Why I Want to Be Chief

It’s getting tougher and tougher to get a new police chief in L.A.

In the first place, I am not personally convinced the current chief, Daryl Gates, is ever going to leave.

That has naturally clouded the issue because there’s nothing in the City Charter that says we can have co-chiefs, or an old chief and a new chief or a chief-on-your-shoulder.

You will recall that when it became clear even to him that his presence was no longer desired, Gates said go to hell, I’m staying.

Then, as pressure mounted, he said OK, you can’t force me to leave, but I’m thinking of retiring.

Then: OK, I’m retiring in April.

Then: No, wait a minute, I’m not going until June.

Now he is suggesting once more he may not go at all, and we have to wonder whose side the SWAT teams are going to be on if we are forced to attack Parker Center and throw him out.

That was on our mind even as a new problem arose. Assistant Police Chief Robert Vernon, one of the contenders for Gates’ job, was accused of injecting (gasp) religious views into his quest.

Specifically, it was said he once told a police investigator, “God wants me to be chief.”

Up until then, God had nothing to do with the selection process, but the charge against Vernon changed that.

We began worrying that maybe God actually had decided on Vernon, and if so, would we all go to hell for challenging that selection?

Fortunately, I can put that to rest. In my most recent conversation with God, he denied ever having spoken to Vernon. Thanks, God, for that.

That brings me to the latest situation.

I had heard via the grapevine (I’ve always wanted to say that) the day before it broke that a new scandal was brewing among those who were in the running to replace Gates, if and when he decides to go.

I didn’t know specifically what the scandal was, and wondered vaguely whether one of the candidates might have slept with Gennifer Flowers.

I’m getting a little tired of that particular kind of scandal and was hoping this one would be on a higher scale. I personally don’t care who the new chief seduces, as long as it isn’t us.

As it turns out, the scandal involves writing, a subject in which I am particularly interested. It seems that some of the applicants for chief may have used ghostwriters to prepare required essays on the department’s future.

“Oh, no!” you cry. Oh, yes, I say.

You remember in the fifth grade how you were asked to write papers on “What I Did on My Vacation”? Well, the applicants were asked to write papers on “Why I Want to Be Chief.”

OK, no big deal. Those in the running a few years ago to be editor of our very own L. A. Times were asked to write essays on “Why I Want to Be Editor,” and the whole thing turned out all right.

(I was going to have a little fun with that, but my wife intervened. “Think of your whole career,” she said, “as temporary.” Right.)

At any rate, Gates announced the other day that ghostwriters had helped on some of the essays, and cries of “Fraud!” filled the air. Later, he backed away by saying his comment was based on hearsay, but now everyone is wondering who the ghostwriters were.

Don’t look at me.

I became suspect because I had once declared myself a candidate for chief and because I write essays for money and always have.

Based on that, I have been receiving telephone calls from those asking if I were the Phantom Ghost Writer. The answer is no.

True, I was for hire in high school as an essayist and also in college. For a few bucks and a little applause, I’d fake term papers on anything from R & R in the Punic Wars to why Pavlov’s dog stopped eating.

In Korea, I wrote love letters for fellow Marines incapable of writing their own.

I put words on paper in one case for some poor clown from Greenpoint, Brooklyn, whose idea of romance was a beer before sex. I made it champagne and kisses and felt like Cyrano de Bergerac.

By declaring my innocence, I am not saying I would have refused to write essays for those seeking the job of L.A.’s chief of police. I’m a writer. I’m for hire.

I don’t see anything dishonest or unethical about it. Presidential candidates hire speech writers. Ronald Reagan ran his life from a writer’s script. He couldn’t say “good morning” without a cue card.

I feel so strongly about anyone’s right to hire a ghostwriter, I am willing to offer my services at this very moment to Chief Gates for an essay of his own: “How I Will Spend My Never-Ending Vacation.”

I’ll do it pro bono. No charge.