NOTE: In the Law Enforcement profession, as in many other endeavors , sometimes fiction is more interesting than the truth, and big salacious rumors are sometimes more fun to relate , especially if they involve high ranking mucky-mucks, our so-called paragons of virtue, and in this case, copious amounts of money and strong drink.
Disclaimer: This is such a story that is completely fabricated, and has nothing to do with any public figures, most notably the former Chief of Police of San Francisco, and any member of that fine upstanding organization, past, present, or otherwise.
Once upon a time:
As proudly Irish as was his entire Command Staff, The Chief had a very ornate and large locked cabinet in his public office on the 6th floor of the Hall of Justice at 850 Bryant Street. The desk there was mahogany, with tinges of gold filagree, and looked about 2 acres in size. This glitzy shrine was designed and decorated to prove to all and sundry how important the Police Chief was in this City by the Bay. It was for press conferences, staff briefings, and to impress visiting politicians and other touristy types of law enforcement.
The Chiefs work-a-day office was much smaller, had a vinyl topped desk, and white boards on all 4 walls.
Being in an “Irish profession”, this meant that visitors would more often than not bring liquid refreshments with them that could be freshened up with cubed ice from the small refrigerator kept nearby.
Glassware and coasters were stored quietly in a desk drawer.
Adulterating liquids like soda or such were hard to find, primarily because the Chief believed that “real men take their liquor straight.”
Progress in the Forensic Sciences wasn’t as straight forward as in other disciplines where you: research, experiment, publish for peer review, and then apply to the Nobel Committee in Sweden.
This all happened in the so-called “Cop Sciences” pretty much in the same general fashion, but then take on added twists when you get done, where your discoveries take a left-turn at the FBI Crime Lab
The FBI Fingerprint Recognition Division in DC operated out of SEVERAL large multi-story faceless buildings and employed scores of people who had large magnifying glasses, carefully organized desk stations, and copious amounts of expensive Federal Fingerprint Recognition Training.
Our national crime busting bureaucracy at its finest and slowest.
The then new Computerized Fingerprint software recognition system was a revolution in identifying unknown criminals and was being offered to local law enforcement entities as fast as they could afford the multi-million-dollar expense.
Where before a wait time for results was months and sometimes much longer depending on the type of crime that was involved, this new system offered turnaround times of less than a day or even faster.
It was offered to my Department at only a large six-figure investment.
The word back to our almost salivating and overworked local crime lab was not this year, and maybe not even this decade.
Until one semi-famous 3-day weekend.
After the Command Staff left the sixth floor Friday happy hour “meeting”, it was more than 72 hours later that the Chief discovered that his sanctuary had been violated and he now was bereft of his expensive single pot Bushmills Rare Cask 106 whiskey.
Phone calls were made, CSI meetings cancelled, and soon thereafter fingerprint powder and 10-print cards were flying.
Refinishing the Chiefs ornate liquor cabinet after the “dust settled” was going to be expensive, not to mention the cost of replacing the now terminally damaged brass key locking mechanism.
Conservative estimates had over 12,000 sets of fingerprints in the Departmental Print database, and even more in our section in the FBI files. The head of the CSI unit figured that “for only a misdemeanor physical larceny crime”, FBI results would be returned in 12-18 months, and that local file checks would take even longer.
Trying to keep a straight face, he opined that the new computerized system might get the job done in a matter of days, once it was locally brought online.
Massive numbers of phone calls again were made.
The City Board of Supervisors was petitioned, and the author of an “emergency budget request”, who herself was the daughter of a former Police Chief, had the fingerprint computer ordered and paid for within 2 weeks.
While the CSI waited for my Department to join the 20th century, the head of that Unit and the local Police Officer Association bought the Chief a replacement keg of Irish Usbegoth Whiskey.
No one ever was ever identified in this caper, but when the Chief retired 18 months later to his crab fishing boat at the Wharf, one of his most unusual going away presents was a box of slightly used, large sized SFPD Issued yellow plastic gloves, ( given only to the miscreants of uniform patrol status) , all of which were covered in fingerprint powder.
10-7
