Take Down

Fall of 1984—Stanford University PD

Tony, Steve, and myself made up the swing shift in the second half of 1984.

It was supposed to be a quiet night. The fall quarter had not yet started. The swing shift sergeant called in sick and the brass had left for the evening. It was just the three of us to cover the university, a small city in its own right.

It was twilight and I can remember the sun setting behind the foothills on the west side of campus. Clouds drifted high in the horizon offering a silver lining over a deep blue sky of nightfall burnt orange by the setting sun. We saddled up our patrol cars with the essentials—map books, penal codes, vehicle codes, keys, radios, shotgun, forms, binoculars, tape recorders, cameras, pens, citation books, etc. Then it was time to check the units themselves. A quick walk-around looking for damage from the previous shift; a search of the back seat area for weapons an earlier prisoner may have ditched. Once, an officer found a butcher knife! Check the lights, the reds and blues…siren, public address system, and siren. It all worked. Time for briefing.

Tony was the senior officer so he was the acting sergeant. There were no pass-downs this night and only minor bulletins, so the briefing merely existed of standing around outside having a last cup of coffee while Tony passed out some Tiparillo cigars. We lit up, reviewed the daily BOLs (be on the look-out bulletins) and bull-shitted about recent events in the news.

Our portable radios had been quiet with only minor traffic from Palo Alto PD. We shared their radio frequency and about 95% of the traffic was theirs. The key was to pay enough attention to what was going on to know what was relevant to us and to know when to pay attention. Some times the dispatchers made it clear with a double-beep alert tone.

We had been chatting along delaying the inevitable departure to hit our beats. We were having fun, kicking it around by the cars, drinking some coffee and smoking our high-class nickel cigars when…

BEEP-BEEP, the high-pitched alert sounded on our radios, “attention Palo Alto units, attention L‑32 (a Palo Alto officer’s call-sign), a 211 (armed robbery) just occurred in front of Antonio’s Nut House at the corner of South California and Birch streets.”

Then there was a brief pause to give everybody a chance to halt conversations and/or get ready to take notes.

BEEP-BEEP, again; The dispatcher continued…

“L-32, L-53 (it was L-32’s beat and L-52 would assist) the victim reports 3 white male adults approximately 23 to 27 years of age driving a black older model Ford Mustang, license plate 123 XYZ (not the real license plate), pulled up to the curb where the victim was standing. The front seat passenger of the Mustang exited the vehicle, grabbed the victim and held a knife to her throat while the rear seat passenger exited the vehicle, took her purse, watch and other jewelry.”

The dispatcher went on to provide suspect descriptions, last seen route of travel and answer other questions L-32 and 53 had for the dispatcher. After a short time, Palo Alto dispatch opened the frequency back up to usual traffic.

We took notes and paid particular attention because the incident happened about a mile away. We didn’t get actively involved because Palo Alto had it well covered and because there were no avenues of fleet from the scene; Stanford was like an island on the border of Palo Alto. We had no direct routes that let to any major thoroughfares or freeways. We would definitely be on the lookout.

And it happened again.

BEEP-BEEP. “Code-22 (meant all units hold traffic, frequency restricted) Attention Stanford units, multiple code-3 (emergency) calls, attention Q-2; Q-2 a report of an 11-81 (traffic accident-major injuries involved) at Campus Drive South and Junipero Serra Expressway. California Highway Patrol has been advised (that was their turf for traffic accidents).”

Tony (Q-2) acknowledged the dispatcher. As he did so over his hand-pak (slang for portable radio) you could hear him breathe a little harder and faster as he dumped his coffee and briskly walked toward his patrol car.

The dispatcher continued…

“Q-10, a 10-33 (box alarm: fire or police) at the Hoover building. Report on the need for fire.” Steve acknowledged and mimicked Tony in his actions.

I thought it unusual that fire was not dispatched on Steve’s call. Dispatch normally sends fire assets as well as the police on box alarm call, but not this time. I soon found out why.

The dispatcher continued once again…

“Q-12, respond to a man-down call at Kresge auditorium; possible heart attack. Fire and paramedics all ready enroute.” I acknowledged and followed Tony and Steve. I hated my call. I had performed CPR on one old guy before and couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth for a day. To this day I can still remember the cracking sounds of his ribs as my partner broke them while doing compressions.

Within moments Tony, Steve and me were leaving the police department with lights and siren headed in 3 different directions. I saw the traffic stop for us and saw the expression on the people’s faces. They had to be wondering what the hell was going on at little old prim and proper Stanford.

Individually we reached our assigned calls. Tony’s call didn’t take long. He got there and saw a little debris in the roadway, but no other evidence of a collision. It’s not uncommon for passers-by to call in an accident and provide exaggerated details of an accident or other incident. He was back in service almost as soon as he arrived. He would of course, check nearby areas in case the location was misidentified.

I got to my call and was relieved to see fire and paramedics on scene already. I parked and made my way through the crowd to size up the situation, get some names and details. Fortunately, there were two physicians from the audience there working with the rescue team. I was simply in the way and returned to my car.

Steve arrived at the box alarm but no evidence of fire or police emergency could be found. Since there only so many call boxes per area, Steve would have to search the area to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

Soon, all three of us were back in service and returning to the station to pick us some things we left behind or to take care of other issues like making follow-up calls, or to revise reports kicked back by the Dicks (slang for detectives).

Shortly after we were all cleared from our calls, Tony asked dispatch to confirm the license plate numbers from the car used in the armed robbery earlier in Palo Alto. Dispatch re-read the vehicle description and the license plate. Tony came back and said he was following the suspect vehicle on Campus Drive east bound approaching Bowdoin Street.

The radio came alive with several Palo Alto units reporting their position with the implied intent of offering assistance if needed. The radio was so busy that neither Steve nor me could get on and tell Tony we were just down the street.

Dispatch took control of the radio…

BEEP-BEEP. “All units this channel Code 22.” The radio went silent.

“Q-10, Q-12 are you in position to cover Q-2?”

Steve answered up, “Affirmative, I’m at Escondido and Campus.”

“Q-12 what’s your 20 (an abbreviation for 10-20 which means location)” dispatched asked. “I’m at Serra and Campus” I said quickly with adrenaline starting to shoot within my bloodstream. We were all within ½ of each other and they were headed my way. I would be last in line to join my colleagues in the take down.

Since the frequency was restricted, we could talk openly and freely without codes and formality. All other radio traffic had been diverted to a secondary frequency. Tony was calling it out, explaining where and how we’d take these guys down. He directed Palo Alto units to cover possible escape routes. It was awesome. The hair stood on the back of my neck. We were all in sync, a part of a huge team with high stakes at hand.

Tony continued, he’d be the lead in the take down executing the traffic stop, calling commands to the suspects, and directing us as needed. Steve would do the cuffing and securing of the arrestees, and I was responsible for security—covering the vehicle while Tony and Steve did their job. After the arrestees were secured, it would be my job to approach the vehicle and make sure there was no one else hiding in it to ambush us and to secure it as a crime scene once I declared it “clear.” This was going to be a textbook example of a felony car stop just like we were taught at the academy.

I waited in eager anticipation. I soon saw Tony approaching me. Steve was right behind him in the next lane over. The road was a divided roadway with two lanes in each direction. Steve was blocking the free lane so unsuspecting traffic would get past them and become a safety issue.

As soon as Tony past me I fell in behind him and Steve. Tony asked if we were ready. We replied that we were and then he hit the lights and siren. Steve and I lit up our light bars as well. By now it had become dark and we were impossible not to see or hear, but the suspect vehicle wasn’t stopping. We turned our spotlights into the car and Tony ordered the vehicle stop.

The car finally stopped in front of Maples Pavilion. Steve pulled up on Tony’s right. I pulled up on Tony’s left. The road was completely blocked. I heard Palo Alto units blocks away racing to our aid and to take custody of our catch.

Tony opened his door and crouched behind it pointed his weapon at the car. Steve did the same. I started to as well with the shotgun, but quickly replaced it in the rack because it would limit my mobility when I approached the car. I unholstered my weapon and took aim at the car.

I looked to my right to see what Tony and Steve were doing, how they were positioned and crouched. Being the rookie, I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, that I was cool and badass like my peers whom I respected immensely. As I took inventory I smiled broadly; we looked badass all right, all three of us still had our glowing Tiparillo cigars clenched in our teeth and all on the right side of our mouths!

Slowly Steve and Tony took all three of the dirt bags out of their car in textbook style. Steve cuffed them and secured each in a separate car. Once the suspects were secure, it was time to do my job. Steve and Tony focused on the car to cover me in case someone was still hiding in the car—most likely not, but we were taught to never take needless chances.

I left the cover of my door and approached the suspect’s car, crouching all the way to make me as small as target as possible. I reached the left rear bumper and quickly tried to lift the trunk to see if it was unlocked and if so, if anyone was hiding in there.

Next, it was a slow trip to the rear side passenger window. Keeping my head below the window, I tried using my pocket mirror like a periscope to see inside, but with all of the lights on the car, I couldn’t see shit. I had to do a couple of quick pop-ups like jack in the box to see if anyone was inside. To my relief, it was empty. I called out “clear” and everybody could sigh a sign of relief.

—Continued—

Copyright (c), ANDY HOLMES, 2005

Tragedy on Sand Hill Road

Circa 1981—Woodside/Portola Valley

Before I became a police officer for Stanford University I worked for the oldest running private patrol in the state of California at that time—The Woodside Patrol. Because it was so old and the long standing relationship with the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department, we worked closely with their deputies and a few California Highway Patrolmen. We were even permitted to equip our patrol cars with radios using their frequency. They even assigned us call signs. Mine was 10-Paul 26. We put out twice as many patrol cars as the sheriff in Woodside and Portola Valley, so it wasn’t unusual for them to ask us to respond to a burglar alarm or an accident when they had an extended ETA. I once waited 45 minutes for them to arrive at a burglary.

On a quiet Saturday night I was asked to Respond to Sand hill Road between Portola Road and Highway 280 on a report of a traffic accident. I was in Portola Valley and there was no traffic on the road as it was about 2:30 in the morning. I pushed it a little beyond the speed limit and got onto Sand Hill Road. As I neared Highway 280 I saw carnage on the road…steam from radiators, oil, water, transmission fluid, glass and parts all over the road.

One the roadway in front of me was a Toyota Celica, its front bumper smashed into the car where the windshield used to be. There was silence like I never heard before, except for the hissing of escaping steam. I walked toward the Celica afraid of what I was going to find. As I looked into the window I felt as if I was hovering above the scene watching myself. Then I began to peak in and everything seemed to switch to slow motion.

In the passenger side sat a young woman about 22 years old slumped forward. She was unconscious and bleeding profusely from the forehead. Her arms and legs were broken. I looked over to the driver, a young man around the age of 25, and it was a hideous sight. The steering wheel column impaled him forcing its way all the way through the front of his chest and exiting out the rear of the drivers seat. It was safe to say he was dead. No coroner needed for that conclusion.

I then noticed a full-size green Ford 4X4 truck laying on its side down the south side embankment all mangled. I could see two people in the cab, both unconscious. I got on the radio, gave the dispatcher an assessment and asked for fire, paramedics, and the Highway Patrol.

I returned to the car quickly to see if I could get some vitals on the girl, but as I did so I heard some one say, “This one’s dead.” I was so focused that I didn’t even hear the Highway Patrolman pull up, get out of his car and approach the accident. I was so glad he was there. It was his problem now.

The Result
The accident was attributed to drunk driving. Both the occupants of the Celica had very high blood/alcohol ratios. The accident occurred when the Celica veered into the path of oncoming Ford pickup. The Celica driver was dead, the passenger died enroute to the hospital. The Ford occupants sustained extensive injuries, but later recovered.

Copyright (c), ANDY HOLMES, 2005