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For many people, La Jolla is a destination. To tourists, it's a Riviera-like locale to visit on vacation from land-locked places such as Wichita or Omaha. For residents, La Jolla is an area where, after escalating financial worth into a certain income tax bracket, they buy houses and settle down to raise children. La Jolla proved to be a destination for San Diego Police Officer Scott Johnston as well. A 26-year veteran of the force, Johnston works the day shift in the Jewel. It's a choice beat he has earned through sacrifice and experience. Instead of the gang shootings and armed robberies he previously faced in areas like Logan Heights and downtown San Diego, Johnston now responds to a number of false burglary alarms and the occasional complaint of a blocked driveway. Compared to urban warfare waged in other areas of the city, La Jolla is like a vacation. What Johnston has endured to make it to the La Jolla beat reads like an obstacle course of traumatic events. He's been run over. He's been shot in the thigh by a man who vowed he would one day kill a cop. He's been accosted by an attack-trained German shepherd. He fell through a decrepit roof in pursuit of suspects. He's been shot at more times than he can count. The man who shot Johnston's leg even aimed the gun at the officer's head during a scuffle, but it misfired. For the gunshot wound, Johnston received the department's first Purple Heart award. Like a wisened man who has moved past the days of a carefree youth, Johnston's work days have mellowed. A day on the La Jolla beat is nothing like some of San Diego's more nefarious zones. But, there are moments.
Work for Johnston starts with lineup at the San Diego Northern Division's headquarters near Eastgate Mall. It's 6 a.m., and there are 20 officers gathered in one room to hear of outstanding suspects or other individuals for whom to be on the lookout. The mood of the officers is similar to one in a high-school class before the teacher walks in. Along with a fair share of kidding and wisecracks, there is the sense of a close-knit group of co-workers. They share inside jokes and references only they understand. A shared history is evident. After lineup, Johnston begins to load out. He checks out his department-owned equipment, his cruiser, his gun, his radio and then departs. At 7:10 a.m., he gets his first call. It's the beginning of a series of alarms at local residences. The security systems awaken with the rest of the community, it seems. Thumbing through a well-used Thomas Guide map book, Johnston locates the residence and is en route. The rule of the department requires two officers to respond to every call, to assure each other's safety in unknown situations. However, a strapped budget leaves only mostly solitary officers patrolling the beat. The choices are few: Arrive at the scene as quickly as possible or wait for another officer to show up. It's often a judgment call. On this occasion, Johnston investigates alone since the only other officer in the area is stuck in traffic on Interstate 5. The call turns out to be a false alarm, and Johnston immediately makes his way to a second call off La Jolla Scenic. This call also turns out to be nothing. In this case, the alarm company declined to send their own guards since the homeowner hadn't paid his bill. As Johnston and a fellow officer inspect the premises, it's easy to see how the homeowner could have neglected payment. The home is terribly cluttered and messy. The officers assert that perhaps cockroaches set off the alarm and they depart. Two more officers in the area respond to two more alarms as Johnston responds to a third. This time, housekeepers are the culprit. After the last of four alarm calls, Johnston takes a moment to get a cup of coffee and then heads up Pearl Street. He stations himself at the corner of Girard and Torrey Pines Road. The sign that reads "No turn on red" is often either not seen, forgotten about or ignored. After making sure he has a proper parking place in front of Harry's, Johnston waits for drivers to run the light. Before he can catch anyone, though, a waitress from Harry's knocks on the window and asks him if he will file a report on some painkillers stolen from her purse the weekend before. Between filling up patron's coffees and serving breakfast, the waitress runs out to Johnston's cruiser to file the report. Several motorists perform "California stops" at the light while her report is being filed.
The incident with the waitress is a sign of a willingness people in La Jolla have to approaching Johnston. It's a part of community building that he feels is a vital part of his job. Johnston describes the relationship between a community and its officers in an analytical and focused manner. It's his normal tone when discussing his position. "It's a product of communication," he said. "The better relationship you have with the business and personal community, the more communication you're going to have and the more effective we can be as a police department in serving the needs of the public. If you have a situation where people feel alienated from the department, you're not going to have that communication. Therefore, you're not going to be aware of many of the things that are going on in the community, and you're not going to be able to address them and solve those problems, provide solutions. And that's basically what police departments do. They're the problem solvers and they provide solutions to what the community sees as a problem." Speaking about the job, its philosophy and rules, Johnston is straightforward. He uses words and describes situations the way a social scientist would. The person who took a shot at him is referred to as an individual, the act itself is an incident. When describing the methodology of a criminal, Johnston takes a psychological approach. "Everyone grows up," he said. "Everyone encounters certain points in their life, critical or not, where they make decisions. And that's what life is all about, making choices. Many people make poor choices and have poor judgment based on a lot of factors in their lives. Unfortunately, some of them lead them on a path that takes them directly into a position where they are going to run into police and requires the police to take some action to help them deal with the results of their disastrous decisions." Johnston looks at his mission as one of public service first. Crime fighting is just a section of that service. "Our number-one priority is public service, and service entails many aspects," he said. "It includes public safety. It includes, basically, service to the community in many forms. The object is to have a happy and productive and a safe society. We're one of those groups of people who are charged with contributing towards that and building partnerships with the community in order to achieve those ends." Cooperation with the community is easier in La Jolla. People aren't used to wondering how the bills are going to be paid. The desperation of a lower-income community just isn't here. Perhaps a police officer with as much experience and admiration for his profession would be of more service in a place where serious crimes are more prevalent. But, to the victor go the spoils. Johnston has earned his place in the sun. This is not to say that every moment in La Jolla is halcyon. Johnston has investigated a number of murders here. He was on the scene two years ago when the bodies of a man, his wife and son - apparent victims of a murder-suicide - were discovered on Fern Glen Street . He was on patrol when an AIDS researcher and his young daughter were gunned down in their driveway. He helped apprehend a South African hitman who attempted to shoot a former business partner of the man who hired him. That incident took place right in the middle of the Village.
At 11:30 a.m., Johnston is parked by a stop sign in front of Jay's Burgers. He gets a call that a vehicle's tire has been slashed at La Jolla Shores. When he arrives at their condominium, Johnston hears from a couple who say they were at a stop sign by the beach when a woman with blonde hair got out of the Mercedes in front of them with a large steak knife and, unprovoked, sliced the tire of the couple's car. The woman then got back in her car and sped away. The couple maintains they did nothing to provoke the attack, and Johnston must take them at their word. "It's not my duty to decide whose opinion I like or whose opinion I take," he said. "My job is to take information and view it objectively and make an objective judgment call based on the laws I know and based on the training I've had." Johnston cites the ability to listen to and engage people as an asset to his job. He addresses each situation on its own and attempts to reach conclusions. "You learn not to let your personal feelings interfere with anything," he said. "It comes with the job. It's part of the job, being a good listener, being objective, knowing the law and how to apply it. If you operate in any other way, you're not going to last very long at this job. ... We're out here to perform a service and be professional and help people. You don't do it by being subjective. You don't do it by taking this person's side or that person's side because it's just not right. And sooner or later, you're going to get called on it." After speaking with the couple, Johnston heads down to the condo's parking garage to inspect the tire. Witnesses to the incident were able to jot down a partial license-plate number for the Mercedes. Johnston will turn all his information in to department detectives at the end of the day.
It's 1 p.m. at a 7/11 on La Jolla Boulevard. Johnston is buying water when he is approached by a woman who complains that construction vehicles working on a house across the alley from hers are blocking the alley. She can't get her car out. It's one more example of communication between an officer and his or her community. To complete the tire-slashing report, Johnston drives down to WindanSea. He parks his cruiser in front of the historic Shack and is a few minutes into completing it when a city worker knocks on his window. The worker tells Johnston that there are some men working on the Shack who may not have a city permit. Johnston goes down to the beach and introduces himself to Jim Neri, who is in charge of restoring the Shack. Neri insists that he does have a permit and that the concrete cutters there have one as well. Returning to his car to finish the tire report, Johnston receives a call that a man with a gun has been spotted in Pacific Beach by Crystal Pier. The description is that of a middle-aged man with a green shirt and a gun in his waistband. Though Pacific Beach is not his beat, he turns on his lights and speeds off to provide backup. On his way through the maze of traffic cones and construction equipment in Bird Rock at speeds of 80 mph, the lights on Johnston's cruiser cut out unexpectedly and he loses the visual and audio alarms they provide. He mutters something about the police department budget and keeps going. Drivers aware of his presence make way. Just before he arrives at the scene, Johnston receives word over the radio that the suspect has been apprehended. He continues to make his way to the scene just in case. When he arrives, Johnston sees a man fitting the suspect's description being uncuffed by officers and steadily walking away. It was a case of mistaken identity. The man has a smile on his face, but it is a nervous one. Minutes before, he was strolling down the beach at a leisurely gate. The next, cops with their guns drawn were screaming at him, all because he had a Palm Pilot attached to his waistband and chose to wear a green shirt that day. The case of mistaken identity means the real suspect is still on the beach somewhere. The security guard who made the complaint seems nervous about his story. He is uncertain. Undaunted, officers move up the coast in the direction the suspect was last seen walking. Minutes later, a police helicopter is overhead also searching for the man. After 20 minutes of casing the beach, Johnston departs. If the man truly had a gun, he got away with it. Johnston returns to WindanSea to finish his report and check on the permit. It's 2 p.m.
Everything ends up checking out with the work on the Shack, and Johnston is just getting back to the slashed-tire report when he is interrupted by a woman knocking on his window. Community building is paying off in spades. "Can I take my dog down to the beach?" the woman asks. Though signs are clearly posted saying no animals are allowed on that stretch of WindanSea, the woman claims her dog is sick and needs to urinate. Though it's certainly not a life-or-death decision, the question of whether to make an exception to the law in this woman's case is debated by Johnston. Ultimately, he decides against allowing the woman to walk her dog on the WindanSea beach out of respect to other beachgoers. Perturbed, she leaves. Johnston is soon interrupted by the woman again. "It's OK," she says, "he peed in my car." She walks away again. "And that's supposed to be my fault?" Johnston asks. The incident with the dog is an example of the other half of an officer's relationship with the community. There are those who welcome the presence of the police, and there are those who resent it. While filing out the report, Johnston is shouted at by a group of guys passing in a truck. Johnston ignores it. On his way back to the Northern Division headquarters, Johnston ends up next to a city bus at a stoplight. Hanging out of the window of the bus are several middle-school kids who start asking him questions. "Did you arrest anyone today?" they ask. "Not today," Johnston responds. "Why not?" they ask. "Everybody was good and law-abiding today," Johnston responds. "Did you shoot anybody?" they ask. "No, no," Johnston responds. "Did you beat anybody?" they ask. "No, didn't beat, shoot, arrest," Johnston responds. As the bus is pulling away, one of the kids asks, "Did you ever rape anybody?" Johnston sees the kids' questions as a product of television drama. "The dynamics of police work are something most people learn from watching TV and that's what they know of police and their techniques and their attitudes. They see on television the show 'Cops,' things like that. That's all designed for a purpose, to entertain. In the real world, that's not what we do." Damage is the last thing Johnston wishes to inflict on anyone. Back at headquarters, Johnston finishes his shift by logging his reports, checking in his equipment and dressing out. It was a slow day in La Jolla, no assassins or attack dogs, just a parking discrepancy, a slashed tire and some false alarms. There was a guy with a gun, but that was in Pacific Beach. After 26 years on the force, a number of department accolades and a gunshot
wound, Johnston can handle that. |
