Deputy

by Cliff Yates

  Both deputies came close to being killed that night, but luckily came out of it unscathed. They didn’t get the vehicle that night, and I don’t remember how but they identified the gang member who did the shooting. He was apprehended months later and is serving time for the attempted murder of a police officer. At the time, the AK-47—for the most part—was the weapon of choice in drive-by shootings. This was a Russian made military assault rifle that had a cyclic firing rate of 600 rounds per minute and was capable of both semiautomatic and automatic fire. It had a long curved box magazine that held 30 rounds.

  We had to leave the scene and respond to a call of a gang fight at Tam’s number nine, a popular food place on Long Beach Blvd at the intersection of Josephine Avenue in the City of Lynwood. As we drove north on Long Beach Blvd still several hundred yards from Tam’s, we saw two bodies run out into the street in front of the place, immediately followed by what looked like fifteen to twenty people. As we approached, it looked like they were all fighting with some kind of weapons. Eric barely got out, “Should we call it…?” before I just grabbed the mic and broadcasted, “10-33 requesting assistance Long Beach and Josephine in front of Tam’s, 415 (disturbance/fight) twenty involved.”

  The crowd was fighting across both northbound lanes of Long Beach Blvd. As we came to a stop in the number two lane about ten yards from the crowd, I saw a male Hispanic take a big overhead swing and hit a guy in the back with what looked like a big sledge hammer. He dropped one guy and hit another. Eric and I both were out of our cars simultaneously. I remember Eric yelling, “Drop the Ax!” He thought it was an ax. In what seemed like a second, the male Hispanic was raising the metal sledgehammer over his head, in what I describe as a ring the bell move as you would see at a carnival. As it was raised over his head with his next target facing away from him engaged in a fight with someone else, I fired four shots as I stood straddling the number one and two lanes. I had no other alternative in an effort to protect the life of the person he was about to hit in the head. He then dropped what we later discovered was a bumper jack. Some of you may remember the old type bumper jacks which were long pieces of steel with a big metal head on it where you inserted the tire iron and put a protrusion under the lip of the bumper so you could raise the car to change a tire. In the dim light of streetlamps, it actually does look like an ax.

  After dropping the bumper jack, he started running across the median into the southbound lanes of traffic. He then fell to the street, and I held him at gunpoint as I radioed in a 998 (officer-involved shooting) suspect down, no deputies injured. I requested 902R (rescue unit) and additional deputies because the gang members were still fighting. All this mayhem was taking place right in front of Tam’s hamburger joint. I remember seeing the cooks inside flipping burgers and casually looking on as all this was going on. Gang fight, cops shooting, sirens, ambulances, and these guys never missed a beat cooking their food.

  Deputies arrived, and Deputy Nordscog walked up to me and asked what happened, and I told him, “Well I shot this guy.”

  Nordscog said, “No.”

  The guy on the ground looking up at us said, “Yeah, he fucking shot me, and I’m the victim here.” We found out later, he was kind of right. While we were standing in the street waiting for the ambulance, the scene got crazier. Deputies were making arrests, and some people were resisting. And then a car came screaming northbound, and to avoid hitting everyone in the street it went up onto the median and hit a tree at about 30 miles per hour. That driver got arrested for drunk driving, and he was hammered out of his mind.

  Eric was worried. His dad at Homicide was next on call. Considering the conversation his dad and I had after the briefing, he passed it on to the next team.

  Finally, everything got settled down. People went to jail. The crime scene was secured for Homicide and the shooting team to come out and do their investigation. Homicide comes out on all hit shootings, and this is how it was in 1989. Witnesses were secured at the station awaiting for Homicide to finish with the scene and come to the station for the interviews.

  I felt a little bad that the guy I shot was a member of the armed forces. He fully recovered, and no lawsuit followed. He and his buddy had been on a ship or otherwise deployed at some remote assignment for six months. They went on leave and were shortly at Tam’s number nine to order some food. They were waiting for their food when two attractive young Hispanic girls came in to order food. The two servicemen started catcalling them, saying, “I would love to fuck that.”

  The girls said, “Oh yeah, we will see about that.” The girls left and returned a couple of minutes later with about fifteen local gang members. The two servicemen saw the gang coming and ran to their car where they armed themselves with the bumper jack and a tire iron. Severely outnumbered, they ran into the street where they were quickly surrounded. This is what we saw as we were driving north on Long Beach approaching the scene. One marine started swinging the bumper jack while the other was swinging the tire iron trying to fight off the attacking gang members in Custard’s Last Stand fashion. The gang members were glad the service guy got shot. One of the rare occasions that fifteen gang members gave witness statements that were consistent with and supported the police accounts of what happened. For many years after that, Tam’s would be known as the bumper jack. It was funny to hear on the radio years later, “Where ya wanna eat, the bumper jack?’’

  Eric passed field training with flying colors and climbed the ranks reaching Commander.

  MY GLASSES FLEW OFF

  IT WASN'T TOO long after Blackwell and Ripley survived the shooting in East Compton that Blackwell and I were working together. We had a great time working together. Gary Blackwell was another deputy I had the privilege to work with. A genuine, good guy. We were working the midnight shift (early morning shift), and at about 1 am we were driving behind a van on San Fernando Road near the Watts Towers. The van was swerving all over the place, crossing the center lines. Both Blackwell and I said to each other that we had to stop this guy. We activated the overhead lights, and no reaction. The van continued on San Fernando road. As we crossed the boundary line from the county area of L.A. to the City of L.A., we hit the siren.

  Still no reaction. I felt Gary tense up in the passenger seat next to me. It had just been a few weeks since he was the passenger officer with Ripley, and the passenger in the stolen car they were trying to stop let loose with a barrage of bullets into their front windshield, nearly killing them both. I'm sure he was feeling a little deja vu. He later told me that he was thinking, Oh shit, here we go again.

  We were about to broadcast that we were in pursuit when the van suddenly came to a stop. The driver didn't pull to the side of the road, just stopped in the lane. We should have asked for backup, but instead we had another unit go to a tactical frequency, and we told deputy Chavez about our stop. We told him something didn't feel right and to start heading our way. Luckily the lieutenant and some other units were monitoring the frequency, and hearing the tone of our voices, started to roll to our location.

  I approached the driver while Blackwell approached the passenger side of the van. It was a panel van with no side windows. Blackwell and I couldn't see each other until we got across from each other at the front seat of the van. I asked the black male driver for his driver's license and registration to the vehicle. He started pounding both fists on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead yelling, "I don't have a fucking license!" It was a pretty cool night, and he was in a white t-shirt soaked in sweat. I tried to talk to him in a calming voice. I told him it was no problem and asked him if he had any identification. He continued staring straight ahead, pounding on the steering wheel again yelling, "I don't have any fucking I. D!"

  I asked him to step out of the van, and he complied. I directed him to the hood of our patrol car. As I had him put his hands on the front hood of our car so I could search him, deputy Chavez arrived and was walking toward the front of our patrol car. Just as I started patting down ou
r suspect, he wheeled around and threw a punch at my face. I jerked my head around and avoided the punch, but my glasses flew off and landed in the street. Chavez, Blackwell and I took the suspect to the ground. He would not submit to arrest, and the fight was on. I was able to get to my handheld radio and broadcast, "10-33 requesting assistance deputies involved in a fight San Fernando Road near the Watts Towers." We were rolling around on the ground and couldn't get this guy's arms behind his back for handcuffing. He was so slippery because of his sweat and had abnormal strength.

  Seemed like just a minute since I asked for help when Lt. Jackson rolled up and asked, "Is it code-4?” I told him no, we need more help. This guy has to be on PCP. The field lieutenant was now out of his car and in the fight with us. He tipped the scales in our favor, and we were able to get him handcuffed. He had all the symptoms of someone under the influence of PCP, and that's what we arrested him for. He would have to be taken to a hospital and be approved for booking. And the only hospital that would take people under the influence of PCP was MLK (Martin Luther King). Lieutenant Jackson told me that when he heard my voice over L-Tac that he knew something was wrong, and he started heading in our direction.

  I always appreciate Lt. Jackson for rolling to our backup. I never forgot that, and we were always friendly for years after that. We later worked together at West Hollywood Station and always had great conversations. I make mention of him backing us up because when he first arrived at Lynwood station as a Lieutenant, he gave a briefing and laid down the law as to what he expected. It was not well received by some of the deputies. One early morning shift, he stopped a guy in an alley who he searched and found had a gun. He asked for backup, and no one responded. I was not working when this happened. Maybe nobody heard his broadcast. If I had heard his request, it would not have been in my DNA not to back him up. Even though he had that experience, he was there when I asked for back up.

  After booking our PCP suspect, we never heard about our case again until about two years later. Blackwell and I were named as defendants in a Federal Civil Rights violation trial. I had already been transferred from the station when the lawsuit came down. We were accused of beating him and not taking him for immediate medical attention. We got to the trial, and Blackwell and I sat at the defendants' table with our county attorneys as if we committed a crime. We arrested him for being under the influence of PCP. His blood sample came back as being under the influence of cocaine. The Judge said since we didn't charge him with being under the influence of cocaine, the Jury couldn't be told this. So we had to testify that we arrested him for being under the influence of PCP. The attorney asked, “And did he test positive for PCP?” and when we said no, the attorney said, “No further questions.”

  The Jury never knew that he was high as a kite on cocaine. Then they advised the Jury that a hospital was a half-mile away, but we took him three miles to another hospital because we didn't want him to have immediate medical attention. Because he didn't test positive for PCP, our attorney was not allowed to explain to the Jury we had to take him to the other hospital because it was the only hospital that will take patients under the influence of PCP.

  I almost burst out laughing when Deputy Chavez was testifying while he was explaining how as he was walking toward our patrol car, he saw the suspect attempt to punch me in the face, and I turned my head to avoid the punch. The attorney asked Chavez what he saw next, and Cavez stated, "Yates' glasses flew off, landing in the street." I almost started laughing because as he said my glasses flew off, he gave me a brief look that said to me, See how I got the part about your glasses falling off in. You have to know Deputy Chavez, he was a great cop, and when he testified, he painted a picture that made you feel like you were right there with him as it was happening.

  I couldn't believe the legal arguments between the attorneys and the federal Judge not in the presence of the Jury. When they wanted to make a legal argument, they would have the Jury escorted out of the courtroom. The attorneys admitted that their client was high on cocaine and drove his van to south central L.A. to buy more drugs, and that’s when we pulled him over. Since we didn't charge him with being under the influence of cocaine, the attorney requested that the Jury not be told that. The Judge agreed, so the Jury never knew that he was high on coke. They only got to hear that we arrested him for being under the influence of PCP, and a blood test showed that we wasn't. These attorneys did what they call “buy the medical bills.” He was in custody, so his medical treatment was paid for by the county. So they reimbursed the county, so they could show they were suing for the cost of the medical bills. That way if they were awarded one dollar, their attorney fees were covered — what a system.

  We were found to have violated his civil rights, but the Judge ruled no punitive damages. Meaning we didn't have to pay, just the county.

  NEW TRAINEE

  I GOT A new trainee, big Tim Anderson. He was a giant of a man, about 6’2 260lbs, mostly muscle. He had a powerlifter physique. Tim was having a bad day. It was one of those Lynwood overwhelming days. We were finishing our fourth booking of the day, and Tim was backed up on reports. I told him to do something, and he barked back at me, “You do it.”

  Now I was a bit of a different person at this time in my life. I went off on Tim. I was yelling, “Me do it? Come here, fucker.” I directed him into a room. “Sit the fuck down and wait here for me!” I yelled, slamming the door. This room had a bunch of booking forms in it, and it doubled as a juvenile detention room. So I knew when I shut the door, there was no door handle on the inside; someone has to let you out. I went to the Watch Sergeant, who was a tough lady with many years of experience. She was old school. I told her what happened with Anderson, and she asked me where he was. I pointed to the detention room. “He’s in there. The door is shut so he can’t get out.”

  She said, “Fuck him, leave him in there a while until he has a better attitude.”

  I walked by the dispatch area about an hour later, and Tim was standing at the door window of the detention room, sheepishly knocking on the door. I think he needed to go to the bathroom. I let him out, and we had a talk. He had a change in attitude, and we ended up great friends after he got off training. Tim was a good cop. He did well at Lynwood and later transferred to Santa Clarita Station to be closer to home. Just a couple years later, Tim developed some type of intestinal cancer and passed away. I still think of some of the great times we had working together. We, like so many great deputies I worked with, had some great laughs together.

  ROBBERY SUSPECT SHOOTING

  TIM ANDERSON AND I were working a pm shift. I was driving, and he was in his last month of training. It was just about dark when we got behind a black Lincoln Continental on El Segundo Blvd and stopped at a red light at the intersection of Willowbrook Avenue. The Lincoln suddenly made a right turn on to Willowbrook Avenue against the red light. I told Tim, “Here we go.” Before I could get the red lights on to conduct a traffic stop, the chase was on. Dust was kicking up on to our windshield as the hotrod Lincoln kicked in high gear. Tim called in that we were in pursuit. I didn't know what we had. I'm sure I said it was a suspected stolen car.

  As we skidded right on to 130th Street from Wilmington Avenue, the passenger started tossing items out of the window. He got close to 100 mph as we passed Aranbe Avenue. He tried to hit the brakes, but he was never going to make it past the T intersection of Wilmington Avenue. He didn't make it crossing Wilmington Avenue, striking a light pole at the median. All four doors of the Lincoln flew open, and four male blacks were out in a flash. Tim and I were out with our guns drawn at a position of cover behind our car doors. In my field of vision, everything was a blur except a small square of the driver’s left arm and shoulder. As he got out of the driver’s door and started running, he began turning, and I saw the barrel of a small handgun in his hand. He was facing forward as his arm was swinging back toward me. I fired three quick shots. In a flash, the driver and left rear passenger were running straight across W
ilmington Avenue into a field out of view. We approached the car to clear it of any additional suspects. As Tim got to the front passenger door, he yelled, "You got this one!"

  I was thinking, What the fuck, I better have not gotten that one, I was never shooting in that direction. I didn't even see the suspect on the passenger side. Turned out the guy on the passenger side heard the shots, decided to give up, and just laid down on the ground. I said, "Jesus Tim, you scared the shit out of me."

  Tim said, "I didn't know. I heard you shoot, and this guy right away fell to the ground." The suspects had ran across Wilmington Avenue into the school grounds of Willowbrook Middle School. We immediately set up a containment and called for an airship and K-9. The Watch Commander rolled out to the scene. He didn't have it out for me, but I know he wasn't my biggest fan. Since it appeared it was a non-hit shooting, he had the handle. If it had been a hit shooting, homicide and the shooting team would roll and have the handle. The Commander was probably a little miffed he had this shooting on his watch, and probably a lot of pissed because it was a non-hit he had to handle. A pursuit, terminating in a TC (traffic collision) and a shooting, was going to be a nightmare of paperwork. The rest of the shift was happy.

  This meant that for the next week or so, the Watch Commander would not have time to be snooping into anyone's business until he had this investigation completed. I know I saw a gun, but the pissed off Watch Commander is thinking, Everyone was running, you shot, and you said you saw a gun to cover the shooting. Since everyone fled on foot, he could make that assertion. Thankfully not too long after, my observation would be substantiated.