A Night on the Beat:

Smelling a Skunk:
Saturday Night on the Streets of Oakland

MEMO from OAKLAND -- International Boulevard in Oakland is more exciting than Saudi Arabia, according to Sean Bowling, a former military police officer turned Oakland cop.

Bowling, a 27-year-old rookie, enlisted in the U.S. Air Force two months after he turned 18. He was also stationed in Turkey and Germany, but two years ago he joined the Oakland P.D., averaging an annual 150 arrests, give or take a few, he says.

He always wanted to join the military but he didn't want to "make it a career," he said.

On a recent Saturday, we set off at 2:30 p.m. from the department's downtown headquarters for East Oakland to begin his 10-hour shift on the third watch, or swing shift.

He makes no arrests this night -- and appears at times to be showing off a bit for me. At one point he pulls over to tell a couple of men who are drinking in the street to dump out their beers and, when I point out that they just threw the cans on the ground, he gets out of the squad car to tell them to throw them in the trash. The men speak no English and are confused, until I say "basura."

The Stockton/Modesto native has military written all over him. You can see it in his erect posture and the way his arms and hands rest at his sides, and of course, in the crewcut he sports.

Most of all, you can see it in the way he talks to a driver he pulled over for rolling through a stop sign right in front of us at a four-way intersection. From the squad car, I see him acting like a drill sergeant, moving his head as he talks, looking upset with the guy, probably raising his voice a little bit. It's the same authoritarian voice I imagine he used with the two men.

He doesn't give him a ticket. "He was a nice guy," he said.

Bowling patrols the area from 83rd Avenue to the San Leandro border in East Oakland. The area is "pit bull haven," and "scooter central" he said, and in fact, we respond to a call about a loose dog.

A few of the recent homicides plaguing Oakland took place in this area, specifically "D" Street, but we don't respond to any calls there this night.

On International Blvd, every other store seems to be a Latino market or Catholic church.

Bowling addresses people with, "hey partner," or "what's up, boss." Once in a while he'll release an oath, like "Ah, Jesus." He admits that he does get nervous before some calls, especially when he knows there are more than two guys and he'll be the first one on the scene.

"I get a little pumped up," he said. "I try to prepare myself mentally by imagining what I'm going to see when I get there."

Our first call is to the site of a car accident, but the dispatcher cuts in to say that another officer needs back up for a burglary in progress.

Bowling, who drives a 2002 convertible Mustang outside of work, steps on the gas of the patrol car, reaching speeds of up to 80 miles per hour along a semi-busy street. He's not wearing a seatbelt. When I call him on it and ask if he can get a ticket for that, he says, "I suppose I can." A couple of times he apologizes for stopping too quickly.

When we get to the Alvin Groom housing project, two other officers and Bowling approach apartment B3 carefully, whispering when they talk. My heart's pounding, but that's the only time that night that I get nervous. Most of our calls turned out to be false alarms, where there was no burglar or we just missed the suspect.

We finally respond to the car accident on 83rd and Holly, where a young African American woman tells another officer how the man who hit her tried to run off and she chased him for four blocks.

The man and his mother look at me and start speaking in Spanish to explain their side of the story. I understand for the most part and do some translating, but a Spanish-speaking officer eventually arrives and we leave.

At the scene, Officer Doug Atchison says to me about Bowling, "You're riding with the right guy, stuff just seems to gravitate to him." Stuff, meaning crimes. Saturday is not a slow night, but it's not too busy.

Gangs are active in some parts of the area. A group called the "Border Brothers," sling some dope, he says.

During one of our down periods, while we're waiting for a call from a dispatcher, we drive down a residential area when Bowling asks me, "do you smell that?"

Me: "Yeah (thinking to myself: it's skunk, not weed, officer). What is it?
Bowling: "Marijuana. Someone's growing it out here."
Me: Hmm.
Bowling: "Wait (scrunches his nose). Is that marijuana or skunk?"
Me: I thought it was skunk.

When asked if he was a journalist, what kind of story would he do about Oakland cops or the area he patrols, he answers:

An article about how well Oakland officers manage given the limited number of officers out on patrol. He says that he understands the blanket news coverage about homicides, but not all the features and negative press. It's not like other cities don't have murders, he says, a feeling echoed by many officials in the city, including -- as we discover later in class -- forensics experts at the Alameda County Coroner's Office.

About 10-12 officers patrol beat area three in districts 5 and 6 in East Oakland at one time. One call can tie up four to five officers, leaving other incidents on the backburner, he said. Oakland "definitely needs more police officers," he said. He would vote for Measure FF -- the city initiative proposing 100 new cops for the city -- but he's a San Leandro resident. Does he think more cops will reduce the number of homicides?

"No, but it'll reduce the crime," he said. "It's kinda' like free rein for anybody to do what they want."

The point is punctuated when we hear music blaring from a car.

"I should give him a ticket, but I don't have time," he said by way of explanation.

Bowling lives in a four-bedroom house with two other officers, Chris Keden (who works the same shift and beat area as Bowling) and his identical twin brother, who is a deputy with Alameda County Sheriff's department.

We respond to two domestic disturbance calls. At the first, around 6:30 p.m., a woman is nursing a swollen eye courtesy of her uncle, she charges. The woman's daughter is mopping up a big area on the linoleum floor, where my eyes are fixated. She looks at me and says, "Oh, it's Kool Aid, not blood." We laugh. As Bowling tries to take down a witness statement, the woman's other daughter calls every 20 seconds despite being told not to, and people are shuffling in and out of the house to see her.

When I ask Bowling about "the Riders," he says he can't comment since he wasn't there, but "if they're guilty, they should get in trouble." Does he think Officer Batt was a snitch? Bowling smirks and answers, "I don't know him, I can't say what happened."

At 10:30 p.m., one hour before his shift ends, we go to Carrows for his meal break. There, he looks at me and says, "you don't seem like the type who would get married or have children." My response is noncommittal. As he waits for his meal, he finishes three reports. He uses a white out tape to correct his mistakes.

At the end of the night he asks me what I thought about his performance, how would I evaluate him. I tell him that I don't have anything to compare it to. He asked me earlier, too, how I would have handled a particular domestic disturbance call earlier.

In that case, the wife allegedly pulled a knife on her husband, both of whom were drunk. When he cuffs her and takes her to the patrol car to run her name on the computer system, I hear him say, "First of all, don't pull away from me," and I see him tug her arm roughly. I tell him I would've released both of them like he did, but I don't tell him that I think he's on a power trip.

He drops me off close to midnight at my car in downtown Oakland. I didn't come across any prostitutes.

-30-