"Offbeat Cops" by Winnie Czulinski - Metro Toronto Business Journal Mag. 1988

Off-Beat Cops
Czulinski, Winnie . The Metropolitan Toronto Business Journal ; Toronto Vol. 78, Iss. 8, (Oct 1988): 20-
25.
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ABSTRACT
CLASSIC BILLIARDS SEEMS LIKE your typical pool hall. There is that pearly-grey haze of cigarette smoke; Black
Sabbath heavy metal music competes with the constant click of coloured balls and the uzi guns, bleeps, and pings
of video games. But it's actually the exception. When the police drop in, they comment that it has been a long time
since they've been in a pool hall where people actually play pool. Ed Blaha hears this a lot. He's not your typical
owner, and thanks to him, the place is not what it used to be. No more drugs. (excerpt)
FULL TEXT
CLASSIC BILLIARDS SEEMS LIKE your typical pool hall. There is that pearly-grey haze of cigarette smoke; Black
Sabbath heavy metal music competes with the constant click of coloured balls and the uzi guns, bleeps, and pings
of video games.
But it's actually the exception. When the police drop in, they comment that it has been a long time since they've
been in a pool hall where people actually play pool. Ed Blaha hears this a lot. He's not your typical owner, and
thanks to him, the place is not what it used to be. No more drugs.
For Constable Ed Blaha, 39, and 14 years with the Metropolitan Toronto Police Force, part of the delight of
mortgaging his home to buy the $110,000 pool hall at Keele and Sheppard was clearing out the dealers. It was also
a logical move for his videogame/jukebox business, instead of operating out of a warehouse.
The fact he is allowed entrepreneurial pursuits is indicative of a new attitude in among police management. Until
1982, officers were forbidden secondary employment or owning their own businesses, though there were plenty of
these registered under spouses' names. The Metropolitan Toronto Police Association, spearheaded by president
Paul Walter, finally convinced the upper reaches of the Force it was a fact of life. Now, sanctioned second jobs and
independent ventures are busting out all over.
Involvement in secondary ventures, says Walter, caused officials to have concerns about "police coming into work
and not operating on all cylinders. But we drew the comparison of the many officers already working to 3 a.m. and
having court in the day -- and not operating on all cylinders."
At the time the Association pushed for a change in ruling, divorce and separation rates were also escalating -- in a
field notoriously tough on marriages. The base rate for a constable is nearly $42,000, with paid duties and
specialized units such as Drug Squad paying more. But burnout time on such a squad is usually three years, and
extra duties still may not be enough to meet hefty financial requirements.
The police force, says Walter, realized it could not restrict an individual's private life, and worked on setting up
some kind of "controlled mechanism, with application forms. To date, of more than 5,000 Metro officers, about 500
applications -- from constables, sergeants, and civilians -- have been made (with many more officers not going
through official channels), 20 percent of that representing self-employment,
The Force's intelligence department quickly vetoes anything that may smell of white-collar crime, and police
officers may not be employed or have businesses in massage parlours, escort/dating services or anything
suggesting prostitution, security (selling burglar alarms, etc.), private investigation, taxis (unless the taxi is owned
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by the officer), or licensed premises, unless as a silent partner. As well, they are forbidden to use their position as a
selling factor.
Before he bought the pool hall in late 1987, Ed Blaha started Rainbow Games in 1984 through his younger police
officer brother. He invested $10,000, all he had, in a Ms. Pac-Man, and placed it in a Toronto eatery, where it is still
making money for him. Blaha, aware of all the risks involved in starting a business, had a good reason -- an
expensive divorce with monthly payments, and remarrying to start a new family. "And if you want to own a home . .
. a police salary doesn't cover everything. Everyone wants a future, and I'd like to retire at 50."
Blaha likes the competition of this game, as much as his police work. From early days, when he hustled tirelessly
for customers and money was just trickling in, he has determinedly juggled the two careers, often on two hours
sleep per night.
Blaha learned about Classic pool hall with his then business partner, fellow police officer Gary Mountjoy, who he
had worked with on the Drug Squad. They had seen tapes of North York's "Project Melo" drug cleanup. Project
Melo, named for Mel Lastman, had done some good, but the dealers soon came back. Classic was more than
simply one of the places the drug dealers were operating out of. "A real hole," says Blaha. "More drugs going
through here than any place in North York. One girl who worked here saw $65,000 worth of drugs on one shift."
Classic's owner of two years was threatened with death for selling the pool hall to cops. Neighbouring merchants,
some of whom had seen murder, were frightened. Blaha and Mountjoy moved fast, and in under two weeks, the
place was clean, with only the odd "altercation."
Blaha is never relaxed for long, and remains an arresting presence here: at last count, 12 "patrons" have been
arrested for robbery, one each for threatening death and trespassing, but none for drugs, though the unenlightened
sometimes still sidle in to buy. "A cop doesn't own a pool hall," says Blaha. "They can't believe it. But I'm there up
front, looking and smiling." Looking over his police force coffee mug, quite often, or showing off his Metro Toronto
Police Force crest on his sweatshirt.
Father of three childen, Blaha has roamed Europe, hopped freights across Canada, worked in a copper refinery, and
sailed with the Merchant Navy for three years before joining the Force. He quickly became well-acquainted with
everything from murder to child molestation. For the last two years, he has worked in Traffic Investigation.
Classic Billiards, he says, has been a pleasant surprise "for someone who walked in and expected to have a $5,000-
a-month debt out of the place." He is making $1,300 a week profit and hopes to buy another pool hall soon.
Meanwhile, his videogame business has a solid base of about 40 customers, including restaurants, donut shops,
and a few police stations around Toronto, and Blaha is expanding east to Ajax and Oshawa. It is a competitive
industry that pits him against eight established Toronto companies (one of which was also competing to buy the
pool hall). But Blaha is doing well; sales are up 400 percent from last year.
Somehow, the two lines of work no longer conflict with one another. Sometime between leaving downtown and
arriving here on the drive up, one -- the bad accidents, the dead and injured and drunk -- falls away. "I still think of it,
but not like before. My mind is fresh." What helps is the presence of partner and longtime friend Bruce Beveridge,
37, and junior partner Dirk Verdoold.
Blaha is clear about one thing: his work as a police officer has not suffered. Mindful of being monitored, he never
misses court and drags himself in if he is sick, "I'm well-liked . . . You can never turn around and say I didn't do my
work. I give 100 percent there. If I had to choose? The police job, no question."
FOR ANOTHER POLICE OFFICER, A lifelong fascination with cars, whether it is a '31 Ford Coupe, '48 Monarch
Convertible, '51 Mercury Coupe, or '69 El Camino, has evolved into much more: a successful, six-figure luxury
limousine business with 12 drivers.
Police Constable Larry Shackleton, 44, a 19-year veteran of the Force, is a big man with dark shaggy hair and full
beard that makes it difficult to envision him in regulation blue. In fact he has not worked much in uniform.
Shackleton was a member of a special squad formed in 1974 to crack down on outlaw motorcycle gangs, a special
interest of his. He had it all -- definitely the beard, his own Harley-Davidson, and, at one point, two broken arms.
He has also worked in Auto Recovery investigating hit-and-run fatalities and spent eight years in Morality, where
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the average stint is three. Now, plainclothes at 41 Division, he deals with infractions against the Liquor Licence Act,
though recently he also helped break a Scarborough-based sports car theft ring.
In 1986, he put it all together, to resurrect a dying limousine firm -- "all I had was the name and a defunct licence" --
V.I.P. Limousine Services. With silent partner, publishing executive Suli Yasher, Shackleton realized this was a
long-term project. "I knew, with my little exposure to business, that if it carried itself the first year I'd be doing really
well." While weekends were busy, it has taken three years to build up jobs during the week.
His initial reasons for starting were partly financial. A first marriage, with three children, had broken up. He married
in his early 20s and says he relied on the Force. By his 30s, his outlook on life was changing, "and I had to pay for
that. I don't regret the responsibility of my first marriage, but it is a drain. You need another source when you're
starting over."
But 15 years on the Force had also given him a bad case of tunnel vision, of reacting to situations from a police
standpoint. The business, he says, was never an outlet for stress as such. "But with this, I've found a whole new
outlook as far as humanity goes. It's refreshing to be treated like an individual and not an authority figure."
For this individual, who liked cars long before he became a cop, it was enjoyable if expensive to build up his fleet.
First, he and his partner bought two brand new super-stretch Lincolns for $70,000 each, then a top-of-the-line
Signature series town car for $35,000. His latest addition is a '66 Lincoln Continental.
Some notable posteriors have graced his back seats -- actor Martin Sheen and wrestler Randy (Macho Man)
Savage and his manager, Miss Elizabeth, Italian President Ciriaco de Mita, and Galen Weston. An advantage
Shackleton has is a background that passes the most rigid security tests (Weston, upon finding out Shackleton
was a police officer, requested he personally drive).
It is fairly obvious that Shackleton, though he does not carry his gun in the limo, knows how to react in certain
situations, as do the off-duty cops who drive for him. "This whole security aspect is an avenue I'd like to explore.
Toronto is a big city with a lot of important people coming in . . . If I could offer a security limousine service, they'd
be beating the door down, but I can't advertise it like that."
Though Shackleton does a lot of social functions and weddings, he is most vigorously pursuing the corporate
sector, already numbering many company presidents, CEOs, and Toronto city councillors among clients. Much of
corporate business has come through partner Yasher. He has been careful to expand gradually in a field with too
many fly-by-nighters.
From the start, when Shackleton sent a letter to the Chiefs office explaining he was owner of a limited company --
and feeling all along no one had the right to tell him yea or nay about spare-time pursuits -- he has had no problems
from top brass. The complaints, he says, come from jealous co-workers. "There isn't any indication I'm marking
time on the job, what guys with that length of time are often doing. I'm not a person who can coast."
But he has found an unwelcome adversary in Metro Licensing, which put a freeze on limousine businesses with no
explanation. Unable to renew his licence, he took V.I.P. to Markham and a licensing programme that is costing him
"an outrageous amount of money" -- $1,000 per plate, $500 a year each to renew.
Metro Licensing inspectors have stopped him and challenged him for driving on business; he in turn has
challenged them to take him to court and "lay all this out so maybe someone can make a decision. It's very
frustrating, because I can't plan on expanding in a legal fashion."
This has all gently strained Shackleton's second marriage, but wife Katharina helps with bookings and as executive
secretary. "She definitely had to be very understanding about wanting to become a part of it. There were days
during this (car theft) investigation we worked 14 hours, and she had to take the reins of the company."
V.I.P. is now grossing $100,000 sales per year, on a part-time basis. While his business has never had a red month,
Shackleton is not taking a bundle of money home, either. He is paying off the fleet; there is $5,000 a year insurance
on each car, expenses, and drivers. Shackleton himself does less driving now, but more vehicle maintenance and
promotion.
He admits that, without being fully conscious of it, he may sometimes wish he was tending to business instead of
at work. "I've made a commitment to the Force," he says, but allows there are more dedicated personnel than
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himself, and that the promotion system, even if it was possible for everyone to get moved up, does not interest
him.
"I still look forward to going to work with the police department, but the limousine business is my future, my baby.
And I could make the transition as simply as going to bed and waking up tomorrow. I know when the time comes
for me to leave, there won't be any hesitation."
INCREASINGLY, CONCERN FOR THE future figures in Force members' entrepreneurial endeavours. It is what got
Roy Madden parlaying a pastime into a paying concern. Constable Madden, a breathalyzer technician with Central
Traffic, is also the owner of Edenmore Construction, which specializes in building decks, fences, and basements.
When he is off-duty, the tools of his trade are hammers, saws, drills, and eight-by-four sheets of pressure-treated
pine.
Madden, 44, an affable guy with silver-touched hair, likes working outside. It is hard work, he says, but is "a
different sort of tired than coming home drained from police work."
From Belfast, Northern Ireland, and with the Royal Ulster Constabulary for 14 years, he came to Canada in 1977
with his wife and three children, wanting to give them all a new life. For himself, certainly, he knew what it was like
to function more as soldier than police officer. Most welcoming for Madden in Toronto was "a quality of life here . .
. being able to park the police car, walk away from it, come back, and not have to crawl under it first. You're talking
about coming out of the storm into the sea of tranquility."
It was not dissatisfaction with police work that got him into business, but more a feeling he wanted to do
something for himself. He began to build up a quiet business, advertising in local papers and through that evereffective
word-of-mouth. Many customers are Force members.
He admits he made mistakes when he began, such as buying $10,000 of equipment all at once. It was an
investment that, for the amount of time he had available, was not viable to sustain. Also, his initial concept of the
business was to help do-it-yourselfers in preconstruction work. But he soon discovered people want the whole job
done.
To date, he has built nearly 30 fences. Putting in basements keeps him busy through the winter. These can cost
from $2,500 to $6,000, while wood panelling and fancy bars can nudge it up to $20,000.
This physical labour is quite removed from what he does as a police officer. A typical day may find him giving
evidence in court as a breathalyzer "expert." His midnight shift may find him at one of the central lockups, testing
drivers. Madden says he will always have a certain commitment to the Force. "A policeman deals in security, but
also likes security," he says. "The system is there supporting him the whole way, with paycheque, pension,
benefits. You can say you're going to go out on a crusade and change the world, but you go nuts."
For all of that, he says there are few tangible rewards in police work. "If I take an impaired driver to court, I may get
him two years less a day, a $7,000 or a $500 fine, But this (business) is for me. I can stand back and say, I built that
with my hands.
"From a police point of view," he says, "the only time I talk to people is if they have a problem, You're usually doing
the laying-on of hands in some kind of disaster situation. Here I'm meeting and talking to people on a whole
different basis. They come out, they're pleased with the job. It's a great source of satisfaction."
DETAILS
Subject:
Startups; Small business; Government employees; Entrepreneurs; Police
Location:
Toronto ONT Canada Toronto Ontario Canada
People:
Walter, Paul Shackleton, Larry Madden, Roy Blaha, Ed
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Company / organization: Name: VIP Limousine Services; SIC: 4119; Name: Edenmore Cons truction; SIC: 1751;
Name: Classic Billiards; SIC: 7930
Classification:
1120: Economic policy &planning; 2130: Executives; 2310: Planning; 9172: Canada
Publication title:
The Metropolitan Toronto Business Journal; Toronto
Volume: 78
Issue: 8
Pages: 20-25
Number of pages: 0
Publication year: 1988
Publication date: Oct 1988
Section: 1
Publisher:
Metropolitan Toronto Business Journal
Place of publication:
Toronto
Country of publication:
Canada, Toronto
Publication subject:
Business And Economics--Domestic Commerce
ISSN:
0709003X
Source type:
Trade Journals
Language of publication:
English
Document type:
PERIODICAL
Accession number: 88-29545
ProQuest document ID: 211503803
Document URL:
https://ezproxy.torontopubliclibrary.ca/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/tradejournals/off-beat-cops/docview/211503803/se-2?accountid=14369
Copyright: Copyright Metropolitan Toronto Business Journal Oct 1988
Last updated: 2014-05-23
Database:
Canadian Business &Current Affairs Database
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