John Gleason - Policing in Greenwich 1930 to 1956

By Mary Jacobson, OHP Blog Editor

John Gleason, born in 1907 and raised in Greenwich from the age of eight, was the descendent of six generations of blacksmiths in Ireland. However, as he said, “I’m not a blacksmith, but I have another forge I hammer at.” John Gleason’s “forge” was the Greenwich Police Department where he labored from 1930-1956 from a rookie to Chief of Police. In 1975, Oral History Project volunteer Penny Bott interviewed Gleason as he described his career in the Greenwich Police Department.

John Gleason, 1975.
Photo by Karl Gleeson.

In 1929, three years after Gleason graduated from Greenwich High School, the stock market crashed. “It became evident that things were going to go very badly with everybody. No one used the word ‘Depression;’ it later came into use. I thought at the time that, no matter what happens to the country, they’re going to need police. So, I applied and was appointed in January 1930” at the age of twenty-three.

Gleason police photo, 1929.
Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

Training and educational requirements for police officers in the 1930s were far different from today. “The training at that particular time amounted to being called into the chief’s office; handed a small booklet of motor vehicle laws; putting on some other policeman’s secondhand uniform; getting the badge; being sworn in by the selectmen; and being put on a post – all within a couple of hours.”

As far as educational requirements were concerned at that time, “You didn’t even have to have a grammar-school education to be appointed… They were a fine group of police officers of what we term ‘the old school.’ They had come up the hard way.” The expected work week consisted of one day off a month with a sixteen-hour shift every third Sunday. “You were glad to have a job. You did what you were told, and there was no association or union or anything of that type. You were more or less completely on your own.”

As far as equipment and transportation were concerned, “…there was only one car at that time, driven by the chief. Radio was unheard of.” The police force of approximately thirty-five officers were quartered in two rooms in the basement of Town Hall.” Gleason’s first responsibility was as a relief patrolman. With no regular patrol cars, police moved from location to location in town by trolley. “When you went out on your post, you got on the trolley at Greenwich Avenue and you went over to Cos Cob.”

With no ambulance service in the 1930s, it was difficult to get patients to the hospital. Gleason vividly remembered responding to a victim who had been hit by a vehicle on Post Road. He had to flag down a random car “to get the driver to help me lift the man off the road before somebody hit him… Then I ran to the Cos Cob firehouse.” Gleason and the firefighter “lifted the man up to the top of the hose (of the open fire truck) and brought him to the hospital…right out in the cold, but there was nothing else to do. We had no ambulances; we had no first aid; we had nothing.” A few years later, the police department operated the first public ambulance in town. “It was an old Model A Ford, called the Black Maria, stationed at police headquarters.”

Gleason’s progressed to that of a plain clothes officer, “checking the back doors of all the stores on Greenwich Avenue and Putnam Avenue . . . from ten at night to six in the morning… If I would find a door open, the orders were to get to a call box.” If help was needed, “There used to be an old White Stripe Taxi Service on Greenwich Avenue…and they would come in a taxi and pick up a policeman and go off on a call.” Gleason reminisced, “If someone told me at that time that one day a Greenwich policeman (in 1975) would have a little radio around his shoulder, and would be able to talk to headquarters two-way, I’d think they were ready for the nut house!”

At that time in Greenwich, “The only east-west artery was the Post Road. So everybody had to go through this corridor… There was no Merritt Parkway. There was no throughway… Our accident rate and traffic load were far in excess of any community of our population.” Gleason cited the lack of traffic lights and the poor condition of the road. “There was only one light at the head of Greenwich Avenue and that was turned off at midnight… If you were going through Greenwich, you started at Byram and there was nothing to stop you.”

 

Gleason police photo, 1941.
Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

The Post Road was also the natural artery for the transportation of alcohol during the Prohibition era. Prohibition, in effect from 1920 until 1933, made the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcohol illegal. Gleason recalled a particular case, where, working with the federal Alcohol Tax Unit, they followed a truck “with heavily loaded rear springs” up the Post Road carrying ten tons of sugar, only to uncover an alcohol-making operation, over a story high, within a home. “They had taken out the floor of the home and put in a great big copper boiler.” In addition, there were the “local outfits” - a “business that did a little bootlegging on the side, or a butcher shop that kept it in the refrigerator… The complainants in those instances were almost always the wives of the purchasers… They didn’t want their husbands going in and buying liquor, so they’d tell you about it.”

Dinner for Police Chief, 1941.
Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

The year 1937 can be described as a watershed year for the Greenwich Police Department. According to Gleason, the Board of Selectman and the Chief of Police commissioned a study by the International Association of Chiefs of Police. The outcome of the study resulted in numerous organizational recommendations. These included the establishment of separate traffic, patrol, safety, and detective divisions, among others. By 1941, Gleason advanced from Deputy Chief to Chief of the Police, the first time such a position was based on the results of a formal examination. “The police commissioner said, ‘You’re the man it’s going to be and it is done on merit’… I was only thirty-four years old.” Gleason remained in this position until 1956.

Gleason Police Boat.
Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

As Chief of Police, Gleason oversaw the implementation of many other recommendations, including Red Cross training, a standard of record-keeping, improved work conditions, training, relocation from the basement of Town Hall, traffic ticket procedures, to name a few. Gleason was proud that the department, with outside help, undertook the task of producing a “Manual of Procedures” which included police department rules of conduct. As he said, “Your conduct on and off the job is of prime importance… You are an officer at all times.”

Gleason Police Seaplane.
Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

John Gleason proudly led the Greenwich Police Department for fifteen transformative years. On his commissioning as Chief of Police in 1941, a local reporter, William Ryan, wrote an ode with a nod to Walt Whitman for the Port Chester Item:

“O Captain! My Captain!
The fearful test is done!
Your mind has weathered every wrack,
The prize you sought is won.
The first is near,
The yells I hear,
The people all are screaming.
The other guys reached for the prize
But they were only dreaming.”

 

The interview “A Lifetime of Public Service” may be read in its entirety in the main library location. It is also available to purchase by contacting the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by the Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny.

 

A Polish American’s Immigrant Experience

by Mary A. Jacobson

Andrzej Mazurek. Courtesy of the Oral History Project.

“I came here to become American. I felt like I was born American; it was just in a ‘wrong’ place.”

Andrzej Mazurek was born in Oslowo, Poland, in 1957. He charted the long road from this small town in Poland to Greenwich in his interview with Oral History Project volunteer Connie Gibb in 2017.

In Oslowo, Andrzej’s family had a few acres of land. “So we were basically farming there in addition to what my parents were able to work in the state-run enterprises… As a child, I didn’t really care much that the Communists were running the country… but the longer we lived there, I saw how difficult it was for common people to live under that system.” Life in a small town of 3,000 residents did provide some sense of security. “You knew everybody and people were friendly in that common misery; they were helping each other because it was difficult for many people to make ends meet.” Because Andrzej had relatives living in the States, “we were a few of the privileged families that had somebody in the West.” This window on the West fueled Andrzej’s ambitions to reach America.

Andrzej attended a technical high school and was trained as an engineer. He recognized that his future would be best in America. “I kind of had that understanding early on because there was no hope of things changing. Things were getting actually worse year after year.” His first attempt at obtaining a passport was denied by the Communists.

In 1978, he decided to move to Gdansk to work in the ports, where the Solidarity movement was active, although still underground at the time. Solidarity was the first independent trade union in a Warsaw Pact country. It eventually grew from a local movement to a national force. Led by Lech Walesa, the Solidarity movement is widely recognized as having played a central role in the end of communist rule in Poland by 1989. As the shipyard workers were regarded as “troublemakers,” the Communists “were actually offering passports . . . and forcing some people to leave the country, to release some of the pressure.” Once Andrzej obtained a job in the port, “I was able to get a passport relatively easily.”

Still, the road to the U.S. was not easy for Andrzej. Armed with an invitation to his cousin’s wedding in America, he went to the U.S. Embassy, only to be denied a visa. “They said a lot of people come in and then stay illegally. So, they requested a bond, a thirty-five hundred dollars bond that I will come back.” That amount of money was more than Andrzej could afford, “enough to buy five cars in Poland.” Fortunately for him, his aunt in America put up the bond.

As he left Poland, Andrzej’s grandmother, ninety-four at the time, said to him, “When you go there, you never come back.”

Ironically, Andrzej’s paternal grandmother knew firsthand what it meant to lose the opportunity to become an American. She and her husband were Polish immigrants to the U.S. in the early 1900s. However, after WWI ended in 1918, they returned to their homeland in Poland, which had re-emerged as an independent state after years of partitions. Unfortunately, Polish independence was short-lived when, in 1939, “Hitler put the claim that he wanted that part of Poland in the Third Reich.” In 1941, the SS came and “they started to pick people . . . and they took my grandfather too – and they mass-executed them.”

Andrzej’s maternal family suffered also as they were separated, sending his mother to “a makeshift camp in Torun,” where the children “were put into German farms as slave labor or in the munition factory sewing uniforms for soldiers.” Andrzej’s ninety-year-old mother cared for two orphaned toddlers for two years at the camp. “I think that gave her the strength, the will . . . the power and hope to take care of them.” At war’s end, most of his mother’s family survived. “Everybody then started to go back, to walk back to where they lived . . . probably like two hundred miles away.” From 1939 until Andrzej left Poland for the U.S. in 1978, his family had lived under the harsh rule of Nazism followed by Communism.

Fortunately for her, Andrzej’s aunt was liberated from a German camp at the conclusion of WWII by the Americans and was offered the opportunity to go to the U.S., which she readily accepted. This event eventually enabled Andrzej to follow her path some thirty years later.

Living with his aunt in Mamaroneck: “I had great exposure to someone who kind of showed me the ropes, what America is all about and how can you move ahead.” Andrzej’s tourist visa changed to a student visa as he enrolled in community college once here. Then, he married here and obtained a “status to potential Green Card recipient and at that point you could start legally working.” Without many English skills, Andrzej took jobs in “construction, painting, basically manual labor.” Within five years, he became an American citizen.

Eventually, Andrzej was employed as an electrician for Conrail. Over the thirty years that Andrzej worked for Conrail (and then Metro North), he obtained an associate degree in programming. “And by then, I love computers, I got to go to IT (Information Technology).” Promotions followed. “I was making very good progress within the career, the programmer, information consultant, systems analyst, manager,” eventually receiving a degree at Lehman College.

Andrzej retired and moved to Greenwich to help his mother, who had emigrated to the U.S. by then. Fully integrated into life in Greenwich, Andrzej described his involvement in the community, volunteering at Neighbor to Neighbor, Nathaniel Witherell, and Greenwich Hospital, among other activities.

In Andrzej’s words, “I came here to become American.… America was known by the pioneering spirit, by the individualism, and that’s what mainly drove me into this country.”

The interview “A Polish American’s Immigrant Experience” may be read in its entirety at the main library. It is also available for purchase by contacting the OHP office. The OHP is sponsored by the Friends of Greenwich Library. Visit the website at glohistory.org. Our narrator’s recollections are personal and have not been subjected to factual scrutiny. Mary Jacobson serves as blog editor.