Chief, call me; let's talk

Hey, Chief. Was it something I said?

For the past several months, Durham Police Chief Jose Lopez has treated me as countless exes have -- refusing to acknowledge my calls and in general treating me as though I'd tracked something nasty in on his new carpet.

What gives, yo?

Oh yeah: Chief Lopez apparently took issue with a nickname I tagged him with in January when he refused to talk to The N&O's reporters or give information about crimes in a timely manner.

In retrospect, the nickname was a low blow -- but funny. But being the man that I am, I called, invited him to a tete-a-tete and left numerous apologetic messages at his office and his home. (At a decent hour I left messages, mind you, since the chief famously scolded one of our reporters for calling him at home at 8 p.m. after police had shot and killed a fleeing home-invader downtown.)

Crime, I informed him then, is not a 9-to-5 vocation, and criminals aren't likely to time their activities to his convenience.

Our reporter who covers the Durham cops beat told me last week that Lopez is actually pretty conscientious now about returning his calls. The reporter added, though, that so unresponsive is the department's public information officer, Kammie Michael, that he rarely bothers to call her.

I learned what he meant last month when I called to ask the chief and Michael a most innocuous question -- about sagging pants and how some police departments across the country issue citations to men whose drawers are exposed.

It turns out that some departments like the sagging look, because nabbing fleeing suspects is easier when they're holding their pants up with one hand.

How, I simply wanted to know, does the Durham cop brass feel about that?

Michael promised to get back to me. It has been close to two weeks now, and I still have heard nary a word from her. The chief? Ditto.

It's unlikely that Raleigh Chief Harry Dolan or Johnston County Sheriff Steve Bizzell, among others, relish talking to the news media -- OK, maybe the loquacious Bizzell does -- but they recognize such interactions as part of their duties. Either they or their spokesmen will return our calls -- even if it's just to say they can't say anything.

Chief Lopez and his public no-information officer need to understand one thing: When we call or try to contact them, it's not because of their scintillating wit or charm. We're calling for information to share with citizens, their employers.

Me? I'd rather drink muddy water and sleep in a hollow log -- or listen to Kenny G at my dentist's office while receiving a root canal without anesthesia -- than chase after them for comment. It's part of our job to ask, though, and part of their job to inform the public about which dangerous dudes are lurking about.

If y'all would turn the page now, I'd like to say a few words in private to the chief, since this is apparently the closest I'll get to a private chat with him (unless I can accidentally run into him on purpose tonight during the annual National Night Out against crime):

Chief, let's put this little misunderstanding behind us and act professionally. Your petulance is unbecoming. It dishonors the fine officers in your department, and it doesn't help Bull City residents.

Call a brother; let's chat. I promise I won't call you anything but Chief.