Dave Kelly, a burly ex-Marine and ex-street cop, strides to the front of Room 205 at the D.C. police academy, faces two dozen veteran District police officers and lays out a scenario:
"I would tell you to put it back," says Kevin Chapman, 32, an officer for nine years. "We've been in tight situations. There has to be something bothering you. Basically, we're friends. I would try to get to the root of your problem and find out what is wrong."
"But you have already committed the offense," says Officer Michael Day, 35. "I'm not going to tell you to put it back. I'm going to report it."
No, give your partner a second chance, says Officer Wendell Palmer, 27. "I'm forgiving. Put it back. That's not the book way. That's me."
Applause breaks out. And then Kelly breaks in.
"What I wanted to hear is that you would lock my ass up," says Kelly, who was teaching ethics and integrity. "There's only one true, correct answer. I committed a felony in your presence, the presence of a police officer. You can't compromise a felony. I understand the bond between officers. That's human. But we don't have room for thieves."
Kelly asks how Day would be labeled if he locked up his partner.
Snitch. Rat. He'll be whipped in the locker room. He'll be shot at.
"But Officer Day might be held up as an officer who did the right thing," Kelly suggests.
"By the officials, not by us," an officer mutters.
The book vs. the real world. Ideals and reality clashed repeatedly during the two weeks that Class 96-1 spent at the police academy in Southeast Washington for retraining.
They were the first wave in a program that will eventually send 2,700 officers, nearly three-fourths of the District force, back for classes aimed at improving a department widely criticized from both inside and outside. The District's chief prosecutor, U.S. Attorney Eric H. Holder Jr., recently wrote in a harsh and unprecedented public critique that slipshod work by some officers hurts investigations and costs convictions.
"We have to become a more professional police department," said Police Chief Larry D. Soulsby. "We have to realize we're public servants and project the image of a department that is interested in resolving citizens' problems."
The Washington Post sat in for nearly 80 hours with the officers of Class 96-1. The group spanned the spectrum of the police force: three women, five white men, one Latino man and 15 African American men, ages 25 to 45. The officers, who averaged nearly a decade on the force, showed varying aptitudes, dedication and integrity. In terms of competence, Soulsby said in an interview after the two-week session, they were not representative of the department as a whole, but of its extremes.
"You saw some of the best of the best and, unfortunately, some of the worst of the worst," he said.
Before they finished, many would exhibit the pride they have in serving, despite their frustration with relentless public criticism and demoralizing budget cuts that lopped 4.2 percent off their pay last year and have them scraping for equipment. Several, including 4th Police District Officer Joseph Nieciecki and 6th District Officer Teya Warren, would display skill at making life-and-death decisions in trigger-quick time. Nieciecki, Warren and others, including Sgt. Robert Parrucci and Officer Anthony Haythe -- both from the 5th District -- scored high on the final exam.
Although most officers took the training seriously and listened attentively, others were furious at being sent for more schooling, arriving for class late or not at all and reading newspapers during the instruction. Some failed the final exam and a few had trouble getting recertified on the firing range. Many appeared not to know vital legal principles.
In Kelly's class, officers turned in checklists showing that they knew of fellow officers who had lied under oath, done illegal searches, tampered with key information in reports, failed to halt the use of excessive force or stopped a car to "get a better look" at its attractive driver.
"The vast majority of police officers are very honorable and honest people who will not tolerate criminal behavior," Kelly told his class. "But you go down that ethics checklist. This is stuff we see every day and do nothing about."
Not once but several times he told them: "You have to be right and right all the time. Not just adequate but completely above board. And you have to live that way. It's hard.
"If you're going to be a thug, be a thug. If you're going to be a cop, be a cop. You can't be both," he said, quoting New York police officer Frank Serpico.
For Kelly and the other instructors, the retraining session offered a basic challenge: Can two weeks of training offset years of habits learned on the job? Street Smarts
Officers traded knowing glances during a by-the-book session on using handcuffs. The instructor was telling them how to put the cuffs on to prevent both escape and the tightening that leads to injury or an excessive-force complaint.
But a gymnasium isn't the streets, said 4th District Officer Theodore Dyson, 31, a six-year member of the force. When he's handcuffing a struggling suspect with who-knows-what tucked in his waistband, "honestly, at that moment, I'm not going to worry about adjusting no handcuffs" for comfort, Dyson said. "Maybe later, depending on his attitude."
Kelly's ethics lectures clashed with the intense loyalty and code of silence that fuses officers into more than co-workers. A class on paperwork ignited bitter complaints that increasing violence and dwindling personnel and other resources leave no time for thorough reports, let alone in-depth investigations. A diversity workshop uncovered deep-seated prejudices.
"We try to remind them to do it by the book," said Sgt. Grover Fowler, an academy instructor. "But they see things a little differently once they get out there. They have their own method. We're going to try to get them back."
Yet at the end of the two weeks, 4th District Officer Frank Santiago said he didn't believe any instructor could teach them how to be good cops. "They can give the basics, but everyone has their own style," said Santiago, 33, an officer for seven years. "No one can tell you how to police."
It was clear, however, that many needed help with policing basics.
"Can anyone tell me the gist of the Fourth Amendment?" Kelly asked during a class -- and no one raised a hand. He turned to a 12-year officer, who looked embarrassed. ("I caught him with his pants down," Kelly said later.) In the end, Kelly had to give the class the answer: "Under the Fourth Amendment, people are protected against unreasonable searches and seizures." A Primer on Paperwork
The depth of the problem prosecutors have with poorly written and inadequate police reports became apparent when Sgt. Joyce Greenfield distributed a list of the most commonly misspelled words -- including "assault," "arson," "woman," "victim" and "juvenile."
Prosecutors long have complained about the poorly written reports turned in by police as the first description of a crime. Those reports often are used as the basis for further investigation, including lookouts and search and arrest warrants. Unclear or misleading statements in those documents can jeopardize prosecution of criminal cases.
One of the sergeants who was taking the class agreed that poor writing is a big problem.
"Officers need more basic writing skills," said 6th District Sgt. Rosanne Garrett. "I see misspelled words. Words are left out. A lot of times the sentence structure is so bad, it's hard to understand what they're saying."
Greenfield also took class members through a report-writing exercise that tested their accuracy. Some reports came back sloppy, with errors in the value of stolen goods or pieces of evidence left at a crime scene.
Without good information on the first report, Greenfield said, "we might not be able to solve the crime. Allow yourself enough time to ask pertinent questions."
"Every officer would like to conduct a thorough investigation," Officer Chapman countered, "but we don't have time."
The pace is "like a MASH unit," said Officer Steven Pristoop, of the 7th District. "They're always pressuring you to fix it in 30 minutes," said Pristoop, who has been on the force for a decade. "Then {you're} in the car for the next call."
So hurried are their days, said some of the officers, that they often don't read or can't recall many of the updates about new laws or regulations that the department distributes periodically.
In a class on search and seizure, an area that has proved troublesome to both lawyers and judges and is the subject of entire legal textbooks, the class appeared to be entering choppy water.
A few officers were unfamiliar with a 1993 Supreme Court decision stating that officers can seize contraband that they feel during a pat-down only if they can explain how they were able to determine through the pat-down what it was. In other words, instructor Fowler told them: No fishing.
But if an officer's experience tells him to be suspicious, "why can't I search someone if I feel his pocket and I know it's drugs inside?" Chapman asked. That isn't good enough, Fowler said; you'll need to be able to state explicitly how you knew the material in the pocket was drugs.
"Can't you frisk someone anytime?" asked Santiago, who said he oftens wants to frisk people for his own protection. "No," Fowler said. People have a reasonable expectation of privacy, and police need "to have reasonable suspicion" that a crime has been committed or is about to be committed.
The standard is even higher for making an arrest. "When someone asks you why they've been arrested, don't say, I don't know, I'll think of something on the way to the precinct,' " the instructor said. A few officers chuckled.
"These days in court, they're looking for anything to get them off," Fowler said. "You're not only representing the department. You're representing your pocketbook when someone brings a lawsuit."
Fleming Green Jr., an officer for 15 years who now serves in the 4th District, spoke up in one of several angry outbursts he made during the sessions. "When are they going to change the laws about suing the department? So when a guy does something and gets smacked, he can't go and sue," asked Green, 40.
The answer came back short and quick: "Just don't abuse your power." 'Coffee and Doughnuts'
Soulsby, the police chief, has said that most citizen complaints deal with how officers treat them, and to him the diversity class loomed as one of the most important for instilling respect and understanding.
But from the start, the course faced problems. The company that normally runs diversity sessions for 16 hours -- and brings various minority group members to speak -- canceled its contract because it hadn't been paid by the city. The replacement instructors, who were independent consultants, were asked to teach for six hours.
In place of visits, the instructors worked with word associations, asking the officers first to call out stereotypes of police. Everyone talked at once. "Coffee and doughnuts." "Crooked." "Black officers are considered sellouts." "White officers are prejudiced." "Stupid."
"Citizens call us everything," said one. "But when they need us, they sure want us."
"We got so much stress out there. Our lives are eating bad food, rushing from conflict to conflict all night long," said 5th District Officer Bruce Garrett, 32, who has been on the force eight years.
When officers are needed, what expectation does the community have? asked Mahalia Joseph, one of the teachers. Again, the words came back in a flood: "babysitter," "taxicab," "fathers and mothers," "counselor," "mechanic." Does your role conflict with the way the community sees your role? Joseph asked.
"All the time," one yelled out.
"We're human beings, too," said Warren, 29, who joined the force five years ago.
Joseph moved them on to other stereotypes, asking them to write the first word they thought of when they heard "teenagers." They did the same for "homeless," "women," "black males," "white males" and "gays."
Most provoked a mix of reactions. The exception was "gays," which brought no positive -- or even neutral -- associations: "wrong," "weird," "faggots," "AIDS," "ungodly," "don't like 'em" and "immoral."
For all of the concern that officers had about being stereotyped, "each of you could be very negative" about other groups, Joseph said to them. "We all have a lot of work to do."
But the associations provoked by "gays" were left hanging in the air and never addressed head-on by the instructors, who moved on to other exercises. A Slow Start
In the end, Soulsby was disappointed.
Although many officers said they felt that the training had been worthwhile -- "It was excellent," Dyson said. "After being on the street, you don't remember everything, and there's new laws" -- Soulsby wasn't satisfied with Class 96-1.
He had wanted to use it to showcase the importance of retraining by bringing together 24 of the force's best and brightest officers and using the time at the academy to mold them into a cohesive team. The team then would fan out across the city to relieve other officers as they return to the academy. In Soulsby's vision, the elite squad would be so capable that it could drop into any area of the city and go right to work, and its members would be so upstanding that they would serve as role models.
Soulsby didn't get his dream team after the first two weeks.
"I'm not sure the commanders took me seriously when I said this is very important," Soulsby said of the shortcomings. "They picked some officers {for the first class} who are below average and who maybe shouldn't even be in the department. They were just trying to get them out of their districts."
All 24 officers finished the two-week retraining, but after graduation, only 13 were assigned to the elite squad. Soulsby said that of the 11 others, some opted off the team because they wanted to work on other units, but most were cut from the special squad because of disciplinary problems or numerous citizen complaints against them. Though removed from the elite team, those officers have returned to regular patrol.
The emotional roller coaster of being praised when they first arrived at the academy, then whipsawed by rumors of Soulsby's displeasure, then praised again as a team just before some were dumped, angered some of the rejected officers and left others bitter.
To salvage his notion of a special squad, Soulsby sent the 13 successful officers of Class 96-1 back to the academy -- for yet another two-week cycle -- with replacements for the others to try to create a cohesive team.
Yesterday, they began filling in for officers from the 4th District as those officers started retraining. Academy Director Steven L. Cass acknowledged problems with the initial class but said there always are glitches the first time around. He since has returned diversity training to 16 hours rather than six and rehired the firm that brings in representatives of minority groups.
"We're not trying to remake these officers with a single ethic or value system," Cass said. "In an 80-hour session, you can't teach a lifetime of beliefs. But if you can make people think and make them examine their basis for action, then you can modify behavior."
For all of the missteps, Soulsby says his faith in the program remains, and, in fact, the class demonstrated how vital retraining is. Over time, crime statistics, citizen complaints and comments from prosecutors may help gauge how effective the refresher classes prove, but Soulsby isn't waiting for those results to forge ahead.
Every street officer will return to the academy, the chief said. "I have no choice. We're failing the community when our actions are unprofessional and when we're not giving the best service. Through more training, we're only going to get better." CAPTION: D.C. Officers Robert Chapin and Arleen Marsham-West prepare for target practice. In two weeks, they reviewed topics from arrests to CPR. CAPTION: Academy instructor Roland Watson shows Officer Theodore Dyson the correct way to handcuff, but it still is too tight a fit for Officer Robin Blyden. CAPTION: On target: Officer Arleen Marsham-West draws at target practice. She did well on the test and made the elite team. However, a few officers had trouble getting recertified on the firing range. CAPTION: Cram course: Dave Kelly teaches a class in ethics and integrity during an 80-hour review of the 1,040 hours of instruction given to police joining the force. Below, Theodore Dyson practices a hold on fellow officer Robin Blyden at Maurice T. Turner Jr. Education and Training Center. CAPTION: Team building: Police Chief Larry D. Soulsby, right, has instituted the retraining of 2,700 District officers -- nearly 75 percent of the force. "We have to become a more professional police department," he says. Below, Officers Teya Warren, left, Anthony Haythe, James Parker and Robert Chapin get to know each other at the start of a diversity workshop. Here, Haythe and Chapin learn they each grew up in Southeast Washington. CAPTION: A study in concentration: Sgt. Joyce Greenfield, above, leads a class in report- writing, taking the officers through an exercise to test their accuracy. The often poor quality of police paperwork long has been a complaint of prosecutors. Left, Officer Kevin Chapman during an ethics class.
