by Robert Daley
Many of them were men not kids. When they realized there was no pursuit they slowed to a kind of loping walk, and as they passed in front of all the idlers standing on doorsteps, on corners, they began to recruit them: come on in with us, man, we are not going to obey any regulations laid down by the city, by the poh-leece, we are going to march right up in front of where they live and see how they like it.
By the time they reached the stationhouse in the middle of its block there were over a hundred of them.
On security duty on the stoop stood a single cop. There were eight cars on patrol at that hour, all of them out in their sectors, plus two detective cars which were out also. The stationhouse itself was manned by a handful of administrative cops. Upstairs in the squadroom were four detectives, one of them Barone.
The mob, and by now it could qualify as a mob, was not led by anyone. It had coalesced around an idea rather than a person, a somewhat complicated idea with several facets, all related. Part of the idea was to celebrate the great victory won in court, and part was to rub cops faces in that victory; part was to prove that today's marchers, in the light of that victory, could go anywhere they wanted to go; and part was merely to taunt and deride any Three-Two cops who could be found.
All of this was unspoken. In many heads it was only vaguely realized or not realized at all. The idea was to affront the Three-Two cops, not confront them, but no one had worked out how this was to be done. A mob after all is a mob, and by definition has no common focus, no sense of responsibility, and it recognizes no limits. The individuals composing this particular mob only wanted to let off some steam, holler a bit and leave. But the mob as a whole had a different dynamic.
The mob flowed along the street and in front of the stationhouse stopped and began chanting slogans. A number of cops came out from inside. Barone was among those who came down from upstairs. They stood on the stoop watching. The precinct captain came out, saw the size and mood of the mob and decided his stationhouse was about to be stormed. He ran back to the desk and ordered a sergeant to call in the sector cars as reinforcements.
There were about ten cops and detectives on the stoop by then, and with such an audience to play to the mob found that mere slogans were insufficient. The mob's mood changed from one second to the next. The slogans became curses, vilifications. Men taunted the cops, dared them to react. Men shook their fists.
Fine, thought Barone watching carefully. So far, no problem. He was not armed except for his short barreled revolver in its holster in his belt, but so far nothing about this mob worried him, much less frightened him. There was not even any traffic tie-up to worry about. Very few cars passed in front in the course of the day because fifty yards further on was the park, and because nearly every building on both sides of the street, apart from the stationhouse itself, was burnt out and empty.
The sector cars began to arrive, sirens wailing. Some of the drivers as they climbed out left their sirens on. Instead of frightening the mob, this noise seemed to inflame it.
It could be said that the mob consisted of two parts, those at the front who directed their emotions toward the cops on the stoop, and those at the rear who, lacking direct contact with all that, were somewhat bored. They felt ignored. This rear part of the mob, glancing idly around, noticed the row of cars backed against the curb behind them--the cops' personal cars. They could see the police cards in the windshields, and in any case in such a street who else's could they be?
These men at the rear felt both protected and obscured by those in front, and one of their number grasped the nearest car by its bumper and started it rocking. This seemed an excellent idea and in a few seconds others had this first car by its bumpers and fenders, the rocking increased, and in a moment the car went over onto its side. A second car went over all the way onto its roof, and a great cheer went up.
At first no one up front had realized what was happening, not the cops on the stoop or getting out of the sector cars, not the demonstrators facing forward, all of whom now turned to see what this commotion in the rear might be about. The demonstrators liked what they saw. Tipping over cars looked interesting, it looked like fun, and it seemed a fit expression of their mood as well, and groups of men spread out among the entire row of cars, rocking them, flipping them over, smashing windows with boards or rocks found in the street.
Most of the sector cops had been standing by their cars waiting to be told what to do. They imagined they were controlling the mob in an enclosed space. They couldn't see the first cars go over but the cops on the stoop could and they started pointing and screaming. Some of them rushed inside and came out with nightsticks, and they jumped down into the street to defend their cars. Among them was Barone, for his own car, he had seen, was already surrounded and rocking. He moved into the mob flailing, trying to reach his car. He and the cops around him were using their sticks like machetes to cut a swath to their cars. They laid open some heads and men went down, but in other cases the sticks got ripped out of their hands and were used against them, and they themselves began to go down and, once on the pavement, to get beaten or trampled.
One of the cops fought his way back to his sector car and called in a signal ten-thirteen, assist police officer, which caused police cars to come pouring in from every corner of the division, sirens wailing, more and more cops jumping out into the melee, their clubs swinging. What was later described as a police riot was now well underway.
But the forces of light, as they saw themselves, were badly outnumbered still, and getting the worst of it from the forces of darkness. Inevitably a cop drew his gun and fired. He fired into the air, only a warning shot, but warning shots were strictly forbidden by regulation because studies showed that they not only did no good most times but often started everyone else shooting too, frequently with tragic results.
Which was what happened here. Many guns came out, including some from the pockets and waistbands of the demonstrators, and when one man showed what looked like a gun--the later investigation showed the "man" to be 17 years old and the "gun" to have been a pair of sunglasses--a cop shot him dead. Barone's gun too was in his hand by then for he had lost his nightstick and was using his short barrel .38, his finger outside the trigger guard, to club open people's heads.
About ten shots were fired in all, and they ended the riot. The demonstrators took off running, except those dazed or unconscious or shot on the ground, all of whom except for the dead man were wrestled into handcuffs and arrested. Other arrests were made later in the emergency rooms of the two local hospitals where demonstrators had gone with bullet wounds, or to get broken bones set or wounds stitched up.
Breathing hard, his hair in disarray and his nose bleeding, Barone stood in the now silent street and pushed his gun back into its holster. Then he went over to his car. He had not managed to reach it in time. With the help of four other cops he got it back on its wheels. Its roof was caved in and one window smashed to smithereens. He looked down at himself. His suit was ruined too, great tears in the left sleeve and the right knee. A $500 suit with one knee showing through. He signed out and went home, and this would prove to be a mistake because investigators from division, and an hour later from internal affairs, descended on the scene and began checking cops' guns, collecting all those that had been fired. Four cops were in the hospital by then, two with broken hands, one with a broken leg and the fourth one shot in the side; but the only other cop not still present, and whose gun therefore could not be checked, was Detective Third Grade Michael K. Barone.
Earlier a single television crew, three men from Channel 7, had followed the demonstrators across from the buses on the off chance that something might happen. They had jogged part of the way but the cameraman and the soundman, both lugging heavy gear, could not run very fast very long so they were late getting to the riot. However, they knew what to do when they got there. The soundman got on top of a car with his microphone. The cameraman shinnied most of the way up a lamppost and made footage he hoped might
win him a prize or at least a raise. The reporter was as close to the action as he could get, his back to it, facing the camera, doing his standup with a riot going on behind him.
Most of this footage would be shown on Channel 7 that night. A number of faces were identifiable, one of them Barone's, and one of the most vivid sequences showed him swinging his gun, which he held cupped in his hand, into faces as he fought his way to his car.
This riot, which had been provoked by the police according to Reverend Johnson, of course caused a great furor in the city, one that did not die down because Johnson kept giving interviews that threatened new demonstrations, and because Channel 7's footage, which some commentators said in voice-over showed the unprovoked clubbing by the police of peaceful black demonstrators, was quickly licensed to other stations, where it was shown and reshown over and over again for a week. There was no way any regular television viewer could avoid seeing it less than four or five times.
Newspaper editors and editorial writers would not let it be either. Some favored the police account of the event, some were against. The mayor was under terrific pressure, and so therefore was his police commissioner. The mayor wanted a decisive investigation and people punished, and he wanted this fast before the whole city blew up. With his job on the line, Malloy had to come up with something, and he called in Chief Pommer.
Pommer said he could serve up Detective Muldoon's head on a platter, if the PC wished, that work had already been done, but anything else would take time, the cops were all lying, protecting themselves and each other, and he needed a copy of Channel 7's film to check the faces and the stories against, and they wouldn't hand it over.
Malloy told him for Christ's sake tape it off the TV and make something happen. And as for Detective Muldoon, what the hell did he have to do with the riot, he hadn't even been working that day.
"Muldoon was at the root of the Epps case," explained Pommer, "and the Epps case was at the root of the riot."
The PC grew thoughtful. "Alright," he said, "what do you have on him?"
Pommer outlined what the charges against Muldoon would be.
"Paper discrepancies," said the PC. "Unvouchered evidence. Jesus."
"Missed court appearances, the gun in his locker, those things are potentially serious," insisted Pommer.
"What do you have on the other guy, his partner? The two of them together might have some impact."
"Not enough."
"You're some investigator."
"I had a man in their car for months."
"I thought I told you not to do that?"
"You told me they were heroes until the trial was over. Well, it's over."
The PC realized he had been disobeyed, but he knew better than to go into that now. He couldn't afford to fight Pommer too. He would take care of Pommer some other time. His problem right now was something else and it was pressing. His thoughts returned to Muldoon. Finally he said: "You got charges against him that have nothing to do with the Epps case, and nothing to do with the riot either."
However, the more he thought about it, the more Pommer's suggestion seemed sound. Muldoon had become a name because of the trial, and to sack him for whatever reason might relieve the pressure a little. It was action and it was quick. It would buy him some time.
So the next day Pommer filed charges against Detective Third Grade Daniel Muldoon. There were fourteen specifications, fewer than Muldoon had thought on the day he had sought help from Barone, none that Muldoon had not expected. According to Pommer these charges were grave ones, entailing upon conviction possible dismissal from the department with loss of pension, and he ordered Muldoon busted to uniformed police officer and suspended without pay awaiting departmental trial.
At the stationshouse former Detective Muldoon's gun and shield were taken from him. He was ordered to clean out what remained in his locker. As he left the stationhouse the cops on duty at that hour were lined up to shake his hand in sympathy, but he was unable to meet anyone's eyes. There were tears in his eyes he was trying to hide and he did not or could not speak.
He went immediately to a bar where he began to drink himself insensible. Barone stayed with him as long as he could.
"Fucken departmental trial," Muldoon muttered once. "They'll fire me off the job. You know they will."
Barone did know. No one got acquitted when it had gone as far as this.
"They can't take your pension away from you," he said. "The charges aren't serious enough."
"They can do anything they fucken want to do."
This was true too.
"If they do it, you can sue and get your pension back.
"Fucken lawyers," said Muldoon.
Barone could do nothing except give his partner's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
"How about laying off the sauce now," said Barone. "You've had enough."
But Muldoon wouldn't, and eventually Barone had to leave him and go to work.
The suspension of Muldoon did not calm the city, nor ease the mayor's pressure on the police commissioner, or the PC's on Chief Pommer, and five days later Pommer filed new specifications charging unauthorized use of weapons and other breaches of department regulations against seven cops whose faces were identifiable on the Channel 7 tape, the best known of whom, because of publicity connected to the Epps trial, was Detective Michael Barone. All seven were similarly suspended without pay.
Karen was distressed to learn of Barone's suspension. She could not stop worrying about him. With no money coming in as he waited for trial, how would he support his family? What was he to do if dismissed from the department? How much did being a cop mean to him? She realized that she didn't know him well enough to say.
She supposed he would come to her for help. She expected her phone to ring; she would have to take the call. He would put her in an impossible position. It was help she would be unable to give. He must see that, she told herself, but felt sure he would not. He had asked her to help his partner, and now would ask for help for himself. But the days passed and no call came. She found this admirable. She was both surprised and impressed, and almost wanted to phone him up and thank him.
A grand jury had been empanelled to investigate the cop's fatal shooting of the teenager. Tananbaum was in charge, but Karen considered the case so important that she wanted regular reports. The grand jury, twenty three people almost evenly divided between men and women, whites and blacks, was meeting twice a week to hear witnesses and consider evidence.
Now with Barone and the six others suspended, these cases were put before the grand jury too.
At once Karen stepped back completely, ordering her press office to release a statement to this effect to the media. Inasmuch as the recent Epps trial had involved certain of these same police officers, her statement read, she was recusing herself; she would have no further contact with the grand jury or its deliberations.
A week later she happened to meet Tananbaum in the corridor. The grand jury had just voted not to indict anyone, he told her. The shooting was justified given the conditions under which it occurred, and against the other seven cops there was no evidence of wrongdoing at all. "The riot was caused by the demonstrators, not the cops. The charges against the cops stem from the police brass going into hysterics," he said.
Karen knew how worried all eight of the cops must be, snapping at their wives and kids, not sleeping nights. Nonetheless she ordered Tananbaum to hold off his announcement until next week, she would give the city one more week to cool down lest the grand jury's decision start some new disorder.
So that's the way it was done. The city took the news calmly, even in Harlem, which had drifted back into the apathy in which the poor all over the world sought refuge. The community still believed that an outrage had been committed against it, but what was one more among so many? Anger had all been dissipated by then, the fire had gone out.
Muldoon went on trial in the fourth floor trial room at police headquarters before the deputy commissioner of
trials who would serve as both judge and jury. This was not a criminal trial and the burden of proof had shifted from the prosecution to the accused. Muldoon would have to prove that the charges against him were not true, and he did not know how; or perhaps, given his overpowering contempt for headquarters and for the police hierarchy, he chose not to bother. His lawyer, provided by the police union without charge, was unable to influence Muldoon's conduct.
Based on the testimony of Chief Pommer's witnesses, the deputy commissioner found former Detective Muldoon guilty on twelve of the fourteen counts and recommended that he be dismissed from the department with the forfeiture of all pension rights.
Anxious to show the mayor that he could be stern when the situation required it, the PC approved this recommendation as soon as it reached his desk, and Muldoon was so notified. After 26 years was no longer a cop.
Next would come a similar trial involving Barone and the other seven accused--for the cop who had killed the teenager had now been charged too.
Two days before this trial was to start Karen wrote a letter to the police commissioner. She wrote it out by hand. The charges against Detective Barone, she wrote, were twofold: improper use of his firearm, but the grand jury had found no proof that he had fired it; and leaving the scene of an investigation, which had been perhaps only an accident. She said that in her opinion the police department could not afford to lose an officer of Detective Barone's caliber. She said she had worked with him on two major cases, and both times he had been of inestimable help to her. She described him as shrewd, hard working, dedicated, in every way honorable, and altogether one of the best detectives she had met. She hoped the PC would take this letter into consideration when he ruled on the case.
It was all she could do. She did not expect Malloy to acknowledge the letter and he did not. She did not expect it to have much effect either. Malloy probably thought he could afford to ignore her, and that he was nearly rid of her altogether, for the conservative party had now formally announced Norman Harbison as its candidate for district attorney in November. Harbison was the republican party's choice too. He would have to run in the republican primary but was considered such a strong candidate that no one else of consequence was entered.