Why we have prison over-population

**The Honorable Judge, Nancy Glass. District Court, Clark County NV.**

I responded to another subpoena today, the continued parole revocation hearing of two weeks ago. (I'd fed the parking meter for 2 hours.) I arrived, found an empty seat at the end of an aisle, took out my book and read while half listening to court & waiting my case. It was a packed court room. At least 30 of America's finest in matching jumpsuits and chains sat patiently in pews along one side of the court. First case; subject charged as habitual criminal (this means he is a repeat offender/can't stay out of jail) - can receive up to life imprisonment. He violated his parole when he was arrested for domestic violence and attempt homicide of his lovely bride. He'd choked & stabbed her in their home, in front of the family. The judge had to ensure he understood the charges. He has an 11th grade education, 58 yrs old and is unemployed. I went back to my book.

Second note-worthy case was an armed robbery arrest & convicted felon in possession of a firearm while on probation, upon hearing a possible prison term of life without parole - mom went into hysterics & fell to floor near the exit doors. Medical called, order restored in court. Other cases were heard as attorney's plead for leniency and grabbed at any loop hole to make them look good; business as usual as medical staff attended to mom. Just as I suspected, it was for attention - she later walked away un assisted. Son's parole was revoked, I can't remember the sentence. I went back to my book.

Yet another mom was ejected from the court room for being disruptive before her son’s case was heard, also a parole revocation. (I was glad she had to leave, I couldn't concentrate on my book.) Son claimed to have a new job starting Monday, great pay, $15.50 per hour, begged for continued parole. Judge was hesitant to allow continued supervised parole and had staff call about his job. After several other cases had been quickly heard and resolved he was told to stand again. He kept his smug, know-it-all attitude even during a time he should have been humble & repentant. Conversation was something like this: Judge, "Guess what? You don’t have a job. You failed to disclose you’re a convicted felon on that job application. They don't want you." Defendant, "I was honest with them, I'm not a convicted felon. I filled out the form truthfully." (this guy "wouldn't know the truth if it bit him" really fit!) Judge, "Then why are you here today? Why are you doing probation for three years?" "You’re going to prison." I went back to my book . ( I like this judge!)

Next case, judge tells a defense attorney, "You can roll your eyes and tap your pencil all you want counselor, but I’m the judge here...." (this is the judge who sentenced OJ) Tattoos were visible on the defendant's neck. It is reported that he has gang affiliation & staying with step-dad and mom. Unemployed. He's 17. The judge asked parents to the defense table, to corroborate his story of staying in school and out of trouble. Step-dad spoke like an uneducated ghetto-living parasite himself. Said the kid was always good, just hung around bad kids. Duh! I could almost see the thought bubble over the judge's head "great home-life" But that’s just my opinion. He was allowed a high level of supervised probation and ordered to finish high school - he’ll be back, just a gut feeling. Back to my book-but hard to concentrate with court room drama.

Another case: Drinking problem, too many DUI's, "But I'm back in my church, your honor, and getting my life straight." "Been sober for 45 days." He is trying to resolve issues from court in St. George, he's 30 years old, looking for work, none found. Judge: "You should've looked harder for work." Sentenced to "boot camp" and then back to Utah to complete his sentence there. Put in cuffs and joined others. Went back to my book.

Finally, my case. P&P officer testified then me, but I have to return Jan 8th - when I can bring my case file- It was very hard to find the required documents in the D/A’s file as he pushed his to me to seek answers during the cross-examination (the case I’d filed but told I didn't need to bring). I could feel all eyes in the court room on me. I wanted to be like Perry Mason right then. Silence was obvious I while hurriedly looked for items I couldn't find. The D/A hadn't read it thoroughly and was no help. Two witnesses/victims weren’t there and I couldn't testify, under oath on their behalf, no help from them. The judge asked ME if I could return with my case file and try this again. "Yes your honor." I don't think she was mad at me.... Defendant has been in jail since 10/28 when the Probation officer arrested him for parole violation based upon my felony case(s) filed and not obeying his parole conditions. He has a lengthy record of construction fraud, embezzlement, bad checks, etc. He still owes $24,000 restitution to victims. Don't feel sorry for him. I lost count of the number of men sheduled to go to prison or county jail, and this was just four hours worth. Do the math. Tax dollars at work.

I made it to my car. The meter had 12 minutes left. Took off my tie, drove to the office and called the the two missing witnesses. "It won't happen again." "Uh uh, we'll see. I've already tabbed my file for the anticipated questions. Whew.

Carol's secret quilt factory

Here's where the magic begins. Actually, this has to be the third step. The first step is selection of only the finest fabrics after careful scrutiny for flaws and then price haggling at one of the local fabric stores. Second step would have to be a planning session over lunch and or Starbucks stop with sister Linda. *Quilting seems to be a complicated process of several steps.

I'm keeping the dogs quiet in the other room while watching football. (I'm watching, they aren't) We all make sacrifices for the good of the world.

*FYI, this is the first published picture with my new Christmas present ~ digital camera. (Let me know if you'd like candid shots of the quilt process.)

Poof! It's all over! :-(

After all the anticipation, preparation & frustration, and Carol on the run buying for this and that for them and those, this morning it was "show time."

Then, a few short hours later, sadly, it was all over. I have to remind myself it happens every year, some more memorable than others. (not counting my Christmas in Vietnam & those flying back to an Army base far from home right after Christmas) Now it's time to relax and enjoy the memories.

The Annual Christmas Eve get-together was great, this morning's big breakfast served and eaten in shifts was great, seeing joy, happiness and "oh, this is nice" looks on faces opening presents was worth it all. Wrappings torn away by little hands is Christmas at it's best. Laughing about a present is Love. Able to only find an open Jack in the Box in St George for Christmas dinner is "life."

* Does anyone else have PCLD? (Post Christmas Let Down)

Help and recovery tips ~ 1-800-1su love.

You Better Not Pout

Beginning right after Christmas, I'm heading out shopping for next year's gifts for everyone. (those already on our list) Since I've taken on the assignment of this difficult task, that Carol has done so well over the years, I thought I'd provide a pre-view of what to expect. No whiners & no returns. If you're not totally satisfied with your gift, see who will be willing to trade with you. But Christmas 2009, (the December to Remember) is a loooong way off, anything can happen.

See anything above you need, let me know. Feel free to offer color preferences, shoe sizes, team loyalties, fast-food dining and reading preferences, favorite animal, pullover, zip-up or turtle necks, polyester or Lycra, Walmart or Walgreen's, Auto-Zone or Pep Boys, boxers or briefs, Coke or Pepsi, Salvation Army or the DI, white or colored tube socks, Atari or Pong, Old Spice or Brute, Lowes or Home Depot, scarf or gloves. You get the picture.

I don't want to see any of this on 12/25/09.

It was a dark & stormy night

Stormy, rainy nights bring back a lot of memories. Like the night I handled a non-typical call at an apartment building near Flamingo & Koval Ave. Not like the picture above, but you get the idea. Ad music from Phantom of the Opera. I was working shift, assigned as one of only three one-man units for the Strip and was still fairly new to the job. My call sign was 3K12, said, "Three-King-Twelve."(K was the area designator and 3 meant I was swing shift, 12 was actually beats 1 and 2 out of 3 beats within the geographic areas of King. Major streets defined and divided the beats. Swing shift hours were 1500 to 0100 hrs. Confused?) It had been raining most of the night, enough to make the streets wet & shiny and the air damp, a nice change from the normal dryness. The clouds seemed low enough to reach up and touch. I liked how the rain drops on the windshield became little stars until the wiper blades erased them. The steady slap of the wipers had a calming effect, yet each time they cleared my view of the streets, I told myself that I shouldn't become too calm, too complacent. I may have had a 7/11 hot chocolate in the drink holder. It was a mixture of feelings as I was also looking for the elusive "bad guys." Finding one or getting a call for service would interfere with this easy-going mood.

The peacefulness of it ended with the call that came first on my MCT (mobile commuter terminal) and then the dispatcher’s all-serious voice came over the radio, telling me "The P.R would be waiting for me outside her apartment." It was a "425" call, a suspicious circumstances call. "Female arrived home to find a suicide note, but no sign of her husband." No back up units were available, she would send one as soon as one cleared.

I announced my arrival over the radio so anyone who was listening knew I was on the scene and alone. Every officer who hears a suspicious circumstances call paints a picture in his own mind based on experience of similar events or his own imagination. I was no different as I tried to imagine what was waiting for me. As I walked through the apartment complex, I could hear and smell the normalcy of everyone else’s nightly routine. Dinners were being prepared, TV sets and stereos were entertaining the apartments’ tenants. Soon, I would be with someone who’s night was not going to be normal. I hunched my shoulders up in my jacket against the cold wind and looked for the apartment; numbers on the doors. I met the wife outside the front door, right where I was told she would be waiting. So far, so good, but still no backup unit.

The wife said she had not been able to get in touch with her husband all day. She just got off work. When she came inside the apartment she found a note on the kitchen table, and after reading it, was afraid to go any further, so she went to a neighbor to call us. With trembling hands, she handed me the suicide note she had found. The words weren’t as important as was the context. He simply had written a few short words implying she could find him in their bed; she could now, " have it all." I think he wanted her to find him in a ghoulish way as well as be the martyr and let her have everything they owned.

My mind raced to several scenarios. Was he waiting for her so he could kill her first, then himself? (It's plausible and it does happen.) Was he hoping she would call us and end up having a cop shoot him? Suicide by cop is a reality of police work. As usual, I tried to plan what I would do before I had to confront the unknown. Several scenarios always went through my mind. Lightning, wind and thunder added to the suspense, as if I was in a movie.

After a brief interview of the wife about the couple’s relationship, I theorized that he didn’t have any animosity towards her, he was just tired of life, and I could assume the first scenario was probably not in his plans. It looked like he only wanted to end it all. ( I remember talking to her in hushed tones, as if he were listening to us from the bedroom.) But I recalled my academy training. The word "assume" is broken down into a truism: Whenever you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. It was a risky assumption on my part. Still no backup and we’re both standing in the small kitchen just inside near the front door. The rest of the apartment was quiet and dark. Was the husband even home? I had to find out. I had to do something, this is why she called.
I held my department-issued Smith & Wesson 9 mm automatic in my right hand (this is before I had bought my Glock 40 Cal) and my heavy police flashlight held out away from my body in my left. I could see the bedroom at the end of the short, dark hallway. He had said in the note, that’s where she could find him. While I was slowly walking down the hallway to the bedroom, the hallway light came on! I was illuminated but the bedroom was still dark. I turned around and told the wife to turn the hall light off. I guess she thought she was being helpful. I asked her to stay in the kitchen as I continued on. I now faced bad odds; I had no element of surprise; if he was lying in wait for me. But in reality, if he was alive, he knew I was heading his way.

As my flashlight scanned the bedroom, my gun almost fired when I jerked back before I realized what I was seeing. My view in the full-sized mirrored closet doors was of the husband lying on the bed with a gun in his hand, pointing at his head. I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down. The gun in his hand was unmistakable. Looking closer, it looked like he had already shot himself, although at first sight, I was ready to swear the gun had been pointed right at me. Keeping my gun pointed at him, just in case, I slowly entered the bedroom for closer inspection and confirmed what I thought I already knew. There was no mistake, he had killed himself. (Omitting the graphic details here.)

Relief shouldn’t be an appropriate word for me to use finding her husband like this, but that’s what I felt as the mystery was solved and I didn’t have to confront an armed man in the dark. I had seen a few suicides by this time in my career, but not under these conditions. All I had to do now was tell the wife what I found. As I recall, she had that knowing look on her face when I came out of the bedroom. I nodded and told her he had taken his own life, doing what his note suggested. I avoided using the word "dead," being mindful of the circumstances. Per policy I notified detectives, county coroner and mortuary - in that order - and got her neighbor to come sit with her. I busied myself with the "Dead Body Report." The three of us sat in silence or awkward small talk until the first detective arrived. (They ensure it is a suicide, not a murder made to look like one.) I then left to the sanctuary of my patrol car, the rain, and the rest of my shift.

* Sorry I didn't post about the big snow storm but it's been covered very well already.

Christmas bells, Noel & Jail

“Do You Hear What I Hear?” is one of the most beloved songs of the Christmas season. The story of this simple plea for peace began, ironically, during World War II in war-torn France. Noel Regney was a young French musician who risked his life as a soldier in the French underground. The darkness and terror of those fearful years haunted him the rest of his life. After the war, he moved to the United States, where he found work composing jingles and music for TV. One day in a hotel dining room, Noel saw a beautiful woman playing the piano. Although he spoke little English and she spoke no French, he introduced himself to Gloria Shayne. Within a month they married. In the years that followed, the tensions of the Cold War grew, and Noel’s mind was often drawn back to the terrible days he had spent in combat. He wondered if the world would ever see peace. Noel’s (what an appropriate first name) thoughts turned to the very first Christmas—a sacred time of peace and promise. As he reflected, the lyrics of a song came to him. His young wife helped him. Thus was born the beautiful Christmas carol, “Do You Hear What I Hear?” When we hear this song, do we hear what Noel Regney wanted us to hear? The rendition of the song Noel liked best was one where the vocalist all but shouted the words “Pray for peace, people everywhere.” For him, that was the message of the song, for Noel believed that even in the darkness of fear and despair, the “child, sleeping in the night, He will bring us goodness and light. He will bring us goodness and light." Not everyone heeded nor lived by these lyrics. Each Christmas I can't help but remember my "cop-days" & working many Christmases and the varied contacts I had throughout a shift. Whether it was Christmas Eve with folks who came home to find their home had been burglarized and all the presents under the tree taken or torn open, to the family fights on Christmas Day that routinely & expectantly increased as the day went on.

Alcohol, despair, drugs or just their lack of values hardened their temperaments. Bah Humbug was more appropriate as I made many arrests on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. "But its Christmas, officer. Give me a break." I felt like Joe Friday sometimes, "The laws don't take a holiday, I've gotta work today, you chose to be stupid, so get in my patrol car and shut up." It was always nice to come home after work to a normal, home-spun atmosphere and enjoy the rest of Christmas with a family that didn't punch, kick, throw knives at or shoot at each other. Noisy kids and all.

Looks can be deceiving

While riding as a training officer 'a few years ago' my rookie partner, Kenny Y and I were just cleared for dinner when dispatch asked if we could stop by and assist a citizen get back in his house. Sometimes people called the cops when they had no other resolve; this sounded like one of those times and we shrugged it off as just a short delay until we go to eat. We arrived to peaceful, serene looking palatial house in a very nice neighborhood similar to this one. We could smell the money in the air. ;-)After arriving we found out that this "assist a citizen" call was a middle aged male who was locked out of his house by his ex-wife. Not so simple anymore. This could be a civil or criminal matter, either way, we needed to solve it, for him and so we could go eat! We met the male half (police jargon for husband) at the curb. He explained how he and his wife are recently divorced, he'd been awarded the house in the settlement, and she was now inside and had locked him out. They had tried, unsuccessfully, to reconcile their marriage. He was calm, rational and a successful, wealthy business man. Tonight she was drunk and refused to leave. I took his side right away, as I had little patience for drunks. The male half needed our help to get his house back. This image below was similar to what we "subsequently faced upon trying to resolve this problem." (more police report jargon) Our first obstacle was getting access to the house through the front security gates. So many calls were resolved one step at a time, with only sometimes an idea on follow up plans.
We made contact with the "female half" who was smug and drunk as she stood behind the wrought iron gates. She was holding a small dog with one arm up to her chest, nicely dressed and non-threatening, just adamant she the house was hers. She wouldn't listen to reason - which was normal for a drunk - but being like most cops who can use deception to solve a problem (yes, legal per the Supreme Court) I told her I needed to come inside and use her phone to call her husband a taxi cab, and report in to my dispatcher. (none of this was true, it was a ruse I quickly came up with to get the guy back in his house- getting her out was secondary - one issue at a time. But I had a plan now anyway.)

She agreed and let us in. As soon as she unlocked the gate we all came in. She was furious and quickly saw our deception. She wanted us out of her house. The husband found the divorce papers showing he'd been awarded the house, so it was no longer a civil matter if she refused to leave, it was misdemeanor trespass, and we could get her out. I had Kenny give the guy a pre-printed card so he could read the "trespass warning" per NRS and make it legal. (we used these cards frequently & routinely in businesses with a larceny or defrauding suspect in custody) Knowing she wouldn't leave, we'd handcuff her, take her to jail, and then go eat! I broadcast on my portable police radio, "code four" letting dispatch and other units know we were okay, as it'd taken longer to get in as this event reads. - back and forth arguing with the drunk woman took awhile. As the ex-husband bent over a nearby table lamp for light, the woman took one step towards him, pulled a large kitchen knife that had been concealed under the cute little dog, and stabbed her ex-husband in the back! The speed of that arm was amazing and I felt lucky she only attacked the male.

I couldn't believe my eyes but the sound of his pain was unmistakable. I pushed her away from us and assisted the guy as we sat him down on the nearby carpet covered stairs. I remember Kenny asking if he should pull the knife out. I yelled "NO!" Somehow I knew that wouldn't be good for him. I grabbed my radio, "We need medical, code-three!" Dispatch didn't ask and I didn't tell her why. The ex-wife was sitting on the couch, the dog still in her arms. Not knowing if she had another knife hid somewhere nearby, I grabbed her free hand rolled her over onto her stomach, down onto the floor, hard. Oomph! She was screaming that I was treating her like a criminal. Image that. The dog whelped, ran and hid in the unlit gas fireplace. The medical team arrived, stabilized our victim, got him on a gurney on his stomach and wheeled him out to the ambulance. Sheet over him with the outline of the knife sticking out of his back for all the neighbors and local news crew to see. To make a long story short, she went to jail; booked for attempted murder & domestic violence battery. Animal Control took the dog. Kenny and I went to dinner and laughed how a guy calls us to help him and he ends up getting stabbed in the back. "Ya, but he got his house back." We both agreed that we were lucky she didn't go nuts and swing the knife at us too.

Things just aren't as they always appear to be in life.

To protect and serve; 1974 to 2003.

Making new friends by Happenstance

It was cold and windy when I left the house this morning at 7:20. I had a subpoena for court set for 8:15 AM. I was in the 'fast' lane and had heard what sounded like a rock hitting my car; then I wondered why the road was so bumpy; then I correlated that earlier rock sound to a flat tire. Here is where I met my first new friend of the day after slowly pulling off I-15 and finding a safe place to change my flat tire. (I didn't want to try it next to cars whizzing past me within inches.) He was on a moped, with a milk carton strapped to the back, bundled up in winter coats, knit hat and brown cloth gloves. (you know, the type you wonder about their mental stabilty) He told me he thought I could use the help as I was dressed too nicely to want to get dirty. I wore a white shirt and tie. Before I was out of the car he had the trunk open and pulling stuff away to get at the spare. We were quickly done and I threw the flat tire in the trunk. "If I pay a Good Samaritan will it lessen his blessings of kindness?" I gave him a $5 bill, it was either that or a twenty or the few ones I had. Earlier I'd learned that he was going inside the Excalibur to gamble and was out of work; the IRS took his auto repair garage away. Hmmmmmm.

I arrived downtown and parked one block away from the court house at 2-hour street parking site. It was 8:10. I badged my way past the maddening lines of good citizens (this is approved practice) heading to their day in court and I finally found Dept 5, - as indicated on the subpoena, on the 8th floor, after being told it was on 5, then "no wait, it's on the 9th." The elevators were very slow and very busy. I'd walked down to 8 from 9. My case wasn't shown on the docket outside, but I'd listened to the pre-recorded message the night before and it said, "All cases are going." I took a seat on a hard wooden bench next to some fine citizenry. It was 8:35. I worked a crossword and sat through several cases; one guy was handcuffed and set aside to begin serving his 6 mos sentence. That will teach him to show up the third time with an excuse for not having $$ for his fine. One guy was given 72 hours to pay his $19,000 late rental payments for his restaurant or be evicted. (some Iranian place I'll never eat at) Several defendants, not in custody, asked and were granted 30 to 90 days to return with payments and or complete DUI School, community service or some other behavioral training school. A few had check in hand ready to pay.

I didn’t see my defendant or other witnesses and asked a Baliff to check my case status. I soon found out I needed to be in the another dept 5, District Court, on 19th floor. I made it up there, saw my defendant in the orange jail jump-suit sitting with a dozen others also in jail togs and chains. I made contact with the D/A, explained why I was late and was told it would be a few minutes yet. It was OK. TV Cameras, media and public were all leaving the OJ Simpson co-defendants sentencing. Dang, I miss all the good stuff. I sat in a nice padded movie-theatre type seat. District Court is a higher court. I witnessed a female facing prison time for domestic violence. She had anger managment issues, with ten years of similar priors but this time she had cut up "her man" pretty bad. She, along with others, where there for one thing only: to get word on their future ~ already found guilty and getting their sentence. She was given the max prison sentence, albeit suspended with strict probation to include no alcohol or drugs. She messes up and it’s a minimum 23 months in prison. Next case. Dope possession and sales: 21 year old kid, 9th grade education, prior arrests dating back to his juvenile days. Strict probation, released to live with his momma, his new son & unmarried girlfriend. He can continue to collect food stamps but must get a job and be randomly drug tested. No alcohol either. "Oh, and get a GED." Gavel slam. Next case! Male & female facing several years for conspiracy to commit robbery. (This means they did the robbery but took the plea bargain of lesser offense to avoid a trial for armed robbery – I looked around for Monty Hall.)
I met my next friend when I went back to move my car. It’d been two hours since parking. I made a U-Turn in the street and re parked it to move the chalk mark the parking enforcement guy had put on it. He re-arrived just as I re-parked. He pulled up in his three wheeled scooter and motioned for me to roll down my window. He said he almost cited me, but for about a few inches; I was at the end of a row of cars and almost stuck out into an alley. I thanked him and explained my morning challenges. He suggested I pull across this alley entrance and park at a construction cone that closes off the rest of the street, with a no-parking sign on it, and see if this is any better. It wasn't. I ended up parking back where I was as he told me I now have a new 2-hour parking time limit. I got back up in court, sat through a few other knuckleheads’ cases – one credit for time served of 16 months in a County jail where the maximum sentence is suppose to be 6 months. The judge told the D/A I was back in court (She noticed I was gone. Wow.) He walked back to me and asked if I would be available Dec 30th. It had been rescheduled while I was out moving my car. My bad guy has been in custody since mid-October and will remain in jail until at least Dec 30. But don’t feel sorry for him; he is a thief. I left, now with tire repair on my agenda, lunch, and the rest of the day in the office. Whew.

My 13th marathon

No, no, no, not running, but being part of the organization & planing of it. I started in 1997 when asked by the old director to be part of their team and stayed with it, even when new ownership took over in 2004. (now new owners again and we've met and are discussing the future) I don't know why anyone would pay to: get up very early on a cold winter morning, stand in the dark among other's with the same goal, look for a port-a-potty as start time nears, shed warm clothes as you run, then push yourself for either 13.1 or 26.2 miles and say you had FUN. I don't see the word fun in run. But, there are folks who do. Big ones, little ones, old ones & young ones. And, Vegas drew approx 16,000 this year from all over the world and US. My day started at 0400. I was at the command post by 4:15, fielding questions, answering my phone, and doing my best to play liaison between traffic control, sag wagon pickup, medical, NHP, barricade company and our staff at the finish line. All said and done, this year went better than prior years and the weather was perfect. (A little trivia: I was able to get a metro academy class to run the half marathon FREE. I spoke to their class leader, a young cop I knew prior to my retirement, who said his entire class of 23 cadets ran in formation the entire 13.1 miles. Never been done before.)

Of course, these pictures are only on the Strip ~ the rest of Vegas isn't a pretty picture. Glad it's over, but will do it again, no doubt. Anyone need a comped entry?

We had running Elvi and several who
stopped for a quick marriage on the route. Only in Vegas!
I've suggested an "annulment booth" at the end, but that hasn't happened yet. :-)

Christmas morning breakfast

A few years ago I took up Erma's Christmas morning breakfast tradition, albeit, on a smaller and calmer scale. (and no sweat droplets in the waffle mix) The secret I learned from Ned & Erma was to mix different sausages to make one really good blend. (not necessarily these, but I like them.) Don't think of the 15 grams of fat per serving; it's Christmas. Treat yourself and your loved ones!

For really good sausage at that special Christmas morning breakfast you might want to cook, do what I do: combine any three or maybe all four of these to make really yummy patties. Goes great with waffles, french toast, eggs, or just by themselves. I always use the 50% less fat and the hot ones. (Look for them on sale.)

You can pre-cook these, refrigerate and nuke them Christmas morning! Bon Appetit & Merry Christmas Everyone!