Cops, Curfews Deserve Applause

I slap a cop on the shoulder. I do not make a habit of this, but it feels right at the moment.

He grins slightly, then the grin disappears. Something tells me that grinning is not a big part of his professional demeanor.

His name is Geoff Winford and he’ll probably hate seeing his name in print like this. But I want you to know that on this night a cop did a good thing - or something I consider good, wise and caring.

Sacramento is embracing a policy of citing youngsters who stay out too late at night these days. The curfew requiring youths 17 and under to be off the streets by 10 p.m. has been on the books for many years, but for a long time it was not enforced.

But times have changed and the really bad kids are now worse than most adults ever imagined. Society’s really bad kids have always smoked too much, driven too fast and drunk too wildly, but today they all have guns, too, and not the slightest conscience about using them.

These are only the very worst kids, of course, but many adults have lost sight of that. Still, the curfew is not a bad idea - if anything because it protects the good and not-so-bad kids more than it irritates them. If I have to pick between sending a kid to the morgue or making one think I’m a killjoy, I’ll always take the latter.

The first big push on the curfew crackdown came after the open-air Thursday Night Market July 27. More than two dozen kids were arrested and cited. Worse (from their point of view), the curfew-breakers were kept in a “protective center” until a parent picked them up.

I imagined this plan wasn’t too popular with parents, but Lt. James Maccoun said the opposite is true.

“We got very few complaints directed at us,” he said. “Either they were embarrassed, apologetic or mad at their kids because they lied about where they were going to be.”

As the clock crept toward 10 p.m., 35 officers began gathering on the mall in patrol cars, paddy wagons, on horseback and on foot. Youngsters numbered in the hundreds with less than half an hour to go. Some of them snickered at the growing police presence. “There’s lot of potential out here tonight,” one officer said. “It’s in the air. You can feel it.”

As the sweep began at a minute after 10, the cops remained cool. Youngsters waiting for buses or edging toward the light-rail station got the benefit of the doubt. Juveniles walking away with purpose were completely ignored.

Only four juveniles were arrested, the youngest being two 12-year-olds picked up about 10:30 p.m. They looked younger than the others and seemed baffled about being stopped. One had blond hair scissored into a step cut. The other, smallish and gentle-looking, wore his brown hair hanging limply past his shoulders.

“You guys here with your parents?” a police officer asked.

“Huh?” responded the shorter of the two.

“Where’s your mom? Are either of your parents here?”

“No,” the same boy said. “It’s just me and him.”

They said they had missed the 9:30 bus for West Sacramento and planned to catch the one at 10:30. An officer began to send them on their way. “Same age as the Butterfield kids,” I muttered, unable to stop myself. The boys I had in mind were 12 years old when they were murdered at Sacramento’s Butterfield light-rail station in 1993.

Winford was ahead of me: “Twelve? The bus to West Sacramento? At this hour? No, I don’t think so.” The reason was obvious, at least to Winford. He has a daughter and a son about that age.

The boys were hurried away. This is when I gave Winford the congratulatory slap. “Good going,” I said. “I’m glad you didn’t send those boys home alone.”

He shook his head, disgusted. “These parents …” he said, his voice trailing off. By the time I got to police headquarters, the smaller boy sat military-straight in a conference room staring at the wall. “Yes, sir!” “No, ma’am!” he answered. Everyone got a kick out of it.

The blond boy, one of 10 children, jabbered on like he hadn’t spoken in a week. He didn’t do well in school because he’d helped his parents move a lot that year. He was always late because he didn’t have an alarm clock.

Officer Eric Walker said there would be automatic follow-up on the boys if they lived in Sacramento. Because they live in a residence motel in West Sacramento, he will forward the case to that city’s police. And hope for the best.

I drove by the motel half an hour later, just for the heck of it. It was closing in on 1:30 a.m. and, sure enough, the boys were standing around out front talking. The adults who had picked them up were nowhere to be seen.