“Let me say this as a final note. The traditional policing model has been bastardized and now represents nothing more than a prescription for the enforcement of the law. We simply must return to the basic tenets of policing, which incorporate a broad base of responsibilities for tending to the ills of our society while increasing the standards for those attending to the complexities of the profession.
“As a society, we must hold ourselves accountable for the actions of the police. Ultimately, everything that happens within our institutions of policing is the responsibility of the public. If the finger of blame is to be pointed, one should be facing a mirror. Reality, right now, is very much out of line with our expectations. The ways we expect things to be in the world of policing, and the way they actually are, are two different things. We refuse somehow to see what we really see! While we’re doing somewhat better in reducing the incidence of crime during the past few years, we’re not nearly as effective as we could be. Things occur around us every day that we simply ignore or pretend not to be affected by. We’ve lost our sense of community, of responsibility to one another, and our greater sense of family.
“What conditions would have to exist before you’d commit a crime? How can an offender overcome the effects of a system designed to keep violators repressed? If bad guys can’t interact with good people in society, how do we get them to behave better? When do we as a society accept that there’s a place in our culture for punishment, but also for compassion? The greater punishment, it seems, is to have people accept responsibility for their actions, provide remuneration to their victims, and become useful, productive members of society—not to merely accept confinement to a cell.
“Only through cooperation and collaboration—with the police as facilitators and the public as interested, active participants—do our streets get taken back. Remember, the police don’t take back the streets! You people do! Only when you’ve had enough, and you begin to work with the police, can we make any real progress toward taking back our streets. You and I have to accept that we are, in fact, our brother’s keeper.” He stepped back.
There was another energetic ovation and while we were still clapping, the man standing next to me leaned over and said, “Well, what do you think?”
I answered, “I’m really glad I didn’t rush all the way here only to find a stereotypical good ole’ boy drawling and drooling all over the podium.”
“Me, too,” he said, smiling as if he’d just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Leaning toward his ear, I said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard another chief—or any cop, for that matter—say the kind of things I heard come out of this guy’s mouth tonight. Are you sure he’s a cop?”
Chuckling, the man said, “He has some interesting views regarding police community partnerships, doesn’t he? Who’s ever heard of a police chief who’s really willing to hold the cops accountable or who’s willing to share information about it with the public? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I know. He’s bound to catch some flak about saying he believes racial profiling is going on and that he won’t tolerate it. Wait until that hits the morning paper! The cops are going to be up in arms over that one.”
“I like him,” he said, “and if he proves true to his word, I’ll stand by him to the end. By the way, my name’s Jesse Harbinger. What’s yours?”
He extended his hand. I took it and, giving it a firm but gentle pump, I said, “I’m Alan Pearson. It’s good to meet you, Jesse.”
“You too, Alan.”
“Jesse?” a call came from halfway across the room. He looked over his shoulder and nodded, smiling.
“Duty calls,” he said, “my wife… gotta go. Hope to see you around, Alan.” With that he disappeared into the crowd.
I started moving toward the line of people waiting to get a word with the chief.
I was thinking of how he talked about integrating the police and involving citizens in law-and-order issues. My mind was racing at light speed.
I was brought back to reality as the line inched forward again. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that talking to this guy for a couple of minutes wouldn’t cut it. So I let some people go before me. I wanted to get as much face time as I could.
The line kept getting longer and longer. So I started quietly moving with the flow again, wrapped up in my own thoughts. When I finally got to the chief, I couldn’t believe how tall he was. Displaying a full set of very white teeth, he reached out and shook my hand. I can’t for the life of me figure out why the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “How tall are you?” What a dope! How tall are you?!
His smile broadened and he said, “You waited in line so that you could ask me how tall I am? I’m six-five.”
“Uh… no, I just, I just mean, well, you know. No! How could you know; I don’t even know what I mean.” We both laughed and his entire face lit up. I could see the laughter in his eyes. All I could think to say was, “I really enjoyed your speech.”
“Well, thank you very much, ah… I don’t believe I caught your name, Mr.…”
“Pearson,” I said, “Alan Pearson.”
“Mr. Pearson.”
“Please, call me Alan.”
“Okay, Alan it is.”
“Chief Dylan,” I said, “I realize now is not a good time, but would it be possible for us to get together sometime so I can ask you a few questions?”
Without hesitation, he said, “Certainly.” He reached into an inside coat pocket and pulled out an iPhone. He played with it for a few moments then said, “When were you thinking would be good?”
“Whatever’s good for you,” I responded.
“Will next Thursday morning at eleven work for you?”
“That would be great,” I answered.
“If something should come up and either of us can’t make it for some reason, we’ll just give a call, okay? Do you have a card?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” I said, trying to find my card case. At that same instant, he was handing me one of his.
He pointed to the second telephone number and said, “This is the best number to reach me.” He looked me in the face and said, “Thursday, then?”
“Yes, Thursday,” I replied. We shook hands again, he smiled, and when I left him he was greeting one of my Chamber brothers. The guy was wearing about a dozen brightly colored buttons and pins all over his lapels. I couldn’t help smiling. Next Thursday it is.
Chapter 3
The Visitation
“I would rather die than accept being treated as less than human.”
—Unknown Prison Inmate
That weekend, I went to see Donnie. I’m not sure what I was feeling that day. It could have been hope, inspiration, or a new sense of understanding. Whatever it was, it felt good. I had no idea what I was going to say when I got there but, for the first time since Donnie had gone to prison, I felt like everything would be okay. I wanted it to be, anyway.
I hated going into that place. I’d only gone a couple of other times, but on each occasion I’d gotten this knot in my stomach. Walking