Tales From the Laurel Police Department
This continuing series is an uncomplicated string of personal war stories from my time at a small municipal police department between Baltimore and Washington, D.C., told without a lot of extravagant details; just the facts, ma’am. Other cops will appreciate the bare-bones setups of my individual anecdotes. But I do try to explain some of the procedures for the general public who has little understanding of why we do some of the things we do.
The men and women I worked with are the finest you will find in any police agency anywhere. Some have since retired or moved on to other agencies, and some are still there fighting the good fight. Hopefully, this bit of sucking up will make up for any inconsistencies in my memory of the events in which some of these great guys made an appearance. They will no doubt recognize their own first names and possibly the fictitious names of some of our less-than-law-abiding customers.
So grab yourself a cup of java or crack open a beer and get comfortable. You’re in a room full of cops talking shop. And the attitudes, sometimes smart-ass, sometimes despairing, that go with it. In our town, on my shift, this was policing in the last decades of the 20th century.
Radar. Gotta love it. (Sound familiar? Yes. But this is a different one.)
Sgt. Phil Pollack was my radar instructor when I learned the intricacies of Doppler radar and the joys of traffic statistics. You see, we don’t have a quota of tickets to write every month. That is a misconception of the speeding public who find themselves in the unenviable position at the side of road while I try to explain how I know with scientific certainty exactly how fast they were driving.
When I was a slick-sleeve (meaning not yet a PFC) we were all getting certified as radar operators in order to encourage people to obey the speed limit through positive reinforcement. Our very presence along the roadside with a radar lowered drivers’ average speed and therefore reduced the number of traffic accidents: the true purpose of radar’s existence. Generation of State revenue was only a bonus.
Sgt. Pollack told us, “A radar operator is never cold nor wet. Nor hungry or thirsty.” Meaning, “Don’t be dumb and run radar in the rain and snow. There are plenty of nice-weather days to get your stats.” Oh, it also means, “Run radar across from the 7-11 at 7th and Gorman because they’ll give you free Slurpees.” Okay, that last part I have no idea if it’s true.
But in order to maintain proficiency in the technical operation of the instrument we had to document a certain number of hours per month that we worked radar and reduced traffic accidents and produced State revenue. You may recall from previous articles, police work is most enjoyable when it’s a team effort. Besides, it’s easier and safer when backup is right there. So on days that didn’t start off busy, and, say, the morning was dragging on, someone would come over the radio and tell the squad he or she would be setting up at such-and-such a location if anyone wanted some tickets.
A note about traffic tickets. Like I said, we don’t have a quota. But the lieutenant will let you know if you’re not writing enough. He’s heard it all before:
“So how many do you want, LT? Just give me a number.”
The LT isn’t falling for that number crap. It’s a lure to bring no end of citizen complaints when the officer tells everyone he stops to complain to the lieutenant “‘cuz he told me I have to write X number this month.”
“Don’t give me that ‘number’ crap, McGill. I’m just telling you Division wants to see more stats. Capisce?”
Now when it comes to radar tickets, everyone likes to write for someone else. In other words, PFC Ed or PFC Don writes for me when I work radar because I’m the “charging officer” on the ticket and I’m the one who testifies in court. The officer who wrote the ticket doesn’t have to appear in court but he gets the stat for the ticket. Nobody likes going to court, except maybe for the overtime. But everybody likes good ticket stats. Capisce?
So, it’s a quiet day and someone will pull their cruiser up on the grass across from the 7-11 at 7th & Gorman (is that even still there?) or along Cherry Lane somewhere. We all had our favorites. You raise your trunk lid so oncoming traffic can’t see your light bar. Hang the radar on its bracket outside the car window or use the laser radar handheld. Everyone sets their ticket books and Slurpees out on the car hood and we’re in business.
Radar operator calls out to whoever is next at bat, “56 in a 30. Red compact, lane 1.” Our guy steps out and flags down the latest catch and does his thing. As long as you have guys in the bull pen you can rake them in all day long. Sgt. Phil should have added, “A radar operator never gets writer’s cramp.”
Where I live now, the deputies just don’t do stationary radar. Maybe because our almost only paved road has a speed limit of 70 MPH and I can’t convince them to step out in front of a car breaking that one.
I just saw a shoplifting video on the news tonight where people were running out of a store carrying armloads of clothing on hangers. We had a few calls like that at the big stores like TJ Maxx or The Hecht Co. Of course, they were long gone by the time we arrived, but we would suggest to the complainants at the store that if they turn alternating hangers backwards on the clothing racks it would slow the culprits down and maybe we’d have a chance at catching them. They always thought that was a great idea. I don’t recall they ever did it, though.
Then again, nowadays it doesn’t seem like society wants them to get caught. Don’t get me started. So I guess the suggestion never caught on. But I’d watch pay-per-view to see that shoplifting video.
Parking tickets are the garnish to well-rounded patrol activity. Like I’ve said before, some guys don’t care much for traffic enforcement, which I suppose includes parking tickets, but they do it to show they’ve had a productive night. The bosses like to know you’re out there snooping everywhere on midnight shift and parking tickets are a great way to do just that. Easy stats.
Early on, the fines were $5.00 for almost all parking violations and I assume most of them got paid without too much complaint. Come home late and there’s no place to park, “ya takes your chances and ya pays ya tickets.” The person still had the right to take the case to court and play Perry Mason for a $5 ticket but generally the tickets produced revenue for the city—unlike traffic tickets where the fines go directly to the state of Maryland.
But then the powers that be decided to try and fatten up that revenue stream and they raised the fines. Oh, I get it, times change. Prices go up on everything. But statistically I believe the amount of tickets that got paid probably went down as people were less inclined to part with $50, or even $250 for parking in a handicap space. And more people were willing to go to court to dispute the high fines, which meant the city was paying court overtime for the officer to appear in court, which offset most of the fine IF the person lost his case and had to pay. But it was a citizen’s right to dispute the charge.
I had a guy in court on a parking ticket I wrote on Arbory Way. When his case was called, he insisted I had no jurisdiction to write tickets there because according to him it was in Howard County. Judge Francis Borelli turned to me and said he was pretty sure I knew my town and I said, “Yes, sir, Your Honor, Arbory is in Laurel, well within Prince George’s County.”
The judge turned back to the defendant and asked him if he would like to change his plea, to which he replied he did not, and he again insisted he lived in Howard County and paid Howard County taxes on his townhouse on Arbory Way.
The judge and I were both smiling by this point and Borelli said, “Okay, sir. I’m going to continue this case and you’ll get another notice to appear. At that time, you will bring me your tax bill from Howard County showing your address on Arbory Way. If you do, I’ll dismiss this ticket. If you fail to bring such documentation, I will find you guilty and you can pay your fine.” I never got summoned for the return case, but he probably had an “aha moment” when checked his tax records.
Sounds perfectly fair. That’s why they call them Judges.
A police cruiser is a “Mobile Observation Platform” capable of sustaining human life in harsh environments in all temperatures and all weathers. As such, we take great pride in the professional appearance of our assigned vehicle. Most of us. I had to hitch a ride with one of our guys to pick up my car at the city lot after some repairs and the floor of his front passenger seat was so full of trash there was nowhere to put my feet. Not trash—garbage: apple cores, banana peels, food wrappers, report drafts. Maybe that was just a bad day. But that’s one end of the scale.
At the other end were cars that were always spotless and ready for a parade. I was somewhere in the middle. Keeping trash at a minimum was easy. But a white car is tough to keep clean. The city had a contract with Laurel Car Wash at the shopping center and you could keep your car pretty clean, as many times a day as necessary, including the interior. But on the midnight shift or when the car wash was closed, we had a hose at the station that could get most of the mud and winter salt off.
White cars are also notorious for showing every ding and paint chip. If you don’t cover them, they start to rust and then they really stand out. Luckily, the city also had a contract for White-Out and since we almost never made mistakes in our paperwork requiring correction fluid, there was a ready supply of white touch-up paint in the squad room. Of course, it wasn’t an exact match, but it was close enough and it kept the rust at bay. Those of us with older cars, my 1983 Caprice included, did the best we could but up close the car had a unique texture to the finish.
When I was finally issued a new car, the Chevy Lumina, I had a clean slate to begin again. I even kept it waxed. I’d park at the back of Ivy Hill Cemetery and do a door. Go back on patrol for a while, come back and do another door. Do the trunk. The hood. And so on.
It’s not all fun and games and chasin’ bad guys. There’s always time for some MOP maintenance.
The makeup of the department has changed a lot over the years. From the original town constable—one guy responsible for all maybe twenty square blocks to our current mechanized/computerized high-efficiency guardians of peace and justice. Okay, that last part sounds a little full of ourselves, but there are times...
MY department, however, stopped somewhat short of “computerized,” ‘though what I wouldn’t have given for a computer terminal in my cruiser. Roll through an apartment complex on midnights, run every license plate and dream of how many stolen cars or tags I’d recover, or unregistered vehicles with improper tags, or warrants on people at a new address. The possibilities are endless. And I’m sure the young bucks of today are doing exactly that. And more.
But back to the makeup of the department. When I started in the late 70s we had three patrol areas, Beats 1, 2, and 3. A normal uniform patrol squad was two or three officers plus a supervisor who was a corporal. There were only two sergeants, and one was in charge of the detective bureau. A lieutenant reined herd and reported to the chief, Robert M. Kaiser.
As we grew there were more officers on the line and a lieutenant ran the patrol division. Another lieutenant commanded the Criminal Investigations Division. Patrol squads were still under the supervision of corporals for a time, until the city could be convinced the work and responsibility was worth a sergeant’s pay. Somewhere in there they also realized there should be a captain above the lieutenants to act as deputy chief. Hell, they probably have majors and colonels and field marshals by now.
By this time, we had four patrol areas meaning there were usually four beat officers plus a corporal and a sergeant on each of five squads. There were three K-9 officers who worked a different schedule but were under the command of the shift sergeant. The squads were named for their radio calls or vise-versa, Adam, Baker, Charlie, David, and Edward. Each beat officer’s radio call was his squad letter followed by his assigned beat. Adam-1 was the Beat 1 guy and so on.
Each squad had its own identity, which is not to say they weren’t all excellent at what they did but sometimes a squad would have, say, guys who were more interested in traffic statistics than criminal cases, or just the opposite. Neither one is a bad thing. And no one outside the “family” would even notice because we all did the job 100%. But internally you could see the stats and hear the banter. The guys would do what was asked but some just enjoyed one more than the other.
Identity. I don’t recall the other squads’ having mottos or monikers, but my Squad E called themselves the “Screamin’ E-Men.” PFC Laurie came up with that one, I believe. PCS Tom even made coffee cups emblazoned with the department patch on one side and personalized with our names and “Screamin E-Men” on the other side. I still have mine. When he first heard it, PFC Don said he was really glad we weren’t C squad.
It’s been 23 years, so I suspect things have changed. More officers, surely. More beats, probably. They may no longer even stand roll call anymore at the start of a shift—maybe they do it by Zoom. But I don’t want to know what it’s like now. That was the makeup when was in. And it’s the makeup of the department I’ll always remember. The one I wake up to in the middle of the night dreaming I’m about to start roll call or reaching for the microphone in my cruiser to take a call.
Not every police report ends with the initial description of the basic events. When there’s a probability of additional supplementary reports the typical closing line of the report narrative is, “Investigation to continue.” I hope these anecdotes haven’t offended too many readers of this venture from The Laurel History Boys. And hopefully there will be more to come. Thanks for your time.
Investigation to continue...
Rick McGill grew up in Laurel and worked at the Laurel Police Department from 1977 to 2001. He authored two history books: Brass Buttons & Gun Leather, A History of the Laurel Police Department (soon to be in its 4th printing), and History of the North Tract, An Anne Arundel Time Capsule. In 2001 he retired to Montana and worked as a military security contractor for Blackwater Worldwide making 12 deployments to Iraq and Pakistan from 2004 to 2010. He is now a Reserve Deputy Sheriff in Montana.
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