Criminal - Becoming Chief Brown

Episode Date: June 16, 2017

Shortly after David Brown was sworn in as the Dallas Chief of Police, his son shot and killed a police officer. Just before he retired as chief, 5 Dallas officers were shot and killed in what was said to be the deadliest attack for police officers since September 11th, 2001. Today on the show, we ask David Brown how he’s changed after 33 years of policing. Say hello on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Sign up for our occasional newsletter, The Accomplice. Follow the show and review us on Apple Podcasts: iTunes.com/CriminalShow. We also make This is Love and Phoebe Reads a Mystery. Artwork by Julienne Alexander. Check out our online shop.  Episode transcripts are posted on our website. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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involving homicide detectives, ghost hunters, and even psychic mediums, and leads him to a dark secret about his own family. Check out Ghost Story, a series essential pick, completely ad-free on Apple Podcasts. Cops can sometimes make bad things worse.

And cops know this as well. You know, there are some cops that I wouldn't want to ride with. They ratchet things up and can't de-escalate things, say things to make everybody angry again, or just start people to go and edit with you, causing you to be the villain when they're fighting each other because they have no control of their temperament. So there are bad cops. Yes, without question.

Cops will tell you that as well. And I would say not bad cops, people who should not be police officers. This is former Dallas police chief David Brown. He was born in 1960 in the Oak Cliff neighborhood of Dallas, a predominantly African-American community where his family had lived for three generations. His father was in and out of the picture. His mother did most of the parenting of David Brown and his two brothers, Calvin and Ricky. I was unaware that I was growing up in the poor parts of town and that it was segregated, but it was very much segregated.

I was very much in the, you know, underserved part of Dallas at the time. What do you remember about police when you're young? I mean, I think I have this idea of what I used to think about cops when I was a little girl. I wonder what your first thoughts of the police were. You wanted to avoid the police at all costs, just based on the perceptions from the adults. The adults didn't care for the police and how they treated them.

The adults in my life when I was a young child grew up in Jim Crow, separate but equal. So they had the most negative views of police. And I caught on to their reactions to police. They just tried to avoid them, and I did the same. When you were growing up, were the police in your community all white? Yes. I very rarely ever saw an African-American or Hispanic police officer,

and the record reflects that after becoming a cop. There's just a long history of it being predominantly a white male profession. His family had warned him to stay away from the police since he was a little boy. So when he told them he was going to leave college early and apply to the police academy, they couldn't believe it. His father said, cops mistreat people in the community. Still, in July of 1983, he showed up at the Dallas police headquarters and filled out an application. He was accepted and began the 17-week training. During the day, he'd attend lectures and firearm training, and at night, change diapers and feed his infant son.

At the police academy, he made good friends with a fellow trainee, a military veteran who was much older. His name was Walter Williams. Walter Williams and David Brown graduated from the police academy at the same time, just before the holidays. They were given badges and guns, and both assigned to the Oak Cliff neighborhood of Dallas, which meant David Brown ended up patrolling the streets where he grew up and sometimes arresting people he'd gone to school with. My neighborhood was particularly hit really hard by the crack cocaine epidemic of young kids experimenting with crack cocaine, becoming addicted, and subsequent violence. And that was your hope, is that you'd make your neighborhood safer.

I was so naive. I was actually on the side of the cracklehead epidemic. I was that naive. I was going to come in, swoop in like Superman in a couple years, make my whole neighborhood safe. And it wasn't just the neighborhood. It was my mother lived there. All of my friends lived there, and their parents lived there. These were people I knew. This is more personal than just coming back to a quote unquote neighborhood. It was people that I was trying to protect.

Were you hoping in some way that you could change the perception African-American teenagers and also, I guess, your father had about the police? The most honest answer is no. I was intent on putting drug dealers in jail. And I had the view of, let's put them all in jail, let God sort them out. I was complicit with the mass incarceration failures in this country and did not look beyond the booking the person in jail. So short-sighted, 21 years old, 22 years old, with no thoughts that there wouldn't be enough jail bed space to arrest your way out of crime. David Brown and Walter Williams often rode together as partners in those early days. Their shift was 2.30 in the afternoon to 10.30 at night. When they didn't ride together, they'd check in the next morning

and brag about who'd arrested more people. They'd talk about how to get promoted within the department. One of us needs to be chief, Walter Williams said. Thirty years later, David Brown would go on to become chief of the Dallas police. And six weeks after that, his son would shoot and kill a police officer. I'm Phoebe Judge. This is Criminal. Back in 1988, David Brown was promoted to crime scene investigator at a time when the crime rate in Dallas was at an all-time high, the third highest in the country.

Do you remember those early calls and would your heart start beating fast? Would you get nervous walking up to that door, not knowing what was on the other side? Yes, and it's addictive. What you described, that's an adrenaline rush. It's not only your heart beating fast, but you get a dry mouth, your sensory is overloaded, and you just get wide-eyed and your head's on a swivel, and you get attached to that feeling. And most cops love being in that environment because they're able to, like an athletic event,

do it over and over, you get really good at it, and not knowing what's going to happen is the attraction to the job, particularly for many young cops. As a crime scene investigator, he worked the graveyard shift. One night in August of 1988, he got a call for assistance at an apartment complex in Oak Cliff. When he got there, he learned from patrol officers that a domestic violence call had gone wrong, and a man hiding in the bushes had shot a police officer.

I was taking pictures. I was collecting fragments of evidence on the ground, you know, looking at blood splattered on the ground and just trying to figure out what happened based on the evidence. And I saw a pair of glasses and they looked familiar. And I asked who had been involved in this police-involved shooting. And the sergeant there says, oh, a guy named Walter Williams. And the ground shook under me. My heart dropped. I could not believe it. And I raced to the hospital. And what did you find when you got there? He had been shot in the head. And officers had gotten his wife, Joanne Williams, and brought her to the hospital and were there. He wasn't expected to make it. And so I did wife Joanne Williams and brought her to the hospital and we're there he he wasn't

expected to make it and and so I did what Joanne wanted me to do and sit with her two teenage kids and one very minor child and all night until she called and said that the doctor says he's he's brain dead and wanted me to get permission to basically pull the plug. And wanted my advice on what to do. I'm 28 years old. I don't know what to tell her. And I tell her what I think is right. I said, don't do it. Just give Walter every chance to make it. And you'd regret it for the rest of your life.

And she didn't give that permission. But by the time she got off the phone with me and walked back to check on Walter, he had passed. It devastated me to my core. All of my belief systems just... I didn't know what to believe, but I didn't understand as a 20-year-old how bad things happen to good people. I did not understand that at all, and it didn't seem fair. I would learn much later that that's... that our faith or our goodness doesn't protect us from tragedy. I would learn much later that that's, that our faith or our goodness doesn't protect us from tragedy. I learned that much later. I did not know that at 28 and I wanted to quit the department and I was unable to function and I was torn with how to go on.

But he didn't quit the department. Two years later, he took and passed the sergeant's exam and was assigned to the 911 and dispatch centers in the basement of City Hall, managing 911 operators. This was 1991, the same year that Dallas set a homicide record with more than 500 murders.

Many were drug-related. I had demonized those people. I had no compassion for them at all. Actually, I had disdain for them. I wanted them in jail, out of my neighborhood. I blamed them for the deterioration of my neighborhood. The drug user and the drug dealer. I made no distinction at all.

And I was wrong. I was so wrong. And only no distinction at all. And I was wrong. I was so wrong. And only through my brother's death did I realize it. Will you tell me what happened to him? I heard that my brother, who was a truck driver, had made a stop in Phoenix, Arizona, and went to purchase some crack and smoked it, and it wasn't, it was fake. Apparently went back to either get his money back or get the drug, got in a fight, and the drug dealer shot and killed him. I never called the police department to find out the details.

I didn't want to know. I didn't see how it would bring him back. And I can imagine that you, having seen yourself as the guy who was going to come in and clean up all this drug stuff and make everything better, that must have been a hard blow to hear about your brother and what had happened. Yes, yes, definitely. And it made me humble. It stripped away my judgmental attitude toward people who use drugs. Because I came into the profession as a police officer and I condemned them as

people that need to be put in jail who had no compassion for me, no empathy for me at all. When drug addiction hits close to home, it will make you reconsider your holier-than-thou attitude toward people. I was no better than him. I just didn't have that experience. I didn't have that experimentation. David Brown says that in a strange way, working at the 911 dispatch center

helped him cope with the death of his brother. A constant flow of emergencies, he says, puts your grief in perspective. But after 18 months there, he was ready to work outside again. He took the SWAT sergeant exam, and soon after, he had a new position, the most competitive and physically demanding in the department. In 1993, Bill Clinton visited Dallas, and SWAT officers were part of the president's protection team. By now, David Brown's son, D.J., was 11 years old, and when he heard his father might meet the president, he asked if he

could come too. D.J. shook hands with both Bill and Hillary Clinton, and then Hillary Clinton invited D.J. on board Air Force One to look around. After seven years on the SWAT team, David Brown was promoted to lieutenant and was assigned to community policing. He wasn't happy about that at all. It seems to me that SWAT and community policing are about as opposite ends of the spectrum as you could possibly be.

SWAT is Special Weapons and Tactics. And the line that best describes SWAT is that when citizens need the police, they call 911. When the police need help, they call SWAT. That's the best line I can give on what SWAT is in the policing culture. And we're lacking no self-esteem at all. We're pretty arrogant folks, but when you get held hostage, that's who you want coming, someone with that kind of arrogance that we're going to be able to save the hostage and end this siege without problems.

So that's SWAT. And so that's in contrast to community policing where you're making meetings in the community and trying to establish a relationship. A lot of sit-downs over Kool-Aid and cookies and a lot of playing with kids in the park. Very little, probably no traditional policing, no writing tickets, no answering calls, just creating interactions with the public that are positive. How long did it take you to stop being mad about this new reassignment? I talked to a grandmother who looked like my great-grandmother, Mabel Henderson, who was the matriarch of my family. She looked like her, had mannerisms like her, and I stopped and talked with her, and we could have talked all night. I felt like this is why I came into policing, and how did I get so distracted with self-serving,

you know, adrenaline-rushing activities that did not meet the needs of the citizens that I loved. And that grandmother in the housing development there in West Dallas reminded me of what public service was all about. It was about serving the public, not serving yourself. He even gave out his personal cell phone number to residents. He'd been so successful in every role he was assigned at the department, people started to take notice. He was promoted to second-in-command, and finally to chief. He was 50 years old. When he heard the news, he immediately called his mother. She told him to

be careful, just as she had back in 1983 when he told her he was going to become an officer. At his swearing-in ceremony, he says he kept thinking of his friend, Walter Williams. He was sworn in on May 5, 2010. Support for Criminal comes from Apple Podcasts. Each month, Apple Podcasts highlights one series worth your attention, and they call these series essentials. This month, they recommend Wondery's Ghost Story, a seven-part series that follows journalist Tristan Redman as he tries to get to the bottom of a ghostly presence in his childhood home.

His investigation takes him on a journey involving homicide detectives, ghost hunters, and even psychic mediums, and leads him to a dark secret about his own family. Check out Ghost Story, a series essential pick, completely ad-free on Apple Podcasts. Hey, it's Scott Galloway, and on our podcast, Pivot, we are bringing you a special series about the basics of artificial intelligence. We're answering all your questions, what should you use it for, what tools are right for you? And what privacy issues should you ultimately watch out for? And to help us out, we are joined by Kylie Robeson, the senior AI reporter for The Verge, to give you a primer on how to integrate AI into your life. So tune into AI Basics, How and When to Use AI, a special series from Pivot sponsored by AWS, wherever you get your podcasts.

Six weeks later, on Father's Day, David Brown was in church when his phone rang. He didn't answer. The caller was a police chief from a suburb of Dallas. He left a voicemail saying that his son DJ had gotten into an argument with his girlfriend and that officers had been called to the scene but everything was fine the girlfriend had decided to go stay with her parents for the night he said I just wanted to let you know give you a heads up um so I didn't try to call DJ on his on his cell phone and it rolled over to his voicemail and I just told him

to call me I didn't mention the phone call I had got and I wanted him to tell me exactly what was going on without me being accusatory. I just wanted to hear from him and I was hoping to give him some relationship advice and to go apologize to his girlfriend and say you're sorry. No matter what happened, you just, you take the first steps to say you're sorry. The next phone call I get is from detectives at the scene there at his apartment describing something that I just could not believe. I could not believe. DJ had shot and killed a man he didn't know in the parking lot of his apartment complex.

Neighbors called the police, and when an officer arrived, DJ shot and killed the officer. Many more officers arrived, and DJ was killed by police gunfire. He was 27 years old. The pain was unbearable. The same type of unyielding pain. Take the breath away. It darkens the room and it isolates you from your reality. I mean, you just don't think it's real.

PCP was found in his system, which David Brown says may have triggered a bipolar episode. He didn't know his son was struggling with bipolar disorder until it was too late. After that, every time he dealt with cases involving mental illness, David Brown says he thought of DJ. How do you square being a police officer, a police chief, and a father in a situation like that? You don't. There's no squaring. No, there's no squaring. There's no practical way. There's no step, do this on the first step and do this on the second. This is what you got to do. There's no advice that helps, that eases the pain. There's no logical way to approach that particular incident, that happening in my life. It's that small, taking a deep breath and, okay, thank you, Lord. Thank you for helping me. And here's the strangest thing about it is

everything that you know about yourself and life is stripped away to its core. And it's what's ever there helps you get through. He returned to his work as chief weeks later and threw himself in headfirst. He immediately began expanding the community policing program in Dallas. He partnered with the University of North Texas at Dallas to study what wasn't working in his department. As chief, he'd changed the way the department disciplined officers. If an officer used excessive force, Chief Brown fired them.

He says he wanted to send the message that officers can't abuse the very people they're supposed to protect. And then, on July 5, 2016, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, two white police officers were arresting a 37-year-old African-American man named Alton Sterling. He was pinned to the ground when at least one of the officers shot him. The very next day, in Falcon Heights, Minnesota, a police officer fatally shot 32-year-old Philando Castile in his car. His girlfriend filmed and live-streamed the shooting on Facebook. He just shot his arm off. We got pulled over on Larpiner. I told him not to reach for it. I told him to get his head off it. He had, you told him to get his ID, sir, his driver's license.

Oh, my God, please don't tell me he's dead. Please don't tell me my boyfriend just went like that. Keep your hands where they are, please. Yes, I will, sir. I'll keep my hands where they are. On July 7th, people in cities all over the country gathered to protest the shootings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. They were two of 963 people killed by police officers in 2016, according to the Washington Post database. A protest was planned in downtown Dallas, and organizers had been in communication with the Dallas police so everyone would know what to expect from everyone else. And at 7 p.m., more than 800 people gathered.

I was at work that whole day until the protests began to disperse. And they began to disperse, and I began to tell the second-in-command there at the police department that, well, I'm headed home, let me know when the last protester leaves. At 8.58 p.m., someone opened fire. At first, no one knew where the bullets were coming from. Protesters began running. It became clear that the shooter was not aiming for civilians, but specifically

aiming at police officers. Protesters scattering in panic as their peaceful march against officer-involved shootings wound down. I would say probably about 20 gunshots, rapid succession. I think they might have got somebody. One witness catching the standoff unfolding from the ground. Police exchanging gunfire for over 45 minutes while trying to negotiate. And there's somebody else down over there. One officer trying to catch the shooter off guard.

I was having conversations with people and watching social media. People were just saying, the world seems like it's going upside down. Yes, and I couldn't afford to be distracted on all the scenarios of what could go wrong. I could only afford to be focused on making the right decisions. What's the right decision? What's the best decision? What protects life?

I only focused on, I was clear-headed enough to know how critical the decision making would be. So this is a person of interest. As you can see, they're in camouflage and they have a rifle strap slung with a rifle butt sticking up. And so if anyone knows or recognizes this picture, please immediately call 911. Do not approach this suspect. We'll bring him to justice. The shooter was a 25-year-old Army veteran named Micah Johnson. He was using a high-powered assault rifle and killed five officers. Seven more officers and two civilians

were wounded. Johnson made his way to the El Centro Community College, where he took cover at the end of a long hallway. And he's continuing to threaten to kill more officers. He's laughing about having killed the officers that he had shot. And he's threatening that he has bombs all over downtown, that he's placed bombs everywhere downtown. And we negotiate with him for, it's nearing four hours of negotiation. Most of the solutions the police would normally employ had the potential to harm another officer.

And even if that potential was small, David Brown wouldn't take the risk. There had already been too many wounded. He told his team that he wanted to hear as many new ideas as possible. The commander, Bill Humphrey, explains to me this idea of using the bomb robot in a way that had never been used in American policing to basically weaponize the bomb robot. Wrap a pound of C4 on the extension arms of the robot and distract Michael Johnson through negotiations, you know, get him to talking and get him agitated so he doesn't hear the humming noise because the robot makes a humming noise down the hallway and that we can get it close enough because he would be ranting, which is exactly what happened.

The negotiator asked him, so why are you killing officers? And that sent him into a rant. And while he was ranting, the robot gets close enough to him to be detonated, and it kills him, and the siege is over. And if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same decision. Your job is not only to control the city, but also you're kind of the head, the ceremonial head, and also the real head of the department. What was it like for you to have to deal with the families

of these police officers who had died and those trips to the hospital? I imagine you were there around the wounded officers. Yes, it was, still is hard to imagine their wives and girlfriends and mothers and fathers and brothers and cousins. I mean, just everyone just torn that this happened to someone they loved. They just really ripped apart the hearts of the people that loved them, particularly the widows. And many of these officers had young kids, but old enough to know what was happening.

And you know, at least I knew, having sat with Walter Williams, two teenagers, and his third child was 10 years old. I knew specifically how it felt. I sat there. At 28 years old when Walter died, I don't know what to say to his wife, Joanne. I don't know what to say to his kids. I'm sitting there just mumbling and fumbling and stumbling. I'm as grieved as they are. I can't function.

They looked at me for support. I don't know what to say at 28 when July 7th happens because I had lived through that. I knew that this family could make it, that it would be hard. And I knew that some families would blame the chief and the police department for what happened and that you just don't defend yourself, just take the blame.

Eight weeks later, he announced his retirement. It surprised a lot of people. He was 55 years old and had been a police officer for 33 years. We don't get to hear the police speak too often. Maybe sound bites here or there, press releases vetted all the way up the chain of command. So we were glad to spend some time talking with Chief Brown, to hear what he believes, and all those things that he used to believe that he's lost along the way. Criminal is produced by Lauren Spohr, Nadia Wilson, and me.

Audio mix by Rob Byers and Johnny Vince Evans. Special thanks to Mary Helen Montgomery. Julian Alexander makes original illustrations for each episode of Criminal. You can see them at thisiscriminal.com, where we've got a link to David Brown's book, Culturize. Say hi to us on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

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