By Jeff Orvis
One of the best parts of my job in small town community journalism over the years was the opportunity to develop a good relationship with local law enforcement. When I first landed in Independence, I'll admit that I may not have had a high opinion of local law enforcement. Growing up in a larger metropolitan area, I had little actual contact with small town cops.
It didn't take long to realize that local law officers were our neighbors. If you called a sheriff's deputy for help in Scott County, chances are all you saw was the gun and uniform. You would probably never see the officer again. That was different in Independence. The police chief and his assistant both had children who grew up in the local schools. One of the officers was married to a woman who worked in our news room. A few years after I began working in town, we joined a church where the police chief, Buchanan County sheriff, his chief deputy and nearly half of the ambulance crew all were members. It was sort of like attending church with the president!
These memories came flooding back earlier this week when I learned of the death of the former assistant chief of the Independence department, Jim Hayward. By the time I arrived in town, he and his boss, Chief Dan Schremser, had many years of experience keeping the peace in town between them. As a part of my beat, I would collect the police news each week and sometimes, when there were ongoing investigations, I stopped by Jim's office to try to get more details not included on the news release. Usually when I stopped by, I knew he wouldn't be able to elaborate on what I already had learned, but it was worth a try. He always dressed in a tie and had a pipe handy – sort of like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. He also usually had a twinkle in his eye and you never quite knew if he was being truthful or handing you a line.
My experience with Jim actually included the only time I have been questioned in connection with a crime. I lived in a four-plex in town and a woman in another unit had reported a sexual assault. Jim stopped by my place and quickly told me that I wasn't a suspect, but he was just wondering if I had heard anything during the time of the alleged assault. I don't recall being able to offer any help, but he conducted the interview with his professional style, with just a hint of good humor.
Knowing all the officers on the local department was a luxury reporters in larger cities seldom share. Another time I heard a call on the police scanner of shots fired at a home in Independence. By the time I arrived, another veteran officer of the department had roped off the front of the home and was guarding it until state investigators arrived. He and I were the only ones there. Apparently a troubled young man had come home from school, gone to the basement and ended his life with a shotgun. I had known the officer for several years by this point and while he wouldn't have allowed me to go into the basement, he described in general terms what had apparently happened. His description left little doubt in my mind that I was glad he wouldn't allow me to enter.
Another time, I arrived at the scene of a murder in town. TV crews were already set up and were getting little or no information from the officer guarding the scene. I left the scene and drove to the law center where I found the county's chief deputy (one of my fellow church members). He confirmed that a murder had taken place, who had been killed and other details the TV folks were scrambling to find.
Because of the mutual trust I developed with many officers I met over the years, I heard about the time our sheriff spent two days laying in the weeds at a rural site on a stakeout. I was able to joke with a state trooper who lived in our town because it seemed that each time there was a traffic accident out in the country on the coldest, windiest day, he would be the one dispatched to the scene.
On my weekly visits to the law centers in Independence and later in Belle Plaine, most of my reports were about ambulance assists, traffic accidents, domestic disputes, etc. I once told a police chief that they could have simplified the code by making most infractions degrees of stupidity. Someone who was suspected of first offense drunk driving would be charged with “stupidity in the third degree.” I once told the Belle Plaine chief that his officers should change their uniforms to referee's shirts, since so many of their calls involved settling disputes between husbands and wives, neighbors, etc.
While there were lighter moments in my visits to the police stations, I realized that there could have come a time when I would have to report on an officer involved shooting or other dangerous, tragic incident. Small towns are not immune to bad people doing bad things or good people having bad things happening to them.
It takes a special individual, like Jim Hayward, to go to work each day for more than 25 years, knowing that the next time the phone rings, it could be news of something bad happening to someone he might have grown up with. He had to be prepared to quickly shed his personal feelings and assume the role of law enforcement professional.
You gain respect for small town cops when you get to know them, especially the men and women I've met over more than 30 years in this crazy business.
Rest in peace, Jim and thanks for your service and all you taught me about police work.
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