It's just after eight a.m. on a deep-blue August morning in Saginaw, Michigan, when the early morning air is light and full of life.
My shoulders slump slightly under the weight of two five-gallon water containers as I pass small plots filled with animal-shaped crafts, family themes, and flowers of all colors. One garden is decorated with the names and handprints of children set in plaster. Another screams neglect, its flowers wilting and nearly dead.
Beneath the partial shade of a nearby tree, I set down the containers, wipe the sweat from my forehead with the front of my shirt, and begin my near-daily personal time with the deceased officers of the Saginaw Police Department in this garden, the Garden of Dead Heroes.
It was two years ago that my wife, Deanna, was selected from a list of "adopt-a-garden" wannabes. Her reward was about eighty square feet of earth near the chick hatchery at the Saginaw Children's Zoo. We knew immediately we would turn our garden into a memorial for local police officers killed in the line of duty.
Using large rocks bearing officers' names, ages, and dates of death, we set off now each spring to shape a new garden. Flowers fill our plot, set in the predetermined patterns my wife arranges. The crest of the Fraternal Order of Police Lodge No. 105 sits near the center. The Policeman's Prayer is positioned in the forefront. An American flag stands sentinel in the rear. In a front corner also stands a statute of a small child my wife recently added. He is dressed in an oversized policeman's uniform, a cop's hat drooping down over his forehead. My wife says the figure adds a sense of hope to the garden. I study it again briefly this morning, but I'm unable to see the hope of which she speaks.
My attention turns toward the dead as I water the flowers placed near the names on each stone. I always water these flowers first, while brushing sticks, leaves, and dirt from each stone, so the names Charles Ring, John Schmiegel, Zigmund Ozerajtys, Roy McKee, Daniel Waters, Clarence Dietzel, Leon Scott, Gary Mc-Cullen, David Hubbard, and Kevin Sherwood can be read easily by passersby. Someone must see these officers are not forgotten. Tomorrow I will repeat this task.
Ring, Schmiegel, Ozerajtys, McKee,Waters, Dietzel, Scott, and Mc-Cullen were Saginaw police officers killed in the line of duty. Trooper Hubbard was assigned to a local post of the Michigan State Police. Deputy Kevin Sherwood was from a county not far from Saginaw. Although the garden was meant to honor officers killed locally, Kevin Sherwood was added at the request of his widow, who had seen the garden during a visit. His mother later sent me a message of thanks for adding her son's name to this garden. Her words left me in tears.
I knew none of these men personally. But as I gather two more containers of water the scorching August heat plays havoc with our garden I am at peace with being a cop. I feel an odd sense of purpose, if only for an hour. After fourteen years of working the streets of Saginaw, that sense of purpose is hard to come by.
My career as a cop began in a usual way. I was drawn to the camaraderie that policemen share. I loved the uniform, the cop car, and the thought of being in control. And then there was the adrenaline, that addictive rush of energy I got by responding to a shooting, running down a bad guy, or sitting behind the wheel in a hundred-mile-an-hour, engine-rattling, tire-squealing chase. Saginaw was a great place to be a cop then, but those days are long gone, faded away like the faces of officers who used to stand by my side.
It was sometime in 2000 that I first heard rumors of police layoffs and budget deficits. Eight years later the decimation of my department continues unabated. Our officer count has dropped from 165 to 94, counting the six laid-off cops who were temporarily called back to work. The SPD has none of those youthful, enthusiastic rookies who complement a department's savvy veterans so well. The last cop to receive his pink slip had seven years' experience.
A former automotive boomtown, Saginaw, with a population of about 58,000, is now a violent, decaying city dying a slow rust-belt death. The city's high poverty and unemployment rates, combined with a poorly educated populace, allow thugs, dope dealers, and street gangs to thrive. And while citizens weep as their children die in the streets, tax requests to return our police department to workable staffing levels have been turned down time and again.
Crime statistics show Saginaw is one of the most violent cities in the country, per capita, with one of the lowest police-officer-to-citizen ratios. It is not unusual to have two or three shootings per shift. A double homicide no longer raises eyebrows. Many shots-fired calls go unchecked for hours. Yet the layoffs continue.
If you are a cop in Saginaw, the job is no longer about duty, honor, and courage. It's about survival. More than a hundred officers have come and gone during my fourteen years. Some retired, many laid off, and others transferred to less volatile surroundings. One former coworker killed himself after leaving the SPD.
Year after year the killing continues unchallenged. At times crime waves and shootings hit unthinkable highs, even by Saginaw's standards. Community leaders bellow for action. They hold prayer vigils, parades for peace, and crime prevention summits. Yet when even more cops lose their jobs, there is no public outrage. And those who remain, like me, will face another year of trying to survive on the streets of a town that refuses to help itself.
A couple of years ago, I stood alone in a garbage-strewn back-yard, holding five reportedly armed men at gunpoint. During those tense moments while I waited for backup, my finger itchy near the trigger, sweat dripping from my forehead, a woman in her forties stood on a nearby porch, screaming repeatedly that I was mistreating the suspects by pointing a gun at them. Moments later, with backup on the scene and the bad guys secured, I scolded the woman for distracting me during such a tense situation.
"You know, next time, why don't you shut the hell up until the situation is under control," I yelled, my face flushed with anger. "I would rather not die in this shitty backyard because you can't keep your mouth shut."
Her response has stuck with me to this day: "You're a cop. It's your job to get killed." She walked back into her house and slammed the door.
So goes a cop's life in Saginaw, Michigan.
Like many of my coworkers, I have cried at the funerals of slain officers, comforted women as their sons lay dead in the street, and witnessed firsthand the destruction of drugs and gang warfare. I have faced the walking, breathing human nightmares who prowl our streets and prey upon the innocent. I've seen more death, hatred, and violence than I care to remember. Nothing, however, has scarred me more than a community that will not stand up for those who are asked to defend it.
In recent years citizens and city leaders have repeatedly funneled precious dollars away from the police department to fund social and recreational programs. And as our officers literally fight for their very survival, budgetary cuts have been justified by those who wield the knife. "How will the kids stay out of trouble without recreation programs?" and "Who will watch over the children and keep them from gangs and drugs?" are words heard far too often. The role of the parent appears lost in my community.
I find myself now a forty-three-year-old cop too close to a pension to quit, and too disillusioned to put it all on the line every day for a city that has turned its back on its police force. My department's collective pleas for help from those we serve have gone unanswered. Yet the calls still flood Central Dispatch day after day, hour after hour, calls from those who refused our cries for help, now screaming for our assistance. More often than not, I find myself un-enthused about risking my life in such surreal surroundings. Many coworkers confide that they share the same dilemma. Yet we continue to answer the calls as best we can, wading waist-deep through the human carnage that pollutes our city.
As I water the last of the flowers planted in a garden for these cops who gave their life, I wonder if they ever shared the doubts and frustrations I feel every day. And as I walk toward my car, and think about the workday ahead, I feel my sense of purpose fading.
Editor's Note: Shortly after this story was written, the city of Saginaw, citing severe budget shortages, announced nearly fifty more police officers and firefighters were scheduled for layoff. Members of the Saginaw police and fire departments helped raise tens of thousands of dollars for a public-awareness campaign aimed at passing a public safety millage initiative. Officers went door to door for weeks in Saginaw, literally begging taxpayers to support this initiative. Many city leaders, previously silent regarding public safety layoffs, finally joined in the fight, as rejection of this tax would have rendered the Saginaw Police Department useless for all practical purposes.
The months prior to this crucial vote were marred by some of the worst violence Saginaw has ever witnessed. Ironically, the murders and bloodshed Saginaw police officers fight so hard to prevent were thought to have greatly swayed public opinion in their favor. When voting results were tallied, Saginaw's citizens overwhelmingly passed a five-year millage to support the city's police and fire departments and avert planned layoffs.
On April 23, 2007, at a public ceremony at Saginaw's city hall, three new police officers were sworn in to service the first new hires at the Saginaw Police Department in nearly ten years. Fueled by the positive response of Saginaw's voters, Officer East has since abandoned plans to leave police work and go into private business. He continues to spend his days patrolling Saginaw's streets, answering calls for help from those who finally answered his.