D.C. Police Officer Led Double Life as an Apache Indian
Source: Washington Post, p. B1
Date: February 03, 1973
Author(s): Donald P. Baker
When the familiar red Volkswagen camper stopped in front of 1747 Lanier Pl. NW. on Wednesday, the only difference from its many previous appearances was that its driver, Johnny Arellano, was not alone.
Arellano, wearing his usual parka and stocking cap, rang the bell, and his friend, Anita Collins, opened the door.
Then Arellano stepped aside and three men—their short hair, neat suits and trench coats offering contrast to most residents of the neighborhood—pulled open the door and announced:
"Anita Collins? FBI. You are under arrest."
Miss Collins recalls catching a glimpse of Arellano. "I could see his little head peeking out from behind them. Johnny said: 'Nita, I hate to tell you this, but I'm a cop.'"
Thus ended an undercover assignment that had begun last October for Washington police officer John G. Arellano, a 25–year–old Mexican⁷American who posed as an Apache Indian.
Acting on information supplied by Arellano, the FBI charged Miss Collins, Indian spokesman Henry L. Hank Adams and news reporter Leslie H. Whitten Jr. with receiving stolen government property.
This account of Arellano's activities has been pieced together from interviews with Indian activists and information supplied by Insp. Albert W. Ferguson of the police intelligence unit.
Arellano began by studying Indian history and customs.
His long, black hair and high cheek bones helped him pass for an Indian, although when he grew a moustache, several Idnians said he looked like a Chicano, so he shaved it off.
Arellano joined the American Indian Movement (AIM) several weeks before the Trail of Broken Treaties caravan arrived in Washington to protest what its participants had judged to be unfair treatment of native Americans by the federal government.
AIM was perhaps the most militant of the organizations that made up the broken treaties coalition. Arellano reported that he was suspected at first, because of his sudden interest in the planning and because he declined offers of marijuana and alcohol.
But because he was willing to do nearly anything else, he gained the confidence of the participants.
When hundreds of Indians seized the BIA building last Nov. 2, Arellano was among the more vocal and visible protesters. He stood in front of the building and jeered at his fellow officers and menaced bystanders with a table leg and other weapons fashioned from broken furnishings.
He also maintained regular contacts with uniformed members of the police department, relaying information about the types and locations of weapons inside the occupied structure.
When some Indians filled orange juice bottles with gasoline, for possible use as molotov cocktails in the event police stormed the building, Arellano relayed that fact, along with the location and number of bottles.
His cover was so good that when Crow Dog, an Indian medicine man, held a ceremony in the BIA auditorium to give authentic tribal names to Indians who had been given non–Indian names, Arellano was one of about 60 persons so honored.
When the occupation of the building ended Nov. 8, and shares of $66,000 in traveling money were passed out so participants could return to their reservations, Arellano was given $28.
Arellano had drawn the assignment on behalf of the city police, but as the Indian demonstrators departed, leaving behind damage estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars, and taking with them hundreds of pounds of federal documents and equipment, the affair became a federal matter.
So Arellano maintained his cover, and reported to the FBI.
Miss Collins recalls that after disappearing for several weeks, Arellano showed up again saying he had gone to his home in Pueblo, Colo.
"He had this new camper, which he said he paid cash for because his mother had been in an accident and gotten an insurance settlement of $1,800," Miss Collins said.
He served as a messenger and chauffer for the few Indian leaders who had remained in Washington after the occupation. He became especially friendly with Miss Collins.
"He drove me everywhere I wanted to go," she said. "And he event vaccumed Hank's apartment, and washed the windows."
"And took my steel8211;headed salmon," Adams said, good naturedly adding, "He probably shared it with his police friends."
Miss Collins said Arellano told her he had an uncle in suburban Virginia, but that he was "living with a white girl," a legal secretary and mother of two "whose children drove him mad, but he stayed on because she was rich."
On Tuesday, Adams dispatched faithful messenger Arellano and Miss Collins to the Greyhound Bus Lines express terminal to pick up three boxes of documents that had been mailed to him from South Dakota.
Miss Collins paid the $38.50 freight charges, and Arellano carried the heavy boxes to his car, and a short time later, to Adams' fifth-floor apartment at 1464 Rhode Island Ave. NW.
Adams said he explained that he was going to turn the documents over to the FBI and asked Arellano to return at 10 a.m. Wednesday to help him take them to the BIA building.
Arellano didn't show up at 10 a.m., however, so Adams and Whitten carried the boxes downstairs.
Whitten said he was there merely to cover the story, and offered use of his car to expedite the return.
When he and Adams stepped outside, they were arrested by the FBI.
Arellano finally arrived at Miss Collins' apartment at 11:30 a.m., whereupon she was arrested.
En route to the U.S. Courthouse, Miss Collins said Arellano told one of the FBI agents that he was tired of the undercover role—"I'm so tired I could sleep to Sunday,'" she quoted him as saying.
To which Miss Collins said she replied: "Oh bull, Johnny. You had a good time riding around and meeting all the Indian chicks."
Bachelor Arellano smiled.