When I referred to the general rule that policemen are disliked and
condemned I should have noticed certain exceptions. The traffic squad
for instance is generally held in a respect and affection that is part
of the civic pride of the community. Those fine big fellows on the
corner, waving this way or that with a gesture the flowing traffic
of the street, are greeted with smiles, and, as they assist in the
perilous passage of the thoroughfares, sometimes with thanks and
benedictions. The reason, of course, is simple; they are not engaged
in hurting people, but in helping people, and so by the operation of
the immutable law, they attract to themselves the best feelings of the
people.
And this is what we tried from the first to have all our policemen
do, to help people and not to hurt them. It was what Jones had tried
to do, and he had begun with one of the most interesting experiments
in policing a city that has been made in our country. He took away
the clubs from the policemen. He could have made at first no greater
sensation if he had taken away the police altogether, the protest was
so loud, so indignant, above all so righteous. What sense of security
could a community feel if the policemen were to have no clubs, how
would the unruly and the lawless be kept in check when they no longer
beheld this insignia of authority in the hands of the guardians of the
peace? And perhaps to reassure the righteous and truly good Jones gave
the policemen canes and ran the great risk of making them ridiculous.
I am not sure that he would have cared much if he had, since he had
so little respect for the police idea, and of course he had as little
regard for organization. I remember once that at a session of the
old police board he opposed the creation of new sergeants; he said a
sergeant always seemed as superfluous to him as a presiding elder in
the Methodist Church. With an elected board of police commissioners
over it the police force was pretty certain to be demoralized, of
course, as is any executive department of government which is directed
by a board, for with a board, unless all the members save one are
either dead or incapacitated, discipline and efficiency are impossible.
We got rid of the board system in Ohio after two or three sessions of
the legislature had been wrestled with, and though the “mayor’s code”
was never enacted, many of its ideas were adopted in amendments to the
municipal code, so that we approached the most efficient form of city
government yet devised in our rather close resemblance to the federal
plan.
The time came, however, when the old elected board of public service
was succeeded by a director of public service appointed by the mayor,
and the old board of public safety by a director of public safety
appointed by the same authority, though that was not until I had
entered on my third term in the mayor’s office. When that time came
I appointed as Director of Public Service Mr. John Robert Cowell, a
Manxman who managed the department of public works admirably, and to
the post of Director of Public Safety Mr. John Joseph Mooney, whose
services and assistance I had already had on the board of public safety
when that was appointed by the mayor. And Mr. Mooney was able to work
out many of the improvements we hoped to make in the police department.
And as Jones had taken the clubs away from the policemen and given
them canes, we took away the canes and sent them forth with empty
hands. Jones had the idea of doing away with clubs from London where
he observed the bobbies who control the mighty traffic in the streets
of London. We were therefore able to realize the whole of his ideal in
that respect, and our city, I think alone of all American cities, could
not merit the reproach that a Liverpool man once made to me when we
were discussing superficial appearances in the two nations. “The most
offensive thing in America to me,” he said, “is the way in which the
policemen parade their truncheons.” The public made no complaint at
the disappearance of the canes, but the policemen did; they felt lost,
they reported, without something to twirl in their hands. We thought of
letting them have swagger sticks, but finally decided that they should
be induced to bear themselves gracefully with their white gloved hands
unoccupied. The white gloves were the subject of amusement to the boors
in town, who could always be amused at any effort at improvement, but
with them on, and the new uniforms we had patterned after the uniform
worn by the New York policemen, the members of the department soon
began to have a pride in themselves.
And that was exactly what we were trying to inculcate, though it was
difficult to do, and almost impossible, one might think, since for
generations policemen have been the target for the sarcasms and abuse
of every voice of the community. The wonder is, with such an universal
conspiracy as exists in America to give policemen a bad name, that they
have any character left at all. Surely each community in various ways
has done everything it could to strip its policemen of every shred of
reputation and self respect and with these gone, character might be
expected shortly to follow. Of course the new uniforms were ridiculed
too, but we did not let that discourage us.
There was the civil-service law to help, and we were of old devoted
to the spirit and even to the letter of that, though once the letter
of that law compelled us to an injustice, as the letter of any law
must do now and then. We had reorganized the police department on a
metropolitan basis, and had done the same with the fire department, and
in this department there were accordingly created three new positions
of battalion chiefs, for which captains were eligible. The oldest
ranking captain in the department was Dick Lawler, by everyone in the
department from the chief down conceded to be the best fireman in the
department, with a long and untarnished record of devoted duty and
quiet, unassuming bravery. And it was his natural ambition to round out
that career as one of the chiefs. The examining board held a written
test, and as Lawler was more accomplished in extinguishing, or, as his
comrades expressed it, in fighting fire, and much more comfortable and
at home on the roof of a burning building than he was at a desk with a
pen in his hand, he did not do very well. When, for instance, he read a
long hypothetical question, setting forth certain conditions at a fire
and asking the applicant where, under such circumstances, he would lay
the hose, Lawler wrote down as his answer, “Where it would do the most
good,” and on that answer the board marked him zero. The board marked
him zero on so many answers indeed that the net result was almost zero,
and he failed.
It was a kind of tragedy, in its little way, as he stood in my office
that morning on which he came to appeal from the board, with tears in
his eyes. But the law was obdurate and I was helpless. But I did point
out to the examining board the absurdity of such methods of testing a
man’s ability, and after that they allowed a man’s record to count for
fifty per cent. And it was not long until a vacancy occurred among the
chiefs--and Lawler was appointed.