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“I had almost evicted billionaire John Kenneth Galbraith, the richest man in Ohio!.” |
DURING the years I managed the tire store in Worthington, I had my ups and downs. First, one of the Firestone factories built several million steel-belted radial tires with defective belts. The stupid mistake of letting the steel sit out in the weather and corrode eventually cost them their company when they sold out to the Bridgestone Tire and Rubber Company in Japan. I was swamped with people rightfully demanding that their tires be replaced before the belts separated and wrecked their cars. Firestone stonewalled and stalled as long as they could, then when they were ordered by the U.S. Department of Transportation to replace the tires, they instructed their dealers and store managers to handle no more than four customers per day, so as not to interfere with normal business and deplete the supply of good tires.
Our store had been leading the entire state-wide chain of Courtesy Tire Company stores in the sale of “Firestone 500” Steel belted radials, and now was leading in the number of customers clamoring to have them removed! It was hard for my store to function profitably, with so many irate customers calling every day. So I conspired with a friend in the Firestone Akron Service Department to let me handle them all at once, and to get the customers off my back. He sent me a truckload of replacement tires, and I then contacted all my customers who had eligible tires. We had a very busy week of long hours replacing tires. Our service bays and lot was jammed with cars, but we got them all installed and balanced, and then sent a truckload of defective tires back to Akron. Only then was it possible for us to return to profitable tire and service business. My boss, Jim Davis, said I did the right thing even if I did break the rules.
One day, during 1980 Jim dropped by and asked how I was doing, and I replied, “Great! It sure is nice to have all of the angry customers off my back.” He told me that my store was still leading in sales, then asked if I had problems at home. “None at all,” I replied. “We're all settled down in our new split-level house, and Geri is attending Northland High School.” Then he asked why the long face, and said that I looked like I had just lost my best friend, and should go look in the mirror.
When I got home from work, I asked MJ if I looked sad, and she said, “Lately, you've either been too high or too low -- and it's driving me crazy!” When we talked to Geri and Chris about it, Chris, who was a paramedic at the hospital said he had suspected recently that I was a manic depressive, and suggested I go the Veterans' Outpatient Clinic, near the OSU campus, where they were having great success treating manic-depression.
First they gave me a complete physical, which I passed, but they were surprised that I was able to work so hard on my feet. They said that nothing could be done about the leg aches and cramps, and suggested that I get a desk job. Dr. Stern, a leading expert in bipolar disorders, asked a lot of questions about my work, my career, and my home life. He said that I had been having mood swings, probably as the result of severe stress; or it could be a congenital condition that had existed for a long time. He urged me to begin treatment, and also to join his group therapy sessions. I attended every month for several years until they said I only needed to come back every six months. During the twenty-five years that I have been under their care, the mood swings have been very mild. It's amazing to me that a few milligrams a chemical like valpuric acid can perform such a miracle in your brain.
Then one day Jim Davis told me that the dealer store chain was being sold to Firestone and that the stores would all become company stores. He also told me that he was leaving the company and going into business for himself. So I decided that I didn't want to work for Firestone either, and started looking for an easier job. Thus ended that chapter in my life and my association with my loyal crew at the store who helped me stay on top of the heap for so long.
The Windsor Security Company, in our north end, advertised for
a dispatcher and I got the job. It didn't pay much, but all I
had to do was to make sure that their 45 guard posts were always
manned during my midnight shift. When I had a vacant post, I could
earn overtime money by manning the post myself. During that year
of 1980, I patrolled all kinds of posts -- factories, truck terminals,
hotels, construction sites, office buildings, and on one occasion,
the underground parking garage under the state capitol building.
I really enjoyed security work and could easily handle the limited walking, as my legs were getting stronger each month. I decided to attend the Ohio Police Officer Training Course at Southern Ohio College in Columbus on the GI bill while I continued working for Windsor. I breezed through the academic course with straight “A's” and did equally well in the weapons training on the gun range. It brought back memories of my Marine Corps training, but was much easier.
The night that I patrolled the underground parking garage at Capitol Square gave me an intimate knowledge of itinerant homeless people. On that occasion, Capt. Cox, the supervisor called and asked me to meet him there. It seems the guard hadn't been seen around there for weeks, but had pre-called me faithfully to advise that he would be working, and had called again at the beginning and end of his shift as required. I assumed that he was doing his job. But I was wrong. He had found a secret hiding place, and had equipped it with his OSU books, a TV, a radio, a hot plate and a cot! Cox fired him and asked me to work there for the rest of the shift.
Drunks and homeless vagrants were enjoying the lax security and entering through stairwells, elevators, car ramps and the steps under the sidewalk bus waiting rooms up at street level. They were very insistent about getting out of the howling blizzard outside. When the Salvation Army dormitory and the city homeless shelter were full, there was virtually no place to go except a few places where security was lax. I felt sorry for them, but was obliged to keep them out. One vagrant kept coming back every time I kicked him out. I called the police, but they informed me that until he did something worse than getting drunk, there was nothing they could do. This guy was really brazen. He took over one of the surface waiting rooms and set up his private bar of several bottles of booze, and spread out his lunch. After already having evicted him twice, I lost my temper and gave him ten seconds to get out. When he just laughed, I scooped up his bottles and lunch and threw them out into the snow, and then shoved him out the door. He went up the street mumbling, “What's your badge number? You... (blah, blah, blah).”
I decided that I liked working a post better than the dispatcher's office, so when a post became available at the BancOhio plaza Building, I got assigned there. It was a twenty-five story corporate office headquarters for the twelve billion dollar bank and other prestigious legal and financial institutions, including billionaires John Wolf's and John Galbreath's offices. There were tape vaults, wire transfer rooms, break rooms full of food, a restaurant, and several private VIP dining rooms and kitchens, plus a Brinks Vault with counting rooms and docks that contained and average of forty million dollars in cash. The building was sheathed inside and out in gleaming pink marble, and contained huge lobbies, mezzanines and arcades containing exclusive shops. A sky walk connected it to a high-rise parking garage a bock away.
The first shift that I worked there was on Christmas eve, 1981. I was posted just inside the Third Street entrance which faces the Capitol square. It was a convenient place for vagrants to slip in and duck down into a basement parking garage reserved for VIP's. Many drunks and vagrants were desperately seeking shelter from the sub zero weather. As they came into the building, I kept the revolving door turning and sent them right back out as I exclaimed, “Sorry Buddy, you can't come in!” Just as I started to do the same to a scruffy looking man in a black overcoat and a Russian hat, I noticed a limousine waiting for him at the curb. So instead of steering him back out the door, I brought my hand up to a snappy salute and said, “Good evening, Sir!” I had almost evicted billionaire John Kenneth Galbraith, the richest man in Ohio!
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Our control room was on the basement level, and was the nerve center of the building. There, the sergeant sat and monitored hundreds of electronic gadgets that covered the four walls. The other officers made rounds of each floor and manned posts throughout the building. After two years, the sergeant's job became available and I was invited to interview and got the job. After a week of training I was given the responsibility of the security during the midnight shift of that entire marble “palace” with it's contents worth billions. While sitting at my console, I could see everything that was going on, both inside and outside the building. Each of the twenty-five floors were equipped with alarm systems against intrusion, fire, or any equipment malfunction. My surverillance cameras could follow the secretaries who occasionally worked late and took that spooky skywalk to the parking garage. We encouraged them to allow one of our rovers to accompany them to their cars, bit if they didn't, I would follow them on the monitor and wag the camera at them when they reached the garage.
The many cameras could turn and zoom in for a close view of any suspicious activity. I could even zoom in through a window and into the corporate offices of The Columbus Dispatch located across the alley. If my younger brother Jim's office was on that side, I could have watched him work. From one of the rooftop cameras, I could even watch his Volkswagen parked on the roof of the Dispatch building. This was the year 1984, and I thought of the George Orwell and his book, 1984, that proclaimed: BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING!
One morning, after I had yawned through eight hours of an eventless boring shift, and was waiting to be relieved by Lt. Goldhardt at eight O'clock, the following occurred: At 7:45 a.m. the Mezzanine rover reported a suspicious package in front of the TWA office. Since there had been several bombings of Trans World Airlines offices across the country during recent weeks, I became very alarmed. This is a transcription of the radio traffic during the last five minutes of my shift:
7:45:15--
“Unit Four to Control.”
“Control receiving.”
“There's an unidentified package on the base of he potted
palm in front of the TWA office. Can you zoom in on it, Sarge?”
“Control to Four. Affirmative. Can you tell what it is? How
did that palm tree get down there? Wasn't it on the bridge over
the alley?”
“Four to control. It looks like a brick wrapped in foil.
You're right, Sarge, that palm tree was on the bridge yesterday.
Want me to check it out?”
“Control to Four. Negative. That's Bank Protection's jurisdiction.
I'll get an officer up from the vault to take a look.”
“Ten-four.” (This means message received and will execute.)
7:45:50--
(Speed dialing the BancOhio alarm room on West Broad Street.)
Alarm room officer: “Bank Emergency.”
Control: This is Sergeant Hursey at the Plaza. Could you send
an officer up to the arcade at the TWA office? We have a possible
code “B.” (Code “B” means bomb emergency.)
Alarm room officer Downs: “Ten-four. On the double."
Control: “Thank you, sir."
7:46:05--
“Control to Nine. Arcade at TWA. Control to Nine. Arcade
at TWA." (This is a secret code that brings everyone running
to the indicated emergency, the building maintenance, engineers,
building manager, and also alerts all security personnel to stand
by for instructions.)
7:46:10--
“Control to all units. Ten-twenty in order." (Emergency
request for officers' locations.)
“Unit Two. Twenty-fifth floor."
“Unit Three. Arcade."
“Unit Four. Lower Level."
7:46:26--
“Control to Two. Go to the Third Street Entrance and cordon
off the Galleria, and ask the patrons to use the Lazelle or Broad
Street entrance."
“Unit two, ten-four."
“Control to Three. Stay at the east end of the Arcade and
close the security gate."
“Unit three, ten-four."
“Control to Four. Tell the garage attendant that I'm closing
the garage door for a few minutes and to station himself outside
the door. Then report to the Mezzo desk and stand by."
“Unit Four, ten-four."
(Sergeant Hursey closed the underground garage door and the Galleria
receiving dock door by remote control. He then announces over
the public address system to the first, second and third floors):
“Your attention please. The Galleria will be closed for a
few minutes. We're sorry for any inconvenience. Your attention,
please. The Galleria will be closed for a few minutes. We're sorry
for any inconvenience."
7:47:15--
(Phone) Security Control.“
“Officer Downs, Sarge. Officer Bissel is on his way.“
Control: “Thanks for the quick work. How about alerting CPD
and the medics to stand by for a possible code B. Better tell
your people this could be a diversion for a hit on the Brinks
dock.“
Downs: “Ten-four.“
(Phone. Call waiting.) “This is Charleton, the Building Manager.
Do you have a problem, Bob?"
Control: “Possible code B, sir. The bank police are on their
way from the Brinks dock to check it out. Do you know why that
palm tree was moved from the bridge to the TWA office?"
Charleton: “No, but I'll check with engineering, maintenance,
and the cleaners and get right back to you."
Control: “Thanks, Bill, I'd appreciate it."
7:47:55--
“Control to Two. I see the lieutenant heading for the Third
Street entrance. Give him your walkie."
“Unit Two, ten-four."
7:49:20--
Lieutenant Goldhardt, the post commander, arriving to relieve
the third shift commander and approaching the TWA office: “Unit
Seven to control. What's up, Bob?"
“Control to Seven. Look at that package on the base of that
palm on your right and tell me what you think."
7:48:26--
Chief Engineer: “S-3 to control. What's the emergency?"
“Control to S-3. Possible Code B in the Arcade. How about
having your men help us keep the area clear."
“S-3 to Control. Ten-four."
7:48:50--
“Seven to control. Better call the bomb squad, Bob. We're
not going to touch that package."
“Control to Seven. Negative, Sir. Officer Bissel is on his
way to take the responsibility. The bomb squad has been alerted
to stand by. Here he comes now, sir."
“Seven to Control. Ten-four"
7:49:40--
(Officer Bissel picks up the package, unwraps it, and discovers
it to be only a cinnamon roll that someone left for an employee
in the TWA office.)
“Seven to Control. C-Four on the Code B. I'm on my way down."
“Control to Seven. A big ten-four on that! Control to Nine.
The emergency in the Galleria has been cancelled. Control to all
units. C-four on the Code B. Remove the cordons. Inform the garage
attendant that he's back in business. (“C-four,” or
“clear-four,”means the assignment is completed and to
return to normal activity.)
7:50:15--
Lieutenant Goldhardt. as he enters the control room: “Good
job, Bob. Let's have a cup of your coffee and hope we're through
with bomb scares for a while."
“Ten-four to that, Keith. That was the busiest five minutes
of the whole night!"
A few months later, both Goldhardt and I joined the Bank Police force and worked out of the Bank Operations Center on West Broad Street. My new job was more interesting. We were commissioned police officers with jurisdiction at all National City Bank bank locations throughout the state. I was also training to manage the alarm room where we monitored all bank operations and branches and responded to all emergencies in the Columbus area. Sitting at a computer console where we receive thousands of alarms each year is less interesting than responding physically to emergency situations, but it pays much better. In addition to responding to alarms and arresting perpetrators, our duties included looking for and reporting waste, accidents, crime, fraud, fires, safety hazards, equipment failures; testing security equipment, and assisting visitors and associates entering and leaving the building.
When I patrolled the operations center packed with high-tech equipment, it almost gave me future shock. As I patrolled the one-hundred foot square computer room, full of computer cabinets as large as refrigerators, and the rooms full of check sorters, printers and hundreds of computer terminals, I recalled my work during the 1950's in St. Louis, when our only equipment was the battle-scarred wooden desks and big hand-cranked adding machines. I marveled at the progress and wondered what it would be like in the next century in the world of high-tech business.
In 1996 I decided to retire once more. For a septuagenarian, responding to alarms all over town and chasing bank robbers was getting a little strenuous. There had been 96 robberies that year among the central Ohio banks, and in addition to that, we had to type up reports on a dozen or more alarms during each shift.
It had been fun, especially the semi-annual practice on the weapons range, but I felt that it was time for me to step down and to enjoy my retirement. I was looking forward to spending evenings with MJ, listening to good music, reading, playing board games, getting active at the senior center and American Legion Post. I had a shop full of tools beckoning me to get busy on home repairs and improvements, and a shed full of garden tools -- also beckoning. I wanted to sit on my back porch, watching the sunrise, leisurely reading my paper and having another cup of coffee as I waved to my neighbors rushing off to join the throngs of “crazies” weaving in and out on the freeways. I wanted to start a project of writing a thumbnail biography of each family member to be published in a book of memories to be presented to each of my thirteen living cousins and my three brothers -- a project that would take years! I wanted to build Geri's kids a big tree house and other play things for their yard. It seemed that I didn't have time to work and still get all that done.
So we they assembled our whole police squad for another big retirement party, which was always a pleasant break in our busy department. We spent the afternoon relating the funny things that happened in our work, including a sound roasting of me by everyone! Then we cut a cake that was topped with a figure of an old guy in a hammock, sleeping under a tree. I went home feeling great about our accomplishments at the bank, but sorry to be leaving the company of officers with whom I had enjoyed working with for thirteen years.
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