by Cliff Yates
I loved it, this is what I was looking for. I was losing my mind on those early morning back roads of Livingston County. This is what I wanted. Put me in the worst crime-ridden neighborhood.
My mom and aunt Ginny loved shopping at all the big stores, especially Macy’s.
I didn’t have a good read as to how I did on the test. Months later, I received a letter in the mail informing me that I was on band three.
Thirty five years later, and my wife and I have been going to New York together since 1998. I’m amazed how safe and wonderful New York is now. I look at Grand Central and think back to my first visit, and the stark contrast between then and now. Grand Central with its cafes and restaurants. Times Square and the theatre district all lit up and full of tourists until all hours of the night. Most of the tourists have no idea what a mess Times Square and Grand Central used to be. The subways were not safe. Today my wife and I have no qualms about riding the New York subways at any hour of the day or night. Manhattan is the easiest city in the world to get around. It’s an island; you can only go so far. All the avenues run north and south. All the streets run east and west. If you’re going from a higher number street to a lower number, you take a downtown train. If you’re going to a higher number, you take an uptown train. By your second visit to Manhattan, you start knowing where the landmarks are and how to get there.
One day I was reading the Police Product News law enforcement magazine, and I saw a full page ad that read, “Ride the strip, we pay the gas.” It had a Sheriff’s car driving on the Sunset Strip under the Hollywood sign. “Join the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, call 1-800- a deputy.” Wow, something about just the word Los Angeles. That was Hollywood. That was California. It had been about two years since I first visited my grandmother Anita at her West Palm Beach Florida condo. On that February day we left the Rochester NY airport under gray skies and 17 degrees. I was amazed when less than three hours later we landed in Miami Florida with bright sun and 82 degrees. What the fuck, that did it. I’m leaving that god forsaken upstate New York. I will work where it is summer 12 months of the year. Why would we live for three months of summer and nine months of hibernation waiting for the three months.
I couldn’t dial 1-800-a-deputy fast enough. I called L.A.P.D too, and they both sent out applications. L.A.P.D basically told me I could apply, but they were not looking for white males, and I really needed military points because anything less than a 105 was not going to make it. When my Sheriff Dick Kane found out I was applying to the L.A. Sheriff’s Department, he was excited and could not have been more encouraging. He told me that he had been out to California for a Sheriff’s and Chief of Police conference, and he had met the Sheriff. He said it was the best department in the country, and he would give me time off to go test. He said if I didn’t make it, I always had a job with him. So, I had no excuse not to go for it.
There were no obstacles in my way except those I could create myself. That wasn’t going to happen. Too many nights on a lonely U-turn in the middle of winter. Now I had hope of future achievement and dreams fulfilled. I sent in my application package, and in short time I received a list of dates that would allow me to fly in to Los Angeles and complete my testing as an out of state applicant. I had an aunt and uncle who lived in Santa Monica, and two friends from high school who were living in Long Beach I could stay with. I stayed with my friends Jim and Karen Goodburlett and stopped in to visit my aunt and uncle while on this trip.
The L.A Sheriff’s department had been aggressively recruiting out of state applicants and had a system set up to process them through all phases in four days. First, I took the written test. There were some weird questions, some having to do with flag recognition, and to be honest I guessed on about 20 of the questions. They scored it in a weird way too. I scored something like a 32, and you had to be above 30. I had just passed, and so on the same day we were shuffled off to take the physical agility test. This test involved wearing a belt which was weighted to simulate the same weight as a gun belt you would wear in the field. First you scale a six foot wall, walk on a narrow balance beam, run about fifty yards, climb through a window opening and then climb a 12 foot chain link fence. Next, you run the remaining length of a lap around the track before operating an arrest simulator and dragging a 150lb dummy twenty feet. You had to do this in less than 2 minutes and 50 seconds. I completed it in 2 minutes and 47 seconds. The good lord was with me on that day for sure. That was it for that day of testing.
The next day we were scheduled to have our oral interview at the Hall of Justice 211 W. Temple Street, L.A. I remember the oral panel being three or four people, and it was very lowkey. They seemed to give me some respect as a current police officer, and the questioning was not that intense. After my interview, I went to Universal Studios and took the tour. The next day I was given my first phase medical which was a stress, flexibility, eyes, ears and strength test. All my testing, complete I flew back to New York and went back to work. All I could do at this point was wait.
A few months later, I received a call from my background investigator who told me my case had been assigned to him. He told me that I passed everything so far and would be continuing in the process. He interviewed me over the phone. He told me that out of state applicants have to take a polygraph exam. He said I could fly out to take the polygraph or enter the academy and take it then, but if I didn’t pass I would be removed from the academy. I told him I was not going to quit my current job until I had the next one, so I was choosing to fly out to take the polygraph exam.
I flew back to California a month or two later to take my polygraph exam. I was scheduled to take the exam at 1pm. That morning I received a call from my background investigator, asking me if I had any plans for that evening in case the exam went long, and I told him no.
I arrived at my appointment time and was directed into the small room to take my polygraph. There was nothing in the room except one chair next to a desk with the machine and chair behind it. All the walls were bare except one small mirror, which I found out later was a two way mirror. After I filled out a one hundred question form, they had me sit in this room alone for about 30 minutes. Later I found out from my background investigator that he and the operator were watching me from behind the two way mirror. All part of the polygraph exam. Finally the operator came in by himself, and my background investigator watched from behind the mirror. The operator asked me to be patient; this was his first test. Then he said he was kidding, and he was actually was one of the top ten examiners in the country. I would later find out the latter was true. He was one of the best in the country.
I passed the exam and had a meeting with my background investigator before going back home. He told me if I got hired I would have to start in the jail as all deputies do prior to being assigned to a patrol station. He was telling me how the L.A. County jail system had over 20,000 inmates, and drugs were trafficked in the jail and murders occurred in the jail. He said it could be very dangerous and that deputies were assaulted on a daily basis. This seemed unreal to me. Our jail in Livingston County had about 30 inmates, and my hometown only had 4,000 people. He told me to go home and wait for notification. He told me that he would be submitting my package and recommending me for hire, but that didn’t mean necessarily that I would be chosen for hire.
Before heading back to New York, my friends Jim and Karen took me to Tijuana Mexico. One of their Mexican friends who lived in Long Beach went with us as a guide. He took us to all these back street bars that mostly locals went to. This was my first time being out of the country. We went to one backstreet dive, and behind the bar there was a big jar that had a sign on it: “Try our snake tequila.” In the jar was a full size coiled snake soaking in the tequila. It was pretty good, I think.
We were walking back to the U.S. Border near Tijuana and stepped over some cement circular steps in the dirt. About ten Federalies stopped us. Our Mexican friend translated. He told us they claimed we walked over sacred fount
ains disrespecting the country, and they wanted money or marijuana. I told him I would just show them my police identification, and we would be on our way. He said don’t take out your badge, they will just take it. He spoke to them in Spanish and then turned to us and said he told them to take him to jail, that his grandmother who lived on the hill would bail him out in the morning.
They let us go, and I said, “I didn’t know you had a grandmother in Mexico.”
He said, “I don’t, but they might have spoken English, and they were just trying to strong arm us for money. They don’t like Mexicans who live on the other side.”
Wow, my education was already starting. I was happy to get back to the USA and head back home to New York and await my fate.
BIG DECISION
EVERYONE AT THE Department knew that I went out to Los Angeles to test for the Sheriff’s Department. I was in my fifth year on the Department, and I was very close to my mom and dad, along with lifelong friends. Detective Jack York, who would go on to be the next Sheriff of Livingston County, met with me to discuss my decision. “You have been here five years and developed a great reputation, are you sure you want to walk away from that?” he asked. He added, “There are victims everywhere who need good police officers to respond to their aid. Wherever you decide to serve, you will be an asset to the department.”
I had several of these visits from trusted friends and advisers who were causing me to take pause, which in retrospect was a good thing. My mom and dad were just always supportive of whatever I wanted to do, and they really wanted me to be happy in whatever I did. They never said a discouraging word to any of my endeavors. My mom was born in San Diego and lived in Los Angeles for several years. So when I broached the subject to my Grandma Schnurr, she said, “Oh dear, you will love it in California. It is a great place, and you will have all sorts of adventures.” This was my worldly grandma who had lived and traveled all over the world, so her word carried great weight. This was a definite intention on my part. I didn’t have all my eggs in one basket. I had applications to many other police agencies (in warm climates, of course). I had submitted applications to Fort Lauderdale, Miami, Dallas, and Houston Police departments. In the early ’80s, Houston was booming, and they were aggressively recruiting nationwide. The L.A. Sheriff’s Department was on it. I had completed all my testing in L.A. before I even got my written results from the NYPD.
It was December 1, and I was watching TV in my apartment in Caledonia when I got a phone call. The voice said, “This is the L.A. Sheriff’s Department. Do you want a job?” In that very moment, I didn’t know how I was going to answer. I was caught off guard, and the person on the phone spoke in a stern manner when they asked the question. Out of the blue, I said, “Yes.” He asked me how much time I needed. I told him I needed a few weeks to give notice to the Department and get things in order. He gave me the impression they needed me to start right away. “Be at Sheriff’s Headquarters 211 West Temple Street Los Angeles on December 21 at 8 am, ” he said. December 21, 1983. Four days before Christmas was my starting date. Later I would find out that my academy class would not start until January 27, 1984. What an asshole. I didn’t need to be there December 21. I would find out that a department of almost 10,000 deputies had more than a few assholes.
The big decision had been made. My friends from the Livingston County Sheriff’s Department had a big party for me and gave me gifts. I still have a special stein with my years of service on it that I look at from time to time and think of the night that they gave it to me. I had a 1979 Chevy Impala with t-tops, and my plan was to drive to California with a stop in Kansas City Missouri where my cousin Bobby and his wife Joan were living. I packed up the car and said my goodbyes to mom and dad. It was pretty emotional, but I made it. My next stop was in Rochester. I visited my good friend Tom Vasile, his wife and a couple of friends. We had coffee, and then they presented me with a gold key chain that was inscribed “don’t forget us.” Driving away and seeing my friends in the rearview mirror waving goodbye broke me up. I drove the rest of the day and continued driving through the night. Except for a couple stops to rest my eyes, I drove for 24 hours before checking into a motel.
The next day I arrived in Kansas City Missouri, and the city was all decorated for Christmas. I stayed over one night with my cousin before heading out the next morning. When I got to the Colorado mountains driving through Vail, I ran into trouble. It was a blizzard, and I had to slow to a crawl and have two wheels off the side of the road to maintain enough traction to keep moving. It seemed like I was in the mountains for several hours with zero visibility. I made it through. People asked me why I took that route, and it was because triple-A gave me that route. Numerous people said they should have given me the southern route. They could have gotten me killed going through those Colorado mountains during a snowstorm. I had a lot of open road until I saw the lights of Vegas. It was my first time seeing the lights of Vegas, which were very exciting and impressive. I didn’t stop; I kept on driving.
The sight I’ll always remember was going over the Kellog Hill on the 10 Freeway westbound and seeing the Los Angeles Skyline for the first time. And this was it. I wasn’t coming out to test or visit anyone. I was now living here: Los Angeles, the City of Angels.
SWEARING IN
I PULLED UP to my aunt and uncle’s house at 2111 Pier Avenue in Santa Monica, and this would be my home for about a month. I think it was a Saturday that I arrived. On Monday morning, December 21, 1983, I went to the Sheriff’s Headquarters at 211 W. Temple Street in Los Angeles where I would be sworn in as a Deputy Sheriff. They don’t do that anymore. We were actually sworn in prior to going to the academy and receiving any training. We got our badge and I.D. I think we even got our service weapon and were told to take it home and put it away until we received weapons training. We were sworn in and received our assignments as “off the streeters.” Most of our group were assigned to custody facilities. Some courts and myself and about four others were assigned to the pre-employment division of personnel right there at the Hall of Justice. Wherever you were assigned, everyone knew your status as an “off the streeter” and that you had not graduated from the academy yet. I would work as an off the streeter until I entered the academy on January 27, 1984. Class 221.
THE ACADEMY
IN RECENT YEARS there was a TV show called The Academy which profiled the L.A. Sheriff’s Academy. I thought this was great because it’s hard to tell someone what it’s really like. So if you check out the show, you will have an idea of what academy life is like.
Putting my experience in perspective, I went to a part time academy in upstate NY Comprising about 20 cadets. We had instructional classes and some range instruction. This L.A. Sheriff’s Academy was no joke. Drill instructors who were tough and took pride in a high attrition rate. These drill instructors modeled the drill instructors of the Marine Corps in everything they did. There was a big emphasis on physical fitness, especially on running. This was tough on me. I had always put a big emphasis on gaining muscle and size, so I did next to nothing regarding cardio health. Our class started with 130 cadets, and we would all run in formation through the streets of East Los Angeles. That’s where the academy was, on Sheriff’s Road. I still remember some of the jodies we would sing while running. “18 weeks of living hell, just work the county jail, I won’t cry and I won’t moan, soon I’ll be at Firestone, sound off, 1-2 sound off, 3- 4, bring it on down now, 1-2-3-4.”
There was big time emphasis on academics with weekly tests, big time emphasis on physical fitness with weekly tests, big time emphasis on tactics with weekly tests and evaluations on everything. And you couldn’t excel in the training and be an asshole to your fellow cadets. You were required to turn in evaluations on the fellow cadets in your platoon. And if you got the attention of the D.I.’s in a negative way, you would find yourself as the next Class Sergeant, and you didn’t want that job. At least I didn’t. Some cadets with military experience liked it because they
already knew the protocol of issuing military commands. I remember Class Sergeants drenched in sweat just trying to dismiss us for the day. The commands were something like, “Class, upon my command we will fall out of this classroom formation on to the grinder south of the solid white line facing north at attention where we will be dismissed for the day.” That’s not exactly it, but you get the idea, and if one word was out of place or in the wrong order the D.I.’s would be yelling, “No No No! Do it again!” Sometimes it took us 30-45 minutes to get dismissed for the day. It would already be 6 pm, and you had to go home get some food, clean and shine your gear, do your homework assignment and be back at the academy at 5 am. But like the military, sensory overload and sleep deprivation was a tool to create stress and cause the weak of mind and body to reveal themselves, so they could be washed out before they would be in a position to get themselves or someone else killed in the real world. The drill instructors were constantly checking cars and lockers, and if they found a car or locker unlocked, someone or a group would be on security detail and writing research papers for days.
Right there at the academy they had “Laser Village.” it was like a small little town square to do training. There was a mockup of a bank, a store and a two story residence. We were constantly being trained and evaluated on handling mock scenarios and building entries. There was a trailer that would put you through shoot and don’t shoot scenarios on a video screen. It would show where your shots would hit or not hit the suspect. Then there was the actual shooting range at the Wayside Honor Rancho, a jail compound at the north end of the county. This range was amazing. There were numerous outdoor shooting ranges for handgun, shotgun and long rifles. They had a Hogan’s Alley where you walk along between mock buildings, and a wooden cutout of a suspect would pop up—ladies carrying babies would spring up from another direction. It was just like the movie Dirty Harry with Clint Eastwood. This was the real deal; I was not in Livingston County anymore. They had a range for Skeet and Trap shooting.
