Good Cop, Bad Cop, and the Baltimore I Knew 

Responding to the recent protests over Freddie Gray’s death.

Christina Edmondson, guest writer

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My memories of Baltimore police seem like parallel realities. “Officer Friendly” came to my elementary school back in the ‘80s, a uniformed hero in front of an excited classroom full of black kids. After that, the boys spent recess imitating police officers and catching bad guys. We wanted to be good citizens, and we didn’t question the instinct to call police in times of trouble.

When I was little, I was once a flower girl in the wedding of two of Baltimore's finest. At that age, I remember wanting to be the beautiful bride, a proud policewoman. For much of my childhood, cops were at least valuable parts of our community and at best, heroes…until I met a different kind of officer.

Playing in front of our apartment complex, my friends and I were approached by a patrolling officer who told us we were too noisy. As fourth-graders, we all responded, “Yes, sir,” almost in unison. The officer then turned to the only boy among us, a black boy, and sternly told him that he deserved to be spanked. And that if his parents would not do it, he could and would.

I think of that officer and that boy as I watch the protests in Baltimore. I feel sorry for the kids and young adults who never knew an Officer Friendly and at this point could hardly imagine one.

In recent years, more than 100 people in my hometown—from teenagers to pregnant women to grandmothers—won court judgments or settlements over allegations of police brutality and excessive force, according to

The news out Baltimore hits close to home for a native like me. The church of my childhood, New Shiloh Baptist Church, hosted the funeral of Freddie Gray, the 25-year-old man who died from injuries suffered in custody of the Baltimore Police Department. His family would say he was much more than the incident that has made his name famous. The thousands who have taken to the streets in protest would say Gray’s incident has come to represent so much more than him.

My parents are still deacons at the church, a historic and vibrant congregation of 5,000 in West Baltimore. It is where I first heard the gospel. It is surreal to see gang members in the church’s lobby talking to news reporters, though their remarks about unity and human dignity seem so fitting. That church is where I learned about my own dignity and worth.

The late pastor of New Shiloh Baptist, Harold A. Carter, knew well the legacy of nonviolent resistance. He gained his firsthand training as an adolescent in Selma, marching under the leader who inspired his ministry, Martin Luther King Jr. Carter heard King preach and attended King's alma mater, Crozer Theological Seminary, before becoming pastor of New Shiloh in 1965.