THE FLINT JOURNAL FIRST EDITION
Friday, March 10, 2006
By Melissa Burden

Ed board honors Brian Willingham

FLINT - Flint police Officer Brian Willingham, who last month spoke to President Bush during a stop when he landed in Michigan, recently was honored by the Flint Board of Education.

Superintendent Walter Milton Jr. presented the special tribute last week to Willingham, who recently received the President's Volunteer Service Award for volunteering at Scott Elementary School in Flint. Willingham coaches, referees and organizes fundraisers at the school.

Milton also praised Willingham for accompanying him on neighborhood walks he does on Mondays.

"I do feel protected with this young man," Milton said.

mburden@flintjournal.com • 810.766.6316
 

THE FLINT JOURNAL FIRST EDITION
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
By Marjory Raymer

Bending Bush's ear
Honored volunteer tells president about Flint's "tough times"

HARRISON TWP. - Brian Willingham took Flint's troubles straight to the top.

Willingham, 40, greeted President Bush on Monday as he landed in Michigan to discuss alternative energy at an Auburn Hills event. Bush honored Willingham with the President's Volunteer Service Award, and the Flint police officer took the opportunity to tell Bush what was on his mind.

"He asked how things were going in Flint," Willingham said. "I said, 'It's tough times.'"

Willingham told the president about the rash of violence in the city, including the 14 homicides so far this year. And Willingham told him the city could use some federal help to bolster the grassroots efforts of volunteers like himself.

It wasn't all serious, though. The two also shared a laugh when Bush asked Willingham, "Where's your coat?"

The president himself was bundled up against the blustery, below-freezing weather. Rhonda Willingham later said that her husband's adrenaline levels were so high he didn't need a coat.

Bush spoke to Willingham briefly, about a minute, before making his way to the waiting motorcade. He listened and patted Willingham on the arm and back several times during the talk and presented him with a pin recognizing his volunteer service.

Bush gave the award as part of the USA Freedom Corps greeter program, in which the president meets local community volunteers when Air Force One lands.

Sybyl Atwood, program director for volunteer services at The Resource Center, nominated Willingham for the award. She called him "a man with a heart as big as the whole outdoors."

Willingham volunteers at Scott Elementary School in Flint. He coaches, referees, organizes fundraisers and makes sure the children have a father figure they can look up to.

"I told him, 'If anybody deserves this, you do,'" said Rhonda Willingham, who stood with the media for the president's arrival, trying to catch a few photos, too.

Surrounded by reporters after meeting Bush, Willingham admitted the whole experience was a bit surreal.

It was something he said he could have never imagined as a kid growing up in Flint. And he hopes others in Flint will realize how much potential there is in other kids on the streets, as well as in the city itself.

"I have a deep sense of pride for myself and my family and the city of Flint," Willingham said.

Willingham was one of three local men who greeted the president at Selfridge Air National Guard base. Also on hand were Randall Thompson of Fenton, Midwest director of Freedom Works; and Randall St. Laurent of Oregon Township in Lapeer County, Republican chairman for the congressional district.

Although both are longtime activists, it was the first time either had met the president.

"It was a great way to spend Presidents Day," Thompson said.

Bush's visit was one part of a series of stops over two days in three states to discuss a package of energy initiatives highlighted in his State of the Union address.

Bush toured the United Solar Ovonic plant, which makes electricity-generating solar panels, in Auburn Hills, after visiting a Milwaukee company researching next-generation batteries for electric-gasoline hybrid vehicles.

"Roof makers will one day be able to make a solar roof that protects you from the elements and at the same time powers your house," Bush said. "The vision is this - that technology will become so efficient that you'll become a little power generator in your home, and if you don't use the energy you generate, you'll be able to feed it back into the electricity grid."

Gov. Jennifer Granholm praised Bush for recognizing Uni-Solar's development of renewable energy technology, but said she also reminded him of the importance of the century-old automotive industry to the state.

"Obviously, we want to be the alternative energy capital of America, ... (but) I also said to him not to forget about our great automotive industry," Granholm said.

"He said, 'I can't make your automakers profitable.' I said, 'Yes, but don't forget about fair trade policies.' And then he was moving on. So it was very brief."

mraymer@flintjournal.com • 810.766.6325
 

January 11, 2006
Section: TODAY
Edition: THE FLINT JOURNAL FIRST EDITION Page: D01

Soul on patrol
Cop's diary features eight years of stories from the street

By Rose Mary Reiz rreiz@flintjournal.com * 810.766.6353

Brian Willingham used to think he understood Flint. Then he became a cop and got a different look at the city - the look you get when you crouch behind a Dumpster, weapon drawn, surrounded by broken glass and the stench of urine.

Or when you interview a 14-year-old drug abuser who can't spell the names of his city, street or school.

Or when it finally dawns on you that black fathers are so glaringly absent from their inner-city neighborhoods that you've never seen a single one grieving the loss of a son at a shooting scene.

Willingham's book, "Soul of a Black Cop," is a collection of more than 50 vignettes from his eight years as a police officer on the front lines of a city ravaged by poverty and despair.

The book, published in 2004, started as a diary Willingham kept each day for a year.

"At the time, I worked second shift and got off at midnight, when everyone else in the family was asleep," said Willingham, a 40-year-old father of three. "I had two or three hours of quiet time to think and write."

At first, the diary merely chronicled the observations he'd made while on patrol. But friend and editor Judy Karns, who previously had published a book of Willingham's poetry and photography, convinced the officer that his writing would be more compelling if he included his thoughts and feelings.

The idea didn't sit well with Willingham who, like most police officers he knew, dealt with the job's horrors by not dealing with them.

"When you're a cop, you do the job and learn to manage your emotions," he said. "Behind the scenes, it takes a toll; there's divorce and alcoholism and suicide among police officers. But that's not how we're portrayed."

Willingham, an imposing man who looks the epitome of a no-nonsense law enforcer, tried to be more vulnerable in his writing, "digging into feelings I had but hadn't dealt with." In the process, he experienced a catharsis.

"I was unraveling stuff I didn't even know was there. It was therapeutic. I think now that it should be part of police training for officers to keep a diary."

The result of Willingham's reflections is a book that is part commentary, part confession, a gritty look at urban society that is making others take notice.

Betty DeRamus, a columnist for The Detroit News, called "Soul of a Black Cop" a "poignant drama" that "seems as real as a war wound." Of all the crime novels, movies and dramas she's encountered, "none had the power of Willingham's day-by-day account of a year in his life as a street cop," DeRamus wrote.

Pulitzer Prize- and National Book Award-winning author Leon F. Litwack called Willingham's book "A scream from the bottom ... a compelling and often unnerving documentary portrait of an urban war zone ... poignant for its humanity and sensitivity. ..."

The book's first chapter, "The Mourning After," recounts Willingham's encounter with the grief-stricken mother of a drive-by shooting victim. While describing the scene, he also describes his despair over "the seemingly endless, brutal violence that has become America's black urban community."

Throughout the book, Willingham describes scenes of abuse and violence that have become so common that urban cops no longer are surprised by them.

"When you start policing, it's a shock to see this stuff," he said. "I mean, I grew up on these streets before General Motors eliminated 80,000 jobs and crack cocaine came to stay. I didn't have friends who were shot and murdered. Now, on the same streets, this stuff is so common that you're not even shocked any more."

According to Willingham, "policing is a process of developing emotional tolerance for abnormal experiences. Most of my work as a police officer involves making sense of the senseless."

Like the pregnant woman who shoots someone else's son. Or the 13- and 15-year-old brothers arrested for breaking and entering who don't know their middle names or birthdates. Or the countless domestic violence calls in which drug addicts and alcoholics torture each other but remain steadfastly together.

Then there is the female prostitute who also may be prostituting her small son, and the kids who are raising themselves because their mothers are on crack and their fathers are gone.

"In my line of work," Willingham writes, "I find that asking the whereabouts of the father is a redundant question that has four typical answers: in jail, on drugs in jail, on drugs somewhere on the streets or dead."

The most riveting story about absent fathers is Willingham's, in which he recounts a chance street sighting of his biological father, with whom he hasn't had a relationship in more than 30 years.

"It was a challenge to deal with that and to write about it," he admitted. "That was one of the toughest parts of the book for me."

Another demon is Willingham's aversion to discovering dead bodies ("Every officer has something that really gets to them: abused kids or elderly people, gruesome traffic accidents, something. Mine is finding a body.")

Willingham isn't blind to the glimmers of hope he also sees and records, like the local business manager who donates pizza to the children waiting in a police station while their mother is booked for shoplifting, or the couple who agree to take in an incapacitated neighbor's children indefinitely.

Willingham's book also deals head-on with the predominance of black-against-black crime.

"I've got to tell it like I see it," he said. "There is disproportionate crime in the black community that we've got to address. If 38 out of every 40 people killed in the city were white, wouldn't you think there's a problem with the white community?"

Willingham doesn't pretend to have a solution.

"I'm not saying I have the answer, or that what I say is gospel. It's just another way of provoking a conversation. I just want to show people the side of the community that is hidden away in society, the part that I see."

Willingham, who has a strong history of community involvement, said he sees the book as "just another way of contributing something." He added that he rarely discusses the book or his writing at work.

"I try to keep my artistic side separate from the job," he said. "The two just don't seem to fit together."

Except in print. Professors like Rudy G. Hernandez, who teaches sociology at the University of Michigan-Flint, find "Soul of a Black Cop" a powerful way to give students a real-life, personal look at law enforcement and society.

"Willingham's work lends a very human dimension to urban people whose lives are marked by the brutality of, in some cases, very extreme poverty," Hernandez said.

"Although his words are as imposing as is his physical presence, the depth of his empathy ... and the strength of his resolve to make Flint a more peaceful place is what ultimately compelled me to use this book."

Whatever impact his writing has on others, Willingham said it helps prevent him from becoming jaded.

"I don't want police work to become so routine that the human element gets lost. I don't want this to be about just another domestic fight or another kid who ran away from home.

"Writing helps me focus on each individual I meet. It helps me to be more compassionate and reminds me that I am no different than the people I police."

"Soul of a Black Cop" is sold at Pages bookstore in downtown Flint, the UM-Flint bookstore and through Willingham's Web site, www.soulofablackcop.com.

Wednesday, July 6, 2005
Caring cop sears the soul with his poignant drama
By Betty DeRamus / The Detroit News

 

"Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby," Motown stars Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell once sang.

At a time when Detroit faces possible police cutbacks, Flint police officer Brian Willingham's book, "Soul of a Black Cop," seems as real as a war wound.

I've read countless crime novels and seen scores of movies about warring street gangs, vengeful crime lords, psychotic killers, driven detectives, corrupt cops, abusive parents, serial killers, pedophiles, mad bombers and slick bounty hunters. I've also watched my share of dramas like CSI, NYPD Blue, Law & Order and Homicide: Life on the Streets.

None had the power of Willingham's day-by-day account of a year in his life as a street cop.

It's the little details that grab you and pull you right into the middle of a crime scene. It's the true-to-life touches that help you understand why Willingham decides to persuade a mother who's snapped to agree to let her disobedient 14-year-old son return home. Or why he and his partner decide to give a break to a drunk-driving and speeding mother who's depressed because she can't afford to buy Christmas gifts for her kids.

In one chapter, he also describes a female shoplifter who goes into a store, empties scores of beer bottles and then tries to collect enough bottle refunds to buy a 40-ounce bottle of beer and cigarettes. She and her three children are homeless.

Willingham notes, "I wonder why she is not trying to steal food for her children instead of beer. It would make more sense and perhaps be more honorable, but by law, stealing is stealing ..."

One of the most touching stories deals with an 8-year-old boy who has been raped repeatedly by a male "friend of the family," possibly with the consent of his drug-abusing mother. The boy shows no outward signs of what he has endured.

"I hurt for the boy who has somehow learned not to show hurt at all," Willingham writes. "He never cries or has any outward expression of grief, pain or anger about his situation ... What type of adult will this make him?"

In another chapter, he encounters a quarrelsome crack-addicted couple with two daughters. Both girls seem to have adjusted to a life in which their parents constantly wrangle, utilities are shut off and their refrigerator is often empty.

The five-year-old girl, Willingham writes, can identify all 50 states, makes brilliant drawings and "speaks perfect English in a household where curse words and street slang appear to be the norm. How can a child living under these conditions develop like this?" he wonders.

"Soul of a Black Cop," which can be ordered from Willingham's Web site ( www.soulofablackcop.com), is a descent into the kind of hell where officers who arrest some boys for stealing lunch meat soon discover the youngsters don't know their middle names, birth dates or addresses.

And in another scary vignette, Willingham comes close to being arrested himself by cops who fail to recognize him.

What makes all of this bearable are the stories about unlikely survivors and the suggestion that caring enough about other people can -- sometimes -- make a difference.

Betty DeRamus' column runs Monday, Wednesday and Friday in Metro. Reach her at 313-222-2296 or bderamus@detnews.com.