Case #40 - The People vs Fozzy Bear aka Levi Strauss ( His parents had him for 23 years, I had him for 3 months, but I get the blame?)
Case #40 - The People vs Fozzy Bear aka Levi Strauss ( His parents had him for 23 years, I had him for 3 months, but I get the blame?)
This is about a nightmare I had that lasted a few months. My neurologist says it may be the source of my seizures. In the summer of 1991, or thereabouts, I was on the EM shift (graveyards) and had been assigned my third trainee. I can’t recall his legal name, but his nickname was Fozzy Bear, because of his uncanny resemblance to the muppet character. Now at the time he was an original. Since that time there have been many imitators, but few that matched his…well I’m going to start cussing and I can feel my blood pressure rising, so I’m going to take a break.
I’m back. When I first got Fozzy Bear, it was a time when trainees generally wrote their reports while we drove and lived in fear of displeasing their training officers. Sensitivity training, anger management, and cultural awareness had not yet been introduced to this department. Fozzy Bear was the first to complain to me about getting car sick. He timidly turned towards me. His eyes were downcast and his lower lip was quivering as he said,
“Sir, I’m getting car sick. Could you pull the car over while I write this report?”
He looked like one of those pathetic chihuahuas that cringe and tremble in fear when they crawl toward you to be petted, so you kick it instead. I looked at him in disgust, parked and let him write his reports. It was 4 A.M. and there was nothing out anyway. If I knew then, what I would come to know over the coming weeks, I would have kept on driving and kicked him instead. This was to be the first of many such incidents in which Fozzy would cause me to look at him in disbelief and shake my head in disgust. These incidents finally culminated in one, two day, adventure of unprecedented trainee behavior.
It was Fozzy's second, or third month on training, our shift was over, but he had some simple reports
to finish before he went home. I met Fozzy in the report writing room to go over some points on one of the reports he had to finish. Fozzy was sitting at a table next to another trainee named Leonard McCray. McCray was sitting across from his training Officer, Luis Nunez (aka The Little Godfather). They were all still in uniform. I was in street clothes, because I was going home. I sat next to Nunez. Fozzy paid close attention as I went over the points on the report that I wanted him to cover. I asked Fozzy if he understood. He said he did. I told him to ask Deputy Nunez if he had any questions. He said he understood. Relieved that my day with Fozzy was finally over, I pushed my seat back from the table in preparation to stand up and leave. It was at that moment that Deputy Nunez chose to extend my workday’s misery. Luis looked at McCray and, in a conversational tone, said,
“Leonard, stand up.”
McCray looked up from his paperwork in surprise and stood up, looking down at his training officer in confusion. I stayed in my seat to watch whatever it was that Luis was about to do to McCray. Luis just looked up at McCray and in the same casual tone told McCray,
“Turn around.”
Apprehension crept into McCray’s face as he looked down at Luis. Luis just nodded reassuringly at McCray and twirled his extended right index finger around in a circle, as a visual direction. I was intrigued and looked over at Luis for some clue as to what he was up to. McCray complied. Luis nodded and directed his trainee to sit down. Luis then turned his attention to my trainee. Luis was looking at Fozzy like a cat looks at a canary.
“Fozzy, stand up.”
Fozzy looked at me. I looked back at him cocked an eyebrow in a silent, “What are you waiting for” manner. Fozzy looked down at the table and stood up. He looked like he was going to cry. As he stood, I again looked over at Luis. Luis leaned slowly forward, rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers and turned to look at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say,
“Well?”
I was lost, but not for long. I looked over at Fozzy. The world slowed to a crawl for me, as I stared in disbelief at what I was seeing…or more accurately, not seeing. Namely, Fozzy’s gun and gun belt! Now you have to bear in mind that I had just finished an 8 hour shift with Fozzy Bear, so I was already completely Fozzy frazzled. I stared at him, stunned, and asked him,
“Where is your fucking gun belt?”
My voice was still at conversational level, because I was in shock. Fozzy dropped his gaze, from the desk, to the floor and reluctantly admitted,
“I put it in my locker, because it’s the end of shift, sir.”
Fozzy’s lower lip was quivering. McCray was frozen in place, staring hard at his paperwork. It seems to be a trainee/cadet survival instinct to get as far away as possible from a fellow trainee who is in trouble. If that's impossible then the instinctual back up survival plan is to look down and stare at something, while pretending to be a statue. Something to do with hoping not to attract the attention of whoever is about to destroy the trainee in trouble. But I digress. Anyway, my shock started to wear off.
“Oh I see, so if a 998, or assistance request goes out, you feel no obligation to roll, because your shift is over. Is that it?
I admit my volume started to rise slightly and a little anger started to creep into that last question.
“No, sir.” Fozzy whispered, as he continued to stare at the floor, while his shoulders trembled.
“GO GET YOUR FUCKING GUNBELT ON!”
As Fozzy walked away, I was looking him up and down and shaking my head in disbelief once afuckinggain. As I watched Fozzy walk away, I suddenly realized that I could not see that telltale raised outline of his ballistic vest. I stopped in mid head shake and my jaw dropped, as I was stunned for a second time in less than a minute.
“Where... is your fucking vest?” I demanded.
Fozzy froze. His upper body was really trembling now. There was a moment’s silence, as he probably contemplated running. Then he reluctantly turned around, looked at his boots, and replied in that pathetic whispery voice,
“It’s with my gun belt, sir.”
I lost it. He cringed. I think he expected me to slap him.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? EVERY OTHER TRAINEE WHO COMES HERE, DOESN'T THINK HE CAN SHIT, PISS, OR BREATHE, WITHOUT GETTING PERMISSION FIRST! BUT YOU? YOU THINK YOU CAN DO ANY FUCKING THING YOU WANT, AS LONG AS YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TOLD NOT TO DO THAT PARTICULAR, SPECIFIC-FUCKING-THING! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS GODDAMN STATION!!”
I finished the report myself. Luis shook his head in sympathy for me. McCray did his best to disappear into himself and not be noticed by me. And that was the end of the first day, of this two day adventure in training.
That night, I came in still pissed off about that morning. I was afraid that if I had to sit in a car with Fozzy again, I would either beat him to death, or beat him to death and shoot myself. And I didn’t want to shoot myself. I hit up Mike Chacon for a favor. I’ve known Mike since the Academy and he was also a training officer, but he didn’t have a trainee that month. I begged him to take Fozzy for me for the night. Mike laughed and said,
“Ha, ha, ha! Can’t take the pressure huh kid? Don’t worry, I’ll take Fozzy and show you how it’s done.”
That night Mike and Fozzy got a Burglary-In-Progress with four in-custody, two of whom were bitten by the K-9. Two of my former trainees, John Racz and Donald Baker, assisted Mike and Fozzy, by transporting and partially booking the two uninjured suspects at the station. Mike and Fozzy took the two with dog bites to Harbor General Hospital for treatment. Mike and Fozzy got into the station at about 6:00 AM, which was the end of their regular shift. Mike wanted to get done and get home, so he gave Fozzy the following instructions,
“Book these two guys, and finish booking the other two guys. I’ll write the report and PCD (probable cause declaration). Whoever finishes first will book the evidence. We'll get something to eat off the roach coach when it gets here. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”, Fozzy replied.
They split up, each on their own assignments. Two hours later, Mike had finished the PCD’s, the report and booked the evidence. Mike had not seen Fozzy since telling him to book the suspects. Mike paged him. Nothing. Mike went looking for him and found four booking packets scattered around the station, but no Fozzy. Mike searched for 30 minutes. Mike was about to go to the Watch Sgt with The Mystery Of The Disappearing Fozzy, when the backdoor flew open and in strode Fozzy, wearing his street clothes and a satisfied smile, with a toothpick protruding from his mouth.
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?” roared Mike.
The smile disappeared from Fozzy's face, as he went to his fall back move of looking down at the ground. His lower lip was trembling and the toothpick was bobbing up and down as he meekly explained,
“I was hungry, so I went to IHOP to get a stack of pancakes, sir.”
So all the stories were true! Mike was temporarily flabbergasted, but he quickly blew his own tall stack,
“What? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS STATION, NOW! RUN GODDAMN IT!”
That night I found out about the, “Breakfast Incident”, as we refer to it. I had a heart-to-heart with Fozzy. He went to the Watch Commander and said he wanted to quit. The Watch Commander talked him into not quitting and suggested a change of stations. We traded Fozzy Bear to West Hollywood station for their problem child. The trade was assigned to Mark Wedel for training, but that’s another case. Suffice it to say that for all of Fozzy’s shortcomings, Wedel claims that we got the short end of that deal.
Verdict – Fozzy Bear, this Court finds you Guilty of Staining Your Training Officer’s Good Name.
Sentence – You are forever banned from contacting him or claiming him as your training officer. If you happen to run into him on accident, like at Knott’s Berry Farm on Law Enforcement Appreciation Day, you are to pretend not to recognize him and immediately leave the area. If asked, you are to deny ever being assigned to Carson Station.
Verdict – Watch Commander, you are not a named Defendant in this case, but this Court finds you Guilty of Refusing To Accept The Resignation Of An Incompetent Deputy.
Sentence – Your sentence is to be assigned to work only with deputies whose training officers wanted them fired, but who were not fired.
This is about a nightmare I had that lasted a few months. My neurologist says it may be the source of my seizures. In the summer of 1991, or thereabouts, I was on the EM shift (graveyards) and had been assigned my third trainee. I can’t recall his legal name, but his nickname was Fozzy Bear, because of his uncanny resemblance to the muppet character. Now at the time he was an original. Since that time there have been many imitators, but few that matched his…well I’m going to start cussing and I can feel my blood pressure rising, so I’m going to take a break.
I’m back. When I first got Fozzy Bear, it was a time when trainees generally wrote their reports while we drove and lived in fear of displeasing their training officers. Sensitivity training, anger management, and cultural awareness had not yet been introduced to this department. Fozzy Bear was the first to complain to me about getting car sick. He timidly turned towards me. His eyes were downcast and his lower lip was quivering as he said,
“Sir, I’m getting car sick. Could you pull the car over while I write this report?”
He looked like one of those pathetic chihuahuas that cringe and tremble in fear when they crawl toward you to be petted, so you kick it instead. I looked at him in disgust, parked and let him write his reports. It was 4 A.M. and there was nothing out anyway. If I knew then, what I would come to know over the coming weeks, I would have kept on driving and kicked him instead. This was to be the first of many such incidents in which Fozzy would cause me to look at him in disbelief and shake my head in disgust. These incidents finally culminated in one, two day, adventure of unprecedented trainee behavior.
It was Fozzy's second, or third month on training, our shift was over, but he had some simple reports
to finish before he went home. I met Fozzy in the report writing room to go over some points on one of the reports he had to finish. Fozzy was sitting at a table next to another trainee named Leonard McCray. McCray was sitting across from his training Officer, Luis Nunez (aka The Little Godfather). They were all still in uniform. I was in street clothes, because I was going home. I sat next to Nunez. Fozzy paid close attention as I went over the points on the report that I wanted him to cover. I asked Fozzy if he understood. He said he did. I told him to ask Deputy Nunez if he had any questions. He said he understood. Relieved that my day with Fozzy was finally over, I pushed my seat back from the table in preparation to stand up and leave. It was at that moment that Deputy Nunez chose to extend my workday’s misery. Luis looked at McCray and, in a conversational tone, said,
“Leonard, stand up.”
McCray looked up from his paperwork in surprise and stood up, looking down at his training officer in confusion. I stayed in my seat to watch whatever it was that Luis was about to do to McCray. Luis just looked up at McCray and in the same casual tone told McCray,
“Turn around.”
Apprehension crept into McCray’s face as he looked down at Luis. Luis just nodded reassuringly at McCray and twirled his extended right index finger around in a circle, as a visual direction. I was intrigued and looked over at Luis for some clue as to what he was up to. McCray complied. Luis nodded and directed his trainee to sit down. Luis then turned his attention to my trainee. Luis was looking at Fozzy like a cat looks at a canary.
“Fozzy, stand up.”
Fozzy looked at me. I looked back at him cocked an eyebrow in a silent, “What are you waiting for” manner. Fozzy looked down at the table and stood up. He looked like he was going to cry. As he stood, I again looked over at Luis. Luis leaned slowly forward, rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers and turned to look at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say,
“Well?”
I was lost, but not for long. I looked over at Fozzy. The world slowed to a crawl for me, as I stared in disbelief at what I was seeing…or more accurately, not seeing. Namely, Fozzy’s gun and gun belt! Now you have to bear in mind that I had just finished an 8 hour shift with Fozzy Bear, so I was already completely Fozzy frazzled. I stared at him, stunned, and asked him,
“Where is your fucking gun belt?”
My voice was still at conversational level, because I was in shock. Fozzy dropped his gaze, from the desk, to the floor and reluctantly admitted,
“I put it in my locker, because it’s the end of shift, sir.”
Fozzy’s lower lip was quivering. McCray was frozen in place, staring hard at his paperwork. It seems to be a trainee/cadet survival instinct to get as far away as possible from a fellow trainee who is in trouble. If that's impossible then the instinctual back up survival plan is to look down and stare at something, while pretending to be a statue. Something to do with hoping not to attract the attention of whoever is about to destroy the trainee in trouble. But I digress. Anyway, my shock started to wear off.
“Oh I see, so if a 998, or assistance request goes out, you feel no obligation to roll, because your shift is over. Is that it?
I admit my volume started to rise slightly and a little anger started to creep into that last question.
“No, sir.” Fozzy whispered, as he continued to stare at the floor, while his shoulders trembled.
“GO GET YOUR FUCKING GUNBELT ON!”
As Fozzy walked away, I was looking him up and down and shaking my head in disbelief once afuckinggain. As I watched Fozzy walk away, I suddenly realized that I could not see that telltale raised outline of his ballistic vest. I stopped in mid head shake and my jaw dropped, as I was stunned for a second time in less than a minute.
“Where... is your fucking vest?” I demanded.
Fozzy froze. His upper body was really trembling now. There was a moment’s silence, as he probably contemplated running. Then he reluctantly turned around, looked at his boots, and replied in that pathetic whispery voice,
“It’s with my gun belt, sir.”
I lost it. He cringed. I think he expected me to slap him.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? EVERY OTHER TRAINEE WHO COMES HERE, DOESN'T THINK HE CAN SHIT, PISS, OR BREATHE, WITHOUT GETTING PERMISSION FIRST! BUT YOU? YOU THINK YOU CAN DO ANY FUCKING THING YOU WANT, AS LONG AS YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TOLD NOT TO DO THAT PARTICULAR, SPECIFIC-FUCKING-THING! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS GODDAMN STATION!!”
I finished the report myself. Luis shook his head in sympathy for me. McCray did his best to disappear into himself and not be noticed by me. And that was the end of the first day, of this two day adventure in training.
That night, I came in still pissed off about that morning. I was afraid that if I had to sit in a car with Fozzy again, I would either beat him to death, or beat him to death and shoot myself. And I didn’t want to shoot myself. I hit up Mike Chacon for a favor. I’ve known Mike since the Academy and he was also a training officer, but he didn’t have a trainee that month. I begged him to take Fozzy for me for the night. Mike laughed and said,
“Ha, ha, ha! Can’t take the pressure huh kid? Don’t worry, I’ll take Fozzy and show you how it’s done.”
That night Mike and Fozzy got a Burglary-In-Progress with four in-custody, two of whom were bitten by the K-9. Two of my former trainees, John Racz and Donald Baker, assisted Mike and Fozzy, by transporting and partially booking the two uninjured suspects at the station. Mike and Fozzy took the two with dog bites to Harbor General Hospital for treatment. Mike and Fozzy got into the station at about 6:00 AM, which was the end of their regular shift. Mike wanted to get done and get home, so he gave Fozzy the following instructions,
“Book these two guys, and finish booking the other two guys. I’ll write the report and PCD (probable cause declaration). Whoever finishes first will book the evidence. We'll get something to eat off the roach coach when it gets here. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”, Fozzy replied.
They split up, each on their own assignments. Two hours later, Mike had finished the PCD’s, the report and booked the evidence. Mike had not seen Fozzy since telling him to book the suspects. Mike paged him. Nothing. Mike went looking for him and found four booking packets scattered around the station, but no Fozzy. Mike searched for 30 minutes. Mike was about to go to the Watch Sgt with The Mystery Of The Disappearing Fozzy, when the backdoor flew open and in strode Fozzy, wearing his street clothes and a satisfied smile, with a toothpick protruding from his mouth.
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?” roared Mike.
The smile disappeared from Fozzy's face, as he went to his fall back move of looking down at the ground. His lower lip was trembling and the toothpick was bobbing up and down as he meekly explained,
“I was hungry, so I went to IHOP to get a stack of pancakes, sir.”
So all the stories were true! Mike was temporarily flabbergasted, but he quickly blew his own tall stack,
“What? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS STATION, NOW! RUN GODDAMN IT!”
That night I found out about the, “Breakfast Incident”, as we refer to it. I had a heart-to-heart with Fozzy. He went to the Watch Commander and said he wanted to quit. The Watch Commander talked him into not quitting and suggested a change of stations. We traded Fozzy Bear to West Hollywood station for their problem child. The trade was assigned to Mark Wedel for training, but that’s another case. Suffice it to say that for all of Fozzy’s shortcomings, Wedel claims that we got the short end of that deal.
Verdict – Fozzy Bear, this Court finds you Guilty of Staining Your Training Officer’s Good Name.
Sentence – You are forever banned from contacting him or claiming him as your training officer. If you happen to run into him on accident, like at Knott’s Berry Farm on Law Enforcement Appreciation Day, you are to pretend not to recognize him and immediately leave the area. If asked, you are to deny ever being assigned to Carson Station.
Verdict – Watch Commander, you are not a named Defendant in this case, but this Court finds you Guilty of Refusing To Accept The Resignation Of An Incompetent Deputy.
Sentence – Your sentence is to be assigned to work only with deputies whose training officers wanted them fired, but who were not fired.
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