Protected under U.S. Copyright # 1-4992347791-2017
I was starting my career as a Shreveport police officer after recently being discharged from my four years of service in the Marines.
I made it through two basic police training academies. First within S.P.D. and the other at L.S.U. Baton Rouge. Next was my training in the field as a street officer. I was assigned to ride with senior officer D.E. Stevens, aka Dog. I learned more from him in a matter of weeks on the streets of the Cedar Grove neighborhood than everything I was taught in the academies combined.
D.E. was a real country boy. He was raised on a big farm in Pleasant Hill, LA. He was an avid hunter and fisherman. We quickly bonded and became life-long friends. Such bonding seems common in law enforcement as rookies realize their lives are in the hands of their field training officer and vice versa.
I am also a country boy.
Part of my childhood was spent as a foster child with the Mosley family on an old family farm near Hall Summit, LA. After years working the farm and learning what country boys do, my older brother Bubba and younger sister Sheila and I were released from state custody. We were returned to our father Rayburn who had served with S.P.D. after WWII as a motorcycle cop.
The seed of becoming a police officer was planted by my Dad. He only served four years as an officer. He left the department because of its overwhelming corruption that ran from the top to the bottom of the rank and file.
I had just turned 12 years old when we were returned to our family. We settled into the working-class neighborhood known as Cedar Grove, Shreveport LA. This country boy learned many of the young boys I hung out with were little criminals in the making. I can’t count the times our little gang ran from the cops down back alleys and through backyards. We committed petty crimes such as stealing milk jugs from our neighbors’ front porches. We cashed them in for a quarter at the Peoples Market grocery store on E. 70th St.
My youthful years on the streets as a delinquent weren’t all in vain. The knowledge I learned as a little petty crook would serve me well as a cop and later a detective. The short version is quite simple. As a foster kid in school, I consistently brought home report cards filled with A’s and B’s. Once in Cedar Grove my grades slipped to C’s and D’s. I barely passed through the grades up to the 11th. That’s when I dropped out of Woodlawn High school. I was on the pathway to prison, and/or the cemetery, like the rest of my buddies.
Daddy realized my fate and suggested I join the U.S. Marines. He said they would make a man out of me. They would give me an education and a structured environment. They sure did. I was 17. Daddy was required to sign his permission for me to enlist. By the time I reached the age of 18, I had been to eight foreign countries. I graduated high school at the Marine Base in Guantanamo, Cuba. Before being released from active service, I attended Onslow Community College in Jacksonville, N.C.
I completed a 240-hour course of basic police training taught by the F.B.I. and sponsored by the I.A.C.P.-International Association of Chiefs of Police.
The Southfield rapist was labeled by the local media because his first reported rape was committed in the upstairs level of a two-story complex located on Southfield street in southeastern Shreveport.
The suspect was described as a young white male in his 20’s with neck length blonde hair, muscular build, wearing jeans and western style shirts. The victim told investigators he reminded her of Glenn Campbell, the country singer.
The suspects M.O. “method of operation” was to stalk young attractive females. He would go to local super markets, watch them load their cars with groceries and follow them home. If they lived in a house, he was not interested. His preference for potential victims was apartment complexes in or near upscale neighborhoods. He was a cunning criminal and very intelligent. He did his homework and clearly planned every detail. He parked his car a distance away to avoid being seen after his assaults. Armed with a long, dark metal knife which he concealed in the waistband of his jeans, he made his approach. He knocked on the door of his unsuspecting victim and greeted her with a nice smile. He was very polite. He told the target his girlfriend lived several doors down. He just got back from working his 10 day stretch on an off-shore oil rig. He told his story as he stood outside her door and the future victim stood in the open doorway. He asked for a pen and note paper to leave on his girlfriend’s door so she would know he was back in town. In every case, the victim turned to obtain the pen and paper. She left the door open and her back to the suspect. He quietly and quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He suddenly reached and grabbed the victim by her hair, while pulling the long blade from the small of his back. He placed the knife to her throat and walked her to the couch where he made her slowly remove her clothing. He ordered her on her knees and forced her, with the knife at her throat, to perform oral sex. Once he was fully aroused, he forced her on the couch and raped her viciously. Once the suspect was in total control of the victim, he continued to make her arouse him. During the intrusion, she would be brutally raped several times. Usually he took all the cash and jewelry. He pawned the jewelry in out of town pawn shops.
Early in the series of rapes, while performing their door to door canvassing, our investigators learned the suspect had been seen fleeing in a late model, light colored economy car. This was sketchy information on his mode of travel. It was at least a starting point when combined with his detailed physical description.
Victim number 2 occurred three days later. She was in her second year of medical school in Shreveport. She recalled feeling strange as she loaded her car with groceries at a supermarket in an upscale south central neighborhood on Line Avenue. Rarely her instincts of danger had failed her. She was born and raised in New Orleans, a city well known for crime. She scanned the parking lot for whatever it was that gave her this unsettled feeling. As she got in her car, she quickly locked the doors and turned on the air conditioner. As she drove south along Line Ave, she caught herself watching her rear view mirror for someone following her. The further from the store, the better she felt. By the time she parked in her numbered space at her apartment complex, she felt at ease. After a couple trips from her car to her upstairs apartment, she finished the task and locked her door. She let out a sigh of relief and sat on her couch for the evening to pick up where she left off in her studies. Next segment of this story will be posted this week.