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     Hearing of its stealth and success - the SMPD Detectives jumped right on the Sky Sentinel - to “test it” on a junkie-burglary ring working out of Venice, which they’d gotten a tip on.

     So here I was at 9:A.M. on the 27th of September, 1972, setting up our stakeout on a tired apartment building at San Juan Court and 6^th, in Venice Beach, not too far from Santa Monica’s southern border.

      This was decades before Venice experienced its face-lift and renaissance – when its decayed infrastructure offered refuge to all manner of criminals.

      Fabulous Pacific Ocean Park (POP), next door to Venice, in ruins at this time.

     I flew a five-mile box, at 3,000 feet, around the apartment building, while Barry Barcroft, my observer that morning, got eyes on the apartment and the beat up VW van our suspects were using.  Barry was also a vet, having flown Chinook helicopters in Vietnam, and was a solid pilot.  The SMPD Detectives were also there - concealed at various positions – likewise watching and waiting.

     I had notified the Santa Monica Control Tower that we’d be operating in the southwest portion of their control zone – only well above the traffic pattern of arriving and departing aircraft – maintaining a listening watch on their frequency.  Occasionally, an arriving or departing aircraft would pass well underneath us at half out height.

     It was a beautifully hot, clear summer’s morning and, from where I sat, I could see both the Santa Monica and Venice Beaches gradually filling with tourists.  I took another sip of my coffee, placed it back in the cup holder, adjusted power with the throttle, then settled back and relaxed as I flew the proper distance about our target, and waited for the suspects to put in an appearance.  The air that morning was as smooth as glass – my kind of weather.

     However, the cool marine layer of air generated by the ocean only extended from the surface up to 1,200 feet that day.  Since we were flying well above that, we had entered the hot, dry air off the desert – prompting me to cool us off by popping open the right side window – the 60 mph slipstream outside zipped into the cabin and acted as our “air conditioner.” 

     Ten o’clock rolled around and it was my turn to “observe.”  Barry and I traded places.

     Finally, at 10:34 A.M., our patience was rewarded - I saw the apartment door open and the suspects file out.

     Where burglary was concerned, dear reader, usually the upper middle class homes in the north end of Santa Monica were hit between the hours of 10:A.M. and 3:P.M.  Why, you may well ask?  Because during this time slot dad and mom were at work, while the kids were at school – letting the house sit empty - an excellent period to break in undisturbed.

     There were five suspects and all were Caucasian.  Three were male in their early twenties - sporting greasy hair – decked out in unwashed, hippy apparel.  While the fourth was female - a 19-year-old flower child – with dishwater-blond hair.  She carried the fifth suspect – an 18-month-old male baby - in a dirty T-shirt and diaper.  All of these people were junkies – including the baby.

     The three male “Perps.”

     The 4th female “Perp” and their VW Van.

      The 5th “Perp.”

     They piled into the battered VW van, which left a smoking trail of exhaust as it headed into the bowels of Santa Monica.  We tailed the van to the northern upmarket residential section, and I watched it enter 23rd Street – then slow to a crawl.  They were looking for a house with nobody home.  After they crossed Georgina Ave., the van stopped, and let the girl carrying the baby out.  Apparently they had picked a target.  As the girl backtracked down 23rd on foot, the van continued on 23^rd, went around the block and then entered an alley that paralleled 23rd and stopped. 

     Carrying the baby on her hip with one hand, I saw a piece of paper in her other hand.  She leisurely strolled down the west side of 23rd, until reaching a home that appeared empty, then stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

     So what was she doing, dear reader?  She was casing the joint.  If someone came to the door, she’d show them the address written on the paper and innocently ask for directions.  What could be more innocent than a slip of a girl, with a baby, asking for directions?

     Apparently the burglary crew had picked the perfect house – no one answered the bell.  After ringing the bell again, and knocking several times, the girl slipped down the side of the house and entered the backyard.  She went to the backdoor and once again rang and knocked - afterwards cupping her hand and peering through the windows.  In time she was satisfied the house was devoid of any life, then crossed the yard, opened the back gate and stepped into the alley.  Spotting the van parked at the end of the block, she waved for it to come down the alley.

     When the van parked at the back gate, and the crew piled out to jimmy the back door and rob the house – I started the stopwatch - mounted on the observer’s desk, next to the altimeter and airspeed indicator.  It took the girl, baby, and three guys five minutes flat to clean out the house, load the van, and leave.  They were after mainly electronic items, jewelry and cash – obviously they had performed this exercise many times before - hence their speed.

     All the while this is going on, I’m giving the detectives a running commentary on the tactical frequency – allowing them to take up hidden positions to also observe and take photos. 

     Now we follow the van to the rear of 31^st and Pico Boulevard, which is south of the Santa Monica Freeway.  The van parks behind a shop that deals in repairing TVs and stereos.  This is the suspects “fence.”  The owner comes out, inspects the stolen property in the van, then I and the detectives see him fork over cash to the burglary crew’s leader.  The stolen goods are unloaded and the van departs.

     We follow the van back into Venice, where it parks at a sleazy apartment building on Venezia Avenue.  The crew’s leader exits the van and enters an apartment on the ground floor – I direct the detectives to this particular apartment.  This is the burglary crew’s “pusher.” 

     And that’s the purpose of this whole exercise, dear reader. To purchase drugs.

     The transaction doesn’t take long.  The crew’s leader reappears and gets into the van – we follow the van back to 6^th and San Juan Court – where the suspects pile out and enter their apartment.  The detectives give the suspects a little time to prepare their drugs – but before they can shoot up the detectives break in and place them in custody. 

     The baby will go immediately to a hospital, and then Children’s Protective Services.

     A detective informs us we can return to patrol and thanks us for a job well done.  He also requests that I call him when we get on the ground.

     Now the detectives retrace the van’s movements.  They return to the suspects’ pusher and arrest him – netting his stash of drugs and cash.  Next they return to the suspects’ fence at the TV repair shop on Pico, arrest the owner and impound all the cash, jewelry, and electronics equipment in his establishment. 

     Later that day a uniformed officer was dispatched to the home that was robbed on 23rd Street.  He secured the jimmied backdoor, and then taped an envelope to the front door and left.  Inside the envelope was a letter from the SMPD, informing the home’s owner that a burglary had occurred and to please present this letter to police HQ, with its case file number at the top, in order to claim their property, which has been recovered.

     Around lunchtime we landed at Santa Monica Airport to refuel the Sky Sentinel and ourselves.  While munching on a taco, from a great little taco stand on Pico, I called the detectives using a phone in the office of the SMPD’s hangar, where they maintained and stowed the Sky Sentinel over night.

      Upon reaching Detective Spence, the conversation went something like this:

     “Goddamn me with a spoon, Pete!” Spence exclaimed. “For the first couple of hours of that stakeout you really had us worried.”

     “Oh, yeah...h-how’s that?” I asked.

     For some reason, I also stutter on a phone, dear reader, but not a radio.  It’s enough to drive me to drink!

     “I’ll be damned if we could find you!” Spence exclaimed.  “We couldn’t hear you...we couldn’t see you.  We’d see all kinds of airplanes and helicopters goin’ in and out of the airport, but we never saw you.  Jesus...you guys are like ghosts.  It wasn’t until you started calling out the suspects’ movements and activities...that I began to believe you were actually up there.  Especially when we were allowed to sneak up on foot...and take photos of them doin’ exactly what you said they were doing.”

     “It’s f-funny you should say that,“ I interjected, “when we’re following the suspects...our c-concentration is so wrapped up in them...we n-never see where you guys are.  Not until you a-appear out of nowhere in a group to bust down a door.”

     Spence laughed - then said, “Well, I guess were both a bunch of ghosts.”

     “Hey...if that’s what it takes to c-catch these guys...then let’s keep being ghosts,” I proposed.

     “Yeah...ya got that right,” Spence laughed again.  Then added, “Well, sir, be advised you now have a convert and I’m gonna be pushin’ for you guys.  We’ve got some really big stuff comin’ up and I want you involved.”

    “Bring it on, Detective,” I confirmed, “that’s w-what we’re here for.”

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