When I started my police career in Flint, Michigan the cops received free coffee at every donut shop and drive-thru establishment in town. We had no time allotted for meals, usually eating on the run between calls. There was no “I’ll be out of service at Code-7” because there was no Code-7.
Burger King, KFC, and Arby’s gave us meals at half price, or sometimes I packed a sandwich. Never questioning the ethics of free coffee and half-priced meals, I strolled merrily along until starting as a patrolman in Chula Vista. Hey, it was 1970.
In Chula Vista there were no half-priced meals and that was fine with me. I could afford my own food. Coffee was free at every Winchell’s shop, although we were told never to take free anything.
The then-owner of Winchell’s at 3rd and Moss once told me, “Duffy, (Sheriff John Duffy) told me not to give free coffee to you guys. [Heck] with Duffy. I want you guys in my parking lot drinking coffee.” Sheriff John would have respected the owner’s insolence, given Duffy’s “up yours” attitude toward the Board of Supervisors.
Then came Jan. 6, 1983, and my first whodunit homicide. The victim was a curvaceous 25-year old beauty from Vancouver, British Columbia. Her family owned a lucrative import business and she, being the Prodigal Daughter, went to the States, leaving her dad and brothers to run the place.
The “Prodigal” part of the story never materialized because she was murdered by some meth freaks she hung with before she could return for a happy homecoming.
It was difficult phoning the death message to her soft-spoken father. Two months later I phoned him to say we had two in custody with a pretty solid case. Always cautious, or maybe pessimistic, I told him a lot could happen between arrest and disposition, but things looked promising.
Months later I told him the two guys were on the prison bus and the case was over. The daughter owned an old Chevrolet the crooks used to transport her body to where it was dumped behind Southwestern College. We were done with the car as evidence and it needed a disposition.
The father came from B.C. to handle the sale to an auction and insisted on giving me the proceeds for our department’s good work. I explained it couldn’t happen. Solving murders was our job. He suggested a donation to our Police Association.
A light came on in my little head. At the time we had a softball team that traveled all over the state for tournaments and the Police Olympics (before some copyright clown made them change the name to “Police Summer Games”). We paid for everything ourselves.
Badly in need of uniforms, I suggested the proceeds from the victim’s car be donated to our Association and earmarked toward softball uniforms. Our Board approved, and dad was overjoyed. The money covered most of the cost of pants, shirts, hats, and stirrup socks.
I imagine today some investigative reporter would have a field day with the way I “shook down” the victim’s dad for our uniforms. But, that was life in 1983.
Now, with over 200 officers, including a few former professional baseball players on the department, Chula Vista Police has no teams, either basketball or softball. That’s sad. When Captain Gary Wedge retired recently he mentioned the “family atmosphere” at CVPD. I don’t totally buy the “family” thing. When officers retire now, they don’t even attend our alumni gatherings. But, hey, that’s life in 2014.
