When I came up with the idea of writing Beyond Hope? I just started writing chapters in no particular order. “Just write. Worry about organization later,” is what a writer friend once told me. Oddly, “Knock, knock . . . ” was the second chapter in the original draft of Beyond Hope? The book actually started with parts of “Final Thoughts,” which is the last chapter in the book. After a close friend offered to read Beyond Hope? and offer some editing and insight, it was suggested that I talked about “The Fight” quite often in the beginning. I thought talking about “The Fight,” which is my view of a cop’s career and the struggle to maintain sanity and continue to do the right thing, would be a nice set-up to the book. My friend, however, thought that all the references to “The Fight” seemed choppy and clumsy because the reader had no yet learned what “The Fight” entailed. They were just two words that carried little meaning. After thinking this through, I agreed. Why not show people what “The Fight” really is before actually referencing it. So I decided to do things the traditional (boring?) way and start at the beginning. As it turns out, I think this is a much better set-up and helps give the entire book some structure in the form of a loose time line. Thank you, Lori, for the idea.
Having lived in a few different towns - Port Huron, Big Rapids, Mt. Pleasant, Ypsilanti, Bellevile - I was always excited about moving on to my next place of residence and my next job. It was with some trepidation, however, that I travelled to Saginaw on this cold, November day in 1993. Nobody I had talked to had a good thing to say about Saginaw. I was, however, at wit’s end in terms of trying to land a police job. I had tested and/or interviewed in departments in Ann Arbor, Taylor, Dearborn, Grand Rapids, Toledo, Ypsilanti, and a number of other places with little luck. The early ’90s were a bad time to be searching for police jobs. Most municipalities where I applied were posting a handful of jobs and getting hundreds, if not thousands, of applicants. To make matters worse, I was working a job where I was making a decent wage (about $35,000/year) with a company car, and a full benefits package. I needed to find employment with a police department which would sponsor my spot in a police academy. I was not certifiable at the time, which is to say I had not completed a law enforcement training academy, and would still have to attend one, to the tune of about $3,500. I wanted badly to become a police officer, but leaving a good paying job with a company car was one thing. Doing the same, and coughing up $3,500 without the promise of a job after completion of a police academy was a whole different animal.
I had been looking for work for a couple years and was on the late end of 28 when I made the drive North from Belleville to Saginaw in 1993. I had given myself until I turned 30 to make it as a cop. I had less than a year and half left on that deadline and the clock was ticking, especially considering the application process at most departments took anywhere from 6 - 12 months to complete.
When I pulled into the hotel parking lot on the corner of E. Holland and Outer Drive, it didn’t look too bad (it looks much worse today). I had traversed many rough areas in Detroit, Inkster, Ecorse and the like, as a District Loss Prevention Manager for the Arbor Drug Store chain where I employed at the time. But there was something more about the Saginaw area that I picked up on immediately - there was a sense of despair and hopelessness that hung heavy in the air. Maybe it was because of all the negative things I had heard about the town, maybe it was because of the gloomy weather that day, or maybe, just maybe, some cities have been beaten down so badly by fate that an outsider can literally feel the pain of its past and present. Maybe it can be read on the faces of the people in the cars and in the tone of the drive-thru girl at Arbys. Maybe it’s the apathetic way the hotel desk clerk hands you your room key without a smile or the courtesy of friendly small talk. I’m not sure why, but Saginaw that day seemed like the most unfriendly place I had ever visited.
My jog that afternoon was borderline surreal. I had never, until this day, seen poverty and despair so up-close and for so long as I did on my run through Buena Vista Township. Many cops have asked me since reading Beyond Hope? if I was nuts, going for a jog in the neighborhoods where I did. Knowing now what I did not know then, I would not repeat this route.
When I ran past the Buena Vista Township police officer whom I referenced in this chapter, he gave me the same look I would give today if I were he and I were looking at me. My good friend, Saginaw Township Police Officer Russ Uphold, worked in Buena Vista at this time and was able to narrow down for me, based on my physical description, who the officer was that passed me that day. I cannot recall the officer’s name right now, but Russ, at least, got a laugh out of Chapter #1 if only for those few lines.
The day quickly changed to night and I recall getting to sleep pretty quickly after the day’s travel and my eye-opening jog through Buena Vista Township. I was exhausted. When the pounding on my door came in the middle of the night, I was nothing short of panic-stricken. Today I might handle the whole event differently, given my experiences since that night. Today, I might open the door and confront the guys on the other side. Today, I am seldom without a gun, however, so it’s easy to talk the talk now. Back then, I was petrified that I was going to killed (or at least badly beaten) - just one anonymous death at some dumpy anonymous hotel. I thought about my mom for a fleeting moment. This was going to suck for her, burying one of her kids at such a young age. Those thoughts did not linger long, however, as the pounding stopped and I was able to make my way to the door and listen. Little did I know I was also filing away a great story for a book some 16 years down the road. When I heard the guys ramble off to look for the right room (and the right guy to beat up or kill), I was relieved to no end that I would survive this night, or so I hoped. I may have dozed a few times during the rest of the night, but slept very little. Fear has a way of making sleep seem like a luxury you can do without.
The next day, my drive into downtown Saginaw was so surreal that it is forever seared into my memory. When I drove up E. Remington Avenue and turned right onto E. Genesee, it seemed every building was boarded up, vacant or burned out. I could not believe how bad Saginaw looked. What the hell was I doing here? But I pressed on, keeping an eye on the 11-story-high Feige Building in the distance. I wondered how many cops a city like this could possibly employ. Who the hell pays their salaries? Where does anybody work in this town? This was actually a very fun part of the chapter to write, if only because the memories were so vivid I had no problem re-living that drive on paper.
When I got to the Saginaw Police Department, it had a very early-70s dusty brick feel to it, which, sadly, was much more modern than anything else I had seen the past 10 minutes. The interior was very drab and cold. I am not sure who the desk officer was that day, it may have been retired sergeant and then-officer Gil Walton, but there was no smile when I asked where to report for my interview. He silently pointed toward the stairs, probably worn down by the dozens of people who asked him that question every 15 minutes for the past several days. My nervousness faded quickly and was replaced by the thought that not getting this job was not the worst thing that could happen to me.
When my interview started, I felt strong, I felt confident. Most questions, as I expected, were based on racial attitudes and integrity issues. Police employment interviews back then were all very similar, almost to the point of being interchangeable. I made sure to make good eye contact and project my voice while keeping good posture. I was sure my interview panel bought what I was selling until the Deputy Chief on the interview panel told me, ominously (or so I thought) to “Keep working on those communication skills.” I was, as I said in the book, horribly deflated. When I left the SPD that day, I truely thought I would never be back . . . and I was truely not bothered by that thought. Having been called back for more testing, however, and having gained the life experiences I have working the streets of Saginaw, I am glad now they gave me a chance. There were 1,600 applicants for the jobs availble at the SPD in 1993. In May of 1994 only 26 of those applicants, myself included, were hired.
People often ask, usually after reading one or both of my books, if I regret taking this job. It would be easy to assume so considering the negativity of much of my writing about policing Saginaw’s violent streets. I do not regret taking this job for one minute. While I would love to see some improvements in both my city and my police department, and while I have had to deal with a lot of gory things and a lot of truely evil people, I have gained the ability to see the world as it really is, and I have learned how to deal with people at their worst. My job at the Saginaw Police Department has afforded me a wonderful middle-class lifestyle, a lifetime’s worth of memories, and the opportunity to experience life for all it offers, both good and bad. There have been a couple people who have claimed that I made up much of what is found within the pages of my books; they do not believe things such as these could ever happen; they do not want to believe pure evil exsists in this world. Being an urban cop has, more than anything else, blessed me with the opporunity to know the truth about good, about evil, about life and how fragile it can be. I thank God for that every day.
By the way, the Deputy Chief who blind-sided me with the “Keep working on those communications skills” comment the day of my interview at the SPD, was then-SPD Deputy Chief and current Saginaw Circuit Court Judge Darnell Jackson. I ran into him recently. He asked for a copy of Beyond Hope? and said he couldn’t wait to read it. I told him to look for himself on page 14. Funny how life works.
My next entry will cover the chapter known simply as “Mick,” which was one of the most personal chapters in Beyond Hope?
Thanks for stopping by.