Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [41]
I started going to the Torrance academy twice a week and even started taking my kids to the academy to train. I’d drive home to Corona from the academy in Los Angeles, pick up my seven-year-old, Ron, and four-year-old, Britney, and take them down to Torrance. I was putting in some serious miles.
Twice a week was already pushing it, but I had to train more. Three times a week was the ultimate commitment, so I made it and then also paid for private lessons with Royce on the side.
As my knowledge of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu grew, my faith in the martial arts panel dwindled. Amidst all the bickering and posturing, the panel was never going to produce anything of use to police officers. Yes, they came up with great ideas and techniques, but the real problem was the police department itself.
The LAPD kept asking the panel for ways to use force that wouldn’t injure the suspect but would keep the officer safe. But when we suggested techniques like an arm-triangle choke, which has nothing to do with the trachea, the LAPD would reject them. They said officers couldn’t use chokes.
It became a frustrating and hopeless situation. Though the police force eventually adapted the panel’s recommended techniques and a few of them came from Brazilian jiu-jitsu, I felt most of them were watered down and would never work against a suspect. Knowing some officers could get hurt while using these new techniques, I walked away from the panel after merely eight months.
Still, I was thankful for the panel because it had introduced me to the Gracies and Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which changed my life forever.
Easter with Ron, Charlie Brown (Johnny), and Britney
Another life changer following the riots came when Elaine and I learned we were expecting our third child. With both of us on the force, it had gotten to the point that nannies were basically raising our two kids, and our “riot baby” would make three. Elaine and I agreed we didn’t want our kids being raised by strangers.
I told Elaine that if she loved police work, I’d quit my job once she returned from maternity leave. I felt she had much more of a chance of upward mobility than I did.
Instead, Elaine decided to leave the force altogether.
Johnny, our second son, was born on January 31, 1993, which was Super Bowl Sunday. I got to watch the Dallas Cowboys kill the Buffalo Bills through a tiny TV in Elaine’s hospital room, which I didn’t mind given the circumstances.
Eventually the world turned its attention away from Los Angeles, which began to rebuild and move on. Still, what I’d seen for six crazy days in April of 1992 didn’t leave me. It’s funny how resonating moments in your life can give you pause. The riots made me think about what I was doing with myself and my family. My schedule was impossible. I was reporting to roll call at 2:30 p.m. and was out on the streets for CRASH by 3:30 p.m. until about 2:30 a.m. Then I’d go home for a few hours of sleep and get up at 6:00 to make it to Los Angeles in time to appear in court as a witness for my cases by 8:30. I never had enough time to drive the seventy miles home and make it to roll call again by 2:30.
One morning I woke up, looked in the mirror, and saw my dad. It’s not that this was a bad thing. I love my dad and all he stood for and accomplished. The LAPD and SWAT had been so important to him, and he was always there for it. But I realized I wasn’t him and didn’t want to be.
I knew that in the end, the LAPD wouldn’t give a damn about me. It was how I raised my children that would define me. My kids were already getting older, and I felt like I was missing out on so much. I didn’t want to struggle to make it to occasions like Ron’s preschool graduation. It got to the point that I simply wouldn’t do it anymore.
It just so happened that at that time in early 1993 a teaching position in the police academy opened up. The hours would be far better. I’d start at 5:30 a.m. and be done with my day at 2:30, right as the kids were getting out of school.