THE VERDICT -- robert gardner

Rowland Hodgkinson, chief of police in Newport Beach from 1928 until

sometime during the 1950s, was an amazing man.

Part of the so-called “Balboa Bunch,” he came to office during the

Claire-Rinehart regime and lasted long after that political group left

office. At the time of his departure, he had held office as police chief

longer than anyone in the state.

His secret was in the selection and training of his officers. In those

days, there were no police training facilities of any kind in the state.

Hodge just hired mature men, trained them and let them go. As far as I

know, there was not one single lawsuit against the department in spite of

the thousands of arrests.

George Callihan, Kenny Gorton and Frank Naylor handled downtown Balboa

when Main Street was filled curb to curb with people -- many, if not

most, of whom had been drinking, some to excess. They strolled through

the crowds smiling, unruffled, never seeming to make an arrest. But if

you were unruly, just stay away from the alleys or a big hand would reach

out and you were on your way to jail.

Walt Dyson joined them. Walt, a big, lumbering man who had grown up as a

dory fisherman, was strong beyond belief. Get out of line, he would pick

you up by the front of your clothing, shake you gently to get your

attention, and right after that he received your promise to behave

yourself.

In case of unusually big crowds, Jack Summers, the city license

collector, helped work the crowds. His approach was somewhat different

from that of the others.

A friend of mine, a member of the USC football team, told me of his

contact with Officer Summers. He said he was walking along drunk, pushing

people off the sidewalk. He heard a voice from down around his feet

saying, “You are under arrest for being drunk in public.”

He looked down and saw a small, gnome-like creature waving a police baton

at him. He ignored the creature, then felt a terrible pain in his shins.

He reached down, only to have the same pain in his head. He fell down,

and the small, gnome-like creature put the handcuffs on him and said,

“Like I said, you are under arrest for being drunk in public.”

Ralph Waterlue patrolled Balboa Island and Lido Isle, which were very

quiet. That was a good thing because every one of his arrests was a

tussle. Finally, the Balboa Island kids pushed Waterlue’s car into the

bay, and he cooled down. He later became the private patrol for Lido

Isle.

Hodge had two officers who didn’t belong on Main Street during rush

hours. If they had, every arrest would have resulted in a fight. They

were Russ Craig and Jack Kennedy. Russ later became harbor master and his

whole personality changed. He was a grump on land, but a delightful

companion on the water.

As I said, Hodge lasted until sometime in the ‘50s. Then someone sicced

the Internal Revenue Service on him. They filed a lien against him for

$23,000. Hodge promptly resigned, sued the IRS in federal court and got

his money back, but it was too late. His career as a law enforcement

officer was over.

Hodge had made such a name for himself from the standpoint of community

relations that he was a regular on the FBI circuit on community

relations.

After Hodge, Johnny Upson had a brief and unsuccessful term as chief,

then Jim Glavis turned the whole department into Jim Parker robots -- for

better or for worse. I lost my connection with the Newport Police

Department after that. My only recent contact was a roust by a meter

maid, which was more funny than serious.

* JUDGE GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and former judge. His column

runs Tuesdays.