Pubdate: Sun, 18 Feb 2001
Source: Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (WI)
Copyright: 2001 Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
Contact:  P.O. Box 661, Milwaukee, WI 53201
Fax: 414-224-8280
Website: http://www.jsonline.com/
Forum: http://www.jsonline.com/cgi-bin/ubb/ultimate.cgi
Author: James H. Burnett, III, The Journal Sentinel Staff

TRUE BELIEVER: WELLS SAVORS A NEW ROLE

Lenard Wells does not believe that every felon belongs behind bars.

Not that lawbreakers shouldn't be punished, but "there are other ways for 
some," Wells insists.

Strange thoughts, it might seem, from a veteran cop once credited with 
making more undercover drug buys resulting in arrests in one year than any 
other Milwaukee police officer.

Then again, in his 27 years on the job, "Liberal Lenny," as one officer 
described Wells, rarely subscribed to convention.

Now, after his recent retirement from the Milwaukee Police Department, 
Wells has been given the chance to put up or shut up.

Wells has accepted the challenge.

He recently started his civilian career as the new director of the 
Alternatives Program at the Benedict Center, an interfaith non-profit 
agency. The program advocates and researches alternatives to incarceration, 
particularly for non-violent criminals.

Wells took a break from his new job last week to talk about his long ride 
as a cop and his new and still strange ride as a full-time champion of the 
troubled and the troublesome.

Considered a rebel by some, Wells often frustrated his supervisors, one 
officer remembered, with rants about the shortcomings of American local 
policing.

"I just saw that some traditional police practices weren't helping 
eliminate certain crime or other connected problems," Wells said.

Second chances

"I want us to take a hard look at how we treat non-violent offenders, 
especially people who suffer from mental disorders, in Milwaukee County . . 
. and statewide," Wells said, pausing to look out the window of his 
ninth-floor office that overlooks E. Wisconsin Ave.

"Sanctions are needed for people who break the law. But we need to consider 
relieving the prison system and providing more second-chance opportunities 
for people who can be saved. (Electronic monitoring) bracelets, in-home 
monitoring: Things like this need to be used more often to give people a 
chance to work, to redeem themselves."

Wells said he will begin meetings this week with community groups, elected 
officials and any person "who has the power to effect real change."

This particular morning, Wells is working on a new idea, developed in its 
early stages by Kit Murphy McNally, executive director of the Benedict Center.

They are researching the feasibility of an in-house employment agency that 
would help those with no practical skills learn trades and how to take care 
of themselves.

"The ultimate goal will be to match ex-offenders, particularly those who 
haven't demonstrated much success working in the past . . . with 
sustainable living-wage jobs with employers who need workers," Wells said.

Unconventional methods

Wells' career in law enforcement started in May 1973 under then-Police 
Chief Harold Breier. Wells was part of the first recruit class at the 
Milwaukee Fire and Police Academy under a federally mandated affirmative 
action program.

Nine other minorities, including a woman, were among the 65 people in 
Wells' class, he recalled.

That class broke through the force's racial and gender barriers, something 
Wells said was long overdue.

"If anyone thinks that affirmative action does not work, especially in law 
enforcement, I argue that they're wrong," Wells said.

By the fall of 1974, Wells had been promoted from graveyard-shift street 
cop to the Vice Squad.

While an undercover drug officer, Wells made hundreds of busts.

He gained a reputation as a good cop, and rose in the department. Wells did 
stints in the Traffic Enforcement Division, as a district shift commander 
and as a detective.

And in 1989, Wells became president of the League of Martin, an association 
of African-American officers intended to advocate fair training and 
promotions practices.

None of this came without a price, though.

Toward the end of his tenure, Wells had a highly publicized falling-out 
with Police Chief Arthur Jones over vastly different management styles and 
differences of opinion over the direction the League should take.

Much ado about nothing, Wells now says.

Jones "was and is an old-school, hard-line cop who managed everything 
himself. I believe that part of his management style came from what he had 
to go through when he joined the force. It's about trust. I understand. I 
was a little more supportive of delegating authority," Wells says.

Jones wouldn't comment on the alleged dispute, but he did say, "I wish him 
well in his retirement and job."

While making newspaper headlines for his drug busts and earning rave 
reviews from his fellow undercover officers, Wells became an alcoholic and 
very nearly lost his career over it.

He was suspended by the Fire and Police Commission and ordered to undergo 
counseling and get clean before returning to the force.

He regained his footing in his work. The same can't be said for his 
marriage. It ended in divorce shortly after his time in vice had ended.

Today, Wells has a healthy perspective on his hard times.

If his mistakes help another young cop maintain a stable life, then the 
experiences were worth it, he said, adding that his struggles had made him 
a better cop and a better person.

Talked to the misguided

"You are expressly prohibited from fraternizing with a known felon," was 
the official message frequently distributed among officers just before 
Wells had his epiphany.

But Wells found himself being scolded again for confronting known drug 
abusers, robbers and batterers and preaching change to them.

It didn't make sense, Wells said, that officers couldn't officially try to 
help those obviously headed for trouble.

"Stereotypical old-school, hard-line policing was the rule, the only rule," 
he said. "Convention said that the only time I needed to be talking to 
those drug users was when I was arresting and booking them."

That all changed in the mid-to-late 1980s.

"Now, what's the popular catch phrase and cure-all practice? 
'Community-oriented policing,' " Wells said. "A lot of cops won't admit it, 
but I wasn't the only one frustrated with the idea that we hadn't been 
doing this a decade earlier."

Wells managed to sidestep convention again, though, when he became 
president of the League of Martin. He and other board members expanded the 
group's focus to "strongly encourage" participation by off-duty 
African-American cops in community service organizations.

New challenges

Wells is now past the League.

He's outgrown the Police Department.

He's seen some rough times.

But he's certain he's ready to practice what he preached in uniform for years.

"This is about second chances," he said.

"The cop in me says that the correctional facilities were made for some 
people. They fit. But the idealist in me says that there are a lot of 
people who are taking up bed space in jail that belongs to someone else. 
Those people can be helped."
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