Tales from Los Angeles - "Call the Mexican Consulate"

[DavidI]

This job puts us in extremely difficult positions and calls on us to do some unthinkable missions. I was working a violent, prevalent Hispanic, area of Los Angeles on Christmas Eve. Two rival gangs had declared war on each other, dropping nine bodies in the past two weeks. In most cases, the suspect shooter had walked up on the rival and sent slaying hot lead into the victim’s head. There was a .357 Magnum and a shotgun out there and I was on the hunt. The killings had to stop. A notorious and powerful Mexican Mafia member had recently been released from the Security Housing Unit of Pelican Bay. When these predators run the streets, blood flows. My street informants told me what the word on the street was, and this eMe member was “flexing.” I did a work-up on him and learned as much as I could. I went to his house to pay him a visit and let him know I was going to do everything I could to put him back in prison when I caught him dirty. He laughed and said be “out” was the vacation and being inside was his home. This man was extremely intelligent, charismatic, and a psychopath!

I had a wife and three young children at home celebrating Christmas Eve. I am Mexican and Russian by birth and we always celebrate Christmas Eve at my home, inviting all of the relatives we get along with, you know how that goes. We had “the works” complete with beef, chicken, and pork tamales, rice, beans, and every salsa you could think of. It was a huge event and some family members drove over 50 miles each way to join our festivities. I have a personal work ethic and always showed up to work, no matter what because if I called in someone would be “drafted” to work my shift. That was unfair to him or her because they would miss Christmas with their families. I went to work ready to do my part. The “carnal” (eMe member) was on my mind.

I was a Field Training Officer and had a Trainee (newly assigned to Patrol duties) as my partner. He was with me for about two months at this point. I have always prided myself in my ability to suppress my emotions during critical incidents. I was in my late twenties and felt invincible. My Trainee had a great attitude and was always positive. His officer-safety habits were excellent. His only deficiency was report writing, but repetition solves that.

We were working the PM shift (“swing shift”) cruising the feuding gang’s areas looking for the cannon and boomer. We saw the countless families celebrating Christmas Eve throughout the neighborhood. Both of us missed our families. About two hours into our shift at 6:00pm, we received an unusual call for service: Drive to a particular residence, knock on the door, and ask if they were the “Garcia” family. If so, we were to call the Mexican Consulate. I had never experienced nor ever heard of such a call. I was confused. We drove to the home and saw many parked cars on the street and in the driveway. This particular residence was hosting a Christmas party.

I knocked on the front door and was greeted by a five or six-year-old girl dressed in a colorful dress. She smiled at me ear-to-ear, beaming because she knew presents awaited her under the Christmas tree. I asked her to find an adult who I could speak to and away she ran back into the interior of the modest home. A man about the same age as me came to the front door and greeted me. He was very congenial, but confused as to why a uniformed cop would knock on his door on Christmas Eve. I asked if we could enter his home and speak to him privately. He stepped aside and allowed us into the living room. The scene inside was beautiful. Everyone was dressed up and the house was decorated with vibrant Christmas spirit. Children ran around everywhere squealing with glee. The Natividad Scene was meticulously placed on a table displayed as a focal point. The walls were covered with family photos from several generations. There were at least five families inside the home. All eyes were on us and the room fell silent. I could sense the disruption our presence caused and I had no idea what I was tasked to do. I asked the man who allowed us to enter his home if we could go into a bedroom with a phone so I could call the Mexican Consulate. His face became very very concerned and he slowly escorted us to a bedroom. The house was now as silent as a library. All eyes were on us….all eyes.

We entered the bedroom along with the man. I used his landline phone; this was way before cell phones were affordable to “regular” people. I dialed the number provided in the call and it rang several times before an elderly male voice answered the call. I explained the call for service I received and that I was asked to call the Mexican Consulate. I heard a long sigh and his voice quiver. Whatever information he had for me would be difficult. Several other family members entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

The Mexican Consulate informed me that I had to do a “death notification.” I could not believe what I was hearing! A death notification on Christmas Eve! I looked over at the family members scouring my expression for any sign of information. I could do this. I can handle anything. I have been to war, seen people die in the streets, and handled life or death situations. He asked me to write down the names! NAMES, that means more than one. I slowly pulled out my notebook and pencil. The Consulate told me that a male (25-years-old), his wife (24-years-old), and their three children (1, 2, and 4 years-old) had perished in a horrific traffic accident and were all burnt to death. Their bodies we burnt beyond recognition and members of the Garcia family would have to travel to Mexico to verify the deceased bodies. To say my heart sank would be an understatement. My spirit had left my body and I felt violently sick. Despite being in top shape, my body was instantly fatigued and heavy. I felt sour, stinging bile rising from the pit of my stomach. All eyes were on me. My eyes filled with tears, now overflowing and streaming down my face. All eyes were on me as I watched the Garcia family members who were in the bedroom with me start crying. Nobody knew the tragic news I was about to provide, only me. They did not hear the conversation.

I slowly stood and felt the weight of death on my shoulders. The Garcia family was a family much like my own with the Patriarch and Matriarch as the leaders of the family. I walked into the living room and asked for the elders to be at my side. In the Mexican culture, the elders are usually the leaders. I was in the center and the Patriarch and Matriarch stood on each respective side of me. I grasped their hands and looked directly into the Matriarch’s eyes. Barely able to get a statement out, I slowly gave them the unthinkable news of the death of five beloved family members, three of which were babies and toddlers. I did not provide the additional details of the manner of death, that would come later. The Matriarch collapsed into me and held me as tight as I have ever been held. She wailed with a deep sorrow. Her eyes clenched shut, she said over and over and over that it cannot be true. The Patriarch was stoic and did not show any outward emotions, but I knew inside that his feelings had imploded.

The room became desperate. Everyone in the room was anguished. A woman ran to one of the walls and ripped photos of the deceased family to her chest. Her agony crushed through me because she was mother to the deceased male and grandmother to the three children. Others retrieved presents from beneath the Christmas tree destined to be given to the children. A woman opened a small present that was a customized baby pacifier she made for the one-year-old bay. I had a one-year-old daughter at the time and the sight of the pacifier felt like a shock to my system. The pandemonium seemed to go on for eternity. The feelings were so thick, you could cut them with a knife. I was still in shock, but this family was truly suffering and devastated.
The Patriarch walked over to me, looked me directly in the eyes, and thanked me for showing empathy and caring about his family. He apologized that I had to deliver the painful news. He pulled me into his chest and we embraced for a few moments. I felt a single tear from him fall onto my shoulder. We separated at arm’s length and he told me I was now part of their family, their story.

We left the Garcia home and I parked at a local park. I contacted dispatch and told them that I needed some time to compose myself. I would be available for any emergent calls, but I needed some time.

I let myself cry and cry and cry. My Trainee cried as well. That day bonded us for a lifetime.

I visit the Garcia family from time-to-time. Both the Patriarch and Matriarch have passed on, but the remainder of the family welcomes me with open arms.
That was one of the worst days of my life, but I’m glad it was me.

[speeder]

Good god, that's awful. My heart goes out to you and that family. I would imagine that death notifications are one of the worst parts of the job, in general. When the police have to tell you that a family member died, it wasn't an old person and natural causes, usually.

You are definitely one of the good ones, David, along w our other Deputy, Mmarsh. Thanks for protecting us.

[pwd72s]

A rarity, but I believe Denis said it well.

[Seahawk]

David,

I so enjoy your perspectives, your ability to share your experiences in a manner that is relatable and straightforward.

Your post brought to mind this from my life. I hope you don't mind:

How do you tell the story of the Lee family, legal immigrates from Korea?

Father, imprisoned by the Japanese during WWII, working in a mine when he heard about the first and second bombs that shook the world. He knew he was going to live, be free. He was right.

Mother with two boys and a girl...Mr. Lee leaves them behind in Korea and legally immigrates to the US. He does not return for the family for ten years...he visits, then comes back to the Bronx.

He saves and buys a gas station. The family now joins him. Yong and his brother are both Black Belts in some Korean martial art, Yong, more on him in a second, is Sixth Degree in a?? kicking.

All the Lee children go to SUNY, the daughter get her PhD, the two boys undergraduate degrees and both get commissions in the Armed Forces. Yong becomes a Marine 53D/E pilot and is brother a Navy E-2 pilot.

Imagine for a moment, from a mine in Japan during the war to this level of success and integration in America.

I met Yong when I got orders to the Sikorsky Factory in Bridgeport. Yong had left the Marines and was now a pilot at the factory. I was commuting back and forth from Maryland during the weekends and I rented a room from Yong for $75 a week. This was in 1993 through 1996.

His house was two miles south of the factory and we lived together almost three years, laughing and giggling...until he died in a crash at the factory: https://www.courant.com/news/connecticut/hc-xpm-1996-05-11-9605110297-story.html

I led the accident investigation and we figured it all out.

The hard part was I was at a school event in a Blackhawk, like this one:



Happy day. Great kids, they loved it. We always brought the right fire folks with us and the LT. came over and said we have had an accident at the the factory.

We jump in, start the Blackhawk and jam. I land at the front VIP pad because the rear flight field is a mess of MH-53E. I run through the production hangers to get to the accident. The fire guys won't let me go out to the wreckage: "You do not need to see this, LCDR Morgan." The bodies were still on the ground. I am glad I did not.

In my office, making sure all the procedures for crash and moralities were being followed (they were) the Chief of Sikorsky flight test comes in and says: "Would you please call his parents for us? Let them know right now?"

So I did. Who better, right? It remains, both calls, first to his Father who was at work, and then to his Mother, who was at home, the hardest non-combat related thing I have ever done.

I have written this here before, but Yong's Father was wailing in ways that haunt me to this day. I had met him, his family and had gone to dinner at his house in Staten Island. Mr. Lee was a man...now, because I had to, a broken man.

So I get it, David. I hope you understand why I wrote this.

[rusnak]

David: You are a great man. My heart sank reading this. You are also a splendid writer.

[onewhippedpuppy]

David and Paul, all I can say is thanks. Your sacrifice is nothing short of an inspiration.

[Drbraunsr]

A truly tragic story, your final sentence made the story bearable to hear the conclusion.
I'm glad it was you too...

[E38Driver]

David, I truly hope that you write a book about all of your adventures, the highs and the lows. I know that I would buy it and read it. You have a way of making us feel like we are on patrol with you.

Dave

[MRM]

For some reason that reminds me of the M*A*S*H* episode where the team tried to keep a patient from dying on Christmas Day. In the end the patient died about 20 minutes before midnight, meaning that his family would always remember December 25th as the date their father/husband/son was killed. Hawkeye moved the clock forward a half hour and the team agreed to date the death certificate December 26.

The consulate shouldn't have made the call that night. Immediacy wasn't going to change anything. But I suppose in the end the family would have wanted to know as soon as it happened. There is no good way to make that call. Kudos to David for staying in touch with the family and offering what comfort was possible.

[DavidI]

Originally Posted by Seahawk

David,

I so enjoy your perspectives, your ability to share your experiences in a manner that is relatable and straightforward.

Your post brought to mind this from my life. I hope you don't mind:

How do you tell the story of the Lee family, legal immigrates from Korea?

Father, imprisoned by the Japanese during WWII, working in a mine when he heard about the first and second bombs that shook the world. He knew he was going to live, be free. He was right.

Mother with two boys and a girl...Mr. Lee leaves them behind in Korea and legally immigrates to the US. He does not return for the family for ten years...he visits, then comes back to the Bronx.

He saves and buys a gas station. The family now joins him. Yong and his brother are both Black Belts in some Korean martial art, Yong, more on him in a second, is Sixth Degree in a?? kicking.

All the Lee children go to SUNY, the daughter get her PhD, the two boys undergraduate degrees and both get commissions in the Armed Forces. Yong becomes a Marine 53D/E pilot and is brother a Navy E-2 pilot.

Imagine for a moment, from a mine in Japan during the war to this level of success and integration in America.

I met Yong when I got orders to the Sikorsky Factory in Bridgeport. Yong had left the Marines and was now a pilot at the factory. I was commuting back and forth from Maryland during the weekends and I rented a room from Yong for $75 a week. This was in 1993 through 1996.

His house was two miles south of the factory and we lived together almost three years, laughing and giggling...until he died in a crash at the factory: https://www.courant.com/news/connecticut/hc-xpm-1996-05-11-9605110297-story.html

I led the accident investigation and we figured it all out.

The hard part was I was at a school event in a Blackhawk, like this one:



Happy day. Great kids, they loved it. We always brought the right fire folks with us and the LT. came over and said we have had an accident at the the factory.

We jump in, start the Blackhawk and jam. I land at the front VIP pad because the rear flight field is a mess of MH-53E. I run through the production hangers to get to the accident. The fire guys won't let me go out to the wreckage: "You do not need to see this, LCDR Morgan." The bodies were still on the ground. I am glad I did not.

In my office, making sure all the procedures for crash and moralities were being followed (they were) the Chief of Sikorsky flight test comes in and says: "Would you please call his parents for us? Let them know right now?"

So I did. Who better, right? It remains, both calls, first to his Father who was at work, and then to his Mother, who was at home, the hardest non-combat related thing I have ever done.

I have written this here before, but Yong's Father was wailing in ways that haunt me to this day. I had met him, his family and had gone to dinner at his house in Staten Island. Mr. Lee was a man...now, because I had to, a broken man.

So I get it, David. I hope you understand why I wrote this.

Paul, your story is gripping and difficult to digest. Sometimes we are called to do things that are way beyond the call of duty. In your case, it was personal. You are a great man brother and I have the utmost respect for you brother, David

[DavidI]

Thank you for reading my stories. It feels good to finally tell them. I appreciate each and every one of you!

Rock on, David

[Seahawk]

Originally Posted by DavidI

Thank you for reading my stories. It feels good to finally tell them. I appreciate each and every one of you!

Rock on, David

Bless you David. I was going to delete my post since, in retrospect, it may have gummed up your great story.

Your post brought up some long buried thoughts and I appreciate your sentiments.

Write, young man, it serves you well.

[Zeke]

Originally Posted by E38Driver

David, I truly hope that you write a book about all of your adventures, the highs and the lows. I know that I would buy it and read it. You have a way of making us feel like we are on patrol with you.

Dave

Agree about the highs. Maybe some feel good stories to go with the specter of horrors. And I'm sure there were countless hours of rote work to endure. I could not have done police work.

[oldE]

A career RCMP friend of mine was probably quoting someone else when he advised me police work was hours of boredom and frustration broken up by moments of heartbreak.
I could not have done his job. 27 years with the force then died of ALS four years after retirement. RIP Joe.

Keep up with the writing, David. You too, Seahawk.
Best
Les

[DavidI]

Originally Posted by Seahawk

Bless you David. I was going to delete my post since, in retrospect, it may have gummed up your great story.

Your post brought up some long buried thoughts and I appreciate your sentiments.

Write, young man, it serves you well.

Your story is heartfelt and on point Paul! As brothers, it is great that we have an outlet for our crazy life experiences.

Rock on Seahawk!

[DavidI]

Originally Posted by Zeke

Agree about the highs. Maybe some feel good stories to go with the specter of horrors. And I'm sure there were countless hours of rote work to endure. I could not have done police work.

Great idea Milt! I have a story about "Salami" next!

[astrochex]

Originally Posted by DavidI

Thank you for reading my stories. It feels good to finally tell them. I appreciate each and every one of you!

Rock on, David

You are telling the stories that don’t get told and giving a glimpse of the strength, courage, and discipline it takes to be a law enforcement officer.

[Jim Bremner]

Thank you.

[E38Driver]

Originally Posted by DavidI

Great idea Milt! I have a story about "Salami" next!

Can't wait to hear about this one. Please keep them coming.

Dave

[DavidI]

Thinking about the Garcia family.