BOYD: Chief’s Big City Police Ways Upset Some in Peaceful Coronado : Big City, ‘Street Cop’ Ways of Coronado’s Chief Upset Some Officers

Three months after Jerry Boyd was hired in 1981, Coronado police officers were startled to discover that their then 35-year-old police chief was still very much interested in working the streets.

Posing as the brother-in-law of an abducted 3-year-old girl, Boyd went undercover on a moment’s notice and negotiated with the kidnaper for nearly an hour. The chief succeeded in distracting the masked suspect--by asking him for a cigarette--long enough for an officer hiding in nearby bushes to grab the child.

For Boyd, branded “a hero” by the national media, the dramatic rescue was the first indication of his unique hands-on style of managing a small-town police force. Since then, he has responded to numerous police calls at all hours, engaged in high-speed chases, participated in dozens of major arrests and, by his own account, used physical force as many as six times.

Boyd serves as an “excellent role model” for young officers, said City Manager Ray Silver, who supports the chief’s active role on Coronado streets. He calls Boyd “a cop’s cop.”

But for some Coronado officers and supervisors, the kidnapping served as an early warning that Boyd was “a frustrated cop” with a large ego and an unwillingness to let them take care of business.

As a lieutenant and a captain, Boyd’s aggressive ways earned him a reputation as “a young John Wayne,” said Irvine Police Chief Leo Peart.

“I felt Jerry was very headstrong and very ambitious,” Peart recalled. “Technically, he is very knowledgeable, certainly bright and articulate. He sometimes is too quick with his actions. He has limited willingness to really listen and take direction from others, in my opinion.”

Boyd, an ethics instructor at the San Diego County Sheriff’s Academy, was exonerated last week by the district attorney’s office for allegedly using excessive force during the arrest last year of an armed robber. Dist. Atty. Edwin L. Miller Jr. called the charges “frivolous” and declined to launch an investigation.

The allegation was raised earlier this month by Coronado Police Officers Assn. President Jim Coates, who asked for an independent investigation. Relations between Boyd and his 34 sworn officers are now perhaps at their worst during the chief’s nearly six years in Coronado.

Silver said the city has hired a management consultant to help “correct the self-destructive nature of the department.”

Boyd blames any morale problems on a few disgruntled officers who he said are out to get him because they are unhappy over being disciplined.

Interviews with a dozen Coronado officers revealed a deep split over Boyd’s unusually active role in fighting crime on the quiet streets of Coronado. Some said they liked the chief responding to serious calls if for no other reason than to have an experienced officer back them up.

Others said Boyd’s presence creates difficulties for supervisors and leads officers to constantly look over their shoulder. They criticized Boyd’s aggressive nature in confronting suspects and said they would prefer that he spent more time at his desk, like most police executives.

Boyd said that when he was chosen as chief of police, he was determined not to repeat the same mistakes made by many of his own supervisors.

“I always was personally critical of an administrator who was so isolated that he lost touch with what was going on out there, who didn’t remember the damn radio code, who didn’t know how to get to a place to cover an officer in trouble if he had to, who didn’t carry a gun, who never qualified for one in 10 years.

“I’ve got to tell you that part of what I’m about today and part of the way I do business is probably a reflection of that. Hey, I was a cop, too. I was a beat cop. I was a street cop.”

Boyd first became attracted to law enforcement when he began listening to amateur radios at age 10. As a teen-ager, he served as a volunteer in the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department communications unit.

During an interview in his cramped office last week, he paused and listened to a dispatcher on the police radio, which is kept on all day. His gray Chevrolet Camaro is equipped with both police and amateur radios.

Boyd joined the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department as a 22-year-old deputy in 1968. In his seven years with the Sheriff’s Department, he patrolled some of that county’s most dangerous areas, including riot-torn Watts, and was promoted to sergeant.

In 1975, Boyd was hired as a lieutenant to help the City of Irvine start its police department. Boyd launched, then headed the Orange County city’s SWAT team and, drawing from that experience, wrote a book on officer survival tactics.

Boyd was named one of two captains at Irvine in 1979 but left two years later after a run-in with Chief Peart over a petty theft incident involving a city councilwoman.

Irvine Lt. Pat Rodgers does not share his chief’s assessment of Boyd.

“As far as Jerry goes as an individual, those of us who worked here have nothing but the highest regard for him as a police professional and as an individual as well,” Rodgers said.

Throughout his career, Boyd said, he had never given any serious thought to becoming a police chief.

“If you would have asked me even eight years ago, I would have said, ‘If I get to be a captain in charge of patrol on a fairly large department, I’ll love it.’ Because that’s always been my first love. It’s the uniform on the street.”

When the top police job in Coronado became vacant when Chief Arthur LeBlanc left to head the Harbor Police, Boyd accepted the post at the same pay rate because, he said, it was a tremendous career opportunity. More importantly, he added, Coronado was a great place to raise his sons.

Boyd’s annual salary is currently $56,000, a figure he said is less than what he would be making if he had remained a captain at Irvine. Boyd’s wife died two years ago of heart failure, and he remarried last summer. The best man at his wedding was close friend Jerry Kapstein, a La Jolla attorney who represents major league baseball players. Boyd has four teen-agers in his house--three sons and a stepson.

Photographs of President Reagan and friends Steve Garvey and fellow amateur radio operator and former major league outfielder Joe Rudi hang from the wall of Boyd’s Spartan office. During an interview last week, Boyd’s desk appeared spotless, every item in its proper place. The “in” and “out” trays were empty.

“I can push paper faster than anybody you ever met,” Boyd said.

According to Boyd’s three-page resume, he has run an average of 1,100 miles per year since 1978. He is a member of 16 law enforcement or community organizations, president of the San Diego County Police Chiefs Assn. and is listed in the current edition of Who’s Who in the West.

In 1981, he was awarded the American Legion Law Enforcement Heroism Medal and San Diego Press Club Law Enforcement Newsmaker of the Year for his role in that 1981 kidnapping, the first in recent Coronado history.

Robert Gene Edwards, 46, an unemployed handyman, had taken Maria Martin from her parents’ hotel room. The little girl was left alone momentarily while her mother went to retrieve a bag of groceries on the night of Aug. 8, 1981.

For 10 days police officers, residents and volunteers searched the tiny peninsula without luck for the little girl. Then word came that the kidnaper was demanding $5,000 for the child’s safe return.

How Boyd, who had been police chief for only three months, was thrust into the role of taking the ransom money to the old ferry landing to meet the kidnaper is a subject of intense debate. Boyd said he was the logical choice because he was the newest and least known member of the department. A police supervisor on duty that night said Boyd insisted on going undercover against the advice of other commanders.

“He wanted to make contact,” said the supervisor, who asked not to be identified. “I said I didn’t think it was a good idea. He was new there. He got really (upset) at me and told me under no uncertain terms he was doing it.”

Boyd recalled that his top command staff gathered at the police station to discuss strategy and how to respond to the ransom demand.

“We were under the time gun,” Boyd said. “We were going, OK, how are we going to do this? We can’t let the family be down there because this could be a setup. This could be a trap. This guy could be armed. This guy could have an accomplice. The family’s all old anyhow. OK, who’s going to do it?

“And I don’t remember, to tell you the truth, who said, ‘Hey, boss, you’re the least known person around here. I mean everybody else has been here a long time.’ By default, I’m the only one who may not be recognized so I play the role of the brother-in-law and I go down, and I think the rest is history.”

When he was asked recently what went through his mind as he prepared to meet the kidnaper, it became clear that Boyd, a veteran of several hostage negotiations, had relished the assignment.

“I’m thinking, you know, the cop in me comes out and I said, ‘OK, I’d kind of like a vest.’ So somebody ripped their vest off and gave it to me. I put it underneath my shirt. I tucked a gun in my waistband and now I’m thinking I worked undercover as a detective in L.A. I’ve worked some cases where I was pretending to be a crook or, you know, so I try to get in that mind set. OK, there’s certain ways you’ve got to talk to people and you don’t want to tip that you’re a cop.”

Boyd acknowledged there was some “real jealousy and resentment” over his rescuing Maria Martin. He told reporters at the time, “There were no heroes in this one,” noting that every officer in the department deserved credit.

“I did my best for a couple of days to not be identified as the one who went down there and did the hand-to-hand with this guy,” Boyd recalled. “I mean I tried until one of my employees went to the media and said, ‘Hey, it was the boss that did it.’ I tried to not get the focus of the attention.

“I can try to say ‘Hey, it’s a team effort and I’m proud of everybody,’ but there are always those who say, ‘You self-serving son-of-a-bitch.’ ”

Boyd’s involvement in the Martin case perhaps would not have become a major issue among Coronado police had he not continued to assert himself in situations normally suited for patrol officers. But as Boyd increasingly responded to calls on the police radio and requested officers to pull over motorists for him, rank-and-file officers began to criticize their chief.

Officers began swapping stories about the time they felt Boyd unnecessarily pulled a burglar by the hair or when he pulled out his gun to look for a robbery suspect or when he engaged in a high-speed chase of a speeding motorist.

Three officers told The Times of a New Year’s Eve incident in 1985 when Boyd, dressed in uniform and riding a patrol car with his girlfriend (now wife Elly), responded to an officer’s call for help. They said that even though the officer had radioed that the situation was under control and two other officers had arrived before him, Boyd screeched to the scene with red lights flashing and sirens wailing--a violation of department procedures.

Boyd disputed the officer’s version, saying “Whoever told you that is a damn liar, OK?” He said he volunteered to work the New Year’s Eve shift to give one of his supervisors the holiday off to spend with his family.

“Yeah, I lit them up,” Boyd said of turning on the emergency lights and siren. “In fact, I remember screaming to Elly, ‘Hold on!’ And she had no clue as to what was going on . . . We’ve got a cop for all we know that is getting his butt kicked down there. It was not over and done with when I got there. It was over and done with as I got there.”

In the case involving the excessive force allegation, Boyd can be seen and heard on a TV news tape with a revolver in his hand shouting obscenities in the face of a robbery suspect who had already been caught and handcuffed by three other officers.

Such behavior is typical of the way Boyd conducts himself when helping officers apprehend suspects, several officers said. They used words such as “aggressive,” “arrogant” and “verbally abusive” to describe Boyd’s work on the streets.

“If there is one criticism, he does get maybe a little too wound up for my kind of work,” said one officer, who described himself as a Boyd supporter. “I’m low profile, usually don’t get excited and don’t yell and scream unless I mean to. He is an excitable person.”

Boyd, who teaches cadets in his ethics class that the use of obscenities in police work is rarely justified, defended his choice of words in the arrest of robber Adam Zimmerman.

“My use of profanity in other circumstances would have been totally inappropriate and should have been disciplined,” Boyd said. “But in those conditions where you’re dealing with an ex-con who . . . struggles violently with the officers trying to arrest him, you’ve got to get his attention. Rather than getting his attention by physical force, you use language he can understand.”

As Zimmerman was being photographed at the Coronado police station, Boyd said, he punched the suspect once in the stomach as the suspect was about to kick an officer.

On his way back to his office, he reportedly told several officers, “I guess that’s just my old L.A. training showing up,” said one officer. (In law enforcement circles, Los Angeles-area police officers are considered more aggressive than those in San Diego.)

Boyd said he could not recall making the remark.

The episode was one of about a half-dozen cases in which Boyd has used physical force on a suspect since he became chief, Boyd estimated.

“If I used any force, it was necessary and justified and I documented it because that’s just the way I expect everybody else to do it,” Boyd said. “There’s nothing wrong with using force. It’s necessary sometimes. It’s wrong if it’s inappropriate, unnecessary or excessive and if it isn’t owned up to.”

Boyd’s predecessor, Arthur LeBlanc, said he could not recall a single case in which he was required to use physical force in his 11 1/2 years as chief. LeBlanc said he did not feel the need to become involved in patrol duties even though Coronado has a small police force.

“I felt that I had lieutenants, sergeants and patrolmen I was paying to do the job and I wanted them to do it,” LeBlanc said.

Boyd said that Coronado has changed dramatically over the past decade from a sleepy town to a destination resort with more assaults, auto thefts and violence involving people from out of town.

“If I were doing what I do in a different place, my activity would be different,” Boyd said. “In a larger department, I would be inclined to be not directly involved. But I really don’t think that is appropriate here.”

The biggest complaint heard about Boyd among Coronado supervisors and officers is that his presence makes it difficult for them to do their jobs.

“The supervisors don’t know what the hell to do,” said one officer. “They don’t know how to react. (Boyd) shows up, says, ‘Where do you want me?’ and then he’s in the middle of it giving directions. It makes those supervisors very, very uncomfortable.”

Other officers said they see nothing wrong with Boyd’s style and appreciate having an experienced colleague around to back them up on dangerous calls.

“He’s the only police chief in the county who can any time in the day put a uniform on and work a beat and know what he’s doing,” said Officer Jeff Hutchins. “I’ve never seen him act in any other way than professional police officers act.”

Boyd and City Manager Silver said they are well aware of Boyd’s reputation among officers as “a frustrated cop.” Both say it is a bad rap.

“I don’t think Jerry is out on the street as much as people say he is. That is the impression people have,” Silver said. “One of the things that is beneficial for the department is when Jerry serves as a role model in terms of leadership. If he wants to do that, I don’t see anything negative about that.”

Boyd said he becomes aware of many police calls that he chooses not to respond to.

“I’ll respond on hot calls if it’s needed,” Boyd said. “But I’ve sat at this desk numbers and numbers of times when, if I were a frustrated beat cop, I’d love to be out there. But we had enough people to handle it. We didn’t need somebody out there snooping, getting in the way.”

He recalled one instance when he was returning from teaching a class at North Island Naval Air Station and he heard a call for assistance from an officer who was in a fight in front of the Mexican Village restaurant.

“It was donnybrook time and they needed every body they could get,” Boyd said. “We were still outmatched and if two other off-duty cops could have heard that and been there we could have used their help. That’s the motivation for it. It’s not because I have any need to go out there and get involved. That simply isn’t so.”

Boyd believes his poor image among some officers is due in large part to Coronado’s small-town mentality.

“There are people in this town who haven’t been over the bridge in a long time. Well, I’m not that way, but this is my town. This is where I live, where I go to church, it’s where I socialize, it’s where I go shopping. So I’m here an awful lot. That just kind of adds to it.”

The chief said he is convinced that if Coronado was a bustling community that provided officers with more activity and crime to fight, they would not be so preoccupied with making him a target.

“If this were a more active community in terms of typical cop stuff on the street, that’s not to say there wouldn’t be unhappy people or there wouldn’t be criticism. But there’d be less of it and it wouldn’t have the same effect because people would be too damn busy to worry about it.”