The Turnaround: How America's Top Cop Reversed the Crime Epidemic by William Bratton, Peter Knobler Page A
Authors: William Bratton, Peter Knobler
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disappeared. Some of my friends still lived there, but I found that by and large most of my neighborhood—my parents included—had moved out to the suburbs and been replaced by a largely Hispanic and black community. Right after Christmas 1969, after spending a month living with her parents in Duxbury, Linda and I moved into a one-bedroom apartment outside of Boston in Weymouth.
The City of Boston didn't give a civil-service exam every year, and when they did, the Boston Police Department didn't always hire from it. Depending on budget and politics, some years no one got hired at all. That was out of my control. I had waited all my life to take the Boston police exam, and when one was finally scheduled for early 1970, I was ready.
I set my alarm very early the day of the test. The rest of my life would depend on this, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time. I'm the kind of guy who likes to get places early, settle in, and get comfortable. I woke up that morning to find that it was snowing like crazy. It was February, and a blizzard had blown in, a real nor'easter. The roads were icy and piled high with snow. It was going to be slow going.
The exam was being held at Boston Latin, the old school I had flunked out of. It was a fifteen-mile drive from my home, and I allowed an hourand a half to make the trip. Half a mile from my apartment, just as I was heading onto the Route 3 expressway, the car died. I was on the ramp, in the middle of a blizzard, and the most important test in my life was going to begin in exactly ninety minutes.
I slammed the door, ran up the ramp, and was lucky enough to find a pay phone that worked. I called my father. No answer at the house. Where were they at eight o'clock in the morning? In any event, by the time he got down from Milton, I'd never make it.
I called my sister Pat. She lived the next town over in Quincy. She was home. Down she came, boots and a winter jacket over her pajamas, in her ’61 Ford Falcon. Pat was a bit of a character, she had a presidential seal on the side of her car; it wasn't exactly the Seal of the President of the United States—it had some cockamamie saying on it—but it looked official. I left my Mustang on the side of the ramp and hopped in with her. When we could get up any speed at all, we skidded and plowed and slogged into the city. I was a complete basket case: Am I going to get there? Am I going to get there?
We pulled up in front of the school two minutes before they locked the doors. I ran inside, sweating and crazy, and took the test. I passed.
By the end of August, Boston's newly elected mayor, Kevin White, announced he had signed a contract with the recently formed police union that guaranteed the force two-man cars and a “four-and-two” work shift, four days on and two days off. Before this time, Boston cops had worked horrendous schedules with no overtime and no paid time for court appearances, conditions that had in large part contributed to the creation of one of the country's first police unions. Mayor White, new in office and eager to make an impression, was looking to enhance the police department, and he met many of the union's demands. To staff it, he was going to have to hire a lot of new police. Hallelujah!
As well as passing the written exam, to become a member of the Boston police, you had to pass a physical. It was pretty demanding; being a cop is a strenuous job. You had to climb a rope to the ceiling; you had to run a mile in a qualifying time; you had to climb a ladder, pick up a 150-pound dummy, throw it over your shoulder, and climb back down; you had to jump in a pool and swim one hundred yards—all in the space of one hour.
I went to the Cambridge YMCA and trained rigorously, except for the swim. I was then and still am deathly afraid of water, and I had never learned how to swim. I desperately wanted to be a police officer, but I didn't see how I could pass.
When I got the notice to report for my physical, I was in
The City of Boston didn't give a civil-service exam every year, and when they did, the Boston Police Department didn't always hire from it. Depending on budget and politics, some years no one got hired at all. That was out of my control. I had waited all my life to take the Boston police exam, and when one was finally scheduled for early 1970, I was ready.
I set my alarm very early the day of the test. The rest of my life would depend on this, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time. I'm the kind of guy who likes to get places early, settle in, and get comfortable. I woke up that morning to find that it was snowing like crazy. It was February, and a blizzard had blown in, a real nor'easter. The roads were icy and piled high with snow. It was going to be slow going.
The exam was being held at Boston Latin, the old school I had flunked out of. It was a fifteen-mile drive from my home, and I allowed an hourand a half to make the trip. Half a mile from my apartment, just as I was heading onto the Route 3 expressway, the car died. I was on the ramp, in the middle of a blizzard, and the most important test in my life was going to begin in exactly ninety minutes.
I slammed the door, ran up the ramp, and was lucky enough to find a pay phone that worked. I called my father. No answer at the house. Where were they at eight o'clock in the morning? In any event, by the time he got down from Milton, I'd never make it.
I called my sister Pat. She lived the next town over in Quincy. She was home. Down she came, boots and a winter jacket over her pajamas, in her ’61 Ford Falcon. Pat was a bit of a character, she had a presidential seal on the side of her car; it wasn't exactly the Seal of the President of the United States—it had some cockamamie saying on it—but it looked official. I left my Mustang on the side of the ramp and hopped in with her. When we could get up any speed at all, we skidded and plowed and slogged into the city. I was a complete basket case: Am I going to get there? Am I going to get there?
We pulled up in front of the school two minutes before they locked the doors. I ran inside, sweating and crazy, and took the test. I passed.
By the end of August, Boston's newly elected mayor, Kevin White, announced he had signed a contract with the recently formed police union that guaranteed the force two-man cars and a “four-and-two” work shift, four days on and two days off. Before this time, Boston cops had worked horrendous schedules with no overtime and no paid time for court appearances, conditions that had in large part contributed to the creation of one of the country's first police unions. Mayor White, new in office and eager to make an impression, was looking to enhance the police department, and he met many of the union's demands. To staff it, he was going to have to hire a lot of new police. Hallelujah!
As well as passing the written exam, to become a member of the Boston police, you had to pass a physical. It was pretty demanding; being a cop is a strenuous job. You had to climb a rope to the ceiling; you had to run a mile in a qualifying time; you had to climb a ladder, pick up a 150-pound dummy, throw it over your shoulder, and climb back down; you had to jump in a pool and swim one hundred yards—all in the space of one hour.
I went to the Cambridge YMCA and trained rigorously, except for the swim. I was then and still am deathly afraid of water, and I had never learned how to swim. I desperately wanted to be a police officer, but I didn't see how I could pass.
When I got the notice to report for my physical, I was in
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