| The COPPERS |
| "To Serve and Protect" -- Police motto To Serve and Collect -- Author Richard Lindberg "A crook is a crook, and there's something healthy about his frankness in the matter. But the guy who pretends he's enforcing the law and steals on his authority is a swell snake.... A hard-working crook can buy these birds by the dozens, but he hates them in his heart." -- Al Capone "New York's Finest" --Probably some mayor |
The American legal system had its roots in British common law, but in an
underpopulated, rapidly expanding nation that rejected a strong central
government, lawmaking and law enforcement were deliberately relegated to
state and local authorities who put together an amazing patchwork of statutes
reflecting regional conditions and priorities. So law enforcement was highly
politicized from the start, and crime control largely a do-it-yourself proposition.
Sheriffs, marshals, posses, vigilance committees and private detective agencies
like the Pinkertons and the Burns Agency were "the law" where there was no
law, and where dangerous criminals (plus a few horse thieves) were jailed,
hung, or killed in gun battles. Lesser lawbreaking was handled out of court one
way or another, or adjudicated by a Justice of the Peace with a minimum of legal
formalities. Judge Roy Bean wasn't "The Law West of the Pecos" for nothing.
Despite its reputation for lawlessness, in the sparsely settled West citizens
felt a moral duty to protect one another, and in most ways the towns were safer
than the nation's cities. Even when municipal governments began establishing
official police departments in the mid-19th century, in places like Chicago and
New York no sensible person ventured out at night without a sword cane or
pocket pistol; and it was not until 1911 that New York City passed the Sullivan
Act, which prohibited the unlicensed carrying of guns. Increased demands for
police professionalism included departments that, at least in theory, were
responsible to the mayor or his personal representative, such as a chief or a
commissioner.
Despite the rise of civil service formalities and fledgling efforts to institute
training, the typical metropolitan police district remained nearly autonomous,
ruled by a captain who had more practical authority than his superiors. He was
the instrument of his ward boss's own law-enforcement policies and employed
politically loyal patrolmen who kept the peace with their nightsticks. Municipal
codes were enforced (or ignored) differently from one ethnic neighborhood to
another, accommodating the vice operations that paid for protection and were
acceptable to local residents, who didn't have much choice in the matter
Citizens correctly regarded city police as the private army of whichever party
was in power. Justice, at least at the neighborhood level, was commonly
dispensed by a ward boss who held his own form of court without legal
authority, but sometimes with enough impartiality to gain a reputation for
fairness and commonsense decisions that avoided tedious legal wrangling in a
formal, often fixed, courtroom trial. In a good murder case, where the shooter
might be collared with his still-smoking gun, the life-expectancy of a prosecution
witness usually was short.
The Progressive Movement had included public safety among its campaigns
for civic reforms, but it was not until the 1920s that such efforts produced
substantial changes in law-enforcement organization, strategies and
performance. These occurred largely in response to the dramatic increase in
crime that followed the World War and coincided with Prohibition--at least
among the cops not on some mob's payroll, and maybe picking up extra bucks by
riding shotgun on booze trucks traversing enemy territory.
Actual holdups by armed men always caused a local commotion, but state
police were mainly paper organizations, and county or local authorities were so
uncoordinated that before cars entered the picture such crimes still were called
"highway robberies," an expression left over from the days when desperadoes
on horseback waylaid stagecoaches. But after the World War the country was
confronted with a revival of outlawry in the form of "motorized bandits" who
were striking it rich by holding up banks, payroll messengers, and even
gambling spots, creating turmoil in both towns and cities whose police had
limited means of pursuit or communication.
Many foreign countries were far ahead of the U.S. in every phase of police
work, from organization and administration to the forensic sciences. In the U.S.,
police departments were slower in acquiring automobiles and motorcycles and
better weapons, compiling statistics, setting up identification bureaus, and
discovering radio and the teletype. Fingerprinting gradually became a long
overdue replacement for the complicated Bertillon system of physical
measurements imported thirty years earlier from France, and which stayed on
many police identification cards, below the fingerprint boxes, throughout the
Twenties. Even ballistics testing did not find wide use or legal acceptance until
1929, when the St. Valentine's Day Massacre inspired some wealthy Chicagoans
to personally fund the establishment of this country's first Scientific Crime
Detection Laboratory -- one more advanced in firearm and bullet comparisons,
but otherwise like those used in other countries for many years. The progress of
police professionalism in America during this period can be crudely measured
by the ongoing debate over use of the "third degree" on criminal suspects, and
testimonials promoting the whipping post.
A revolution in crime control and the triumph of professionalism occurred by
political happenstance when President Franklin D. Roosevelt all but reversed
the country's antiquated law-enforcement philosophy, policies and practices. In
response to a heavily promoted crime wave featuring a new crop of public
enemies (by now a term applied mainly by the press to describe any
headline-making outlaw), Congress reluctantly passed a series of
unprecedented federal laws that would ultimately make J. Edgar Hoover the
world's most celebrated crime fighter. Hoover used every trick in the book to
promote the image of his special agents as a new breed of incorruptible
scientific investigator (with a few experienced gunfighters quietly thrown in)
and to set an example for the nation's state and municipal police agencies,
whether they liked it or not.
Once Justice Department publicity made the G-man a national hero and role
model, local departments had to swallow their resentment of FBI grandstanding
and join the program, or appear as backward and corrupt as many actually were.
Some resisted reform, but no longer had the luxury of near autonomy and
selective enforcement policies that existed well into the Public Enemy era -- as
perpetuated by newspapers and mistakenly attributed to the FBI.
underpopulated, rapidly expanding nation that rejected a strong central
government, lawmaking and law enforcement were deliberately relegated to
state and local authorities who put together an amazing patchwork of statutes
reflecting regional conditions and priorities. So law enforcement was highly
politicized from the start, and crime control largely a do-it-yourself proposition.
Sheriffs, marshals, posses, vigilance committees and private detective agencies
like the Pinkertons and the Burns Agency were "the law" where there was no
law, and where dangerous criminals (plus a few horse thieves) were jailed,
hung, or killed in gun battles. Lesser lawbreaking was handled out of court one
way or another, or adjudicated by a Justice of the Peace with a minimum of legal
formalities. Judge Roy Bean wasn't "The Law West of the Pecos" for nothing.
Despite its reputation for lawlessness, in the sparsely settled West citizens
felt a moral duty to protect one another, and in most ways the towns were safer
than the nation's cities. Even when municipal governments began establishing
official police departments in the mid-19th century, in places like Chicago and
New York no sensible person ventured out at night without a sword cane or
pocket pistol; and it was not until 1911 that New York City passed the Sullivan
Act, which prohibited the unlicensed carrying of guns. Increased demands for
police professionalism included departments that, at least in theory, were
responsible to the mayor or his personal representative, such as a chief or a
commissioner.
Despite the rise of civil service formalities and fledgling efforts to institute
training, the typical metropolitan police district remained nearly autonomous,
ruled by a captain who had more practical authority than his superiors. He was
the instrument of his ward boss's own law-enforcement policies and employed
politically loyal patrolmen who kept the peace with their nightsticks. Municipal
codes were enforced (or ignored) differently from one ethnic neighborhood to
another, accommodating the vice operations that paid for protection and were
acceptable to local residents, who didn't have much choice in the matter
Citizens correctly regarded city police as the private army of whichever party
was in power. Justice, at least at the neighborhood level, was commonly
dispensed by a ward boss who held his own form of court without legal
authority, but sometimes with enough impartiality to gain a reputation for
fairness and commonsense decisions that avoided tedious legal wrangling in a
formal, often fixed, courtroom trial. In a good murder case, where the shooter
might be collared with his still-smoking gun, the life-expectancy of a prosecution
witness usually was short.
The Progressive Movement had included public safety among its campaigns
for civic reforms, but it was not until the 1920s that such efforts produced
substantial changes in law-enforcement organization, strategies and
performance. These occurred largely in response to the dramatic increase in
crime that followed the World War and coincided with Prohibition--at least
among the cops not on some mob's payroll, and maybe picking up extra bucks by
riding shotgun on booze trucks traversing enemy territory.
Actual holdups by armed men always caused a local commotion, but state
police were mainly paper organizations, and county or local authorities were so
uncoordinated that before cars entered the picture such crimes still were called
"highway robberies," an expression left over from the days when desperadoes
on horseback waylaid stagecoaches. But after the World War the country was
confronted with a revival of outlawry in the form of "motorized bandits" who
were striking it rich by holding up banks, payroll messengers, and even
gambling spots, creating turmoil in both towns and cities whose police had
limited means of pursuit or communication.
Many foreign countries were far ahead of the U.S. in every phase of police
work, from organization and administration to the forensic sciences. In the U.S.,
police departments were slower in acquiring automobiles and motorcycles and
better weapons, compiling statistics, setting up identification bureaus, and
discovering radio and the teletype. Fingerprinting gradually became a long
overdue replacement for the complicated Bertillon system of physical
measurements imported thirty years earlier from France, and which stayed on
many police identification cards, below the fingerprint boxes, throughout the
Twenties. Even ballistics testing did not find wide use or legal acceptance until
1929, when the St. Valentine's Day Massacre inspired some wealthy Chicagoans
to personally fund the establishment of this country's first Scientific Crime
Detection Laboratory -- one more advanced in firearm and bullet comparisons,
but otherwise like those used in other countries for many years. The progress of
police professionalism in America during this period can be crudely measured
by the ongoing debate over use of the "third degree" on criminal suspects, and
testimonials promoting the whipping post.
A revolution in crime control and the triumph of professionalism occurred by
political happenstance when President Franklin D. Roosevelt all but reversed
the country's antiquated law-enforcement philosophy, policies and practices. In
response to a heavily promoted crime wave featuring a new crop of public
enemies (by now a term applied mainly by the press to describe any
headline-making outlaw), Congress reluctantly passed a series of
unprecedented federal laws that would ultimately make J. Edgar Hoover the
world's most celebrated crime fighter. Hoover used every trick in the book to
promote the image of his special agents as a new breed of incorruptible
scientific investigator (with a few experienced gunfighters quietly thrown in)
and to set an example for the nation's state and municipal police agencies,
whether they liked it or not.
Once Justice Department publicity made the G-man a national hero and role
model, local departments had to swallow their resentment of FBI grandstanding
and join the program, or appear as backward and corrupt as many actually were.
Some resisted reform, but no longer had the luxury of near autonomy and
selective enforcement policies that existed well into the Public Enemy era -- as
perpetuated by newspapers and mistakenly attributed to the FBI.