Total Misconduct

A True Story of Police and Polictical Corruption

by Samuel Clark

This book presents a detailed account of corruption and official misconduct within the police department of the City of Newark, New Jersey. To some, the shocking events described in this book may appear to be exaggerated. Unfortunately, they are not.

Samuel Clark, a former police lieutenant and veteran police officer of more than 25 years, worked with a handful of brave police officers to expose the existence of wide spread police corruption in the Newark Police Department. These officers presented documentary evidence of serious police corruption to local and state politicians, a county prosecutor, the State Attorney General, the U. S. Attorney General, and the FBI. Nevertheless, no elected official or taxpayer funded law enforcement agency intervened to put an end to the corruption or to protect the whistle-blowing officers from retaliation.

Why did elected officials and government law enforcement agencies ignore the evidence and the complaints of serious police corruption from over 26 credible and reliable police officers? Samuel Clark provides facts, official police documents and report numbers, court transcript excerpts and case numbers, and newspapers accounts, enabling the reader to make his/her own conclusions.

Chapter One

Chapter 1

Police Officer Needs Help

“Sergeant Clark, Sergeant Clark.” I looked up from my desk full of forms and reports to slowly answer, “yes Terry, what is it.” “Sergeant,” said Detective Terry Childer, “we just wanted to give you our paperwork. It’s 4 o’clock, time to get out of here.”

Detective Childer then gave me one of his big classic smiles. “Let me take a look at it Terry,” I said. Detective Childer then handed me a thin stack of papers. As I quickly took the reports, I started thinking about the telephone call I had made to Detective Childer informing him of the new Gang Intelligent Unit that was being organized. I wanted him to be a part of it.

When I was recruited to the new unit I had the opportunity to pick three officers. I didn’t pick Detective Childer because of friendship. Actually he was not a friend of mine. He was working out of the Narcotic Squad, and I was impressed with his attitude, maturity, and his ability to blend in and look like any ordinary guy on the street. In fact Detective Terry Childer could walk into a place with a brown hat on his head, leave and comeback five minutes later with a blue hat on and you would think he was a different person. I couldn’t help thinking about the time we were on a surveillance operation. We were on the lookout for cars that were doing skidding spins called doughnuts. Detective Childer was using an unmarked vehicle so he could ride around in the target area and gather additional information. The car he was using was borrowed from another law enforcement agency. After seeing his car travel through the area several times we decided to run the car’s license plate through the computer to determine if it had been reported stolen, and to obtain the identity of the owner. It was kind of embarrassing and funny to discover we could not recognize one of our own detectives that we work with everyday. Perhaps it was our inferior ability to notice details, or Detective Childer’s superior ability to make himself look different with little or no change of clothing. I believe it’s the latter; that’s why I wanted him to be a part of this new Gang Intelligence Unit.

Suddenly I was brought back to reality by the voice of detective Childer’s partner, Detective Ben Bier. “Hey Sergeant Clark. Are the reports all right?” Detective Bier asked the question with confidence in his voice. He seemed confident the answer would be yes. He should exhibit confidence. His reports were almost always more than adequate. He was conscientious, dedicated, serious, yet he had a healthy sense of humor. His actions were well thought out and measured. That’s why I also asked him to join the new unit.

I took a quick look at the reports knowing it was unlikely they contained any glaring omissions. “Hey guys,” I said, “everything is in order. Go home and spend some time with your loved ones. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the two detectives were about to leave, Childer said, “sergeant, you want me to turn off the radio?” “No, leave it on,” I said. “It will keep me company.” The two detectives left the office and closed the door behind them.

I thought to myself, how can it be that subordinates get to go home before the supervisor. In the Newark Police Department, that’s the exception not the rule. All the supervisors I had over the past 20 years would always leave first. Before leaving they would remind you to make certain everything was locked up. When I was a uniformed police officer working in the patrol division, the street sergeants would always tell you not to bother them unless it’s important. I guess sergeants were too busy doing other important tasks. Supervising and training officers would just have to wait. To this day I have not discovered what those more important tasks were. I made a promise to myself, if I ever made sergeant, I would be available for my officers. I kept my promise by telling the street officers under my supervision to call me whenever they needed help. That philosophy has kept me from leaving the precinct until all the officers under my supervision had went home. Now here I am working on the fourth of July and I’m the last one in the office.

The loud ring of the telephone brought me back to the reality of the moment. I picked up the phone and said, “Gang intelligence, Sergeant Clark.” The female voice on the other end said, “May I speak to detective Gillano?” “Sorry,” I said. “Detective Gillano is gone for the day. Is there any message, or can I help you with something?” “No, no,” the caller said. “I’ll reach him at home.” I said, “very well, so long.”

Then I hung up the phone while thinking, I’ve got about a half hour’s worth of paperwork to complete. It will take twice as long if I keep answering the telephone. I’m not scheduled to be here past four o’clock today. I’m not obligated to answer the phone now. No, I thought, I’d better answer the phone, it might be something important.

With no more phone interruptions for the moment, I buckled down and concentrated on the task at hand; completing the paperwork so I could get out of here. I needed to go to the bookstore before it closed. Then perhaps I could take my wife and daughter to see some fireworks. We had not made any concrete plans for the Fourth of July holiday. In the police business working on holidays is the norm. Most police officers are routinely scheduled to work on major holidays. The wife and I would only make plans if it was certain I would be off on a particular holiday. She had adjusted somewhat to this reality.

Okay Sam, I said to myself, no more daydreaming. You have got to finish and leave. After answering a few more uneventful routine phone calls, I finally finished my paperwork. Taking a final quick look through the reports before placing them on the lieutenant’s desk, I was now ready to leave. If I had anything to indicate the imminent life-changing event I was going to encounter, I would have stayed in the office for a few more hours.

As I was gathering my things in preparation for leaving I heard the police dispatcher transmit a low priority assignment to a North District patrol car. Wow, I thought, things are kind of quiet out there. I didn’t hear any in progress assignments come over the police radio. There’s nothing like a nice quiet holiday. I then took my battery out of the charger and placed it in my hand radio. After turning on the portable hand unit, I turned off the base police radio. Now do I have everything, I ask myself? Gun, badge, radio, keys. Is everything turned off? Computer, radio, television, coffee machine, lights. That’s it, I’m out of here. I closed the door and made certain it was locked. Then I started walking down the stairs. It’s only three flights down, why waste time waiting on the elevator. By the time that slow ass elevator reaches the first floor I could be in my car already.

Hopping down the stairs three at a time, I reach the first floor in a matter of seconds. Saying a quick goodbye to the officer stationed at the first floor information desk, I was out the front door of police headquarters.

Stepping outside was like stepping into a sauna. The heat and humidity hit me with an impact that nearly pushed me back inside. You could feel the unique city heat and humidity typical of a hazy July day. Actually, it wasn’t extremely hot. It was just the initial exposure to the outside temperature after being in air conditioning all day. I was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers; so after that first shocking hug from the heat and humidity, I quickly adjusted to the outside environment.

In no time at all I was in the parking lot and jumped into my little white Omni. I had not yet decided if I was going to the bookstore or straight home. There was nothing to indicate this day, July 4, 1995, would alter the destination of my career, shatter my naïve belief in the fairness of law enforcement, the criminal justice system, and most importantly change my life forever. Not being able to foresee the future, I happily drove off to encounter my destiny; a destiny that proved to be a gruesome, long and painful odyssey.

As soon as I left the parking lot I had made my decision. The bookstore was my destination. Or I should say my intended destination.

So I drove west on Franklin, straight across Broad Street to Hill Street. Hill Street to Washington Street and I made a right onto Washington Street heading north to Market Street. Once I reached Market Street, I made a left and drove west on Market Street. I crossed University Avenue and continued up West Market Street. There wasn’t much traffic at all. Before I realize it, I was at the intersection of West Market Street and Central Avenue stopped at the red light. To my left I couldn’t avoid noticing an ambulance. There was also a police car parked about 30 feet away from the ambulance. The para-medics were attending to someone on a stretcher. They were now in the process of putting the patient into the ambulance. I then noticed Officer Kevin Jones. He apparently was working as a one-officer unit. I knew him long before he joined the Newark Police Department. We had frequently played basketball at the Boys Club. I wanted to say hello to him, but I didn’t want to distract him. He was interviewing one of the drivers involved in the accident. I was hoping the person being placed in the ambulance wasn’t seriously injured. The visible damage to the involved vehicles was relatively minor. You would not believe anyone could have been hurt.

The light had turned to green and so I pulled off. Crossing Central Avenue, I then made a right onto Sixth Street heading toward Orange Street. Suddenly I heard Officer Kevin Jones’ voice come over the police radio. His voice was filled with excitement when he yelled, “unit 231 give me the air.” I reached down to my left side and turned the volume up all the way on my portable hand radio. The police dispatcher responded, “All units standby. Come in 231, what have you got?” Until I find out what’s going on, I thought, I’d better pull over. I had just driven by Kevin’s location a few minutes ago. Nothing unusual was happening then. There was no one around except the injured person and the driver he was interviewing. What in the world could have happened?

Suddenly Officer Kevin Jones’ voice came over the police radio again. “231 get me a car here quick.” Another officer’s voice came across the police radio. “What’s his location?” “231,” the police dispatcher said, “What do you have there? Come in unit 231.”

There was no response from unit 231. When Officer Jones did not respond to the dispatcher’s call, the police dispatcher forcefully announced, “all units in the North, we have an assist officer at Central Avenue and West Market Street.” The police dispatcher was providing the location of the assignment Officer Jones was handling. Now other police cars were coming over the radio telling the police dispatcher they were headed to Officer Jones’ location. Hey, this was an assist officer call. Every available officer rides in to help. Officers continue riding in until they are told to stop.

The police cars were calling in; informing the dispatcher they were heading to Officer Jones’ location. “Unit 211 riding.” “Unit 214 going.” “Just respond,” the dispatcher said, “we’ll get your numbers later. First unit on the scene advise.”

I’m not far away, I thought. Who knows how far away the other police units are.

I got myself turned around in the opposite direction and was heading toward Central Avenue and West Market Street.

My personal vehicle is not equipped with a siren or flashing lights. I drove as fast and as safely as I could under the circumstances. It seemed as if it was taking me forever to get back to Officer Jones’ location. Hopefully one of the marked police cars would arrive and inform the dispatcher about this emergency. Every cop wants to help a brother officer who may be in danger on the street. The cop’s life could be at stake. It’s risky as hell racing through the city streets responding to any serious in progress call. You are going so much faster than the other traffic. Then too, other motorists may have the air-conditioner and radio on. The motorists may not hear or see the police car until it’s right on top of them. A motorist could be startled and suddenly step on the brakes, or make some other sudden unanticipated maneuver. The police officer may think the motorist is going to pull over to the right. Consequently, the cop turns the police car to the left. Then suddenly the motorist also pulls over to left and into your path. If you’re not alert, you are sure to have an accident. And let’s not forget about pedestrians and children playing in the street. The risks go up much higher on an assist officer call. Who knows how many police cars, coming from all directions, are responding to the same location. I’m surprised there are not more accidents.

By this time I’m now on West Market Street about 600 feet from Central Avenue. I’ve got a clear view of the intersection. There’s nothing happening. The ambulance is gone. Officers Jones’ marked police car is not there. The vehicles involved in the accident are gone. There‘s not one single person around.

I didn’t hear any updates over the police radio telling the responding units to slow down or stop heading to the area. I pulled up to the intersection and looked to my left down Central Avenue toward First Street. No sign of any disturbance, and no police vehicles. I could hear the sound of sirens coming from the police cars responding to the assist officer call, but none were in sight yet. I looked to my right up Central Avenue toward Eighth Street. I noticed a white four-door car in the middle of Central Avenue about 100 feet from the intersection of Eighth Street. Four young males were standing along the passenger side of the white car. All the males had their hands placed on the white car. At each end of the white car were two uniformed officers. I made a right turn onto Central Avenue from West Market Street and started driving toward the officers and the white car.

A large white straight truck and other vehicles stopped in the intersection of Central Avenue and 8th Street blocked my view beyond the white car. As I’m getting closer to the white car I can see the officers are attempting to frisk the young males who have their hands placed on the car. There is an officer at each end of the car, with the four young males located between the officers. The officer on the left side is frisking the first male to his right. The officer on the right side is frisking the first male to his left. I did not notice a shirt patch on either officer’s dark blue uniform shirt. They can’t be Newark cops; I said to myself, you can’t miss our patch. Our uniform shirt patch is on both sleeves near the shoulder. I assumed they must be police officers from one of the colleges located in the area.

Suddenly the two young males not presently being frisked by the officers took their hands off the white car and faced each other. The officers said something to them, and they both put their hands back on the car. I’m about 150 feet away now and I hear some officer’s voice come over the police radio. “Slow the cars down coming to this assist.” The dispatcher responded, “All units responding to Central and West Market slowdown. That unit, what do we have there? Did you locate unit 231?”

At that time I noticed once again the two males who were not being frisked take their hands off the car and faced each other in an aggressive manner. Seconds later, after apparently being directed by the officers, they both placed their hands back on the car. Not wanting to produce further vehicle gridlock with my private vehicle, I pulled it to the curb about 50 feet from the white car with the four males and the two officers. I shut off the engine and opened the door. As I was stepping out of my car, I looked to my left and noticed two Newark police officers in full uniform get out of a marked police car parked about 20 feet behind my car, but in the middle of the street. Again my attention moved to the four young males and the officers at the white car. Once again, as I started walking toward the white car, the two males not being frisked took their hands off the car and confronted each other. They quickly put their hands back on the car. I was now walking faster toward the white car while reaching into my pocket to produce my badge. Suddenly the two males again took their hands off the car. This time they grabbed one another by the collar and begin grappling. I immediately thought, this could get out of hand.

To help prevent things from escalating, and to provide immediate assistance to the offices, I instinctively rushed forward, put my left arm between the males and attempted to break their grip on each other. I said, “Hey, break it up, po.” The next thing I knew, I was grabbed from behind and pulled off my feet. I had somehow allowed another perpetrator to slip behind me, and now he had his forearm locked around my throat.

At first I was upset with myself. How could I have been so careless to have allowed the bad guy to attack me from the rear? Well I better not let this guy get my gun, I thought. Hoping to delay the suspect from taking my gun, I moved my right arm down to my right side where my 9mm service weapon was holstered. The T-shirt I was wearing covered the gun on my right side, and it also covered my police radio on my left side. Although my T-shirt covered my gun and radio, you wouldn’t have to look hard to notice the bulge on my right and left side.

I placed my right arm against the handle of my holstered gun and forced it against my side. It wouldn’t absolutely stop him from

taking the gun, but it would at least take a few seconds to force my

arm away and then remove the gun. Several additional seconds could make a world of difference. It would allow the two cops I saw walking

behind me enough time to intervene before this perpetrator could shoot me to death with my own gun. But why the hell is it taking so

long for those cops to get this guy off me? I then thought, maybe there are other perpetrators. After all, I didn’t notice this one that now has me in a chokehold. Perhaps the other two cops are busy trying to arrest other perpetrators that I also didn’t see. Well I thought, they will certainly come to my assistance in a few seconds.

This suspect was now choking me harder. My main focus was to keep my arm against my gun, and to flex my neck muscles as hard as possible. By flexing my neck muscles it was making it harder for this

perpetrator to completely shut of my air supply. I didn't understand

why the police officers currently at the scene didn't try to stop the

perpetrator who was choking me. These officers were only a few feet away.

At this time I could not see these officers. I was unable to turn

my head far enough to bring these officers into my limited field of vision. Perhaps these officers were also engaged in a physical

confrontation with other perpetrators.

It took great effort and will power to turn my head slightly to the right. Out of the corner of my eye I was able to see the arm of the perpetrator who was choking me. He was wearing a dark blue short sleeve shirt. What I saw next sent shock waves through my now oxygen deprived body. On the shirt sleeve of the perpetrator was a multi-colored patch with Newark Police Department written on it. The guy who was choking me to death, for no reason, was a uniformed

Newark Police Officer.

Why was this cop trying to choke me to death? Now, I thought, I’ll try to tell him I’m a cop. Easier said then done! It was like having a bad dream and trying to scream for help. Nothing comes out.

I tried to speak. But this guy had his forearm solidly across my Adam’s apple. I could not speak, or swallow, and had great difficulty

breathing in or out. I attempted to murmur, “I’m a cop. I’m a cop.” He was even choking me harder now. Perhaps if I didn’t move or

attempt to struggle at all, I thought, this cop would surely release me.

After all, why would a cop choke a person to death for no apparent reason?

At that point I did not attempt to move or to speak. I even reduced the flexing of my neck muscles. But this cop continued to aggressively choke me. He appeared to have some pent up anger

that needed to be released. He was choking me as if I had just killed

his mother. I couldn't understand why this cop continued to choke me so hard. I was not resisting; this level of force was unnecessary

and extremely excessive. I also wondered why the other cops, currently within a few feet of me, did not attempt to stop this nut of a cop who was trying to kill me. When are they going to intervene and stop this cop from choking an innocent citizen who also happens to be a cop?

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse they did. As this cop was choking me he said, "I'll break your fu-king neck." Now once again I attempted to speak. But he was choking me so hard I couldn’t utter a recognizable word. All I could do was murmur,

"I'm a cop, I'm a cop." But his attack continued unremittingly.

I was not resisting; nevertheless, he continued to aggressively choke me.

Things were now getting critical. Everything seemed to be hazy and moving in slow motion. All sound was muffled. Why doesn't this cop stop choking me? Then too, I thought, why aren’t any of the

other cops stopping this guy?

I was now starting to lose consciousness. I started thinking about my wife and kids. I have a young daughter who needs me. I’m not going to go out this way, I thought. Enough is enough, there is no doubt in my mind, this cop is trying to seriously hurt or kill me. I’m going

for my gun and let him have a couple of rounds in the gut. But

some how rational thought cancelled out panic survival instincts. If these other cops (that are doing nothing to help me) suddenly see me

pull out a gun, then they will pull out their guns and make Swiss cheese out of me. I’ll be dead and they will conveniently say it was

all an unfortunate mistake. My daughter would be without her father, and I wouldn’t be around to tell my side of the story. I must simply

hold on and hope for a miracle.

A miracle did occur. This officer expended so much energy choking me he got tired. Suddenly, this officer pushed me down on the white car and released me. I was stunned, dizzy, gasping for air,

and seeing spots. I then shouted, " I'm a fu--king cop," and showed

my badge to this officer. I will never forget his response. With an annoyed look on his face, he blurted out in a gruff unapologetic tone of voice, "I didn't know you were a cop.”

I was really dazed and upset. There was no doubt in my mind; this cop was really trying to hurt me. He nearly choked me to death and I was not doing anything wrong. I never considered choking the teenagers who were involved in the dispute. Yet, this abusive nut of a cop tried to choke the life out of me. What the hell does he mean by saying he didn't know I was a cop. He had to know I was a human being. Why the hell, I thought, was he choking the life out of an innocent person? He had to recognize me as a human being. Or did he think I was a dog?

My thoughts were interrupted by someone asking in a muffled voice, "are you alright?” I responded, by reflex not by conscience thought, “I'm alright.” But I was not alright and I didn’t know who

had even asked the questioned. I seemed to be drifting in and out

of consciousness. Like a game fighter who had been knocked down by a vicious combination to the head, I was immediately on my feet but

unable to fully understand what was happening around me. My head felt as if it would explode. All sound was muffled, and anything more than fifty feet away was blurred.

Just then I noticed a sergeant in the immediate area. I stumbled over to him and said, “Hey, one of your guys just choked me.”

He immediately backed away and blurted out, “Not one of my

guys. I'm not working this area. I’m working DWI.”

I knew this sergeant. His name is Andy Ambon. The next thing I knew he was gone.

I was still trying to clear my head and gather myself. Everything still seemed foggy and unclear. My neck was hurting and I still could not seem to take in enough air. Perhaps I better get checked by a

doctor. But first I’ve got to find out who that cop was and report him. This guy is dangerous. He needs to be straightened out. Just then, police officer Larry Levy walked over to me. “Sergeant, Sergeant,”

he exclaimed. He appeared to be yelling. “Why was he choking you?” “I don’t know,” I murmured.

Still stunned I attempted to talk with other officers who were still in the area and had certainly seen what happened. Every cop I tried to approach seemed to be walking away. I just didn’t seem to have the energy to catch up with them. What the hell is going on? I’m not getting help from anyone.

By now there were at least 10 marked police unit in the area. They were starting to move the cars and trucks out of the intersection and restore vehicular traffic to normal.

“Hey, are you alright,” asked some uniformed officer. I didn’t recognize this cop and didn’t respond. I don’t know if he walked away or if I staggered and stumbled away. Hey wait a minute, I thought. There’s Sergeant Gillin. “Hey Gillin,” I stammered. One of your West District guys just tried to choke me to death.”

“Are you alright,” Gillin asked. “I don’t know the guys name,” I shouted, “but I can certainly identify him. I’m going to the West District to file the reports.” Then suddenly Sergeant Gillin was gone. I didn’t see where he went.

Things were still a little foggy. Now I was seeing less spots swirling around. I thought, now I’ve got to go to the West District

to report this guy. This crazy cop was the same officer, along with his partner, that I saw when I was walking toward the teenagers involved in the dispute. His partner was a short white male wearing a gold detective badge on his uniform. The detective badge is shaped

differently than the silver badge normally worn by uniform Newark

Police Officers. More than likely he was working an overtime assignment. It’s rare indeed for the Newark Police Department to

have a detective working in uniform during their regular scheduled hours.

The officer who choked me was a tall heavy built white male with black hair and a mustache. This officer and his partner were riding in

marked unit number 432. Cars with any 400 number are normally

assigned to the West District.

So now my head was getting a little clearer, I believed I would be able to drive to the West District to make the necessary reports about this officer’s brutal actions. Walking slow and cautiously toward by car, I climbed in, started it up and drove away from the scene.

The scene of the incident was Central Avenue and South 8^th St. This location is in the jurisdiction of the Newark Police Department’s North District. However, the border line for the West District is only a few blocks to the south of this location. The West District Precinct is less than two miles away. While driving to the West District Precinct a lot of things were running through my mind. First and foremost I was almost killed by another cop. I didn’t expect a cop to act so viciously for no apparent reason. Now that I had survived this attack, I wanted to make certain this guys behavior and attitude was correctly modified. This must be everyday behavior for this guy. He’s exactly the kind of cop we don’t need. I tried to help an officer who called for emergency assistance and I almost get killed by another cop.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted when someone said to me, “Hey Sergeant Clark. Are you ok?”

I could not immediately answer. My mouth opened in disbelief. I knew this person. He was a Newark cop. I just couldn’t remember his

name. But that’s not why I was so shocked. I could not understand why I was now walking into the front door of Newark Police

Headquarters at 22 Franklin Street. The last thing I remembered was

driving toward the West District Precinct. Because I was still dazed by the officer’s brutal assault, I unintentionally and unconsciously drove

to my work location. I work out of Police Headquarters, but I

consciously wanted to go to the West District. I didn’t remember

driving here or even parking my car. Wow, this was scary. I could have gotten into an accident.

Now since I was here at headquarters I was not going to risk getting into an accident by driving to the West District. I could execute the reports here at headquarters, and have the reports

forwarded to the West District and any other necessary police command.

I don’t remember if I took the elevator or the stairs to reach the third floor. When I arrived at the third floor, I opened the door to the Gang Intelligence Unit and stumbled in.

After locating a telephone I called the West District and spoke with Sergeant Gillin. “Sergeant Gillin. This is Sergeant Clark. I’m at the Gang Squad now. My neck is killing me. As soon as I finish these

reports I’m going to the hospital to get checked out.”

“Well I hope everything works out ok Clark,” he told me. “The officer who was involved is Nathan DeBarlow. He works here at the West,” Gillin said. “Well,” I said, “I’m gong to write him up for his improper actions. I need his identification number too.”

After getting the necessary information from Sergeant Gillin, I started a draft of my report. Then I called my wife Ronda. “Hey honey it’s me,” I said when she answered the phone. “You won’t believe what happened.”

“What, what,” she said with excitement in her voice. I told her, “Some big jerk of a cop tried to choke me to death.”

“What,” she screamed over the phone. “Are you alright”

“My neck and head hurts but I’m alive,” I replied. She was relieved to hear I was not about to drop dead. She insisted I should go to the

hospital for treatment. Her insistence was not necessary; there was no way that I was going home without seeing a doctor. I told her I would go for treatment when the reports were finished. I promised

to call her from the hospital.

It seemed like hours past before I finished the reports. When the reports were finally completed, I put them on Lieutenant Ruslo’s desk. Just as I was about to leave for the hospital the phone rang.

“Oh hell,” I said out loud. I wonder who this could be. I better answer it; perhaps it’s my wife calling back.

I quickly answered the phone, “Gang Squad, Sergeant Clark.” “Hey Sammy,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. It was

Lieutenant James Polerri from Newark Police Central Communications

Bureau. The distinctive raspy sound of his voice is unmistakable. “How you feeling,” he said. “My throat is sore as hell lieutenant,” I said. “But I think I’ll live.”

“Sammy,” he said, in a raspy gangster type voice, “When you get done come up here, I wanna talk to you.”

His voice had a ring of urgency in it. If nothing else, I was curious about what he wanted. The paper work was already completed,

I could take a few minutes before heading to the hospital. “OK

lieutenant,” I said, “I’ll be right up.”

I quickly gathered my things, turned off the lights, and locked the office. Central Communications Bureau was located on the

forth floor of the Municipal Court Building behind police headquarters.

After leaving headquarters I entered the parking lot, got into

my car and drove around the corner to the Municipal Court Building. I identified myself to the security officer on the ground level and took the elevator to the forth floor. I got out of the elevator and headed

toward the large brown door on the left. It’s the entrance to

Central Communications Bureau. Over the door you can’t help to notice the large camera glaring down on you. The door is locked so

I pressed the intercom button.

Within a few seconds a voice over the intercom said, “yes.” “Sergeant Clark,” I replied. A second or two later I heard the buzzing

sound to indicate I could now open the door. I opened the door and

attempted to sign the log book that was on a desk near the entrance. Lieutenant Polerri called out, “Sammy, forget about that. You can do it on the way out. Come here I wanna show ya something.”

I then put the pen back down on the desk and walked into the area of central communications where calls for service are received and

assignments are transmitted by the police dispatcher to the police cars in the field. Numerous officers were at their computer terminals

answering calls, typing in information, and or dispatching police cars to various assignments.

I walked over to Lt. Polerri. The West District had informed him of the incident. In addition, Officer DeBarlow’s report had been faxed to

Central Communications Bureau. “Hey Sammy,” said Lieutenant

Polerri. “Here’s Officer DeBarlow’s report.” He handed me the faxed copy of Officer DeBarlow’s report on what happened at Central

Avenue and South Eighth Street. I began to read the report and

gasped with amazement. This officer must have written a report of some other incident. This certainly was not the same incident that

could have caused my death. According to Officer DeBarlow’s report,

I was swinging my arms wildly while approaching his partner from

the rear. Officer DeBarlow’s report indicated he feared I was going to attack his partner so he held my arms only. His report failed to

mention he had me in a choke hold and was trying to break my neck. The report was one big lie. I thought to myself, who ever said

police officers don’t lie.

Lieutenant Polerri had read the report. He said, “I don’t believe a word of this. I know you, this doesn’t make sense.”

“I can’t believe he would write a report like this,” I said. Man, I thought, this guy must really have some serious problems.

“Hey lieutenant, thanks,” I said. “I’ve got to go to the hospital and get checked out. I’ll be talking with you.”

“OK Sammy,” said Lieutenant Polerri, “take care of your self.”

Still shocked by the lies in Officer DeBarlow’s official report, I left central communications and walked out of the Municipal Court Building. I got into my car and started driving to the hospital. It was impossible for me to have known then, but Lieutenant Polerri would be part of a conspiracy to have me dismissed from the Newark Police Department.

My health insurance company policy required me to seek treatment at one of their participating hospitals. The nearest participating facility was Doverlook Hospital in Summit

NJ. This hospital was approximately 20 miles from Newark. Fortunately, a few hours had passed since being choked. My throat was very sore; however, I was not feeling dizzy any longer.

I arrived at Doverlook hospital in Summit without blacking out or getting into an accident. After giving my information to the nurse, I called my wife to let her know I was at the hospital.

After a brief wait the doctor examined me. I told him what happened. He seemed very surprised. He said, "I don't think there is any serious damage to your neck. But I'm going to take some X-rays anyway.”

The X-rays were taken and developed. The doctor examined them and remarked, "I don't see any broken bones. Get some rest and take aspirin for pain. You may experience some pain over the next few days. But I'm sure,” he said, “you'll be alright.” “Thanks doctor,” I said, and left for home.

I was extra careful driving home from the hospital. It had been quite a long and stressful day. It was all starting to catch up with me now and my energy level was fairly low. With all of the things that had happened today, I wanted to make certain I arrived home to see my wife and daughter.

When I arrived home my wife was waiting. I gave her a big hug. “How are you feeling? What did the doctor say,” she blurted out. “I’m ok,” I said. “The x-rays were negative. There are no broken bones. But my neck is still sore.” She gave me a long hard look. It was the kind of look that communicated her concerns about my safety. So I answered the question her expression asked.

“No, it’s not that bad,” I calmly said. “It’s just this jerk-off brutal cop that’s all. I wrote him up for excessive force. He wrote a report that was all one big lie. Hopefully the department will straighten him out.” With an expression of disbelief, she said, “But you were attacked by another cop. That scares me.”

“Well,” I said sarcastically, “I’m not too happy about it either.”

I then walked toward my daughter Darlene’s room. “She’s sleeping,” my wife announced. I said, “I’m just going to take a peek at her.” I slowly and quietly opened the door to her room to get a look at her. She was sound asleep with her favorite stuffed dog under her arm. I was so glad to have the opportunity to see her again. I wanted to give her a big hug and kiss. But I didn’t want to wake her up. I just quietly closed the door to her room.

By this time my wife had walked over to me. Her expression and body language told me she wanted to express additional concerns about the attack. But my expression and body language was telling her I had one hell of a day and was not in the mood for a lengthy discussion about the ramifications of this incident. She intuitively picked up on my mood and did not press the issue any further that night. She lovingly asked, “are you hungry?”

“Now that you mentioned it.” I said, “I haven’t had a thing to eat since this morning. But my throat is so sore I don’t know what I can swallow.”

“I’ll make you some soup,” she said. “Sit down and relax it will only take a couple of minutes.” A few minutes later I was enjoying a warm bowl of soup made with love. “Thank you my dear,” I said. “The soup was delicious and was not too hard to swallow.”

After eating the soup I jumped right into to bed. I felt so tired, but I was not able to sleep very well. I kept thinking about the attack. That cop could have killed me. What the hell is wrong with that guy? Why didn’t the other cops take any action to stop him? Why didn’t I get more help from the cops after the attack was over? They had to notice how dazed and disoriented I was. I also thought, how in the world could this cop write an official report that was all a lie? Doesn’t he realize this incident was witnessed by several other cops? Does he believe all these cops will go along with his lie? Does he really believe these other cops will stick their necks out and lie too?

One fact was crystal clear to me; I was a victim of police brutality. I heard people complain to me about it. I’ve read about it in the newspapers, and even seen it on television. But now it has happened to me, a cop. I did not like the feeling. Don’t tell me about how hard cops work to protect us and how dangerous the job is. I know about it personally. That cop’s actions were wrong and can’t be reasoned away. Don’t ask me to understand, I thought. In 22 years of police service, I have broken up countless physical disputes without ever using excessive force or being accused of using excessive force. Tell it to someone else who doesn’t know any better, I angrily thought. This cop’s attack was brutal and totally unnecessary.

These thoughts were jumping through my mind over and over again. Tired I was, but I got very little sleep that night.