Real Life on the Streets

By Jim Hogan

This book consists of a series of anecdotal experiences of a police officer in a small, but growing, police department in the suburban Denver area.  Although set in the 1960's and 70's, it is easily translatable to today's law enforcement experience.  It's aim is to bring a better understanding to the general public of the realities of police work on a daily basis, as well as to describe the kinds of incidents to which those who are, or were, in law enforcement can easily relate.  It is at times comical, at times tragic, and at times heart warming. The author does not attempt to sugar coat the language used or the prevailing attitudes of the times described.  With no hint of "preaching", the book provides an eloquent look at the camaraderie and sense of family which was common in the law enforcement community at that time and which continues to this day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667864716

Book preview

Real Life on the Streets

Prologue

The Accidental Beginning

I guess my career in Emergency Services, semi-sort of began when I became a Volunteer Fire Fighter in Thornton. Back then, our medical training consisted of First Aid and Advanced First Aid. The firehouse was connected to City Hall and to the Police Department. There were always two fire fighters and a command officer on paid duty. When a fire or ambulance call would come in, the emergency dispatcher would sound a bell for a fire call, or an obnoxious buzzer for an ambulance call. The paid personnel would take the fire truck, (Pumper/Engine) or ambulance, (or both if needed) to the emergency location. The first volunteer to arrive at the firehouse, that was trained as an engineer, would get the second Engine warming up, and wait for other volunteers to arrive. When the secondary engineer was ready, he would call the engineer of the Pumper on scene and advise he was standing by if needed. More times than not, the second Pumper would be canceled.

On one such night, I stayed at the firehouse and talked with the firemen for a while, then went upstairs to the dispatch area to visit and have a cup of coffee with Jim Allen, the on-duty Emergency Dispatcher. During the middle to late 60’s, most dispatchers were also sworn uniformed officers and could ride with the patrol officers before or after their shifts. While I was visiting with Jim, a call came in of a large gathering of juveniles on 100th Avenue, a half mile east of Washington St. In those days, a good portion of the area was open fields, and the only homes were mostly those of local farmers. Juvies liked to gather in the country so they would not be disturbed while they were duking it out. Jim dispatched the only two officers on the street to the gathering. One of the officers, C.J. (Chuck) Reynolds, was on scene in less than a minute and said it looked like he had about thirty teens getting ready to rumble. (That’s 60’s - 70’s speak for, there’s going to be a large ass kicking going on.)       The second officer said he was about ten minutes away, he was coming back to the city after taking a prisoner to Brighton, 19 miles north, where the county jail was located. C.J., already on scene, told Jim to call the ACSO, (Adams County Sheriff’s Office,) and get some back - up out there. C.J. told Jim to get one of the firemen to take over the dispatch area, and for him to take a PC (patrol car) to the scene for support. Jim told C.J., I have Jim Hogan with me, he can run things here. I’ll call the S.O. and be on my way. Jim called the S.O. on the direct communication line; they said they could send two cars. Jim grabbed a set of keys for a PC and said, It’s all yours Jimbo; if you have any problems, get one of the firemen to help. I was familiar with some of the console, but when I sat down in that chair, it looked like the control center at Cape Canaveral. As soon as Jim ran out the door, C.J. Reynolds, called in saying; Some of the kids are leaving and I’m going to read off the license plates I think are important. Then he started rambling off plate numbers -- phonetically. I didn’t know what the hell phonetics were. So, when he was reading AD-4152, he was saying, Adam David 4152! Hell, I was writing down the whole Adam David! He must have called in ten plate numbers like that. Then he said the words I’ll never forget; Headquarters, I need an ambulance here, I have at least two people injured!

Now, I consider myself the original, Joe Cool, when it comes to emergency situations. I have heard the sounds of the ambulance buzzer and the fire bell many times in two years as a volunteer fire fighter, but I looked at all those buttons on that console -- and said, Fuck! My eyes were darting back and forth across the console, looking for the button that the dispatcher pushed, that made that obnoxious buzzing noise to alert the firemen, they were about to be dispatched somewhere where an ambulance has been requested, but I couldn’t find it! I saw the buttons that said, Fire bell, fire bay door, intercom, blah, blah blah. I thought, oh great, some poor bastards are out there bleeding to death, and I can’t find the right button to push. Sooo - I decided to push the Fire bell, button and then use the intercom to tell them what the situation was. So --that’s what I did. The announcement over the intercom in the fire station, sounded something like this; Hey you guys, it’s me, Hogan, I need an ambulance not a fire truck, and I need it a half mile east of Washington on 100th Avenue. The Fire Chief, Carl Nelson, said, Then why didn’t you press the fucking ambulance button Hogan? I said, Cause I couldn’t find the fucking ambulance button – Sir! We have a bunch of teens fighting on 100th Avenue, a half mile east of Washington and at least two teens are down! The chief said, OK, we are going to roll a truck and an ambulance, when the volunteers arrive, have them call me to find out if anything else is needed! And when I get back, I’m going to kick your ass! My response was, Right chief, and you can bet I’ll wait around for that!"

Everything turned out all right. Two juvies were transported to a local hospital with minor cuts.

Jim Allen came back and told me Chief Nelson was in hysterics, telling the officers about my screw up with the emergency buttons.

When Chief Nelson got back to the station, the first thing he did was come up to the dispatch area and ask Allen if he showed the dumb shit (me), the difference between a fire call button, and an ambulance call button. Jim knew the chief would be coming up, so he had taken a black marker pen and wrote, Amb. on the back of my left hand, and Fire on the back of my right hand. Chief Nelson thought this was funny.

Wait - hold on a sec - I happen to think of something - my law enforcement career really did not begin with Thornton P.D. It got a tickle when I was in the sixth grade at Seibert Elementary School in Columbus Ohio. I was a - CROSSING GUARD. I got to wear the white belt with a shoulder strap and silver BADGE that said, SAFETY PATROL.

We carried a four-foot pole with a flag on the end that said, STOP. I got to tell people when to stop and when to go -- I loved it. My fellow students didn’t mind being told to stay, when they were on the way to school, but they sure hated it when I held them up on their way home. And Igot to hold up traffic!! Man, I am here to tell ya, that was a rush for an 11-year-old boy to be telling adults -- driving cars -- when to stop and when to go. That, ladies and gents, was my introduction towards law enforcement / traffic control.

Real Life on the Streets

The Real Beginning - Dispatch

When Jim Allen was called to serve in Vietnam, the City of Thornton really got hard up for police personnel --- they hired me.

January 15, 1968, I began my law enforcement career as an Emergency Dispatcher.

Emergency Radio Communications were a lot different in the sixties and seventies. We had a multi-line telephone system and an FM, high band radio system; not the 800 or 900-Megahertz radio systems as they have today that can even transmit through your mother-in-law’s heart. We did not have the wonderful handheld units the departments have now. And!! We did not have cell phones. (I know, it’s hard to imagine life without our cell phones.)

My initial training as an Emergency Dispatcher, consisted of filing Information Reports, (IR’s) and Case Reports, (CR’s), dispatching fire and ambulance calls and typing all of the night’s activities in triplicate, using carbon paper on a Smith-Corona electric typewriter. I swear, if someone comes up to me and says, What is carbon paper, or what is a typewriter? I’ll shoot um.

The doors were always open to the public, and the area for the people to contact the dispatchers was a big open window. To make matters worse, the dispatcher sat lower than the window, so we could not see what the person or persons had in their hands. Could have been rocket launchers or AR-15's for all we knew. Most of the male dispatchers were armed so we had a little protection.

The Chief Dispatcher, Big Al --- Albert Rickenbrode, told me the most important thing I needed to learn, was how to make coffee in the big 50-cup coffee maker. Since the fire department was attached to the police building, the firemen were always coming upstairs to get some coffee and talk with the dispatcher during the night. Therefore, the coffee always had to be fresh. Well, Rickenbrode showed me where the filters were and went back to his dispatchdom. I removed the lid from this monster pot, looked inside and cringed!! The inside of that pot was as black as a witch’s heart. Because my mother always told me to be clean, I decided to scrub out the pot. Rickenbrode came to see what was taking me so long. I heard this gasp from behind me and this unbelieving voice says, What the hell are you doing? I explained my mother’s penchant for cleanliness. Big Al said that did not pertain to coffee pots in police stations. That is how my career got started, with an ass chewing during the first hour. After that night, when I would visit the fire department, the firemen would ask me if I had time to clean their coffee pot. Ha ha.

Because I started with Thornton as an Emergency Dispatcher, I did not go to the Police Academy right away. Emergency Dispatchers not only have to know the locations of streets and the coinciding addresses, but they must also know the city boundaries, have great communication skills and have the ability to keep cool when receiving distressing calls.

One of the advantages I had as a dispatcher, I had worked for the Thornton Water Department for two years. The water department not only serviced the Thornton residents, but they also serviced the City of Northglenn, to the north, and a southern portion of unincorporated Adams County to the south. This proved to be a tremendous advantage for me, knowing the streets of Thornton and the surrounding area.

We had audio monitors in the dispatch area, so we could listen to dispatchers from the Adams County Sheriff’s Office, (ACSO) and the Denver Police Department, (DPD). The graveyard dispatchers for these two departments were the greatest and the coolest. I learned as much from listening to them as I did receiving instructions from my fellow dispatchers. Not to disrespect or discredit them, they were good, but Denver and Adams County had the volume of calls that gave their dispatchers the experience.

One of the graveyard dispatchers for Denver PD was Frank Smith. The man was so cool in stressful situations, I think he invented multi-tasking. One night he gave a tone alert for an armed robbery in progress. (A tone alert is a noise alert that will notify the officers in the field, the dispatcher is about to transmit an emergency message.) It was something like this:

Attention all cars, special attention district one, just had an armed robbery at the 7-11 store 8th and Kalamath, two males. They ran west on Kalamath, no vehicle observed. Stand by for descriptions. (Then, while he held the microphone button open, he would talk to the robbery victim.) Sir did both males show a gun? OK, describe the man that showed the gun. White male, how tall? Six feet! Color of his hair? Brown and long, in a ponytail. OK, describe his shirt, red and white stripes with the stripes going up and down. OK, did you notice what kind of pants he was wearing? Red corduroy? Yeah, I would say he was colorful. Then Frank would get the description of the second person. The radio system that Denver had allowed the dispatcher to transmit to the cars on one channel while the cars could transmit to each other and to dispatch on another channel. Thus, there would not be any radio transmission over-ride.

Listening to these dispatchers taught me to be cool under stressful situations. Like the next call.

Real Life on the Streets

Part 1 – Dispatch

Chapter One

There’s A Man In My House

One night a woman called at about 0230 and was whispering.

There’s someone in my house. I was in bed reading and I heard the front door open, and someone is bumping around in the living room. I think I may have left the front door unlocked.

OK, first off, give me your address and can you tell me how many houses you are from the corner of an intersection? She did.

Can you hear any movement now?

No, but let me tell you something, I have a gun. It’s a .22 revolver and my husband has trained me pretty good at using it!

Do you have it with you now? She did.

Stay on the line with me while I send some cars.

Officer, I am holding on to this phone so hard they may have to pry it from my hand!

Headquarters to car 3-37.

Car 3-37 – 9200 block of Washington.

Joel, I have a residential break-in at; then I gave the address. The woman states she heard someone come in the front door, bump into things and now it’s quiet. She does have a gun. Says her husband is out of state and not expected back until Tuesday. She is three houses north of Pose Blvd., on the east side of the street.

Car 3-37, 10-4, -- Car 3-37 to Command 4.

"Command 4, I’m at the back of Highland High

School, I’ll probably get there before you."

Command 4 was Sergeant Werner Horst. He had been on the department for three years. He had thick blonde hair that he probably had to use a garden rake to comb it.

Ma'am, I have two cars on the way. Can you hear anything from the front of the house?

No, and that’s a good thing, right?

Yeah, maybe he left. Do you think he can hear you talking?

No, I moved to the closet, but I can still see the door.

OK, I’ll let you know when the officers are approaching the house. Now remember, the good guys are the ones in the pretty blue uniforms. Them you don’t shoot.

Don’t hang up! --- I may have a gun, but I’m still scared!

Don’t worry I won’t hang up until the officers get there. But if the phone rings I will have to put you on hold because I’m the only dispatcher working tonight. One of the officers may want to talk to me after they see what’s going on so don’t hang up after they arrive. OK?

OK.

Headquarters Command 4 --- I’m on scene

Command 4 --- you’re on scene at 0237

Command 4 to 3-37 --- I’m parking two houses east of the complaints.

3-37 to Command 4 --- I’m two blocks away --- I’ll park on the corner.

Command 4 to headquarters --- I’ll be away from my radio and on foot.

Command 4, 10-4, You’re on scene at 0237.

Headquarters 3-37 --- I’m on scene..

3-37 you’re on scene at 0238.

The silence can drive a dispatcher nuts. Remember they didn’t have portable radios.

Ma’am, the officers will be coming in the house any second, do not say anything until one of them identifies themselves!

"OK, but don’t hang up – please don’t hang up!

I won’t. Now when the officers come in, they won’t knock on the door to announce themselves, they are probably going to sneak in, but if they find the person, you will hear a commotion that may scare the daylights out of you. Stay where you are until you hear the officers calling for you. OK?

OK, but don’t hang up!! Oh, shit I hear them yelling. If they’re yelling to scare the guy it must be working because they are scaring the hell out of me.

After a couple minutes, I can hear someone walking toward the bedroom I’m in. Do you think it’s the officers?

Yes. Are you standing or sitting on the floor?

Sitting on the floor.

OK, put the gun on the floor so you don’t shoot the nice policeman. He will announce himself in a few seconds.

I could hear Sergeant Horst’s voice; Ma’am, are you in this bedroom? This is Sergeant Horst of the Thornton Police Department!

Yes, I’m in the closet to the left as you come in the door, at the end of the bed!

OK, now the dispatcher told us you have a gun. Do you still have it with you?

No, the dispatcher told me to put it down, so I don’t shoot you. It’s on the floor!

OK, I’m going to turn on the light in just a second, so don’t be scared, do you still have the dispatcher on the phone? If you do, I want to talk to him!

Yes, I still have him on the phone, but can you help me up, my legs are weak!

To me she said, Sir I’m giving the phone to the officer now, I want to thank you so much for helping me through this!

You are very welcome.

I spoke with Sergeant Horst. He told me that a neighbor from a few houses down was drunk and went into the wrong house.

Instead of taking him to the PD, I think we will walk him to his house and let him change his pants first. He’s a little smelly.

The Sergeant told the lady it may be a good idea to keep her doors locked from now on.

The man was charged with drunk and disorderly because he was in our files for other liquor law violations in the past. Sergeant Horst thought it might be time for the court to give this man some direction.

As a thank you gesture, the nice lady and her husband brought a huge plate of cookies to the PD a few nights later. Al Rickenbrode was still at the station when the couple came in and presented the cookies to me. He told them, since he was the Chief Dispatcher and he had trained me, he should be entitled to a couple of the cookies. I gave him two and put the rest in a filing cabinet and made a production of locking it, then putting the key in my pocket.(Being the eldest of seven kids, I didn’t share well.)

Real Life on the Streets

Chapter Two

Smart Ass Rookie

Sergeant Chuck C.J. Reynolds was no nonsense ex-Marine. His radio moniker was Command 5. He always looked sharp in his uniform and spoke with authority. He came into the dispatch area one night and said it was quiet on the street, he needed to get some paperwork done. The department used the dark blue, three point hats with the black shiny brim. Above the brim would be a gold stretch band for sergeants and above, and silver for patrol officers.

Sergeant Reynolds took off his hat by placing his fingers on top of the hat, instead of putting his fingers on the shiny bill. I assumed he did it this way so the bill would stay shiny. He put his hat on the desk.

C.J, how do you keep the bill of your hat so shiny?

I use Vaseline on it.

I don’t want to have sex with it, I just want to make it shine.

C.J. shook his head and said, I can see a real problem with a smart-ass rookie.

Well shit. A week on the job and I’m already classified.

Real Life on the Streets

Chapter Three

Little Girl Lost

A couple of weeks after I became a dispatcher, an 11-year-old mentally challenged girl named Lois Ann, went missing from the 1300 block of Eppinger Blvd. After the immediate area was searched by on duty police and fire personnel, off duty people were called to help. Several of the fire department volunteers and police reserves searched open ditches, culverts and fields in the area.

When we inspected the last culvert a few blocks from the PD, we decided to check in with the dispatcher for any further instructions. I made the mistake of walking into HQ. I say the word mistake, because all of the brass was there; Fire Chief Carl Nelson, Police Chief Denver Bland, Chief Dispatcher Al Rickenbrode, Sergeant Matthew Matlock and other assorted folks trying to make a decision – Who to send up in Radio Station KHOW’s, Spy in the Sky, a Cessna single engine, four-seater airplane. The conversation was something like this.

Me: Hey everyone what’s going on? It got a little quiet --- everyone was looking at me!

Chief Nelson: Hogan has been on the water department for a while, I’ll bet he knows the area around Thornton better than most of us.

Yeah, I know the area pretty well, what’s up? Whoa dude, big mistake.

Chief Bland said, KHOW called and said they will let us send someone up with them in their airplane to search the fields as a spotter. We are trying to figure out who is better acquainted with the entire area. You want to go?

Silence. – I have never been in a plane.

Chief Nelson, having known me for a couple of years, knew how to get my attention; Hogan, since you’re in uniform you can take my chief’s car, and run Code-3 to Stapleton airport. Man, that was like, 30 miles from Thornton.

I could see the grin on his face after my silence. Then he turned to Chief Bland and said: What do you think, Chief, time is of the essence, and he’s run code driving the pumpers and ambulances. I’ve been on ambulance runs with him several times he’s a good driver.

It’s a long way and we need to get his ass out there, Tony Lamonica said they can’t wait too long."

Chief Bland grinned and said, Get your butt out there Officer Hogan.

Silence again --- Wait, not only do I get to run code 3 for like -- a thousand miles, I get to fly with Tony Lamonica?

Lamonica was Denver’s ace radio jock reporter. When you listened to the morning and afternoon traffic reports, you listened to Tony Lamonica or Don Martin When you heard, (on the scene) crime news, you heard Tony Lamonica on KHOW, which was Denver’s premier AM radio station at the time.

Chief Nelson said, Yeah and Don Martin is the pilot.       Assistant Fire Chief Jim Scott said, Hell, if those two are flying I’ll go.

I said, You would never make it to the Chief’s car Scott.

Scott said, Why in the hell not? With a big grin.

Cause I would fill your ass full of lead!

Assistant Chief Scott turned to the police chief and said; Chief Bland you haven’t given this fool bullets for that gun have you?

Yup, and the city’s liability insurance went up 60% when the insurance company found out.

Chief Nelson said, Hogan get your ass going. Helen (Helen was the dispatcher who was second in seniority,) will call KHOW and tell them you are on the way. She will get directions to where to meet the plane, so call on the PD channel when you get there.

I ran out the door before anyone could change their mind, then I turned around, ran back in and said, Now is this plane going to go up in the air? Cause I ain’t never flown in the air --- in an airplane before! There was a chorus of, Get your ass going! and I was on my way.

Now I wrote in chapter one about feeling a rush

when I was a flag boy in grade school, being allowed to stop cars and tell them when to stop and when to go. That rush would be like falling asleep, compared to running Code 3 all the way to Stapleton. I think I drooled.

Note: Stapleton was in the city of Denver proper, and was replaced by Denver International Airport. (DIA, as we know it now.)

Helen called me when I was about halfway to the airport and gave me directions to the private field where KHOW hangared its plane.

Officer Hogan, I’m Tony Lamonica and this is Don Martin. I spoke with a Chief Nelson who suggested we have you turn your seat backwards, if possible, because this is your first time flying. I told the Chief we couldn’t do that. He said if you adapt to flying like you do drinking beer, you would be OK.

Well, so much for the macho rookie cop.

Call me Jim. I’ll be OK as long as you don’t go any more than, say -- 100 feet off the ground. No guarantees higher than that.

Don Martin said, OK Jim, we’ll keep it at 100 feet.

Lying fucker!

That was one of the neatest experiences of my life. Once I got acclimated to the slight turbulence, drone of the engine, and height, I was fine. Don Martin said, OK, we are approaching 88th and highway 85. Where do you want to start looking?

I thought to myself, 88th and Highway 85!! Shit, we just took off! Oh yeah, no traffic lights -- and, as the crow flies -- all that stuff.

Don, fly to the city hall building a little north and west and let’s start there. Lois Ann went missing a few blocks south of there. We looked at all the open areas then we checked Croak Reservoir, west of Grant St and north of 92nd Ave, because it was all open fields at the time, and quite an attraction to kids.

Nothing.

As we flew east from Washington St, I was looking to the north and suggested we check the field around the Holy Cross Church, located one block north of Eppinger Blvd.

I was sitting behind Don, the pilot, so I was looking out of the left side. I saw Tony tap Don on the arm and make a motion with his left hand. Then he said:

Hey Don, what is that over there, about 9 o’clock?!

Don banked left, and so did my stomach.

No, it’s just some trash somebody dumped there. Don announced in a snickering voice.

Where did you say that barf bag was Don? I said stuttering a little.

Don said, I do that to all my first timers Jim, if you don’t puke, you will be one of the few.

I didn’t. It’s good to be part of the few once in a while.

Don said we had to head back to re-fuel then we would incorporate the search with the traffic reports. That was fine with me, I would get to see how they covered so much area in so little time.

Just as Don was fueling, Tony got a call via the planes radio from KHOW, that Lois Ann had been found and she was OK.

I am glad that it ended well for Lois Ann, and my first airplane ride with those two crazy guys was a terrific experience, and it demonstrated how the news media could be of assistance to law enforcement. Besides it was great PR for the radio station.

Real Life on the Streets

Chapter Four

Depressed Mom

On a warm summer night, I was working dispatch, 1500 to 2300. I had only been on the street a couple of months. If a dispatcher would be off for some reason, I was the chosen one to take their shift. Around 1900 hours I got a phone call from a man who said he was an insurance agent in Lakewood, Colorado. One of his clients, a Monica Bell, had called his office close to the end of his office hours and told him she got into a discussion with a friend about life insurance policies and how they varied on paying for suicide. She wanted to know if it was true that most policies did not pay, if it was a year or under. Then, she said the strangest thing. She said, like the policy her ex-husband had on him and his family. It was several years old, the company would pay if someone in the family took their own life, wouldn't it?

The caller told me that he had to be truthful with the woman and told her the type of policy her family had would cover suicide because it had been purchased several years prior. The agent then asked the woman how she and her sons were doing, asked about school and activities after school, trying to get a feel on her mental state. He said her words were positive, but her voice lacked enthusiasm. He said it was hard to explain. He had slightly known the family for several years and knew that when the man and woman had divorced, she took it hard. At this point, I asked for the woman’s name and address and told the caller I would send a couple officers to the women's house and get back with him.

I called Officers Joel Sidell and Don Bishop into the station to give them the info.

Don Bishop was a tall cowboy type guy. He was from a county sheriff’s office east of Denver. Don had been the under-sheriff and lost his job because of an election. He brought a lot of experience with him, and he worked well with the other officers.

Joel Sidell had joined Thornton a couple years before me. He was a skinny, balding, college educated dentist. Yeah, that’s right, he attended dental school in Nebraska. Joel and I got along great from the start. We were both volunteer fire fighters, liked beer, smoked Pall Malls and loved riding motorcycles. Did I mention we liked beer?

I told Joel and Don about the call from the insurance agent. They decided to make up a story of why they were calling on Mrs. Bell, to protect the agent’s integrity. Don checked the CR files and found that the oldest son, Larry, had been mentioned in a complaint report to being a witness to an assault at York Junior High School a week prior. Bishop, being the master of bullshit, looked back and forth between Joel and me, and came up with a reason to contact both boys, not just the mother. Off they went, ready to be sneaky and investigative.

Sidell and Bishop spent about twenty minutes talking to Mrs. Bell and her sons, 11 and 13 years of age. They came back to the station and Bishop called the agent, while Sidell filled out an incident report, just to cover their butts. Joel told me he and Don felt that the family seemed OK. The officers told Mrs. Bell they wanted to talk to both boys about student harassment (Now referred to as bullying) at the Junior High. Joel said he told Mrs. Bell they preferred to talk to the boys at home, rather than school, to save the boys any embarrassment. Joel said Mrs. Bell was very cooperative, but quiet. He said the boys were eager to talk to them about the harassment and they asked questions about what was it like being a police officer. Joel said Mrs. Bell told him she was only working part time at a flower shop, that her ex-husband was helping with the bills, but things were tight. Joel said she was fidgety, wringing her hands. Both officers agreed that Mrs. Bell did not show any signs she was depressed enough to hurt herself or the boys.

The next day, at about 2230 hours, I received a call from the same insurance agent. He said he had started calling Mrs. Bell at about 1800 hours to tell her about a Scout trip coming up soon and maybe the boys may be interested. No one answered. He said he called about every hour. The last time he called was about ten minutes before calling me. The agent said he didn’t think she would keep the boys out this late on a school night. I called Sidell into the station and told him about the conversation. Joel said maybe they should just tell her the truth about the agents concerns and offer her some names and phone numbers for Adams County Mental Health and Social Services for financial assistance. Joel had me send Officer Bishop to the house also.

Both Officers coded out at the Bell residence at about 2250. At 2255, Bishop radioed that they were going to force entry into the house, that Mrs. Bell wasn’t answering the door, her car was in the drive, a light was on in a bedroom and there wasn’t any response to knocking on that bedroom window either. Bishop called car to car with Sergeant Horst, suggesting the sergeant should respond to the residence also. About ten minutes later, Joel called me on the phone.

Me: "Thornton Police and Fire, this is Officer Hogan, how may I help you?

Sidell: Fuck, Hogan!

Me: That don’t sound good my friend.

Sidell: We found the mother on the floor in the boy’s bedroom; dead. The boys were in their bunk beds. The oldest boy, Larry, looked like he was sleeping. He has a bullet hole in his left temple. The other boy, Jacob, was shot in the chest. Maybe he heard the shot and sat up to see what was going on, because he was shot in the chest. The mother is dead on the floor with a gunshot wound to the chest. Lots of fucking blood Hogan, lots of fucking blood!

Is this your first, Joel?

Yeah -- uh, better call Chief Bland and the Adams County Coroner. And tell the oncoming shift they are going to have to come here to get their assigned PC’s. Sergeant Horst say’s we are to treat this as a triple homicide at the moment, until we can prove otherwise.

Needless to say, they were there for several hours. It turned out it was a double murder / suicide.

Mrs. Bell had left a note saying she was sorry for taking the lives of her boys, that she thought she was going to lose everything because of a lack of funds. The sad part of the note was, My boys are too beautiful to be raised in a world like this. They found a receipt for the .38 cal. Chief Special and a box of ammo, purchased at the Dave Cook Sporting Goods in the North Valley Shopping Center, purchased on the same day Officers Sidell and Bishop had first met the troubled woman.

This is an illness that, at most times, is very difficult to detect or comprehend. Sadly, we don’t know that the dark thoughts are there until it’s too late.

Real Life on the Streets

Part Two - Uniform - Patrol

Chapter Five

An Easy Bar Fight & The Hot Dick Incident

Sometimes, in the beginning, there may have only been two uniformed officers on the streets for the 14,000 -15,000 citizens. This night it was me and my friend Joel Sidell, plus a sergeant. The beginning of our shifts always started with briefings, or roll calls, as it was referred to on Hill Street Blues. The sergeant would brief us about the happenings on the previous shifts and give us information about thefts, burglaries and other crimes occurring in other areas close to us. (Unincorporated Adams County, Northglenn, and Federal Heights.)

As Joel and I were just exiting the PD a little after 11:00 PM with our briefcases and shotguns, the dispatcher called us over the building’s PA system, saying there was a 10-10 (Fight in Progress.) at Ciancio's Restaurant and Lounge in the Thornton Shopping Center, (TSC) 88th and Washington. She said it sounded like a good one. I was going to take Joel to the city shops, where he was to pick up his assigned PC that had been worked on that day. I ran to the driver's side of my unit and discovered he had the keys. Joel was at the passenger side. I yelled, Keys!

What? He replied.

I said, Keys! again. This nut puts his briefcase down, runs around the patrol car, kisses me on the cheek, and runs back to the passenger side. I cracked up, Keys, you dumb shit, not kiss! Laughing, Joel says, I thought you were practicing your French on me! He tossed me the keys, and the night began.

When we arrived at the bar, the owner, Don Ciancio, was waiting for us just inside the door and came out as we pulled up. Don said two of his regulars were arguing over who was going to take the bartender home. Don was in his late forties, a well-respected businessman who had been in the restaurant and bar business for most of his life. Quite a few of the City of Thornton employees and civic leaders ate and drank at Ciancio's. Don didn't put up with any shit from rowdy customers. He would rather call the police if there were a problem than have someone get hurt.

Don said the two guys were so stupid, they hadn't figured out the bartender had left the bar when the arguing started.

Don opened the door, and all we could hear was, I got here first, you son of a bitch! The son of a bitch replied, Yeah, but I told her last night I would take her home tonight! Joel yelled a couple of times for them to knock it off, but they were too caught up in their shouting match. Joel took out his traffic whistle, gave it one good long blast, and got their attention. Both of them turned to see what the source of the noise was. One of them said, Damn, you could make somebody deaf with that fucking thing!

It was either blow the whistle or rap you over the head with my nightstick, Joel said. We separated the two and got them calmed down, then checked with Mr. C. as to what he wanted us to do with them. He said they were good guys when they were not arguing over football, politics, or women. They had not broken anything, so that would be OK with him if they would just leave for the night. One of the guys lived within walking distance of the bar. He left first. The other called his sister to pick him up. Then he wanted a beer while he waited for his ride. Joel slapped a dollar on the bar and said, Coffee for the gentleman, if you please! You sure know how to fuck up a good buzz, officer! The remaining drunk said.

Don offered us a coffee for our services. Joel said, No thanks, Don, we’re glad to be of assistance to you as public servants. We are here to protect and to serve!

Oh please, you must have another call waiting, or it's the end of your shift, and you have hot dates waiting for you. I said, Na, neither one. It's the beginning of our shift, and I'm taking Joel to the shops to pick up a patrol car. A hot date doesn't sound bad, though.

Don walked out with us. Hey, you two, be careful tonight; I don't know what we people in the bar business would do without you fellows. Sometimes these guys come in after they have been at another bar. Most of the time, we don't know they've been drinking until they start slurring their words or get belligerent. Then we cut them off, but by then, it's too late. Hell, my employees are so good, I don't have to tell them to call the police; I just nod my head, and they're on the phone.

Joel said, Man, you talk about good employees, I was at the station the other night when a call came in from the Ghetto. (Another local bar.) The dispatcher was Karm. She held the phone away from her ear and said, I think it's George from the Ghetto, and it sounds like someone is trying to take the phone away from him! We only had two cars on the street, and she sent them both. Total time from receiving the call and dispatching the cars, fifteen seconds!

Don said, God bless all you guys. Maybe the rest of the night will be quiet for you.

Joel called us back in service, and we were off to the shops.

On the way to the shops, we saw a pickup hit the curb on the right side of 88th Avenue going east. Joel called in the license plate number and location of the stop while I got the truck stopped within a block. I approached the driver's side, Joel the opposite. The driver rolled the window down and was saying, shit, shit, shit!

I said, Good evening, sir, what seems to be causing your horrible driving tonight?

Oh man, I just bought a cup of coffee at Winchell's, the lid popped off, and I just burned the hell out of my dick!

I shined my flashlight at his crotch and, sure enough, wet and steaming crotch.

Go on, get home and explain the hot dick to your wife!

He was laughing and crying at the same time. Don't you want to see my driver's license?

Do you want to take the time to dig it out and show it to me?

No! Thank you, thank you! Do you have any idea what to put on my burn?

No, can't say I ever scalded my privates before. --- You, Officer Sidell?

Joel, laughing almost uncontrollably, No, can't say that I have. --- you might try calling --- a Dick Doc!

By now, all three of us are cracking up—the driver with less enthusiasm than Joel and me.

Finally, we made it to the shops, Joel got his PC, and the night re-started.

Real Life on the Streets

Chapter Six

The Draught House Fiasco

The City of Thornton had just annexed four square blocks of unincorporated Adams County that was under the jurisdiction of the Adams County Sheriff’s Department. This area took in 86th Avenue on the south, 88th Avenue on the north, Washington Avenue on the west and Corona to the east. In this area was a free-standing liquor store, a free-standing Tastee Freeze, a free-standing 7-11 and a little shopping center consisting of a dry cleaners, a bar called the Ghetto, a gun shop, a couple of small businesses, Shutto's Thrift Way, a small grocery store. Connected to the north wall of Shutto’s was a ------ Winchell’s Donut shop! I guess the City of Thornton figured that the employees of the Thornton Water Department, the police, and fire departments spent so much money there they may as well annex it and get some of that tax revenue.

In the same plot of land was a place call the Draught House. It was a nightclub for the 18 to 21-year-olds to party. Until 1987, Colorado law allowed people 18 to 21 years of age to consume 3.2 percent beer. People over the age of 21 could drink everything else.

The Draught House started out as the Imperial Bowling Lanes, probably in the late '50s, then was gutted and turned into a nightclub. I think it would suffice to say; this place was enormous. It had a huge bandstand, well-kept dance floor, two bars—one at the north end and the other at the south end. There was seating all over the place. I believe the capacity was nine hundred and something.

There were many times the Adams County deputies would call Thornton for backup when fights broke out.

On this historic night, a Friday, it was the beginning of our annexation, and they had a band called Funky Town, scheduled to play. At our 2300 briefing, Sergeant Werner Horst advised the on-coming officers that the Draught House parking lot was already filled, and Winchell's was complaining about people parking in front of their store and walking to the Draught House, about a hundred feet to the east. The Sergeant for the night was Bob Wells. Bob was a seventeen-year veteran of the Denver Police Department and then was chief of a small town south and west of Thornton, called Sheridan for a short time before coming to Thornton.

There were four officers plus Sergeant Wells scheduled for that night. Officer Sidell and I were assigned to work the Scout Car. The Scout Car was a Chevrolet van with two bucket seats in the front and a steel divider separating us from them. A five-foot-long steel bench was behind the driver's seat, which would hold about four people, then another seat angled to the left that would hold about another three butts, thus seating about seven or eight people comfortably or uncomfortably. Who cares? We were known as Scout Car-1.

We reconnoitered (I love big words, sometimes they sound dirty) in a dark area on the southeast side of the Thornton Shopping Center (TSC) at 88th and Corona. Three cars from the SO met with us. Lieutenant Don Allen and Sergeant Jerry Eye were the Watch Commanders for the SO that night. Sergeant Eye was a big no-nonsense type of supervisor. Ex-Marine. Good sense of humor. He was a good man for setting an example for his troops. Lieutenant Allen was an I'll only tell you once; then I'll kick your ass, type of cop.

Sergeant Eye, Lieutenant Allen, and Sergeant Wells got together and formulated a plan. If the crowd gets rough, we kick ass and load um up. (Pretty good plan, huh?)

We were all standing in a close proximity to the two command cars so we could monitor the two frequencies. The SO dispatcher called Lieutenant Allen.

Headquarters to Car 26

Car 26, I’m at 88th and Corona with Car 27 and four of our people and several Thornton officers.

Good car 26, it sounds like you’re going to need them; I just got a call from the manager of the Draught House, they have a fight in progress on the southwest side of the building with several individuals, and one of them has a machete. The manager thinks they may have a person injured.

And so, the night begins.

Sergeant Wells decided we would use a Thornton ambulance because they were close. He instructed dispatcher Karm Sunday to explain to the responding fire department personnel; they should stand by in the TSC until we find out what is happening. He explained that there were an estimated eight hundred to nine hundred people in the club, and we needed to assess the situation before sending fire department personnel into harm's way.

We (the County and us) donned our riot helmets and got our riot sticks from the trunks of our PCs. (Riot sticks are about six inches longer than a regular nightstick. (So we could reach out and touch someone – easier.)

In those days, we only had three channels on our radio system. Channel 1, the primary police frequency. Channel 2, a frequency that was not available to police scanners. This channel could be used by police personnel responding to a situation where planning was necessary and they didn't want to tie up the main channel. Channel 3 was assigned to the fire department. It was known as --- The Fire Channel! The fire department could access channel 1 and communicate with us and vice-versa. The Thornton Fire Chief, Carl Nelson (my hero), called Sergeant Wells on channel 1 and said, Bob, we have some extra personnel here; what if we back up that ambulance with Pumper 1 and about five firemen? Sergeant Wells said that would be great. They both went to channel 3 and set up the plan.

The county approached from the south and east with their overheads on, and two Thornton cars approached from an alley between the Draught House and the east end of the little shopping center. Joel and I, in the Scout Car, drove into the middle of the crowd that was leaving the club via the east exit. It was 2345 hours; they must have given last call because the lot was beginning to become active with young folks. (Young folks! Hell, most of us officers weren't much older than these patrons!) Joel used the PA system to announce instructions for everyone to get to their vehicles and leave. Most of the people complied. Sergeant Jerry Eye and Sergeant Gary Garner of the Sheriff’s Department were on foot and struggling with two males with handcuffs on. I, riding on the passenger side of the van, jumped out and opened the side doors. (The van had two doors that swung out on the right side.) We took the handcuffs off and replaced them with Flex-cuffs. As we were assisting these two into the van, I heard glass breaking behind us. Some dumb fucker must have brought a beer bottle out of the club with him and was holding the neck of the bottle, yelling at some dumb-founded skinny kid.

This cretin didn't see Joel and me - or - the Scout Car. Joel and I smiled at each other and got behind Mr. Bad ass. Joel grabbed his right arm. (the one with the broken bottle) I got the left arm behind him before he knew what was happening. Joel did a nice maneuver with the right arm and got it twisted behind the lad and said he would break his arm if he didn't drop the glass --- He dropped the glass.

The skinny kid started crying, saying, Thank you, thank you, that crazy idiot was going to cut me! I asked Skinny Kid what the idiot’s problem was. He said Idiot was mad because he (Skinny) sold him a joint for two bucks, and Idiot said there were more weeds in it than a vegetable garden. Skinny said he told Idiot, What do you want for two bucks? I got more info from Skinny while Joel put Idiot in the Scout Car.

A couple of deputies came up with two more passengers, and the next thing we knew, there were fifteen unhappy passengers. Lieutenant Eye was having trouble with a somewhat obese gentleman, so Joel and I helped him load up number sixteen into the van, which by now resembled the inside of a large sardine can. When the other fifteen occupants saw the whale joining them, their protestation was quite vocal without any eloquence whatsoever.

While we were stuffing Mr. Big into the sardine can on wheels, I heard someone yelling, Zack, what the fuck is going on? Zack, (aka Mr. Big) yelled back, Barry, these fucking pigs are taking me to jail, man. Then the voice, (aka Barry) yells, You can't do that, man, you fucking pigs ain't got no right to bust him; he's on private property!

Lieutenant Allen was watching our backs while we continued to stuff Mr. Big into the van, and the Lieutenant was telling Barry the best thing he could do for his friend was to meet him at the Adams County Jail and bond him out and not to worry, the bond won't be as big as his fat ass.

However, in his drunken glory, Barry yells at Lieutenant Allen, You mother fuckers take my friend, you gotta take me too! Lieutenant Allen looked at Joel and me and said, Can you fit this stupid cocksucker in with the others? Joel said, Yup. He opened the door, and the Lieutenant and I stuffed him in. (I loved Lieutenant Allen, he was so eloquent with his descriptions and certainly a terrific wordsmith.)

You cannot imagine the yelling that came from the stuffed van. Someone was yelling, This is police brutality! Joel said, How sweet it is. Sergeant Wells and Lieutenant Eye decided we should transport these sardines to the County Jail instead of the Thornton Jail because if some of them couldn't bond out, they would have to be repacked and taken to the county anyway. It sounded good to me; except I wasn't looking forward to the noise.

The yelling was so bad I had to stretch the mic outside the van to code in. It went something like this.

Headquarters, Scout 1.

Scout 1, go ahead.

"Scout 1, Sidell and Hogan will be en-route to the Adams County Jail with 17 aboard. Beginning mileage is -------------.

Chief Dispatcher Al Rickenbrode, whose shift had ended at 2300, was still at the station. He must have anticipated a busy night and stayed around for the action and to help Karm. He answered with,

Scout 1, -- did you say 17 aboard?

Scout 1, that's affirmative, 17 people --- all males.

10-4 Scout 1, carry on – carry on, 0015 hours.

I could tell he was tickled, by the extra, carry on.

Just after we got rolling, we got a call from Chief Matlock.

Scout 1 – Chief 1.

Sidell answered, This is Scout 1 – Go ahead, Sir, are you wanting to hitch a ride with us to the Brighton hotel?

No, thanks for the offer though. Are you taking 88th to Highway 85?

Scout 1, that's affirmative. We're at 88th and Corona now.

Scout 1, Chief 1, Meet me at the Enco station 88th and York.

We met with the chief at the Enco; he looked in the van from the passenger door window and said. I thought you were fucking with Rickenbrode. Do you really have seventeen people in there?

Joel said, Yep, it was pretty easy too. This is proof that 3.2 beer can make you as stupid as Jack Daniels and Coke. Then he briefly explained the combination of us, the sheriff's officers, and a few hundred people. The chief said, Great, the first night of the annexation, and we have tied up two law enforcement agencies. Well, if this keeps up, maybe this will be the fuel I can use to get a couple more officers aboard. You better get going and be careful; you don't need to get into an accident with all those nuts inside.

Joel said, Hey, maybe we can call this the Nut Wagon.

With you two, I think there are more than 17 nuts on board. Get going!

And we were on our way again.

Sergeant Eye radioed the county jailers so they could be prepared. It was decided that everyone would be booked for Disturbance and/or Public Intoxication. The jail captain held over a couple of deputies from the previous shift to make the booking go a little smoother.

If