Party-Pooping Patrol Targets Raucous Youths in La Mirada

LA MIRADA — Like a lot of cops, Rick Broussard could sense trouble before he could see it. “There’s something going on around here, too many kids.”

Minutes later, a glance up San Antonio Avenue told him he was in the right place. “There it is, there it is,” he announced, a slight gleam of victory edging his voice as his partner turned their unmarked Chevy onto the street. “It’s time to swoop like the hawk.”

A house party--a very big one--was in progress, teeming with the clean-cut youths of La Mirada and environs. Young people spilled out of the backyard onto the driveway and the sidewalks and the street. One of them cradled a beer in his hand. It was enough to propel Broussard and his toothpick-chewing partner, Ron Blyleven, into pursuit.

The two were, that recent Saturday night, manning the park-party patrol, a special, plainclothes sheriff’s unit hired by the city. For a six-hour, overtime shift on weekend nights, the patrol is the official party pooper of La Mirada.

Cruises for Carousers

It is the unit’s job to answer calls about raucous gatherings, and to cruise local parks and parking lots, scanning the dark reaches for people who have chosen public places to do their carousing. Especially young people.

“It’s the same thing we all did at that age,” said Broussard, a slight man dressed, like Blyleven, in blue jeans and a green, sheriff’s windbreaker. “Most of these kids aren’t bad. They’re usually middle- to upper-middle class. They can afford better beer than I can buy.”

Exactly what brand of beer the teen-ager on San Antonio was holding was unclear. Beckoned by the party patrol, he flashed a sullen look, tossed his drink into the bushes and disappeared into the backyard throng.

Undeterred, Broussard and Blyleven won permission from the host parent to crash. They waded past bodies wriggling to dance music on the packed patio, peering into the semihostile faces in search of the offending drinker.

Collared, the 17-year-old from Fullerton had bleached blond hair, a crucifix around his neck, and a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry sir,” he professed as he stood on the street by the park-party car, the thrill of an underage drink gone flat with the specter of arrest and irate parents.

His friends looked on. “Excuse me sir, can I take him home?,” beseeched one.

Docility did the trick. After chewing him out, the party patrol let the boy go, suggesting to the house owner that it would be nice if he shut the festivities down before midnight. Amid predictions of a return engagement, the sheriff’s officers hit the road.

On a slow spin through the parking lot of La Mirada Park, they passed several dark, parked cars. A jean jacket had been carefully draped over the rolled-up driver’s window of a BMW. Blyleven walked over, using his flashlight to illuminate the activities of the young couple inside. A head popped into view.

“Don’t you think this is kind of conspicuous?” he asked. “The people across the street are getting upset.”

Compromising Positions

Earlier, Blyleven noted, “You’d be amazed at the compromising positions we come across.”

Why bother young love? “We don’t know if the lady is there willingly or not,” he said.

Besides, the city would rather not have passion in the parks.

Ditto for empty beer bottles.

“I think that’s the major thing that aggravates the City Council, the trash,” said Broussard, who left his job as a machinist nine years ago to become a sheriff’s deputy. (“I got tired of being greasy.”)

Not only do young men and women violate local ordinances by drinking in La Mirada’s numerous, well-groomed parks, they also leave the discarded beverage containers behind on the clipped, lush grass, or stashed under swings and jungle gyms.

Several six packs worth of bottles had been strewn about the sandy play area of a green belt in one quiet neighborhood. “Just missed ‘em, this is still pretty cold to the touch,” observed Blyleven as he reached down and scooped up a recently drained bottle.

Broussard, 37, and Blyleven, 40, have varied scouting strategies, depending on the terrain of the park they are checking. At one park, they silently skirted a wall to sneak up on the crest of a hill favored by youthful celebrants. “Kids like to sit here and drink,” explained Blyleven, a detective during regular hours. “It’s like the military, you’re on high ground and can see what’s happening.”

Rabbit Time

At another park, they steered the car down a horse trail, over a bridge, through a tunnel, and past dense thickets. The only thing hopping was a black and white rabbit, so tame it seemed a pet gone astray.

Carl’s Jr, a popular fast-food hangout on Rosecrans Avenue, was another story. A sporty yellow hatchback had followed a Volkswagen full of girls into the parking lot. The hatchback was being navigated in a manner that caught the attention of the party patrol.

The young man behind the wheel was from Whittier. His sister was one of the VW occupants. She was not happy when Broussard suggested she drive her brother home. Broussard was not happy with her attitude. “Get away from me,” he ordered.

Offered the brother: “She mouths off at her mom and dad.”

Replied Broussard: “Well, I’m not her mom and dad.”

The young man who had been drinking was told not to drive his car again that night.

Elsewhere in the lot, cars converged. The party patrol cruised over to give some advice. “You ain’t got a hamburger in your face, move it,” Blyleven yelled at the teen-agers.

As predicted, the roving party busters paid a second visit to the San Antonio Avenue bash. It was breaking up, but there was another young man enjoying his beer on the sidewalk. Incredulous, he watched the green windbreakers approach him.

“Why do these guys keep picking on me. . . . Jeez, you guys are enough to make a guy sober,” exclaimed the La Mirada teen-ager in his surfer shirt. “Nineteen years without a ticket, 19 years. Got one last night in Behringer Park and now tonight. . . . “

By the end of their 7 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift, Broussard and Blyleven had ticketed three young men and one young woman for drinking in public. Each faced fines of at least $39. The evidence against them was taken back to the Norwalk Sheriff’s Station for tagging: one bottle of Seagram’s Original Wild Berries Flavored wine cooler; one quart bottle of Mickey’s Fine Malk Liquor; a bottle of Budweiser, and a bottle of Lowenbrau. Samples of the contents had been poured into small plastic containers that will be kept for a year, lest someone suggests the bottles held no more than fruit juice.

‘City Wants It’

Blyleven, who grew up on farming land in Paramount and joined the Norwalk force 15 years ago, sees his party work as a way of keeping a lid on gatherings that could turn nasty. “It prevents other things from happening . . . and the bottom line is, the city wants it.”

City Council members have been so pleased with the two-year patrol’s achievements that they just authorized a second park-party car. It will alternate between party duty and drunk-driving watch, as needed. Keeping one party car on the streets costs the city $500 a weekend.

“We think it pays off,” said Councilman Wayne Rew, who pushed for a second party car. “We’re really trying to get the word out among people that La Mirada is not the place to do that (party in public).”

Still, Broussard figures they’ll stay busy. “La Mirada has the largest parties I’ve ever seen in the world. . . . We get calls from parents saying, please come over to my house and break up this party.”