Leo.'
Had I been even a little knowledgeable about astrological combinations I would have known that Scorpios and Leos don't make for an easy relationship. Kiyo was fire and I was water, and the ensuing three years of our marriage generated a lot of steam as each of us tried to force the other to adjust. Kiyo knew a lot of Hollywood people and some of them, like Jane Russell, attended her astrology classes, respected her knowledge, and were genuinely interested in what she was teaching. And Kiyo's relationships with her clients got us on the guest list of lots of Hollywood personalities, particularly with Jane Russell and her husband, Bob Waterfield, the great former quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams.
I was slightly disconcerted that most of Kiyo's friends seemed much older than she. And, of course, since I was ten years younger than Kiyo, I felt awkward and uncomfortable with many of them. They would invariably remark, 'Steven, you look so young. How old are you?' They always seemed surprised at my answer, 'I
One Sunday morning, about three months after we had married, Kiyo threw the classified section of the
LAPD WANTS YOU!
Are you one of the four in a hundred applicants that will make it through the process to our police academy training? Would you like an exciting and rewarding career in law enforcement and retire in twenty years? Apply at City Hall now!
I was working at the time as an orderly at Kaiser Hospital in Hollywood, emptying bedpans, moving patients, making sure that whatever slop came out of a patient was cleaned up before the next patient was brought in. It was a job I hated, certainly not my idea of an 'exciting and rewarding' career. I looked back at Kiyo, who had been staring at me in silence, and asked, 'What does a policeman do? Write tickets? Direct traffic?' A cop? I knew nothing about it, and cared less. Maybe I could be a detective, I thought, just like Joe Friday on
Two weeks after I had passed both entrance exams and had been rejected by the sheriff's department at the in-person interview for being too young, I was called in for my oral at LAPD. That went better. I fit their job description as if I'd come right out of central casting. I was a young, trim, tall WASP who racked up strong written scores on the exam, was married, and had four years of military training. At that time, the department was trying to rid itself of the old image of the fat sloppy cop stealing an apple. They were looking for young, idealistic men that they could mold into professionals. I was what my interviewers said was the 'new breed.'
I took the psych test, convincing the department psychological evaluator that, even though my father was a psychiatrist, I wasn't neurotic, or worse. Then I underwent the background check in which the department's investigators checked out every movement I had made on this planet from birth, including personal interviews with out-of-state Navy buddies and neighbors from old addresses ten years back. The only smudge on my background check was a drunken brawl I had been involved in while on Guam, where I punched out a fellow sailor in a bar and got arrested by the MPs. Actually, I think the investigators liked that tidbit: it gave me just enough macho credibility.
But when a few months passed following my original application and exams without any word from the department, I began to get worried. I believed I had made good impressions in person, on paper, and in the difficult physical agility tests. And during the process I had evolved from an emotionally blase, take-it-or-leave-it attitude to a strong feeling that I really wanted this job. Finally, on a Friday afternoon in mid-January 1963,1 received a phone call from a secretary in LAPD's personnel division, informing me that I was scheduled to report to their office the following Monday, January 14, at 9:00 a.m., to meet with the captain.
I was a half-hour early and very nervous as I sat on the long bench outside of room 311 at the police administration building. I knew from other applicants that the civil service standard operating procedure for acceptance or rejection to the police academy was by mail. Why then was I being called in personally to speak with the captain? At which point a heavyset man in his fifties walked down the hall, stood in front of the locked door, turned to look down at me, frowned, and asked, 'Hodel?' I stood up, answering, 'Yes, sir.' He put his key in the lock and turned it decisively. 'I'm Captain San-sing,' he said over the loud clack of the deadbolt snapping back into the door lock. 'You're early — come on in, we might as well get this over with before the others arrive.'
I knew from his tone and the way he said 'over with' that I was finished, hadn't made it. But why? What had I done? The burly captain opened the door, and I followed him to the rear, where we entered his private office. He shut the door behind me.
I stood at full attention in front of his desk, glancing at the silver nameplate, 'Captain Earle Sansing, Commander, Personnel Division.' He sat down in the large leather chair and said, 'I'm not going to mince words, son. I am not going to certify you for acceptance to the police academy. You have no business being a police officer. I
Standing there in disbelief and intimidated by this man who held the final word, I responded with a mixture of controlled anger and passion. I spoke with real emotion, and before I realized it, I was making a formal plea.
'Captain, sir,' I began. 'I have spent the last five months preparing for this moment. During that time I have tried to focus my heart and my mind toward one purpose, one goal, making it to the academy. I have finally done that. I have proven myself to be of fit character, mentally, physically, and morally. I don't know what you mean about knowing my father. I can only assume you are referring to his trial back in 1949. I know nothing of it other than he was found innocent of some charges that my half-sister Tamar made against him. He left us right after the trial, and my mother never spoke about it. I do know that I am not my father. I am myself. I also know that it is I, not my father, who wants to become a policeman. It is I, not my father, who has worked and sweated and struggled through each separate test toward this opportunity. Please, sir, do not take away this chance from me now. Let me prove myself in the academy. All I am asking from you is the chance for me to prove myself.'
The veteran captain never took his eyes off of me, studying every inch of me, as if he were looking at an X-ray, sizing me up as if he were doing long division in his head. I also got the impression that he was trying to use his street smarts and intuition, which any experienced cop develops over the years on the job. It's what enables him to trust his gut feelings and not second-guess himself when he has to make a shoot/no shoot decision. Captain Sansing was taking a mental photograph of me that morning, looking for something in me that he could compute and confirm a decision he was trying to reach. A full minute passed, but it seemed like an eternal silence. Then he blinked, and I thought I saw his hardness change to a twinkle.
'Hodel,' he said, 'I am going to certify you to the academy. I shouldn't, and I know I shouldn't, but I am. I say again, it's a waste of time and money. You will start the academy three weeks from today. Now get the fuck out of
