It’s no fun standing for hours on Princess Margaret Road in the evening heat, sucking fumes, watching the sullen faces of disgruntled motorists drift through a police roadblock. Yet, at times, this proved the most effective way to shut down the illegal road racing without killing anyone, including my officers. In simple terms, we’d create a traffic jam.
For most of the week, we spent our time trying to keep the traffic flowing. But come the weekends, the game changed.
By 1992, the career development system computer went 'Ping'. So I'm moving again to take charge of Traffic Kowloon West's enforcement section. This job will see me leading 200 officers seeking to keep things moving on the peninsular; I'm up against too many vehicles, poor infrastructure and inadequate parking. The geography doesn't help.
Tsim Sha Tsui is a natural bottleneck, plus the Cross Harbour Tunnel helps create tailbacks throughout the day. Added to that is the ongoing construction work. But, as the joke goes, Hong Kong will look nice when it's finished!
The illegal road-racing problem has grown out of control at weekends. At times Prince Margaret Road sounds like a Grand Prix circuit. Hundreds of spectators hang off the footbridges and loiter at the roadside, cheering on the racers. The noise, danger and general mayhem attract media attention as the residents have had enough. Rightly so.
The racers are a mixed bunch: some semi-professionals, a few triad heavies and the odd rich bloke chancing his luck. A few of these guys race in the annual Macau Grand Prix. But testing their skills in the middle of Kowloon on a Saturday night isn't on.
We are about to declare war on these people in a nasty drawn-out campaign that will result in deaths—but more on that in the next chapter.
My office is in the old Mongkok Police Station. The building dates from the 1920s and has creaking floorboards, high ceilings and a colonial feel. I even have a fireplace.
By now, I'm well versed in the etiquette of taking over a new unit. Rule number one: don't rush in and change things. The worst approach is getting all innovative without understanding the history of the place.
As the 'Chief Inspector of Enforcement and Control', I'm told my job is out on the streets. That suited me. But I already knew that keeping the traffic moving was an impossible task. So we did what we could, which had a marginal impact at best.
I attend major traffic accidents, especially the deaths, which is never pleasant. Plus, I'm leading operations against illegal taxis, tampered meters, and other traffic matters.
I am fortunate to have a competent crew of inspectors and station sergeants. The latter, who'd spent most of their careers in traffic, proved the unit's backbone. So I reckon it's always wise to take their counsel.
My immediate boss heads up the Force Escort Group besides his day-to-day role. This team deploys for VIP escorts, prisoner runs and any operation needing route clearance. He had plenty on his plate; thus, he gave me the freedom to get on with my job.
Setting roadblocks at any time of the day needs careful handling. Drivers either didn't see them or panicked. Others completely misunderstood instructions. A Benz approached a roadblock on Prince Margaret late at night, then stopped well in front of the cones. The car didn't move, so I walked forward to find a middle-aged lady driver looking perplexed.
"I'm not sure what I need to do, Sir."
"Please drive around the cones, Madam."
Which she proceeded to do, executing a perfect zig-zag around each cone. I wish I'd filmed such moments.
Other drivers knowing their license had expired or insurance wasn't current, would attempt u-turns, seeking to flee. But, now facing the oncoming traffic, the silly buggers couldn't escape.
A few tried their hand at running the roadblocks. We experimented with tyre traps to deal with this. These spikes should deflate a car's tires, yet the results contradicted the manufacturer's claims. Cars could often travel some distance on their rims.
Vehicles that jumped the roadblocks usually turned up later, abandoned, or we'd pick up the driver after getting a home address. Rarely did people get away.
Most working days start with a meeting that reviews the last 24-hours. Then a quick patrol to show my face. Of course, for the front-line officers, the number of incidents drives their workload: accidents, road works and reports of obstructions. But, you could spend all day taking enforcement action and still only have a small impact.
There is no glamour in riding a 750 cc motorcycle around Kowloon. This scene isn't from CHIPS. Heat, humidity, road crud, diesel fumes, and inattentive drivers' dangers increased our stress levels. Then along come downpours, resulting in the saying. 'we have two types of officers, those who had an accident, and those waiting to have an accident.'
Matters took a surprising dramatic turn for us in May 1992. Anita Mui, the 'Madonna of the East', held her birthday party in a Kowloon karaoke club when trouble kicked off. She'd declined to sing with Wong Long-wai, a 14K triad member. Having lost face, Wong slapped her.
The following evening, an attack on Wong marked an escalation in Wan Chai. One of the alleged assailants, Andely Chan Yiu-hing, also known as 'the Tiger of Wan Chai', is active in the Sun Yee On triad. He and Mui had a friendship. Chan also fancied himself as a race-car driver, so he was on our radar.
Wong suffered a knife wound in the attack. Two days later, admitted to the hospital, and someone walked in to execute him with a single shot to the head. Anita Mui immediately fled Hong Kong.
Throughout 1992 and much of 1993, trouble brewed between the 14K and Sun Yee On. The Regional Commander asked how units could help with a broader effort to disrupt the gangs. While traffic officers aren't usually involved in the fight against the triads, that was about to change.
A quick brainstorming session with my lads led to a couple of options. The boss agreed to our proposals. We'd start towing all the triad vehicles we could find illegally parked and set the motor vehicle examiners to work. Soon, CID provided a list of cars and locations. Off we went.
At the initial incident scene in Kowloon Tong, we began a disruption campaign. We'd muster as many tow trucks as possible, wait for the heavies to settle in the club and then start towing their cars. To keep the pressure on, we did this night after night. We bagged 42 cars one night, leaving their owners to find taxis.
When one of the tow truck drivers received threats, we identified the group responsible. They operated a repair shop in Tai Kok Tsui. For the next week, we visited them to ticket and tow anything outside their workshop. They needed to understand actions have consequences.
We later shifted focus to the Tsim Sha Tsui East area to disrupt the business of the triad car jockeys outside the nightclubs. The night before a public holiday or over a long weekend, we'd deploy 100 plus officers simultaneously.
These tactics hit the triads in the pocket by discouraging their punters. Also, they struggled to move around as we hauled their cars away.
Occasionally, things became heated at the vehicle pound as owners demanded their cars back. With 30 agitated drivers yelling at the pound staff, we'd front up with PTU to ensure everyone behaved. The smart ones would keep their mouths shut, pay the impound fee and get their car back.
The less savvy drivers took to making a scene. That's silly given that most had illegal modifications, which gave us the discretion to detain their cars. We ran this operation until late 1993.
As Andely Chan remained a suspect in the murder of Wong, he kept a low profile. Then, on November 20, 1993, he finished second in the Macao Grand Prix but faced disqualification for his car modifications. The following day, Chan died in a hail of bullets as he exited his Macau hotel. After that, things settled.
In parallel with this, illegal road racing was ongoing. The action against the triads helped scoop up the odd racing cars. Yet, the racers proved adept at switching venues at the last minute.
My small intelligence section—one sergeant and two constables – had a couple of doubtful informants. Besides, it was clear that the racers were watching us. They'd pick up details of our deployments to then switch venues. Lung Cheung Road, Sai Kung, and Canton Road were alternatives to Princess Margaret Road's primary circuit.
Developing a case against illegal road racers was near impossible. First, we needed to establish that the cars were racing in a joint enterprise. Otherwise, the defendant would claim to speed only.
To get a result, we had to observe, film, log the activity for a period and then capture the drivers for identification. All that, especially arresting the drivers, involved tremendous risks to my officers, the public and the drivers.
As public pressure mounted for action, my initial strategy of roadblocks shut down the road racing or at least shifted it elsewhere. This approach worked to keep the racers off Princess Margaret Road. Yet, it caused inconvenience to the other road users while tying up officers and eating into my overtime budget.
We couldn't defeat the road racers. Hence, at best, we sought containment. We'd experiment with different approaches and discard failing tactics to grow frustrated.
Spending six hours at a roadblock on Princess Margaret Road, inhaling fumes in the summer heat, didn't help morale. So, even though it had a deterrent effect, it proved soul-destroying.
Our energy levels waned, then would rebound in response to an incident. For example, one night, the road racers rammed an officer's motorcycle from behind. That merited a reaction that saw a weekend of roadblocks and vehicle checks until we caught the culprit.
On another occasion, in a blatant challenge to us, we received word that the road-racer had gathered at Star Ferry. They'd confronted two traffic officers. Having blocked their escape routes, we faced off against a crowd of some 50 yobs spoiling for a fight.
We waded in to scatter them. The melee that followed was far from pretty. The Emergency Unit joined us as we dispersed the crowd. Then as things calmed down, we seized their cars.
Some light relief came in 1994. On May 30, Hollywood came to Hong Kong. The opening of the movie-themed restaurant 'Planet Hollywood' was shaping up to be the night of the stars. A few A-listers are Sylvester Stallion, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Glen Close, Charlie Sheen, and Jackie Chan.
We soon recognised this lot would attract a considerable crowd that needed managing with road closures. The restaurant, sited on Canton Road, was the main focus, although many stars stayed at the nearby Regal Hotel on Salisbury Road.
I rode down there to assess the situation early on the evening of the operation. That's when I bumped into Bruce Willis.
Next, I see Glen Close wandering around and taking photographs. Meanwhile, Canton Road is thronging with people. My boss is on scene controlling the road closures from the Marine Police HQ overlooking the venue. The crowds are building as a DJ wipes up the atmosphere as each celebrity arrives.
Back at the Regent Hotel, positioned on the driveway, is a giant Harley Davidson motorcycle. Then cheers went up as Jean-Claude Van Damme appeared. He mounted the bike, started the engine and was about to head off to Canton Road. Except that the 'Muscles from Brussels' is not wearing a helmet. I stopped him.
After a short chat about the law, his minder produced a helmet. I agree to escort him to the venue.
We set off in a small convey, me leading, Van Damme behind and two constables at the rear. As we turned into Canton Road, the crowd was bonkers, and Van Damme milked it. Then, he shoots past me, drops his helmet in the road and roars off to the venue. What a twat!
"Arrest him!" a voice is yelling through the radio.
Van Damme vaulted off the bike onto the red carpet and disappeared into Planet Hollywood.
Surrounded by the cheering crowd, I can't move forward. Meanwhile, Charlie Sheen arrives with a girl on each arm; then Stallion glides along in a rickshaw - this is getting weird.
I confer with the boss, who agrees it's not wise for me to charge in and haul Van Damme out. Yet, the Planet Hollywood PR people are fretting, recognising that Van Damme has caused some embarrassment.
"I'll arrest him when he comes out," I tell an ashen-faced PR woman as the local media pick up our conversation.
We saw nothing further of Van Damme that night. Before leaving, Jackie Chan thanked my officers and posed for pictures. A somewhat unsteady Glen Close gets helped into a taxi.
Meanwhile, my boys are having fun. Chatting with the likes of Bruce Willis is not something they get to do every day.
For most of the week, we spent our time trying to keep the traffic flowing. But come the weekends, the game changed.
By 1992, the career development system computer went 'Ping'. So I'm moving again to take charge of Traffic Kowloon West's enforcement section. This job will see me leading 200 officers seeking to keep things moving on the peninsular; I'm up against too many vehicles, poor infrastructure and inadequate parking. The geography doesn't help.
Tsim Sha Tsui is a natural bottleneck, plus the Cross Harbour Tunnel helps create tailbacks throughout the day. Added to that is the ongoing construction work. But, as the joke goes, Hong Kong will look nice when it's finished!
The illegal road-racing problem has grown out of control at weekends. At times Prince Margaret Road sounds like a Grand Prix circuit. Hundreds of spectators hang off the footbridges and loiter at the roadside, cheering on the racers. The noise, danger and general mayhem attract media attention as the residents have had enough. Rightly so.
The racers are a mixed bunch: some semi-professionals, a few triad heavies and the odd rich bloke chancing his luck. A few of these guys race in the annual Macau Grand Prix. But testing their skills in the middle of Kowloon on a Saturday night isn't on.
We are about to declare war on these people in a nasty drawn-out campaign that will result in deaths—but more on that in the next chapter.
My office is in the old Mongkok Police Station. The building dates from the 1920s and has creaking floorboards, high ceilings and a colonial feel. I even have a fireplace.
By now, I'm well versed in the etiquette of taking over a new unit. Rule number one: don't rush in and change things. The worst approach is getting all innovative without understanding the history of the place.
As the 'Chief Inspector of Enforcement and Control', I'm told my job is out on the streets. That suited me. But I already knew that keeping the traffic moving was an impossible task. So we did what we could, which had a marginal impact at best.
I attend major traffic accidents, especially the deaths, which is never pleasant. Plus, I'm leading operations against illegal taxis, tampered meters, and other traffic matters.
I am fortunate to have a competent crew of inspectors and station sergeants. The latter, who'd spent most of their careers in traffic, proved the unit's backbone. So I reckon it's always wise to take their counsel.
My immediate boss heads up the Force Escort Group besides his day-to-day role. This team deploys for VIP escorts, prisoner runs and any operation needing route clearance. He had plenty on his plate; thus, he gave me the freedom to get on with my job.
Setting roadblocks at any time of the day needs careful handling. Drivers either didn't see them or panicked. Others completely misunderstood instructions. A Benz approached a roadblock on Prince Margaret late at night, then stopped well in front of the cones. The car didn't move, so I walked forward to find a middle-aged lady driver looking perplexed.
"I'm not sure what I need to do, Sir."
"Please drive around the cones, Madam."
Which she proceeded to do, executing a perfect zig-zag around each cone. I wish I'd filmed such moments.
Other drivers knowing their license had expired or insurance wasn't current, would attempt u-turns, seeking to flee. But, now facing the oncoming traffic, the silly buggers couldn't escape.
A few tried their hand at running the roadblocks. We experimented with tyre traps to deal with this. These spikes should deflate a car's tires, yet the results contradicted the manufacturer's claims. Cars could often travel some distance on their rims.
Vehicles that jumped the roadblocks usually turned up later, abandoned, or we'd pick up the driver after getting a home address. Rarely did people get away.
Most working days start with a meeting that reviews the last 24-hours. Then a quick patrol to show my face. Of course, for the front-line officers, the number of incidents drives their workload: accidents, road works and reports of obstructions. But, you could spend all day taking enforcement action and still only have a small impact.
There is no glamour in riding a 750 cc motorcycle around Kowloon. This scene isn't from CHIPS. Heat, humidity, road crud, diesel fumes, and inattentive drivers' dangers increased our stress levels. Then along come downpours, resulting in the saying. 'we have two types of officers, those who had an accident, and those waiting to have an accident.'
Matters took a surprising dramatic turn for us in May 1992. Anita Mui, the 'Madonna of the East', held her birthday party in a Kowloon karaoke club when trouble kicked off. She'd declined to sing with Wong Long-wai, a 14K triad member. Having lost face, Wong slapped her.
The following evening, an attack on Wong marked an escalation in Wan Chai. One of the alleged assailants, Andely Chan Yiu-hing, also known as 'the Tiger of Wan Chai', is active in the Sun Yee On triad. He and Mui had a friendship. Chan also fancied himself as a race-car driver, so he was on our radar.
Wong suffered a knife wound in the attack. Two days later, admitted to the hospital, and someone walked in to execute him with a single shot to the head. Anita Mui immediately fled Hong Kong.
Throughout 1992 and much of 1993, trouble brewed between the 14K and Sun Yee On. The Regional Commander asked how units could help with a broader effort to disrupt the gangs. While traffic officers aren't usually involved in the fight against the triads, that was about to change.
A quick brainstorming session with my lads led to a couple of options. The boss agreed to our proposals. We'd start towing all the triad vehicles we could find illegally parked and set the motor vehicle examiners to work. Soon, CID provided a list of cars and locations. Off we went.
At the initial incident scene in Kowloon Tong, we began a disruption campaign. We'd muster as many tow trucks as possible, wait for the heavies to settle in the club and then start towing their cars. To keep the pressure on, we did this night after night. We bagged 42 cars one night, leaving their owners to find taxis.
When one of the tow truck drivers received threats, we identified the group responsible. They operated a repair shop in Tai Kok Tsui. For the next week, we visited them to ticket and tow anything outside their workshop. They needed to understand actions have consequences.
We later shifted focus to the Tsim Sha Tsui East area to disrupt the business of the triad car jockeys outside the nightclubs. The night before a public holiday or over a long weekend, we'd deploy 100 plus officers simultaneously.
These tactics hit the triads in the pocket by discouraging their punters. Also, they struggled to move around as we hauled their cars away.
Occasionally, things became heated at the vehicle pound as owners demanded their cars back. With 30 agitated drivers yelling at the pound staff, we'd front up with PTU to ensure everyone behaved. The smart ones would keep their mouths shut, pay the impound fee and get their car back.
The less savvy drivers took to making a scene. That's silly given that most had illegal modifications, which gave us the discretion to detain their cars. We ran this operation until late 1993.
As Andely Chan remained a suspect in the murder of Wong, he kept a low profile. Then, on November 20, 1993, he finished second in the Macao Grand Prix but faced disqualification for his car modifications. The following day, Chan died in a hail of bullets as he exited his Macau hotel. After that, things settled.
In parallel with this, illegal road racing was ongoing. The action against the triads helped scoop up the odd racing cars. Yet, the racers proved adept at switching venues at the last minute.
My small intelligence section—one sergeant and two constables – had a couple of doubtful informants. Besides, it was clear that the racers were watching us. They'd pick up details of our deployments to then switch venues. Lung Cheung Road, Sai Kung, and Canton Road were alternatives to Princess Margaret Road's primary circuit.
Developing a case against illegal road racers was near impossible. First, we needed to establish that the cars were racing in a joint enterprise. Otherwise, the defendant would claim to speed only.
To get a result, we had to observe, film, log the activity for a period and then capture the drivers for identification. All that, especially arresting the drivers, involved tremendous risks to my officers, the public and the drivers.
As public pressure mounted for action, my initial strategy of roadblocks shut down the road racing or at least shifted it elsewhere. This approach worked to keep the racers off Princess Margaret Road. Yet, it caused inconvenience to the other road users while tying up officers and eating into my overtime budget.
We couldn't defeat the road racers. Hence, at best, we sought containment. We'd experiment with different approaches and discard failing tactics to grow frustrated.
Spending six hours at a roadblock on Princess Margaret Road, inhaling fumes in the summer heat, didn't help morale. So, even though it had a deterrent effect, it proved soul-destroying.
Our energy levels waned, then would rebound in response to an incident. For example, one night, the road racers rammed an officer's motorcycle from behind. That merited a reaction that saw a weekend of roadblocks and vehicle checks until we caught the culprit.
On another occasion, in a blatant challenge to us, we received word that the road-racer had gathered at Star Ferry. They'd confronted two traffic officers. Having blocked their escape routes, we faced off against a crowd of some 50 yobs spoiling for a fight.
We waded in to scatter them. The melee that followed was far from pretty. The Emergency Unit joined us as we dispersed the crowd. Then as things calmed down, we seized their cars.
Some light relief came in 1994. On May 30, Hollywood came to Hong Kong. The opening of the movie-themed restaurant 'Planet Hollywood' was shaping up to be the night of the stars. A few A-listers are Sylvester Stallion, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Glen Close, Charlie Sheen, and Jackie Chan.
We soon recognised this lot would attract a considerable crowd that needed managing with road closures. The restaurant, sited on Canton Road, was the main focus, although many stars stayed at the nearby Regal Hotel on Salisbury Road.
I rode down there to assess the situation early on the evening of the operation. That's when I bumped into Bruce Willis.
Next, I see Glen Close wandering around and taking photographs. Meanwhile, Canton Road is thronging with people. My boss is on scene controlling the road closures from the Marine Police HQ overlooking the venue. The crowds are building as a DJ wipes up the atmosphere as each celebrity arrives.
Back at the Regent Hotel, positioned on the driveway, is a giant Harley Davidson motorcycle. Then cheers went up as Jean-Claude Van Damme appeared. He mounted the bike, started the engine and was about to head off to Canton Road. Except that the 'Muscles from Brussels' is not wearing a helmet. I stopped him.
After a short chat about the law, his minder produced a helmet. I agree to escort him to the venue.
We set off in a small convey, me leading, Van Damme behind and two constables at the rear. As we turned into Canton Road, the crowd was bonkers, and Van Damme milked it. Then, he shoots past me, drops his helmet in the road and roars off to the venue. What a twat!
"Arrest him!" a voice is yelling through the radio.
Van Damme vaulted off the bike onto the red carpet and disappeared into Planet Hollywood.
Surrounded by the cheering crowd, I can't move forward. Meanwhile, Charlie Sheen arrives with a girl on each arm; then Stallion glides along in a rickshaw - this is getting weird.
I confer with the boss, who agrees it's not wise for me to charge in and haul Van Damme out. Yet, the Planet Hollywood PR people are fretting, recognising that Van Damme has caused some embarrassment.
"I'll arrest him when he comes out," I tell an ashen-faced PR woman as the local media pick up our conversation.
We saw nothing further of Van Damme that night. Before leaving, Jackie Chan thanked my officers and posed for pictures. A somewhat unsteady Glen Close gets helped into a taxi.
Meanwhile, my boys are having fun. Chatting with the likes of Bruce Willis is not something they get to do every day.
Copyright © 2015