The Fence - Dick Lehr [38]
In the fast makeover of his life, Mike’s one piece of unfinished business was Providence College. Mike had not returned to Providence following his semester at Morehouse. He became preoccupied with Kimberly, their marriage plans, and starting a family, and he decided he could not start a police career and continue school. “I always knew I could go back to school,” he said. “I didn’t know if I necessarily would have another opportunity to go into the police academy.” When Mike told Kimberly he was going to drop out and apply to the police department, she supported him. They agreed that Mike would complete college later and go on to pursue another goal: a law degree.
Mike passed the civil service exam, filled out the department’s thick application, had a physical, and sailed through a series of interviews. The process included an assessment by a mental health professional who, studying the paperwork and noticing Kimberly’s academic bona fides, joked, “What’s it like being married to someone who’s much, much smarter than you?” Mike laughed. “It’s a matter of opinion,” he retorted.
Soon Mike got the good word: He was in—an affirmative action hire in the new class of recruits that would begin six months of training at the Boston police academy on February 27, 1989. Vince Johnson was one old friend taken aback by Mike’s career move. “I couldn’t believe he was a cop,” he said. “He never seemed the type.” But one of Mike’s former neighbors on Winthrop Street in Roxbury was not surprised. “The profession he chose was a good one for him,” the elderly woman named Seleata said. “He cares about people and always has.”
Following graduation from the police academy, Mike was ready for prime time—and he was assigned to a new station opened by the city to beef up police coverage in the high-crime neighborhoods of Roxbury, Dorchester, and Mattapan. The older station, known as Area B–2, was located in the heart of Roxbury in Dudley Square, just a few blocks from where Mike grew up. The new facility, known as Area B–3, was built a couple miles south on Blue Hill Avenue in the Mattapan neighborhood.
Mike began his probation working as a patrol officer during the day shift. A few months later, Mike jumped at the chance to work a more pro-active assignment. Cornell James asked the rookie to work with him. James, a black officer in his early thirties, was a veteran working nights in plainclothes. His family lived on Whiting Street, a cross street off the Coxes’ Winthrop Street, and the two families knew each other well.
Mike was eager to join James. For a rookie still on probation, working in plainclothes was the fast track. But Mike quickly learned of the assignment’s unique dangers. One night he and Cornell James went after a car thief. Listening to the radio, they heard the suspect had abandoned the car and was fleeing on foot. Mike ran from the cruiser and began heading down a street hoping to cut the suspect off. He was playing a hunch. “I was going to the point where the suspect was going to be at.” He was dressed in street clothes. His badge was on a necklace around his neck, his police ID was in his wallet, and he wore his service belt. But the police identification was mostly concealed. To any bystander, Mike looked like a black man on the run.
Suddenly, a police cruiser raced by and cut directly in front of him. To avoid being hit, Mike leaped and landed on the hood of the car. He tumbled to the ground, and before he could stand up one officer had grabbed him by his shoulders while a second officer had him by the throat. “I couldn’t talk. He was choking me.” Mike was unable to explain who he was even