Riding Shotgun

"You better stay here" West told me. But he's not concerned - burglars rarely prop open doors with orange cones. When the other DPS officer arrives, he cracks a joke, and then they peer into the old barn's cavernous interior. The other officer rests a wary hand on his gun.

Sometimes, things aren't as quiet as an empty ice arena in June.

ADRIANA YUGOVICH/Daily DPS Officers Mark West (right) and Orlando FeatherStone (left) converse with each other. The two officers often patrol the city together.

Like this past September when more than 25 calls flooded the DPS dispatcher's board.

"I think he's killing her."

"She's trying to get up, she can't."

Those were just two of the calls that came in from the 2200 block of Stone Drive in the early morning of this past Sept. 23. Kevin Nelson, an Ann Arbor resident, was stabbing his girlfriend, then LSA senior Tamara Williams.

A DPS officer arrived in less than three minutes and called for him to stop. When he did not, the officer fired twice, fatally wounding Nelson. Williams, too, died in surgery at University Hospitals.

"I don't think there was a police officer in the area whose parents didn't call," West said.

Most nights, though, are nothing to write - or call - home about.

The tragedy on North Campus was the first time a DPS officer used deadly force in the line of duty. There were protests in 1990 when the University Board of Regents voted to deputize the department. Protests that a full-fledged police force could cause violent clashes. Those protests are long gone, but not everyone West meets is exactly thrilled to see him.

People aren't always as happy as the trio that flagged him down one night.

"Can you tell us how to get to the Bellflower Hotel?" one asked.

"Do you mean the Bell Tower?" West said.

Oh. "We just checked in" she replied.

West gave them directions, but a better thought occurred to him.

"You know, if you want I can give you a ride," West said.

The trio piled in the back of his cruiser, repeating their thanks. When the couple and their teen-age son - visiting the University - were let out of the back, the mother realized that she was returning to her hotel in the back of a police cruiser. But it was too late, so she could only laugh and offer her thanks once again.

Not every encounter with the public is so painless.

"I don't care if you're Joe Homeless who just peed down your leg or the president of the University, I'm going to treat you the same," West said. "With respect."

Even if he has to put up with the rude treatment that all police officers sometimes face. Whether it's a baby-faced 21-year-old miffed at having to prove his age or a sullen teenager sputtering epithets as stale as a week-old donut, "You can't take things personally," West said. "Once you start to take that personally, it's time for you to get out of there."

As he passes a group of teenagers piling out of a car in the Church Street parking structure, one does a quick double-take upon spotting the maize-and-blue cruiser.

"That's the 'I've got mom's car tonight, and I hope I don't have to tell her that this cop just towed it' look," West said.

West gets different looks from different people every time he works. He recalled a time when University President Lee Bollinger could not look at him without breaking out in laughter.

West was new to the force and Bollinger was new to the University. A newspaper photographer had requested access to the roof of Mason Hall to take some pictures of the new president standing atop his new domain. DPS sent West to unlock the stairs to the roof and take Bollinger to the site of the shoot.

"He was being really patient." West said. The photographer made Bollinger stand on a chair and strike all sorts of poses.

"And then it started to rain," West said. "But he was a great sport. Here's the new president of the University standing on a chair on the roof of this building in the rain.

"And every time he looks at me, he starts to crack up." West said.

That's worth writing home about.

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