine Unit Does anyone remember the boating craze that swept thru SPD. Everybody was buying them! Frank Nierman had the best new boat launch story though.
Frank and family were trailering their brand new 18 footer out to the Chain-O-Lakes and were happily tooling along nb Rt 12. Suddenly he looked to his left and saw a boat passing him as it crossed the median, and SB lanes of traffic and nosed down in a farmers front yard. "Man, that looks just like our boat!" were the words that came out before he realized, IT WAS his boat. Seems Frank had forgotten the safety chains and the boat had popped off the hitch. All was not lost, yet. The boat survived it's joy ride and Frank retrieved it, embarrassingly, from the man's yard, made sure the chains were on and continued on to Fox Lake.
Once there, they loaded all their goodies into the boat and Frank managed to back it down the launch ramp. Frank wasn't stupid like those people in California though, he remembered to take off all the straps and handed his wife the mooring line. Then pulled his car and trailer away to park. It was a weekend and it took him quite awhile to find a spot and finally maneuver his car and trailer into it, (remember now, Frank lived in Skokie, he drove by ear, so it took a long while to back up a boat!).
Frank returned to the boat dock to find his wife still holding the mooring line which led to something barely visible below the water line. Yep, he never secured the drain plugs and his brand new boat sank the first time it tasted water.
Boat Story #2:
I bought a 16ft, 45 hp runabout when I was 18 yrs old. It was just big enough to tow one normal water skier and we enjoyed using this boat many, many hours. Approximately 1969 the SPD held a picnic, I believe it was at Korpan's Landing on Bluff Lake. One of Fred Stewart's in laws owned it if I remember correctly. It was a very good turnout that day, many members of the department and their families showed up to enjoy a beautiful summer weekend party.
After several hours of trying to tow one would be skier after another, I tried to get Bill Zerfass up. Now in the boat with me were, Mike Langer and Don Taylor. Remember this is only a 45 horse and with the weight of the three of us in the boat plus Bill Z. (who was close to 2 of me) it was kinda like trying to pull the shoreline into the middle of the lake. I gave up after about 45 minutes and took Bill to the boat dock. It was then that events were set in motion which led to my first ever "near death" experience.
Mike Langer, the perpetual student, had been studying the way I used the boat, and circled around the skiers with the tow rope, etc, etc. and asked if he could drive, so I'd have a chance to water ski. Now I know better, maybe it was the cameraderie, maybe I was delusional, maybe it was the two six packs I had already consumed, but I agreed, and the three of us set off to the deeper water.
In those days, we didn't have full vests for water skiing, only a foam belt worn around the waist was required. I strapped up, tossed the skis in and dove into the water. Don Taylor, who had been in the cooler far more than I, fed out the ski line and within a few seconds, Capt. Plistic at the helm, accelerated and I actually made it up on the skis, (I admit, I was not the best water skier on the lake). Mike very confidently maneuvered the boat across a large wake and I went down. (Well up, end over end, and then down).
Mike diligently circled the boat and headed back to me, and back to me, and back to me.... "STOP FOR CHRISSAKES !!"
was the last thing I heard from Don Taylor before I dove for the bottom, pushing off the bottom of my boat with both hands and feet. I'm trying to dive and the damn ski belt is pulling my ass back up to the surface. I heard the outboard engine idling across the back of my head and surfaced back side up.
"Shit, Mike you killed him!!" were the next words I heard from Don as I checked to make sure all the important parts of me were still attached. We retrieved all 35 pieces of my ski rope, both skis (one undamaged) and made for shore. The rest of the day was kind of a blur, but I remember people saying that Mike and Don were the whitest things they had seen since the KKK march in Selma!
Fred Bolin
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| That's A Big One... Helen Albrecht Recalls These
I Sent Stanley Schultz on stray animal call.
next transmission was Stan's querulous
"Hey Sarge, this is a 20 pound pussy"
I was first female dispatcher, 1st day on job Frank Nierman clued me in...
and I quote:
"Civilians around here are lower than whale shit" succinct....right.
However,I learned to love him,
wonder if he's a desk sgt in ..... whereverer.
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| What Do You Mean, You Got Me Before I Got You? As most people were aware, I hated to write traffic tickets. Like most officers, I developed my own standards and pet peeves, that a driver was a cinch to get a ticket for. Nevertheless, I remember one year when I think I only wrote a dozen movers for the year.
In my last 8 years, I drove the squadrol, on the permanent 3-11 shift. That thing was fun to run radar in, it only said
"SKOKIE POLICE" on the side in 2 foot high letters so the typical Skokie driver would never notice you parked right in front of them. I would park on Keeler, nb at the stop sign for Oakton, broadside to traffic and people would be oblivious to the fact that there was a cop there with radar.
One sunny fall afternoon, I could hear the roar of a "muscle car" coming as he left the stop light at Kostner, buzzing past me at
67 mph in his new, black Firebird. Now, 37 over the limit pretty much exceeded my threshold of 15 over, and I went after him. The squadrol roared to life and I was able to catch him, thanks to traffic lights, sometime before he reached Lake Michigan.
He was very apologetic, and all, but couldn't believe I had him on radar, as he had just plugged in his brand new COBRA radar detector, bubble wrap packaging and all still lying on the seat beside him, he said,
"You've got to be mistaken officer, I just paid $245 for this thing and it never went off!"
I assured him I wasn't mistaken as he was the ONLY car on Oakton St. at the time, and the wind from him sailing by had messed up my combover. Besides the range on my radar, exceeded the range on his detector. The man forlornly shrugged his shoulders, reached into the dash board, picked up his new COBRA, and
STOMPED IT TO DEATH AND INTO 300 PCS. RIGHT THERE .
Sometimes TLE had it's Bit of satisfaction, after all.
Fred Bolin
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| Another Embarrassing Moment As a rookie officer, we didn't necessarily get the best squads to use. I was in about my 3rd day alone, back in 1965 and had yet to go on a call with lights and siren. I had done it with my FTO but never alone. Then my big chance came, a still alarm all the way across town. I was driving squad #18 I think, it was a 1963 Ford that was a hand-me-down from the Village Manager's office. As such, it was not equipped with the "police package", just a stock Ford Galaxie with a smaller V8. The car had a single rotating red light, and the old fashioned "wind up" siren, that you had to hold the horn button down to make it work.
I reached Dempster St. and turned eb from Skokie Blvd, and here was my chance, lot's of cars in front of me during rush hour, that had to get out of my way. I accelerated to about 45 and hit the siren. Believe it or not, a few of the cars accidentally pulled out of the way, they wouldn't stop of course, but they did pull to the right.
Problem was, the siren and red light took so much juice out of the electrical system, that the small 35 amp generator (don't think they made alternators yet) wouldn't deliver enough spark to run the engine. I'd hit the button and the squad would slow to 35 mph, so I couldn't go fast enough to pass the cars that were pulling over for me. What an insult ! and there's no place to hide. The cars I was finally able to pass would look at me as if wondering what happened to the Gramma driving down Dempster at 25 mph in a police car.
Fred Bolin
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| Listen Closely, Pal Heres one that didn't happen to me, but as I remember it was
Nick Koretos when he was still a patrolman.
Nick, had spotted a Volswagen Bug weaving and driving erratically. He stopped the driver and appraoched the car asking him to step out. The driver, it turns out was a highly decorated Marine, career man, who was currently stationed at Glenview N.A.S. The driver, quite bleary eyed and confused opened his door and peered down at the pavement as if questioning the sanity of Nick's request, he answered
"I ain't jumpin' without my parachute!"
After Nick was able regain his composure, the driver was arrested and transported to S.P.D. where the usual testing and booking procedures were accomplished. Finishing his paperwork, Nick was asked by the driver, what he had to do to go home. Nick told the man he had been arrested for D.U.I. and other traffic offenses finishing with,
"You are required to post a $500 cash bond and your drivers license or you will be incarcerated."
The Marine snapped his legs closed, grabbed his genitals and said,
"YOU WOULDN'T DARE !!!!"
Fred Bolin
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| Whose Gonna Pay For This? It was a typical quiet Sunday on the 3 - 11 shift. Mike Burns and I were dispatched to a family dispute at the Lotus Gardens Apartments. Upon our arrival there was a young woman standing out in front. She informed us that her husband had been drinking and had their small baby. All she wanted was to get the baby and she was leaving for the evening. We told her there should be no problem. (Famous last words.) At this time she told us her husband was very drunk a VERY BIG!
Mike and I knocked on the apartment door and when the door was opened we couldn't see inside. This guy was BIG, and it was all muscle. He stood about 6'4" or 5" and had to be 300 pounds of muscle.
He invited us to come in and sit down. We entered but declined his invitation to take a seat.
We tried to reason with him but he insisted he was in fine shape to keep the baby. Our supervisor, Sgt. Lee Reiter arrived on the scene and there was some more small talk with no success. He was informed that his failure to cooperate would result in his arrest.
With this, he told us, "Well, your going to have to take me."
Lee said, "Hell with him, take him!"
Mike and I pulled out our newly issued Mace and took aim.
The guy looked at Mike and said, "You're the little one, I'm gonna get you first, then take out the big guy," (meaning me).
The guy ran at Mike and hit him with a block equivalent to an NFL lineman.
Mike left his feet, flew across the hall and hit the door on the other side with such force the entire door and door jam came out of the wall and the next thing the three of us are wrestling with the offender in someone else's apartment.
This elderly couple sat mesmerized with Mission Impossible blaring on the TV while four guys were knocking over furniture, spraying Mace and fighting in their once quiet abode. We were finally able to get two pair of cuffs on the guy and transport him to the station
We later learned he had relatives on the Chicago P. D. and worked construction. For exercise during lunch he would curl and press concrete light poles.
He also came to the station a few days later to say how sorry he was.
To this day, I don't know who paid for the repairs to the old couples apartment.
Ron Baran
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| "By the 80's We Couldn't Even Have Photos in There!" In the early 70's, there was a 19 year old girl I knew who had a big crush on Bob Grau. Bob and I were both on midnight's and it was his usual practice to get to the old locker room in the basement 5 minutes before role call. I had Bob's combination and he had mine so if the need ever arose we could empty each others lockers of any evidence of female friends we might have stored.
I saw Bob's admirer out side the station one evening and asked her if she would like to play a trick on Bob. She was all for anything that would let her see her heartthrob. About 10 minutes before role call, I snuck her in the north door, down into the basement and locked her in Bob's locker.
A few minutes later Bob came in humming a tune and we exchanged greeting. He went through his combination and just as he was about to open the locker, the young lady pushed the door open and throwing her arms out yelled, "Bobby!"
Well, poor Bob jumped about two feet in the air, bounced off the wall and had a difficult time trying to talk.
I, in turn, almost peed my pants laughing. We hustled the young lady out the north door and Bob kept mumbling (more than usual) at me all during roll call.
Ron Baran (Former Friend of Bob Grau)
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| The Tale Of B.B.F. Many of you know that one of Bob Grau's nick names was B. B. F., but do you know the story of how that name came to be? Again it was in the 70's and Bob and I were on midnight shift. We usually tried to eat together and as you all know, the only place to eat was Jack's.
We usually had the same waitress, who happened to be the manager's young wife. One morning we went to eat and she came to our table and said she was really pissed at some customers who had just left. It seems that a group of young ladies came in and obviously had had a few cocktails. Apparently they were aware that the police frequented Jack's and one of these ladies (I use the term loosly) had some kind of an unpleasant run-in with Bobby Grau. Perhaps he had issued her a ticket. During their stay at Jack's this particular young lady was expounding, in a very loud voice, that she had gone out with that Skokie copper Bob Grau and that he was the worst lay that she had ever had. She must have been using explicit details in her fantasy because our friendly waitress couldn't take the abuse that was being said about one of her favorite customer any longer. She spoke out that she had gone out with Bob and he was the best lay she ever had. Even though she really never went out with Bob, her husband didn't find her statement amusing. I think Bob wanted a food tester for some time after that. But, since this other woman had expressed what a rotten lay Bob was I gave him the nickname, "Bobby Bum F - - -"
Something he never forgave me for.
Ron Baran
(Ed. Note: Ron, I don't think this will help will help with the forgiveness thing)
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| Toasted Leganger Anyone? My recruit school was held in Skokie in 1968. One phase of our training had us going out to Meadowdale Raceway in Algonquin to practice traffic stops, felony stops, etc. Larry Leganger was one of the instructors and came across as a real S.O.B. None of us rookies liked him. Imagine my dismay when I learned he was my F. T. O.
The first day, we went out on the ramp and he said you drive a-hole, I'm not here and you better not screw up.
A call came out of a garage fire in the 8900 block of Forestview. As we were proceeding east on Dempster, we could see heavy black smoke. Larry yelled to me, "When we get to the scene, go in the alley and drop me by the fire so I can check if anyone is in the garage." We entered the alley and it was an old wood with tarpaper brick siding garage. Being a rookie who wanted to do exactly as my FTO said, I halted the squad directly next to the burning garage. With flames rolling towards the squad and smoke pouring in the window Larry was about to say something when I said, "Just doing what you told me." After that, we got along great.
Ron Baran
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| "How Did Nasty Get Away With It ..?" THERE IS ONE STORY I RECALL, IT INVOLVED FRANK NIERMAN, YOU DON'T NEED TO USE HIS NAME, BUT THE STORY GOES. FRANK WAS WORKING THE DESK ON THE 3 TO 11 SHIFT WHEN A LADY CALLED UP AND COMPLAINED THAT A DOG WAS DEFECATING IN HER YARD. FRANK REPLIED THAT IF IT ISN'T CLAIMED IN THREE DAYS IT WAS HERS. HE THEN HUNG UP. THERE WAS NEVER A COMPLAINT AGAINST FRANK FOR HIS ANSWER AND I REALLY DON'T KNOW IF THE WOMAN EVER CALLED THE POLICE AGAIN WITH A DOG COMPLAINT. BUT ONLY FRANK COULD GIVE AN ANSWER LIKE THAT AND GET AWAY WITH IT.
Don Satiro
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| "... I bet I impressed 'em with this move !" This happened in the mid 70's after I had been on the job only a couple of years.
I was working 3-11's in the old Beat 26. The sky was filling with clouds and I knew we were in for a good rain storm. I also knew I would need at least a few accident reports as rush hour was quickly approaching and I only had one left (I always went on the street fully prepared). I requested permission to return to the station for equipment and was allowed to do so. I parked on the old ramp facing Laramie and got the needed accident reports. As I was leaving the station I was followed out by Capt. Halas, Lt. Adams and a Sgt (can't remember who it was now) who were going out to an unknown appointment.
Being still fairly new on the job I didn't want to do anything wrong with so much brass watching me. I was bound and determined not to cut them off as I left the ramp S/B on Laramie to return to the beat. I was parked forward and right next to the old locker room. The brass were getting into their squad which was parked on the rear of the ramp near the gas pump. Making sure I had my eyes on the brass so as not to do something stupid I pulled off the ramp and directly into the side a woman's car that was S/B on Laramie. Fortunately or not there were plenty of witnesses for this accident investigation.
Jim Hart
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| "Ain't That A Bite......" I'll start with one of my favorite sights. John Johnson was my training officer in 1965. During that period I saw him on many occasions rushing through his duty with a single minded purpose to get it done correctly and fast.
A few years later that style caught up with him. He was at an accident scene and had arrested one driver for DUI and placed him in his squad. Rushing forward to jump into the offenders car and move it out of the roadway, John learned to "Look Before You Leap" the hard way.
Apparently Mr. Drunk had puked on the drivers seat, leaving his dentures in the mess. John was bitten in the ass in a most unpleasant manner.
Needless to say, I think John found a few more "violations" to cite.
Fred Bolin
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| "Creative Report Writing 101, Part 1" Seems that once upon a time Mike Manahan was trying to prove a point to his patrol sergeant and the administration that miscellaneous incident reports were uneccessary. This was my first week in report review, and was being trained by his eminence Sgt. Roger Milz.
(I had yet to begin the job of actually reviewing reports, so this one doesn't fall on me.)
Any way a sudden row started in the record section with Mike laughing hysterically and Rog was "god dammiting" quite loudly (as well as laughing). What Mike had done to prove his point, that the Sgts., Lts and report review weren't reading the reports anyway, was to submit the following report in response to a call of
"Boys Playing Ball In The Street"
(a typical Skokie class A felony).
"At 1630 hrs, r/o was dispatched to above location on a report of ball playing in the street. Upon arrival I found five boys engaged in a game of street baseball. I shot them all in the head and shoved their bodies down the sewer. Rpt clr 1645"
Said report was signed by three supervisors and placed in the files. The effect was immediate and "well" received. I think the dent over the Chief's desk in the ceiling was still there when they demolished the office. I designed the SIM report about 3 weeks later, so check boxes could be used.
Fred, with permission of Mike Manahan
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| "Passing Gas ?" Police Stories from the Past. I tell my fiance Lesley some of the stories and she says Skokie PD gives Mayberry PD a whole new meaning. This probably happened in the late 60's. in the old building. 2 busloads of 2nd and 3rd. graders came to SPD for a tour of the facilities. Maybe 35 kids and their teachers. Officer Friendly (name withheld) conducted the tour. As he was showing them the gray shot gun cabinet. He grabbed the tear gas gun and was explaining to them the purpose of the gun. Well he pulled the trigger and boooom. Round goes off. Yikes !!! They had to evacuate the PD. Fire Dept. was called to suck out the fumes. Can you imagine when the kids got home that night and their parents asked what happened in school today. Officer Friendly gassed us mommy! Thats one story for now, will message back in the future with more.
Mike Manahan
(Footnote)
I was in the building that day and can verify this story, but there was a second incident that occured after that at the shotgun cabinet in the old building. This one involved a then SGT. and a LT. who was recently featured in the newsletter. (The Sgt. left SPD after attaining the rank of Lt., for a position in a western city know for it's---- uh...--- bridge, yeah that's it known for it's bridge) Seems the Sgt. let one go, a a round from a S&W 59, 9mm, that is, into the ceiling, I was on the phone in the squad room at the time and upon hearing the blast, ran around the corner into the Sgt.s area to witness said Sgt. brushing plaster dust off the meticulous Lt. and apologizing to beat the band. Both were white as snow, some of it from the dust, and shaking pretty well also. The Lt. excused himself and locked himself in the shift commander's office for oh, about 2 hours. The Sgt. polished off at least two bottles of Maalox, before either returned to "normal".
Mayberry ? Couldn't have happened there, they only had one bullet between them!
Fred Bolin
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| "Passing Gas" Part II Assisting Cook County officers serving a parking warrant on an 80 yr. old man in the area of the 7800 block of Lowell, I believe, Ofc. Les Mustacchio (I think it was you Les) and the County officers were met by a blast through the front door. Although this is a sad story, resulting in the eventual death of the poor old man, I believe it was also the first deployment of the "Elite SPD Swat Team".
(Below is the corrected version of the incident as told by Dick Oldenburg)
Fred, the story about the barricaded subject who got tear gassed is not quite the way it happened. I was the "marksman" who fired the tear gas shells into that house. The first one did go astray because someone had messed with the sights on the tear gas gun while it was in storage (Officer Friendly???). The shell did NOT wind up in someone else's living room. It wound up in the next street east of the house where the old guy was barricaded and Capt. Joe Varallo found it and kicked it into a sewer. I had to fire 4 more tear gas shells into various parts of the house before the old guy finally came out. He had fired shots through the door of the house and nicked one of the Sheriff's police. He was so drunk that he never even realized that he had been shot in the abdomen by one of the Sheriff's police who had returned his fire through the door. When he finally exited the house unto the flat roof of the attached garage, Freddie Stewart almost killed himself trying to climb up the rose lattice on the back of the garage. After firing the last tear gas shell and watching Fred almost kill himself, I ran around the front and followed Harry Redmond into the house and up the stairs to the second floor. I had to keep "goosing" Harry up the stairs in front of me because he had decided not to wear a gas mask and the gas was really getting to him. He was tearing up so badly that he couldn't see where he was going. The ambulance had been on standby down the block when this all occured and we called it to the house when we had the old guy in custody. End of story. I do like your version better, however, so don't feel compelled to change it. I won't mind at all!
Fred Bolin & Dick Oldenburg
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| Embarrassing Moment #1 (I have too many to write all of them)
It was around 1973 or so and I was in the detective bureau at the time. Our shift ran 5 pm to 1 am and Roy Beeman and I were out riding around about 12:30 am. A call came out of a burglary in progress near Christiana & Main, uniform officers responding made an arrest of the offender, in the store trying to escape with an IBM Selectric, (yeah, people actually used to steal those things). Roy & I responded and offered to transport the offender in, so we could do the processing and complaints and still try to get off duty before too long. On the way in we advised the guy of his rights (really!) and I asked his name.
"Joe Blow"
came the muffled response from the back seat.
"Pal, I've had a rotten day, and I really don't want to play around tonight, so what's your name?!"
I shouted back.
"Joe Blow"
again, came the voice talking into his chest.
"OK, a----le, I'm done f---g with you, what's your name?"
Getting a little short tempered by now.
"Joe Blow"
This time a little louder and more distinct, was the response.
I slapped off the headlight switch and turned down the first alley, behind a factory, pulled in and ripped open the back door. I remember Roy's eyes getting pretty large, as this definitely wasn't typical behavior for his mild mannered partner. As I took the suspect out of the back seat, and explained that I was extremely disappointed with his continued behavioral pattern of being uncooperative, and how it was probably, genuinely, in his best interest to make nice to the polite officer and respond with his correct name, he came out with
"Joe Bogue, B-O-G-U-E, man that's what I've been trying to tell ya !!!"
"OOPS, Sorry sir, I didn't wrinkle that nice Old Style
T-shirt you're wearing did I ? Roy, can you find a band aid for the nice gentleman?"
(any similarity to someone with the same name is purely intentional)
Fred Bolin
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| "Another Reason To Stay In Town..." Officer A & B were on the task force so were not restricted to a beat. It was nearing Christmas so officer A suggested to officer B that they pick up officer A's father and take him to dinner. No problem said officer B.
Now, officer A's father worked at Sears located at Cicero, Milwaukee and Irving. No problem, they had an unmarked car and in grubby civilian clothes.
The dinner went without a hitch. After dropping off Officer A's dad back at work, Officer A , who had relatives who were nuns, wanted to stop at the religious goods store in the area to get a couple of Christmas presents. As they entered the store, the last customer was walking out. They were towards the rear of the store when a seedy looking character dressed in black, including a black trench coat and black hat walked in. He glanced around, walked up to the cashier and pointing with his hand in his pocket said, "Give me all your money, this is a stickup."
Disregarding their own safety, not to mention they were well out of their area, these two brave officers sprang into action.
Officer A grabbed the perp and pressed his "45 into the guys face. Officer B attempted to screw his weapon into the guys ear. Both officer screaming "Freeze You &##&&**^. How dare you pull this &%##& in this kind of a store you rotten &%##@&.
With this the clerk scream, "Don't shoot, That's Father SoandSo from Saint SuchandSuch. He is always goofing around like that.
Officers A & B holstered their weapons and admonished the good Father for pulling such a stupid stunt. He promised it would never happen again.
The two fearless officers returned to their community to fight further crime.
Submitted By Ofcr. B (probably) or Ron Baran
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| "SOL DID WHAT?" Working midnights is a dreary job most of the time. Although it's true most of the fun action occurs on this shift, chases, smash & grabs and general all around bad guy activity, there is one call we never wanted to get, the
6 am ambulance call. That can only mean one thing....
So, there I was, early Sunday morning, sitting in Joan of Arc's parking lot, reading my paper when the call came in. An ambulance responding, practically across the street from my location. Over the years I had tried not to use the time honored tradition of driving around the block until you could see the ambulance approaching (let the paramedics have the fun) and this was Sunday morning, I wanted to get this over with and go home, so I drove right up to the house.
Approaching the front door, it was flung open by a
70 ish woman in her nightgown, a sweet little lady with a heavy accent from the "old country" shouting "Hurry Officer, hurry, hurry !!"
"What's wrong, ma'am, How can I help you?"
"It's my husband, Sol,
He voke up Dead!"
Remember- "It's Not My Fault!"
Fred Bolin
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| Creative Report Writing 101, Part II Now this one definitely falls under my guidelines as cop humor in a tragic situation. Fortunately, this did not occur in our Village but is attributed to a Chicago PD investigator who was a close personal friend to one of our officers. This will definitely point out the difference between working in Chicago as opposed to Skokie.
Seems this Investigator was known for his gift of gab and could sell deep freezers to Eskimos. He worked in a very bad area where a case that would make headlines in Skokie was a daily routine call. He responded to a call of a dead baby in the garbage dumpster, after transport to the morgue was completed, he convinced the deputy coroner that this sort of thing happens every day. It's quite common for these poor underprivileged teen girls to miscarry a fetus and just unload it in the most convenient way possible. So he was going to write up his case as a dead fetus and therefore no crime investigation would have to occur as technically there is no death until after birth (except in the case of a pregnant woman). The deputy, reluctantly agreed with the investigator and that was the end of the case, so he thought.
A week or so later the investigator's supervisor received a phone call from the Coroner's office, inquiring about the case. The supervisor pulled the report and informed the coroner that they wouldn't be following up, since the dead fetus was not a crime. After a few seconds of silence the coroner said,
" Yeah, well, OK, then what do you want me to do with the snowsuit and galoshes that fetus was wearing?"
FredBolin
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| My Turn In Divorce Court I had a knack for ending up where I didn't want to be (don't we all?) I spent many evenings working the desk position especially during my last 8 yrs. on permamnent 3-11s. One night a gentleman came in looking for a police report of a family disturbance that had occurred two years prior. I checked records for the names given and found no crime reports for the names. I explained that our records only kept service calls for a one year history so chances are the report he was looking for had already been destroyed. When he gave me the location of the incident a bulb lit up in my pea brain, as I had handled the call, and recalled it vivdly. I discussed the incident briefly with the gentleman, we laughed and he left. WRONG RESPONSE, FRED! The guy turned out to be the husband's attorney and three days later the subpoena arrived to appear in Divorce Court at the Civic Center the next week.
Being a dedicated officer, and in need of the witness fees check that came with the subpoena, I diligently arrived at court as required, and was met in the hallway by the wife's entire family, scowling at the appearance of an S.P.D. uniform. Within 15 minutes I was called inside and the questioning by the husband's attorney began.
I explained the call as I recalled it. The husband was upstairs in bed, sick with mono or something for 4-5 days. About 1-2 in the morning he awakened to noises downstairs and noticed his wife was not in bed. When he managed to get to the stairs, he observed his wife in a comprimising position on the couch with his best friend. He shouted out and the friend grabbed his coat and bolted. The husband and wife ended in a heated argument and the police were called. Peace was restored and they both gave me a description of the car the friend would be driving. I left the house and assumed a position around the corner to watch for the friend and get his part of the story.
The wife's attorney then had his chance at cross examination.
Q: "Officer, how long have you been employed as a police officer by the Village of Skokie?"
A: "A little over 20 years, sir."
Q: "And in that 20 years, I would assume that you have been to hundreds or even thousands of domestic disputes, have you not?"
A: "Hundreds, yes sir."
Q: "Yet there is no existing police report of this alleged incident is there?"
A: "No sir, there is not. It was determined that no crime had occurred."
Q: "Then officer, can you tell the court how it is that you have such a clear recollection of this alleged incident, without the benefit of a police report?"
A: "Really?"
Q: " Yes officer, we want to know?" (Smugly)
A: " Well counsel, in 20+ years, I have only had one occasion to stop a chrome yellow Corvette, who had pulled out into traffic without lights, in a snowstorn at 10 degrees below zero, to have the driver emerge from the car, barefoot and naked from the waist down, to return his shoes, socks, pants, underwear and wallet he had left on the floor next to the couch at a house I had just been in."
Judge: " You just HAD to ask that question, didn't you counsel ?!"
The husband prevailed.
Fred Bolin
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| Fleebin' 'n' What ? We all did it. The lure of time and a half to walk a post or drive a car around Old Orchard for a few hours during the Christmas season was too much to resist. Hell, even Sgt. Nick Koretos, who was known not to cash his paychecks for months at a time did it. It was just easy money. Right?
So December something, 1985, I was finishing my stint at "hireback" in the west lot of Old Orchard. A suspicious trio caught my eye, and since I was in a marked car, I assumed a hiding position in the second level of the parking structure, to observe the car, which was just west of the old post office. (Boy am I dating myself?) They made at least three trips from the mall to their car, each time emptying the bundles from under their coats, into the trunk and back seat of the auto. Finally, about, 5 minutes to 11, they got in the car to leave. "Should I or shouldn't I?" was the question I asked myself, but decided to do the right thing and check 'em out. Turns out they were so obvious they were also being watched by an unmarked task force unit (names witheld to protect the innocent ) and we went after them.
As soon as I turned on the lights, (we tried to get them before they got near the expressway), they took off, NB on Edens from Old Orchard. It was the first snowfall of the season. The suspects were in a l973 vintage, Chevelle, that belched flame and smoke every time they stepped on it. I was in a brand new Diplomat, with less than 300 miles on it, and couldn't overtake them, so I just followed the smoke figuring eventually they'd lose it. I remember saying to myself, as we crossed the Clavey Rd. construction site at 110 mph, "I'm too old for this shit anymore", but I digress.
The suspects got off US 41 at the eastbound Deefield Rd./Central St. exit in Highland Park, lost control and cracked up. I managed to get them out of the car, and stacked them up like cord wood, one atop the other until my back-up arrived. We did the usual and transported them to SPD. While doing the paperwork, the driver, was becoming very agitated.
" Hey sucka, lemme axe you sumfin', what I be'en charged wiff, you can't prove I stole that car, or anythin' in it?!!"
"You're being charged with felony retail theft, 5 counts, fleeing and eluding, reckless driving, speeding, improper lane usage, driving on a suspended license and whatever the hell else I can come up with !"
"Wait, Wait, Wait a minute, there offisah, Wha' be dat
fleebin 'n' aluminum ? I mighta did a little grass but I never
did no fleebin 'n' aluminum !!! "
Fred Bolin
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| Got Alpo ? BACK IN 1966, A LARGE NUMBER OF RECRUITS GRADUATED FROM AN ACADEMY THAT WAS HELD AT THE SPD. ONE OF THOSE RECRUITS WAS MYRON B. "MIKE" GOLDBERG. THIS POOR GUY WAS ASSIGNED TO A FIELD TRAINING OFFICER NAMED MANAHAN. WE WERE ASSIGNED TO THE THIRD WATCH (3 TO 11) TO BE TRAINED AS POLICE OFFICERS, HA HA. ONE AFTERNOON, AS I WAS RIDING WITH MY FTO, A CALL WAS PUT OUT CONCERNING A LARGE DOG RUNNING AROUND LOOSE, TERRORIZING A GROUP OF CHILDREN PLAYING BALL IN AN EMPTY LOT. THAT LOT WAS THE SOUTHEAST QUADRANT OF DEMPSTER AND KEELER. MANAHAN VOLUNTEERED HIS, OR RATHER MIKE GOLDBERG'S SERVICES AND THEY RESPONDED TO THE CALL. MY PARTNER AND I HAD JUST PICKED UP COFFEE AND WERE SITTING ON AN INTERSECTION LOOKING FOR A MOVER. I DON'T RECALL HOW MUCH TIME PASSED AFTER THEY CALLED OFF BUT AN EXCITED AND OUT OF BREATH MANAHAN CAME ON THE AIR AND REPORTED : "OFFICER GOLDBERG WAS BEING PULLED AROUND THE FIELD BY A VERY LARGE DOG AND THEY WERE UNABLE TO GET THE ANIMAL INTO THE CAR. CAN YOU ADVISE?" I DON'T THINK IT WAS A SPLIT SECOND LATER THAT THE VOICE OF THE LATE JACK FISHER CAME OVER THE AIR AND SAID:
"GET INSIDE AND MAKE A NOISE
LIKE A CAN OF DOG FOOD."
AT THAT MOMENT, MY PARTNER, WHO HAD JUST TAKEN A MOUTHFUL OF COFFEE, RESEMBLED VESUVIUS AND WE WERE FORCED TO GO TO HIS HOME SO HE COULD CHANGE HIS SOAKED TROUSERS AND GET SOME PAPER TOWELS TO DRY THE WINDSHIELD, DASHBOARD AND STEERING WHEEL.
Stan Schultz
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| You Thought You Had A Bad Honeymoon? NOW I'LL GIVE YOU ONE OF MINE. THE DAY FINALLY CAME WHEN MY FTO LET ME DRIVE THE SQUAD CAR. HE DIRECTED ME TO DEMPSTER AND CRAWFORD, NORTHWEST CORNER SINCE WE WERE ASSIGNED TO THE OLD BEAT 20, AND I WAS TOLD THAT I WOULD BE LOOKING FOR A TRAFFIC VIOLATOR BECAUSE I WOULD BE WRITING MY FIRST TICKET. WE WERE THERE ONLY ABOUT FIVE MINUTES WHEN LO AND BEHOLD, THE LIGHT TURNED RED FOR CRAWFORD AND A CAR THAT WAS ABOUT TWO CAR LENGTHS AWAY FROM THE INTERSECTION TURNED LEFT FROM NORTHBOUND CRAWFORD TO WESTBOUND DEMPSTER, THROUGH THE RED LIGHT AND MADE A WESTBOUND CAR HIT THE BRAKES TO KEEP FROM HITTING IT. I PUT THE CAR INTO GEAR AND PULLED OUT BEHIND THE OFFENDER AND MADE THE STOP. MY FTO GOT OUT SO HE COULD HEAR WHAT WAS GOING ON. I MADE MY PREPARED SPEECH AND LISTENED TO HIS STORY. HE WAS FROM OUT OF TOWN AND TIRED FROM DRIVING. HE AND HIS NEW WIFE WERE ON THEIR HONEYMOON AND WERE STOPPING IN TOWN TO VISIT HER FAMILY. I DIDN'T CARE, I WROTE THE TICKET ANYWAY AND HE GAVE ME A BOND CARD SO NO TRIP TO THE SPD FOR A CASH BOND. I DON'T HAVE TO TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED IN COURT WHEN THE GIRLS FATHER SHOWED UP AND TOLD THE JUDGE WHAT HAPPENED AND OFFERED TO PAY THE FINE. YUP, GOT TOSSED. MY FTO SAID TO ME AFTERWARD: "I NEVER WOULD HAVE WROTE THAT ONE." MY QUESTION TO HIM WAS: "WAS YOUR JAW BROKEN THE NIGHT I STOPPED HIM?"
Stan Schultz
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| I Can Spell, Don ! I AM SURPRISED THAT NO ONE REMEMBERS THE CLASSIC STORY, RELATED TO US IN RECRUIT CLASS OF THE LATE OFFICER DON TAYLOR DOING PREMISES CHECKS IN THE ALLEY OF THE 7300 BLOCK OF HAMLIN ON THE MIDNIGHT SHIFT.
AS HE WENT FROM DOOR TO DOOR, HE CAME UPON AN UNLOCKED DOOR AND CALLED IT IN TO DISPATCH. HE WAS THEN ASKED, BY DISPATCH, WHAT THE NAME OF THE BUSINESS WAS AND HIS REPLY WAS: "I DON'T KNOW." THE DISPATCHER QUICKLY RESPONDED WITH: "WELL WHAT DOES IT SAY ON THE DOOR?" DON SHOT BACK WITH A ONE WORD REPLY:
"P-U-S-H."
Stan Schultz
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| Bag This ! "Skokie Police Department 911, What's Your Emergency/"
I answered, during one of my many stints in communications. The reply was immediate clear and loud,
"I NEED A POLICE OFFICER WITH A GUN, IMMEDIATELY !!"
"What's the problem ma'am, I need more information." I replied.
"Just get over here, RIGHT AWAY, it's an emergency!"
"Ma'am, I really need to know what's happening, try to tell me briefly"
"I live in the Barcelona Apartments, you know?!, and there's a, a, (stammering noticeably) there's a racoon on my balcony !!!"
"Ma'am, that's not a situation for a police officer to come out, what floor do you live on?"
"The first, and what do you mean that's not for the police?"
"Ma'am, the animal is outdoors, where he belongs, he'll go away on his own, turn on your lights and he'll leave."
"But, what if, god forbid, he DEFECATES on my carpeting?"
"Ma'am, I am sorry, but all my evidence technicians are tied up right now, so here's what you do, do you have plastic baggies?"
"Of course, Yes!"
"OK, use a marker to initial and date the outside of the bag, turn it inside out and collect the specimen in the bag."
"And then what?"
"Place it in your freezer, for safekeeping, if nobody claims it in 30 days it's yours!"
"Click."
I admit, I stole the punch line from "Nasty" Nierman, who used it on a dog poop call, but it was great having 20+ years on, they never complained.
Fred Bolin
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