True Crime Blog
Very few people are killed by strangers while at home with their families or even enjoying an evening out with friends. But when you stay out all night—or into the wee hours—you increase the odds of becoming a victim of violence. The older I get, the more I have come to appreciate that.
As my memoir, Nothing Left to Prove grew beyond 108,000 words, there were parts that had to be cut. For a writer, this is akin to choosing which child to give away at birth. But a general rule to writing is that if it doesn’t move the story forward, slay it.
Bad Dreams go with the territory of being a cop. Over the years, my dreaming of pursuits, foot chases, and shootouts with malfunctioning weapons and bulletproof bad guys have subsided, but it doesn’t take much to reawaken the demons. A good cop movie can do it, and so can a session of telling war stories…
When it was first suggested to me that I should write my own story, I was against the idea of it. Who was I to write a memoir? I’m nothing special—no rock star (though at one time I aspired to be one), super athlete, or war hero. Yes, I have had the opportunity to do…
Frederick Reynolds is a retired Los Angeles County homicide detective and former Compton police officer. Today he joins us to discuss his illustrious and meritorious career, his love of writing, and his newly released law enforcement memoir, BLACK, WHITE, AND GRAY ALL OVER. Join me in welcoming Fred.
The 8200 block of South Hooper Avenue in Los Angeles was plenty wide to withstand the traffic but felt a little crowded at night when both sides of the street were lined with parked cars and Hooper Mae could be found dancing in the street, her triple-Ds untethered beneath her muumuu.
JUST THE FACTS is an editorial written by Sam Cabral, President of the International Union of Police Associations, republished here, in its entirety and unedited, with the express permission of Dennis Slocumb, Legislative Director, International Union of Police Associations, AFL-CIO.
Forty-five years ago, a teenage girl was dumped on the streets of Compton, naked and with two bullets in her head. Believed to be only 14 to 17 years of age, it would seem that somebody, somewhere, would have known her. That they would have loved her and missed her and never allowed her to…
It’s been seventeen years since I fled L.A. for the rural life I easily embraced, having been a cowboy at heart my whole life anyway. And during these last (nearly) two decades, I’ve found myself having many “ah-hah” moments with some of the old adages and proverbs I’ve heard all my life. Since my mom…
Travolta answered the door and my partner said, “Hey John, how’s it going?” The Stars We were standing outside his mobile trailer dressing room, TRAVOLTA and a star on the door. It was one of two trailers with stars that had been parked outside Men’s Central Jail for at least a week. The other had…