D.C. drug patrol: riding with the 'Adamany Raiders.'

Ebony, August, 1989 by D. Michael Cheers

D.C. DRUG PATROL Riding With The 'ADAMY RAIDERS'

6 P.M., Tuesday

Johnnie Walker peers from a third-floor window in the hallway of the Syphax Gardens apartments in southwest Washington, D.C. His eyes are fixed on people going into a first-floor apartment across the courtyard. His hand pats a new 9mm Glock semi-automatic pistol.

"I know what they're doing in there," he says, turning the volume down on his walkie-talkie. "I know they're buying drugs. But I can't move in unless I actually see them with drugs." He shakes his head. "Man, this is a frustrating job."

Moments pass and a wirty-looking woman, known as a "rock queen," looks up through a misty rain and spots Walker. His cover has been blown. She gestures with head, telling everybody the police are nearby.

"Oh well, let's go," Walker says. "It's over for now."

For the past three years, officer Johnnie Walker has been patrolling these streets, trying to rid the neighborhood, a mixture of high-rise condominiums and middle- and low-income housing, of drugs and drug dealers, and give it back to the law-abiding residents.

"This is a whole lot better than it used to be," Walker says, now back patrolling in scout car No. 28. "There's not as much open drug trafficking as there used to be. Most of it is done inside houses and apartments like the one we just left. It makes our job tougher. But at least the children can again play outside."

In recent months the D.C. Police Department has beefed up patrols in neighborhoods in an effort to curtail the violence that left 372 people dead last year.

Walker, who is assigned to District 1, is a member of the "Adamany Raiders," named after his squad leader, Lt. Joseph Adamany. "That's a nickname we got because of our aggressive style of police work," says Walker, who has accumulated a stack of recognition letters citing his exemplary police work.

A native of D.C., Walker was raised in Anacostia, a neighborhood about 10 minutes from his patrol. "I grew up in an environment something like this," he says. "I'm not on any kind of crusade, but i have a deep interest in talking to these kids about staying away from drugs."

Walker knows what he's talking about. He is one of seven children, and four of his brothers and sisters have been involved in drug use. He has seen the worry and disappointment take its toll on his mother, Mrs. Jean Cauley, who has worked as a waitress all her life. "I've seen the look on her face," he says, describing how his mother has had to deal with the grief.

Besides his siblings, Walker has had to suffer through the pain of seeing a close friend, University of Maryland basketball star Len Bias, die of cocaine intoxication just two days after being drafted by the NVA's Boston celtics.

"Len was like a brother to me," says Walker, who played basketball at Tarkio College in Missouri. "He was family. I can't describe how I felt when I learned of how he died. All I can say is everyone makes mistakes. Hismistake was one that others were supposed to learn from. But I don't see a lot of people around here who learned from the decision that Len Bias made."

9:48 P.M.

A call comes in over the radio. A Black male dressed in a red and black sweatsuit is reportedly selling drugs in the 1100 block of Maine Avenue, S.W.

Car 28, which is six blocks away, responds.

No siren.

No flashing lights.

The suspect is spotted near a trash receptacle alongside Fisherman's Wharf, an area of restaurants on the Potomac. Walker's eyes zero in on the suspect's hand, which moves toward the trash can. A "clump" sound is heard.

After questioning, the suspect makes a mistake. "I didn't drop any pill bottle in the trash can, officer," he says.

"Who said anything about a pill bottle?" Walker demands.

Inside the trash can a pill bottle is recovered. Walker opens it and empties into his hand eight tiny rocks inside individual plastic ziplock bags.

"You're going to jail, son," Walker tells the suspect, now surrounded by four other officers, who had responded to a call for backup.

At the police station, Walker conducts a field test on one of the rocks.

"If it turns blue," he says, shaking it in a test tube with two liquid chemicals, "it's cocaine." Before he finishes the sentence, the substance turns blue.

He counts the remaining rocks and places them in an evidence bag. No smiles. No elation that drugs have been confiscated. "In D.C. courts, anything less than 10 rocks is a misdemeanor," Walker says in a weary voice. "And the fact that he doesn't have a prior record means that by the time I get to work tomorrow afternoon, he'll be back on the streets."

3:30 P.M., Wednesday.

Walker leaves the station, heading for his squad car. The suspect rom last night's drug bust struts by. Their eyes do not meet. "See what I told you," he says matter-of-factly.

4:30 P.M.

Walker pulls into an alley and has an "Officer Friendly" conversation with a woman hanging clothes in her backyard. He spots a man washing his Jeep. "I tried to get him a job at a club," he says. "He could have earned a decent salary, plus tips. He told me he didn't want the job because it didn't pay benefits. I guess hanging around with hustlers pays benefits."