AN OFFICER WHO CAN DEFUSE : MAN SURVIVES 20 YEARS ON BOMB SQUAD.

Byline: John Wilkens The San Diego Union-Tribune

When Conrad Grayson strides into Angelo's Burgers in south Oceanside, people get nervous. Is he dining or - gulp - working?

He is wearing a dark jumpsuit with black boots. A handgun is strapped to his waist. Written across the back of his suit, in big block letters, is this:

BOMB SQUAD.

Three of his San Diego County Sheriff's Department colleagues, similarly clad, are nearby. Diners at tables look over their shoulders, silently calculating the distance from the front door to their cars. A cook holding a spatula freezes.

Finally one of the braver customers clears his throat and asks Grayson, ``Is there any reason we should be leaving?''

There isn't. The squad members are there for sodas and onion rings - just taking a break after another call in what has been an unusually mad season of bomb incidents in San Diego County.

Still, the tension in the restaurant never quite disappears.

``Happens all the time,'' Grayson says of the diners' reactions. ``It could have been worse. Some places ask us to leave.''

He shrugs. After 20 years, it doesn't bother him. Not much does when you wake up every day to a job that can kill you.

A recent Friday:

By the time Grayson arrives at the Oceanside transit center, the Amtrak train has been evacuated.

Shoved under a seat near the back of the train is a briefcase, abandoned by a strange man who fled on foot to a taxi and was overheard saying, ``I want to get as far away from here as possible.''

Grayson puts on a protective vest that weighs 32 pounds and a hood and a helmet with a clear face shield. He slips on heavy gloves. And inside the train he goes.

The bomb squad - Grayson, Bill Kilpatrick, Robie Roberson, Rick Empson and Bill Cruzen - wants a picture of the briefcase, an X-ray that they hope will reveal the contents.

They take one picture, then another. When they develop them, what they see has the appearance of a pipe bomb, a tube-shaped device with wires sticking out of it.

Grayson and the others talk out their battle plan. A machine, not a man, will do the opening. A small cannon that shoots a high-velocity stream of water is maneuvered into place in front of the briefcase, and a long cable used to fire the cannon is run down the aisle of the train car and outside.

The bomb technicians exit the train and crouch behind a block wall. The water cannon is fired with a distinctive pop. The briefcase is blown open.

There is no bomb inside.

Grayson grew up in Los Angeles and came to San Diego to join the Marines when he was 17. He served a tour in Vietnam in the early 1960s and then returned here. ``San Diego has been home for most of my life,'' he said.

He got a job at the San Diego Zoo as a keeper. He worked with the big cats and the elephants. But on the side, he became a reserve police officer, and his days off were spent in uniform.

Finally his wife said to him, ``You like being a cop so much, why don't you do it full time?'' So he did, beginning in 1969.

By 1977, he was ready to move to a different unit. His first choice was homicide. The second was the bomb squad. When an opening came up on the latter, he was selected.

His wife didn't understand. ``She said, `That's it. You have a death wish. I'm out of here,' '' Grayson remembered. Their 16-year marriage ended.

Grayson thrived on the bomb squad, even after an explosion in 1985 that hammered his body with 16 pieces of shrapnel. Four of the shards are still in him.

Most people stay with a bomb squad for five or six years, maybe 10. Grayson has been at it for 20, the last 15 as commander of the unit.

For all his experience, even Grayson is at a loss to explain the recent spate of bomb calls in the county. When he first started, the unit averaged about 100 annually. In recent years, it has hit about 300.

``That's the million-dollar question,'' he said. ``Maybe it's because the weather's been so nice and people are out more and they (the bombers) are just going for it.''

The heavier workload is straining, especially since the unit also has other responsibilities, including investigating arson in much of the county. Tired workers are more prone to make errors.

``My job is to make sure my men make it home safe at night,'' Grayson said.

And if the public notices their efforts, that's gravy.

During the recent stop at Angelo's in Oceanside, a man walked over with his wife and told the bomb squad, ``You guys do a great job. You have a lot of guts.''

``Thank you,'' Grayson said.

``But,'' the man added, ``I wouldn't want to pay your insurance premiums.''

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Photo

Photo: Sgt. Conrad Grayson, second from left, and San Diego County bomb squad colleagues look at an X-ray of a suspected bomb.

Associated Press