Chief Johnnie Michaels

Back in the day, policing was handled a bit different than it is today and truth be told, most of the “better stories” I have to tell would land a kid in jail these days, but not back then. 

When I was about six, our parents purchased a house that was just a few short blocks from the Police Station.  Appropriate, I know.  But back then, even Barry had yet to really get into anything that was community level, and so, we Vandermolens were flying under the radar, something the Livermore yokels hadn’t even heard. 

 

Every year along about Thanksgiving there was a bum that came rattling into town on his route.  I know, my lack of sensitivity training is showing and I should refer to him as a poor underprivileged alternate domiciled human of holistic means (the appellation of person after all includes “son” a blatent sexism if ever there was one) …but back then we cut directly to the heart of the matter, if it dressed like a bum, had no job like a bum and didn’t try to get one, and road the rails for transportation…..it was just a bum.

Right across the main street from the Police Station was the Ford Dealer and that down-trodden soul would walk up to it, day before Thanksgiving every year and put a large rock through one of the front windows of the place.  Always in the middle of the day, when there was sure to be someone there to watch him do it, and then he would just stand there and wait for the police to cross the street and arrest him.

Of course the Courts would already be closed for the Holiday and what with one thing and another it would be 4-5 days and one thanksgiving feast later before he would be up in front of the local Judge who would sentence the guy to 30 days (no such thing as time served back then) or a fine.  And of course no fine was ever paid.  So that would mean the bum’s alternate domicile would become the city jail effectively from Thanksgiving through New Year’s.  Yep, three solids and a cot, and warm to boot; Regular as the calendar.  Thanksgiving celebration, Christmas (with appropriate gifts from the community) and New Year’s all covered with one simple rock.

 

Oh, and then there was the entire shift change ritual to watch, better than TV at times.  Yep, any thinking thief who spent any time in town knew that the time to pull a job was shift change.  All three of the city’s police cars would come screeching up to the station at the same time (most likely cause they left the coffee shop at the same time and raced each other back to the station) and it would be 20 minutes until the new officer’s hit the “mean streets” of Livermore again.

 

About a year after we moved in, the Howard family moved in a block closer to the police station.  Never could figure out what prompted them to do that.  Their house was on a side street a block and a half down and across the street from the entrance to the jail/police station.

Old man Howard would get liquored up now and again, settle in on his front porch and start taking pot shots at the light that was always lit over the jail door.  Off to jail, a bit of notoriety, 30 days to dry out, and back out to do it again.  Seemed to me that if’n he disliked the police that much, he would have moved into a place across town so that he knew he could get away with something every shift change.

 

Johnnie Michaels was the police chief and he had a couple unique solutions to dealing with crime that were ahead of his time.

His officers used to be required to fill out a “field interrogation” report any time they ran across something that seemed a little off center to them.  Now a field interrogation report was nothing more than a 3 x 5 card with the date, location, and name of whomever the cop felt might have been involved in something out of the ordinary, but hadn’t actually been seen to be doing anything wrong.

If a citizen filed a serious complaint, Chief Michaels and his detectives would go back through the day’s reports and find out if anyone had been in the area that should be talked to.

I have thought about those things often through the years and must admit that I am fairly pleased that this was before the evolution of affordable computing power.  Because, knowing the number of those little cards that had a “Vandermolen, something” on them, I have come to the conclusion that they had to file those cards by date.

If they had been filed alphabetically, long about 6 or 8 inches later, someone would have come to the conclusion there was three boys that needed some attention.

 

Chief Michaels had another novel concept.  This one worked much better.

If some kid was caught out screwing around on a Friday or Saturday night, doing something he shouldn’t, or being somewhere he oughtn’t be, the cop that picked him up wouldn’t take the kid home, he would haul the kid to Johnnie’s house.

Johnnie was reputed to be a pleasant host all told.  Feeding the kid, getting him a soda, turning on the TV.

Then, along about 3:30 in the morning (no matter when the kid was picked up), Johnnie would call the kids home and roust the parents out of bed to come and get their child.

I am sure the ACLU would have something to say about this tactic these days, but let me tell you, most kids I knew feared this more than going to jail.  Johnnie knew that Mom and Dad might blow off a little “youthful exuberance” but certainly didn’t take to kindly to Mom having fretted herself silly and Dad losing sleep and having to traipse across town in the wee hours of the morning because of their idiot kids.

Luckily the three of us were not only pretty fleet of feet, but knew every hidey-hole, low fence, dogless yard, and accessible roof in town and so never had to deal with that little issue.

 

 

© Copyright 2015, Marty Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved