10-33 Silent Alarm

By Gerry Goldshine

 

Conducting a building search under the best of circumstances is a trying, tedious job. The places inside a house where the average human being can find to hide boggles the mind. Unlike what you see on television, a thorough search is far more involved that pointing your gun inside a room and shouting “Clear!” when you don’t see anything. Every closet and every cupboard have to be checked. You have to make sure the attic, under beds and even the drum of the clothes dryer are clear because I’ve found people in all those places. Piles of dirty clothes? Toss them because I found a warrant suspect hiding at the bottom of one. Despite all the complications that come with searching a residence, when clearing a large business establishment properly, the problems multiply exponentially and it can become downright tedious, taking up precious time and manpower.

This particular night, I was assigned to back-up another officer on a silent burglary alarm call at the Local Generic Tire Warehouse. When we got there, the first thing we noticed was an open side door. Great! Now for sure, we are committed to a search. As there were no other units available to help, it was just Officer Mike, me and hundreds, if not thousands, of tires. We strategized about how we were going to conduct the search and as the open door was on the opposite side of the building from the office, we decided to keep things as simple as possible. We would each take one side of the building and work our way back to the office. If anything was moved or disturbed we would then start checking each neat stack of tires. If there was concrete evidence of a break-in, we would back out and wait for more help.

Guns drawn, we asked dispatch to clear all radio traffic and made a quiet tactical entry into the darkened building. We were immediately confronted with row upon row of industrial warehouse shelving units, each piled high with tires of every imaginable size. Naturally, the light switches were located by the office so flashlights were our only source of illumination. Yes, it was creepy. Tires rearing up from the darkness, seemingly all the way to the ceiling, everywhere you looked.

We began working our way laboriously in the direction of the office and were about two thirds of the way to it when we suddenly started hearing some strange clanking noises coming from that vicinity. Now we had to settle on whether to back out, secure the building as best we could and wait for additional units to help or continue the search. Officer Mike being the senior and more experienced officer decided we’d reassess the situation when we reached the last row of shelves and could see the office.

Ten or so minutes later, we were at the last row of shelves and I could see the source of all the noise we were hearing; it was coming from one of those large, ceiling mounted industrial heaters.

Just as we both were starting to feel foolish, from behind a six-foot tall stack of tires by the office door, I caught sight of something moving! I let Officer Mike know via my portable radio but he couldn’t see anything from his position.

At high alert once again, we stealthily advanced, each covering the other, using other stacks of tires to conceal our presence. I could feel a rivulet of sweat trickle down my chest, behind the confines of my body armor, from heat being thrown out by the device overhead coupled with the adrenaline surging through me. The closer we got, the tighter I gripped my revolver. Closer still now, we realized that there was no way to confront whatever was behind that pile of tires without exposing ourselves. So I got down on my belly, dirtying up my spotless uniform and inched my way around the final stack of tires and finally saw our suspect.

 There, swaying in the exhaust of the overhead heater, was The Michelin Man; a five-foot high cardboard cutout.

To this very day, I am oh so glad that I resisted the impulse to yell, “Freeze, asshole! Petaluma Police!”

 

Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine circa 1985

Gerry was born in Providence, Rhode Island but raised in Southern California. 

Upon graduating from California State University, Los Angeles, Gerry enlisted in

the Army and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. After leaving active duty

in 1979, he worked for Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office. From 1980 until his retirement

in 1996, he was a patrol officer, traffic officer, and a trainer at Petaluma Police Department.

Gerry is married, has a daughter and lives in Sonoma County, California.

Gerry is a regular contributor to Just the Facts, Ma’am. Check in weekly or so to see his newest posts.

It’s The Little Things

By Gerry Goldshine

 

I just ran across this in a recent Associated Press story on the tragic stabbing death of an eight year old girl in Calaveras County, California, “Sheriff’s officials say investigators collected fingerprints and what they believe is DNA from the home.” You’re now looking at the screen going, “Yeah, so?”

Well, first of all, crime scene investigators do NOT collect DNA. They collect hair, semen, blood and other type of physiological evidence from which a DNA profile may be extracted. The same applies to items such as cigarette butts, beer bottles, linen and the like. The DNA technician processes such evidence to extract a biologic sample from which a unique DNA profile is built. This profile can then be compared to a database to look for a matching suspect. DNA profiles can also be used to rule out possible suspect.

So this is about semantics, right? No, it’s about accuracy. One of the most valuable lessons I came away from the Army with was that “the little things” matter. Failure to pay attention to small details ultimately leads to larger systemic failures. As a traffic accident reconstructionist, I knew that major case, involving multiple vehicles and multiple victims, could hinge on a something as insubstantial as how the little coil of wire inside a single light bulb may have looked. Get that detail wrong and perhaps a vehicular manslaughter case collapses and a guilty person escapes justice.

The minutiae matter in establishing your veracity as a writer regardless of the genre. Give Captain Kirk a light saber instead of a phaser and regardless of how compelling your story happens to be, you’ve lost most of your readers. In the DNA situation, I start wondering what else the reporter doesn’t understand about police work, crime scenes and evidence collection. From that point it doesn’t become that much of a stretch to call into question the accuracy of the entire story.

With the wealth of information instantly available today because of the Internet, such lapses are inexcusable. As a writer, you have the same responsibility as I did as a traffic investigator to get the all the particulars correct, be they large or small.

 

Traffic Officer Gerry Goldshine
aka T-36
Petaluma Police Department mid-1980′s

Gerry was born in Providence, Rhode Island but raised in Southern California. 

Upon graduating from California State University, Los Angeles, Gerry enlisted in

the Army and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. After leaving active duty

in 1979, he worked for Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office. From 1980 until his retirement

in 1996, he was a patrol officer, traffic officer, and a trainer at Petaluma Police Department.

Gerry is married, has a daughter and lives in Sonoma County, California.

Gerry is a regular contributor to Just the Facts, Ma’am. Check in weekly or so to see his newest posts.

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:”";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Times New Roman”,”serif”;
mso-ascii-font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}

San Rafael robbery circa 1976

Photos by the best action photographer, Steve Moreno. “I carried my camera all the time. The is the Pharmacy Robbery on D street around 1976? And the last one is from the Flatiron Building Fire about the same time or a little earlier. Woody would take me for rides in the police car, one time I saw this kid running and I told Woody to pull out his gun and shoot him before he got away. My uncle said, “I can’t do that, he didn’t do anything.” I said he’s running so he did something. Never a call on it so Woody was right and I would have shot em just for being late for a date or something. However, he might have rather been shot then to face the date he was late for. Notice I broke the lines to get the money shot of the arrest. Without that it wouldn’t be complete?”

Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait

The sergeant giving direction

Woody in patrol

Running to trouble

Well armed, I might add

Mobilizing

Getting equipment

Detective Woody Hoke giving direction

Taking cover

Petaluma K-9 Rico

 

Petaluma PD K-9 Rico
photo by Petaluma 360

PETALUMA K-9 RICO SERIOUSLY INJURED IN TRAINING MISHAP

by Lt. Matt Stapleton, Petaluma PD

As many of you may have read in the newspaper, our award winning K9 Rico was seriously injured in a training accident on April 15^th.  Officer Mike Page was leading Rico in a search exercise during a training day in Petaluma that was attended by dog teams throughout the region.  Rico fell from a second story landing and suffered serious neck injuries.  Officer Page rushed Rico to the emergency vet hospital and the following days were touch-and-go for Rico as he endured a variety of tests and scans to identify what was damaged.  Rico ended up requiring surgery and, while his future as a protection dog is probably over; his recovery is impressing the doctors to the extent that they have questioned whether he may return as a drug detection dog.  We are currently monitoring his progress very closely and his potential return to service is yet to be determined.

 

One of the most remarkable aspects of this horrible situation was the outpouring of support that the Petaluma Police Department has received from our community.  Well over 15,000 dollars poured in during the week following the announcement.  Several members of TEAM 4908 (current and alumni members of PPD) also contributed toward Rico’s treatment.  The treatment was originally estimated by doctors to be in the neighborhood of at least 13,000 dollars and our community has covered it.

 

Rico and handler Mike Page have contributed substantially to our organization throughout the course of their past 7 years of service as a team.  Rico has brought in hundreds of thousands of dollars in asset seizure money, assisted in numerous suspect apprehensions and has brought joy to citizens during his public presentations.  We wish Rico the best in his recovery and we are very appreciative of everyone’s support.

 

 

PETALUMA POLICE K9 RICO  click below for the news article

http://www.petaluma360.com/article/20130425/community/130429783

 

And We’re Off And Running, part 3

And We’re Off And Running

part 3 of 3

By Gerry Goldshine

Sharing a chuckle that comes from regularly working with someone under often trying conditions, I could feel some of my accumulated stress bleed off. Then Officer Andy and K-9 Rocky came up behind Sgt Dave. Petaluma Police had recently reinstated their Canine program; Rocky, a German Shepherd, was still relatively new and had yet been faced with the necessity to bring someone down outside of training.

Before we could strategize any further, the “Yutz” upped the ante on us by getting out of his car and standing next to it. Nothing quite irritates the hell out of a bunch of adrenaline fueled cops more than someone who just doesn’t want to go along with the program in a high risk situation. If the sound of multiple officers yelling at him in both Spanish and English didn’t catch his attention, one would have thought the distinctive sounds of multiple shot-gun actions being worked and the frenzied barking of Rocky would have. It didn’t.

Sgt. Dave told Officer Andy that he and Rocky now had the helm. Officer Andy shouted out that if the suspect didn’t comply with our instructions, he was going to release Rocky or words to that effect. By then, Rocky was very well caught up in the spirit of things and barking in what should have been an menacing manner to any sensible person, sober or not. An officer, who spoke Spanish, repeated Officer Andy’s commands.

No doubt more than one or two of us went slack-jawed when the suspect at last responded by dancing some type of jig in the street next to his car. This alone would have been the height of absurdity had not the suspect finished his little boogie by extending the middle fingers of both hands and held them defiantly aloft for all of us to see.

Succumbing perhaps to the influence of the Simpson’s C. Montgomery Burns, Sergeant Dave simply told Officer Andy, “Release the hound…” Well, at least that’s how I recall it.

Rocky, was off like Rin Tin Tin, eager like any other police rookie to finally put all his hard training to use for the first time. Before our would-be M. C. Hammer could rescind his crude digital display, Rocky leapt and grabbed Twinkle Toes’ right forearm in his jaws. The dog’s forward momentum carried him and the suspect to the ground. Half of us rushed the driver while the others took a most cooperative but rather inebriated passenger into custody. Just like that, the incident was over; it was almost textbook perfect in set-up and execution. The only injury was the bite from Rocky.

Sergeant Dave assigned someone from the Graveyard shift to take the suspect, who was quite clearly drunk, to the local hospital for treatment and a blood alcohol test. The passenger, equally smashed, was arrested and charged with public intoxication.

As everyone started leaving the scene, I saw amongst the assemblage, several units from the California Highway Patrol, a unit from the Sonoma County Sheriff and coming south on Stony Point Road, from his blocking position a half mile ahead of me was a unit from Rohnert Park Department of Public Safety. Quite the team effort. I looked at my watch and shook my head in dismay as I began filling out the CHP Form 180 to have the suspect’s car towed from the scene. It was well after end of watch and I had several hours of report writing ahead of me. “Go get him”, indeed!

Gerry is a regular contributor to Just the Facts, Ma’am. Check in weekly or so to see his newest posts.

And We’re Off and Running, part 2 of 3

And We’re Off and Running

part 2 of 3

By Gerry Goldshine

My Motorola radio crackled loudly, only just audible over the siren and engine noise, “Tom-36, be advised, I have no units 10-8 (in service) to assist and no one in the area of the north end of town. We’ll notify CHP and SCSO. Also, we’ve had reports of patches of heavy fog in that area.”

Swell, Murphy – of “Murphy’s Law” infamy – was now definitely riding shotgun with me. Moreover, Petaluma Boulevard North, as it led out of town, was a divided roadway, with two lanes in each direction. It was not especially well lit and was lined with large oak trees that regularly claimed errant drunk drivers. I let dispatch know that the tan Toyota’s speed reached about seventy-five miles per hour and was weaving from one lane to the other. That was until we came upon the first patch of what is fondly known as “Tule Fog” – or by its more proper nomenclature, “Radiation Fog”. This bundle of condensation was about a hundred feet or so across and my lead-footed prey braked hard once more, quickly dumping off his speed like a fighter jet from Top Gun pulling up in a dog fight, only to increase velocity once out of the fog. Continuing on towards the north end of town, we encountered at least two more of the fog banks and each time, my fleeing driver would dutifully reduce his speed, albeit locking his brakes again on several occasions.

Petaluma Blvd. North at Old Redwood Highway

For those unfamiliar with Petaluma, at the far north end of town, Petaluma Boulevard turns to the east where it crosses over US Highway 101 and eventually becomes Old Redwood Highway. Just before the Boulevard crosses Hwy 101, it is intersected by another northbound street, Stony Point Road. In this area, Stony Point was an even more poorly lit, as well as a poorly paved, “country” road surrounded by large fields and very few residences. Why this is important, is that upon reaching this intersection, the suspect ran the red light and turned left onto Stony Point Road to continue heading north. We encountered several more patches of thick dense fog spilling out of the fields, crossing the roadway before closing on a long driveway that led up to an old farmhouse on the west side of the road. As we approached, the suspect turned on his left signal and began slowing as if they were going to turn into the driveway.

Still without any backup, I’ll admit to imagining all sorts of nightmare scenarios, each of which had me being lured into some type of ambush but almost the same time, I began formulating response strategies just in case. Reflecting back on my training, I knew about the best thing I could do was to gain more distance from them. Tactically, more distance means more time to react to any danger. Fortunately, all my threat assessments were for naught because they passed by that driveway and several others, continuing to signal for a left turn. Then, perhaps a mile or two ahead, I saw a set of flashing red and blue emergency lights speeding towards us. The suspect apparently saw the same thing and abruptly stopped his car right in the middle of the single northbound lane. About a half mile from us, the oncoming police unit stopped and proceeded to close off the southbound lane to any traffic. It was with palpable sense of relief that I finally heard, still off in the distance but converging on my position, the welcome sounds of multiple sirens meaning the cavalry was nearly there.

Unlike what is frequently depicted on the news, officers in my department did not rush up to the driver at the conclusion of a pursuit, screw a gun in his ear and/or yank him through a window. If doing so didn’t get you killed, it would probably get you fired and rightly so. Consequently, I had positioned my car a good five to seven car lengths from the tan Toyota, angled in such a way so that the engine would act as cover should they open fire on me. I got down low, behind the driver’s side front window frame, with my pistol pointed at the driver.

A felony car stop looks like this during the daytime.

Using my patrol car’s public address system, I ordered the suspect driver to first turn off his car, then both occupants to put their hands on top of their heads and finally not to move. Naturally, neither of them complied and both made what is not so fondly referred to as “furtive movements”. Even after I repeated the commands two more times, they acted as if having a police officer point a loaded gun at them was all a perfectly natural happenstance.

As the sounds of the responding backup units grew closer, I tried repeating the commands in Spanish but to no avail. So, I turned my attention to directing the arriving units into what I felt were the best tactical positions. When at last I was joined by Sgt. Dave, down behind the door of my car, he patted me on the shoulder and said, “Nice job.”

I shook my head, looked at him and replied, “Go get him, Ger? Seriously? Go get him?”

Read the final installment of Gerry’s pursuit tomorrow, May 9th, 2013

And We’re Off And Running

(part 1 of 3)

By Gerry Goldshine

 

To coin the venerable Sergeant Joe Friday, “It was Saturday night. I was working the Swing Swift out of Traffic Division. My boss was Sgt. Dave. It was approximately 0145 hours, near the end of watch. It had been a quiet night.” Okay, enough of the homage but that’s what happens when it’s been an unusually boring watch and you can see the finish line; you get a little loopy. Sgt. Dave had just gone out with a possibly intoxicated male subject in the parking lot of a business on the fringe of the main downtown area. I was nearby and responded for backup, knowing the unpredictable nature of drunks, especially at that hour. As it turned out, he was an amicable inebriant who had a much soberer friend willing to take him home. Standing there talking, we all suddenly heard the sound of tires squealing and unmistakable roar of an engine under heavy acceleration. We no sooner turned in the direction of where the sound was coming when a tan car went flying by us, doing 45-50 miles per hour – in a 25 mile per hour zone. Sgt. Dave gave me a wry grin and simply said, “Go get him, Ger!”

I climbed into my patrol car, rather unenthused about the prospects of ever being able to catch the tan car, never mind the fact my brain had so recently shifted into the “I want to go home on time” mode. I pulled out onto Petaluma Boulevard North and traffic was very light which made it easy to spot the ne’er-do-well. My doubts were confirmed; they had well over a half mile lead on me which was increasing by the second. My foot pushed the accelerator to the floor and the sound of the big Ford V-8 police package engine roaring to life got my predatory juices flowing. Just as the rational part of my brain was starting to tell me that I was embarking on a futile quest, I looked on in astonishment up ahead as the tan car suddenly braked hard for a red light.

Burning rubber

Now, by “braking hard”, I mean his brakes locked the wheels up so that his vehicle, with its back end shimmying side to side, was quickly shrouded in churning blue clouds of burnt rubber. My internal “DWI” detector immediately went off; from my training and experience, I knew that anyone operating a car in the reckless manner that this yutz had, was more than likely under the influence of some intoxicant. No longer was this just about a speeding ticket. Stopping this person from driving as soon as I could, before they crashed and possibly caused injury to themselves or others, was now a priority. Fortune favored the bold that night for the traffic light stayed red long enough for me to catch up to and pull in right behind my target vehicle.

I notified dispatch that I was going to be making a traffic stop on a tan Toyota Whatyacallit. I hadn’t yet turned on my emergency lights when the driver finally noticed me in his rear view mirror. I watched as he shifted position, sitting straighter in his seat; all his attention was now intently focused on my reflected visage. At the same time, his passenger turned in his seat to look intently at me. The driver apparently said something to his rider, who violently shook his head. Then the signal turned green but the tan car didn’t move an inch. As Princess Leia said to Han Solo, I had a bad feeling about this. I didn’t need to be a Jedi Knight to know what was going to happen next. I snugged up my seatbelt, closed my windows and turned up the radio, mentally cursing Sgt. Dave’s “Go get him, Ger”.

A second later, I shook my head in resignation as the car ahead abruptly took off, its back tires squealing as they sought the proper coefficient of friction against the asphalt roadway throwing up a blue haze of burnt rubber while the back end fish-tailed crazily. The driver rapidly accelerated through the intersection. A surge of adrenaline shot through me and I flipped on all the emergency lights along with the siren; we were off and running. As we sped past the police station, I notified dispatch that I was northbound, now in pursuit of a possible DWI.

So much for me going home on time.

 

Check out part 2 tomorrow right here!