Mark Raymond Ganzer
Harry Krass was about as aptly named a cop (outside of Officer Krupke - Krup you) as I've met
- As a kid in Barrington, I always thought the same, but after high school I got to know Harry through my job and he turned out to be a normal great guy, who lived with his family in Fox River Grove, and was a great family man just trying to make a living.
- Oh Brother......
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Bud how true. I think that we have all started to realize that as we get older and view people of authority in our youth. Don't you remember how smart your father got as you got older?
Thanks Bud - that is very nice to hear - Harry DID however have a burr under his saddle about certain Barrington kids, typically the ones whose parents could afford to get them off ... he was no Larry Benson; he was no Churck Smith (both of whom either arrested me, or brought me into the station on multiple occaisions)
@John - "remember how smart your father got as you got older" w e l l ... I always thought my father was superman, until I returned home at 33, a broken and depressed creature and started to see up close and personal some of the character flaws that had been hidden by the mote in my eye ... INTERESTINGLY, however, there are several things about which we are most passionate, and agree in toto - politics and golf and sports and the vacuity of so many sports announcers ... and even more interestingly, now that my mom has died, I simply have rediscovered how much I have always loved the dumb son-of-my-grandmother
- I remember, as a teenager, walking down the street in downtown Barrington talking with a friend about his recent trip to the Phillipines. He said "there were pigs running around in the streets." Good ol' Harry Krass was nearby and heard the comment. Screamed at us for 5 min, "you smartass fucking punks!" He never really made a point other than he
hated us. I thought his head was going to explode. Great guy.
I remember someone making a "Krass The Ass" rubberstamp and stamping it all over town.
All of the times Officer Krass and I had 'interactions', I never did hear him say anything even close to a swear word-he may have 'had a bur under his saddle' about teenagers,
but he was always a 'professional' about it.(my 'interactions' were generally of the cop-perp(?) type, so you would think I would have major issues against the guy-but he was a just a cop of a small relatively quiet town, trying to steer the 'children' i the right direction)
- Larry Benson always treated me like a human being.
Larry Benson was martyred out of town - and it was really pathetic - the last time he arrested me to take me to the station, he apoligized, and asked if there was anything he could do. Cuff me in front, I promise not to do anything. And he did! We got to talking, "you know Mark, you have pissed off some very powerful people in this town. Look at me. I carry a gun, I have a few beers, my wife could get me committed to a mental hospital any time she ever got the urge." (WELL - only if her father was the #1 revenue producer for the Chicago Office of Baker-MacKenzie and had instantaneous access to judges who would sign the commitment order, which is only good for 72 hours, since, if you ain't got in no trouble within 72 hours, then the presumption of being of immediate and present danger to yourself and/or others looks kind of .. like it is not the case ... so basically, they don't want you out there 72 hours, or you will make them look like asses. I have a file of maybe 40 pages of newspaper clippings, notes, etc ... Candy Ass Jeff Lawler was the real problem, IMO .. some just incredible stuff was going on back in 1984-86 .. I'll have to post sometime
It gets even sadder, when you consider Larry's daughter was killed in an automobile accident after he moved his family to Pennsylvania. If he doesn't get railroaded out of town, she would not have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. TO THIS day, I still get pissed off thinking about it. I even signed a confession to possession of a stolen motor vehicle in which I brought up the corruption then of the Barrington Police force, with the idea that some states attorney might start to investigate and get Larry exhonerated ... you can say "I'm a dreamer." My pro-bono attorney told me, "Mark, whenever I get depressed, I just pull out your confession, re-read it, and start to roar with laughter ... and, this, is NO SHIT
- wow? what?
my family has a long and glowing history with Harry....I dont think I hated a person more than he...at least at the time. It wasnt until years later that I was working at a law firm in town that I got to know Harry as a person. As much as I hate to admit it, the guy had a great sense of humor and was really a decent man. I guess it really depends on what side of the fence you were on when you interacted with him eh?
Larry nand Tom Benson were two of my closest friends growing up, even befroe thier last name became Benson.Thier father and mine were close friends before we moved into the Barrington school district sphere. They belonged to the Knights of Columbus together. Thier father died at a young age before Mrs. Benson remarried. Our families still remained close before she remarried ti Mr. Benson. Tom, as some know became a toowe Lakes police officer, part time at first and gained rank as a sergeant last time I waw him about 15 years age.
Larry became a sergeant on the Barrington police department and along with that came a responsibility he was asked to take on that involved diverse insurance policies for the department and it's officers. Here's where his leaving the deparrtment becomes a little confusing and maybe misleading, as I never had an opportunity to discuss it with Larry himself, but did have a discussion with Tom about it. You can all develope your own condlusions from it.
Officer Graham got in a fight with Larry in the locker room one day. I don't know if there were any witnesses to the fight our what it was about. Officer Graham stated that Larry signed him up for a policy without his permission and the fight ensued. Because of the fight or the accusations Larry was put on suspension. I don't know about Graham. Larry left the department for one reason or another. tom told me he was innocent of the charges and left the department on his own. He recieved a very nice possition on a P{ennsylvania department. That's all I know for certain. take your choice.
On officer Crass and Officer Smith. I knew Officer Smith from the day he became a policeman. I don't think they ever had a more respectful or compassionate officer on the force. We were friends for a long time until a dispute over a roof ing job I did on his home in Tower Lake. I was partially in the wron (yes I'll admit it) and he sued to protect his interests and I was ordered by the courts to repay part of the projects c osts. I do not hold any harmful feelings against him for this. If it were possible, I would still consider him a friend.
Denise Coté-Kelly thanks for reminding me about the connection Rol - It was their dad, our dad and Cecil Elkins (my godfather) that were all good friends.
Now officer Crass. Yep, ole Harry c ould be an ass at times. When I met up with him agin around 1990 he was still with the department but as a detecdtive. He and I had only had one run in and he proved himself to be a, let's call it, parrt time ass at the time. There were a bunch of us in the parking lot of Langendorf one night, coming back from a field party in the Gro9ve. We throwing fizbees and drinking a little beer. Harry show's up, people start razzing him and he goes on a rampage and start's searching cars. He pulls some beer and a couple bottles of wine out of some peoples cars and puts the confiscated liquor up on someones car hood and goes back into the car looking for more 'stuff'.
I'm somewhat tanked, so Roger and I snatch the booze off the car and take off and throw it in the bushes. He come's out of the car, looks and see's the booxe gone and start's yelling he's going to arrest everyone. another squad pulls up and it's officer Meyers or Miller, dont remember which, but a bigger ass than Harry. they finally come over to me and TELL me they're going to search my car, I remind them rthat I have done nothing wrong and tell them I would think about t. then they start telling me that I'm the only one there of age and they are thinking about c harging me with contributing. I told them they couldn't searc h my car.
So, back to 1990 or whatever. We were at a bar in FRG. He was with the dispatcher from the police department who was Nick Carr's sister and a friend of mine. I reminded him of the incedent and he remember it pretty clearly. I had let him search my car. They went through it very thoroughly. Found nothing. I told him if he had looked in my flachlight in the glove compartment he would have found an ounce of pot. we had a laugh and a couple more beers. As a joke he asked me if he could search me car. I told him to get a warrant. So maybe an ass maybe not.
- I just love these stories.....considering the fact that Barrington was thought of as "Borington"....we all seemed to find a way to have some fun!
Officer Smith was my step dad for awhile. He married my Mom after a not so good evening for me...Charles T Smith died some 16 or 17 years ago. His dad was Chief of Police in the 50's. He had the distinction of killing Baby Face Nelson in frront of what now is MacDonalds in Barr. Route 14 on his way to Wisconsin. This is the story I heard as a kid. I can't verify that however. Harry Krass changed my life...not sure I want to go into that on FB at any rate.
Chuck Smith was my cousin. He passed away in 1994. My dad and his sister were siblings. Growing up, our parents told us the story about Baby Face Nelson, but I don’t recall ever hearing that Uncle Smitty was involved, and I believe we would have been told about something that significant. I also believe Uncle Smitty joined the Barrington Police force in 1940. BFN was shot in 1934. My uncle, Reynold E. Smith, “Smitty”, became Chief of Police in Barrington, following Ernie Baade’s retirement in 1950, and then later he was Chief of Police in Barrington Hills. If any of Ernie Baade’s descendants are in this group, maybe they could tell the story, as Ernie was chief of police in the 30s.
- Chuck Smith was one of the great guys of my childhood and teen years. And Chief Smith lived next door to one of my best friends. Spent quite a few summer evenings sitting out, listening to the Chief's stories.
Oops! . . . My dad and Chuck's mom were siblings.
What I remember most about Larry Benson is that he made an attempt to know kids outside of an antagonistic situation. If he saw you hanging out, he'd come over and talk, have a few yuks and let you know he was a regular guy. He was the only cop I waved to when he drove by...
What I remember about Larry & Tom Benson is that they were my friend Peggy's older brothers :) :)
Mark Raymond Ganzer
Remembering Chuck Smith: My first encounter with Chuck occurred in the summer of 1964. I was riding my bicycle on the sidewalk down Hough Street, and he stopped me to tell me it was illegal to ride on the sidewalk. So, I stopped doing it (and do not do it to this day).
My second Chuck Smith encounter occurred by the railraid tracks withere the hot dog stand now sits. Kiffer Allen, Dave Giangrossi, and I were taking a time out for a nice smoke break. Officer Smith pulls up, points out to us that there is this silo with oil in it, and that we could have blown ourselves up, along with a lot of the property in the area. But, what he was investigating (we were under age, me, a sophomore, and my two companions freshmen) was the damage done by three yourth to a mail box at the post office on Main Street (where the Jewel Parking Lot now resides. This is a federal offense, and very serious charge. We were innocent of it, BUT, it had been reported by a witness that three boys had done the damage. How do you prove you didn't do something? W E L L … God sends his angels! A man drove up in a car, pulled over, asked what the situation was, and then told Officer Smith that he had witnessed the defacement, and the that youths were wearing rather distinctive jackets, and that we were not guilty of THAT crime (possession of tobacco by minors, of course, being a criminal offense, per local and state statutes).
At this juncture, Chuck had to make a field decision. He says (to me), “I'm especially impressed with your hair cut, SO, what I'm going to do is let you off tonight, but I want you to come and see me in a month.
And we did go to see him. He was not on duty. So, Chief of Police Henninger (into whose yard I used to dump the empty beer cans, cleaning up from the Friday and Saturday night beer drinking bashes at Mark Mandach's parents' house, along with Dave Weaver, Walt Witchee, and whomever else) says,
“Hm. I really should notify your parents.”
Withered away with fear and trembling were Dave and I. Kiffer's parents, of course, knew of his smoking, and he would not have been punished. They were very liberal in permitting their children to engage in the vices of the times; their parenting in this area being very much consistent with what 14-20 year olds generally did, back in the day, and still do, to this day. “But, since Officer Smith made the deal with you, I will honor it. Go and sin no more (or something like that).”
In December, 1969, I drove my brother and Jan Pinkus' sister to the Winter Dance. I was drunk. John could tell because I kissed mom good night as we proceeded off to pick up his date, who was amused by my drunkeness – the bachnalian reverie of it all.
I went on to a party thrown, I believe, by Dawn Davis' mother, although it could have been Rich Stone's mom. Marta Jones approaches me in tears, “George (Pritchard Harris) doesn't love me any more.”
“Okay. I'll take you to Marge Luke's, and you can talk with her.”
The next thing I remember, I am awakened, behind the wheel of the car, and Marta is saying, “Mark, pull over, the police are behind us.”
“Where's the party?” asked the Krass one.
“Here,” says I.
So he walks us up to the apartment, over on Jack Snow Avenue, back in the day when the aprtments
"were new.
“So, you got under aged drinking here, I see,” pronounced the Krass one, as he proceeded to take me off to jail. “Mark, can we get you antying?” my friends asked.
“I'm out of cigarettes,” I replied.
And a dozen of them came down, like manna from heaven.
Quite frankly, at that time, the PD couldn't have given a damn about a DUI. They were after bigger fish to fry, and wanted to know if there had been pot smoking at the party. I didn't know.
They left me alone, and, fancy this, left me with my smokes and a lighter. They told me I could make a phone call. I phoned Hank Pfannstiehl, whose father I used to caddie for at Barrington Hills Country Club. (I also caddied for Hank. He was a good friend and supporter of Andy North, for whom I had caddied when he won the CDGA Junior Match Play Championship at Crystal Lake Country Club in 1968, the first event he had won, except for the three times he won the Wisconsin State Golf Tournament (which he would NOT win as a senior).
Hank was hung over, and a bit fuzzy, but he came and picked me up. The police were under the impression that my folks were not at home. HELL NO!, But do you think I want them to find out about this?
I also burned the high school photo of Donna Littwin, who had broken up with me, maybe 8 months earlier. I was crying, I was sad, I had no girl friend. Funny how much about ourselves we reveal when we are not sober.
When the time came to talk with my folks and the cops (yes, the folks found out about it), Chief of Police Henninger asked me what I thought would be a fair punishment. “Take away my license for a year,” I replied.
His reaction was somewhere between stunned and impressed. “That's appropriate,” he said. And so
they did.
POST SCRIPT: The first night I got my license back, Bill Gregg and I chaperoened a teen-aged party at Chuck Meroni's. Our job was to keep the kids from drinking in the yard. Which, we didn't do too well, drinking beers ourselves.
I had lived without the license for a year, and had either learned, or not learned a very important lesson: That I really didn't value the license enough to NOT drink and drive.
AMEN.
OOPs – forgot three other Chuck Smither encounters. Marshall Luke and his older sister and I were good friends, and I just loved Marge like a mentor! I was invited over to a family cook out one night, and Chuck was there (he was a'-courtin'). We had a delicious grilled dinner, that Chuck cooked, sat around drinking beers (I was 19, of legal age, apparently), talking, and enjoying a wonderful night of companionship and friendship.
Years later, I encountered Chuck at the Yankee Doodle. He was just a citizen, havin' a beer with his fellow denizens, drunks, and losers. He had a plaid jacket, and a WAY COOL beret on, like the one the Guardian Angels wear in New York City, but different colors. We got to talking. Chuck played saxaphone! Wow.
Not so long after that, I was in Ray's barber shop and Chuck was there. We were talking a bit, and then I re-introduced myself to Chuck. “I didn't recognize you,” he said. A few minutes later he got up and left. About a half hour later, a couple of Barrington cops came back and took me to jail (I think there was one of those 72-hour involuntary commitment notices up on me.) Later that month, Ray told me, “Chuck just didn't want to arrest you, so he went to the station to let them know where you were.” Which was very nice of him.
OH, and the grandest time of all. I walk into the Barrington Police Station one morning, to try to find out how I can get an order of protection against my wife and father-in-law, so that they won't get me committed to a mental hospital.
Chuck sees me, says, “Mark Ganzer, hmm, there was something about you, let me go check.” And that litte voice in my head said, “Mark, turn deliberately around, walk out the front door, and then RUN like a muthah humpah through the houses and DO NOT IN ANY EVENT return to your folks house. But then the other voice said, “Naw, this is my long time buddy Chuck Smith, I can trust him.”
Next thing I know, they take me back to a cell. I am asking what crime I have committed. “You are in here for your own good.”
“Do I get a phone call?”
“Yes, certainly.”
I was not in a cell with bars, but an enclosed holding area, glass enclosed, dusty as all get out. I started a gag reflex coughing response, begged to be put into a cell so I could pee and spit. They let me go there.
At which point, and now I am SO pissed off, you cannot believe it, I take off all my clothes, bite my drivers' license in half, take a piss on the drivers' license, and try to flush it down the friggin' drain.
I called my minister, an accountant, mom, dad.
Then the ambulance came, stapped me in leathers into a cot, and they drove my ass to Skokie Valley Hospital. This was my first involuntary commitment. SOMEWHERE, I have the papers. It was an eye-opening experience. It changed my life forever. It sealed the fate of my already doomed marriage.
I could not believe that an American citizen could be treated like this.
In general, they cannot, BUT, when their father-in-law is the leading revenue producer in the Chicago Office of the world's largest international law firm, Baker-MacKenzie, court orders get signed very promptly, and very expeditiously.
And I would NOT trade on of these experiences for all the money in the world. Because it taught me a
lot; especially the part about how I want never to be.
Thank you Lord, for all you have let me experience. I will use my experiences to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly, always, with You, oh Lord, God, creator of all the worlds.
