The Straight Cop

Ah, take one consideration with another,

A policeman's lot is not a happy one.

--The Pirates of Penzance.

All things considered, the lot of New York City Police Commissioner Stephen Patrick Kennedy has been tough and not particularly happy. An up-from-the-ranks cop with the personality of a blunt instrument (TIME Cover, July 7, 1958), Steve Kennedy had to run an understaffed, underpaid army of 24,000 men, many of them good, some of them not, most of them as contentious as only a New Yorker --and a uniformed one at that--can be. Stubborn, straight as a pistol shot, he worked relentlessly for 5 1/2 years to instill honesty, discipline and a sense of pride in New York's Finest, and along the way became just about the city's best police boss since Teddy Roosevelt stalked the night streets rooting out deadbeat cops.

Uninhibited by tact, Kennedy often had as many enemies on the force and in city hall as he had behind bars. But the people liked him, despite the fact that his rigorous code had at various times bruised the feelings of just about every powerful minority group in town. The papers urged Mayor Robert Wagner to reappoint Kennedy to a second five-year term, and early last week Bob Wagner announced that he would.

But characteristically, Steve Kennedy demanded some basic agreements with the mayor before he would accept reappointment. He insisted on continuing his ban against moonlighting on the force, on the ground that cops cannot afford the divided loyalties involved in outside, off-duty jobs (permitted in the fire department). Wagner agreed. Kennedy also demanded a guarantee of a $600-a-year raise for his men to compensate them for their lost opportunities. For embattled Bob Wagner, fighting this year for his political life against Tammany Hall, the Kennedy ultimatum was too much. "I'm the mayor." he told Kennedy firmly, "and you're the police commissioner.''

Leaving the mayor's home, Steve Kennedy called a midnight press conference, declared bitterly that he was quitting because of Wagner's "inertia, indecision and drift." He cleaned out his desk, patted his .38-cal. Police Special, and walked out of headquarters with his eyes glistening. The mayor was ready with a successor, an oldtime cop and Kennedy protege with a fine record, Chief Inspector Michael J. Murphy, 47. Few of Kennedy's friends could fault Bob Wagner. Taking one consideration with another, he had been a long time in applying the kind of iron that Steve Kennedy made a golden rule.

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