The Police Chief and The Prostate Exam

(originally published in May, 2008)

Those of you who know me are aware that I have what I like to think of as a Renaissance approach to my career. Just give me a challenge, from baking a wedding cake (6 tier chocolate with raspberry coulis, butter frosting, rosette trim), to interior design, writing a novel, you name it, I'll do it and it I can usually pull it off without falling on my face (some things are just beginner's luck and I never push it). Oh yes, and I loved making films too and hope to do that again some day.

Last year I had been hired to do an interior design project for a healthcare client in Glendale but after loving the plan they found out they were short on money so they asked me to help raise the necessary funds. I'm a good egg - not only will I work for you but I'll pay myself too. In this particular instance the fundraiser they decided upon was a fashion show featuring a wide (and I mean wide) assortment of lovely staffers from the hospital. Twasn't long before I was tapped to be the Creative Director which meant I had to come up with the concept (and the actual fashions).

Thanks to my pal Karen, costume designer extraordinaire, I was able to mine the vast wardrobe department at Universal Studios and pull together a couture collection of stunning gowns representing the decades of the 20th Century.

Everything went smoothly, the runway show a big success. One of the other fundraising efforts in the event was a silent auction which featured many spiffy items, including something I really, really wanted.

Why I coveted this item was a bit of a mystery to my husband, who was charged with bidding on it while I ran around backstage corralling my models and cramming them into their beaded dresses. I admit it was an impulse buy - perhaps it was because I didn't need another set of stylish earrings from Cookie Lee Jewelery, signed baseball cap or a spa facial. What I was drawn to was item number 604: Lunch with the Chief of Police and a tour of the Jail.

My husband did his duty and entered into a spirited bidding war with another lady who apparently had the same idea. He won and proudly gave me the certificate.

Chief Randy Adams of the Glendale Police Department is a very busy man. Every time I called his schedule was booked for weeks in advance and it took several tries before I finally was able to pin him down. Not wanting to do this by myself I rooked my pal Mari into joining me. I mean, what good is a juicy experience like this when you can't share it with someone to whom you can say at appropriate times, 'ohmygodthisisreallyweird!' or 'isthereseomthinginmyteeth?'

Earlier this month the appointed day arrived and before I went to the large modern building in downtown Glendale that housed the police department I stopped by my healthcare clients on business and happened to mention I was at last cashing in on my opportunity to have the Chief as a lunch companion.

"Fabulous!" cried my client, a very nice and well-meaning nurse with a passion for preventative healthcare. "Here are some brochures about our treatment center, a dozen of my business cards, our Annual Report, and oh, yes, information on our upcoming and VERY IMPORTANT Prostate Screening for Men.

I know a little something about the importance of early diagnosis for cancer because of my work as editor of the online publication, Patient Resource Center, so I took the pile of stuff and gamely carried it to my lunch date. Mari had joined me downstairs in the station and after we were vetted (and probably x-rayed without our permission) they let us upstairs to the inner sanctum.

You must understand I've never had any trouble with the Law. So the idea of being deep inside the inner workings of a real police station, getting up close and personal with a police chief and then touring a state-of-the-art lock-up was making me a bit giddy. Kind of like being at Disneyland on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride when you actually thought the cannons they were shooting at you were real. This was as close as I ever intended to get and I was going to enjoy every minute of it.

As Mari and I sat waiting in the outer reception area for the Chief to finish a very important phone call (probably with the Mayor), we perused the stack of magazines nearby. The title, Police Chief, blazed across the front covers. Inside were lots of articles about the latest technology for chasing, subduing, manacling, interviewing and breaking perps. This was one of those moments where being with someone else was much more fun. We saw a full page ad with a guy in a face and body leather restraint that looked eerily like the Silence of the Lambs model.

We started giggling.

Then without preamble the door to the Chief's office opened and out walked......the biggest man I'd ever seen. He looked ten feet tall, beefy without being fat, big gnarly hands, tree-trunk legs that went on forever, massive chest, and a very big head. He was wearing a somber dark suit which heightened the effect of this overpowering presence. He looked a little like a less-gaunt version of Abraham Lincoln, kindly eyes and all. I'm no wilting lily but I immediately felt like a gnat and when he looked down at me, shook my hand and introduced himself I felt something I hadn't felt in what seemed like forever: totally out of control.

Another giggling fit welled up in my chest. I looked helplessly over at Mari who was smirking.

I'd assumed we would be having rubber chicken in his office but he smiled at both of us questionly and asked, "So where would you like to go?"

I was totally unprepared for this. Out? We were going out? To a restaurant? In public?

I was rendered speechless but Mari bailed me out by suggesting Frankies, a local burger hangout. He looked slightly amused. I'm sure he'd been expecting to squire us to Glendale's version of a five-star eatery where no doubt he usually took his meals with his political equals. After all he was buying.

Nope, we were off to have a sloppy joe at Frankies and he took us down to the super secure police parking lot and we drove three blocks in his very large American sedan (black of course) with plush interior. Our boat arrived and he deftly squeezed into the crowded parking and in we went.

"We'll probably see some of my motor officers," he remarked as we entered the restaurant. I guess that's Chief speak for those guys who drive around and give you speeding tickets. Somehow I was afraid to call them any slang word in his presence although Mari wasn't so shy.

"Oh, yeah," she said, "the cops eat here all the time." Way to go Mari, brave soul that you are.

We were immediately seated next to the only two cops in the place and you could see them visibly squirm when we approached. It was a sure bet no Chief had ever eaten in this lowly hangout. They smiled wanly at us and their boss surprised us all by greeting them both by name, to which they brightened considerably.

Chief Adams leaned toward them conspiratorially and said, "Meet the only two ladies who were able to legally buy the Chief." We all laughed. At least four of us were laughing a little too brightly.

The lunch was pleasant. I fell into writer mode and asked him a lot of questions about his past, how he'd come to be in law enforcement, did he know he'd be Chief one day, and was he the tallest man on the force? He took the questions in stride and was talkative and relaxed. He even confided that his son had been on the wrong side of the law briefly and regretted not being able to join the force because of it. He talked about his first and second wives, his passion for remembering people's names and getting his officers to move out of their social ghettos.

"If they don't widen their circle of friends beyond other officers, how are they going to know that 99% of the public are actually very nice? All they ever see out there on the streets are the tiny minority of nasty individuals and after a while it colors your view of the world."

I was actually starting to like the man.

Then before we knew it the lunch was over and Chief Adams took us back to the station in his big car and we were treated to a selection of items emblazoned with Glendale Police Chief - pens, cups, even a tiny replica of his badge which he wore on his lapel.

It was then I realized I had this pile of promotional material from my hospital client and started in on it with a certain amount of enthusiasm until I got to the part about the prostate exam, when I realized what I was saying and started to sweat. At the mention of his unmentionable he flinched a bit but before I could say, "What the hell am I doing?" he kept me from flaming out by gallantly responding with a yes, such exams were important and he always advised his men to stay healthy.

Whew!

Then he stood up to say goodbye and for a second I saw a very big Magnum in a shoulder holster under his expensive suit - a grim reminder of the seriousness of his job. We snapped a couple of pictures (Mari is 6' so you can get an idea of his size) and I squirmed a little when he put his hand on the small of my back for the photo. I looked like a silly git and immediately deleted the offending shot from my camera. The photo with Mari (above) is my only proof we were ever there.

Then with a pleasant goodbye he was gone. A nice gray-haired lady gave us a tour of the station, the inner workings of which were fascinating to a human question mark like me. Then she took us to the jail downstairs, a modern marvel of foot-thick sliding steel doors, electronic eyes, and a woman who sat in a catbird perch with a bank of monitors with the controls to all the doors in her very competent hands. This ultra-sleek and very clean jail is the 'pay-to-stay' option for people who can afford to avoid other county lock-ups, like the notorious Parker Center in L.A. Keifer Sutherland actually trained to be a custodian while serving his time here, preparing meals for the other prisoners and doing clean-up duties. In exchange he got a room the executive wing which wasn't locked during the day.

Mari had to get back to the office. I stayed a while longer and watched the 911 operators take a few calls. I didn't want to leave because I knew I'd probably never have the chance to be this close to the real deal again. Finally they kicked me out.

When I got home I put my Chief of Police cup in the window where anyone contemplating a break-in would be sure to see it.

Take that, bad guys!