Odds & Ends Around the Valley

Pedaling Justice

In San Fernando, some of the black hats peddle, as in drugs, and some of the white hats now pedal, as in bicycles.

San Fernando Police Sgt. Ken Belden--a 12-year department veteran--remembers the first ticket he wrote after becoming a biker with a badge.

“I was riding around when I noticed a guy drinking beer in the park, which is a misdemeanor,” he recalls, “and before he had time to think about what he was doing or get over his surprise at what I was doing, I had his ticket written up.”

Small wonder the busted beer drinker almost choked on his brew.

Belden’s uniform of the day is black shorts and a white polo shirt, and his squad car is a mountain bike--from which it’s hard to either run or hide.

Belden is one of eight full-time police officers who have been given a part-time assignment to pedal the city’s streets and beats. And although they travel the same routes that officers in cars normally do, they are able to establish closer contact with the community, Belden says.

The department’s two 21-speed metallic-blue mountain bikes, which cost $600 apiece, went into service almost a month ago and have been in use almost every day since.

“We send the eight men on the team out on the bikes when we can free them from other duties,” Belden says, “but because of budget and manpower constrictions, we haven’t been able to put them on bike patrol full-time.”

Belden, who grew up in Sylmar and went to high school there, says his childhood memories are of bike riding all over the foothills. He never suspected that one day he would pedal for pay.

“I think we have hit on something here that will be a valuable tool in our efforts to serve the community,” Belden says.

His fellow officers are not above tweaking the bikers.

“I am going to be their agent when they do their male pinup calendar next year,” Officer Ralph Delgado says, laughing.

It could be the most financially rewarding time investment he ever makes.

Free Ride

Even in the increasingly urban Valley, once in a while you can depend on the kindness of a stranger. Anne Brand was on the receiving end of such a kindness that made her aware there still are caring people in the world.

She and her husband were waiting near the corner of Kester Avenue and Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks several days ago for a bus that would connect with another bus that would take them to UCLA’s Jules Stein Eye Clinic.

Brand is 77 and has limited vision, and her husband, Michael, is 76 and receiving radiation treatment.

“My husband was standing outside in the hot sun looking for the bus,” Brand says, “and I was inside a deli trying to keep cool.” Her husband ducked inside the restaurant to assure her it wouldn’t be too much longer, when a young man, overhearing their conversation, approached her.

“He asked me where my husband and I were headed and I told him we needed to get to Ventura and Sepulveda,” Brand says.

The elderly couple gratefully accepted the offer of the short ride and chatted pleasantly with the young man for the few blocks. But when the young man found out their actual destination, he insisted on driving them all the way into Westwood.

“He told us that he wouldn’t want his own grandparents standing on the corner in the hot sun waiting for a bus, so he didn’t want us to have to do that either,” she says.

The young man’s name was Tim Conway Jr. The writer-son of comedian Tim Conway said he had been very close to his own late grandparents.

The American Way

For 30 years, Katherine Bartolone--now a 76-year-old retired nurse--put 10 cents of every dollar she earned in the bank, the way her mother had taught her.

Married and the mother of two, she and her husband bought a home in Van Nuys in 1956 and put down roots. And she opened an account at a savings and loan near Notre Dame High where her son went to school.

It was a wonderful life, Bartolone says, but then it began falling apart.

First her husband was found to have cancer and died in 1978.

In 1979 her granddaughter collapsed with kidney failure and had to be put on a dialysis machine.

In 1982 her son came back home, suffering from pancreatic cancer, and died in 1986.

And in 1988, she found out that she might never see the $50,000 she spent more than 25 years accumulating at the Sherman Oaks branch of Lincoln Savings & Loan.

She says that, numb from the tragedy in her life, she blindly followed the advice of a man at the bank and put all her money in a bank bond in 1987.

In doing so she became one of tens of thousands of people to put their financial futures in the hands of Lincoln Savings’ financial guru, Charles H. Keating Jr., now under indictment on 46 counts of fraud involving Lincoln.

Bartolone remembers picking up The Times in November and reading about the death of Anthony Elliott, another bank failure victim who committed suicide by slitting his wrists.

“The man was 89 years old and had lost $200,000,” Bartolone said. “It was tragic.” But she says suicide isn’t the answer.

“I do feel frightened and weak and don’t sleep at night, but I have a home, a small pension and a lot of friends who are going to help me see this through,” Bartolone says.

She is one of the more than 1,000 local people who have lost their life savings and have banded together to give each other moral and emotional support. They are participating in a class-action lawsuit to recover their funds from Lincoln.

“It is not unusual for 500 or 600 Valley people who are suing Lincoln Savings to attend the meetings we hold on the first Tuesday of each month in Van Nuys,” she says.

The programs have included presidential candidate Jerry Brown giving his assessment of the situation and people getting up in front of the crowd to vent their anger.

Sometimes they listen to their attorney update the various cases that are proceeding against Keating, including their own suit.

Sometimes the black humor boils up as they discuss the man who has become their nemesis.

“You don’t feel so stupid or alone when you go to those meetings,” Bartolone says.

She says some people lost a lot more than she did, and some lost less, but they are all hurting.

Turbo Charged

It’s no wonder Pal is feeling his oats these days.

This 12-year-old Palomino--rescued as a foal from the Antelope Valley animal shelter--is now a television star on the new CBS Saturday morning kiddie show, “Riders of the Sky.”

On-screen he is Turbo the Wonder Horse. He and his rider, Ranger Doug, are the stars of the show. And off-camera he is the pampered pet of the show.

It’s a far cry from his humble beginnings.

More than 11 years ago, shortly after his birth, Pal was found wandering around the Antelope Valley’s wide-open spaces with his mother, says his current owner, George Lane.

After being purchased from the shelter by horse trainer Ky Wilhoit in 1980, Pal was used to herd cattle, as he continued to do after Wilhoit died and Lane purchased the horse.

Somewhere along the line, Lane decided to try to teach Pal a trick or two.

“The horse was what you would call ‘heads up,’ ” Lane says. “He learned how to count, pray, push, nudge, fall and whinny on cue, and he learned fast. He was just one of those animals who is smart and quick.”

Which is why, after working cattle for almost 12 years, Pal found himself in a horse trailer headed for television land in May.

He auditioned for the new children’s show on a sound stage at the old Republic Studio where all the golden-oldie oaters were made.

After the producers hired him, the actors and crew fell in love with the horse.

“When I take Pal in to work two or three days a week, people fall all over themselves to give him pats and carrots, which he has come to see as his due,” Lane says.

And one of Pal’s tricks is to walk up behind a person and give him a nudge--a push, actually.

No one on the set is safe.

Talk about throwing your weight around.

Overheard

“Mommy, if you die, who would teach me how to drive?” --3-year-old Valley girl to her mother