Crime Stoppers

Citizens get into the act

At a hamburger joint in Tulsa last February, a man in his mid-20s sat down, ordered a Coke, and then pulled out a pipe wrench and began beating the customer next to him. After that he jumped on the counter, shouting "Now you know I mean business!" and demanded the money in the cash register. He got it -- $200 -- and vanished, leaving behind stunned customers and a bloody victim.

That brutal robbery became the Tulsa citizens crime commission's "Crime of the Week." The commission's "Crime Stoppers" program aired a re-enactment of the robbery over the evening news and offered $1,000 for information leading to the man's arrest. Radio stations followed up with 30-second spots and the Tulsa Tribune ran a daily story on the crime throughout the week. The reward and the publicity worked: within 24 hours an anonymous tipster helped police identify the culprit.

The Crime Stoppers' program is a dramatic example of what a citizens group can do to fight crime. Another citizens crime commission, in Wichita, is run like an FBI cover operation. It is headed by former G-Man Maurice ("Corky") Corcoran, 60, who likes making "a stakeout" and boasts of nipping a bingo operation and an abortion ring. But the main work of the 24 citizens commissions around the country is to be watchdogs. Privately supported, mostly with business contributions, the groups have professional staffs ranging from 19 in Chicago to one in Saginaw, Mich. They have no power to make arrests or subpoena witnesses. But by serving as independent monitors of crime and law enforcement, they can be useful in making police and public officials do what they are supposed to do.

The oldest in the U.S., Chicago's commission has been active for 60 years. Founded amidst a public outcry over daylight murder and robbery, it has been a strong lobby for improving the criminal justice system in Illinois. It has successfully pushed for more judges in the criminal courts, and it has developed a criminal identification program to help judges decide when to grant bail. But the commission's chief asset is information, particularly about organized crime. In the late '60s, it published a Hood's Who, a directory of Mob leaders and their business fronts, complete with home addresses. Now it profiles a crime figure in each issue of its quarterly report, Searchlight.

Chicago police, sometimes to their chagrin, also find themselves under scrutiny. Following the revelation that the cops were spying on political activists, the commission persuaded the late Mayor Richard Daley to establish a citizens police review committee made up of appointees whom they recommended. Even government corruption is a target of the more aggressive commissions, like those in Chicago, Kansas City, and New Orleans. Says Frank Maudlin, an ex-highway patrolman who heads the Kansas City commission: "Organized crime runs hand in hand with the corruption of officials."

Some crime commissions are not very aggressive. Chattanooga's is mainly a public relations liaison, run by the Chamber of Commerce. Philadelphia citizens crime commission Executive Director Ian Lennox calls his organization "a very friendly watchdog" and is worried that it lacks clout. But he states that "any community is poorer without one."

New York City was poorer until last spring when a group of business leaders formed a commission that aims for an annual budget of $500,000 and a professional staff of about ten. The group's first target is violent street crime, which has hurt the city's economy by scaring off business. The new group hopes to help New York in coordinating its disparate criminal justice agencies. City officials are taking a wait-and-see attitude for now, but with 1,550 murders, 3,500 rapes, 76,000 robberies, and 161,000 burglaries annually, not to mention unreported crime, New York can use the help.

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