For most of my career, I worked South Central Los Angeles and was proud to do so. As I moved up in the ranks, I had several units under my command: two Strike Teams (gang, violence, robbery, and drug suppression), Community Relations, and the Youth Athletic League (I trained the kids how to box to keep them off the streets).
I held many community meetings to get to know the community, their police issues, and let them get to know my team and myself. I truly believe that 98% of the people are good, hard-working people who want to work, live, and play in peace. There was one individual who attended every single of these events, Mr. Heard. He was extremely outspoken and had no problem calling me out in open forum for not addressing his individual needs. He constantly complained about the gangsters hanging out in front of his house, illegal vendors, semi-trucks conducting U-turns in front of his house, among many other complaints. He was an articulate elderly man who had grown up in the home, purchased it decades earlier, and took pride in his neighborhood. He had no problem taking on the gangsters and telling them off at every opportunity. Whenever I held a community meeting, I would scan the crowd to see if he was there because I knew he was going to let me have it!
In South Central LA at the time, gangsters were everywhere and it was not a crime to simply be a gangster, they had to commit a crime. The illegal vendors were everywhere and the semi-trucks conducting U-turns did not seem as a priority to me when gang violence was at an all-time high. At one of the meetings, Mr. Heard cornered me and asked me to spend some time with him at his house on a Friday night so I could witness his complaints first-hand. To sweeten the deal, Mr. Heard offered to make some Gumbo for dinner.
Mr. Heard always dressed in a suit which was immaculate. He seemed very educated and could recite bible passages and explain them with ease.
I accepted his invitation, but I insisted on not visiting in uniform or my police car so I could see the activity through his eyes. I arrived before darkness so I could see how the activity built throughout the nighttime hours. He answered the door impeccably dressed in his suit, extended his right hand to shake mine, and told me I was the first cop ever to be invited into his home. As the night progressed, I learned about Mr. Heard's life story.
Mr. Heard was born in 1932 and graduated from Jefferson High School in Los Angeles, California with all honors. He was a Veteran of the United States Army and became an Optician. He earned a degree as an engineer which led him to become employed with the City of Los Angeles Survey Department. There he served 37 years. Mr. Heard earned several degrees in Biblical Science, Theology, Behavior Science and Psychology. Wilton became an Ordained Minister in 1978. He served as a foster father for 15 years and served as a Chief Priest in his current Yorba tradition.
His Gumbo was better than any other that I have ever tasted. As darkness fell, the gangster Crip predators slithered from their lairs. He knew them all by first name (the gangsters refer to their given names as their "government names"), but he refused to call them by their gang names, "monikers." He called them by their first names because he had seen them grow up. They filled the sidewalks playing dice and impeded pedestrian traffic. They intimidated the neighbors and were extremely loud as their "40s" emptied into their bellies. Then the semi-trucks began filing in. They stopped in the middle of the street and simply parked there as they went into the nearby restaurants to eat! They completely blocked all passage without a care in the world as to how it impacted the residents. Illegal vendors were everywhere peddling everything from food to fruit to clothing. It was like a flea market set up on the street with people throwing trash on the sidewalk and urinating in the street. I could not believe what I was witnessing! Mr. Heard put his arm around my shoulder and told me this is everyday in his neighborhood. After several hours of conversations and a delicious dinner, I promised Mr. Heard that I would take care of it. As the evening ended, Mr. Heard told me that no cop had ever made him a promise and that he sensed I was "different." Based on him welcoming me into his humble home, I was extremely flattered.
The next day, I gave both my Strike Teams a new mission: I wanted the gangsters in that particular area to receive our full attention and they needed to be reminded that the community owns this neighborhood; not the police, not them, but the community! My Strike Team consisted of men and women I hand-picked based on their experience, maturity, aggressiveness, and compassion. We developed a short-term and long-term plan to address the gangster problem.
I contacted our Traffic Headquarters Unit and asked them to actively enforce EVERY vehicle code operation regarding semi-trucks in this area and take appropriate action to ensure they understood the rules. Numerous citations were issued and warranted. We had new signs posted warning the truck drivers of the crazy-expensive citations they would receive. They quickly got the message!
Vendors are a little more difficult and I got the Health Department involved and they did their best to control the sales. Because they are mobile and can easily move to another location, it requires the collaboration of many departments.
Over the course of the next few months, this neighborhood had completely changed! Children were playing outside, people were walking their dogs, and people were relaxing on their porches. It was amazing.
My relationship with Mr. Heard flourished. We became friends, but more of a mentor/mentee relationship with him being the mentor. We spoke about love, life, careers, religion, politics, children, cooking, playing sports, and anything else under the sun. He gave me advice about raising my children, how to coach them in sports, and how to be a better man. Law enforcement discussions were very rare because we had connected as men. Our relationship continued after my transfer to another station and we talked on the phone at least once a month, but mostly every two weeks. He kept me updated regarding the neighborhood and when there were problems creeping back up, a couple of phone calls to my former teams quickly solved them. Our relationship continued on for years and years.
In early 2016, I called Mr. Heard but he did not answer. This was not unusual because he seldom answered his telephone because he hated telemarketers and did not believe in caller-id. I called him over the course of the next few days, still with no answer nor a call back. I became worried.
I called some of my Strike Team members and asked them to do a "welfare check" on Mr. Heard to ensure he was okay. There was no answer at the door. They checked with his long-time neighbors and found that he was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He moved in with his daughter in Texas and ultimately passed away. The neighbor provided a copy of Mr. Heard's obituary from his service.
I was crushed. One of my greatest mentors and confidants had passed away. I contacted his daughter living in Texas to tell her about my relationship with her father. She had known about it for years! He had told her about our meeting and subsequent conversations. She was extremely surprised that he had invited me into his home because he never invited anyone inside! It was meticulously kept and he preferred to be private. She could not believe how he and I connected and he referred to me as a son.
We shared many stories of this amazing man who had actively participated in the Civil Rights Movement, was an Ordained Minister, and earned his Master's Degree from USC.
Mr. Heard always asked me to call him by his middle name "Carl" but I told him I had too much respect and admiration for him and would always call him "Mr. Heard." He chuckled that laugh that I will never forget.
I was fortunate to have had him in my life and have his portrait hanging in my office on the wall. I say good morning to him everyday.
Cheers and a cup of coffee to Mr. Heard!
