By David J. Cieslak, The Associated Press
PHOENIX (AP) - Edward Langevin was the guy they called Clancy, though no one seems to remember why.
He’s No. 81.
There’s Art Fairbanks, whose bare-bones patrol car had two settings: broiling or freezing.
He’s No. 82.
And Dick Murphy remembers the names of suspects he arrested 40 years ago, but can’t quite recall what he had for lunch yesterday.
You’d expect his memory to be better since he’s a youngster - No. 380.
With today’s recruits issued serial numbers topping 8,400, these silver-haired legends known as the “double digits” were patrolling the streets right after World War II. They are the real rookies of the Phoenix Police Department, serving as a living reminder of the days when the city stretched as far north as Thomas Road and the 16-story Westward Ho was the tallest building the eye could see.
Today, the men get together every month in north Phoenix as a breakfast club of sorts to enjoy some eggs, banter with a waitress and exchange a wealth of stories that could fill a library. And if some younger officers - or a few assistant police chiefs - decide they’d like to pick up some sage advice, they’re always welcome at the table.
“I always thought I’d write a book and call it Ringside Seat in the Circus of Life,” said Murphy, who retired as a captain in 1982 after spending 25 years with the department. “And I like to think that I saved a few lives along the way.”
Murphy, 74, a former traffic unit supervisor, occasionally gets the urge to flip on the patrol car lights and pull over a speeding driver. These days, while driving on Loop 101 to meet his daughter, Murphy still hones in on his targets.
“If I had been working, they’d be mine,” he said with a grin.
Fairbanks, 80, father of Phoenix City Manager Frank Fairbanks, is a bit more realistic. He enjoyed the department’s discipline and didn’t mind earning $167.50 a week and using his own money to buy bullets for his gun.
But he doesn’t miss the job much. Things are too different now.
“It’s become more complicated by social conditions. Officers have to be more alert about personal contact with people,” Fairbanks said, referring to the way police are being trained to approach suspects.
“We had great officers, and the majority had been in the military so they could handle all the stress better.”
Clancy simply longs for the days behind the wheel of a patrol car. What’s more, he misses sipping a 15-cent glass of beer and knowing nearly everyone who walked past him on the corner of Central Avenue and Washington Street.
But life took a turn for Clancy in 1949 when a suspect wanted on a felony warrant hid in the attic of a house near 19th Avenue and Buckeye Road. As soon as Clancy entered the house, he was shot in the leg.
Although the bullet remains lodged inside him, Clancy thinks of that moment as a badge of honor. He nabbed the suspect despite his wound, and the town was a little safer that night.
“Mostly I miss the service to the city,” he said. “We talk about helping the good guys and catching the bad guys, but the best part was helping the community.”
The value of this group, which started meeting about 10 years ago at a coffee shop in Sun City, is recognized by everyone from rookies to Phoenix’s top cop.
Jack Harris, the city’s new police chief, said he’s glad to see that the elder statesmen are enjoying their retirement and living full lives.
“They’re why the Police Department ... (is) so highly regarded around the country. And it’s meaningful to these guys that the young officers still take an interest in them,” said Harris, who sat down to breakfast with the group in July.
“These guys set the standard for integrity.”