Tough Taskmaster Left Cadets With a Tear, Not a Cheer

No one could blame the cadets of the 74th Sheriff’s Academy for breathing a sigh of relief when Deputy John DeAngelis was promoted to sergeant in March and transferred to County Jail downtown.

But instead of quietly applauding the departure of the lead training officer who made life so miserable for 14 weeks, many of the cadets were disappointed that DeAngelis would not be around for the final month of the academy. They said they had grown to respect DeAngelis for being hard-nosed, yet compassionate.

“He had a command presence,” said Maria Bailey, 37. “We were proud to carry through that image.”

Thomas Bedsworth, 34, said that even though they are the same age, he thought of DeAngelis as a father figure.

Vic Gerardi, 52, said, “It was like a funeral when we heard he was leaving.”

DeAngelis shrugged off the compliments.

“You could be a dirtbag and they’d still look up to you because you’re the T.O.,” he said.

Indeed, most training officers in law enforcement academies command respect because they hold tremendous authority over a group of young, naive cadets who are eager to impress.

DeAngelis said he prefers to lead by example, a notion confirmed by his extremely short hair style and imposing physique.

“He’s an excellent role model of what a deputy sheriff should be,” said Lt. Bert Moorhead. “He’s level headed and empathetic, yet he can kick you in the ass when you need it.”

During the 74th Sheriff’s Academy, DeAngelis began each day at 4 a.m. by lifting weights for two hours at Lou’s Gym in Chula Vista. On the days that he didn’t run with cadets during their physical training sessions, he jogged at night. He still holds the San Diego Police Academy record for doing 100 push-ups in 60 seconds.

DeAngelis feels strongly that only neat, lean instructors should be permitted to teach at the Sheriff’s Academy. He said he doesn’t want his cadets to know about the pot-bellied deputies who begin each shift munching doughnuts at Winchell’s.

Nor will DeAngelis tolerate a cadet who fails to address his training officer by saying “sir.” One of only a handful of sheriff’s deputies who have been invited to teach at the San Diego Police Academy, DeAngelis said he has overheard police cadets use first names when addressing their training officers.

“Can you imagine that?” DeAngelis asked incredulously.

The sheriff’s cadets would be relieved to know that DeAngelis didn’t always have a muscular frame to reinforce his hard-line views.

As a youth growing up in New York, DeAngelis said, he was a wimpy Little Leaguer who got roughed up by neighborhood bullies. He did not begin lifting weights until his early 20s.

DeAngelis also is a health food advocate, eating a diet primarily of fish, vegetables and fruit. He admits to one weakness--peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which he concealed from his cadets.

“I never let them see me eating anything that wasn’t nutritious,” DeAngelis said. “That’s part of the game. You have to be a role model.”

Recently, DeAngelis was standing in the lunch line at the Southwestern College cafeteria holding two of his favorite sandwiches when he spotted a group of cadets approaching. He acted quickly by asking the cafeteria manager to let him hide in a back room.

Unlike most training officers, DeAngelis rarely showed anger or raised his voice. Rather, he flashed a menacing look or simply shook his head to express his disgust with a trainee.

His cadets could recall one instance when DeAngelis openly displayed anger during the academy. He became upset after a written examination when trainee Teri Hartley challenged the wording of a particular question. DeAngelis cut Hartley off in mid-sentence and threatened to discipline her.

“We are not an academic society,” DeAngelis said sternly. “We are a Sheriff’s Academy.”