Viewpoint : ‘He can talk like a drunken sailor and quote Cicero.’ : Outspoken Ed Stands Out Among a Bland Band

He is a man about whom it was once said: “Ed Davis’ great dream is that one day he will die in his own arms.”

A lot of other things have been said about the 72-year-old state senator during his 50 years in public life, which include nine years as Los Angeles’ police chief during the tumultuous late 1960s and 1970s.

Not all of them have been flattering. Nobody, however, has ever called Ed Davis dull.

This is, after all, a man who twice held news conferences with a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth because he was under a court-imposed gag order not to discuss a case. A man whose most famous utterance was that terrorists should be hanged at the airport--after, of course, they were fairly tried.

Despite the blustery national image as “Hang ‘Em Ed,” Davis strikes a refined pose. He dresses immaculately, often sporting suspenders and matching pocket square, his white mane perfectly groomed. His manner, complete with his coveted pipe, could even be called courtly.

And there’s that distinctive chuckle and perpetual twinkle in the eye, belying an ex-cop capable of playing political hardball.

But it’s the Valencia Republican’s wit, the ability to fire off a one-liner or recite a story, that makes him unusual among California’s characteristically bland officeholders. In the words of former police colleague Dan Cook, Davis can “talk like a drunken sailor in one breath and quote Cicero in the next.”

Davis, for instance, once said that Evelle Younger, an opponent in the 1978 GOP gubernatorial primary, was “as exciting as a mashed potato sandwich.”

Some years earlier, Cook recalled, Davis told a radio reporter that “if anyone could convince me to run for political office, the first thing I would do is to have my head examined by a proctologist.”

These were hardly Davis’ first infamous last words.

Following a rash of airline hijackings in 1972, Chief Davis told reporters that, as a deterrent, hijackers should be hanged at airports after an on-the-spot trial.

“I would recommend we have a portable courtroom on a big bus and a portable gallows,” Davis said. “We conduct a rapid trial for the hijacker out there and then we hang him with due process of law out there at the airport.”

He has since complained that few recall the due-process proviso in his proclamation.

Give him a question and he’s likely to respond with a tale.

Recently, for instance, while ruminating about legislative ethics, he recalled his memorable first visit to Sacramento in 1953 as a Los Angeles police representative. He said a veteran lobbyist confided the initiative rite that the lobbyist and a colleague employed with rookie legislators.

They would take the lawmaker to an out-of-the-way road house and ask: “Will you play ball with us?”

If the official responded affirmatively, he was instructed to reach under the table, grab a wad of bills from a plain black bag and discreetly pocket the payola. “Someday,” the lobbyists advised, “we’ll come back to you, ask for a favor, and give you another grab.”

Then there was the day Elvis Presley visited Davis’ office at the Parker Center to see the then-chief. The King arrived bearing a gift: a sparkling frontier model .45-caliber pistol with silver and gold inlays and an ivory handle. It was inscribed “To Cheif Davis,” with chief so misspelled.

“He had his black ermine trousers and jacket and was wearing his championship gold buckle, a huge buckle that covered half his belly,” Davis recalled. “He wanted to talk. He was a very ingenuous young man and very respectful of the old chief. He was sort of a police buff.”

Presley had a portable telephone with him in a briefcase. At one point, he called his wife and said, “Here, Priscilla, talk to Chief Davis.”

Before he departed, he also gave Davis a solid-gold necklace and charm with the initials TCB pierced by a lightening bolt. Elvis said he gave one to each member of his staff. The “TCB,” he confided to Davis, stood for: “Take Care of the Boss.”

Said Davis, “I sort of treasure those couple of hours with Elvis.”

Nevertheless, he’s not so sentimental that he’s unwilling to part with the pistol.

“You know anyone who wants to give me $20,000 for it?” he asked. “It costs $35 a year for the safe-deposit box. I wish to hell I could sell it.”