The Doorknob Revisited

Ihave a watchdog named Hoover. He isn’t a very bright dog, but God gave him a barking capability that equals the decibel output of a helicopter on the roof.

Unfortunately, due to his lack of perceptive abilities, the bark can be triggered by anything from a fly on his nose to an earthquake in Japan, which leaves Hoover barking a good deal of the time for no apparent reason.

Nevertheless, I would say the mere presence of a dog is the best anti-burglary device one can own, proof being that we have not had a burglary at our house since Hoover joined the family.

On the other hand, I also have a clove of garlic hanging from the front door. I put it out there as a joke, but we have also not had an intrusion of vampires during the time the garlic has been displayed.

It is possible, I suppose, that we would have remained unburglarized and vampire-free even without Hoover and the garlic, but you can never tell.

I mention this only because, while reports of vampires are rare beyond the executive level of network television, there are about 50,000 home burglaries a year in L.A.

That’s cause for concern and also one of the reasons I dropped by a Consumer Products Security Show over the weekend at the Convention Center. It is also where, among bells, whistles, sirens and Klaxon horns, I met Lee Rosen.

In case you missed it, today ends Crime Prevention Week in Los Angeles, a celebration lost on those who, ignorant of municipal ritual, continued to shoot, knife and pillage as usual during its brief, ineffective observance.

Rosen, of course, knew they would, because he was one of them once, a burglar of some repute who in the end was living proof that crime doesn’t pay, at least not on his level of endeavor.

Despite a modest amount of success at the game and the accouterments that accompany success, the party ended with 10 years in prison.

“It just wasn’t worth it,” Rosen said the other day, sucking on a Marlboro at Booth 204 of the Convention Center.

At 6-feet-6 and 210 pounds, he is an imposing figure of a man with a goatee that quivers when he speaks, edging his persona with a satanic effect.

The fact that he has only six teeth in his mouth doesn’t detract from the image. He lost the rest of them in prison fights, and their absence contributes to the total picture of Rosen as a bad guy turned good.

Now 54, he markets a device he invented in prison intended to keep burglars out of the average house. It’s called a Lektro-Guard and attaches to already existing home systems to toss yet one more weapon into the endless battle against intruders.

Rosen burglarized small factories, not homes. He’d count cars in the parking lot to estimate the company’s payroll in the days they paid cash, then sneak in at night to peel the safe and snatch the money.

His device is aimed at homes rather than factories because he feels a moral obligation to the sanctity of the home and, I suspect, because it’s easier to sell an anti-thievery device to Joe Blow than to General Motors.

Home security systems aren’t new. Ancient Romans put geese on their walls to raise a clatter against thieves, and Americans have had burglar alarms for at least 137 years.

What makes his device different, Rosen said, setting the undersized replica of a door before me, is that it warns the homeowner before the burglar gets in. The display consists of a doorknob on a wired piece of board.

“You don’t have to wait until the door is open to get an alarm,” he said, crushing out his cigarette. “Turn the knob.”

I stared at the device for a moment, weighing its ability to cause pain.

“Go ahead,” Rosen urged, “it won’t bite.”

He laughed loudly, flashing his six teeth to the world. I shrugged and turned the knob. Poe’s firebells from hell rang out with an intensity that would have roused Lazarus.

Rosen turned them off. “I can make any kind of sound you want,” he said.

By flicking a switch, he caused whistles to pierce the air and Klaxon horns to blare.

“What a burglar does first, you see, is try the knob to see if the door might already be open,” Rosen said. “I know that for a fact. Well, this noise gets him hauling down the road fast.”

Rosen foresees a time when his prison invention will make him more money than burglary, without the dire consequences of his previous vocation.

I hope so, but I’ve heard too many false alarms go off in the neighborhood to consider installing any kind of electronic device in my own house. Hoover works just fine for now and, when he wears out, I’ll buy a goose.