The pages of Yale publications are filled with some extremely hot topics-the unions and the administration, the departure of professors, and the status of teaching fellows. But one issue we haven't seen much in the papers lately is security.
Remember that word? When we were applying to schools, that was always the word that parents seized on, in tours and information sessions. It was the word that people inevitably brought up when you told them you were going to Yale.
Now most of us shrug when people ask us about it. Security? No problem. Just stay in the right neighborhoods.
But alas, it seems that this confidence we feel about security is not reflected in the hearts of parents of prospective frosh. And the question of security is still fired endlessly at tour guides and admissions officers. So we are forced to consider this question: how can we instill in the rest of the world the same confidence in Yale's security that all of us share?
The answer is Officer J. Jones of the Yale University Police.
My friends and I used to see him, from time to time, eating in the Trumbull dining hall. He would sit, looming over his tray, clutching the silverware which seemed too small in his mighty hands. Then he would stand, having finished his meal. His brown hair was shaved close to his head-austere, functional, and tough. His blue eyes pierced the surroundings-sharp, alert, and unforgiving. His massive form seemed as if it ached to defy the constraints of the starched police uniform.
We started to call him "The Enforcer" or sometimes, "The Law," as in "the long arm of the law," or "I fought the law and the law won," or perhaps even "Light Antitank Weapon." I decided he was my hero. Maybe "J" stands for "Juggernaut," I mused.
We used to picture hypotheticals in which he entered a cage match against the biggest guys in the weight room, and we predicted who we thought would win. I always came down on the side of The Law.
We used to speculate about what he would do if he witnessed a crime taking place. We imagined that his voice would have a Robocop inflection. With lightning speed, he would draw the deathly black police issue from its holster. He wouldn't bother to call into the radio on his collar for backup. He might even forsake the use of firearms and merely disable (perhaps dimember) the perpetrator with a nightstick, or maybe his bare hands.
This is the man they should show to the tours. This is the man they should parade before the prefrosh. He could glare in their general direction, and in an instant they would know that at Yale, they could be safe.
The presence of The Enforcer in the Trumbull dining hall is so reassuring to us that we guessed that it was a publicity stunt by Yale's Public Affairs Office. But even they could not plan a PR move so sophisticated, so calculated, so effective.
In fact, the presence of Officer Jones and all the other Yale University Police Officers in the dining hall and throughout campus makes me feel safer and more secure in our urban environment. I'm sure The Law is probably the cuddliest of guys when you get to know him (I've always been too intimidated to actually introduce myself to this living legend). But his appearance in and of itself is enough to inspire comic book-like fantasies of his prowess as a lawman.
At other schools there are questions as to whether to arm security officers, whether to beef up security, etc. There are no such questions at Yale-not anymore. We have the best. We have The Enforcer and all his fellow officers. And criminals everywhere are sleeping less soundly.
Benjamin Carp is a law abiding sophomore in Trumbul who sleeps soundly every night..
Copyright 1996, The Yale Herald, Inc. All rights reserved.
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