The police commissioner apologized.
"Yes, sir, point taken," he said to a city councilman.
"I take full responsibility," he said again, to another elected watchdog.
The police commissioner apologized.
"Yes, sir, point taken," he said to a city councilman.
"I take full responsibility," he said again, to another elected watchdog.
"The fault rests with me," the contrite commissioner repeated.
The City Council hauled Frederick H. Bealefeld III in front of the public safety committee to address concerns about a new policy of not releasing, at least not immediately, the names of police officers who shoot people, for fear that angry civilians would seek retribution.
One by one, council members grilled the commissioner, who played the role of humble public servant to perfection, bowing to the Representatives of the People. He had done wrong, and he was truly, truly sorry. Council members had sent him a letter full of vitriol, charging that his policy could "undermine the hard-earned, sacred trust between our police officers and the public they serve."
But that was a whole month ago. Now it turns out those very same council members have no problem with the new policy. In fact, they fell over each other praising Bealefeld and his work, his honesty and his integrity. "We're just trying to get this cleared up," James B. Kraft said, apparently forgetting who was supposed to be doing the apologizing.
Kraft, who used to be a public defender, wasn't done. "We don't want to put guys' names out on the street," he said. By "guys" he meant cops, a point he evidently felt he understated. He clarified later: "Unless the officer does something inappropriate, I don't think the names should ever be released."
The bandwagon was rolling, and his colleagues jumped.
"I for one am not going to try to micromanage your department," Councilman Robert W. Curran said at the hearing called by politicians who had previously sounded angry at missing a chance to micromanage the department.
"Everyone here is concerned about police officer safety," Council President Stephanie C. Rawlings-Blake said.
"I have no problems with your policies," Councilwoman Agnes B. Welch said, explaining that she was willing to give the chief wide leeway because, well, he's such a nice guy. "Because of you, I'm not going to oppose your policy."
The council is supposed to confirm the police chief, not anoint him King Bealefeld III.
But the council didn't let the noble commissioner off without any scrutiny - they had to get him to admit he was wrong about something.