Thursday, December 24, 2009, 1700 Hrs.

Dear Inspectors:

There’s no porn for you to laugh and make jokes about. I made sure to wipe clean the computer history. So, if you guys are reading this as you’re “turning” the place trying to figure out what happened — I spent my last afternoon on earth cleaning. I didn’t want you to think I was a slob. Hey, I know what it’s like to stand in an 802’s place and laugh about him.

Looking for the suicide note?

See those red journals piled on the floor.

I’ve kept them since 1973 when I moved here. Paid $3.50 for the first book — but the 2009 journal cost me $34.99 ($37.70 with tax). Stuff is getting expensive!

They’re filled with 1000’s of journal pages, details of 37 years on the job. Shouldn’t be hard for you to figure out why I did it.

Sorry about blowing the hole in the roof of the radio car and totaling it. I’m sure the City will deduct the expense from my last check and the pension they don’t have to pay now. I do apologize for the mess, but at least I gave you guys a good story to joke about.

Don’t care if there’s a funeral. The Catholic Church frowns on suicide. And most of you just want to avoid the subject of cops eating their guns — fearful you might catch it yourself — like the flu.

But if there is a service, wrap the body in my mother’s blanket lying over there on the green bean bag chair next to the fireplace … spent a lot of my life enveloped in it sitting in that chair looking out at the City.

Then cremate me and scatter my ashes in the tunnel at Kezar Stadium.

Thanks guys. See ya around.

FOR THE “REST OF THE STORY” … Check out those journal entries.

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