Boot: An L.A.P.D. Officer's Rookie Year.

WILLIAM DUNN'S TALE OF HIS rookie year in the Los Angeles Police Department is an unabashed revisionist depiction of a police department that continues to resist calls for reform. Dunn, who began his training in 1990, four months before the Rodney King brutality, discounts the King beating as an aberration. He calls it "ten powerful seconds of uncontrolled baton swinging on a man lying almost prone on the ground." The author, like many of his colleagues, is furious about what the incident did to the reputation of the LAPD. Yet no anger is expressed toward the police officers who assaulted King, nor is any thought given to the underlying police attitudes that caused the brutality. Instead, Dunn complains about "perfectly coifed anchor persons grimacing with disgust and anger as if they, not King, had been beaten," and writes that "no matter how you view the beating, calling King a motorist is a stretch" In asides, Dunn describes himself as a nice white kid from the suburbs who had an African-American best friend in high school, proving that he is "not a bigoted man"

Dunn's account begins after his graduation from the police academy. The recruit's experiences--highspeed chases, a dead body, a gay quarrel, and petty arrests--are stuff long familiar to fans of police dramas. The stilted language, on the other hand, is more suitable to police reports than a book. The book abounds with people "exiting" vehicles and rooms, fleeing perpetrators, "sharp-jawed" supervisors, cops with "forearms big, like a steelworker," or "built like a fireplug," another with "Popeye" forearms, and so on. Two hundred and seventy-four pages of this can glaze the eyes of even the most avid fan of police stories.

But the book does reveal police dogma. Dunn relates that his instructors warned the students that their training would not realistically prepare them for the streets. The same undermining of "official" training and indoctrination into the "real" police culture occurred when he and a group of fellow "boots" assembled for their first tour of duty. A lieutenant told them of the need to respect people in the community and to build an attitude of concern. When the lieutenant left, a field training officer remarked, "Lieutenant's gotta say what he said because of the bars on his shoulders.... Remember, most of the citizens you'll be dealing with fall in that category known as criminals." It reminded me of my own rookie days nearly 40 years ago in New York's Harlem. Our captain was greeted with derisive laughter after telling the policemen gathered at roll call that the majority of people living in the precinct were decent and law-abiding.

On Dunn's first patrol day, his training officer emphasized the danger in police work and the importance of backing up one another. He remembers the story of an 80-year-old Hispanic man ambling along the street who suddenly and inexplicably began stabbing an officer issuing a traffic ticket.

While this may have happened, it's about as unlikely as an officer being struck by lightning. In truth, taxi drivers and convenience store clerks in high crime areas are in far more danger than the police. In 1994, there were 23,305 murders in the United States. Seventy-six of 562,541 police officers were slain in the line of duty. Each of those deaths is a tragedy, and we appropriately honor those officers and their families. But a recent study indicates that cops are eight times more likely to commit suicide than to be murdered in the line of duty. The negative police culture embraced by Dunn and many of his colleagues probably kills more cops than the criminals they face.

Nevertheless, the tale of the traffic cop serves its purpose: Even the most harmless citizen is a potential enemy who can kill you. You can rely only on your fellow cop.

After the Rodney King beating, the city of Los Angeles appointed a commission, headed by Warren Christopher, to investigate the incident. Contrary to the Christopher Commission's critical analysis, Dunn presents a highly sanitized picture of dedicated police officers who, if they are not actually champions of underprivileged minorities, are free from all racial prejudices. Dunn argues that when Chief Daryl Gates inspected his class at their graduation from the police academy, "Steven Spielberg was in his entourage and Fred Dryer sat on the reviewing stand" This supposedly is far more reflective of public respect for the department than the "negative tidal wave of publicity" following the King beating.

Yet, in a 1992 book, La Secret Police, retired LAPD officer Mike Rothmiller tells of significant police racism and brutality toward minority citizens that was ignored by the department's command staff. James Fyfe, a retired police officer turned academic, and University of California Professor Jerome Skolnick also report that ". . . by the time of the [King] trial everyone who read newspapers and watched television should have known about the racism of the LAPD" In their book about the department, Above the Law, they note that a survey of LAPD officers showed that one quarter of those responding agreed that racial bias by police officers existed and caused problems with the community. Dunn unintentionally corroborates these observations by noting that his police department regards itself as an occupying army.

The Southwest Division where Dunn was assigned is inundated with gangs, and his portrayal of teenage anomie is sadly accurate. Without intending to, Dunn reveals ironic similarities between police and gang cultures. Gang members who have done time and pumped iron are as conscious of their physiques as are the cops, and, like them, enjoy flexing their muscles while giving "mad dog" stares. Cops and gang members alike are touchy about pride and anyone showing them disrespect. Gang members are intensely loyal to their fellows, and, like many police officers, eager for shoot-outs.

As a result of gang members' bravado, for years Los Angeles County has had the highest level of reported gang-related homicides in the country. The author's matter-of-fact anecdotes about the gang shootings are intended to convey impersonal professionalism, but something else creeps through the analysis. The cops' reaction to the carnage is one of anger, not over the senseless loss of young lives--but over the lack of respect such behavior reflects toward the police.

According to Dunn, people who are not deferential toward the police are "jammed," which is LAPD jargon for harassed. For example, Dunn relates that his probing look from the seat of his police car prompted a young man to extend his middle finger. Prior to the Rodney King incident, "we would have jammed the guy, and jammed him thoroughly--meaning, he would have been identified, run for warrants (arrested if he had any), and then given a citation if there was any criminal offense also committed, such as spitting on the sidewalk"

It is not nice to hassle a police officer, but neither is it illegal. The law does not allow police officers to use force in such circumstances. Yet, the prior record of the LAPD indicates that poor and minority people standing up for their rights when being jammed might well have ended up like Rodney King and almost certainly would have been handcuffed and jailed. Dunn does not deny the latter but adds that they would not have been ". . . beaten, though. That's movie trash" Yet, some of his fellow officers told the Christopher Commission that "using unnecessary force did not violate the Department's value system"

But Dunn laments the loss of jamming, believing it kept crime down in comparison with other big cities that have larger police forces than Los Angeles does. The LAPD's Operation Hammer, launched against gangs in 1990, refutes his contention that police manhandling of suspects reduces crime. Chief Daryl Gates declared war on gangs, calling the members "dirty little cowards" More than 25,000 youths were arrested, yet fewer than 1,500 of them were ever charged with a criminal offense. It was jamming at its most virulent. Dunn never mentions the result: Gang membership soared and gang homicides increased. Nor does he report that crime has been decreasing in Los Angeles since this sort of harassment ceased.

Six years after his training, William Dunn tells us he is still happy with his job and is now assigned to the Hollywood division. Boot's rosy picture of policing in Los Angeles will be sharply contested by many citizens in the City of the Angels, but it will undoubtedly win Dunn accolades from most of his peers. Perhaps an assignment in Hollywood truly is the most appropriate venue for the author.

JOSEPH D. McNAMARA served as police chief of Kansas City and San Jose and is currently a research fellow at Stanford University's Hoover Institution. His fifth book on policing is Code 211 Blue.