On the Night Beat:

Fighting Stereotype and Family Disapproval,
Korean-American Cop Pursues Job He Loves

MEMO from OAKLAND -- Police work was not Oakland Police Officer Simon Rhee's first career choice. Growing up in the safety of suburban Castro Valley he never really thought about -- or experienced -- crime or violence in any fashion.

Yet here he is now at 27, working a tough beat in North Oakland, answering a call about prostitutes on 32nd and San Pablo Avenue. I'm a passenger in his squad car this evening when we arrive at the Bay Area Liquor and Grocery to find another officer, a baby-faced 25 year-old guy named Dan Ming, detaining three young girls, two African-Americans and one white.

Before we exit Rhee explains that cops always have to call for cover when they stop prostitutes because the women often lie about what the cops did to them. In this case the back up is for career safety rather than personal safety. This section of San Pablo, a 19-mile long major artery stretching from Oakland all the way to Crockett, is notorious for prostitution.

These girls look no older than teenagers.

Ming asks them how old they are, but gets vague answers in reply. He then says that the youngest prostitute he ever met was a 12-year-old girl in San Francisco who had her own apartment and paid all her own bills.

Ming lets the girls go with a warning, and then explains to me that the police can only arrest prostitutes if they actually see them soliciting a john.

Few things surprise Rhee or Ming much, it seems. They are young in appearance, but somehow much older than their years. No matter whether it's the shocking age of prostitutes in the city, or the horrid manner that they sometimes see people die, they seem somehow prepared for surprise more than ordinary people simply because they see so much of it.

Rhee remembers that one of the most harrowing calls he ever answered took place not in the mean streets of downtown Oakland, but in the affluent hills early in his career.

The awful sadness of the image stays with him, he says, nearly a decade later. A child jumping on his bunk bed had fallen and somehow gotten his neck trapped in a bag strap. His parents found him hanging lifelessly from the top bunk.

Such is life on the beat for a young Korean-American police officer who defied his immigrant parents' wishes to pursue a job many abhor, but one he clearly loves -- even on a frustrating night like this when the biggest fight he seems to have is not with the bad guys, but with sour radio dispatchers and the police bureaucracy.

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From the time he was kid, Rhee's only experience with unlawfulness came secondhand, from episodes involving his mother's and father's jobs and small entrepreneurs. He dad owned small corner store near Lake Merritt in Oakland that was robbed at gunpoint several times, but Rhee, who often worked alongside his dad as a teenager, was never present during the robberies.

His mom's Oakland video store was robbed repeatedly. But these incidents didn't inspire him to be a cop. Back then, he was more interested in becoming a lawyer.

During his undergraduate years at UC Davis, Rhee, 27, wanted to be a district attorney. He was law school-bound until a fateful internship with the Yolo County DA's office showed him how boring and low-paying prosecutorial work could be. It was 1998 and the technology sector was exploding, so Rhee decided to try his hand at business.

He interned for a company that manufactured a wireless communication device. He was hired to cold-call potential customers and sell them on the virtues of the product.

There was just one little problem -- Rhee didn't have a clue about what he was selling and it showed.

He didn't last long.

When he graduated with a BA in Political Science and Sociology he still wasn't sure about the career he wanted to pursue. He had developed an interest in police work, but he knew that his Korean-American parents wouldn't be happy about that.

In the Korean-American community, law enforcement is considered blue-collar work, and parents generally don't want their children to be blue-collar laborers. They push them hard to excel in school and to become doctors and lawyers or other professionals, Rhee said.

Rather than make a decision about his career path right away, he traveled in Korea for two months following graduation. When he returned he had his heart set on becoming a police officer. He applied to Oakland, San Francisco and San Jose. Oakland, always desperate for new officers, called first. His mother was heartbroken. And even worse, she was ashamed to tell her friends that her son was going to be a cop.

"She wanted a trophy to show off to her friends," Rhee said.

Rhee, who is average height and wears his black hair short on the sides, cut close in the back and long enough to gel into a sort of forward-jutting shelf on the top, has been on the force for two and a half years.

He works the North Oakland beat in District 2 bordered by Martin Luther King, Jr. Way on the East, Emeryville on the West, Berkeley on the North and 40th Street on the South. Although District 2 is a cakewalk compared to East and West Oakland, Beat 10, Rhee's beat, gets the most crime, he says.

And the swing shift -- from 2 p.m. or 3 p.m. until 9 p.m. is usually the busiest beat.

Rhee says he envisions a long career in the police force. Next year, he wants to move up to the Criminal Investigation Division where every crime except sexual assault and juvenile crimes are investigated. He enjoys patrol, but he is afraid of getting burnt out with the constant calls and the overwhelming paperwork, which he says is the majority of the job.

He knew the officers accused in the Riders case and says that whatever their methods, "they had West Oakland on lock-down. Now we are a joke in West Oakland, they're laughing at us now."

He also laments the recent arrests of two vice officers on suspicion of patronizing prostitutes. "It's not a good time for us right now," he sighs. "It's sad that a handful of officers can taint the whole department."

A Christian, Rhee says that when he has doubts about his job, his faith reminds him why he's a cop. He believes that this is what God wants him to do with his life.

Rhee recently moved from his parents' home in Castro Valley to San Leandro with his fiancée Lisa, a police dispatcher for the Oakland police department. They will marry next July 5th.

Roll Call 3p.m.

In the bowels of Oakland Police headquarters, patrol officers on the 3 p.m. swing shift report for duty. Of the 20 officers in the room, there is one woman, who is African-American, three African-American men, six or seven Asian men and the rest are white men.

Th watch commander updates the officers about the city's 92nd murder that happened the previous night, and tells officers that three high school football games are going on this afternoon at Oakland High, Skyline High, and McClymonds High. Later tonight, Castlemont and McClymonds high schools are having dances. He warns them to keep an eye on for trouble.

Then he tells them that a six-foot tall, 280 lb. African-American male serial sexual assault perpetrator is back in action. He attacks women from behind, in broad daylight in the area of 41 Street and Adeline. The most recent victim was attacked at 7 a.m. on Tuesday or Wednesday. There is a record of cases with a similar m.o. that go back several years, but no one was ever prosecuted, he says. He warns the officers to be on the lookout for the suspect.

Hitting the Road 3:30 p.m.
We pick up the patrol car at the lot under the 580-freeway underpass at 6th and Washington streets. It's filthy on the inside, littered with old coffee cups, used napkins, and what looks like crumbs of every shape and substance. A Nokia cell phone is mounted on the dash between the steering wheel and the computer screen; the keyboard is mounted directly below the screen. Officer Rhee apologizes for the state of the car and explains that although it's only a year old, he shares it with several different officers who usually don't bother to clean up after themselves. He also has a personal cell phone that he will use later to try and reach his fiancée when he has a terse exchange with a dispatcher.

We soon take a call to provide cover for another officer at 3301 Telegraph Avenue, a block away from Neldam's Danish bakery. When we arrive, Officer Mark McGiffert, a tall lanky white guy with buzz cut brown hair and freckles is waiting on the sidewalk in front of the hulking, old apartment building. He is responding to a 911 hang-up call. Return calls from dispatch weren't answered so he and Rhee have to make sure that everything in the apartment is OK. Unfortunately, it's a security building and none of the buzzers are working. At that moment, a young woman who lives in the building pulls up behind Rhee's squad car and she lets us in.

At the door to apartment 108 Rhee and Mc Giffert, with one hand ready on their guns, tap on the door:

"Oakland police. Someone called 911. Is everything alright in there?" McGiffert asks.

The door opens half way and a girls tells the officers that everything is OK, the phone call was just a mistake. Rhee and McGiffert go in to take a look around, a middle-aged woman and another teen boy are in the run-down apartment. Rhee chats with the other boy about the "American Idol" TV program while the winner's video plays on TV. McGiffert corners Marques to get his particulars and find out what happened.

"But we didn't mean to dial it," Marques says. McGiffert explains the hazards of making false calls to 911. Crisis averted. Case solved. We move on.

En route to our next call to take a stolen vehicle report, Rhee gives me a crash course on the police jargon emanating from the radio. Each shift is assigned a number -- swing is '1', day shift is '2', and dogwatch (or graveyard) is '3'. "Lincoln" designates a patrol car with one officer; "Adam" is a two-officer car. On the radio, officers are identified by the shift number, car status and beat number, so Rhee is "3L10." "Code 3" means officers need to proceed with lights and sirens, it's usually used when a violent crime is in progress or an officer is in trouble. A sergeant must authorize use of Code 3.

We arrive at 1192 63rd Street at 5:10 p.m. to take a stolen vehicle report from a 19 year-old teenager. After we pull up to the residence, Rhee uses his computer to look up the license plate number of the stolen car.

That's when things start to get confusing .

In addition to Brown's report (code 10851 for a stolen vehicle), there's a report in the system from Berkeley police that the car is a "felony vehicle" that was used as a getaway car in an attempted stolen vehicle incident that morning.

Rhee is confused.

The young African-American woman dressed in black jeans and a gray T-shirt says that the car was stolen between 5 a.m. and 8 a.m. that morning. It's a four-door, 1988 white Buick Le Sabre. She says she bought the car a month ago from "Darryl" whose girlfriend, Robin Martinez of Oakland, had the car registered in her name. She paid $500 cash and traded him another car.

The car contains a DVD player and TV screen mounted on the center console. Rhee writes her information on the police report and asks her to sign and date it. All this takes place at the hood of the squad car under the watchful, distrustful eyes of several young men sitting on the stoop of a large two-story, pink Victorian on the corner.

Back in the patrol car, Rhee calls Berkeley police to find out about the other report. He explains to the dispatcher that he has just taken a stolen vehicle report on the car. She tells him that two African-American men were seen at 8:26 a.m. trying to steal a car in Berkeley. They jumped in the white Buick to make their getaway.

Rhee thanks her for the information and we head towards one of his "safe spots" where police go to write their reports. He has several, including Summit Medical Center on Broadway (which is technically outside of his beat, but he feels safe there and the bathrooms are clean).

We end up in the parking lot of a warehouse behind the Hostess/Wonder Bakery Thriftshop on the corner of 53rd and Adeline streets. He frequents this spot because of it's in the middle of his large beat and thus a good place from which to start if he gets another call.

Police officers and Dispatchers- A thin line between love and hate
Once Rhee finishes writing the report (including making a change using the correction tape he carries in his right breast pocket), he calls it in to dispatch on the department cell phone. When he gets off the phone he tells me that he was just talking to the "Dragon Lady," one of the old-school dispatchers whom most of the officers dislike.

Rhee says she's especially mean and gives them a hard time about eating. "I know my life is going to be hell for two hours when she is on duty," Rhee said.

Dispatchers work the radio for two hours at a time. When they aren't on the radio they are taking 911 calls or helping officers file reports. They used to work on the 9th floor of police headquarters, but now they work out of a new facility on Edgewater Drive out by the Oakland coliseum.

Most of the older dispatchers work the day shift or dogwatch. Rhee's fiancée works swing shift and most of her colleagues are younger both in terms of age and length of service. There are male dispatchers; in fact, someone named Bob has been working the day shift "forever," Rhee says.

There is often tension, conflict and bitterness between officers and dispatchers. Some cops feel that dispatchers don't have any right to complain about on-the-job stress when they aren't out on the streets confronting the madness directly. They get to sit in a cushy office and tell them where to go. Dispatchers often feel like the cops aren't responding to crime situations appropriately. This can lead to conflict even in romantic relationships -- Rhee and his fiancée sometimes argue about this issue too.

Sometimes cops also feel that dispatchers are talking down to them or smarting off with them. In all fairness, Rhee says that some cops have smart mouths with the dispatchers too.

Yet, love also blossom between cops and dispatchers. Rhee and Lisa afterall are getting married.

Drama and confusion
At about 6:40 p.m. the dispatcher contacts Rhee about his earlier stolen vehicle call. She's talked to the Berkeley dispatcher who says that Rhee told her to take the felony vehicle report out of the system after conferring with the officer who wrote the report.

Two issues with her account: 1) Rhee never told her to take the other report out of the system and 2) he never told her he had spoken to the Berkeley police officer. He tries to explain to the dispatcher who tells him, rather sarcastically, that now sergeants in both departments are going to have to get involved.

Rhee does not appreciate her tone of voice and in between talking to her on the private radio channel, he lets me know how much he is not appreciating her tone.

"I don't know why this is so complicated," he says with frustration. We're sitting in the lot at the 76 gas station on the corner of MLK and 55th Street, at the northern edge of his beat. The conversation continues, but neither side is making any headway. Rhee is getting more agitated, his face is flushed pink and he sighs heavily -- when he 's off the radio. Finally, the dispatcher says that she is going to have to consult with her sergeant and the radio goes dead.

Disgustedly, Rhee switches back to the main patrol channel in time to hear a request for cover at 747 54th Street where a woman has called about a man in front of her home who is in violation of a restraining order.

We are the first unit to arrive on the scene. The description of the suspect was a black male, wearing a gray T-shirt. There isn't anyone in front of 747, which is an apartment building, but a man dressed like the description is working on the porch of the gray house at 737 54th Street, right next door. As we drive up, he waves to us. Two white women in their late-twenties are watching the scene from an upstairs window in the apartment building.

Within minutes, Officers Huy Nguyen, 25 and Jorge Cabral, 24 arrive on the scene. This is Officer Cabral's beat so Rhee and Nguyen defer to him. It turns out that the two women called because the man next door is violating the restraining order they have against him.

Later, after the commotion dies down, Cabral, who grew up in Union City, tells me that the women had once been friendly with the man and employed him for odd jobs. Somehow, at some time, the relationship turned sour. The restraining order prohibits him from coming within 100 yards of them; the only problem is that he lives two doors down from them. Cabral decides to let him off with a warning, as long as he finishes his work at the house and goes directly home. The women don't look pleased about that.

While all this is going on, Rhee, who is still upset and confused about the stolen vehicle situation, explains what happened to Nguyen. With four years on the force, Nguyen has the most seniority on this squad and as such he has the plum Piedmont Avenue beat. He emigrated to the US from Vietnam when he was 12 and grew up in San Pablo and Rodeo.

Nguyen tells Rhee that there can't be two hits on the same vehicle in the system, so either Berkeley's felony vehicle report or his stolen vehicle report is going to have to come out. He says that Berkeley PD should have notified the registered owner of the vehicle once they verified that the suspects in the attempted car theft weren't the owners of the Buick. He advises him to call the sergeant and tell him what is going on.

While Rhee talks animatedly on the phone, Nguyen relates a tale of how a mistake in the system almost led to bloodshed. He pulled a report on a Porsche that said it was wanted in connection with a homicide and that all occupants should be detained. He pulled the car over and took the two African-American riders out at gunpoint (standard operating procedure for stolen vehicle stops Rhee told me earlier).

Across the street a large group of African-Americans were barbecuing at a park. When they saw what was happening, they became belligerent and started cursing at Nguyen. After he had the two suspects in his squad car (one of whom he knew from the neighborhood who couldn't understand why he was doing this) he called it in and discovered that the report was outdated and that there was no longer an order to stop the car.

"Costly mistakes," Nguyen said. Someone could have easily been killed in that situation, he said, but sometimes people make mistakes.

Wrapping Up
A few more calls come in about a group of kids on scooters making too much noise, a call about loud music being played at a residence and one about a group of young men, including a known dealer, hanging out on a corner on Adeline in front of a market. Rhee decides to respond to the final call, but a pick-up truck that runs a stop sign distracts him. When he pulls it over it's an older gentleman who readily admits that he ran the sign. Rhee decides to let him off with a warning.

In the meantime, the drug dealers have spotted him and the signal (a loud whistle) warns them to scatter. When we arrive at the market, a block down the street, the group has disappeared.

It's time to call it a night. Rhee drops me off at my house at 8:20 p.m. He is taking Saturday off and he is eager to go home early.