In the Backcountry a Deputy Is More Than Just a Lawman

Errol T. Bratley adjusts his winter cap, shoves aside his 4-year-old oversized German shepherd and presses on the gas pedal of his bright green Chevy Blazer.

In about four hours on a recent chilly morning, Deputy Sheriff Bratley, or “Sheriff Bratley,” as he is called in these parts, travels 150 miles of slick rural roads. He begins with a visit to his sergeant’s office in Julian, then takes photographs of a camper trailer in a Riverside County towing yard for evidence in a grand theft probe. He finishes his morning by searching for a stolen chain saw in the Chihuahua Valley and checking on a possible child-abuse case on Mesa Grande Indian reservation.

In between stops, Bratley delivers mail to a fellow deputy who patrols Ranchita, pulls over for coffee at a Sunshine Summit restaurant that features buffalo burgers (he’ll have one for lunch), consoles a burglary victim at a Navy survival-training site and lets his dog out for a roadside pit stop.

Just another day for a deputy patrolling his beat in San Diego County’s backcountry.

Bratley, 43, whose husky physique belies his teddy-bear demeanor, is one of four deputies in the Sheriff’s Department who works out of his home. He is on call 24 hours a day. He is one of only two patrol deputies who use a dog. He has trained his pet dog, Etzel, to respond to commands in German.

Like the typical small-town Hollywood sheriff, Bratley prides himself on knowing the names and whereabouts of the estimated 2,000 people who live in the county’s tiny northeast communities of Eagles Nest, Mesa Grande, Oak Grove, Lake Henshaw and Warner Springs. He is responsible for all police calls and investigations in a territory that covers 500 square miles and includes three Indian reservations, two resorts and two Boy Scout camps that attract up to 6,000 youths on summer weekends.

“A lot of new people are moving in, and the old attitudes are changing,” Bratley says. “I have a general idea of who they are and where they are. That comes from meeting them, talking to them and talking to their neighbors. But it’s getting more difficult to maintain accurate knowledge of everyone on the beat. They come and go so fast.”

Over the past 12 years on his rural assignment, Bratley has gradually seen the quaint atmosphere fade as new faces flock to Warner Springs, bringing big-city problems such as illegal aliens, residential burglaries, drugs and violence.

Earlier this month, for example, Bratley was called at home to respond to a domestic quarrel that erupted into tragedy when a Warner Springs man allegedly shot his 3-year-old son to death. As usual, Bratley knew the family from prior law enforcement contacts.

“It was a tough one because of the fact it was a child,” Bratley recalls. “But knowing the family . . . that was added emotional impact that normally you wouldn’t have. You can play it tough and say it doesn’t bother you, but you’ve got to face it. If you don’t, you will drive yourself crazy.”

On occasion Bratley will arrest three or four people in a two-day period. Other times he will go weeks without making an arrest.

Bratley says he only makes “quality arrests,” a combination of felonies and serious misdemeanors such as drunken and disorderly conduct, because the trip to County Jail in Vista and a court appearance take him off his beat for hours. He doesn’t write traffic tickets, leaving traffic enforcement on the country roads to the California Highway Patrol.

While it may take up to an hour for him to respond to a call, Bratley prides himself on providing a special type of community service.

“There’s no way I can provide 24-hour patrol by myself,” Bratley says. “But the personalized interest they get from me is much more than somebody who puts in their eight hours downtown and goes home and forgets about it. . . . A lot of things don’t become police calls here because we take care of them before.”

Bratley says he will chat with a husband who has been overheard by residents fighting with his wife and refer the couple to counseling. Or he’ll offer advice to two neighbors arguing over a fence line.

“I’ll tell ‘em, ‘Have your attorneys work it out. It doesn’t do any good for you guys to be out here gun-barrel-to-gun-barrel because one of you will end up going to the morgue and the other to jail.’ ”

Rarely does a day pass without Bratley playing the role of town police chief, lawyer, counselor or consumer advocate. And he usually does it with people he knows on a first-name basis.

“I try to stay away from being psychologist, psychotherapist and preacher, but you’ll get involved in these things just as part of the job,” Bratley says. “If I’m getting over my head, then I’ll tell them there are counseling agencies available.”

Bratley says his most memorable case involved the death of Richard Heggie, a slightly-retarded, vagabond hitchhiker he had met on several occasions.

“I picked him up for panhandling,” Bratley says. “I told him, ‘Don’t you be messin’ around these houses. Some of the people here are from the old school . . . they shoot first and ask questions later.’ ”

Heggie was brutally murdered a few weeks later in July, 1980. An Escondido man was convicted and sentenced to life without parole for his role in the killing.

“Heggie got kidnaped by three guys who put him in the trunk of their car and drove around for 45 minutes before they beat him to death,” says Bratley, recalling the details as if they happened yesterday. “It was a senseless killing. The guy was 5-6, 150 pounds and mentally retarded. He didn’t have the capabilities of harming anybody.

“I had between eight and nine witnesses who saw the entire incident. They picked him because he was black. The word they used was ‘nigger.’ They beat on him until he got tired and then they took a beer break. They beat him some more. All this time the guy was begging for his life. Finally, one guy pushed on his neck until it snapped. Then he checked his pulse to make sure he was dead.

“That’s the one case that really stands out.”

It takes a special kind of deputy to work the rural beat, says Lt. John Tenwolde, a spokesman for the Sheriff’s Department. Besides having to move into the community and be available around the clock, a rural deputy can count on not being called to downtown San Diego for a promotion to detective or sergeant.

“Some consider it a burial ground,” said one sheriff’s lieutenant. “People get out there and they’re easily forgotten. Many of them don’t want to come back to the city.”

Bratley says he volunteered to become a backcountry deputy in 1973 because he felt the exposure to a wide variety of police work would better prepare him for a future promotion to an investigative position. But he has worked out of his “office” in his kitchen serving his neighbors for several years longer than he originally anticipated.

“I’ll stay up here until the point where I find I can’t handle it,” Bratley says. “Pushing a patrol car is a pretty tough job. You have to get out and wrestle people. The older you get, the slower you heal.”

When he moved from El Cajon to Warner Springs, Bratley says, he was not prepared for the close scrutiny that a deputy sheriff and his family are subjected to in a close-knit community.

His two daughters, Sheri and Christine, grew angry at being referred to as “the sheriff’s daughter,” a label that meant they should not be trusted or talked to. In addition, both daughters frequently felt negative pressure from classmates when their father arrested a friend’s parent.

“You live in a fishbowl atmosphere,” Bratley says. “Everything you do is scrutinized. My family and their private life is under a microscope.”

Bratley says he can’t have a couple of drinks in a restaurant without someone making a sly remark. Whenever he returns from a vacation, Bratley says, he hears the rumors that he has either been fired or promoted.

“Rumors fly hot and heavy around this country,” Bratley says.

The job comes with added pressure on Bratley’s social life.

“You have to remain neutral. You can’t be a real close friend to anybody. One day I’m talking to them and the next day I might arrest them. Not many people can accept that situation. They feel if you’re their friend, you can bend the rules.

“You can’t do that.”