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HomeMy WebLinkAboutAn Officer and a Family Man Chief of Police A deep commitment to community and a devotion to family make College Station Ed Feldman 14 Insite/JUlY 2000 Wíllie Mays -- the "Say Hall-of-Famer and one of o-lucky, nice guys ever to f baseball spikes -- once ction of an inch of kílling C 's Chief of Police, Edgar Ray ("Ed") Feldman, while in the line of duty. That is, if you consider pitching and hitting a baseball as being "in the line of duty." It all happened on a bright, sparkling, springtime afternoon in Phoenix, Arizona in 1960. The future police chief was, at that time, a 19-year-old pitching "phenom" in rhe San Francisco Giants' minor league organization. The teenager was pitching batting practice prior to an exhibition game against the Boston Red Sox ... Ted Williams, Carl Yazstremski, those guys. The Giants' lineup that young Feldman was pitching to also contained a few Hall of Fame sluggers: Wíllie Mays and Willie McCovey, plus Orlando Cepeda, Filipe Alou and friends. The routine? Throw one pitch to each batter in the Giants' starting lineup and go through the cycle three times -- a total of 27 pitches. Feldman's first 21 pitches brought "ooohs" and "aaahs" from both the Giants and the Red Sox. Can you imagine being 19 years old and having one of the greatest hitters in the history of the game, Ted Wílliams, marveling at your "stuff?" "I'm throwing it by everyone," Feldman recalls. "Nobody even gets a foul tip off me." By now, friend and foe alike hav~ gathered around the batting cage to watch this pitching sensation. "And I can hear them asking," remembers Feldman, "'Who is this kid?' The more I heard, the bigger my head got," he admits. Finally, Wíllie Mays came to the plate for his third at bat. Feldman was feeling cockier than Ronald Reagan running against Walter Mondale, even if he was pitching from behind a protective screen on the pitching mound. One more pitch. Just put it past Willie Mays (who, by the way, ended up hitting more than 600 home runs in his major career, behind only the legendary Babe Rurh and Hank Aaron). That "one more pitch," a 90-plus miles- per-hour fastball, shot back at Feldman from Mays' bat like it was fired from a howi tzer. The ball smashed into the iron frame supporting the screen, caromed past Feldman's ducking head by a fraction of an inch, and cleared the fence, 425 feet away in dead centerfield. More shattered than his protective-pitching screen, a shell-shocked Feldman peeled off his glove, stUmbled shakily from the mound and stammered, "Forget it. I'm not pitching anymore." Years later, as he reflects on his 35 years as a law enforcement officer, he believes he has never come so close to being kílled, in ping, six-foot-one-inch, 190-pound frame, Byrd said, "Why don't you come work for ì" us. Feldman was thrown for a loop, more shocked than on that day in Phoenix. Incredulous, he shot back, "You must be crazy! You must be nuts. I've lived here all my life. I know everybody. And you want me to be a police officer? I don't think so." Two weeks later, on May 18, 1965, 24- or out of "the line of duty." Feldman did go back and continue to pitch, but arm trouble limited his career to a few more years in the minor leagues. "Tendentious, bursitis, you name it," Feldman muses, stíll rubbing that right shoulder, "I was gone. I couldn't throw a baseball through a pane of glass." By 1965, Feldman was out of baseball and back home in College Station, wondering, "Where do I go from here?" Although he had graduated from A&M Consolidated High School in 1959, he had neither career training, nor any inclinations other than to play baseball, and that was over. He entolled at Texas A&M University (TAMU), but his heart wasn't in it. Then, when Marvin Byrd, who was at that time a patrolman with the local police department, asked what was he planned to do, his answer was: "I have no earthly idea." Looking over Feldman's big, strap- year-old Edgar Ray Feldman joined the College Station Police Department (CSPD). He's been there ever since. When Feldman started in at the CSPD, the entire force consisted of one chief and four patrolmen, housed in a 100-square- foot office at 101 Church Street. Their days were divided into two 12-hour shifts, with one man in the car (a 1962 Ford). The Department didn't have a radio dispatching center; it didn't even have a radio dispatcher. The officers had to rely on Texas A&M's Physical Plant to relay calls to the car, which also pulled a trailer because, Feldman laughs, "We were also dog-catchers." Thirty-five years with the College Station Police Department have brought Feldman and the department much acclaim and recognition, including being featured as the national cover story in a recent issue of Police Chiefs magazine and being nominated for attendance at the Insit.eJJULY 2000 15 prestigious FBI Academy at Quantico, Va. But the two honors that Feldman cher- ishes more than any others are his Liberty Bell Award and the ALERT (Advanced Law Enforcement Response Technology) Award. The Liberty Bell Award was given to him by the Brazos County Bar Association for his work in developing an innovative "Ride-Along" program for seniors at A&M Consolidated High School. Once, while teaching a class in law enforcement at the school, he asked the stUdents, "How many of you would be interested in riding with a police officer on his tour of duty?" He was inundated with teen-age enthusiasm. So, with school administration, parental, and department support, he took the kids out to see what the "real" world of police work was like. The ALERT Award, hanging proml~ nently in his second-floor office at the Department's headquarters at 2611A Texas Ave., is another source of great pride, even though he refers to it merely as "a nice award." In the first place, it is signed by the Vice President of the United States. It was granted for the pioneering work done by the Department in the field of remote communications, tying police officers on the street to state and national information links such as radios, computers, and the Internet. But, as much as talk of those awards may boost any police chiefs ego, the thing "that I cherish more than anything else," Feldman modestly, almost sheepishly, states is recognition "by the people who work for me." Big Ed Feldman: rough, tough, and sometimes gruff. He's direct and to the point. He doesn't beat around the bush and he doesn't use weasel words. He simply tells it like it is. But, Big Ed Feldman is ... as much as talk those thing Uthat I cherish more sheepishly, states is recognition U by also a "softy," especially when it the women in his life, his wife Suzie daughter Traci. Ask the hard-nosed talk about Suzie or Traci and a huge splits his rugged face and his green light up. Ed and Suzie Feldman have married since June 8, 1968. But, the time College Station resident had to Houston to captute his blushing Suzie Johnson was attending Baptist Nursing School. On a lark, traveled the 100 miles or so up from home with a couple of her one of whom was Feldman's cousin, Feldman, who introduced him to Suzie. For her, the uneventful evening something less than memorable. For "Basically, I was smitten." Three later, he got up the courage to call the telephone. "Ed who?" was her the swain recalls. "But she consented any police chief's ego, " Feldman modestly, who work for me." You haven't seen all of Bryan until you've seen all of 16 lnsit.eJjULY 2000 me if I came down to Houston." And he did. Again and again, for about a year. She finally "gave in" to his marriage proposals. When it comes to daughter Traci, the Chief is like an Indian brave watching over his papoose. "Traci was born," he beams, "on October 29, but I'm not going to tell you how old she is because she would absolutely have a fit." Like her father, she graduated from A&M Consolidated High School. Traci is now seeking a career in the theater, a search that tOok her to an acting conservatory in Dallas, and then to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London. "She lived in England," he laments, "for about four years when she was in her early 20s. I didn't like that, but then again I knew I couldn't hold on to her." Shaking his head that's full of salt-and-pepper-hair (more pepper than salt), he remembers, "I was gone on www.bryantx.org my own when I was 18 years different, you know, than when you have a daughter and she's on her own." Discussions of family time also raise thoughts of retirement, which will bring "a lot more time with Suzie," he confides with a big chuckle. "She can't wait." He wants to spend more time with his horses and cattle. also in store. of that around the myself going overseas," þe "because you have to get in I don't care to do that. I avoid much as I can. I never have liked it." What he does Suzie. "She gives inspiration," he almost in awe. "She has lot of confidence in me. makes me feel myself. She's rooting section, I guess." And he warmly offers the ultimate compliment: my wife, and she's my friend. That's a pretty good combination." It's also the key to a pretty good career and a successful retirement, whether you're the chief of police or a rookie pounding the bead ABOVE: Ed Feldman receives the ALERT award from Congressman Kevin Brady.