There’s a paradox in the way Dallas police chief David Brown has handled the crisis in his city this past week.
The words he says seem detached from, and even opposite to, his manner.
“That I’m able to stand here and discuss this with you is a testament to God’s grace and his sweet, tender mercies,” he said at a news conference on Monday. His face looked like granite. His voice remained as even as his pressed uniform. “I’m running on fumes,” he said.
This combination of qualities – unwavering calm, alongside the freedom to confess frailty – has captured the imagination of the nation as it has watched him navigate the worst loss of life for police since 9/11.
The attacker, a US army veteran named Micah Johnson, killed five officers Thursday night using the cover of a peaceful protest march against police violence around the country.
Before the shooting, Brown was known in law enforcement circles for his successful, progressive measures to turn around a troubled department. Since the shooting, his reputation has only expanded. On social media there has arisen an earnest movement to put Brown forward as a presidential candidate in November, including the trending Twitter hashtag #DavidBrownForPresident.
“I’m torn between ‘David Brown for president’ and not wanting you to leave Dallas,” a resident named Rebecca Stevenson wrote to Brown on Twitter.
So where does it come from, this authoritative calm coupled with emotional honesty in the face of crushing stress and heartbreak?
The police chief’s experience with crime is more than just professional. He knows violence from every angle; he is an expert in anguish.
Brown grew up in South Oak Cliff, a poor, mostly black neighborhood in Dallas where crack cocaine came in like a freight train, in the early 1980s. The Dallas police department was known then for its brutality and bigotry, and Brown saw the worst of both crime and punishment.
As a young man, he listened to the complaints of his neighbors and resolved to take action. In 1983 he entered the police force with a mind for reform. The higher he rose in the force – through patrol squads, Swat units, internal affairs – the broader his influence became.
And the more intensely he understood the often-brittle relationship between police and the public.
In August 1988, Brown responded to the shooting of an officer. At the scene, he saw a pair of glasses he recognized, lying on the ground. They belonged to Walter Williams, Brown’s 47-year-old former partner. It fell to Brown, that night, to talk with Williams’ three children about their father’s death.
A few years later, in 1991, drug dealers shot and killed Brown’s younger brother, Kelvin, outside Phoenix.
In 2010, just a few weeks after he took over as chief, a gunman in nearby Lancaster, Texas, shot and killed a police officer, then died in a shootout with a dozen cops who responded to the scene. Brown received word of the gunman’s identity: his son, David Brown Jr. The son was bipolar and had the drug PCP in his blood when he died.
Somehow, Brown carried on, and used his experience – dating back to his boyhood – to implement a long list of changes to the department. He hosted community events, directed the department to publish details on its website about shootings by officers, and – most importantly – he doubled training for officers to learn restraint in stressful situations.
Brown’s ideas often frustrated the police union in Dallas, but the reforms worked. Between 2009, the year before Brown took over, and 2015, complaints of excessive force by police dropped 80%.
Brown’s detractors claimed he had hobbled the force, making officers afraid to take swift action against perpetrators for fear of breaking Brown’s rules.
At a memorial service on Tuesday, Barack Obama thanked Brown publicly for his reforms. He drew a standing ovation when he noted that during last week’s complex crisis involving the armed gunman, armed officers, and armed protesters, the Dallas police “showed incredible restraint. You evacuated the injured, isolated the shooter, and saved more lives than we will ever know.”
In his own address, Brown somehow brought smiles – and a moment of simple emotional connection to a sorrowful gathering – telling how in the 70s he used lyrics from his favorite songs to charm girlfriends. When he really loved them, he turned to Stevie Wonder, he said. At that point, he read the lyrics to the 1977 hit As, including the lines: “I’ll be loving you until the rainbow burns the stars out of the sky … I’ll be loving you always.”
After Obama’s speech, the president and Michelle Obama made their way to the side of the stage and stood for a moment as the packed symphony hall stood and applauded. The Obamas in turn applauded the police officers who filled most of the ground floor, then turned and exited.
At most events, when the president leaves, the show ends and the crowd breaks up. But this time, the crowd of Dallas police, their families and other attendees stayed on their feet, motionless and facing the stage.
Brown, unaware, gathered up his dress hat and papers. When he finally turned to leave, the crowd burst into a loud, sustained ovation.
Brown gave the smallest of nods, and returned to work.
