October 1992 to October 1995

Vieux Carre’ District

Since the Academy, Doug Baudier and I wanted to go to the VCD and work Bourbon Street. We were both single and it seemed like it’d be a hoot. He got there first, transferred from the Third District. Getting assigned to the VCD was very different back then. For one thing, no recruits were ever trained in that district. AND officers had to undergo an interview to be assigned there. I met with Lt. Iggy Willoz, did my interview, and very soon thereafter I was there too, and right away we were on Bourbon Street.

In these days, Bourbon Street closed at 8:00 P.M. Actually, a city ordinance regulates this, and the time is still 8:00 P.M. but it closes far earlier than that now. Our hours were 7:25 P.M. to 3:00 A.M. We were responsible for picking the heavy iron poles up from the side of the road and dropping them into the holes in the ground, preventing cars from passing. Why they EVER stopped this and installed those stupid sliding things I’ll never know. “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” – some wise southerner.

Inspection

Every Mardi Gras the officers are subjected to an inspection. By regulation this is supposed to occur on a regular basis at roll call but it absolutely did not and does not currently. The Mardi Gras inspection is formal, with us all lined up in the station, with a ranking officer walking by looking at our level of shininess and whether we had all the required equipment or not. A big joke was that officers never had a whistle except for Mardi Gras inspection day.

Here we were in line and flashlights were the item of the day to make sure we all possessed. One by one we had to display our flashlight and demonstrate that it operated correctly. Each officer did this, and when the rank got to Officer Ray Huber, he presented his flashlight. It was in the shape of an alligator and “L” shaped so that a trigger is pulled to operate it, like a gun. We are already dying trying not to laugh. The alligator mouth was pointed at the rank, and Ray pulled the trigger which caused the mouth to open and a light to emit from within.

Naturally this was unacceptable to the inspecting ranking officer, yet there was at the time no regulation dictating the appearance of the required flashlight. Ray had to be allowed to pass that inspection.  Bravo Ray.  Lifetime memory there.

Sgt. Hessler

These were some really fun times. Before long we got a new sergeant, Eric Hessler. This guy was a notorious NOPD Narcotics Detective, SWAT guy and all-around big deal – even if in a small package. Eric is one of my favorite people as hilarious as he is smart. Doug Baudier and I really gave Eric a run for his money, though. Being a new sergeant on Bourbon Street without any other rank had to be tough. Nowadays there is a whole platoon on Bourbon including several sergeants and a lieutenant.

Lord help me if I ever laugh this much again, but one night this real asshole was causing trouble and Doug and I were “handling” it. Eric Hessler, our sergeant, came up to assist. (Back then we had to wear those horrible hats all night so citizens could see the police if they needed one. Now, they have to wear the hi-visibility vests. I am still not sure which is worse.) Well, this guy is going on and on telling his story, laced with curse words and lewd gestures. Right in the middle of talking, he says, “Please excuse my language in front of the lady.”

We all three looked around for the lady. I said to the guy, “what the hell are you talking about?” He points at Eric and says, “the lady right here.” I’m still crying right now laughing at this.

Service Industry

We carried affidavit books in our back pockets and note pads in our shirt pockets. If we needed to have something, we had to carry it all night. I’m not saying we didn’t spend a lot of time relaxing inside our favorite places to make it easier – we did. But we did a lot of walking each night between the 200 and 700 blocks of Bourbon. Johnny Whites on St. Peter was where Doug and I ended up each night after work. It’s a 24-hour bar (closed now) and all the service industry folks from down that way ended up there around 4:00 A.M. or so. Doug and I also began working the paid detail at Cat’s Meow on our days off, so we became lifelong friends with many of those employees who also spent time at Johnny Whites. That service industry crowd – they are something special. Whether they are still there doing it or have moved on to become a nurse they are a real special bunch. (I really cannot believe the number who became nurses. I can count 6 off the top of my head.)

We all had our favorite hangouts. Some went to the Prince Conti Hotel and had permission to hang out in the dining area off the side of the driveway. Some of us hung out a little too much in Big Daddy’s, the strip club that used to have the legs swinging in and out of the window. Razzoo was another popular place with the cops. Wild Bar, Lucky Pierre’s / World Beat. The connections we made there and the friends we made are some of the most treasured I have to this day.

Fish

This officer, Kurt Lettellier, was another top-notch guy. He spent time in the 5th District and was happy to be on Bourbon as a well-seasoned officer. He and Steve Arroyo were partners, and soon Doug was Kurt’s partner. Kurt looked a lot like Fish (Abe Vigoda), from Barney Miller. One night some drunk kid with a huge hurricane in his hand yelled out to Kurt, “Hey Fish!” I can almost not type the rest of this because I am laughing so hard. And you really, really had to be there and really had to know Kurt to get the level of humor here. Unfortunately, Doug is the only other one who will get this and he’s probably laughing now from Heaven. Anyway, Kurt turns his FULL attention to this kid, almost teleports himself to where he is instantly standing directly in front of the kid grabbing him by his shirt – shaking him so much the hurricane is flying all over like a tornado of red juice. All over this kid AND Kurt. I swear we had no idea why he had this reaction, but goddamn was it funny. Even the kid’s friends were dying in laughter. That was that. Seconds later everyone went on their way and there were no complaints from anyone.

Sick-Out

While I was assigned to the Vieux Carre’ District, the VCD as we called it, the chiefs re-drew the district boundaries for the city. So instead of our district being from Canal to Esplanade and Rampart to the River, it now included some of the area across Esplanade and some of the Central Business District. Charity Hospital was in that area too. It became the 8th District at that point. It was also, unrelated to the new boundaries, a rather bad time for morale at NOPD so a sick-out was organized. In New Orleans, the police are statutorily not allowed to have a union, so a strike like in 1979 was not an option. I was still sort of new and a little nervous, but I’ll be damned if I was going to work while there was a sick-out. I wasn’t feeling good, ya know? But I had PANO behind me, and that felt good. (Police Association of New Orleans)

The procedure for calling in sick is pretty simple. Call the station and tell the desk officer who fills out a form 109R. Well, I did that, and Capt. Jerry Ursin answered. He was answering EVERY sick call that day. He tried to intimidate us, but we stuck to it and I had a couple days off. Nothing happened and it didn’t last, but we figured out who would be there with the other officers when needed. This was important information to have in later events when we wanted to know who we could count on.

Fireworks

Once while I was in the 8th District Task Force, we were screwing around, and I was riding with Pat Evans while Mike Eskine and Matt Pincus were riding together. It was near some fireworks having holiday, so we had lots of them. I guess we had some free time, so the game was to toss or shoot fireworks or bottle rockets at each other as we passed. At one point, like on Diamond Street or somewhere like that in the Warehouse District, Eskine is waiting for Pat and I to come by. His foot is on the brake while he stands outside the car with the door open, with a lighter and a firework – ready to send it our way as we pass. Well, we had the jump on him and we shot a perfectly aimed bottle rocket into the open car door, onto the floor of the passenger’s side.

Matt Pincus was seated in that passenger seat, and their whole supply of fireworks was on the floor in front of Matt, right where our bottle rocket went. The conditions were perfect and the whole mess lit up and Mike jumped away from the car, still in gear but now without Mike’s foot on the brake. I guess that car had a really high idle because it took off – driverless – toward a building with a glass front with Matt helplessly riding in the passenger seat with an entire firework show going off in his lap.

Mama Mia when I tell you this is one of the very funniest things I can ever remember I am not lying. For one thing, you have to know Matt to fully appreciate how great this is. He was, at the time, wound up pretty tight and I can only imagine what he was doing as the car proceeded with all that commotion inside it toward a glass building.

Luckily the curb was super high, but that did not stop this car which somehow was really going fast now. It jumped the curb, shearing off the oil pan, and was stopped by a metal railing surrounding the building, ruining that railing. We ended up having to tow the car and pay for the oil pan to be fixed and in quick fashion before anyone got wise to what had happened.

Sgt. Keating

I was watching “Remember the Titans” and a scene reminded me of a time at roll call. Coach Yoast (Will Patton) says to Coach Boone (Denzel Washington), “Coach, this is a high school football team. We’re not in the Marines here.” Boone just looks at Yoast for a few seconds, then back at the team and says, “Let’s go.”

Sgt. Lionel Keating was a seasoned, no-shit, old-school cop who got transferred from the 5th District (the early 90’s 5th District – most violent place in NOLA) to the 8th District. For roll call, he stood up at the podium and prepared to start. Lt. Willoz called out to him and said we didn’t use the podium here. Lionel pulled a Boone. He looked at the lieutenant for a few seconds, adjusted his papers, and FROM THE PODIUM, started his roll call.

Doug Baudier and I talked about that for years. We also went out of our way to become friends with Sgt. Keating. The dude was awesome and respected by all. His son eventually joined the department, and that apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I miss Lionel, who died in 1998. Geez, I really can’t believe it was that long ago.

NOPD vs Sanitation

Mardi Gras 1994 was a memorable time. After work on Mardi Gras Day, cops traditionally congregate in a bar. In the French Quarter, Johnny Whites – a 24-hour bar – was the place. I spent many (most?) nights there after work, but on Mardi Gras Day, after who knows how many hours on our feet for the previous two weeks, it was a very needed wind-down for all of us. This year, not unlike any other evening really, I was in there with my police pants and a T-shirt – the typical after work outfit. No, it wasn’t really ok to wear the pants, but they didn’t 100% SAY NOPD on them, so we just wore them vs change clothes, a complete waste of drinking time. We were all in there this particular night when all of a sudden all these officers came running in. Most in uniform, some not. They were looking for somewhere to go because Deputy Chief Serpas and Superintendent Pennington were coming to the corner because of an incident.

I’m not naming anyone here for good reasons. Even though this was almost 30 years ago, and I don’t think anyone involved is still with NOPD, I don’t feel comfortable using names. Suffice it to say a scuffle between NOPD and some sanitation people occurred – NOPD “won” – and those officers needed to disappear. Leaving out all unnecessary details, most did disappear and the ones who were eventually held accountable had a hard time with the higher-ups.

This isn’t cool or funny - really. And I cannot remember anything in the last 20 years that even approaches the types of things cops used to get in to back in the day. Name a bar where cops hung out and you’ve named a bar where fights were won by those cops. People still think it’s like that, but this new crop of officers are very different. In a good way, most would say.

Banjeaux

There was this roller-skating clown from New York who blew balloons on Bourbon Street named Banjeaux. He was annoying, more than the average character out there, but he loved cops. He hung around us skating alongside as we walked up and down Bourbon. One time there was a 108 in the Iberville Projects, many blocks away. A 108 is the worst thing you can hear on the radio and cops get off their couch on their time off to respond to it. A cop’s life is in danger, usually they are being shot at or have been already shot.

Here we go, I’m running from the 500 block of Bourbon to the Iberville, probably 8 blocks minimum. Back then I was called Batman by some because of all the crap I carried on my belt. I had everything including the PR-24 (a two-foot-long stick with a handle) and the 4 “D” cell battery Mag Light flashlight. Here I go struggling and what do I see but Banjeaux, casually skating next to me. He informs me he’s coming to help. “Fuck off, Banjeaux” I say between struggled breaths. “You can’t come to a 108!”

Months later Banjeaux had gone missing. The assumption was that he had been arrested for something more serious and was in jail. It turned out he had returned to New York due to the Tuberculosis he had. Some months after that, he reappeared on Bourbon. Skates, balloons, and all. Here he was, with his Tuberculosis breath in these balloons, placing them on the heads of kids and adults alike! We told him we never wanted to see him on Bourbon again, explained why, and we never did.