By Stephen Sanzeri
I was attending San Jose’s police academy, when my partner and I opened a free-weight gym in 1982; one of the few health clubs in San Mateo County. It was a small place, only 2,200 square feet. By the time I graduated the police academy, The Body Factory had 323 members and many were cops. Some of the members even had keys. The gym was like a family. It was a good substitute for the local watering hole.
Eighteen months later, we became a Gold’s Gym licensee and moved into a 12,000 square foot facility in Foster City. Our members followed and scores of new folks joined, including professional athletes from the San Francisco Giants to the San Francisco 49ers. The WWE, formerly the World Wrestling Federation, wrestlers would take a limo from the Oakland Coliseum when they were in town and even Neil Young was a member. It was a lot fun, but I also had an obligation as an officer. Part of that commitment is to take orders, even though it might get me killed.
In May of 1987, I was woke up Harry Timsel, my sergeant. “Hey sarge, I’m awake.” I looked at the clock and it was 10:49 p.m. “I’m at the station,” Timsel said. “I need you down here, now.” I lived two blocks away and arrived to a full house. It looked like a detectives convention. All eyes were on me as I entered the briefing room.
“Steve, this is Randy,” Timsel said. “Randy’s in charge of the county’s narcotics task force.” The three of us walked outside.
The meeting was about a 30 million dollar cocaine bust in our city a few days earlier. It was the largest in northern California that year. The task force was ready to pounce again, even harder.
“Where do I come in?” I asked. “We believe the kingpin is a member of your gym. We need you to work that side. In two days we’re taking down the main players. We have the cocaine. I need you to tail this guy. He comes in the gym and you follow him home,” Randy said.
I wasn’t too keen about the idea. You see, Muammar Al Gaddafi was running Libya and smuggling tons of cocaine through Mexico into the U.S. The cocaine we seized was placard with Gaddafi’s picture on the kilos. This wasn’t a street corner buy-bust, it was the show, and these guys carried serious fire power.
“Too dangerous. No thanks,” I said. “Steve, you don’t have a choice; this came from the top,” said Timsel. “What’s in it for me?”
“We won’t work your gym for steroids,” Randy said with a grin.That was a low blow. It was the mid 1980’s and steroids were common, and owning a Gold’s Gym was a red flag. My employees were clean and that’s what I cared about. But I didn’t need the heat and possibly lose my business.
I pulled the kingpin’s membership file. He’d only been in three times in the last two months. Plans changed and I was assigned to a team. The following morning warrants were served and seven doors were kicked in across three counties.
My team discovered $122,000 in cash and several pounds of cocaine. Two men and a woman were arrested. As for the other teams, it varied from a few ounces and one arrest, to automatic weapons and $500,000 in cash. Twelve arrests were made that day and the kingpin wasn’t in the bunch.
I stayed with the narcotics task force for another three months. This order also came from the top via Sergeant Timsel. With the whereabouts of the kingpin unknown, my seargent thought it would be safer for me to stay out of uniform.
Soon, things cooled down and I was back on patrol.
As for the kingpin, he never came to the gym again.
