Love undercover

Deepa Bharath

Meet the Beckmans.

She’s an extrovert. He’s the introvert.

He’s right-handed. She’s a southpaw.

She works mornings. He works nights.

But when Paul and Julie Beckman, both award-winning Costa Mesa

police officers and seemingly opposite ends of a pole, got together,

something clicked.

The couple met on the job. Well, not exactly. At the time, as

patrol officers, Julie worked days and Paul worked the graveyard

shift.

But their shifts overlapped by an hour. And that was enough to get

things going.

“Some days, I’d work overtime just so our shifts would overlap

longer,” Paul said, with a characteristic half-smile. “Just to find

out more about her.”

Once, Julie fell sick during her shift and had to go home. Paul

took the opportunity to call her home.

“He asked if I was OK,” Julie said. “But I could see there was

some interest there.”

So she asked him out to lunch, right when her shift ended and

before his shift begun. They made the date at National Sports Bar and

Grill in Orange.

“We didn’t want to tell anyone,” said Julie. “We didn’t want

anyone to think our professionalism would get affected because we

were together.”

It ended up being the best kept secret in the department. Their

love blossomed and the couple got engaged merely six months after

their first date in May 1996. Still, no one knew. Julie didn’t wear

the diamond Paul gave her because it would draw too much attention.

Their one-year engagement presented tough challenges. Outside the

department, they were a couple. But within Costa Mesa, they hid from

each other -- on purpose.

“If he patrolled the north end, I’d patrol the south end,” Julie

said.

But even that didn’t help, sometimes.

One afternoon, Julie heard Paul calling for help on the police

radio. He had been hit by a drunk driver on Victoria Street.

“I heard him say, ‘I’m hit,’” she said. “The dispatcher asked him

where he was and he said he didn’t know. That was it. I lost it.”

Julie was arresting someone that very second.

“I heard my supervising officer say ‘Put the handcuffs on him,’”

she said. “I was hesitating because I was listening to the radio.”

Julie’s heart urged her to zoom down the street in her patrol car

at 80 miles an hour. But her professionalism stopped her in her

tracks.

“It was tough,” she said. “But I had to do it. I had to trust my

peers to take care of him. And they did.”

Within months, it was Paul’s turn to freak out.

“Julie was involved in a foot pursuit with this suspect,” he said.

“She got into a fight with him and called for backup. I wanted to be

there. But I didn’t go to the call. It’s important to trust your

peers and keep a cool head on the job.”

A FORCE IN THE DARK

The got married in November 1997. They were still adamant about

keeping their secret, but had to tell their supervisor Sgt. Marty

Carver because he would wonder about both of them taking vacations.

“God! I still remember that day,” Julie said. “We both walked in

together and told him that we were both going to go on our vacation

and that when we come back we’d be married. And his jaw dropped. I’d

never seen him look so surprised.”

No one had a clue.

Some of the best investigative minds in the county couldn’t put

one and one together when it came to the Beckmans.

“An officer in the department even tried to set us up,” Julie

said, “when we were already dating. That was so funny.”

The first time it came out in the open was during roll call, when

both their names got printed on the sheet with the same last name.

“Everyone was there at the briefing and the person doing the roll

call said, ‘There must be a mistake,’” Julie said. “And that’s when

we said there was no mistake. That I was, in fact, Julie Beckman.”

David Snowden, who was Costa Mesa’s police chief at the time, said

he had no problem with the two officers being married to each other.

“They have been a tremendous asset to our department,” he said.

“I’ve never doubted their professionalism once.”

Paul transferred to the detective division and Julie started

moving toward the training department. Julie’s job was to take

rookies through the department’s pre-academy and the Orange County

Sheriff’s police academy. Paul recently got promoted to corporal.

The couple have two children -- Katie, 3, and David, 1.

Their schedules always seem to work out. In fact, they more than

work out, said Julie.

“One of us is at home most days,” she said. “Our kids only go to

day-care two days a week, for five hours. That’s not too bad.”

MESSAGE ON A WINDSHIELD

But Paul and Julie rarely ever meet. It’s mostly just a quick

exchange or two in the department’s hallways. Sometimes, not even

that.

“So I just got used to writing him notes,” Julie said. “Just these

Post-it notes I’d leave all over the house, so I wouldn’t forget to

tell him something.”

Paul would find these notes on the refrigerator. Near the kids’

clothes, because he has to get there at some point. On the phone. On

his car’s windshield.

“It works,” Julie said, with a laugh. “We get our messages to each

other.”

The only day they get to spend all together as a family is

Saturday. On other days, they each do their thing with the kids.

“We take them to their grandparents’,” said Julie. “It’s a good

opportunity to get them closer to our families.”

Both have met with tremendous success in their careers. Julie was

named the department’s 2003 Officer of the Year and Paul, Supervisor

of the Year.

He is the first corporal in the department to receive the

distinction. Usually, it is handed to sergeants who are more senior.

When Paul decided to move from the detective division back to

patrol to try for a promotion, he had “a talk” with Julie.

“At first, I had a lot of concerns, mostly selfish,” Julie said.

“About the family and the kids. But I would’ve never stood in the

way. He went with it, our shifts changed and we had to adjust. But it

worked out. It always works out.”

Julie, over the years as training officer, has put more than 50

officers through police academy. She herself now teaches at the

Orange County Sheriff’s academy.

“I almost become a mother hen to these officers,” she said. They

go from Julie to Paul, who trains them in the field.

“So we often exchange information about what this person’s needs

are or what to expect from this person,” she said.

They also learn from one another.

“I’ve learned to be more authoritative,” Paul said. “Something I

think I picked up from Julie.”

And Julie, on the other hand, has learned from her husband “to

tone it down.”

“I’ve learned from him that there is a time and a place,” she

said.

SHARING THE JOB RIGORS

People often ask them how they do it, both being cops. But Paul

said he doesn’t know how other couples do it.

“I don’t know how someone who is not a police officer himself

marries a female cop,” he said. “It would take a very special person

to do that.”

The couple can also talk to each other about what they go through

on the job, said Julie.

“If he goes through something traumatic or if I go through

something, I could tell him and he’s understand right away because he

can relate to it. What would take me a half hour to explain if he

weren’t a cop takes me five minutes, because I wouldn’t get a 100

questions thrown my way. He’d simply understand.”

As for their extreme differences in temperament and behavior --

those are merely superficial. The two can’t think of one time they’ve

seriously butted heads.

“With a lot of things, we see eye to eye,” Julie said.

“Although, there must be something we don’t agree on,” she added,

hesitating.

Paul narrowed his eyes as he thought hard.

“Nope,” he said. “Can’t think of anything.”

* DEEPA BHARATH covers public safety and courts. She may be

reached at (949) 574-4226 or by e-mail at deepa.bharath@

latimes.com.