It was a humbling, inspiring experience, particularly in the
second consecutive decade in which volunteerism has been on a
decline.
It was a humbling, inspiring experience, particularly in the second consecutive decade in which volunteerism has been on a decline.
They sat before the seventh class of the Hollister Citizens Police Academy in their blue uniforms, apparently unimpressed by the magnitude of what they do.
Though the class has heard tales of bravery and heroism over its first five Wednesday nights, the eight members of the Hollister Police Department’s reserve force were the first to receive an ovation from the class.
To say the applause was well-deserved would be a gross understatement.
Three of the eight are Level 1 reserves, on the threshold of full-time status if desired. The other five are Level 2, always accompanied on patrol by a senior Level 1 officer or a full-time officer.
Each is required by state law to put in at least 10 hours per week with the department. Most work two or three times more, despite the fact that they also have full-time jobs.
They do so out of an incomparable spirit of community service, for reserve officers do the job of “regular” police on a strictly volunteer basis.
One, Eddie Escamilla, tied up his motivation in a blue bow, as opposed to a green one.
“We don’t get paid, but that’s kind of nice, because I don’t feel like I have to give 100 percent because it’s my bread and butter,” said Escamilla, a 7-year veteran of the reserve ranks. “It’s because I want to give back to the community.”
The community gets the long end of the deal.
Aside from the fact that reserve officers are, for practical purposes, sworn police officers with all the duties, responsibilities – and risks – of their full-time counterparts, their training just to achieve reserve status is nearly as intense.
By the time a reserve officer reaches Level 1, he or she has spent 730 hours in a classroom learning all aspects of police procedure, plus 400 hours on the streets with a Field Training Officer.
Level 2 reserves need at least 386 classroom hours on the laws of arrest and procedure. (The HPD has no Level 3 officers, who can’t carry a gun on duty and can’t go on patrol alone. Largely detailed to clerk duties, their most exciting time on the street might be working crowd control during a parade.)
Nearly as tenured as Escamilla is Level 1 reserve Ken Hawkes Jr., a six-year veteran who in 1997 won the department’s Medal of Valor for pulling a man from a fire.
From there, it’s a huge chronological leap to the reserve corps’ senior member – Multi-Service Officer Gary Anderson, who began his career in 1959 with the Watsonville Police and moved to Capitola before coming to Hollister to extend his time as a reserve officer to more than 40 years.
“He runs the place,” said Sgt. Greg Thul, a veteran of the Vietnam War who began his own career in 1969 as a reserve officer with the San Jose Police Department. “If the chief needs something, he goes to Gary and Gary gets it taken care of.”
Anderson, who looks like the prototypical cop on the beat, said he once asked Capt. Bob Brooks his date of birth.
“He said, ‘I was one year old when you were sworn as a police officer,'” Anderson said. “That makes you feel like it’s time to retire.”
But he hasn’t. Nor, at 62, does he seem about to. The need is too great.
“It’s harder to get reserves today,” Anderson said. “You either have to go to the weekend academy or take six months off your job. You really have to be dedicated to do this.”
That dedication draws great appreciation.
“These people here are the kind of people who make your community really something,” Thul said. “They go out there and put everything they have on the line for you. That’s their way of giving back. I’m very proud of these guys and so is the department.”
In addition to Escamilla, Hawkes and Anderson, they are: Brian Hawkes, Judith Saenz, Celia Gonzales, Shawn Cahill and Gary Williams.
Heroes, one and all.
Trying to walk a straight line
Officer Shon Leonetti joked earlier in the week that he’d let one detail slip for his DUI class on Wednesday night.
“I forgot to send out the memo for everybody to bring beer,” he cracked.
But Leonetti, an HPD veteran of 5 1/2 years and one of the department’s two motorcycle officers, brought something better: a pair of goggles.
This was no garden-variety eyewear. Made with distorted lenses, the goggles produce a visual sensation remarkably similar to being drunk. As each member of the class tried them on, reactions ranged from “Whoa!” to “They’re making me sick!”
I tried to walk a straight line – no mean feat, considering the goggles made it difficult to walk, period. My first steps took me into the wall, drawing laughs from my “sober” classmates.
Leonetti, who guessed he’s made 100 to 150 arrests for “deuces” – so named for the last digit of the California Vehicle Code for DUI, 23152 – has seen the results of drinking and driving.
They come in tragic forms, such as the time he performed CPR on a 6-month-old child – “the same as my son,” he said – who was in a small car when a Cadillac ran a stop sign and plowed into it. The infant was airlifted to a San Jose hospital and died the next day.
Sometimes there’ s comic relief. Leonetti and Officer George Ramirez once double-teamed a driver on a suspected DUI stop, one officer on each side of the car. The suspect had a beer can between his legs.
“He knew he was going to jail,” Leonetti said. “He looks at me, looks at Ramirez, picks up his beer and takes another chug.”
Then there are stories worthy of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, such as the drunken driver whose test on the Intoxilator 5000 breath analyzer showed a blood-alcohol level of .43 – over five times the legal limit. Not only was the subject – a serious alcoholic – still functioning, Leonetti said, but after a night in jail a second test came up with a .23 figure.
For those who didn’t get the memo, the blood-alcohol limit in California and most other states is .08. For truck drivers it’s .04 and for those under age 21 it’s .01 – or about half a beer.
There are three ways to test blood-alcohol content: by breath, blood or urine. Anyone stopped for suspicion of DUI must take one of the tests or lose their driver’s license for six months.
Urine tests are messy and blood samples have to go to the Department of Justice lab in Watsonville and can take two weeks to process. Most suspects opt for the breath test, but if they tap a few drops of Binaca onto their tongue to try to fool the police, the test is likely to read on the high side. Breath fresheners, tobacco products, nasal or bronchial inhalers, even gum can cause a high reading.
But few, if any, officers are likely to let fresh breath convince them that a suspect hasn’t been drinking. Police are trained to look for a number of signs, from speech patterns to facial skin tone, eye condition and general demeanor.
It’s important that police notice such signs. Thanks to increased patrolling, DUI arrests are on the rise, and society’s attitude toward drunken driving is becoming less tolerant with every alcohol-involved accident.
“So do we need enforcement out there?” Leonetti asked the class. “Yes, we do.”
Gang activity “like cancer”
Many Hollister residents may not notice them, but gang members are out there. John Sarsfield, a prosecutor with the Monterey County District Attorney’s office, termed Hollister’s gang problem “serious.”
Part of the problem, Sarsfield said, is that witnesses to gang crime are reluctant to come forward.
“It’s difficult to prosecute,” he said. “Nobody wants to testify” because of intimidation by a defendant’s fellow gang members.
California has been gang territory since before it achieved statehood. “During the Gold Rush, it was fashionable in San Francisco to hang Australians,” Sarsfield said.
Such activity continued through the Barbary Coast days of the late 19th century. In the 1930s, Hispanic gangs dotted southern California. Today, there are an estimated 200,000 gang members in the state. The highest concentration is in Los Angeles, which Sarsfield termed “the capital of U.S. gang activity.”
Hollister isn’t mentioned in the same breath with L.A., San Jose or Salinas in terms of gang crime, but Sarsfield said putting on blinders will ensure that the problem mushrooms.
“It’s like cancer,” he said. “You can beat gang activity, but you can’t ignore it. If you ignore it, it gets bad real fast.”
Editor’s note: Since this was written, John Sarsfield was elected San Benito County District Attorney.
