The Granny Patrol: Florida Recruits Elderly Volunteers

By JEFFREY ZASLOW, The Wall Street Journal

 February 3, 2003 

BOYNTON BEACH, Fla. -- For 15 years, Paul Slavin has been volunteering at this city's police department -- cruising the streets as a citizen patrolman and inputting auto-theft reports on a police computer.

One day last month, he sat in his police chief's office and was told how invaluable he is to the department's operations. "We may need you 10 more years. Maybe longer," said Chief Marshall B. Gage. "You can't ever quit. That's an order."

Mr. Slavin listened dutifully. "OK," he said. "I'll do my best." Then the 95-year-old retired liquor salesman shuffled back to his stack of stolen-car reports.

If you're a criminal in South Florida, you've surely noticed that more and more alte-kockers (Yiddish for old-timers) have become "alte-coppers." And they're leading a national trend.

Senior citizens are volunteering for police forces in record numbers, says the Senior Corps, a federal service program. They're aiming radar guns, taking fingerprints and watching out for terrorists. In recent years, hundreds of senior-policing programs have been created across the country, with retirees donating millions of hours.

On many short-handed police forces, they've become indispensable, especially in Florida where some of the earliest programs started. Here in Boynton Beach, 1,537 seniors now volunteer , up 260% since 1998. Last year, they logged 45,113 hours on the Citizen Observer Patrol, freeing up officers for more crucial duties. Would-be crooks are accustomed to seeing gray-haired grannies in cruisers, their eyes peering just above their steering wheels, their fingers always ready to call headquarters if they spot trouble.

In nearby Delray Beach, 70 senior volunteers now write 99% of the city's parking tickets -- about 10,000 a year.

Meanwhile, 16 World War II veterans, decked out in berets and ascots, serve as Delray's Homefront Security force, checking public buildings for suspicious activities. The elite force was established after this community learned that seven Sept. 11th hijackers lived in Delray. Police forces nationwide have been contacting Delray asking how to involve their own seniors in home-front security.

"The Greatest Generation knows what it's like to volunteer . They've changed the way we do policing," says Delray Officer Skip Brown, who oversees them. He worries that baby boomers won't offer their services when they retire. "Baby boomers say, 'I pay $6,000 a year in taxes. You get your a-- out there!' "

Police departments know that eventually, they'll need volunteer reinforcements, as age claims its casualties. "We've lost 200 volunteers since 1995," says Officer Brown. "I go to a lot of funerals."

Many seniors say their police work helps keep them alive. Mr. Slavin, originally a New Yorker, moved to Florida 28 years ago as a 67-year-old retiree. "When I got here, my contemporaries sat in the clubhouse and twiddled their lives away," he says. "Now they're all gone."

But Mr. Slavin lives on, proud of his uniform, reveling in his police work. "It gives you a sense of belonging," he says.

Joe Bakerman, 79, a Delray volunteer , agrees. "If you just sit around like an alter-kocker, you want to die and your wife is ready to smack you," he says. "This gets me out of the house. You know what my wife calls it? Daycare."

Some cops were at first uncomfortable having old-timers around, but many now appreciate them. Of course, officers do notice that some seniors are cop wanna-bes. After learning to shoot guns in training programs, "they say, 'OK, what kind of arrest powers do I have?' " says Dave Kundrot, who heads the Citizens Police Academy Association. "We tell them, 'You have no arrest powers, but you can be our eyes and ears.' "

Their duties vary. Some drive around looking for wandering Alzheimer's patients. Others focus on their pet peeve -- abuses of handicapped parking spaces. In Minnesota, a retired nun travels with police to counsel auto-accident victims at the scene. In Lynnwood, Wash., seniors cruise local parks dealing with what they call "lovers-lane situations."

Lynnwood police give lessons in "verbal judo" -- assertive communication techniques seniors need to interact with belligerent citizens. The old-timers do get chewed out, especially when they issue tickets. They're sometimes told: "Go home and play with your grandchildren!" Reese Hogle, 79, was asked: "Does an ambulance follow your patrol car just in case?"

California Highway Patrol volunteer David Gold, 74, loved riding shotgun last month as an officer drove to an emergency at 120 miles an hour. But usually, Mr. Gold handles traffic duty at local schools as parents drop off kids. "It's nasty," he says. "People don't care who they cut off, where they park." Some question his authority. "They say, 'You old f -- t! What are you going to do to me?' Some of those soccer moms, I have the urge to wash their mouths out with soap."

Certain police forces offer bulletproof vests to volunteers , but for some, the risks are part of the thrill. It's a lot more exhilarating than early-bird specials.

"We're not worried about danger," says Gordon Stanley, 80, who serves on Delray's Homefront Security force. "At our age, who cares? We've lived a life. If it's over, it's over. Send us in instead of the dogs."

One recent morning, Mr. Stanley and Leo Freeman, 85, headed out on a Homefront Security mission, touring public buildings. They checked air-conditioning units for chemical residue or other signs of tampering. They gave big hellos to all the ladies.

At the City Hall information desk, Sarah Nowell, 33, saluted the two men. "It's my way of letting them know I respect them," she said.

A local newspaper columnist mocked Delray Beach for sending "Grandma and Grandpa" to fight al Qaeda, but these men reject such slights. They're hardened patriots, stockily built and wise to bad guys. Mr. Freeman, who fought the Nazis in Normandy, sees it this way: "We might be up in age, but our eyes and ears are still good."

Delray seniors are already potent weapons against local criminals. Once, when condominium parking lots were hit by a rash of car break-ins, police flooded the city's condo complexes with seniors in slow-moving patrol cars, their yellow lights flashing. One lot, though, was purposely left dark and seemingly unguarded. That's where the real police waited in a hidden stake-out.

"The burglars took the bait," says Delray Police Capt. Ralph Phillips. "We channeled them right into that parking lot. It took just one day."

Grateful cops now work around seniors' schedules. "It astounds me how busy these people are," says Officer John Huntington, who oversees Boynton's volunteers . "They've got bridge, golf, computer club, dinner plans at 4 p.m." It's a new world when a cop's master schedule depends on mah-jongg tournaments.

Of course, usually, the seniors see little action. On one recent night at the 900-home Boynton Leisureville adult community, George Whitbeck, 82, and Thomas Klingerman, 73, cruised the streets. They didn't see a human being until they came upon a 96-year-old woman pushing a walker very slowly as she carried a bag of garbage out of her garage. They couldn't help her; police rules forbid volunteers to get out of their patrol cars. But they shouted small-talk to her out the car window as she inched her way to the curb.

Driving off, they pointed out which nearby homes had been burglarized. "I detest people who take advantage of the elderly," said Mr. Whitbeck, a tank commander during World War II. "I fought for this country, and by God, I'm not going to let a bunch of ruffians take over."

The flashing yellow light on top of his patrol car slapped against home after home. It was another safe night in Leisureville.