Late in the summer of 1982, Ron Gueringer, an assistant football coach and defensive coordinator for Inglewood High School, noticed during the team’s first practices that one of his best players was wearing a pair of cleats held together by athletic tape.
Derrick Abell was a defensive back and sometime wide receiver for the Sentinels. He wasn’t a particularly big kid, nor was he an elite athlete, but he possessed special qualities. He worked hard, looked out for his teammates, and always kept his head up. The other kids all looked up to him; he was a natural leader. He was also a heady player who utilized every last ounce of his abilities.
In a year when nine members of a dominant defensive unit would go on to earn all league first or second team honors, he was the player the entire defense counted on. When the Sentinels really needed a stop, they’d invariably call what’s known as a free safety stunt — basically, letting Abell make a play, one that often resulted in a harried quarterback and a sack or an interception.
Abell was known as the kid who always stepped up to the occasion.
“He was the leader of the defense,” said Gueringer, who is now head coach for Corona High. “Any time we were in a situation, we’d call that stunt, and Derrick would make it pop.”
“He was one of those cornerbacks — slim, sleek, good speed — and he knew how to do what he was supposed to do on the field,” said Sam King, his cousin, who was a couple years older than him and who went on to become a star quarterback at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. “He was only 5-foot-10 or -11, but he had that frame — you have to be athletic to play defensive back. But what was on the inside of him you can’t measure. His heart. His drive.”
On that summer day before the season began, Coach Gueringer asked Abell to take a ride with him after practice.
“Why, coach?” Abell asked.
“We are getting you some new cleats,” the coach said.
Abell was too proud to accept the help.
“No, coach, I’m good,” he said. “These cleats are working just fine for me. I’m okay.”
This time the coach didn’t ask.
“Get in the car, son,” he said. “We are going to the mall.”
They drove to the Fox Hill Mall, walked into a shoe store, and walked out with a brand new pair of cleats.
“You are a kid at that time, you don’t have a lot, you take those cleats and you polish them, look at them all night long,” said Abell. “It’s like gold. Compared to maybe others who received things all the time, I didn’t get much, so those cleats meant a lot to me, and helped me through my high school football career. It’s wonderful, what they did for me.”
What he did in those cleats would take him far. Abell’s stellar play earned him a scholarship to Montana State University, where he would again emerge as a leader, this time for a team that won the national Division I-AA championship. In Montana, he also met his future wife, Jodi, with whom he’d have two children.
Tuesday morning, moments after he was sworn in as the first African American chief in the history of the Manhattan Beach Police Department, Abell could not help but think back to that summer day in 1982. There was a direct line between the moment he put on those new cleats and this moment, at the pinnacle of his swearing in ceremony, when his wife pinned on his new badge and Abell officially took the helm of the department he’d served 27 years.
Before a packed room at the Joslyn Community Center which included the mayor, city council, his family, most of the police department, and more than a 100 residents, Abell closed his speech by telling the story of those cleats.
“I will tell you, that was one of the greatest, most profound moments in my life, when a coach took an opportunity to reach into his pocket and do something besides the Xs and Os, teaching not only the life skills, but paying it forward, serving others before self,” Abell said.
“What I would say to you today… It’s not about Derrick Abell. It never has been. It should be about us,” he said. “Everyone in this room has an opportunity, has a gift — the ability to give, and the ability to serve others before self. When you do that, you have a profound impact on somebody out there. A lot of people in this room have degrees, certificates. We place them on our walls; we have trophies throughout our houses, even in the P.D. But what is that at all if you are not able to give that to someone before you leave this Earth. So think about that today, as we leave, take that opportunity to maybe share a word with someone. Wisdom — people in this room have years of wisdom that you can pass onto someone else. Take that time to pass on that wisdom to someone else. Many of you have the ability to connect with people; share a few words. Uplift someone; build that self esteem, if at all possible. Last but not least, you have the ability to reach into your pocket, buy that young man or young woman a pair of cleats that you may not realize will change their life forever and have a profound impact, such that maybe one day they will lead a police department, and become a chief of police.”
The rock
Tough love and hard work played a big role in the unlikely story of how a poor kid from Inglewood grew up to become chief of the MBPD.
He learned a lot from football — not just the from game itself, but the sport as a vehicle for bettering oneself. As a football player, he learned self-discipline, attention to detail, how to take a hit and get back up and keep going, and how to be part of a team.
But these were also values that resonated with what he’d learned growing up among a large, tight-knit, extended family on his mother’s side. His mother, Virginia Abell, came from a family of 12. Her family had come from Millport, Alabama and had settled in LA in the 1950s, bringing with them a backcountry big heartedness, an old fashioned work ethic, and a way of doing things that seemed to come from some bygone time and place. She was raised a strict Baptist; she wasn’t allowed to wear pants or cut her hair. She recalls that her first date, at age 16, was to church, and her older sister sat in the back seat of the car to make sure everyone behaved properly on the way to church.
She brought her Christian upbringing to bear as a parent, as well.
“My parents had morals and values that were taught to me, and I did the same with my children, Derrick and Bridget,” she said. “We know to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. You must be strong — don’t let anyone walk all over you — but you help people when you can.”
His mother divorced from his father when Derrick was 7, and raised him and his sister, Bridget, as a single mother. But she didn’t do it alone. She had family, and Derrick grew up surrounded by uncles and aunts and cousins. His uncle, Winston, would take young Derrick back to Alabama for summer vacations.
“His Uncle Winston was instrumental in his life,” Virginia Abell said. “He had two sons and three girls but he wanted to help show him what men do, and what family men do.”
At home, Virginia ran a tight ship. She was a proper Southern lady, with a slow, gentle drawl, and the precise, considered diction of someone who chose her words carefully and meant exactly what she said. She believed strongly there was a certain way to do things correctly, and her kids grew up in a very structured household.
“She was my rock,” Abell said. “That woman was hardcore at times. My friends used to laugh at me because my mom would not let me leave the house until I had the floor mopped, the dishes washed, the flower beds cleaned out. She kept me there the entire weekend until I had those things done. My mother had a plan; obviously, I didn’t see the plan, but the hard work, the dedication, and the commitment to the little things that make a difference in someone’s life going forward — that woman held strong to that.”
Virginia often worked two jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on her kids’ backs.
“At the time when you are a young person you don’t think about little things like that that mean so much, just to keep it going,” he said. “I can’t even imagine what she would think about at night when she laid her head on the pillow, about how we were going to make it through the next day, or the next month, to be able to pay the mortgage or the rent. But she was able to do it, on her own, with little help.”
By age 7, Abell began dedicating himself to football. Virginia remembers the countless hours he’d spend at a nearby park, honing his skills.
“He knew what he wanted himself,” Virginia said. “I just supported him in his dreams and goals. I remember I didn’t have to push him in the direction to do homework. He really tried to do what he was taught, and he wanted to make me proud of him. My god, I’ve been so proud of him from the time he was a little boy all along the way.”
He also idolized his cousin. Sam King had blazed a trail on the gridiron ahead of Abell. He’d been a model student as well as a star football player.
“He was a football player, but he was a student-athlete, and I really emphasize student athlete, because he really put a focus on being a good student, and a good person,” Abell recalled. “And so I really tried to follow him in whatever he did.”
At UNLV, King was a quarterback who is remembered to this day for capturing the nation’s attention with a stunning, nationally televised upset of the best football team in the country, the previously undefeated BYU. At the time, in the early 80s, there were few African American quarterbacks; the latent racism throughout football carried what was considered conventional wisdom that black players weren’t cut out to be quarterbacks.
“I came up during a time there weren’t many blacks playing quarterback,” King said. “The truth of the matter is we really had to believe in ourselves on and off the field, because you had to be not only an athlete but you had to take care of business off the field, too. That was during a time a lot of coaches didn’t think a black player could necessarily handle being quarterback. We’ve come a long way, but that was a different time.”
The head coach at Inglewood when Abell was there was another Southerner, a man named Bob Hunter, originally from Louisiana.
“Being that this coach was from the same region [as his mother], and he had some of the same ways, it fell right into place for me,” Abell said. “I had no problems listening or paying attention, doing what I needed to do.”
“Football in Inglewood was good for me in many ways,” he said. “My mom, she didn’t have a lot of money, but she gave me just enough to be able to participate and keep me off the streets. And Inglewood has some difficulties at times, in terms of gangs, and so you had to make sure you stay on a path. You could either go left or you could go right. So I chose right, and stayed in sports…I thank my coaches. When you talk about paying it forward, those coaches for me were an extension of fatherhood in many ways. The disciplinary measures they took — you have to remember, this is old school. We are talking a different time, when coaching was a lot different, and so there may have been a paddle involved, or some stern words, but it was well worth it. It that it kept me on the right path, and it enabled me to get into college, and then obviously earn a degree and then come back and enter into a profession I never thought, never even dreamed of, growing up in Inglewood.”
He obtained a degree in communications in Montana and returned to the LA area, where he worked a night shift at the LA Times while trying to break into broadcasting. One night he saw an ad in the paper. The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department was hiring. He had friends in the department who encouraged him to apply.
Abell had not thought about a career in law enforcement, but something about it clicked. It offered the one opportunity that animated him above all else, the way of life he’d learned from his mother and his coaches.
“Serving others before yourself,” Abell said. “I think that’s what everyone who joins this profession thinks about.”
Paying it forward
Abell is the first chief to come from MBPD ranks in nearly 39 years. He joined the force here after two years with LASD, mainly working in County jails.
“For new kids starting out in law enforcement, that’s the way to go, in my opinion,” Abell said in an interview with Easy Reader in 1999, just after he was promoted to lieutenant within MBPD. “You get to talk to inmates about all facets of life. Not just crime, but how their minds work. You learn to appreciate what law enforcement has to offer even before you hit the streets.”
It’s characteristic of Abell that he saw working in jails as an opportunity to communicate, and to understand others. His ability to connect with people from all strata of life has been something that has stood out about him all his career.
“Derrick has always had this ability to communicate well with pretty much any individual he comes across,” said Lt. Andy Harrod, a 42-year MBPD veteran. “That’s not something that everyone has. Some people don’t possess that ability.”
Peace officer is not a term we frequently apply to our law enforcement personnel, but it’s been a key component of the job since the days of beat cops — not just enforcing law, but understanding a community in order to better keep peace.
“He doesn’t like strife,” said Virginia Abell. “He doesn’t like confusion. He stays away from it. He says it’s a waste of energy.”
Mayor Amy Howorth went through the Leadership Manhattan Beach program with Abell in 2011 and was struck by his demeanor.
“He’s calm,” Howorth said. “If you ask him a question, he listens to you — really listens — and really thoughtful answers.”
Howorth had a lot of questions. At that time, the shooting of an unarmed African American teenager by a white police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, had just occurred, inciting protests around the country. Abell explained to her that he thought a big part of what had happened was a lack of training; in Manhattan Beach, the incident, at worst, he said, would have involved the use of a taser. He tried to convey that police officers often find themselves in precarious situations. It is incumbent upon law enforcement leadership to provide the tools and training to both keep communities and the officers who serve them as safe as possible, Abell told the future mayor.
That calm mindset, in other words, isn’t just something we should hope for in our police. It’s something that can be fostered.
“I am so glad he is in a leadership position here in Manhattan Beach,” Howorth said. “Because we want to be safe, and we also want calm leadership for our community. We want that kind of mindset. Our police officers are highly skilled and very well trained. I have complete confidence and faith that this will continue under Derrick’s leadership.”
It’s hard to imagine a more thorough preparation specifically to be chief of the Manhattan Beach police than what Abell’s career provided. Councilperson Richard Montgomery noted that Abell has served in virtually every capacity within MBUSD, and then in his most recent position — as captain — he oversaw all patrol operations. He also attended the FBI’s command college, which is intended to groom future police chiefs. But perhaps just as essentially, Montgomery said, Abell has been embedded in the community itself.
“Derrick has been here 27 years,” Montgomery said. “He’s well known in the community. We are not talking about a wallflower here. He’s been involved in everything from Neighborhood Watch to outreach programs with the schools, he’s worked with the Chamber — everything the police department does to interact with the community, he’s been involved with. As patrol captain, he’s responsible for all officers going into the field, so anything an officer does in the field, from SWAT to K-9 operations to DARE to school resource officers, he’s been responsible for all of that.”
“He’s done it all. He has the respect of our residents and of this council.”
A couple years ago, Mira Costa freshman football coach Chuck Currier got an unusual call from varsity head coach Don Morrow. An MBPD captain had contacted Morrow; the captain wanted to coach, particularly the younger squads. Currier set up a time to meet with Abell, then met at the downtown Coffee Bean with him and over the course of two hours had his mind blown.
“He was just so right on the money with what’s important about coaching sports and valuable stuff you get from it,” Currier said. “A lot of people think it’s about football, or about baseball or basketball. But that just happens to be the delivery mechanism. It’s really about kids learning what is important, just simple stuff like show up every day for your teammates or coworkers or family. And Derrick just really gets it. He sees the value in giving what these kids need, and being out there coaching and playing on teams and competing — it gives you an opportunity to help kids out. You know his own story; it’s like a lot of kids out there. Sports provides a great opportunity to learn some things that can last a lifetime. ”
Abell’s desire to coach was simple: he wanted to pay it forward. For the last two years, for three hours a day throughout the 12 week football season, Abell showed up for the kids.
“The first time I met him I just thought to myself, ‘What a bonus opportunity, to have a guy like this come out and join us,’” Currier said. “And he’s just been great. Sometimes people want to come out and coach and they still haven’t left the ego behind. It’s the exact opposite with him. His only focus was for those kids, and everything was about what we can do for those kids. I just thought, ‘Okay, this doesn’t come along every day. We are not going to let him go coach somewhere else.’”
Abell said he has every intention to keep coaching, even as the chief of police. He said that coaching freshman isn’t a departure from what he sees as the job of every officer each day out in the field — it’s an opportunity to make a difference in somebody’s life.
“Whenever the parents show up and I have an opportunity to talk to them, the very first thing I talk to them about is life skills, as opposed to whether that player has the best skills to play out there on the football field,” Abell said. “If your child is doing better in the classroom, if they have higher self esteem, if their ability to go in front of a classroom and give presentations has improved, if they are taking out the trash, if they are making their bed, if they are being more respectful to the teachers, the school administration, and obviously the parents, then I can say that maybe I’ve had some success in their ability to translate that into being a better citizen. And ultimately one day, maybe working for the police department, or whatever they do in life — hopefully they will serve in some capacity, serve others before self. So to me, it’s not about the winning and losing, it’s not about the X’s and O’s. I believe that all of us have a responsibility to be an extension of those kids’ parents out there.”
“If you have an opportunity to infuse some character traits, you should take every opportunity to do that. That is what I do, and that is what I expect our people to do. When our officers are out in the field, if they have an opportunity to talk to a young person — or anyone for that matter — what impression are you leaving upon them? More importantly, what are you giving back? How are you paying it forward? Maybe you have an opportunity to change their life, in a good way. So I am passionate about coaching.”
The pervading sense of Abell’s vision of our roles and responsibilities to each other in society is that we are all in this thing together. As he thanked his wife at his swearing in ceremony, he said something that applied not only to their marriage, but to the police department is now helming and the community he has vowed to protect.
“We may not always have it all together,” he said. “But together, we have it all.”
His own mother is now a Manhattan Beach resident, having retired to a senior residence here. One day last November, her car died; she knows how busy her son is and tries not to ask too much of him, but she was at a loss about what to do. The transmission was dead, and she really wasn’t in a position to buy a new car; she’d assumed the 11 year old car that had just died would be the last of her life. She called her son to see if he had any ideas.
“Let me think about it and get back to you in a few days,” he told her.
A few days later, he called back and asked her what she was doing at noon. She was free, so he came and picked her up. They drove to a car dealership. As they walked inside, he turned to his mother, handed her a set of keys, and nodded at one of the salesman. “I’ve got to get back to the station,” he said. “You guys take care of it.”
A brand new car was parked just outside the entrance, the car Abell had just bought his mother, the woman who’d been his rock in his greatest times of need.
“The unconditional love…my son chose to handle it this way, having this kind of consideration, and a caring wife who had to have gone along with the decision,” Virginia said. “I am just speechless. I am in awe. I just thank god for my son. He will look out for me. I am 74 years old and I am just so grateful.”
“Here I am in the city where my son is working, and protecting,” she said. “He has protected me. He has protected us. And he’s still doing it….My son is a humble man. He’s a strong man. He’s a determined man. He’s a focused man. He’s a kind man. And he gets the job done.”
