Sherman Oaks Galleria, 1985. It’s a typical day at the area’s hottest gathering spot; a fun-filled, jam-packed salute to American commerce, with a touch of Southern California class. From frenzied shoppers to wandering teens, this indoor mall has it all, including state-of-the-art elevators and a food court that’s second to none. Name it, they have it. And while everything is typically hustle and bustle, not a soul is concerned. Despite the crowds, all is content. Safe as houses, from end to end. True, we’re in an era before mass shootings became a daily affair, but just one year prior, some nitwit reduced a McDonald’s to a graveyard down the road in San Ysidro. So you can’t blame some folks for at least keeping one eye open. Give them this, though: they are more than prepared. Units in place, and it stands to reason they’re of the crackerjack variety. And while most of the nation’s malls have but a single aging force for good, this galleria isn’t taking any chances. They’re set for war. Young and hungry, like the hotheads who invaded Grenada.
Year after painful year, the galleria spent 98% of its budget on mall security. No one quite knew why, but every fiscal year end, the usual suspects cleared their throats, straightened their ties, and yes, asked for the moon. There hadn’t been an incident of any kind since the place opened, but no sense in pushing your luck. We realize we’re skimping on janitors, working plumbing, and paving the parking lot, but a day – that day – might very well come and we’re not about to risk lives by being cheap. So yes, we need an army. Hundreds of men. Armed to the teeth, with crisp uniforms straight out of central casting. Some days, they’ll outnumber the patrons, but optics are the least of our concerns. Call it a feeling. A sixth sense. Something in the air that we can’t quite explain. Never seemed to transpire, but the vote is the vote. Because no one wants to explain themselves at a funeral.
And then, as if ordained by a jealous god, that day arrived. Sully entered first, only he was doing business in the shadows. Wasn’t there to hurt anyone; just ply his trade and hurry home. Only Matrix was on his tail, trying to hunt down a lead on his daughter. Having kidnapped Cindy, he hopes she’ll play ball and dig up some dirt. Naturally, the plan quickly falls apart. Cindy can’t keep her damn mouth shut, and mall security is engaged. Just a few at first, wondering why a man with arms the size of tree trunks is lurking about. “What are you doing?”, one asks, knowing full well he’s about to lose a good number of teeth. Within seconds, mall cops are falling like bowling pins. Some get a shot to the chops, others a punch to the groin. Thankfully, they have more in reserve. No calls are made, no sirens sung. They just appear, like some sort of video game crossed with D-Day.
What follows is, by 80’s Action standards, relatively brief, but within 120 seconds, we see a phone booth ripped from the floor and tossed like a Nerf football, a dozen cops sent airborne by a single thrust, and Matrix swinging like Tarzan onto a moving elevator. Mixed in, thankfully, are men falling down stairs, a few others shot in the chest, a drug dealer flying off a ledge, and one particularly whiny recruit screaming “Hey lady, stop!” while in the prone position. It’s a beautiful chaos, with so many mall cops on hand, I half expected a tank to burst forth from the Orange Julius. At last, all that seemingly reckless investment justified in a few minutes of fevered frenzy. Several dead, panic to burn, but imagine the alternative. I know, I know, Sully got away, and, well, so did Matrix and Cindy, but it could have been worse. And it stands to reason that since an entire battalion couldn’t stop one man with a gun, it will be argued that even more mall cops are needed. A thousand strong, in case others get ideas.
So yes, rents will go up. Taxes, too. The galleria transformed into an armed camp, all so it can be demolished after the 1994 Northridge earthquake (which it was). But the place still had nine years to go. Nine good years. The dead would be buried, the replacements hired, and yes, even a new phone booth. But for a time, there was a fighting force so inept, the Keystone Kops threatened to sue for copyright infringement. They bumbled, stumbled, and failed to make a single arrest, even though they had hundreds of guns compared to Matrix’s, well, none. Untrained, unschooled, and brainless to a man, they figured they could simply overwhelm a threat with sheer numbers, never realizing they’d have to know what the hell they were doing. Forget it, Jake. It’s Sherman Oaks.
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