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The Changing Face of the Campus Cop
In decades past, a main role of the Yale police was to deal with fraternity excesses and snowball riots. The members of the force still serve a quasi-parental function, but they must also be prepared for far more serious threats to campus calm.
by Jennifer Kaylin
November 1996
New Haven freelancer Jennifer Kaylin is a frequent contributor to the Yale Alumni Magazine.
The Yale campus of the late 19th century was very much a refuge, where students were free to pursue their studies unburdened by the fear of serious crime. Still, by 1894, the growing presence of vagrants and an increase in the number of thefts from dormitory rooms prompted Yale officials to take the unprecedented step of arranging for two officers from the New Haven Police Department—William G. Wiser and James E. Donnelly—to patrol the campus. “Students had lost [bicycle] wheels, sweaters, and books. Vagrant peddlers and other objectionable persons who had been allowed on the college grounds had access to the students’ rooms and could steal with little fear of detection,” wrote Wiser in his memoirs.
Beyond investigating a plethora of petty thefts, though, most of the officers' time was spent performing duties that sounded more like those of college house mothers than of police officers. “We were often called upon for advice in times of trouble, and many a homesick boy, or one with the problem of ways and means staring him in the face, has left our office with a lighter heart and a new grip on life,” wrote Wiser. “We have done for the boys everything from sewing on buttons to reading 'trot,' and our medicine chest has been in constant demand.”
Fast forward nearly a century to June 24, 1993. David J. Gelernter, an associate professor of computer science at Yale, was in his office at the Arthur K. Watson computer science building on Prospect Street when he picked up a package addressed to him. As he opened it, the parcel exploded, flinging bomb fragments into his abdomen, chest, face, and right hand. Although seriously wounded, Gelernter managed to stagger to the Yale Health Services building in the next block, where he was given emergency medical treatment before being rushed to Yale–New Haven Hospital.
Lt. Harry DeBenedet, the Yale Police Department’s hazardous-devices expert, had heard the explosion from his Sachem Street office and immediately raced over to Gelernter’s building. “The first thing we did was look for other victims. Then we searched for a secondary device,” DeBenedet recalls. Assured that nobody else had been injured in the explosion, DeBenedet called the State Police and requested help from the bomb squad and the canine unit.
From housekeeping and garment repair to dealing with such crimes as car theft, stalkings, date rape, and a brutal act of domestic terrorism presumed to be the work of the Unabomber, the role of Yale’s campus police force has changed radically over the past century. Gone are the days when two officers were adequate to handle such pressing security concerns as raucous post-game bonfires and students throwing snowballs at street lamps. Although now as then, burglaries occupy the majority of the officers' time, today’s 79-member force must also deal with crimes—like the one that wounded Gelernter—that were practically unheard of in the days of Wiser and Donnelly.
But while the work of the campus police has evolved over time to meet the demands of an increasingly diverse campus and a far more volatile world, the cops' basic role has remained essentially the same as it was a century ago: To protect the students, their property, and college property from injury. The only difference is the way in which the police go about fulfilling their mission, and even that isn’t as different as one might think.
To be sure, millions of dollars have been spent on security at Yale in the past few years. Upgraded outdoor lighting, an electronic card-access system, free shuttle buses, an emergency outdoor telephone system, more cops, and frequent safety seminars are among the steps the University has taken to beef up security. But despite all this new technology, the most widely touted innovation—community-based policing—is a throwback to the “Officer Friendly” methods practiced by Wiser and Donnelly, and it seems only fitting that in implementing this approach, the university that launched the first campus police force in the country is still in the forefront when it comes to security.
Yale has made the conscious decision to be an “open university,” meaning that, unlike many other academic institutions, it is not encircled by a wall with guards posted at strategic checkpoints. Although the residential college courtyards are now closed to the public, most of Yale’s buildings are integral parts of New Haven’s urban fabric, and municipal streets run through the campus. The result is that community residents are able to walk most of the University’s grounds freely. “We’re not a West Point; we don’t have crisp borders, nor are we looking to make them,” says University Secretary Linda Koch Lorimer, who has overall responsibility for security matters.
The idea of a permeable campus may be a socially and politically attractive one to many, but it makes the job of the campus police officers much more difficult. It would be far easier simply to adopt a fortress mentality, especially since economic hard times in New Haven have contributed to the growth of a desperately poor segment of the population, and a corresponding increase in the risk of crime on streets and campus alike. This point was driven home in brutal fashion in 1991 when, in the course of an apparent hold-up, Yale sophomore Christian Prince was shot to death on Hillhouse Avenue, only two blocks from the President’s house.
The Prince murder served as a chilling alert to University officials and triggered a massive investment in campus security. But evidence that Yale’s host city, like urban areas across the country, was undergoing troubling changes had been mounting for years. In 1895, just a year after Wiser and Donnelly began walking the beat at Yale, New Haven police officers made 6,202 arrests, including three for murder, one for rape, and 277 for theft. More than half the arrests made that year—3,371—were for drunkenness. Other infractions included 25 for using abusive language, 130 for “lascivious carriage,” 11 for breaking the sabbath, 116 for begging, 26 for running a “house of ill fame,” 34 for false pretenses, and eight for disorderly housekeeping. By 1987, those numbers had swelled to 23 reported murders, 133 rapes, 1,020 aggravated assaults, and 2,158 automobile thefts. According to the Yale police department’s “crime clock,” a violent crime occurred somewhere in the city once every four hours, and a property crime was committed once every 38 minutes.
Today, police report that serious crime has dropped by 6 percent over the past year—but the 1995 statistics are still sobering, especially to those responsible for the safety of roughly 11,000 students, faculty members, and staff, many of whom arrive at Yale unfamiliar with the hazards of contemporary urban life. This past year, the NHPD reported 20 murders, 98 rapes, 953 robberies, 2,965 burglaries, 1,157 aggravated assaults, and 2,515 motor vehicle thefts.
The University has responded to this growing threat to campus security in a variety of ways that would surely astound Wiser and Donnelly. Students must now use magnetic cards to enter the residential colleges, and they attend mandatory safety seminars. A round-the-clock shuttle bus service takes members of the Yale community anywhere around the campus they want to go, including to the train station. But the change that has had the biggest impact, University officials agree, is community-based policing. Rather than simply reacting to calls for help and showing up in emergencies, Yale police officers walk regular beats so they can get to know the members of the immediate community. To facilitate this and to make the police more accessible, the University has set up a Park Street substation, which is used by about 200 people each week. Yale police can also be seen patrolling the campus on motorcycles and bicycles, which afford them much greater access to out-of-the-way locations.
One of the principal architects of this new approach to policing is Chief Allan Guyet, who took over as head of the YPD in 1990. With his gentle voice and courtly demeanor, Guyet seems more like an assistant chaplain than a seasoned cop who is a veteran of the Newark riots of 1967 and 1968. But his reflections on that experience offer some insight into the kind of law enforcer Guyet is, and the tone he tries to set for his department. “The one thing people always overlook about Newark is that it was only a small percentage of the people who were really rioting,” he says. “Most were locked in their homes. And when white people who had no knowledge of what was going on drove through the riot area and were stoned and assaulted, there were black people who came to their rescue to get them out. I saw so many good people doing good things at a bad time.”
Does Guyet, who is also the former managing director of public safety for the Forrestal campus of Princeton University, have this same positive opinion of the citizens of New Haven? “In terms of personal safety, there isn’t a problem here at Yale,” he says. “That doesn’t mean we can ignore precautions, but I consider Yale a safe campus. That said, the police can do only so much. People have to take responsibility for their own safety.”
One reason for Guyet’s optimism is the close working relationship he has developed with the New Haven police, and particularly with Chief Nicholas Pastore. “We share similar philosophies of community policing and law enforcement,” Guyet says of Pastore. When President Bill Clinton visited New Haven, a Secret Service representative met with members of both departments to discuss security measures. “He told me after he was done that he felt like he was talking to people from the same department,” Guyet recalls. “I took that as a compliment, because it shows how well we work together.” This teamwork also proved invaluable during the Special Olympics World Games, held in New Haven in the summer of 1995, and at Yale’s most recent Commencement, which was threatened with disruption by labor demonstrators, including the Rev. Jesse Jackson, who were protesting Yale’s failure to reach a contract settlement with its union workers.
This collaboration seems fitting considering the departments' close ties. Far from being lesser-trained members of some sort of private security force, Yale police officers have the same training and authority as city cops. In fact, their appointment must be approved by the New Haven Board of Police Commissioners. They are sworn in by a New Haven police official, they receive a New Haven police badge, and they have citywide jurisdiction.
“The University police are definitely more highly trained and professional today than they used to be,” Guyet says. He cites as an example the work now being done by his department to help crime victims. Shortly after arriving at Yale, Guyet assigned Detective Natalie Klotsche to launch a victim assistance program. There was such a demand for her services that 11 more officers were recently recruited for the program. Their duties range from allaying the fears of parents and helping victims navigate the court system, to counseling crime victims and referring them to agencies that can provide more specialized assistance.
“Each case is unique depending on the individual,” Klotsche says. “One victim of a street robbery can just walk away from it and be fine, but another might need a lot more attention. We try to really listen to the person, to help them restore some sense of control over their lives.” Klotsche says the people she sees run the gamut from robbery victims to those who have been sexually assaulted or involved in an incident of domestic violence. One case that stands out in her mind involved a female student who was being stalked by a classmate. “She was really frightened, and her parents lived on the other side of the country,” Klotsche recalls. “I told her she had to start documenting and reporting every incident when her classmate menaced her. Finally she accumulated enough evidence that the University agreed to handle the matter internally. The boy got the counseling he needed, and the behavior stopped.”
Klotsche, who has been on the Yale police force since 1976, says she took the job of victim services coordinator largely because she felt that after an initial flurry of sympathy and concern, many victims tend to be forgotten. “The fact is that it can take years to recover from the trauma of a serious crime,” she says. In an academic setting, people are so preoccupied with their work, they can push the incident out of their minds. “Then, maybe months later, they suddenly discover they’re having a really hard time. We want them to know there’s no statute of limitations. They can come to us anytime, for any reason, no matter how long it’s been since the crime occurred.”
If there’s anything that underscores the changing nature of campus security more than the establishing of Yale’s victim services unit, it’s that the department also has a hazardous-devices expert who doubles as its hostage negotiator. DeBenedet’s office, with its high ceilings and marble fireplace, appears to be classic Yale, until you notice the arsenal of defused explosives—dynamite, a hand grenade, blasting caps, a mortar round, and a machine-gun belt—that adorns the mantle. (All of the menacing-looking objects were collected during his days as a municipal police officer, except for the grenade, which was turned in by a Yale employee.) Behind the desk chair, where the vintage rendering of the New Haven Green typically hangs in most Yale offices, is the black outline of a human figure used by police for target practice.
“We had done some bomb training before, but the attack on Professor Gelernter really brought it into the forefront,” says DeBenedet, who spent 20 years with the NHPD before coming to Yale, in 1991. “Prior to that incident Yale had no great concern about that type of situation, but now we’re very alert to the potential.” DeBenedet says that immediately following the Gelernter attack, Yale police were swamped with calls from people worried about suspicious-looking packages. In response, the department held roughly a dozen informational classes, which were attended by about 600 University employees. The purpose was to teach them how to tell whether a parcel is likely to be a bomb.
In addition to his work as an explosives expert and hostage negotiator, DeBenedet is also in charge of internal affairs. In that capacity he has formalized the process by which complaints against officers are investigated. He also initiated cultural- diversity training for all officers. “In the past, that wasn’t a primary concern as far as training was concerned,” he says. “But we’ve recognized it as a necessity, especially at Yale, where you have people from all over the world. Police officers have to recognize differences in cultures and be respectful of them.”
Despite all these carefully conceived efforts to make Yale as safe and secure as possible, the question of how closely perceptions match reality lingers. To the distress of admissions officers and other Yale officials, some people continue to promote the belief, amplified by the Christian Prince murder, that New Haven is a crime-ridden city, and that students who attend Yale do so at their peril. There is no question that New Haven has its hazardous zones, but their impact on Yale is, in the opinion of many in the University community, overrated. One indication of the gap between perception and reality comes from the most recent statistics on campus crime. According to reports submitted in 1994 by institutions under the federal Student Right-to-Know and Campus Security Act, the incidence of aggravated assault at Yale (five) is well below Harvard’s (45), and Columbia’s (16). There were no reported cases of forcible sex offenses at Yale in 1994, while Harvard reported five, and Dartmouth eight. Yale’s incidence of robbery (six) was comparable to that at Stanford (seven) and Harvard (six), and below that at Columbia (35) and Penn (38). There were two cases of weapons violations at Yale, compared with 14 at Stanford, and 24 at Duke.
The message of the statistics is that no campus is crime-free these days, but that, depending on the category, Yale is far safer than several peer institutions with better reputations for security.
Yale’s reputation appears to be catching up with the facts. According to University officials, prospective students, and their parents, seem significantly less worried about crime at Yale than in years past. “It’s just not a major issue,” says Dean of Undergraduate Admissions Richard Shaw, adding that the results of an annual student questionnaire indicate security concerns are rarely a factor in determining whether or not a student decides to attend Yale. “The farther you get from the campus, the more people tend to believe all the myths,” he says. “But once they come here, the feeling is usually very positive.” A major reason is that the heirs to the legacy of Officers Wiser and Donnelly are apparently very good at their jobs.  |
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