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.
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.
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…
Not to be badmouthing my own department, but the Gun Grip Fiasco is such an excellent example of idiocy and red tape, I cannot resist telling the story. Recently there was a post in a Facebook group in which we were discussing department-issued weapons. I didn’t tell my convoluted story there, but some of you…
On any night in South Los Angeles, gunfire crackles against the backdrop of revving motors and booming thumps of amplified bass. But on New Year’s Eve, those nightly but sporadic—and oftentimes purposeful—volleys of gunfire, are lost in the celebratory expenditures of what some of us consider to be precious metals.
Robert Lee “Bobby” Harris has been a close friend since 1984. We worked together at several assignments on the sheriff’s department, including Firestone patrol and Homicide Bureau. We’ve been roommates, radio car partners, riding (motorcycles) partners, and drinking buddies.
In the fall of 1991, I promoted to station detectives at Firestone Station. At first, I had difficulty embracing the new job. However, like any new job, there was a lot to learn about the basics of being a detective. Not just interviewing witnesses and solving crimes, but all of the processes such as writing…
Since I was sworn as a Los Angeles County deputy sheriff in 1983, the tally of department members killed in the line of duty has reached 37. Many of them were acquaintances, some were friends. As a homicide detective, I’ve investigated the deaths of others. This is a reminder of their sacrifices.