Editor’s note: Brenda Tate served the City of Pittsburgh as one of the first female African American Pittsburgh Police officers. Her book, “Journal of a Black Woman in Blue,” is about what she faced on the job, as well as how she overcame addiction, abuse, and racism for 20 years while serving on the force. Tate writes:
Addiction
Once again, I was sitting in a bar when fate stepped in. I saw a sign that they were recruiting Pittsburgh Police officers for an annual salary of $18,000, considerably more than the $12,000 I was making as a police officer with the Housing Authority. I thought that if I could make more money, I could buy more booze.
The disease was progressing. I swore to myself that if I got the job with the Pittsburgh Police,
I would stop drinking. I would try to make rank. I got the job, but I kept drinking.
In 1979 I passed the exam to join the Pittsburgh Police force. Working for the Pittsburgh Police was very different from working as a police officer for the Housing Authority. The Housing Authority began as an experiment to place police officers on public housing property, most of which was in the low-income sections of the city.
As a Pittsburgh Police officer, my jurisdiction would expand to cover the entire city. I was first assigned to an area on the other side of the city called Mount Washington. During the seventies there weren’t many blacks living on Mount Washington or even just passing through. I had never been there in my life. Even though Mount Washington and my neighborhood the Hill District were separated by only five or six miles, they were worlds apart.
It was a very difficult time for black female police officers in the ’70s, made even harder because we were all separated into different stations and shifts, so that we could never compare notes about the racism we were experiencing. White female officers experienced sexism but never had to go through what we went through. We had to deal with both sexism and racism.
I remember standing for roll call in the Zone Eight police station on Mount Washington. I was sandwiched in among a group of men standing ten across, three deep. After inspection, we waited for our assignments when we would be handed a radio or given a partner.
All the men got called and left, leaving me standing there alone. I didn’t know what to do, but then suddenly I thought, Brenda, raise your hand! So, I did. I told the sergeant sitting behind the desk that I hadn’t gotten my assignment. He peered down at me and then pointed to a door. He said, “See that door? That’s a broom closet. Go get a broom!” It felt to me as though time had stopped, and the air had been sucked out of the room. I stood there thinking, now that doesn’t sound right. They’re going to pay me all this money just to sweep the floor. Wasn’t I hired to do a lot more than that? All during training, it had been pounded into us that when we were given an order, we were not to question it. And so, I decided I would play by the rules, and I headed for the broom closet. Just as I reached into the closet for a broom, Harry, a white officer, appeared and said, “C’mon, kid, don’t do that!” He stopped me and he saved my dignity that day. That was my introduction to the racism that was rampant at that time in the Pittsburgh Police force. Sadly, there are other examples.
Under Pittsburgh Bureau of Police Rules and Regulations, officers assigned to foot patrol must have the ability to communicate via radio for their own safety. On this day, I was assigned to foot patrol on busy West Liberty Avenue. When I requested a radio, I was informed there weren’t any radios left. I angrily turned on my heels and headed for my beat. After two hours passed, an African American officer I knew informed me that the station had been trying to reach me for an hour and sent him to find me. I shot back, “How the hell am I supposed to answer any calls when I don’t have a radio to receive them?” I found a payphone inside a pizza shop and called the desk sergeant who told me to return to the station immediately. When I arrived, the place was packed. Word had apparently gone out that there was going to be a showdown at the station. I got the feeling that everyone knew I was going to be reprimanded—that is, everyone except me! The desk sergeant, accompanied by another officer, was busy typing up my infraction. I was told to take a seat until the lieutenant arrived. He showed up a few minutes later and spoke quietly to the two officers. He then ripped the report out of the typewriter and summoned me
to his desk. He informed me that I had violated an order and consequently they were recommending that I get a three-day suspension and contact the FOP union to get representation. I would be formally notified in three days. But for now, I should finish up my shift in front of the station. Magically, they found me a radio. The following day I contacted the FOP office and was put in touch with the president of the FOP, who scheduled a meeting with me the next day. I was terrified by the prospect of a long, drawn-out process. I was used to having my fate determined quickly. I would take my lumps, lick my wounds, and move on. This was going to be a lot different. I drank myself to sleep that night.
Recovery
As a sober police officer, I was able to put what I had learned in recovery to good use. I had noticed that when a man on the force had a drinking or addiction problem, his co-workers would ignore the problem or send him to the informal recovery program. If a male officer got drunk on the job, they would take him home to sleep it off. For women, there was none of that. Especially a black woman. I could see the need to set up a similar recovery program for women and I approached the police chief who gave me the go-ahead. I put posters up in the ladies’ room at each station around the city but rather than targeting alcoholism, I took a more general approach and posed the question: Are you having problems with finances, childcare, marriage, etc.? I was able to organize meetings at the same location as the men’s recovery program to address these issues, but I always found an opportunity to talk about alcoholism and addiction. Unfortunately, this program for women dissolved after the police chief stepped down and a new mayor came in.
One day the commander told me that they were putting together a Witness Protection Unit and needed someone with a drug and alcohol background. He knew I had gone through rehab and had started a women’s recovery program in response to the informal recovery program that had been created at my former station. When he approached me about the Witness Protection Unit, I was in the process of getting certified to become a drug and alcohol counselor. Since many of the witnesses had issues with drugs and alcohol, I had a feeling the Witness Protection Unit would be a good fit. Apparently, the commander thought so too. He transferred me into that unit. This was the first time the City of Pittsburgh was creating a new unit from the ground up, and it was motivated to do so because of the rise in homicides and gang violence. I was the only African American and the only female in the new Witness Protection Unit. At first, we questioned whether Witness Protection would work because it was impossible to change someone’s ID. But we discovered that Pittsburgh gangs never crossed territories. This meant we could simply transfer witnesses to other locales in the city. The plan proved successful.
The Witness Protection Unit evolved to incorporate the Dignitary Protection Unit. Once again, I was the only African American working in this new unit. It was a small unit—four detectives and a supervisor. The newly formed Witness and Dignitary Protection Unit had its own budget. My partner, and best friend Marcia Malloy, would eventually become the supervisor of the unit.When dignitaries came into town, I would have to create a route for them and study the layout of the building or area that was their destination so that the site would be secure. I also had to anticipate emergencies and plan for them. The kind of clear, logical thinking that would be required to handle this work would have been impossible had I not been sober.
Whenever a visiting dignitary was a president, I would coordinate plans with the Secret Service, who usually deferred to me because I was familiar with the area that would be involved in the visit. When the dignitary was a king or queen, I would be at the airport awaiting their arrival. Our team would work on what is called a “rolling shutdown” of the route that would be taken from the airport to the destination.
Rosa Parks was considered “high-profile” when she came to the city. She arrived with an assistant at the county airport, and I was there to greet her along with my partner, Marcia Malloy. While Rosa sat in a limo waiting for her luggage, I peeked in, and we began chatting. I asked her if I could get a picture with her (I always had a throw-away camera with me) and she agreed. I climbed in the limo and Marcia snapped the picture. Then Marcia got in and I took a picture of her with Rosa Parks. When Rosa’s assistant appeared, I asked her if there was anything special, we needed to know. She said, “Yes, don’t let anyone take pictures of her unless I give permission. Rosa’s eyesight is poor, and she gets startled by the flash.” I quickly hid the camera behind my back. Rosa Parks stayed in Pittsburgh for two days and I secured her entire visit right up until she went into her hotel room to go to bed. The connection I felt to Rosa Parks was especially meaningful because her very presence in Pittsburgh and my role in protecting her stood in sharp contrast to the racism that was so prevalent in the city.
Brenda Tate’s “Journal of a Black Woman in Blue” can be found on Amazon or the web site: https://journalofablackwomaninblue.com.
