Three years later, when Norris left the city force to become head of the Maryland State Police, Baltimore’s crime rates had dropped and yearly homicide totals had consistently been held below 300 for the first time in a decade. And Norris had attracted national attention for criticizing the federal government’s efforts on fighting terrorism.
But yesterday’s federal indictment charging Norris, 43, with stealing more than $20,000 from the city force threatens to destroy his police career and besmirch the law-and-order legacy he had been building in Maryland and New York.
“Everything else will be lost, and I think this may well be what people who do not know him, or did not work for him closely, will remember,” said John McEntee, a former deputy commissioner under Norris who retired this year after briefly acting as police chief. “He did a lot of good things for the Police Department and the city. But I can’t help but think [the indictment] will affect how people think of Eddie Norris in the long run.”
The son of a hard-charging New York City police officer, Norris grew up in a Brooklyn neighborhood similar to South Baltimore. Although he seemed destined for police work – some of his most vivid memories are of his father leaving the house to go on patrol – he said in several interviews last year that he dreamed of being a doctor.
As a student, he excelled in math and science. He graduated from Brooklyn Technical High School, a magnet school, and starred in sports. He was a running back and linebacker on his high school football team and went on to play for two years at the University of Rochester. He was also an avid amateur boxer.
Struggling to pay tuition, he left college after two years and joined the New York Police Department in 1980. He eventually earned a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice from St. John’s University.
Known as an aggressive officer who enjoyed making “collars,” he quickly ascended the ranks. In 1994, when a new regime took over One Police Plaza – NYPD headquarters – and proposed revamping the agency’s crime-fighting tactics, top commanders quickly recognized Norris as one of the agency’s rising stars.
He joined the staff of Jack Maple, a former transit police officer who had become a top-ranking commander and architect of the city’s aggressive policing tactics.
For two years, Norris was Maple’s pupil and errand-runner. Norris, whose first marriage ended in divorce, met his current wife, Kathryn, while buying new shirts for his boss. He and Kathryn have a young son.
In 1996, he survived an NYPD housecleaning because he impressed new commissioner Howard Safir, who promoted Norris to deputy commissioner of operations to run the agency’s weekly crime-trend meetings. Those sessions were known as ComStat, a centerpiece of the new police tactics.
During the next four years, crime in New York dropped substantially.
“He was smart and hardworking,” Safir said of Norris in an interview this week. “He understood what had to be done, and he did it. He was the chief strategist for the NYPD. He understands crime reduction. … Eddie is one of the smartest law enforcement strategists that I’ve dealt with.”
By late 1999, Norris was growing restless in his job, and, some associates say, he was pragmatic. He realized that he might lose his position under a new boss – Safir was soon to leave the force – and he needed to make a name for himself elsewhere if he hoped to eventually return to One Police Plaza and take the reins of the NYPD.
His dream, he had told friends, was to be New York’s top officer.
Norris turned to Maple, then a private crime consultant who was working for Baltimore’s new mayor, Martin O’Malley, who had made reducing crime the centerpiece of his campaign.
In taking a police job in Baltimore, Norris knew the going could be tough – the department’s morale was low, and annual homicide totals had been above 300 for a decade. In 1999, 305 people were killed and another 1,033 people were shot.
Norris was hired as second-in-command under Commissioner Ronald L. Daniel, but he was soon catapulted to the top job when Daniel resigned in March 2000.
For the next three years, Norris and O’Malley presented the image of an energetic, youthful crime-fighting duo who were determined to tackle some of the city’s worst problems.
With the mayor’s support, Norris employed tactics he brought from New York, establishing both ComStat and a warrant squad. The new commissioner flooded chronic crime areas in East and West Baltimore with extra officers to quash violence.
He shook up the command ranks and started a nonprofit foundation to buy much-needed equipment and to finance the mayor’s anti-drug Believe campaign. Norris also prodded his internal affairs unit to launch stings to weed out corrupt officers.
With the help of O’Malley, who gave police officers a hefty raise and allowed the department to spend freely on overtime, Norris built a strong relationship with the police union.
Norris also earned the officers’ praise for supportive gestures. He brought back the espantoon, a traditional Baltimore nightstick, and raced to police-involved shootings to publicly support the actions of officers.
“The whole philosophy, especially in the East Coast police departments, is steeped in tradition,” said former city police union President Gary McLhinney, now chief of the Maryland Transportation Authority Police. “You have to be proud of what you do as a police officer, and Norris understood that. He was one of us.”
Norris took steps to hire more minority police officers. Although he often complained about being entangled in racial politics, the commissioner drew steady praise from black leaders, particularly the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
“He was a jewel,” G.I. Johnson, president of the organization’s Baltimore branch, said last year when Norris resigned as police commissioner to join the state police.
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But Norris’ tenure was not without controversy.
In March last year, the commissioner fired a well-respected commander after the major wrote a letter to his officers instructing them to stop “every black male” at a bus stop until a rapist was caught. As a result, Norris came under fire from two sides – those who supported the commander, and others who said the department was practicing racial profiling.
Norris was also criticized a year earlier when he fired the department’s two highest-ranking black commanders.
When terrorists struck the country on Sept. 11, 2001, Norris watched the carnage on CNN and took the attacks on his hometown personally, he said in several interviews.
In the weeks and months that followed, he made homeland security a top priority and journeyed to Capitol Hill to testify that federal agencies were not doing enough to prevent terrorist attacks. He soon became a national spokesman for local police chiefs on the need for more federal cooperation in preventing terrorism.
Norris later conceded that his anti-terrorism focus distracted the department from its primary goal of reducing violence locally. The city finished the year with 256 killings. The next year, the number dropped only slightly – to 253.
While making a name for himself as a crime-buster, he was known around Baltimore for a flamboyant style and sophisticated taste that seemed to contrast with his oil-drum build and fanatical dedication to weight-lifting.
He got manicures, shopped in boutiques and dressed in tailored suits. With a knowledge of fine wine, he often dined in expensive restaurants and was often spotted hanging out in hip bars and clubs. When he visited New York, he often stayed at the trendy W hotel.
In August last year, a Sun investigation uncovered Norris’ use of an obscure expense fund and heavy overtime spending on the commissioner’s closest aides and driver. Norris used thousands of dollars from the account to finance trips and meals, some at an expensive steakhouse, that he said he could not recall.
An independent audit paid for by the city found thousands of dollars in questionable purchases. The city later deducted $7,663 from his $137,000 severance payment.
By November last year, Norris had begun to explore leaving the force. Talk within the department about Norris’ departure swelled when the commissioner attended the victory party of Republican Gov. Robert L. Ehrlich Jr., a rival to Norris’ then-boss, the Democratic mayor.
In little more than a month, Norris had quit to become Ehrlich’s state police superintendent. Norris overhauled the agency’s command structure, bringing new commanders to more than half of the barracks and creating a homeland and intelligence bureau.
But Norris’ leadership and character were soon being scrutinized.
Early this year, federal investigators working for U.S. Attorney Thomas M. DiBiagio began subpoenaing records related to the expense account and started questioning witnesses about Norris’ activities as commissioner.
By July, Norris acknowledged that the threat of an indictment had taken a toll on him. He was dogged by premature reports of his imminent indictment and forced resignation. For the first time, Norris was being criticized by union officials who questioned his leadership.
“My legacy [as Baltimore commissioner] shouldn’t be that I bought steaks in New York,” Norris said in a July interview. “This just isn’t fair. … I led the country in violent-crime decline. Love me or hate me, but I did a lot for the city.”
<!– ART CREDITKARL MERTON FERRON : SUN STAFF
ART CREDIT–> <!– CUTLINE TEXT"Overall, things are much better," Edward T. Norris said May 8, 2001, during a joint news conference with Mayor Martin O'Malley that was held to mark his first year as police commissioner.
CUTLINE TEXT–>