gay cop profile
They are butch, feminine, black, white, straight, gay, campy, bitchy, bourgie and fully armed. They can see, really see, what other officers cannot or will not. If what they see sometimes is the darker side of gay life, it’s because they aren’t spending time at Target watching gay people buy towel racks. They’re on the receiving end of 911. [...]
When [Sgt. Brett] Parson joined the D.C. police in 1994 as an openly gay officer, someone taped heterosexual pornography to his locker. He responded by taping gay porn photos on all 375 lockers in the 4th District squad house. [...]
The calls are more like the businessman who pages Parson and asks to meet at the squad office later that night. The man, an Air Force veteran in creased pants, arrives at 9 p.m., looking thin and stressed as he carries a legal folder full of bank statements. He suspects that his domestic partner of seven years has embezzled more than $80,000 from his business.
“I haven’t seen him in a month,” the man says.
“Think it has anything to do with 80 grand being missing?” Parson asks, sitting at his desk, scribbling notes. “Okay, what color are his eyes?”
The man pauses. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” Parson says, putting down his pen. “You stared into his [expletive] eyes for seven years!”
The man smiles and starts to relax. He opens his folder and goes over financial details. His partner worked in his business, but they had no legal arrangement. “We were just together,” the man says. He tells Parson he has a contract to provide lunches for schoolchildren, and now with the money missing, he’s juggling bank accounts to buy the food. His voice breaks.
“I gave my word I would feed these kids,” he says.
Parson softens. “I know you know a lot of people in the community. The question is whether your pride will allow you to reach out. I know you have strong religious beliefs. Maybe it’s time to check in. You can’t go through this alone, buddy.”
The man wipes his face. He looks away. “It’s hard because I still care for him.”
Parson says he’ll consult a detective in the financial crimes unit. He stands. “You okay?”
The man gathers his things. “Yeah.”
“Liar,” Parson says. “Love sucks.” [...]
- Anne Hull, "The Stewards of Gay Washington," washington post March 28, 2005
posted March 27, 2005 in print