Theodore Roosevelt: An Autobiography
rather is it a quality the lack of which unfits a man for promotion. For
in the higher places we must assume the existence of such a quality in
any fit candidate, and must make the promotion with a view to the man's
energy, executive capacity, and power of command. In the lower grades,
however, marked gallantry should always be taken into account in
deciding among different candidates for any given place.
During our two years' service we found it necessary over a hundred times
to single out men for special mention because of some feat of heroism.
The heroism usually took one of four forms: saving somebody from
drowning, saving somebody from a burning building, stopping a
runaway team, or arresting some violent lawbreaker under exceptional
circumstances. To illustrate our method of action, I will take two of
the first promotions made after I became Commissioner. One case was
that of an old fellow, a veteran of the Civil War, who was at the time
a roundsman. I happened to notice one day that he had saved a woman from
drowning, and had him summoned so that I might look into the matter.
The old fellow brought up his record before me, and showed not a little
nervousness and agitation; for it appeared that he had grown gray in the
service, had performed feat after feat of heroism, but had no political
backing of any account. No heed had ever been paid him. He was one of
the quiet men who attend solely to duty, and although a Grand Army
man, he had never sought to use influence of any kind. Now, at last, he
thought there was a chance for him. He had been twenty-two years on
the force, and during that time had saved some twenty-five persons from
death by drowning, varying the performance two or three times by
saving persons from burning buildings. Twice Congress had passed laws
especially to empower the then Secretary of the Treasury, John Sherman,
to give him a medal for distinguished gallantry in saving life. The
Life-Saving Society had also given him its medal, and so had the Police
Department. There was not a complaint in all his record against him
for any infraction of duty, and he was sober and trustworthy. He was
entitled to his promotion; and he got it, there and then. It may be
worth mentioning that he kept on saving life after he was given his
sergeantcy. On October 21, 1896, he again rescued a man from drowning.
It was at night, nobody else was in the neighborhood, and the dock from
which he jumped was in absolute darkness, and he was ten minutes in the
water, which was very cold. He was fifty-five years old when he saved
this man. It was the twenty-ninth person whose life he had saved during
his twenty-three years' service in the Department.
The other man was a patrolman whom we promoted to roundsman for activity
in catching a burglar under rather peculiar circumstances. I happened to
note his getting a burglar one week. Apparently he had fallen into the
habit, for he got another next week. In the latter case the burglar
escaped from the house soon after midnight, and ran away toward Park
Avenue, with the policeman in hot chase. The New York Central Railroad
runs under Park Avenue, and there is a succession of openings in the
top of the tunnel. Finding that the policeman was gaining on him, the
burglar took a desperate chance and leaped down one of these openings,
at the risk of breaking his neck. Now the burglar was running for his
liberty, and it was the part of wisdom for him to imperil life or limb;
but the policeman was merely doing his duty, and nobody could have
blamed him for not taking the jump. However, he jumped; and in this
particular case the hand of the Lord was heavy upon the unrighteous. The
burglar had the breath knocked out of him, and the "cop" didn't.
When his victim could walk, the officer trotted him around to the
station-house; and a week after I had the officer up and promoted him,
for he was sober, trustworthy, and strictly attentive to duty.
Now I think that any decent man of reasonable intelligence will agree
that we were quite right in promoting men in cases like these, and quite
right in excluding politics from promotions. Yet it was because of our
consistently acting in this manner, resolutely warring on dishonesty
and on that peculiar form of baseness which masquerades as "practical"
politics, and steadily refusing to pay heed to any consideration
except the good of the service and the city, and the merits of the men
themselves, that we drew down upon our heads the bitter and malignant
animosity of the bread-and-butter spoils politicians. They secured the
repeal of the Civil Service Law by the State Legislature. They attempted
and almost succeeded in the effort to legislate us out of office. They
joined with the baser portion of the sensational press in every species
of foul, indecent falsehood and slander as to what we were doing. They
attempted to seduce or frighten us by every species of intrigue and
cajolery, of promise of political reward and threat of political
punishment. They failed in their purpose. I believe in political
organizations, and I believe in practical politics. If a man is
not practical, he is of no use anywhere. But when politicians treat
practical politics as foul politics, and when they turn what ought to
be a necessary and useful political organization into a machine run by
professional spoilsmen of low morality in their own interest, then it
is time to drive the politician from public life, and either to mend or
destroy the machine, according as the necessity may determine.
We promoted to roundsman a patrolman, with an already excellent record,
for gallantry shown in a fray which resulted in the death of his
antagonist. He was after a gang of toughs who had just waylaid, robbed,
and beaten a man. They scattered and he pursued the ringleader. Running
hard, he gained on his man, whereupon the latter suddenly turned and
fired full in his face. The officer already had his revolver drawn,
and the two shots rang out almost together. The policeman was within
a fraction of death, for the bullet from his opponent's pistol went
through his helmet and just broke the skin of his head. His own aim was
truer, and the man he was after fell dead, shot through the heart. I
may explain that I have not the slightest sympathy with any policy which
tends to put the policeman at the mercy of a tough, or which deprives
him of efficient weapons. While Police Commissioner we punished any
brutality by the police with such immediate severity that all cases of
brutality practically came to an end. No decent citizen had anything
to fear from the police during the two years of my service. But we
consistently encouraged the police to prove that the violent criminal
who endeavored to molest them or to resist arrest, or to interfere with
them in the discharge of their duty, was himself in grave jeopardy; and
we had every "gang" broken up and the members punished with whatever
severity was necessary. Of course where possible the officer merely
crippled the criminal who was violent.
One of the things that we did while in office was to train the men in
the use of the pistol. A school of pistol practice was established,
and the marksmanship of the force was wonderfully improved. The man
in charge of the school was a roundsman, Petty, whom we promoted to
sergeant. He was one of the champion revolver shots of the country,
and could hit just about where he aimed. Twice he was forced to fire at
criminals who resisted arrest, and in each case he hit his man in the
arm or leg, simply stopping him without danger to his life.
In May, 1896, a number of burglaries occurred far uptown, in the
neighborhood of One Hundred and Fifty-sixth Street and Union Avenue.
Two officers were sent out each night to patrol the streets in plain
clothes. About two o'clock on the morning of May 8 they caught a glimpse
of two men loitering about a large corner house, and determined to
make them explain their actions. In order to cut off their escape, one
officer went down one street and one the other. The first officer, whose
name was Ryan, found the two men at the gateway of the side entrance of
the house, and hailed to know what they were doing. Without answering,
they turned and ran toward Prospect Avenue, with Ryan in close pursuit.
After running about one hundred feet, one of them turned and fired three
shots at Ryan, but failed to hit him. The two then separated, and the
man who had done the shooting escaped. The other man, whose name proved
to be O'Connor, again took to his heels, with Ryan still after him;
they turned the corner and met the other officer, whose name was Reid,
running as hard as he could toward the shooting. When O'Connor saw
himself cut off by Reid, he fired at his new foe, the bullet cutting
Reid's overcoat on the left shoulder. Reid promptly fired in return,
his bullet going into O'Connor's neck and causing him to turn a complete
somersault. The two officers then cared for their prisoner until the
ambulance arrived, when he was taken to the hospital and pronounced
mortally wounded. His companion was afterward caught, and they turned
out to be the very burglars for whom Reid and Ryan had been on the
lookout.
In December, 1896, one of our officers was shot. A row occurred in a
restaurant, which ended in two young toughs drawing their revolvers
and literally running amuck, shooting two or three men. A policeman,
attracted by the noise, ran up and seized one of them, whereupon the
other shot him in the mouth, wounding him badly. Nevertheless, the
officer kept his prisoner and carried him to the station-house. The
tough who had done the shooting ran out and was seized by another
officer. The tough fired at him, the bullet passing through the
officer's overcoat, but he was promptly knocked down, disarmed, and
brought to the station-house. In this case neither policeman used his
revolver, and each brought in his man, although the latter was armed and
resisted arrest, one of the officers taking in his prisoner after having
been himself severely wounded. A lamentable feature of the case was that
this same officer was a man who, though capable of great gallantry, was
also given to shirking his work, and we were finally obliged to dismiss
him from the force, after passing over two or three glaring misdeeds in
view of his record for courage.
We promoted another man on account of finding out accidentally that he
had performed a notable feat, which he had forborne even to mention,
so that his name never came on the roll of honor. Late at night, while
patrolling a lonely part of his post, he came upon three young toughs
who had turned highwaymen and were robbing a peddler. He ran in at once
with his night-stick, whereupon the toughs showed fight, and one of
them struck at him with a bludgeon, breaking his left hand. The officer,
however, made such good use of his night-stick that he knocked down two
of his assailants, whereupon the third ran away, and he brought both of
his prisoners to the station-house. Then he went round to the hospital,
had his broken hand set in plaster, and actually reported for duty at
the next tour, without losing one hour. He was a quiet fellow, with a
record free from complaints, and we made him roundsman.
The mounted squad have, of course, many opportunities to distinguish
themselves in stopping runaways. In May, 1895, a mounted policeman
named Heyer succeeded in stopping a runaway at Kingsbridge under rather
noteworthy circumstances. Two men were driving in a buggy, when the
horse stumbled, and in recovering himself broke the head-stall, so that
the bridle fell off. The horse was a spirited trotter, and at once ran
away at full speed. Heyer saw the occurrence, and followed at a run.