“This is bullshit,” he said as he walked into the gang office.
That pissed off Mason even more. He got in Tim’s face and the two men nearly came to blows.
“You can kiss my ass!” Tim bellowed as Lieutenant Taylor rushed into the office to break things up.
Mason was heated. He was Tim’s senior. Tim was heated, too. He didn’t give a fuck about Mason being a higher-up. He had been on the verge of breaking a murder case. That was way more important than a cluck house run. A little later, when things had cooled down, Taylor pulled Tim aside.
“I’m going to have to move you out of the gang unit for a few months.”
Tim was stunned. “Why?”
“Look, I can’t have you guys telling my sergeant to kiss your ass.”
“But he—”
“You’ll be back,” Taylor assured him. “You’ve just gotta lay low for awhile.”
Bob exploded when he heard the news.
“Why can’t you ever keep your big mouth shut? Now I’ve gotta ride by myself!”
The two were separated for a few months, but still managed to back each other on gang-related incidents.
One night in 1991, a call came over the radio about a deputy being shot on Cherry Street in Fruit Town Piru territory. A couple of deputies had been doing a traffic stop when a car drove by and someone inside shot at them. One of the deputies was hit in the leg. Tim, temporarily exiled from the gang unit, was driving with his assigned partner, Chris Paredes. Bob was patrolling alone. Tim and Bob still coordinated how they would deal with the call. Bob would take the west side and Tim would take the east. They would check every Piru neighborhood for the car the shooter had been in.
Tim was driving down Holly Avenue at Myrrh Street, a known hangout area for Pirus. He saw a vehicle matching the description of the car involved in the incident. He put out a call over the radio, then detained several gang members who were standing out front. Bob heard the call and arrived in minutes. The vehicle matching the description was still warm to the touch.
Any police officer working in Compton learned early that if there were a group of gang members together, there was probably a gun somewhere nearby, probably hidden in the bushes. Bob checked the area for it. At one point, he looked inside a trashcan and there it was: a chrome-plated handgun.
Tim and Bob figured they had the suspects involved with shooting the deputy. They called O.S.S. (Operation Safe Streets, the L.A.S.D.’s gang division) deputies Brian Steinwand and Greg Thompson in Lynwood, whom they knew well and with whom they often shared information. Brian and Greg were good cops and would be able to take over.
Brian and Greg arrived with a witness in tow who had seen the shooting. The witness positively I.D.’d the car. The O.S.S. deputies took custody of the gang members Tim had detained and they took the gun, which still had expended casings in the chamber. Later that night, Brian called and said the suspects admitted to shooting the deputy.
Tim and Bob had been able to do gang work together effectively, even though, technically, they were apart.
***
After a few months passed, Tim’s exile from the gang unit was over and he and Bob were back together. Tim had also made up with Sergeant Red Mason and the two became good friends.
Things fell back into their natural rhythm, particularly their knack for being at the right place just as something was about to go down.
It was a hot summer day and they were on their routine patrol on the east side of the city, checking all the usual spots where gang activity was high.
Tim was behind the wheel and Bob was riding shotgun.
They drove north on Holly Street from Alondra, then turned and headed west on Myrrh Street. They spotted two Oldsmobile Cutlasses a couple blocks ahead. Both cars were filled with Latinos with shaved heads. It was odd that two of the same type of vehicle would be following each other and their first thought was that one of the cars was stolen. Tim hit the gas, trying to catch up with them. The cars turned, heading south on Ward Avenue.
This was even odder. Latinos going down Ward was a major red flag. The area was the territory of the Ward Lane Hustlers, a small Crip set known for drug sales. As Tim and Bob turned south on Ward, they saw the Cutlasses slow as they passed several Ward Lane gang members standing in a yard on the west side of the street.
What happened next was like something out of a movie.
The rear Cutlass decelerated to a slow roll. The passenger in the front seat leaned halfway out of his window holding a black Uzi. He unloaded nearly half a clip on the Ward Lane gang members standing in the yard.
PopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPop!
Tim and Bob couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Actually, they could. They just couldn’t believe their timing in being right there to see it.
Bob grabbed the radio.
“We’re south on Ward from Myrrh. We have shots fired from a vehicle. Male Latinos in a blue Olds Cutlass.”
At this point, the car that had fired on the Ward Lane gang members realized Tim and Bob were behind them. It sped up, but the officers were right on their tail. The car approached Alondra, then stopped short, slamming on its brakes. Tim and Bob were barely able to stop without running into it. The front doors of the car opened. Tim and Bob had no idea what these guys were about to do. This was either going to be a shootout or they were going to run. Tim and Bob were ready for either scenario.
Bob had already started to exit the car, his gun drawn. The guy exiting on the passenger side - the shooter - was still holding the Uzi. He glanced back at Tim and Bob. Bob’s finger was on the trigger, ready to fire. By this point, Tim was also out of the car, gun drawn. The shooter stared at both men for a moment, then threw the Uzi to the ground, and took off running. The driver of the car jumped out and ran south toward Alondra.
Responding units arrived in seconds. Tim and Bob gave them a description of the Latinos. The driver and the shooter were found hiding inside a business just around the corner and were taken into custody. They were sixteen-year-olds from the Mexican gang the CV70’s, trying to make their mark by “putting in some work.” Surprisingly, only one of the Ward Lane gang members had been hit.
Tim and Bob learned later that the L.A.S.D. had I.D.’d this shooter in one of their murders. The Uzi he dropped at the scene was later found to be a match for the gun used in the L.A.S.D. case. This wasn’t an uncommon thing for Tim and Bob to encounter. In many instances, criminals involved in murders in Compton were often involved in murders in neighboring jurisdictions.
PART II:
THE 90’S
“WELCOME EVERYBODY TO THE WILD, WILD WEST…”
10
BURN, COMPTON, BURN!
If the eighties went out like a lion, the nineties arrived as a saber-toothed beast. These were savage times, upping the ante on what had gone down in the previous decade. Nothing about this era was underplayed or low-key. Murders increased as gang warfare escalated in the city of Compton. Gangsta rap was in full stride.
Compton locals were on their way to becoming icons in the world of entertainment. DJ Quik released his debut album, Quik Is The Name at the beginning of 1991. N.W.A released their second and final album, Niggaz4Life, in the summer of that same year. Former member Ice Cube had left the group two years prior, in 1989, and was evolving into a genuine force. He had made his big screen debut in John Singleton’s groundbreaking film Boyz n the Hood in the summer of 1991 and was now bonafide movie star. His second album, Death Certificate, dropped three months later and was a huge seller that went platinum.
All of Compton was blasting the music of their hometown heroes. The streets were incendiary, hot with drugs, murder, and rampant crime, with gangsta rap acting as a backing track for it all.
On March 3, 1991, George Holliday, from his apartment balcony, filmed Rodney King being beaten by four police officers after a high-speed chase. The footage was released across the country and around the world, igniting a firestorm of dialogue about police bru
tality and the use of excessive force. On April 29, 1992, a predominantly white jury acquitted the four officers, setting off six days of rioting, violence, property destruction, and fires - the same number of days as the Watts Riots in 1965. The world’s eyes were on Los Angeles as the city burned and smoldered - both literally and figuratively - the palpable extension of the rage of people who felt they had once more seen justice elude them, even though the evidence of wrongdoing had been videotaped. Just like with the Watts Riots, the National Guard was called in. This time around, the body count was higher. Fifty-plus deaths and over two thousand people hurt. The property damage was close to a billion dollars. The riots started in South Central and radiated out from there.
***
Tim and Bob had driven all the gang neighborhoods as usual after the verdict was announced in the trial of the four L.A.P.D. officers. Reactions had been immediate with buildings being set on fire, businesses broken into, and an explosion of protests and violence. The country had looked on in horror as live footage from a news helicopter was broadcast of Reginald Denny, a white man, being pulled from his truck and brutally beaten by members of the 8-Tray Gangster Crips in South Central.
As they drove the neighborhoods, Tim and Bob noticed large numbers of gang members gathering, meeting about something. When they passed through the Cedar Block Piru territory, some OG’s approached them.
“Man, what y’all doing on the street right now?” one of them said, his expression intense. “It’s finna go down. It’s gonna get ugly.”
“How so?”
“Y’all ain’t safe out here today. People are mad about them cops getting off.”
Tim and Bob appreciated, and heeded, the warning.
***
That first night of the riots, all the Compton P.D. officers were called into the station. At the time, there had been issues in the department regarding the then-chief of police Terry Ebert. He was forced to resign. Hourie Taylor was made acting chief of police in his stead. Captain R.E. Allen had badly wanted the position and when it went to Taylor, it further intensified the rivalry between the two men that had been festering since they were both sergeants in the eighties.
Taylor couldn’t have picked a worse day to become acting chief. The first night of the L.A. riots. The first call came in: possible looting taking place at 133rd Street and Wilmington Avenue. A decision was made to send two scouts: Tim and Bob.
Tim and Bob laughed as they headed to their patrol car.
“I guess we’re the fucking expendables today,” Tim said.
***
They drove to 133rd and Wilmington. They knew the area well, and that there was only a liquor store and a small family-owned grocery market on the corner. When they pulled up, they were shocked to see hundreds of people dashing in and out of the grocery market, taking food and beer. It was chaos.
“Fuck it,” Bob said. “Let’s handle it.”
They got out and went inside the store. When people saw them, they took off. Two shots were fired into the ceiling. Everyone scattered, bolting from the store. Tim and Bob wanted them to know they meant serious business. As the last few stragglers made their way out of the store, the officers threw beer cans at them to hurry them along. They used their batons to knock food out of the hands of those who ran past them.
People were pissed that Tim and Bob were there and some hung around, determined to wait until they were gone. The officers called the incident in to dispatch, but even more calls began to come. One was on Long Beach Boulevard. Tim and Bob couldn’t hang around and keep people from going back inside the store. As soon as they pulled away and headed for the next location, the crowd rushed back into the store for more free food and beer.
As they drove down Rosecrans Avenue, they saw that it was happening everywhere. Grocery stores, businesses, all of them were being ransacked. The Compton P.D. made the decision to send all officers out on the streets to try to control what was happening. It was a nearly impossible effort. Cops were outnumbered ten-to-one. Hundreds of people roamed the streets stealing from stores and taking anything they deemed of value.
A building burns as the city riots.
As the sun began to set, buildings were set afire, lighting up the sky with plumes of dark smoke as the day moved into night.
All the officers were notified that they would be working eighteen-hour shifts.
“Load up with as much ammo as possible,” they were instructed.
As Tim and Bob made their way to different locations, the only way they could get the crowds to disperse was by capping a few rounds over their heads. The other cops working the streets that night were doing the same thing. It was effective, at least temporarily.
A couple of officers tried a less dramatic route, choosing to walk into a grocery and trying to apprehend those who were stealing. They ended up fighting for their lives and, while they were in there, their patrol car was stolen. It was driven down the street a ways, completely demolished by rioters, then set on fire.
This was not the night to be a cop. After that verdict, cops were being viewed as Public Enemy Number One.
Tim and Bob spent all night busting caps over the heads of crowds stealing and arresting those they could manage to catch. After eighteen of hours, they were able to go home and catch a few hours of sleep. In short order, though, they were back on the streets amid the rioting, fires, and rampant theft, trying to stave off the madness.
The Compton Swap Meet on Long Beach Boulevard was the main target thieves were looking to take down next. It was huge, a bazaar filled with all manner of products, electronics, and goods. It was the last bastion, not yet invaded or set aflame. Tim, Bob, and a few other cops were instructed to hold the place down, like a fort, to keep it from being overtaken. As they were en route to the swap meet, Tim and Bob heard over the radio that several rioters had attempted to break in during the day, but hadn’t been successful. Sniper rounds had also been fired at cops who were there.
People were everywhere. Most of the cops were younger officers, people like Carl Smith and Ed Mason, Jr. and the crowd was determined to get in. Once that happened, it would be a wrap. The cops knew they had to do something.
Tim and Bob heard over the radio that the crowd was now trying to pry open the doors on the northwest corner of the building. They rushed over to the area. Sure enough, people were pulling at the the metal doors and gates. Behind them, another thirty-to-forty people were waiting, ready to rush in.
The crowd was growing bigger by the minute.
Across Long Beach Boulevard, another large crowd yelled and encouraged their attempts. This was overwhelming for the younger cops. They watched, unsure what to do.
Bob had Tim’s pistol grip shotgun. Tim took out his .45 caliber handgun. They ran up to the crowd as Tim let off four rounds in the air. Bob blasted two rounds around the top of the building, knocking stucco off and onto the people below. The crowd stopped, stunned, as Tim and Bob continued forward, yelling and cursing as they fired more shots overhead. The crowd took off running and screaming.
The younger officers watched in shock as Tim and Bob blasted off rounds. When Tim and Bob finally stopped and turned around to check out the scene, they were equally amazed.
The younger cops chased the crowds down Long Beach Boulevard. Tim and Bob saw Ed Mason, Jr. running across the boulevard firing off rounds in the air. Carl Smith and others were doing the same. The streets were cleared within minutes as people fled, never making it into the Compton Swap Meet. The young officers had just needed a push in the right direction to figure out how to get the crowd to disperse.
On Day Two, after their second eighteen-hour-shift, Tim picked up Bob and they returned after having just two hours of sleep. They’d been up drinking beer with fellow cops talking about how intense and chaotic things had been that first day.
As they drove down the 91 Freeway, they noticed they were the only car heading into the madness. When they exited at Alameda, plumes of smoke rose from hundred
s of fires in South Central, Compton, Watts, and North Long Beach.
Day Three was more of the same, but was better organized. They were told to report to the designated command post, located at the Compton Lasbin Hotel, a new twelve-story place that had opened at Alameda at the 91 Freeway. When they went inside, they saw tables stacked with shotgun and handgun rounds.
Smoke-filled skies during the riots.
Management would have never formally told Tim, Bob, or any other cop to shoot their guns over the heads of people trying to break into stores, but the reality was they knew what was going on in the streets. There had to be a way to keep order, even if it meant implementing what would otherwise be deemed an unapproved and dangerous method. Tim had bought a pistol-grip shotgun from a local gun shop. It was very effective as a dispersal tool.
Paramount, Compton’s sister city to the east, had blocked Alondra, Compton, and Rosecrans streets with dirt brought in dump trucks. The dirt was piled twelve feet high, keeping traffic from filtering into their city. It was a smart move on Paramount’s part, but over in Compton, people felt trapped. That same day, a Korean man was shot at the intersection of Alondra and Willowbrook after he was followed from his store in Fruit Town.
Later that night, Detective Stone Jackson shot a young Black kid in the head as the kid was about to throw a forty-ounce bottle of beer at him. The boy died. The department couldn’t even hold a crime scene when those killings happened. The bodies were scooped up and a quick report was done in order to clear things for the next incident.
The riots took their toll on the citizens and the officers. One member of Compton P.D., Gary Eaves - a big white boy, heavyset with a big mustache and crooked teeth - was seriously affected. He was already the stressed type. On the first day of the riots, he shot someone in the leg who was taking stuff from a store. The guy ran off and turned up at MLK Hospital later saying that Compton police had shot him for no reason. The cops had been capping rounds over the heads of people, but they hadn’t been directly shooting anyone. Not until now. Gary Eaves shooting someone in the leg brought undue attention once the guy reported it.
Once Upon A Time in Compton Page 12
