This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Oct. 6, 2011 - My home was burglarized last Valentine's Day. I live in the St. Louis Hills neighborhood, which normally ranks somewhere between "peaceful" and "boring" on the urban living scale. As I mentioned in the column I originally wrote about the crime, it's the kind of place where nothing ever happens -- until it does.
At any rate, I'd returned from work in the damp and dreary February twilight to find my garage door open and the 42" plasma TV missing from the wall above the living room fireplace. Investigation revealed the lock on the kitchen door had been jimmied, making that portal the apparent point of entry.
My familiar dwelling had been transformed into an alien crime scene. As I searched the premises with a cell phone in one hand and a gun in the other, I related my findings to a 911 operator situated in the relative warmth of the police communications center downtown.
I really didn't think the thieves would still be present but then again, I hadn't expected them to visit in the first place. The cops arrived about 40 minutes later.
The "cops" materialized in the person of a harried patrol officer who apologized about the delay, explaining that the district was short-handed. He did a workmanlike job of surveying the scene and gathering the information necessary for his report. Before departing, he summoned an evidence technician to dust for prints.
The tech showed up an hour later. He told me he'd been running from one job to the next all evening. It was, after all, Valentine's Day and love was in the air.
The district burglary crew stopped by the next morning and a detective from the area bureau called, as did a friend in the Intelligence Unit who thought he might have a lead. The fact that I'm a retired cop probably prompted an extra measure of attention, but in truth, most of the follow-up amounted to the routine concern extended to any crime victim. Alas, it was also futile. Less than 20 percent of city burglaries are ever solved, and I failed to beat the odds.
Along with the television, the thieves had taken the DVD player and satellite receiver box connected to it as well as an old wedding ring from atop the dresser in the master bedroom.
I'd paid $1,100 for the TV five years ago when it was considered state of the art. Now, the same model is retailing new for less than half that amount. The other electronics totaled about $250 and the sentimental value of the ring didn't figure to translate well at a pawn shop. I figured the fair market price of the stolen property to be around $1,000 -- which, coincidentally, happens to be the deductible on my home owner's insurance.
Besides eating the replacement cost of the stolen property, I also hired a locksmith to install deadbolts on my doors and purchased a monitored alarm system for my house. All in all, this little urban adventure set me back about $2,800.
None of this would be particularly newsworthy if my alarm had not gone off the Sunday before last. I was at a local pub watching the Rams game. The team and I shared a common problem in that we were both powerless to prevent the visiting Baltimore Ravens from scoring.
Contemplating rumors that owner Stan Kroenke may soon demand a new stadium, I'd just remarked that the field looked okay but the players on it could use an upgrade when my cell phone rang.
The female caller identified herself as an employee of the company that had installed my alarm system. After ascertaining my name and confidential code word, she advised that something had triggered the motion detector in my living room. Would I like the police to be notified?
I suggested that if the Girl Scouts were busy, the cops might make a good second choice under the circumstances. After hurriedly paying my tab, I headed home to see who was shopping at my house this time.
Lacking the advantage of a red light or siren, I drove at a quick but not crazy pace. I was coming from several miles away and thus anticipated the police would beat me to the scene no matter how fast I drove. No sense complicating the calamity by wrecking my car.
I arrived home to find the house outwardly secure. A thorough search of the interior revealed nothing to be amiss. Finally, I noticed a moth hiding in a fold of the front window draperies. Apparently, the insect had flown toward the light on the detector, thus tripping the device.
With the mystery tentatively solved, I called the alarm company to report the premises secure and went outside to await the police. They arrived about ten minutes later.
So far this year, my house has twice been searched for burglars. In each instance, I performed the task unassisted. It's tempting to blame the cops for feckless service but that superficial response ignores an inconvenient reality.
When I was commissioned in 1974, the city had 2,232 officers. Today, that number has dwindled to 1,297 -- a 41.9 percent reduction in force. The usual reason cited for the downsizing is that the city has lost population. That explanation fails on two fronts.
First, most of the people who left the city were law-abiding sorts fleeing the menace of crime and the horrors of the public school system. Though urban renewal has attracted a measure of desirable new residents, the overall taxpayer-to-scoundrel ratio has significantly worsened. Indeed, arrest statistics indicate that demand for the police has not diminished along with the population.
Secondly, if a smaller population requires less service, it follows that other branches of city government should have undergone similar diminution. Can you name another city agency that has shed 42 percent of its workforce? Me neither ...
Just when I'd concluded that I was on my own, I received prompt notice that City Hall was concerned about my plight. My alarm had sounded on Sunday evening. By the following Tuesday morning, there was a notice in my mailbox from the Alarm Registration and False Alarm Management section.
This missive advised that though I already pay the city an annual fee for the privilege of buying my own alarm, I would be fined for any future false alarms. Failure to remit payment in timely fashion "will result in permit suspension and denial of police response to alarm dispatch requests."
It's comforting to know that someone is thinking about me.
M.W. Guzy is a retired St. Louis cop who currently works for the city Sheriff's Department. His column appears weekly in the Beacon.