Recently, I was asked for my thoughts on the death of a young man named Mike Cho. Cho was gunned down by police officers in La Habra, Calif. The only information I had at that time was that Cho made an attempt to strike the cops with a tire iron prior to his expiration.

It sounded like a righteous shooting to me.

I’ve since had some time to find more information about the shooting. Here’s what I’ve learned so far (from words and video): on December 31, 2007 at approximately 2 p.m., police officers were responding to a vandalism call. A surveillance video showed two cops tactically deployed behind the open doors of a police vehicle. The suspect (Mike Cho) walked towards them with a tire iron in his left hand, and a cigarette in his right. Police said that they ordered him to drop the tire iron. Instead, Cho turned approximately 90-degrees to his right and walked away, off camera. Both cops lowered their guns and followed. Off camera, Cho raised the tire iron over his head in a striking position. In response, police officers shot him a total of ten times.

There have been a lot of questions as to why the police did what they did. Why did they have their guns drawn? Why did they have to shoot the kid ten times? Why didn’t they use a taser or some other less-than-lethal weapon?

The answers to those questions are so blatantly obvious (and have been answered in other forums) that I won’t go into them here. Instead, I have questions of my own: why would you approach two guys with a tire iron in hand, especially when their guns are leveled at you? Disturbing to me is the manner with which Cho approached the two cops, puffing on his cigarette. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he didn’t give a fuck. Why? Was Cho on drugs? Was he crazy? Did he commit suicide by cop?

My thoughts on the death of a young man named Mike Cho, for what they’re worth: it was a tragic death, but one the suspect brought upon himself. Unless some new information is released that will sway my opinion otherwise, I’d say that the shooting was righteous.

Note: Check out the Los Angeles Times for an article about the shooting. A Korean language news source showed surveillance video of Cho’s encounter with La Habra police, moments before the shooting. A clip has been posted on YouTube.

Tags: death · la habra · michael cho · police · shooting

Here are some true stories from around the State of California and beyond. I didn’t write ’em, but I know you’ll get a kick out of reading ’em.

Thinking Ahead

A Gardena police officer had detained a man for loitering when the man said, “Quick, read me my rights.” “Why?” inquired the officer. “Because I have a gun in my pants, and it’s sliding down my leg, and in about two seconds it’s gonna hit the ground.”

More Quick Thinking

In Des Moines, a 93-year-old woman surprised a burglar who had just broken into her home. Thinking fast, the woman pretended she was senile: “Oh, it’s good to see you again, Henry. Sit down and watch TV while I make you some lunch.” “Sounds good,” said the burglar. While he was enjoying a peanut butter sandwich, the woman excused herself and dialed 911. Officers say she was laughing uncontrollably as officers burst in and handcuffed the guy.

Your Objection is Noted

At a juvenile detention hearing on a bank robbery charge, the DA had just called the bank teller to the stand. As the teller sat down, the juvenile yelled, “Objection! That’s not the teller I robbed!”

Oh, Really

A robbery detective in Oakland was giving instructions to the men who were taking part in a lineup. “When your number is called take one stop forward and say, ‘Don’t move. Give me your purse.’” When the suspect’s number was called, he stepped forward and said, “But that’s not what I told her.”

Fun and Games with Radar

A man in Kirkland, Washington decided to test the accuracy of the city’s new radar sign that warns motorists how fast they are driving. So he drove to the end of the street, turned around–and hit the gas! The sign showed he was going 59 mph, so he looked down at his speedometer and was impressed that it, too, showed he was doing 59. Unfortunately, at this point he lost control of the car and crashed into the sign, destroying it and his car.

These stories were printed in the Spring, Summer and Winter 2007 editions of Point of View, a publication of the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office.

Tags: burglar · lawyer · police · robber

The deceased was a 29-year-old aspiring actress. Her killer was a deadly combination of liquor, illegal narcotics, prescription pills and poor judgment. She fell asleep in her lover’s arms, and never woke up. But he did–with his arm underneath her stiff, lifeless body.

After the distraught lover was removed from his high rise condo, the coroner arrived to examine the cadaver. The coroner was a dark brunette, with pale skin and a voluptuous figure. She exuded sensuality. “Hello, boys,” she said to the two uniformed patrolmen standing guard over the corpse. She glanced at their name plates: DANDONNEAU and YLIHARSILA.

“Good morning, ma’am,” replied Officer Dandonneau, in a heavy French accent, as he nodded his head.

“No need to be so formal with me, guys.” She put on a pair of latex gloves and slowly pulled back the blanket that covered the decedent, who was lying in bed, clothed only with a skimpy set of panties. “What’s her story?”

As Officer Yliharsila regurgitated the lover’s statements, the coroner cupped the dead woman’s breasts, then pinched her nipples. “Great surgeon,” remarked the coroner. She then tugged the dead woman’s panties, and looked underneath. No evidence of rape. “Nicely shaved.” The two cops looked at each other, then continued to watch the coroner.

The coroner gently rolled the corpse on its side and squeezed the buttocks. “I’m checking for implants,” she said in a conversational tone, to the cops, without looking up at them.

“Butt implants?” Officer Yliharsila had never heard of such a thing.

“Do you think talent alone is good enough in this town? A girl needs all the help she can get around here.” The coroner finished her survey of the corpse, then looked up at the cops and smiled. “Thanks a lot, boys. It was really nice working with you.”

Later, the coroner’s investigation revealed that the cause of death was an accidental overdose of drugs, alcohol and stupidity. Not germane to the investigation was the forgotten story of a young girl. A small town dreamer living in a big city of dreams. A would-be a star turned pretty waitress in a town full of pretty waitresses yearning for stardom.

None of the tabloids mentioned the wealthy lover who supplied her with enough drugs and bullshit to help her forget that there would be no star on the pavement bearing her name. When the age-defying cosmetic surgery couldn’t keep pace with her age-inducing lifestyle, no one noticed as her wealthy lover strayed.

Not sensational enough for the papers, the aspiring actress’ untimely passing was reported only by a few civil servants tasked with taking note of such occurrences–the death was duly noted by the county coroner, and diligently reported by Officers Dandonneau and Yliharsila. Their audience was their watch commander and a homicide detective (who determined that there was no homicide). The case was soon filed and forgotten.

As the two cops continued patrol, Dandonneau imagined that somewhere, perhaps thousands of miles away, someone wept for the forgotten actress. But a big city cop has no time for such daydreams. He quickly dismissed the thought.

Tags: coroner · death · drugs · overdose · police

It’s been almost forty years since the old man in a wheelchair was a young sailor. Way back when, he bled and dodged bullets in some Southeast Asian jungle, in a country he hadn’t even heard of before enlisting in the United States Navy.

As a young sailor, he thought he’d be on some ship far from shore while ground forces hashed it out with rifles, bayonets and hand grenades. Instead, he ended up as a corpsman attached to a Marine Corps infantry unit.

Like all corpsmen assigned to Marine Corps units, the sailor was affectionately called “Doc.” Doc was a warrior as well as medic. He gritted his teeth and fought alongside the grunts when needed, and ended up losing a leg while fighting his way to save a fallen comrade.

Doc lived life the best he could after coming home from the war. He was confined to a wheelchair and still carried some grenade shrapnel in his body, which had a tendency to shoot pain up his spine from time to time. And when those little bits of metal weren’t reminding him of the war, the dreams would never let him forget.

A few years ago, the old man came down with cancer. It slowly started eating away at his liver. He fought the cancer tooth and nail, but it kept coming back. Just a couple of months ago, his doctor at the Veterans Affairs hospital broke the news: it was only a matter of time before the cancer would kill him.

The former sailor took up residence at the VA hospital where he waited for the cancer to do what thousands of Viet Cong bastards couldn’t do. While there, he met another veteran, who was similarly diagnosed. They were veterans of different wars, currently being tortured by the same enemy.

The two men craved an occasional drink, to numb their anxiety and make the passage of time easier to endure. The hospital staff wouldn’t allow it. Why they couldn’t drink, in the face of imminent death, didn’t make sense. But instead of arguing with the nurses and doctors, the two vets quietly went AWOL from the hospital in their wheelchairs.

Today, the two men in wheelchairs bought a bottle of rum, a few cans of cola and some paper cups from a liquor store. After finding a quiet spot near the entrance of an alley, they mixed their rum and Cokes and drank to the many friends who never made it back. “At least we’re gonna die at home,” said the former sailor.

The two veterans were in the middle of their fourth round when they were interrupted by a couple of cops driving through the alley. The patrolmen got out of their car and approached the wheelchaired vets. NGUYEN and CHANG were engraved on the cops’ nameplates. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Officer Nguyen. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, officer,” replied the former sailor. “We’re having some rum and Cokes.”

The cops looked young. Too young to remember the war that claimed his leg. “Are you aware that drinking in public is a misdemeanor?” asked Officer Chang.

Chang pulled out a ticket book and started writing a citation. Sure I know you’re not supposed to drink in public, thought the former sailor. They won’t let me drink in the hospital so I’ve got to drink in an alley like some fucking bum. I’ll be damned if some slope with a badge is going to lecture me about drinking!

Although the former sailor was angered that the young cop would be so eager to scratch out a ticket for a couple of dying vets, he maintained his composure and calmly stated his case to the two policemen. Nguyen looked at the hospital bracelets on the old men’s wrists and the hospital gowns underneath their coats, then asked, “What branch of the service were you in, sir?”

“Navy. I was a corpsman.”

Nguyen signaled for Chang to stop writing in his ticket book. “I was a Marine. Our corpsmen were always as good as Marines in my book.” He motioned to his partner to start heading back to the patrol car. “Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen.”

Before the two cops started walking walking away, the fomer corpsman extended his hand to the former Marine. They shook hands. Emotion filled the old sailor’s eyes. “Semper Fi, Marine.”

Semper Fidelis. Latin for “Always Faithful.” Motto of the Marines. The old man earned the right to those words as a young sailor who fought and bled alongside his Leathernecks.

“Semper Fi, Doc. And be careful out here. This alley isn’t very safe.” The two patrolmen got back into their car and drove past the two veterans.

Doc. No one had called him that in years. The sailor smiled at the Marine and raised his cup to him, thinking of all the Marines who used to call him “Doc” and who still haunted his dreams. “I’ve seen worse places, brother. Much worse.”

Tags: cancer · drunk · marines · military · navy · police · veterans

As I made my rounds through the nightclub, I spotted an off-duty cop by the name of Pete sitting at a booth near the main bar. Sitting opposite Pete was a guy I’d never seen before. Pete saw me and waved me over. I took a seat next to Pete, who introduced me to his buddy Joe.

Joe was a lawyer turned cop turned back to lawyer. Before he wore a badge, Joe drove a fancy car and lived in an overpriced downtown condo with his trophy wife. After four years of lawyering, he decided to trade in his designer suits for a blue uniform.

Along with the gun and badge came a pay cut. This was not something that the trophy wife signed up for when she decided to marry Joe. A cop’s salary would not do. The relationship went sour. About a month after he graduated from the academy, Joe’s trophy wife caught him in an extramarital affair and promptly divorced him.

The trophy wife got herself a high-powered divorce attorney to represent her. By the time they were done raking him over the coals, Joe’s paychecks were so heavily garnished that his net salary was $3.93 per paycheck. How the rookie cop was supposed to live off of $7.86 a month was of no consequence to the man-hating judge.

Joe barely made probation. He was plenty book smart, but the streets got the better of him. Although he loved being a cop, Joe knew that he made a better lawyer. Six months after making probation, he turned in his gun and badge and went back to lawyering.

A year after Joe left the force, his trophy ex-wife found herself another gravy train. Joe’s paychecks were no longer subject to garnishment. With much more than seven bucks and some change at the end of each month, he was able to go out and enjoy the single life. It was his quest for good times that led him to my spot.

Joe’s odyssey left me speechless. The man had been to hell and back. I ordered us a round of cognac to celebrate his return. We chased the cognac with scotch. I gritted my teeth on a new cigarette and lit up. “How does it feel to be dating again?”

“I’ve been having a lot of fun,” Joe replied. “But man, I think I’m ready to settle down. Get serious with one woman.”

Pete looked at Joe, puzzled. The guy just returned from hell and wanted to go back? I was equally discombobulated. Pete asked, “Why the rush to settle down?”

Joe paused, considering the question thoughtfully. “All this going out and partying is getting expensive. I can’t afford to party all the time.”

It didn’t take an accountant to figure out that Joe’s last steady relationship cost him an arm and a leg, plus and eye and a thigh. “Can you afford to settle down again?” I asked. “You looking to get cleaned out again?”

Pete laughed. Joe looked at his drink, his eyes full of melancholy. “I was only being facetious,” I said.

“No, you’re absolutely right. Love always has a price tag. It never comes cheap.” Joe smiled wistfully and guzzled his drink. I changed the topic and ordered us another round.

Tags: divorce · lawyers · love · marriage · nightclub · police