ROBERT GARDNER -- The verdict

Recent news accounts of Mark David Allen, who has been arrested by the

Newport Beach Police Department more than 100 times, bring up memories of

Mr. Coe.

Mr. Coe was arrested for being drunk four times in 24 hours, which isn’t

bad for a record when one recognizes that he was held in jail five hours

before being released each time he was taken into custody.

By my primitive arithmetic, he was only at liberty four hours during that

one day, yet managed to get himself arrested four times during in the

short intervals.

I was the booking officer when he was brought in the fourth time.

As he came through the door he sang out, “The name is Coe. That’s big

‘C,’ small ‘o,’ small ‘e.’ I’m from Inglewood, that’s big ‘I’ ... “

“I know how to spell Inglewood,” I told him.

“The last booking officer didn’t,” said he.

Coe was just about the happiest drunk I have ever met.

He and his wife had arrived in town that day and checked into the Balboa

Inn. Mr. Coe promptly removed the furniture from his room and piled it at

the top of the second-floor stairway, blocking the way up or down the

stairs.

That was arrest No. 1.

On his release, he walked from the hotel down Main Street to Dad

Workman’s gambling joint. There was a long counter on which the players

had placed their chips. Coe went to the end of the counter, put his arm

down on the counter and ran to the street, sweeping all those chips out

onto the sidewalk.

Needless to say, the gamblers were annoyed. And since gambling was one of

the prominent industries in town at that time, Coe made the slammer

again.

After his next release, he walked down the street, came upon an

unattended police vehicle, got in and turned the siren on full blast.

Since cops have a notorious lack of tolerance, back to jail went Coe.

On his next release, he came upon a bakery truck. While the driver was

making a delivery, Coe handed out bread to passersby.

“Jesus did it,” he offered as an explanation to the cops, but they were

unimpressed.

Back to jail.

That was four arrests in four breaks between jail time.

Coe was an interesting prisoner. He didn’t want to go into the jail,

proclaiming: “It smells bad, and it’s lonesome in there.”

When I put him in the jail, he immediately went to the window and

shouted, “Help, help! The cops are beating me!”

We made a deal. He could come out and sit with me in the booking area if

he’d stop shouting.

Whenever a cop would come in, Coe would grab him and demand his immediate

arrest because he looked like one of the “wanted” posters on the wall.

The cops stopped dropping in.

When his final five hours was up, his wife came in, put up his $20 for

bail and went out in front to await his release.

Not Mr. Coe. He refused to be released. Not with his wife waiting out

front.

“She drinks, you know. Dangerous driver.”

So he called a cab, had it drive up to the door of the jail, crept out

and sneaked into the cab. The last I saw of Mr. Coe, he was waving

merrily at me from the cab’s back window.

The more I think about it, the more I doubt he was drunk all those times.

Rather, I am inclined to think he was just a quirky guy having a lot of

fun in a most peculiar way.