It was an awkward moment as I walked into the Brooklyn police station one morning in the mid-1990’s, with my only purpose being to let them know my name.
The person at the front desk was perplexed (and me a bit nervous), yet I insisted on at least saying hello to as many police officers as possible.
I don’t recall how many I spoke to that day, but it was much more than a few.
Newly confident on my way out, I stopped a policeman who was walking in and told him who I was and where I lived; something I could tell he thought was strange, although we smiled about it. I would repeat these ‘meet and greets’ in the months after, whenever I came across an unknown officer.
If you’re wondering why I did this, I had the same question for a mentor of mine who suggested it before my move to New York City.
“You really want me to go to the station and introduce myself to the Police?” I said.
I thought he was a bit crazy! “Trust me, as a black man, it’s a smart thing to do” was his answer.
I trusted him implicitly, as his wisdom and teachings have never failed me. Despite my reservations, I followed his advice.
Back then, Brooklyn was still
an edgy borough, although crime in the area was decreasing, yet still not
uncommon.
I formed relationships with a small group of cops in Forte Greene/Clinton Hill – a diverse group of men and personalities. I can’t put into words how good it felt talking
to and hearing from them. I knew I was in good hands.
Because of these positive interactions, I was also more aware of getting to know my neighbors, which I stayed focused on. It was the first time I had a real sense of community as an adult.
Some of my fondest memories were these moments and it changed my perception of policemen. My uncle was a cop and he spoke highly of the men he served with, although I was understandably more apprehensive of the men in blue, having had my share of unfriendly encounters in the past.
One afternoon, the bond we shared paid a huge dividend when my doorbell rang. As I opened the door, an unstable man appeared and had a thick chain in his hand. I didn’t panic and stayed calm throughout. He asked for some money and I gave him a few dollars; leaving the door open while I went to get the cash. He left promptly and at no point showed any aggression.
While never encountering the man previously, the police knew about him and I had seen him in the neighborhood. During an earlier conversation, I remember one officer talking to a group of us about him; emphasizing that he was harmless, if he didn’t get scared or excited. I was thankful for that knowledge as that huge chain was slightly unnerving.
Being known had one pitfall though.
When I was called for Jury duty in 1998, I tried desperately to get out of the two-week assault case, as it was an important time for me at work, but after a few officers saw me at the courthouse during Jury selection, we all knew I was going to serve. They were familiar with me and my character, which had me quickly selected. It was a long trial, although quite a fascinating experience.
My mentor once again served me well and I never worried about much while I was living in Brooklyn for 7 years. Not only were my neighbors interesting people, the conversations with the police were wide ranging and insightful.
I received the kind of education that you can’t buy or find in any book. I’m grateful for that and the feeling of comradery and safety I carried throughout.
Imagine if I didn’t listen to my mentor.
Imagine what I would have missed had I not gone to the police precinct that day.
Imagine how much better our inner-city neighborhoods in the USA could be with a more cohesive bond with the police.
