Once Upon A Time in Compton

by Brennan, Tim; Ladd, Robert; Files, Lolita

Most of the former Compton P.D. cops opted to go to the courts as bailiffs, or the Transit Services Bureau (TSB) policing buses and trains. Former Compton P.D. personnel were scattered throughout the county. Mayor Bradley wanted all the Compton officers that had opposed him gone. That mission, for the most part, had been accomplished.

  ***

  Bob became a bailiff in Compton, assigned to Judge Morgan in superior court. He was a good judge, easygoing and easy to work for. Bob did this even as he held the complicated role of being the lead investigator on numerous murder trials in court. Bob had spent eighteen years of his life working the Compton courthouse. He knew the judges, the D.As, and many of the court deputies.

  Now he dressed in uniform working the metal detector at the front door with court security personnel. It was humiliating to be seen as front door security by the same people he was prosecuting for murder. He would see these guys downstairs in the morning when the buses arrived and they had to be searched.

  On his first day as a bailiff, he got there early, not knowing what to expect. The deputy Bob was assigned to was very helpful. He explained that the buses would come and the inmates would have to be searched before being taken upstairs to the courtrooms.

  When the buses showed up, Bob and the deputies put on gloves as the inmates from the county jail filed into large holding cells underneath the courthouse. The deputies went in, removed the inmates’ handcuffs, and searched them.

  “Drop your drawers!” a deputy yelled.

  “What the fuuuuuck?” Bob muttered.

  The inmates bent over and spread their buttcheeks. Bob was devastated.

  This is what I’ve been reduced to, he thought. Looking up peoples’ asses for contraband. This is now my fucking life.

  The inmates knew the drill. Most were repeat offenders who’d been through the system before. They were from Compton or surrounding areas. Most of them knew Bob and vice-versa.

  “Fuck you, Ladd!” they yelled, pissed at seeing him. “You ain’t shit anymore!”

  Sometimes they had to be restrained. Sometimes Bob would be asked to leave the searches, which he didn’t mind at all.

  After the searches were done, Bob would take the inmates upstairs, put them in holding cells, and wait for the judge to come out. When the judge emerged, Bob jumped into bailiff mode.

  “All rise.” The judge would take the bench and Bob would continue. “Please be seated. Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Morgan presiding.”

  It was so embarrassing. The mocking, scornful looks from the inmates only made it worse. He’d once been a force to be reckoned with in the streets. Now he was checking butts and playing courthouse butler.

  He was just grateful Judge Morgan was nice, unlike some judges who made bailiffs say a whole lot of other shit that would have made him feel sillier than he already did.

  It was a humbling situation. After years of chasing gangsters, hundreds of pursuits, shootouts, and everything in between, Bob didn’t know anything else. Those things were what he’d felt born to do. Yet here he was in a job where he felt lost, like he was flailing in the wind. He’d spent the prior three months as a burglary detective. Now this. And it wasn’t like he looked down on or scorned bailiffs. They did yeoman’s work and were a necessary part of the courthouse system.

  But it wasn’t for Bob.

  Bob the Butt-Checking Bailiff.

  What the fuck was going on?

  ***

  Tim spent his first three months assigned to the newly-formed Compton-based L.A.S.D. gang unit, aka “Operation Safe Streets” (O.S.S.). O.S.S. was formed in the seventies by Deputy Wes McBride and others to combat the emerging street gangs in East L.A. and South Central. Tim and Bob had known and interacted with McBride and several other O.S.S. detectives over the years. He and some of those detectives were among the best anywhere to ever work gangs. Many went on to be assigned to L.A.S.D.’s Homicide division. McBride, along with Long Beach P.D. gang expert, Norm Sorenson, formed the California Gang Investigators Association (C.G.I.A.) and still remained active training new generations of gang cops.

  Tim and Bob had a lot of respect for O.S.S. and the detectives who worked it, even though things were in turmoil when the merger occurred.

  Tim and Ray Richardson were embraced by the O.S.S. detectives. Upper management had made copies of Tim’s forty-location search warrants against Suge Knight, Death Row Records, MOB Piru, Orlando Anderson and the South Side Crips that were served in the wake of Tupac’s murder in 1996. The document was used to show O.S.S. detectives the type of activity going on in Compton. Even though they liked O.S.S., Tim and Ray were only to remain there for three months, as directed by Mayor Bradley.

  Captain Willie Miller was in charge of O.S.S. Her first meetings with Tim weren’t the best. She’d been told he knew the most about gangs in Compton and she reached out to him for input, but Tim was busy with union issues at the time. He was disappointed at what the O.S.S. had become. He remembered working with O.S.S. detectives in the past in a way that was much like how the Compton gang unit was run. Time was spent preparing cases, writing and serving gang warrants, and, most importantly, getting out in the streets contacting gang members and gathering intelligence. O.S.S. used to work nights, so they would be on the scene immediately when gang violence occurred.

  Now, being a part of O.S.S. mostly meant sitting at a desk all day on a computer working one case at a time (instead of several related cases at once in order to stay on top of the gang violence). This version of O.S.S. was more of a nine-to-five job. No one was interested in hearing from Tim about how things could be done better, even though that could have been easily accomplished by having O.S.S. go back to its roots and the way they used to do things.

  Tim met with Cecil Rhambo, the new Station Captain. Rhambo talked about Compton politics. From what he said, it was clear that a number of people in the L.A.S.D. believed several Compton P.D. officers had worked for Death Row and Suge Knight. Rhambo, who backed Bradley, questioned Tim about the upcoming mayoral election. It would be Bradley versus Eric Perrodin. It was obvious Rhambo didn’t like Perrodin.

  “He’s going to win,” Tim said, “and Omar’s going to jail.”

  Shortly after that, Tim was sent to Lakewood Station patrol.

  Perrodin won the election.

  Bradley was sent to jail.

  ***

  Tim and Bob got together whenever they could to let off steam and get drunk. Their wives weren’t happy, but they only knew a part of what the guys were going through. Bob unintentionally shut out his wife, Kathy, but she had her own career, so that proved a saving grace.

  Tim and Bob both had put their spouses through hell over the years - getting into shootings, being called in for murders every week - every kind of craziness imaginable. Through it all, Kathy and Tim’s wife, Joanna were class acts, supportive in every way.

  ***

  One day the sergeant had Bob working the entrance to the courthouse, monitoring the metal detector. Tim and Eddie, scheduled for court that day, walked in. They saw Bob and burst out laughing. Bob would have done the same to them, but deep down, it still hurt.

  Tim and Eddie knew it hurt Bob. It was an odd moment, both funny and humiliating at the same time.

  Bob didn’t know how much longer he would be able to endure this. He was dying inside. There was no way he could accept this as his fate for the rest of his career.

  ***

  Several months after the Compton P.D. had merged with the Sheriff’s Department, gang homicides were no longer being solved. Captains Rhambo and Miller heard from citizens and the new mayor, Eric Perrodin.

  “What happened to Blondie and Ladd?” people asked.

  This seemed to make higher-ups more determined to keep Tim and Bob away.

  ***

  When Tim went to Lakewood, for about a month he was answering desk phones because they didn’t know what to do with him. They finally put him on the graveyard shift (early morning) working a traffic
car. They even wanted to send him to traffic investigation school.

  “I’ve been a gang cop my whole career,” Tim told them. “I don’t want to write tickets.”

  He couldn’t even get assigned to an area with gangs. Tim contacted the scheduling deputy and told the guy about his twenty years of experience.

  “I want to work patrol in a gang area.”

  He also said he wanted to get off the graveyard shift because he had murder trials he had to appear in court for every day. The scheduling deputy said there was nothing he could do. Tim didn’t have station seniority, so he would have to take what he was assigned.

  During all of this, he was being contacted on a daily basis by L.A.S.D.’s Homicide unit, assisting them on current and old Compton murders. After a few months, he was contacted by O.S.S. His name had been submitted for the Gang Enforcement Team (G.E.T.). He was finally going to get the chance to work in the area in which he excelled. He took the required test and was sent to the City of Industry’s sheriff station. He knew nothing about the gangs in their area.

  O.S.S. was divided into O.S.S. detectives and G.E.T. deputies. Most of the O.S.S. detectives thought G.E.T. deputies weren’t experienced enough to do anything without guidance, and there was a lack of respect overall throughout the agency for anyone who came from the Compton P.D. L.A.S.D. believed they could do anything better than any smaller agencies.

  In many ways, this was true. What they didn’t have, however, was the knowledge, trust, and personal touch that many smaller agencies had when it came to dealing with the citizens and offenders. L.A.S.D. had never absorbed an agency that had as much history and knowledge of modern gang warfare, narcotics, and murders as the Compton P.D., so many former Compton cops were treated dismissively, like deputies fresh out of working the jails. It didn’t take Tim long to also realize that G.E.T. was looked down upon because many of the teams just didn’t work very hard.

  ***

  Bob spent about six months being a bailiff, then decided it was time to move on. But he was worried. He was forty-one years old now, and things were complicated. The administrative leave he'd been put on for months during his last year at the Compton P.D. could affect his chances of going somewhere else. Would another department want to take a chance on him?

  He’d remained friends with Scott Watson, one of the reserve officers who was at the academy with him. Scott, a tall white guy who could drink like a maniac, was now a sergeant at the Garden Grove P.D. in Orange County. He and Bob did a lot of off-duty outings together. For the past several years, Bob had attended the annual river trip some of the guys from the Garden Grove P.D. took to Lake Havasu in Arizona. They sort of knew what Bob had gone through at the Compton P.D. and L.A.S.D. because sometimes they’d sit around and talk about it over beers. It made for great conversation. None of them seemed to care about things he thought would matter. They all embraced having him around.

  One day, Scott approached Bob. “Why don’t you come over to the Grove? Shit, with your experience, you could be a sergeant in five years.”

  “You think they would take me?” Bob asked. “What about all the shit I went through at Compton?”

  “They know you and your family,” Scott replied. “I don’t think it’ll matter.”

  It was a lot for Bob to think about. Being on probation in a new place. Being a rookie again at forty-one, even though he knew they wouldn’t treat him like one. This was his chance. Perhaps his only one. If he was ever going to get out of the L.A.S.D., this was probably the ticket.

  Like Compton, Garden Grove was a smaller P.D. He’d be able to do police work again. And Orange County was a stark contrast to L.A. County when it came to crime. It wasn’t crime-free, of course. Garden Grove had its share, especially gang-related activity. The city bordered Santa Ana, which was the closest thing to a Compton in Orange County. There were also several Vietnamese gangs in Garden Grove. Bob thought maybe the department could use someone like him.

  He discussed it with his wife. Kathy knew he was miserable working for the Sheriff’s Department.

  “Go for it,” she said.

  So he did. He called Scott Watson.

  “I’m going to do it!” he said.

  Bob called Captain Scott Jordan, whom he’d gotten to know on the trips to Lake Havasu. They set up a meeting in Jordan’s office.

  When they met, Bob explained that there was nothing in his background that would keep him from joining the department. Jordan already knew what had gone down in Compton and considered it bullshit.

  “Come with me,” he said. smiling.

  They walked over to City Hall. Jordan picked up an application and handed it Bob.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Bob had something to be excited about now, a welcome feeling from how he’d been feeling after months of being a bailiff. It made him feel good to be so welcomed by the guys at Garden Grove. Everyone embraced him.

  He completed the entire process in three weeks - the physical agility, the oral interview, the background check, and the medical and physiological exams. Scott Watson jokingly admitted his concern.

  “I was worried about how you were going to pass a physiological exam.”

  “Hell,” Bob said, “I was worried about the lie detector test.”

  The two men had a laugh. Sometime in late November/early December, he received a phone call congratulating him for being hired. He was going to start on January 1, 2001.

  He called Tim to give him the news. He kind of felt like shit about it because he hadn’t even told Tim he was applying. He should have asked Tim to come over with him.

  “You’re not gonna believe this, bro, but I’m leaving the sheriff’s,” Bob said.

  “You gotta be shitting me,” said Tim. “What the fuck?”

  Bob could hear the disappointment in Tim’s voice. He was still in Lakewood working the graveyard traffic unit. It couldn’t get much worse for him.

  The two men had a strong bond that had been cemented after working the streets together and watching each other’s backs. They’d been through some of the craziest shit and had stuck together through it all. They were best friends. The reality, however, was the chances of them working together again were gone. They both knew this was the right move for Bob. It was bittersweet, but Tim understood.

  ***

  Bob went through his two-week orientation. On his first day on the streets of Garden Grove, he was placed with John Yergler, an older training officer. They didn’t know each other, but several people had told Bob that John knew his shit. Like Bob, he was a veteran police officer with twenty-five years experience, so Bob figured they would get along.

  There was one other thing about Yergler. Apparently he was a farter. He’d practically blow people out of his car with them. This was something everyone mentioned to Bob when Yergler’s name was brought up.

  Bob and Yergler met after the shift briefing.

  “Go get the car ready,” Yergler said.

  Bob checked the car and made sure everything was working properly. He sat in the driver’s seat, rolled up the windows, and let out an enormous fart. This would break the ice, he figured, one way or another.

  Yergler opened the door and got in. Bob stared straight ahead, waiting for a response. Yergler looked at him.

  “Jesus, did you shit your pants?”

  Bob burst into laughter.

  “Sir,” he said, “I heard about your reputation. I thought I would draw first blood.”

  Now both men were laughing. Bob was right. It was a great ice-breaker. He and Yergler got along well for the next three months, until Bob was off probation and on his own.

  ***

  Bob was working the graveyard shift and was still in a funk, left over residue from the last two years. He still doubted himself. Had he done the right thing? He was in his forties starting his career all over again. It affected his state of mind in a big way.

  Around this time, he met a young cop named Charlie Loffler who worke
d the beat next to his. They had to follow each other a lot on calls. Charlie was twenty-five or twenty-six, short, fair complexion with brown hair. He’d only been a cop for two years or so, but he was hardworking and eager to learn as much as he could. Bob liked his attitude. Charlie had a great sense of humor and liked to have fun, which was something Bob hadn’t experienced in a couple of years.

  The more Bob was around Charlie, the more fun he had. Bob started meeting him for coffee breaks every night just to be around him. Charlie made him remember that work could be fun.

  From his time with Charlie, Bob consciously changed his attitude. He joked around more. He was serious when it was called for, but he remembered how to laugh again. Charlie and Bob became good friends and Bob was grateful. Charlie was just the wake-up call he needed.

  ***

  In the Garden Grove P.D., a cop had to do two years in order to put in for being a part of a specialty assignment like gangs, narcotics, or motors. Two years in, Bob lucked out. There was an opening in the gang unit for an Intel investigator. The day he had two years in, he was picked for the job. It was a lot easier than what he did in Compton. Bob worked the gang assignment for the next three years.

  The best part about the unit was the sergeant in charge, Mike Martin. Bob had gone to the academy with Mike. The two had remained friends over the years. Martin, a good cop who had worked gangs as long as Bob, had a no-nonsense attitude and dealt with gangsters similar to the way Bob did. He was very effective in dealing with the gangs in Garden Grove and he let Bob handle the informants his own way.

  Garden Grove turned out to be pretty busy gang-wise for a city in Orange County. There were bikers, Latino gangs, and Vietnamese gangs. Bob was most intrigued by the ones that were Vietnamese. He’d never worked them before, but soon learned they were just as hardcore as any gang members he’d experienced. The ones who came directly from Vietnam were fearless. They adopted the gang way of life much like Black and Latino gangs, but they never claimed any turf, which made it hard to find them.

  Most crimes happened at cafes, pool halls, or nightclubs. This was where they hung out. Opposing gangs would sometimes show up at the same spot. That’s when things popped off. These guys were brutal and didn’t hesitate to shoot. Over the next three years, Bob worked the Vietnamese gangs the same as he’d done in Compton, by using informants.