Re: 2/13/97 - Farewell to the Chief
Farewell to the Chief
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By Joshua Mamis, Editor, New Haven Advocate
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In a cover story two years ago, we called New Haven Police Chief Nicholas Pastore "Saint Nick." Like most of us, the "saint" is also a sinner. The "sinner" part is this week's story.
Last week, we were one of the many news organizations to receive, anonymously, documentation that Pastore had fathered a 2-year-old who is now in state custody. Pastore had an affair with a woman in her early 20s who had been in trouble with the law. He grossly misused his authority. The story will be attached to his name the rest of his career, the way Bill Clinton will never distance his name from Gennifer Flowers or Paula Jones.
The story is disastrous not just for the 2-year-old who doesn't have a father in her life, not just for the young woman who brought into her life a second child she couldn't care for, not just for a flawed leader who resigned suddenly last Friday after pledging that he would hang tough.
Pastore's fall can only be described as a betrayal. He obviously has let down his close friends and family. But he has also let down his supporters, those who had faith in his vision and his courage to do the right thing. And in doing so, he has let down the entire city.
Pastore's indiscretions have enormous ramifications for the future of New Haven. Say what you will about his controversial tenure, Pastore's vision of redefining an urban police force has been at the forefront of criminal justice thinking. His ideas have been studied and put into action across the country. New Haven's successes have contributed to a climate that led the president of the United States to pledge support for increased community policing in his State of the Union address last week. And community policing, especially as Pastore conceived it, has played a significant role in decreasing crime rates -- particularly violent crime.
But the same man whose innovation has resulted in the intervention of the Yale Child Study Center in arrests involving families has a young daughter he's never met living in a foster home. The same chief who developed strong domestic abuse programs and a woman-friendly police force had relations with a powerless woman. In such situations, no sexual contact can be viewed as truly "consensual."
Such bad judgment leaves one wondering about Pastore's credibility -- as a person, and as a chief of police.
Many of his harshest critics have long maintained that Pastore is a hypocrite, a police chief who says the right words in public but privately undercuts those words through his actions. His recent affair should force even his most ardent fans to ask those same questions: Was this particular event an isolated mistake, as Pastore would have us believe? Or was it in keeping with how he conducted his business -- and his personal life? While we previously placed faith in Pastore's public face of saying the right things, now, like his harshest enemies have claimed, one can't help but wonder on some level if his words were hollow, as much hypocrisy as his personal actions.
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I don't know Chief Pastore. I've encountered him occasionally around town -- waving with a big grin to folks as he wandered through the crowds at the International Festival of Arts and Ideas; hanging at the periphery of Yale union actions, or just in attendance at various official functions.
I've come to know Pastore mostly through his work, watching from behind my desk as he tried to find innovative ways to reformulate a police department. No longer would it be an occupying force treating its community as a war zone. The Pastore cops would be different. They'd get to know the people in the community, speak with them on a first-name basis. They'd defuse tension by talking, by finding solutions to underlying social problems, instead of by making wanton arrests. They'd crack down -- or attempt to crack down -- on police brutality. They'd dramatically increase the number of women hired and promoted. They'd promote African-Americans, Latinos, gays, making the demographics of the force reflect better the city in which it worked.
Sure, he'd tinker with some fruity ideas, like suggesting that his officers dump their traditional blue uniforms to find new, less threatening threads -- like pink skirts. And he was, in some circles, better known for hugging suspects than busting them. Some of what he did has been misportrayed by a once overtly hostile local media -- like the time he brought a pizza into an interrogation and offered a murder suspect a slice. (He did get a confession.)
Moving an entrenched, macho cop culture from the traditional cowboy in blue hasn't been easy. In fact, it's a job that remains unfinished. Some old guard cops hate the regime they've been toiling under. They've resisted policies designed to keep them from "using force" on African-Americans. They've rebelled against new ideas, new thinking. They've hated Pastore for his hugging.
Now they have some ammunition.
The chief's policies and ideas have been tainted by his "mistake." Having sex with a convicted former prostitute, and fathering her child, is far more serious than sending a get-well card to a drug dealer nearly killed in a police chase. The touchy-feely chief has become, literally, the touchy-feely chief. His shame, unfortunately, may provide those remaining in the department who liked doing business the old fashioned way -- with clubs -- increased power. The true legacy of Nick Pastore will be whether his vision -- and the real innovations his tenure has produced -- can survive beyond his tenure as chief.
Copyright ¸1997 New Mass. Media, Inc. All rights reserved.
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