Excerpts
Before He Was President, Roosevelt Cleaned Up a Corrupt NYPD. What Would He Say Today?
Teddy Roosevelt took on the NYPD and won. Over 100 years later, we face the same corruption, complacency, and resistance to accountability.
Call to action: On Thin Ice channels Roosevelt’s legacy of tough, necessary change—and challenges policing to live up to its mission.
Excerpt:
I’ve written this book to demand a good deal, a better deal, for the police departments and the public they serve throughout the United States. I invoke the spirit of Teddy Roosevelt as we begin our journey, because I am not demanding the impossible. I am advocating for what is necessary and achievable. If we fail to enact meaningful change, we will fail, not just as police departments but as a society. The urgency is real, and this is the thin ice we stand on now.
I offer my thoughts and insights as someone with over three decades of firsthand experience in law enforcement. I retired as a lieutenant after serving in some of the most challenging and significant assignments in Los Angeles policing, including the Rodney King riots, the LAPD elite Metropolitan Division, and the Rampart gang unit. I later oversaw the investigation and adjudication of officer-involved shootings, a role that exposed me to the brutal truth of both pervasive failures and opportunities for improvement.
How did I end up here? Ironically, I never intended to become a cop. My initial goal was to follow in my father’s academic footsteps by becoming a professor of criminal justice. The plan was simple: spend five years on the streets of Los Angeles, gain practical experience, and return to academia equipped with real-world insights to fuel my research and teaching. But as with so many people, life had other plans. Five years turned into over thirty as my mission shifted from teaching to making policing better.
The Day the Secret Service Got Lucky
In Butler, Pennsylvania, a would-be assassin breached a rooftop and nearly changed the course of American history. The breakdown wasn’t about protocol—it was about culture.
Call to action: On Thin Ice breaks down how a culture of complacency and overconfidence led to a catastrophic near-miss—and what it says about law enforcement readiness today.
Excerpt:
There are events in policing that redefine everything you’ve trained for, where everything you believe about security collapses in real time. The assassination attempt in Butler, Pennsylvania, was one such instance. It wasn’t just a national crisis, it was a masterclass in failure, exposing gaps in preparation, response, and execution at the highest levels of security.
Presidential security has evolved through tragedy. The Secret Service, originally created to combat counterfeiting, didn’t take on its protective role until after the assassination of William McKinley in 1901. More than a century later, history repeated itself in Butler, Pennsylvania, when an armed assailant attempted to assassinate then-candidate Donald Trump. It exposed a vulnerability that had been hiding in plain sight. Watching it unfold on live television, I wasn’t processing it as a civilian or a political spectator. My instincts immediately took over, sharpened by years of working with and alongside the Secret Service to ensure the safety of those in power.
The imagery was unreal: Secret Service agents moving with urgency, shielding and whisking away a bleeding Trump as the crowd erupted into confusion and panic. It was a visceral reminder of how thin the line between order and chaos is, and how quickly that line can be breached.
That fateful moment in July 2024 exemplified the flaws and failings of our police across America and served as a lens to confront a critical truth: Policing in this country is on thin ice. The cracks aren’t just forming, they’re spreading and undermining the very foundation on which we stand.
Militarized on Monday. Sued by Friday.
We turned police officers into warriors. Then we act surprised when they treat civilians like combatants.
Call to action: In On Thin Ice, I examine how the militarization of law enforcement reshaped our priorities—and how we need to get back to what policing was meant to be.
Excerpt:
Helicopters, tactical weapons, and even armored vehicles were made available with shocking ease. And it was all free. We just had to complete the paperwork. Our marching orders were basic: “Go find some good shit.”
Although I appreciate the role specialized equipment plays in critical tactical scenarios, it’s been my experience that patrol officers’ access to military equipment is counterproductive to nurturing community relationships. Today, the shift toward militarization is evident in even the smallest communities where patrol officers routinely wear external ballistic vests, once reserved for situations like high-risk search warrants and critical tactical incidents.
The weapons, military equipment, and, indeed, military outfitting of the police force prompts a militaristic mindset. When officers are outfitted like soldiers, it shifts the perception of their role. Civilians are no longer community members but potential threats, and the streets are seen as battlefields rather than neighborhoods. This militarized approach risks alienating the very communities law enforcement is sworn to protect, particularly those already grappling with historical grievances against policing.
On August 10, 2014, just one day after a police officer fatally shot eighteen-year-old Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager, Ferguson, Missouri, descended into chaos. The streets erupted, not only with grief and outrage but in a battle for the soul of American policing. What began as a demand for justice for Michael Brown quickly escalated into a national reckoning, forcing Americans to confront uncomfortable truths about race, law enforcement, and the unchecked armament of police forces.
The unrest sparked fierce debates, initially centered on the fractured relationship between law enforcement and Black Americans. But the conversation soon widened, encompassing the militarization of police, Missouri’s use of force laws, and systemic inequities in the criminal justice system. Activists pointed to broader injustices, from for-profit policing and the criminalization of poverty to the enduring segregation of American schools, each point revealing how deeply entrenched disparities shaped Ferguson’s tragic reality.
How Rodney King Changed Everything—and Nothing
I was in LA for the riots. I saw what happened when a city’s faith in its police force collapsed. A tinderbox of frustration waiting to ignite. And I saw how fast that lesson was forgotten.
Call to action: In On Thin Ice, I revisit the aftermath of Rodney King—and explain why so little changed, even after the world was watching.
Excerpt:
Despite the overwhelming evidence against the officers, the legal system seemed poised to fail the very people it was meant to protect. The trial of the four LAPD officers was moved to Simi Valley, a predominantly White suburb of Ventura County, where the jury also was predominantly White, angering many and further deepening the public’s distrust in the judicial system. The decision reinforced the belief that justice was not for all but was tilted in favor of law enforcement, fueling the outrage that would soon boil over.
On April 29, 1992, after seven days of deliberation, the jury acquitted all four officers of assault and acquitted three of the four on charges of excessive force. The fourth officer’s excessive force charge ended in a hung jury.
“The jury’s verdict will not blind us to what we saw on that videotape,” Mayor Tom Bradely said. “The men who beat Rodney King do not deserve to wear the uniform of the LAPD.” President George H. W. Bush said, “Viewed from outside the trial, it was hard to understand how the verdict could possibly square with the video. Those civil rights leaders with whom I met were stunned. And so was I.”
Many officers argued that the denunciations of the verdict, broadcast nationwide, provoked the civil unrest. Although the wisdom of making these public statements during such a tumultuous time is open to debate, to assert causation was insidious, a willful aim to detract from any responsibility for the deteriorated relationship between the LAPD and many of the Black communities it serves.
It takes an introspective person to acknowledge and then grasp the significant impact the shameful, racist history of this country has had in stifling the academic and economic opportunities of minorities. The vast majority of officers attributed racial discrepancies to minorities’ allegedly low intellect, bad choices, and laziness. As studies have shown, violence is easily rationalized when inflicted on people the oppressor considers inferior. Too many cops lacked an understanding of the influences the years of racial and economic inequalities and authoritarian police practices had on minority communities, priming the city to combust.
When the verdicts were announced, I was having dinner at Tony Roma’s in Glendale, an LA suburb. The news broke on every television in the restaurant, and chaos unfolded on the screens within minutes. A news broadcast ordered all law enforcement personnel to report to their assignments immediately, a marked contrast to today, as we had neither cell phones nor pagers then. By the time I arrived at my division, riot gear was being distributed. I was deployed to South Los Angeles, specifically the Firestone Station that borders LAPD’s 77th Street area, the epicenter of the riots that had erupted at the intersection of Florence and Normandie.
Driving into South LA was an experience that remains burned into my memory. It was a surreal, unnerving experience. To avoid the most volatile zones we took the 710 Long Beach Freeway and entered the area from the east. From the elevated freeway the devastation was unmistakable.
Fires raged unchecked across the city, their orange flames merging ominously with the fading light of the setting sun.
Thick plumes of black smoke twisted skyward, creating a dystopian skyline that suffocated the horizon.
The city I had sworn to serve and protect was unrecognizable, transformed into a war zone of chaos and fury. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.
When we finally exited the freeway, the reality on the ground was even more shocking…
Los Angeles on Fire— Not Just Flames
During the wildfires, police and fire failed to communicate. Systems broke down. Radios didn’t work. The threat wasn’t just nature—it was bureaucracy.
Call to action: On Thin Ice lays out how siloed command structures and poor coordination put lives at risk—and what real interagency readiness looks like.
Excerpt:
When I turned on the news, the scene was surreal and haunting, an unrecognizable version of the streets I used to drive to visit friends. A massive red bulldozer roared forward, shoving abandoned vehicles to the side like matchbox cars, their windows clouded with ash and their once-shiny exteriors dulled by layers of soot and smoke. Luxury cars and everyday sedans were pushed unceremoniously into haphazard piles along the roadside, a testament to the chaos and desperation unfolding.
The normally familiar and orderly road had become a cataclysmic wasteland, choked with the remnants of panicked flight. Thick, orange-tinged smoke hung low, muffling sounds and reducing visibility as the glow of the approaching flames cast eerie shadows through the haze. It was a scene that looked more like a disaster movie than the reality of the beautiful city I once called home.
Adding to the systemic failures was a stark breakdown in first responder readiness. Despite well-documented fire risks and high wind warnings, Los Angeles Fire Department leadership failed to take proactive measures to ensure adequate staffing and resources. According to the Los Angeles Times, Fire Chief Kristin Crowley opted not to hold over nearly 1,000 firefighters from the prior shift, leaving critical personnel unavailable as the fire spread. Compounding this misstep, the Daily Mail said the department severely underutilized its resources, staffing only five of more than forty available engines that could have been deployed to high-risk areas. Not surprisingly, area residents reported not seeing any firefighters attempting to put out the initial fire, even as it grew rapidly.
Despite official claims of pre-staging resources, internal planning documents obtained by the Los Angeles Times revealed that fire officials had outright rejected requests to deploy additional engines to vulnerable areas. Instead, reinforcements were only called in after the fire had already begun tearing through the landscape. As Daily Mail sources within the LAFD noted, the failure to mobilize resources in advance was not just an oversight, it was a systemic failure. The decision to delay action turned a manageable crisis into a catastrophic one, amplifying destruction and underscoring the urgent need for accountability in emergency response leadership.
Another layer to the crisis was State Farm’s decision to withdraw fire insurance coverage in high-risk areas like Pacific Palisades just months before the wildfires. In fact, state authorities listed the Palisades as one of the five Southern California areas with the highest potential for wildfire risk. In July 2024, California Department of Insurance spokesman Michael Soller said about 1,600 policies were dropped in Pacific Palisades. Other insurance data found that State Farm also dropped more than 2,000 policies in the Los Angeles communities of Brentwood, Calabasas, and Hidden Hills. The reason cited was the increased frequency of natural disasters, inflation, and challenges in the reinsurance market. Letters sent to policyholders identified those areas as presenting “substantial wildfire hazards.”
The timing of this withdrawal raises troubling questions: What did State Farm know that the City of Los Angeles apparently chose to ignore? The insurance company’s decision, likely informed by extensive risk assessments and predictive models, highlights a glaring disconnect between private sector insights and public sector preparedness. The lack of action from city officials to address the risks identified by insurers like State Farm underscores a broader failure to acknowledge and mitigate the dangers posed by recurring natural disasters.
Why “Defunding the Police” Was Never the Answer
Cutting police budgets doesn’t solve bad policing—it makes it worse. The answer isn’t fewer cops. It’s better ones.
Call to action: On Thin Ice outlines a smarter, more effective path to public safety—built on preparation, transparency, and trust.
Excerpt:
The ARRIVE Together program exemplifies a shift toward a guardian mindset that prioritizes trust, empathy, and restraint. In Cumberland County, this approach has delivered remarkable results. Here’s what New Jersey State Police Superintendent Patrick Callahan observed when discussing mental health crisis calls:
“We knew from data across the country that 50 percent of these calls end in use of force—half of them. You think about that. You know how many uses of force we’ve had in Cumberland County? Zero—not one.”
Rather than cutting resources, programs like ARRIVE Together highlight the need for smarter, more targeted investments. Calls to “defund the police” oversimplify a deeply complex issue and divert attention from the real problem: the lack of adequate resources, training, and mental health integration within police departments. The goal shouldn’t be to dismantle law enforcement but to equip it with the tools to handle modern challenges effectively and humanely.
Strategic investments in de-escalation training, integrated mental health teams, and tools like body-worn cameras have already proven their worth. Research shows that body-worn cameras alone reduce use of force incidents by nearly 50 percent and complaints against officers by almost 90 percent. New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy emphasized the effectiveness of these measures when he made the following remarks:
“Responding to an individual in crisis alongside a trained mental health professional proves that we can achieve more successful outcomes than when we ask the police to step into these fraught situations alone.”
The path forward is not about defunding, it’s about reallocating resources so they can make the most impact. Programs like ARRIVE Together and tools like the BMHS offer a roadmap for change, demonstrating that better outcomes are possible when law enforcement adopts a proactive, collaborative, and compassionate approach.
The examples from New Jersey, Canada, and Europe show that law enforcement can evolve with the proper focus and mindset. This transformation from a reactive, enforcement-driven model to one rooted in guardianship represents the future of effective policing. At its core, this evolution demands transparency, accountability, and a relentless focus on preserving life.
Each mishandled crisis response is not only a personal tragedy but a blow to the integrity of our systems. The cost of inaction is far too great because it’s measured in lives lost and communities fractured. Change isn’t optional; it’s an urgent necessity.
When Your Life Depends on Training
Racing toward gunfire, my partner and I face an armed assailant and a critically injured victim. It’s a moment where textbook tactics meet unpredictable reality—where survival hinges on a single choice.
Call to Action:
In On Thin Ice, experience the intensity of frontline policing firsthand, discovering how training and critical decision-making can prevent tragedy in policing’s most dangerous moments.
Excerpt:
The radio dispatcher’s voice crackled with an urgent Code 3 call—lights and sirens on full alert. “Assault with a deadly weapon in progress. Shots fired.” The words sent an immediate surge of adrenaline through my body. Policing is inherently high stakes, requiring officers to respond to rapidly evolving, sometimes life-threatening situations. Split-second decisions are the norm, and the weight of those decisions can mean the difference between life and death. Even before we arrived I could feel the tension mounting. Those types of calls test every ounce of your training, resolve, and ability to think under pressure. They also expose the gap between textbook tactics and the messy, unpredictable reality of the field.
The address led us to a two-story duplex on an east-west street. As we approached I noted the positioning dictated by our route. The direction we were driving would place my partner closest to the duplex and the armed suspect. The details of the call painted a grim picture. A domestic dispute had escalated into violence. A man armed with an AK-47 had shot his fleeing girlfriend in the leg, thwarting her escape and shattering her femur. She lay bleeding on the front porch; blood streaked across the sidewalk where he had dragged her back toward the house. The reality of what awaited us hit harder with every second.
What happened next would underscore the critical nature of tactical decision-making in law enforcement. It would also reveal how even a momentary lapse in judgment could put lives, including our own, at risk.
The scene we rolled into would soon become one of the most intense and defining moments of my career. . .