This book is a collection of events that I encountered while working for NYPD. I hope you find interesting, informative and humorous incidents that I witnessed or participated in all of them, Enjoy reading.

OLD COP TALES

By John Leitgeb

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 John Leitgeb
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-8063-8

Contents

John's Life Story...............................1A New Career....................................3A Few Words.....................................6Common Sense....................................7Cold Nite.......................................9Humor in Uniform................................11A Slight Delay..................................13Good Old Days...................................14Some of my thoughts.............................16Short Takes.....................................18Big Guys........................................20Tough Guy.......................................22Order of protection.............................24Fooled..........................................26Corruption......................................28Old Timer.......................................30The Laundromat..................................32The Unwise Decision.............................34Safe Chases.....................................36THE BLUE WALL...................................38Odd Moments.....................................40Believe It or Not...............................42Female Officers.................................44Bowery..........................................46Men's Shelter...................................4882 Club.........................................50"Combats".......................................53Old Combat Stance...............................54The Nut.........................................56The Macho Gym...................................58Gym Stories.....................................60V.A Thoughts....................................62John's Coffee...................................63Dog.............................................64A Dog Day.......................................66Brief Encounter.................................68Burglaries......................................69A Free Meal.....................................71Gang Handling (My Way)..........................73Commander with Guts (Balls).....................75An Eye for an Eye...............................77What Landlord?..................................79New Boss........................................80F.B.I...........................................83SGT. Muscles....................................85Ham and Cheese on Rye...........................86Bus Stop........................................87Love Life.......................................88About the Author................................89

Chapter One

JOHN'S LIFE STORY

I competed in the 1940's and 1950's in weight lifting (Olympics) and body "beautiful" contests (mostly 198lbs class.) I trained and won most contests or came in second place in some. Trained at John Teralazzo's Gym at Third Avenue and Twenty-Third Street with the old boys "Marvelous Marvin Edar, John Davis etc.

I was asked by Bob Hoffman to come to New York and train for the Olympics. I was also asked by Joe Weider to train at his gym in Jersey for the Mr. America.

Then I got a letter from Uncle Sam to take a two year paid vacation in Korea.

I returned to Teralazzo's new gym in midtown, when I came back from Korea. I got into wrestling due to the influence of John's teacher George Tregas. I did the real stuff and some professional. I asked John Mandel, a tough cop, about Tragas, "Toughest S.O.B. I ever met."

Joined N.Y.P.D. and got certificate in self Defense training and taught classes.

I entered power lifting classes from the age of 21 to 62. I won many titles to get big trophies instead of small medals. I was in contests with my protg, Cleo Higgs female who also won Power lifting contests with no rubber suits. She was the first female demonstrator in A.O.B.S, a club for old time weight-lifters and wrestlers. Etc. It meets once a year and has over 150 members attending a dinner.

When I retired after 38 years, I continued for a few years as a member of the Community Council assisting at various functions, especially our annual Christmas Party. Over 500 children got hot chocolate and gifts from Sgt Santa Claus. Then I retired completely.

Chapter Two

A NEW CAREER

Upon returning home from my 1 year vacation in Korea sponsored by my Uncle Sam, I decided not to stay in the service. I would have to give up my Sergeant's stripes and take a pay cut.

No-No-No!!!

I moved in with my folks and two brothers in Astoria. A businessman is what I wanted to be. My older brother Frank and Eddie did not want to quit their lucrative jobs as doormen for the rich and famous on Park Avenue.

Waiting for my ship to comes ailing in, I got a cool job working for City Bank. It was cheap pay, working in a cage, but air conditioning. In 1952 there was very little cool air around. I felt like a cool prisoner in a cage full of money. I was a teller. What a career!

I had little regard for the bank's money and made enough mistakes that they moved me from Canal St (a busy place) to Forest Hills, a slow bank.

While watching a T.V movie one night, I noticed actor Barry Sullivan who worked as an officer in a bank plotting to steal money on a Friday and flying to a South America country that has no extradition law. I checked it out and got to think bad thoughts. I took in 100,000 from Brinks every Friday, a 100,000 was like a million today. While I had these thoughts thinking like a politician about grabbing money, I was taking tests for a job.

(Guess, Sullivan chickened out and did not take money.)

I took tests for NYPD, Housing Cop, Transit Cop, etc, (against my parents wishes) what a twist!

Since leaving the Army, I continued tossing around the weights and wrestling, so I was in shape. I had entered some weight lifting contests and could lift 340 pounds over head at 205 pounds. So I passed the test, 87 and the physical 99 points.

I was going to be a cop. Free coffee and doughnuts like the politicians. My miserable $45 a week was jumping to $95.

Wow!

I went to the police academy at Hubert Street.

It was a deserted school, built for kids and midgets. We couldn't fit into the seats and had to duck going up or downstairs.

Who cared at $95 a week? It would take me ten years to earn that at a bank. What was unknown to me at the time, my start of 38 years in the NYPD?

There was one incident where a husband beat his wife. My partner, Charlie and I responded to a Saturday night "family dispute" and dragged a drunk off his wife. He was probably taking out suppressed hostility against his boss by beating her.

We assisted him, outside his apartment onto the building steps. He still wanted to fight. I informed him that I would fight him but right now we were busy and I would return when things became quiet.

"Good", he smiled. "I get a beer and wait for you."

"Great," I lied. "See you soon."

We had another husband and wife dispute that was a little different. The wife was 230 pounds and the husband about 159. She was beating his butt. We dragged him to safety at a nearby bar.

Three hours later we returned to the guy who was waiting to fight me. There he was full of fire. He jumped up. "Ok now."

I was surprised he was still waiting

"No," I informed, "We were still busy but I'll be back soon."

"Good," he growled. "I wait for you."

Two hours later we drove by and he was asleep. I left him a note in his pocket. "I was here, but you were asleep." See you tomorrow."

Now figure this out! The woman who told us her husband does not love her any more because he stopped beating her. Love has many weirdoes' in its clutches.

Chapter Three

A FEW WORDS

Red asked me one day if I wanted to do a summer program on physical training for the summer season.

You don't say no to Red!

Even though I was in a Radio Car assigned to a certain area, I was to put the car out of service from 12 noon until 3p.m. Then I could clean up and go home. I was to keep count of how many hours I spent with the teenagers. Red would then give me the equal time off.

Good deal!

I was getting double time!

When the detail ended, Red asked me how many hours I had spent.

"About 40 hours," I answered.

"Good," he snapped. "Good work and you have 50 hours on your time off sheet."

Good deal!

One afternoon after finishing up early, about 2:30p.m., I started to leave the Station `House. The desk officer scowled.

"Where you going before 4p.m?" he bellowed.

I smiled. "Big Red's orders, ask him."

He never had the guts to ask.

Chapter Four

COMMON SENSE

Pete and I were in our RMP on a Saturday afternoon one summer day when we got a call, "Man with a gun on Astor Place and Lafayette Street, wearing a blue coat and has gray hair. Be careful."

There was the usual crowd of shoppers and strollers, but we spotted the guy: long blue coat and a mop of gray hair. Pete stopped the RMP ahead of the guy, got out of the car and immediately assumed a combat position behind the RMP. Before people were aware of what was happening, I pulled him back into the car.

"A possible shoot out, that we don't need with this crowd," I told him, as I removed my hat and uniform jacket. I left them on my seat with my gun belt, but the 38 revolver I tucked in my belt under my sweater. In these days we didn't have to wear uniform shirts. Thank the Lord. "Follow me," I told Pete, but stay in the car.

I blended in with the crowd, following the gray haired guy and Pete behind me with the car. When I got behind him I grabbed the elbows of his coat and yanked down so he couldn't get his hands out. Then I kneed the back of his knees and he went down. Pete was out of the car and we cuffed the guy without a fight. He was too, surprised at what happened. Searching him I found the gun he had been waving about. It was a black water pistol and it was "loaded."

"This is the guy I was ready to shoot," Pete asked. "A phony gun."

"What's happening officer," the guy asked. "What did I do?"

I pushed through the gathering curious crowd to the RMP. We got the prisoner in the back seat.

"RMP to central," I requested via radio, "That man with a gun on Astor Place: have an ambulance respond. That will be one to Bellevue Hospital psycho ward with a water pistol."

"10.4," came the answer followed by numerous chuckles. "No unnecessary talking on the radio," Pete yelled, followed by more comments.

"Gun coller."

"Maybe a gold shield?"

I smiled at Pete as I bit a Bering cigar and quickly ducked it out of sight as the Sergeant drove up to size up the situation. "You're out of uniform John," he said as I put on my police gear, "and good work. That guy looks dangerous."

He smiled and drove off as Pete growled. I relit my cigar and smiled.

Chapter Five

COLD NITE

On 1st avenue near 2nd street there is an appliance store and it is still there today. The owner and I used to talk quite often. He was a little Jewish fellow who loved to smoke good cigars. They were always three or four in his jacket pocket. (Bering's, I believe) One winter night somebody broke his big plate glass window. They put a hole in it big enough to squeeze into the store. I got there before anyone could climb in. In those days no business had gates or alarms. Everyone respected each others property. There were not many "dirt bags" around. (Low lives) You could go window shopping at 3 p.m. Now it's gate city. I should have invested money in gates.

At night the store fronts look like a prison. It gives every one the idea of "watch your butt" in this town. When I notified the station house to get in touch with the owner to get here or send one of his sons or workers, the S.H. told me to remain on the scene until someone showed up. It could be hours and it was cold. The radio car crew showed up and told me to hop in. They even had a hot container of coffee for me.

"It's only 3 am," one of the "hair-bags" said.

"You'll freeze your ass off before the local diner down the street opens up at 1 am.

I finished my coffee. It was time to exit the car. A blast of freezing air hit me destroying the warmth in my body.

"This is bull-shit," said the hair bag.

"No body gives a damn if you drop dead out here. This owner not showing up on this cold night until it's time to open up at 6 a.m. He's not gonna freeze out." His partner answered the car phone. "We got to go," he growled.

"A damn maternity. Always at 3 a.m. Can't these babies keep decent hours?"

"Sorry kid," his partner growled.

He jumped out of the car, night stick in hand and slammed the broken window.

"Watch out," he warned as the entire window crashed to the side walk.

"O.k. kid," he beckoned to me, an astounded rookie. "Now it's big enough for you to walk in and park your ass in his warm office until he gets here. See you later."

Off they went on their job. I struggled and went into the store, turned on the lights, went into the warm office, found a few of his cigars, lit one up, put my feet on the desk, turned on the radio and waited. Sure enough the old man came in at 6 a.m. Drove in a Big Caddy.

"O.k. boss," I said. "I'm leaving and going to the diner for breakfast."

He never acknowledged me leaving and never offered me breakfast. As I left, I reached out. He had the usual 4 cigars in his pocket and I took two out as I left the store.

"Thanks boss," I smiled.

He just stared at me.

Chapter Six

HUMOR IN UNIFORM

Here is a story that I sent to the Reader's Digest "Humans in Uniform." They apparently did not believe this incident happened because they rejected it.

My partner Charlie and I responded to a job on East 7 Street "Attempted Burglary." We trudged up three flights of stairs and were met by a young lady who was a bit distressed. I saw Charlie eyeing her young body as she blurted out her story.

"I came home from work," she chattered nervously. "The apartment was dark. So I decided to open my shades. As my kitchen shade went up, I saw a man with a screwdriver in his hand. I screamed. He looked surprised. He must have thought nobody was home because the shade was down. He backed up on the fire escape-too far and he flipped over the rail and fell three stories."

"O.K. lady," I said. "We'll check the yard to see where he is lying. Probably needs an ambulance.

"You hear him cry for help?" Charlie asked. "No, I did not," She answered. Lets' go Charlie" I said, motioning to the window. Back downstairs we went on the fire escape. We jumped off the fire escape in the yard and since it was getting dark, I snapped on my flashlight.

"Where's your light? I asked Charlie.

"Oh I left it in the car," he sheepishly answered.

I handed him a book of matches and Charlie actually started lighting up as he searched the yard.

"O.k. "Genius," I sighed." Doesn't appear to be anybody here and there is no sign of blood. I'm going out the ally way to check. I hit the streets.

Being a warm April evening. There were two Puerto Rican gentlemen playing Dominoes near the alley way. They glanced up at my uniform and went back to Dominoes. They take this game very seriously. I have broken up many fights and stabbings over the out come of this game.

"Excuse me," I asked. Did anyone come out of this alley recently?'

One of the men glanced briefly at me and muttered, "A young man came limping out very fast about ten minutes ago. He went that way."

He pointed down the empty street as his fellow player snorted.

"Your move. Don't take all damn day."

As they started to argue, Charlie came out sucking on a burnt finger. "See anything?"

Telling him the story, he mentioned, "How we going to write this up?'

I paused "We could tell Sarge, the guy was so thin he floated down and ran off."

"You tell him old burned finger," I volunteered him.

We told Sarge that the young female complainant was probable scared and did not notice him running down the fire escape.

We never found the guy.

He should be in the circus as an acrobat.

CH7[ A SLIGHT DELAY

We were on our way into the 9th precinct up East Houston St. near Ave. C, one sunny day when my partner Charlie pointed a finger to my right. "Lets' see what's going on over there," he said steering our radio car over to where 2 officers were struggling with a black man against a picket wire fence.

"What are you guys doing," I asked, lighting my Bering cigar, as I walked over. "He won't let go of the fence," Officer Joe answered as he grabbed the man's arms. "What did he do? I inquired. "Stole a pocket book," his gasping partner said, "You going to help us?" Charlie jumped into the war. They couldn't pry the guy's fingers off the fence. "Grab his other arm," Charlie yelled at me. A. small crowd gathered.

They were chuckling at three cops struggling in vain with one man. Turning to one spectator, I asked him carefully to hold my newly lit cigar. He obeyed. "You going to join them," hes miled. "Not really," I answered. Walking up behind the "bad guy", I cupped the back of his head in my hand and shoved his face into the fence.

He released his grip on the fence to protect his face by covering it. I yanked one arm behind his back. "Cuff him," I told Officer Joe who quickly hand cuffed the tough guy.

"My cigar," I said to the gentleman holding my Bering as the crowd applauded. "Remember that move next time Joe," I advised getting into our R.M.P. with Charlie. "Now," I asked, "where were we going when we were side-tracked?" ]CH7

CH8[ GOOD OLD DAYS

I entered the Police Academy in 11-54. It was an ancient, deserted school on Hubert Street, downtown Manhattan. The place was designed for kindergarten kids. Every time we walked the stairs we have to bend double not to hit our heads. Nobody could fit comfortably in there small desk seats.

The self-defense class was a joke. After several years of wrestling I couldn't believe this. Boxing was foolish. (Broken knuckles)

Can you picture a cop boxing on the street with a bad guy? Karate! Forget it. Newspapers love a picture of a cop kicking a prisoner.

Judo and wrestling, man-handling techniques, were a much better way to go.

Target shooting was really dangerous. Can you picture shooting at a crook like you were shooting at a target? People run and sometimes they shoot back at you. Where was combat shooting? Things have improved a lot since then, but the low-salary in 2007 was the biggest joke of all. The most expensive city to live in and they pay you below poverty level.

Were they trying to bring back corruptions?

The police could be cutting into the politician's side money.

For shame!

Upon graduation I was assigned to the 9th precinct on the lower eastside. Here I was for 38 years!

It was mostly a Jewish and Polish area.

They called it alphabet city!

Avenues A-B-C-D!

I thought I was back in school.

Here I was with plenty of Matzo ball soups and sausage with sauerkraut and plenty of week-end fights among the house wreckers.

My knowledge of wrestling came in handy in subduing many brawny wreckers who swung sledge hammers all week.

Seven Polish bars on my post!

What action packed week-ends!

I always prayed for rain or snow!

With all the blood and bruises there was a lot of respect for police officers in those days.

Entered a bar, the fighting stopped and a dozen glasses of booze were in front of you.

"Just a friendly fight, officer."

"Have a drink."

Respect!

As Rodney Dangerfield always said, "I get no respect."

Times never get better for Police Officers. Low Pay.

Ruled by big butt-kissing politicians, who always find a way to rob citizens with higher taxes while they grab pay-offs and favors that would put other people in jail for years!

And they get respect from voters!

(Continues...) ]CH8

Excerpted from OLD COP TALESby John Leitgeb Copyright © 2009 by John Leitgeb. Excerpted by permission.
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