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To neighborhood activists: “Howl can we work together to stop the littering, the graffiti, the property neglect…the drug dealing, and other nuisances that devalue your home and your neighborhood?” To New Bedford police officers: “How can we keep our focus on helping people, which was the reason we all gave for joining the force however long ago?” Teachman was shaped, to a large extent, by all that occurred in his youth: the legacy of JFK, the Vietnam War, and the civil rights movement. His mother, a legal secretary most of her life, at one point worked at the Fort Rodman Job Corps. Teachmen met many of the young black men who worked in that program, and watched some play with the New Bedford Sweepers football team. That many of the men were greeted with hostility surprised Teachman, but also taught him about prejudice and ignorance. And he dealt with that in the wake of the 2006 “gay bar” attacks by Jacob Robida, who later died in a gun battle with Arizona police. City officials, the police, and residents denounced the act as counter to the inclusive nature of New Bedford. Says Teachman (not chief at the time), “There is nothing this community did to own that, or be responsible for it. Jacob Robida did it.” When reporters asked about the “need” for a vigil on the year anniversary of the tragedy, Teachman replied, “If you are trying to confront hate, you need to be vigi-
lant, with ongoing reminders that you do need to do that.” Articulate and affable, Teachman offers opinions freely and gives thoughtful, detailed answers to questions. He holds a bachelor’s in criminal justice from Salve Regina College and a law degree from New England School of Law. He volunteers with the SMILES mentoring program, spending time each week with a New Bedford youngster. Despite what many may think, he believes New Bedford is a safe community, but people do carry some responsibility for their well-being: “I think everyone has to be more conscientious…. You don’t leave your keys in your car or your car running.” That the mayor named a police chief who began as a patrolman and rose through the ranks is, in Teachman’s words, “best case scenario.” “There’s not the learning curve that would be involved otherwise. I know this city—I’ve never left and have been comfortable here. I know the leaders, elected and not elected.” Hiring outside the department dampens morale—“it’s tough if you put a glass ceiling on people.” It also declares that no veteran officer is qualified, and whose fault is that, Teachman asks rhetorically. “If we aren’t able, then why weren’t we given opportunities for professional development? “I hope that part of my legacy is that the person who follows me comes from within and does a better job.”
Beyond enforcement 1981 alumna Mary Lyons is one of a handful of female police chiefs in the state
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nvite all of the female police chiefs for Massachusetts’ communities to dinner, and don’t worry about the room size — there would be only four at the table. And 1981 graduate Mary Lyons is one. Lyons, who majored in psychology, has been chief of police in Mattapoisett since 2001. After stints as a UMass Dartmouth officer and emergency medical technician in Mattapoisett, she became the town’s first female patrol officer in 1985, and was promoted to detective in ’93. Lyons wasn’t named chief because she was female. But she does feel that women bring a distinctive, invaluable perspective to police work. Such as the ability to empathize with female crime victims, an ability Lyons demonstrated in investigating one of the area’s most notorious cases, 1997 rape charges against a well-liked teacher and coach. While the bulk of her work involves less sensational, more typical small-town crime, she has pursued a man suspected of trying to lure a 13-year-old girl to another state and handled a computer hacker fraud case. She is enthusiastic about her work: “I have a very good job here. We have a very good police force and everyone gets along well.” Yet she sought the top spot when it became available six years ago only when pressed byc colleagues. “I think they
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thought that it would be beneficial for everybody. They see me as open and honest and fair, and I’m a pretty direct person.” Being chief in a town with a population of 6,500 (considerably higher during the summer) has its special challenges. No matter how low a social profile she maintains, there is an easy familiarity between residents and police chief that’s absent in larger communities. Lyons often finds herself more of a mediator and advisor than enforcer, and “you have to be a good listener. “I like the constant change there is in police work, the excitement, the ability to use the law in ways other than only enforcement, to help people. “You need the right temperament, and you definitely have to like people. You cannot be a powermonger—and this is a position of power, where what you do has a tremendous impact on people’s lives. So you must have a sense of compassion.” Lyons’ father, grandfather, and brother were police officers, but she had no plans for a law enforcement career when she started at SMU. While “everyone thought I could be a great nurse,” Lyons was thinking social work. As a student, she worked as a dispatcher for the public safety department and joined the Department of Social Services’ KEY program in Fall River after graduation. But when then-chief Ray McKearney