Toe-to-Toe With Police Recruiters

Wendy Prado knew rapists and muggers ready to conk her over the head lurked in the dark. Not too long ago, this fear of the darkness forced her to rush home before the sun’s last rays disappeared.

But there she was--out at night--with about 40 other would-be police officers, lined up single file along a stairway to take the admission test administered weekly at the Van Nuys police station.

None of the applicants moved or talked much, as if a drill sergeant would appear any minute to yell in their faces and whip them into shape to get out there and fight crime this very minute.

As Recruitment Officer Marty Feinmark paused beside each candidate to collect blue information cards, his polished, black, heavy-duty shoes faced scuffed running shoes, bare toes in sandals, high-heeled pumps, preppy deck shoes and businessmen’s wingtips.

He passed a day-care provider with hot pink-orange fingernails; a Marine reservist worried that he’d lose control as a cop and beat someone up; a father who had to support a 4-month-old daughter after suing to regain money from a failing business; a bookkeeper who needed the $300-a-year raise a policeman’s salary would provide; an athletically trim man in blue, body-hugging surfer shorts; and at the end of the line, a man who had no pen to fill out his blue card.

“I got a hundred pens in my car, but it’s too late now,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to borrow a pen from someone.

In a few minutes, their common sense and logic were being gauged in the roll-call room with a multiple-choice test--probably the easiest of seven hurdles to becoming a cop.

If the recruits looked up during the test, they would see pictures of Van Nuys’ 10 most-wanted gang members and suspected killers on one wall; on the other hung maps with dots marking the month’s burglary, robbery and other crime activities--reminders that more than common sense would be needed on the streets.

As the recruits pored over questions, Feinmark headed to the coffee room, passing five chained-up prisoners, who he joked were “candidates that failed last week.”

Recruiting can be funny and frustrating, said Feinmark, a 16-year veteran of the force. “Go in our recruitment office; you can listen to our phone lines for a day. You’d go nuts,” he suggested, sitting in the coffee room as officers returning from patrol streamed in to write reports.

He’s heard from potential applicants who probably shouldn’t be officers, judging by their questions:

“Should I take care of my warrants before they do my background?”

“I want to become a police officer. Do I have to carry a gun?”

Each year an estimated 90,000 calls--346 calls a day--and 45,000 applications are handled by Feinmark’s unit of the LAPD.

Officers say the department has been “recruiting like crazy” to fill 900 additional positions approved by the City Council last October, raising the force to more than 8,400 officers next year.

When Feinmark became one in 1983, there were only three in the LAPD; now there are 10.

Recruiters scout for candidates everywhere from fishing conventions to colleges, from San Francisco to San Diego. Even at bridal shows--which have produced a crop of women recruits.

Only three out of 100 applicants make it to the Police Academy and graduate. Feinmark must help find at least 350 more academy entrants by July.

He weeded out about 10 candidates that night. Those who failed were encouraged to retake the test in 90 days.

Before the advice was finished, the guy who arrived without a pen slammed the exit door against the wall and stormed out.

The father with the baby girl didn’t make it; the bookkeeper smiled and said he’d be back, adding that he tried three times to get into the Marines before making it. The guy in the surfer’s shorts passed. So did Prado, who only two years ago was afraid of the dark.

Feinmark coached the guys on their appearances for the next hurdle--personal interviews. “No earrings--don’t even give them a chance to hate you.”

But he groped for words in suggesting hair arrangements for the handful of women. “You might want to somehow mess . . . whatever you do with it . . . “ Feinmark said, searching his vocabulary and arching his hands behind his balding head as if to pin up long, imaginary hair, his biceps bulging his uniform’s sleeves almost to the bursting point. Finally, he settled on “Fix it so it doesn’t interfere with your collar.”

Prado, a single mother of two, smiles at the demonstration.

She’s been smiling since she pushed the purse strap onto her shoulder, preparing to spring up when her name was called from the failures list. The shock of success seems to have her ready to laugh almost constantly.

All through the night, Prado has been embarrassed, thinking the cops and other applicants were wondering why she, a plump woman who might not pass the physical, wanted to join the force.

“My son’s not going to believe I passed; yeah, he’s going to be shocked--I’m shocked,” said Prado, whose family thinks highly of her brother, an LAPD officer.

But she wants to work in the department’s anti-drug program and prove a thing or two to her children.

“I want to be able to put them through college,” she said.

“I want to show them mom could do everything. Two years ago, I was afraid to walk out in the dark. If I fear everything, so will they. I don’t want my kids to be afraid.”