April 2011 to March 2012

FOB Staff (Defillo)

Field Operations Bureau: Bourbon Street or Bust (Almost)

One Tuesday, Chief Bouyelas hit me with a classic NOPD surprise: “You’re getting transferred to Bourbon Street.” I couldn’t believe it. Was this some sort of punishment? Some kind of karmic debt I didn’t remember racking up? I guess Captain Harrison didn’t really mean it when he said “you’re good” back in Intel, because he was already replacing me with Mark Mornay.

Don’t get me wrong—Mark’s a solid dude, and I was genuinely happy for him. But also: WTF?! Bourbon Street? Turns out, they were holding a good ol’ fashioned Lieutenant Draft on the 5th floor. People were getting traded like fantasy football players. And somewhere in the late rounds, my name got thrown into the pot.

Be Careful What You Complain About

Now, if you’re wondering why I got tossed into the Bourbon barrel, here’s the reason: Captain Hosli, who I’d known and worked with for years, had grown tired of hearing me complain about Bourbon Street being closed before it was supposed to be. My house was nearby, and the closures made getting home a mess. So he said—out loud, with witnesses: “Terry complains about Bourbon Street so much, let him handle it.” Bravo. Truly masterful pettiness.

The Serpas Shuffle

I asked Bouyelas if I could talk to Superintendent Serpas, who’d been appointed by Mayor Mitch Landrieu in May of 2010. Bouyelas said sure—but also made it clear: the transfer was happening tomorrow.

I hadn’t spoken to Serpas since he became Chief. We used to be close when I worked for him back in the Operations Bureau in the late ‘90s. But now? Crickets. I figured he had a lot on his plate—policing a sinking city tends to eat up your social hours. Still, I got the meeting.

Serpas looked me dead in the eye and said: “A little birdie told me you’re working with Jimmy Scott.” That… confused me. I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. But I quickly figured out: he wasn’t a fan of Captain Jimmy Scott, and guilt by association was apparently enough to reassign me to beads-and-barf duty. I explained that I didn’t see the connection. He shrugged and said if I could find somewhere else to land before the next day, he’d be fine with that. No offer to help. No suggestions.

Just: “Clock’s ticking.”

The Rescue

Enter Kenny Miestchovich and Mike Sarver—two guys who pulled off a miracle. They worked some magic behind the scenes with Chief Marlon Defillo, who had to go to bat against a new captain in the Seventh District just to get me assigned based solely on their word. That right there is brotherhood—and I’ll always be grateful for it.

Because here’s the kicker: if I’d taken that Bourbon Street assignment, the schedule alone would’ve destroyed my custody arrangement with my daughter. My ex-wife was ready to pounce. That transfer could’ve wrecked my time with Bridget. Kenny and Mike didn’t just help me dodge a lousy post—they helped me keep my daughter.

Back in the Office

The new job wasn’t exciting. I ended up in an administrative lieutenant position, eerily similar to the one I’d had years earlier when I worked in that same office as an officer. Mostly paperwork. Phone calls. Nothing flashy. But it wasn’t Bourbon Street. And that was more than enough.