Certainly, she ws right. But the challenge became finding upbeat material to include. The streets of Saginaw are not exactly bubbling over with feel-good stories, at least not for a street cop. So finding anything positive to write about became almost a bigger challenge than the actual writing process.

The house on the corner of N. 10th and Farwell Streets where my “Sentinel” used to live always struck me as a tiny island of normalcy in a vast sea of insanity. The entire are, with a monsterous GM plant looming ominously in the backdrop, was a breeding ground for violence and mayhem during my early years at the SPD. There were still a few modest, single-family homes dotting the landscape, but there were so few that they became nearly unrecognizeable in a landscape overrun with abandoned structures, dope houses and gang hangouts.

The old lady who owned the tidy little one-story home west of the Farwell Market, in contrast to the area in which she dwelled, was always upbeat. The woman was always polite and displayed the kind of courage that often goes unnoticed as the business of day-to-day life passes by. But her courage and conviction of not giving up, of standing up to the dope dealers and evil-doers in this area, was not lost on me.

Police officers are often big on recognizing each other for bravery and the “heroic deeds” they perform during the course of doing their job. The woman who is the subject of this chapter deserved more recognition than just about every cop I have ever met. She stood up to those who menaced her neighborhood and she did it without the benefit of a badge, a gun, a taser and chemical mace. She also made her stand without any backup. She stood face-to-face very day to the evil and darkness that surrounded her with only her courage and her faith in God. While I acknowledge that having The Big Man as your backup is quite impressive, most folksv cannot face sheer evil on faith alone.

I am not sure what has become of the old woman I wrote about. I know I felt a palpable sense of loss when she moved away to the west side of my state. It strikes me as I write this that I do not even know if she is still living, even though she forever dwells within the pages of “Beyond Hope?”

However, Joyce also lives on in my mind as a fond memory, and as a symbol of courage and encouragement on days when I think I have seen all that I can handle on the streets.

Looking back, I think she would have made a fine streets cop.

Thanks for stopping by.

The horrific murders of Inkster police officers Clay Hoover and Dan Dubiel and Sgt. Ira Parker on that 1987 summer day are, for some reason, seared into my memory. I had followed this story on the local news, and I believe it to be the first time I actually became intrigued by the duty, honor and, of course, sacrifice that go hand-in-hand with being a law enforcement officer.

I had several times contemplated writing an entire book solely about the incident. I decided against this venture because: A.) I wasn’t sure if I would be able to fill enough pages for an entire book B.) Having been such a localized event, I didn’t believe there would be enough interested readers to make such a book financially viable and C.) I just wasn’t sure I could immerse myself so deeply in such a dark and depressing tragedy.

The day Denny Howe and I were assigned to pick up a prisoner from Detroit somewhere around 2007 provided the perfect opportunity to discuss the events of the Bungalow Motel. Denny had been on scene the day of this triple murder, and being able to drive through the actual scene with him, hear his recounting of the day’s events and see his reaction returning to revisiting the site where three of his friends and police brothers were murdered, was soul-stirring. I wrote this chapter the next morning after our return from this trip. The sights, sounds and Denny’s first-hand memories were too much to keep inside of me; I had to get that story out of my head and into written word as soon as possible. I gave Denny the opportunity to proof read the story for accuracy during our next shift.

Much like the Karen King chapter, it is always a little nerve-racking when you write about the personal tragedies of another. But Denny’s approval after reading the chapter eased my mind and let me know I had done the story at least some justice. “The Bungalow Motel” turned out to be one of my favorite chapters in “Beyond Hope?”

Ironically, just weeks ago, Alberta Easter, one of the suspects in the murder of Hoover, Dubiel and Parker, died in prison, where she had been serving time since her conviction for her part in the Bungalow Motel murders (a related news video can be viewed on my “Beyond Hope” Facebook Fan Page). Seeing the news coverage of Easter’s death sent chills down my spine. It makes me feel better to know that Easter had to explain herself and her actions before God, and He will decide her eternal fate.

Clay Hoover, Dan Dubiel and Ira Parker - I offer my sincere thanks to you, and every other law enforcement officer, who has sacrificed their lives for the safety of others and the betterment of their community.

Thanks for stopping by.

Leffler also writes for Review Magazine, which serves the Great Lakes Bay Region (Saginaw, Midland and Bay City, Michigan). Look for a review of Beyond Hope? within the pages of that publication, possibly later this summer.

Back in 1997, I was still getting used to being a cop, even after nearly 3 years on the job. Veteran police officers over the years have pretty much agreed that it takes at least 5 years to get a good grasp on all it means to be a functional cop. So I was still on my learning curve back in ‘97.

What made this particular case so personal for me is Karen’s abduction occured within my patrol beat on a night when I was working. And, while it is obvious that cops cannot prevent all (or even a majority of) crime, when something this disasterous occurs in your town, on your beat, on your watch . . . well, you just cannot help but take it personally.

Karen was abducted outside a local market at W. Genesee and N. Bond Streets, right in the center of what used to be Patrol District #7, when the SPD adhered to a 7-District patrol rotation (The city is now broken into 4 Patrol Districts - 2 west side and 2 east side). The first dispatch call reporting what was eventually determined to be Karen’s abduction sounded very much like a run-of-the-mill disturbance at the time. A check of the area by patrol officers found nothing unusual at the store. All parties were gone. As the shift unfolded and more information came in, it became more and more clear that this call was far from ordinary. Several vehicles matching the suspect vehicle description were stopped that night, but Karen was never located. I have never been able to lose that feeling that myself, or any of the other officers searching that night, were just one or two missed turns from finding the vehicle, and from finding Karen.

I recall coming into work the next day and the sickened feelings I experienced when told that a victim from this call had been found on the city’s east side. It is a feeling - a mixture of despair, hopelessness, remorse and regret - that stays with me even today.

In early 2008 most of Beyond Hope? had been written, but I was still searching for cover ideas. I recall that shift being slow and myself and my partner that day, Officer Denny Howe, happened to pass by a memorial at the site where Karen’s body was found years earlier. For whatever reason, conscious or subconscious, I had never taken the time to look at this place before. I stared for a few moments at the white cross bearing Karen’s name, date of birth and date of death. The dark green fence behind the cross, played in perfect contrast to the snow and wilting flowers at the base of the cross. It struck me that quiet scene, this simple photograph, spoke volumes about the hopelessness of this tragic event. It also summed up the solemn sense of despair I have felt nearly every day since I became a cop in Saginaw, Michigan.

The hard part was still to come. I didn’t want to use this photo for my book cover without the permission of Karen’s parents. For days, I aborted several phone calls to the King residence before dialing the final digit. How do you call a mother and ask permission for that sort of thing? I finally gathered my nerve and got ahold of Linda King and explained my project. She cried for a short time and said she had to think about it over the weekend. “Can you call me back on Monday,” she asked?

At this point, I felt like little more than a sleazy tabloid journalist, and I began looking for another photo to use as cover art. I very nearly didn’t call Linda back that Monday, but I am glad I did. Linda’s mood was much more cheery when she answered the phone. She had spoken to a mutual friend over the weekend who vouched for my character, and my intent in writing the book. Linda immediately gave permission to use the photo.

I finally got to meet Karen’s parents, Gregory and Linda King, shortly after Beyond Hope? went to print. I asked if I could deliver them a copy of the book, and they took me up on the offer.

My visit to the King household lasted about 45 minutes (the first 15 minutes were spent trying to compose my self. How do you look into the eyes of the parents whose child you did not save? With guilt . . . shame. . . remorse and some tears).

From my only face-to-face contact with them, I found Gregory and Linda King to be two very strong, understanding and compassionate individuals.

These are traits I struggle to maintain on the streets some days. But it is through the example of people such as the Kings that I am able to, on most days, muster enough strength, understanding and compassion to find my way for another 12 hours.

Thanks for stopping by.

If there’s one thing that gets drilled into your head time and time again at the police academy it is to Always expect the unexpected. The basis of that saying is anchored in, at least as far as academy teachings are concerned, the theory that things are not always what they seem, and they can go from bad to worse in an instant.

This particular call actually found me finding something on scene which was “less serious” (a medical run) than what I was dispatched to handle (shots fired). The odd thing here was that even though this call was “less serious” in nature, it still ended up involving someone dying, someone trying to kill themselves, an angry crowd, a physical altercation and several moments of absolute chaos.

My first mistake responding to this call was pulling onto the call without backup. But as we get older and gain more experience (just enough to get us hurt or killed, some would say), cops tend to listen to the Hero Voice that I referred to a few times within the pages of Beyond Hope?. That’s the little, nagging voice that says you are a veteran cop, you won’t get hurt, and you have to act immediately instead of just standing around waiting for backup . . . because that’s what heros do, right?

As it turns out, the two kids I confronted near the venue were, fortunately, unarmed. A simple case for them of wrong place - wrong time. But the twist in this call came like a swift punch in the jaw, when one kid said: “They said a woman dead up in there,” while directing me to the venue.

This sudden and totally unexpected turn of events is not uncommon in the streets. Driven by my Hero Voice, the slow-motion approach to the house is as vivid today as it was the day it happened. As usual Hero Voice won out in the should-I-Stay-Or-Should-I-Go? debate over Voice of Reason and I made entry into the venue to find a woman in the midst of her final minutes of life. The mayhem that followed, while not unusual in law enforcement, is still something I have never been totally able to wrap my arms around. In the end, I felt the events which transpired on this call made for a good story, and touched a lot on what police officers have to deal with on a fairly regular basis.

The fact that I ran into the deceased woman’s mother at a gas station some time later I think was a gift for me. I believe this was one of those instances in life we are all presented with, a fleeting moment in time, where God allows us to give some measure of comfort to a perfect stranger, and maybe even to ourselves, so we can gain a little closure from a traumatic event.

That chance meeting with the mother of a young woman who I watched die was totally unexpected. Maybe that’s why it should not have surprised me.

Thanks for stopping by.

My next entry will be about the chapter - Karen King - that not only provided the fuel for the writing of this book, but also shaped many of my views about life, death and being a cop.

I hear people often say, “I hate cops!” What I think most of these people - at least the non-dirtbag, semi-normal people - really mean is, “I hate young cops!”

When you are young, fresh out of the academy and raring to go, life as a cop is great. You would rather be working in uniform than anyplace else. The violent calls, the traffic stops, the dope, the guns and especially the homicides are all one big, lightening-fast carnival ride. The job is great. Life is great.

But after a while, even for cops - hell, especially for cops - it loses its luster. The calls for service are all “bullshit,” issuing traffic tickets doesn’t mean all that much and even the rush of seeing a freshly murdered dead person (Yes, the first few times it is “a rush”) is just not as heart-pounding as it once was. It all becomes repetitive, mundane and, some days, outright boring. This is the career arch of most cops that I know, and this is how I felt on the day that was the subject of “First on Scene.” This was the third first-on-scene homicide for myself and Matt Ward in the first month of the year, and it just didn’t enthuse me all that much.

Don’t get me wrong, when we got to the scene, we did our job - assist the wounded, try to obtain suspect information and protect the integrity of the scene for the investigators who would handle the case. That’s just a natural part of the job. But, on this night, as I did those things, I also tried very hard to take in all the sights, sounds and scenery of what a homicide scene looks like. I wanted to be able to describe where a human being spent his last living seconds.

In this midst of all of this, I realized that I just didn’t care like I used to. Sure, as a Christian, I am saddened over senseless loss of life, and the path that leads one person to kill another. But, as a cop, it had all gotten old pretty darn quick. Most - not all, but most - murder victims that I see live lifestyles that drastically increase their chances of arriving at their eventual destination, that of a murder victim. So sometimes it’s hard to shed a tear or feel compassion for those you put a sheet over and later hoist into a body bag. Loss of sensitivity and compassion is one of the pitfalls of being a cop.

What struck me the most about this particular scene was the parents who brought their children out to watch as if it was a movie. Parents taking their children to a homicide scene for entertainment just blew me away. That part did get to me, and depressed me more than Dead Guy laying at my feet in this garbage-strewn parking lot.

Ironically, a drastic decrease in violent crime in 2010, as well as a recent transfer to day shift, has led me to far fewer violent crime scenes than in years past. In fact, I have been to only one homicide scene this year. And that day, the rush of adreneline was back, if only for a brief time. I guess your reaction to situations is partly a matter of what your body and mind get used to.

Thanks for stopping by. Please sign the Guestbook before leaving this sight and let me know your thoughts.

My next entry will be “Expect the Unexpected.”

The Fall, in my mind, really put an exclamation point on the highs and lows of law enforcement. One day I found myself back in the saddle, riding the emotional high of the passing of the public safety millage, which meant, for me, job security, and an overall sense of well-being, knowing that the Saginaw Police Department would be able to function at decent staffing levels for another five years (NOTE: voters in 2010 approved another 5-years renewal of this millage, as well as a slight increase to keep up with inflationary type costs). However, as author George Cantor said of Detroit sports fans within the pages of The Tigers of ‘68 ” . . . behind every strip of cheery wallpaper there is an awfully big glob of paste.”

This day described in The Fall is one of the many “big globs of paste” which have punctuated my career as a cop.

The teen who is the subject of this chapter was like many teens I deal with - young, black, angry and in the process of ruining his life while not caring one bit that he is doing so. Sometimes I think that many of the thousands of troubled teens in Saginaw have been shown no other path in life other than the path of self-destruction, so while they are tearing their lives apart they really do not realize it. When you know nothing of success, failure is a predetermined and natural course in life. How can you show somebody right from wrong if the only thing they’ve known in life is wrong?

Anyway, during my interaction with this teen, I really did consciously think to myself “I’m going to try one more time - I can reach this kid.” Sometimes my mental dialogue as a cop (and I assume the same holds true for other cops) really is that simplistic. And for a moment when I was trying to reach this kid, time really did screech to a near standstill as I battled for his attention, his understanding and, in turn, his very future. Only when his mother informed me that he had been to the police department earlier in the day because of a previous shooting, did I realize the futility - again - of my efforts. I can only assume now that this kid is either dead or locked up. After 17 years, I might follow-up with the roughly 3% of the kids that I actually reach during the course of my job. Sadly, I just really don’t even want to know anymore about the 97% I fail to help.

Next up is “First on Scene.” I will try to update more frequently here (once a month is my goal), but I have been busy working on a new book and it has taken up a considerable amount of my spare time. That book, by the way, is the “hockey” side of “hockeycop,” and is a historical book about the old International Hockey League of the 1960s, 70s and 80s. If you are a hockey fan, that yet-to-be-named book should be available in about September of 2011. Based on the interviews I’ve already conducted with former minor league players, coaches and media people, this book should really be something.

Thanks for stopping by.

Some other book and movie writers, as well as actors, whom I had spoken to prior to writing Beyond Hope? always stressed that a book or movie cannot be totally negative (conversely, a comedy cannot be all humor - there has to be some sort of believable storyline to follow to break up the humor). “You have to give the reader a break,” one writer told me. “The audience needs a chance to catch their breath.”

Finding chances within Beyond Hope? for readers to “catch their breath” was not easy. I can count on one hand the clearly positive things that happen to me in the streets each month. And many of those memories are quickly washed away by the sights and sounds of the next shooting or homicide, which is waiting right around the orner.

The chapter titled “Frislee” told one of the most simple stories in the book. This brief, yet uplifting story revolved around one of those times when I stumbled across a mental oasis in the vast desert of despair which was my work day. It was a story I simply had to put on paper. And it served as a nice “catch your breath” spot at a good point (about 1/3 through the book) within Beyond Hope?

Meeting these three kids playing Frisbee on this day was truely, I believe, one of those days God looks down upon a person (me) and says: “This guy really needs a break.” And so my five-minute work repreive, chucking a frisbee in a most unlikely setting with three poor, urban kids, was born. The fact these kids referred to a fisbee as a “frislee” made the story, I believe, that much more endearing. Those few moments have remained cemented in my brain to this day.

While writing this chapter, I thought about my own childhood, where my escape from my own personal problems was found at the beach on the shores of Lake Huron. I felt it important to point out the differences - and the similarities - between my childhood surroundings and the surroundings of these young children.

The Author’s Note at the end of the chapter was an afterthought, which I added after the first rough draft of Beyond Hope? went to print. I added several of these Author’s Notes during this time to give some closure for important chapters.

By the way, local actor Alex Aleandrou read Beyond Hope? late in 2009 and said he would love to do a movie “short” about this very chapter. Nothing has been put together yet, but with any luck, “Frislee” might be brought to life at some point in the future.

Thanks for stopping by. Chapter eight - The Fall - will be the topic of my next entry.

Throughout the writing of Burden, the format offered few spots where, as a writer, I was able to get into meaty story telling. The homicides, serious shootigns and car chases in Burden gave me a chance to go into deep detail and tell a story, but there were relatively few of those stories in relation to the boring day-to-day stuff. Three stories from Burden were interesting enough and gritty enough that I thought they would make for good chapters in Beyond Hope? Trick or Treat is one of those chapters.

The call itself occured on Halloween night 10 years ago. Halloween night! How creepy is that when a life-and-death car-crash and shootout occurs on the scariest night of the year, and you and your best friend have to climb into a fiery automobile and try to save two guys from, literaly, burning to death?

I tried very hard to bring out the intensity and chaos of this call because that’s exactly what is was - intense and chaotic. From the point that we saw the vehicle on fire, to the point where we had both passengers extracted was nothing more than a blur that seemed to last only seconds. In reality, the scene stretched out for several agonizing, slow-motion minutes.

The best part about this incident was - and most cops have these moments several times during their careers - I was able to answer for myself the question of “Would I risk my life to save another?” Regardless of how much you are taught in the academy and how much you learn on the street, you just never know how you will react to a life-threatening situation until you are put in the middle of it. I was proud of the fact that, without hesitation, Matt Ward and I both reacted as we should have. But I like to think most people - civilian and sworn - would risk their life to save the life of another if presented with the opportunity to do so. Oddly enough, years later Officer Ward and I were on patrol on Saginaw’s north end when a call for a child trapped in a house fire was put out. We were only blocks away and arrived quickly. The house was nearly fully engulfed and the child was trapped in an upstairs bedroom. In desperation, neighbors were even spraying the house with garden hoses when we arrived. While Matt looked for a way to get the child out the window, I ran for the front door, entered and was immediately driven back by the flames. Through the flames, the heat and the heavy smoke, I knew there was no way I was going to reach that child alive. The fire department pulled on just at that moment, and a firefighter in full gear was able to get inside with the aide of his oxygen tank and his fireman’s equipment and retrieve the child from upstairs. I’m not sure I could have lived with myself had that Saginaw Fire Department not arrived at that moment to rescue that child where I clearly had failed.

There was an interesting side note to this chapter that presented itself a few years after this incident took place. My wife was taking classes to attain her Master’s Degree along with a couple other co-workers. The group they took classes with, if I remember correctly, consisted of 15 or 20 people. During one course, the class had to spend a half day watching what was then a new movie, titled Crash. Crash, if you have not seen it, is an intricately weaved story that tackles the topics of racism, stereotypes, urban crime, police ethics and a multitude of other underlying themes. The story presents perspectives several characters of several different ethnicities, and their views of each other and the world around them. In this film, Matt Dillon plays the part of a white LA cop with unmistakable feelings toward blacks. At one point, he basically sexually molests a black female passenger during a traffic stop in what appears to be his way of asserting his self-perceived superiority, in terms of both gender and race. In an ironic twist later in the movie, Dillon crawls into a flipped over SUV that has been involved in a crash on the freeway. The car is seconds from catching fire and exploding and the driver is trapped. As Dillon struggles to free the woman - yes the same woman he molested on the previous traffic stop - he is forced to put aside his personal bias and do his job. In the end, he pulls the woman from the vehicle and - in typical and predictable Hollywood style - gets her to safety just as the vehicle explodes.

After the movie, the class was asked to discuss, at length, the issues that presented themselves within the film. During the discussion, a group of black women in the class commented how that scene was not believable to them, and that there was no way that a white cop would risk his life for a black person.

My wife was understandably offended, and offered the story from this chapter as evidence that people (even cops) can put aside their differences and just do their job (the two passengers that Officer Ward and I pulled from this burning vehicle were black males in the age range of about 18-21). Apparently, the women refused to believe my wife and, for the most part, inferred that the story she told them -this chapter from my book - did not occur because they simply would not accept that a white cop would risk his life for a person of color. Certainly working where I have for the past 16 years, if I am going to risk my life to save anyone during my on-the-job experiences, that person is probably going to be of a different color than me. The area of Saginaw where I work, you see, is probably less than 5% white.

Looking back on my wife’s experience of debating this issue with her classmates - all grown adults enrolled in a Masters Degree program - there are a couple things evident to me: 1.) Many people tend to view those of a different ethnic background as not good people, or at least not as good as they believe they themselves are, and 2.) There still exsists, even among many educated minorities, a deeply ingrained distrust of the police, even to the point where they cannot fathom a police officer doing the right thing to help someone not of the same skin color as the officer.

Based on personal experience, and having seen heroic acts of blacks, whites and hispanics helping others of different enthnic backgrounds, I tend to think most people, if given the chance to save a life, even at risk to their own, would help any other person, regardless of their skin color.

I guess it’s a matter of believing that, in the end, good will triumph over evil. As a cop, if you cannot believe in that, why even come to work?

Thanks for stopping by.

I’ve been in dozens of car chases over the years, the most prominent of which was a 19-minute pursuit from Saginaw to Bay City where the bad guy, after fleeing from, eluding and then trying to smash into several police cars, simply pulled up into his driveway and straight into his garage with a dozen cop cars on his tail, as if his garage was a “safe zone,” like when you were young, playing some kids’ war game where you simply touched a tree and yelled “safe” when things got a little hairy. It didn’t work for this guy, however, as he failed to set up a mutually agreed-upon “safe zone” prior to engaging us in this ridiculous pursuit.

In any case, the thing with pursuits now is they can still be fun and challenging in a demented sort of way, but there are way too many risks involved, and the potential for injury - and certainly for hefty civil litigation should somebody be badly injured or killed - often outweight the benefits of chasing and catchng the bad guy. I suppose if society is ok with cops letting most fleeing bad guys get away, them I’m good with it too. Plus, I try to think of my wife, child, mother or someone I care about coming home from a day at school or a shopping trip to Kroger and getting flattened by a bad guy the cops were chasing for shoplifting. That puts it into perspective.

But then there are times like the one described in this chapter where the alleged crime committed by the bad guy outweights the risk of injury in a car chase.

The report we received this day was that the man in this particular stolen car had just murdered his pastor in Detroit - shot him a few times after church - and had stolen the victim’s car. So certainly there was a clear need to get this guy off the streets.

The chase itself was quite a nail-biter, especially after we got onto I-75 amid the heavy Sunday southbound traffic. It’s funny, though, knowing there was a virtually unquestionable cause to pursue this guy, I felt totally relaxed throughout the chase. Only when it ended with the horrific crash of the suspect vehicle, did I actually get a little scrambly as I replayed the pursuit in my head through the rest of the shift. I would love to be able to talk to any of the motorists who witnessed the chase and the eventual crash that day. They certainly had a story to tell when they got back home to Metro Detroit and points beyond:

“Hey, Ed, I hear you caught a boatload of perch up North and sat next to Kid Rock at a restaurant in Traverse City last weekend!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . but listen to what happened on the way home just outside of Saginaw. . . ”

Not exactly Chamber of Commerce material for the greater Saginaw, area, but take your publicity where you can get it, I always say.

Looking back on this incident, the one thing that really stuck with me the most - and I wrote this as an aside to the chapter after it was finished - was, post chase, standing next to the suspect vehicle, watching all the cars on I-75 at a stand still and listening to the hum of grasshoppers and the songs of the early evening birds. It really was a gorgeous evening, all things considered.

In this line of work, sometimes you have to take your moments of inspiration where you can find them.

By the way, if you happen to be reading this and are inspired to do so, sign the guest book, or leave a comment. I’d love to know if anybody actually reads this stuff.

The next entry will be “Trick or Treat,” a recap of a night I still think about often . . . even 10 years later.

Thanks for stopping by.