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 he Dunphy hair
is up. Yes, I've just now checked it again: markedly up at the back.
The reason for this state of indignation, this fit of pique, this
condition of hair-uppishness? Greeting me on the front page of the
Metro section in Saturday's Los Angeles Times was this headline:
"Riordan Criticizes Leadership of LAPD, Hints at Drastic Steps."
The mind reeled for a moment. Who is this Riordan fellow, I wondered.
I then took in the sub-head: "Police: The mayor, speaking at the
Rampart Division, cites higher crime and fewer arrests. But, he
offers few specifics."
To the typical reader, the use of the word "mayor" should have offered
all the necessary clues as to the identity of the Riordan in question.
But the Dunphy mind reeled further. Surely this can't be Richard
Riordan, mayor of Los Angeles and passive overseer of the LAPD's
decline. Though I had hoped never again to use the name of the former
president in any context whatsoever, I can best put it by saying
this was rather like reading that Mr. Clinton had commented on the
sorry state of affairs at the Justice Department under Janet Reno.
But, yes, as I read the story I learned that Mayor Riordan had apparently
experienced some sort of epiphany, coming to realize at long last
that his police department is in disarray. Perhaps, faced with the
impending loss of his police bodyguards when he leaves office in
June, he now appreciates the risk of being cracked over the head
and having his wallet lifted by some thug whose fear of arrest has
been eased by the systematic declawing of the LAPD.
For those readers unfamiliar with the peculiar politics of Southern
California, some history: Richard Riordan will soon complete his
second and, owing to term limits, final term as mayor of Los Angeles.
He emphasized law and order in his first campaign, in 1993, in which
his opponent was Michael Woo, at that time a Los Angeles city councilman
and an unrepentant refugee from the Loony Left. The city was then
recovering from the Rodney King riot and its accompanying lesser
upheavals, so the voters fortunately had the good sense to reject
Woo, who if elected may well have had the cops planting posies along
the roadsides from the San Fernando Valley to San Pedro.
When Riordan took office, the intransigent Daryl Gates had a year
earlier been forced out as chief of the LAPD and
| “…this
was rather like reading that Mr. Clinton had commented
on the sorry state of affairs at the Justice Department
under Janet Reno.” |
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replaced
with Willie Williams, until then the police commissioner of Philadelphia.
But over time Williams demonstrated that, though he was an affable
enough sort of fellow, he was lacking the integrity and intellectual
agility required for the position. He, too, was given the sack.
In 1997, after defeating challenger Tom Hayden (another '60s throwback),
Riordan installed Bernard Parks, a 30-year veteran of the LAPD,
as its new chief.
There then followed the Reign of Terror.
The department at that time was experimenting in some patrol divisions
with a "compressed work schedule," also known as the "Three-Twelve,"
in which patrol officers worked three twelve-hour shifts per week.
Most California police departments had adopted some form of modified
work schedule, and the LAPD's continued use of a five-day work week
put it at a disadvantage in recruiting. The Three-Twelve was popular
among those who worked it and its department-wide implementation
was eagerly awaited. Parks scotched it with the stroke of a pen,
and when the rank and file voiced its objection he responded, essentially,
"Tough beans." Not content with this insult to the troops, he then
instituted a disciplinary system that has resulted in a paralyzing
volume of complaints, the consequences of which have been a thorough
snuffing of morale and a mass flight of officers gone off to more
pleasant conditions elsewhere.
As in any police department, in the LAPD there are two basic varieties
of officers. In one you will find the front-line cops and detectives,
those who strap on the gear and tackle and venture out on the streets
for the daily joust with the criminal rabble. Then there is the
other variety, in which you will find those who leave their comfortable
offices each day only for as long as it takes to go to lunch, yet
who somehow imagine themselves qualified to offer instruction to
the first group on how to do their jobs. Imagine "Dilbert" with
guns.
Let us concern ourselves with the first group. In the course of
the typical cop's day he may be presented with a situation that
prompts him to say to himself, "Well now, it seems as though some
sort of criminal mischief is here afoot." Having so addressed himself,
he must then choose from two competing courses of action. He may
confront the individual engaged in said mischief, thereby exposing
himself not only to physical harm — for which he is prepared
— but also, should the miscreant take offense at being accosted,
to the vagaries of the disciplinary system — for which he is
not. Or, the officer may avoid these risks and drive merrily on
his way, leaving the evil-doer to do his evil unmolested, perhaps
to return later and complete a crime report and say to the victim
— if the victim has not been killed — what a shame it
is, but, after all, it's a rough town. Thanks to Bernard Parks and,
by extension, Richard Riordan, L.A. cops are increasingly choosing
the second option. The quite predictable effect has been an increase
in crime, most notably homicides, which in 2000 rose by 27 percent.
The bullish trend continues this year.
And through it all, the mayor nodded and smiled and gave his full
endorsement to Parks and his destructive methods. But now Mr. Riordan,
his days as mayor dwindling, his thoughts no doubt turning to his
legacy, has the cheek to come to an LAPD roll call and feign empathy
for the men and women in blue. Perhaps he had had occasion to look
out the window of his City Hall office and see the steady stream
of former LAPD officers flipping him the bird on their way to the
freeway and out of town. I'm told that those present for the mayor's
Rampart performance were unmoved. "It was basically a political
play to make himself look better," one officer told the Times
reporter. "And the bottom line is you are going to see officers
in mass exodus. In the next year you will see 1,000 to 2,000 officers
leave — including me."
There are six candidates now running to succeed Riordan, and it
is only a slight exaggeration to say that no one has ever heard
of any of them. The future of the LAPD will be a major topic of
discussion in the coming campaign, and an endorsement from the Police
Protective League, the labor union for rank-and-file cops, will
be highly prized. Any candidate who suggests even the possibility
that he will reappoint Parks to a second five-year term when his
current one expires in 2002 won't have a prayer of receiving such
an endorsement.
Who will succeed Parks is anyone's guess. Immediately below him
on the chain of command are men and women who, in the interest of
preserving their own careers, have blithely acquiesced to his foolishness
and have accordingly lost all credibility with the troops. If Parks
were to announce at a staff meeting that officers late to roll call
should henceforth be burned at the stake, he would be greeted with
nothing but nods of approval. "It's about time, Chief," someone
would say, "I'll go get some wood." Also, certain of these command
officers have led rather colorful personal lives such as would invite
further comparisons to the former president. None of these people
would be warmly received by those of us at the bottom of the heap.
Chief Parks continues to compete with the mayor, city council members,
the police commission, the inspector general, and now, under terms
of a consent decree, a federal monitor, for the right to hold the
reins of the department. Sadly, all of these people want to be
in charge, but none of them wants to lead. Indeed, the term "management"
has come to supplant "leadership" in the LAPD argot. During his
tenure Parks has issued a series of "Management Papers" sprinkled
heavily with terms like "environmental considerations" and "service
delivery systems" and "integration of numerous strategic processes,"
as though we were in the business of manufacturing widgets. We are
not. We are in the business of catching the bad guys, and this business
requires leadership.
I here offer a bit of free advice to those who would seek to be
mayor and choose our next chief: We are tired of being managed.
Please bring us a leader.
(*Jack
Dunphy is the author's nom de cyber. The opinions expressed are
his own and almost certainly do not reflect those of the LAPD management
.)
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