December Park(95)
From the Harting Farms Caller, June 7, 1994: Barber Resigns Chief of Police Harold C. Barber announced his resignation yesterday during a press conference outside the county courthouse. County executives and parent organizations have been calling for Barber’s resignation since the body of fifteen-year-old Palisades resident Courtney Cole was discovered in the woods by December Park last October.
“I feel I have done right by the community,” Barber said, his wife, Janet, by his side. “I feel I have done everything within my power. I am a servant of the people, and the people have voiced their opinion loud and clear.”
Barber has served as chief of police for the Harting Farms Police Department since 1988, after replacing Arnold McDowell following McDowell’s retirement.
Barber had come under close scrutiny last fall after the disappearances of thirteen-year-old William Demorest and sixteen-year-old Jeffrey Connor, both of Harting Farms. Police had no leads in either case, and Barber was criticized in the media and by several community organizations for his cavalier attitude and reluctance to address the situation with the urgency many thought necessary.
“This [resignation] is long overdue,” Freeman Demorest, the father of William Demorest, said following Barber’s press conference. “Communication with the [police] department has been deplorable to say the least. It was clear from the beginning no one at the department took my son’s disappearance seriously. I was told many times that my son would eventually ‘turn up’ and that my wife and I were overreacting. I find that disgusting.”
County selectmen will discuss the process for naming an interim chief later this week.
“We’ve got quite a few candidates stepping up to the plate,” said Selectman Robert Gordon. “We will be appointing someone who understands the platform of the community and the concerns expressed by this unfortunate situation.”
“It’s too little too late,” Demorest said. “I have been in touch with private investigators who have all told me the chances of finding my son alive are slim. The trail has gone cold. I blame the police. I blame Barber.”
Many others have echoed Demorest’s sentiment.
“There has been discussion about filing a lawsuit against the [police] department,” Gordon said. “We are not blind to this. Our hope is that with this transition we can avoid any legal ramifications and focus all our attention on finding these children and bringing the person responsible to justice.”
Headline from the Harting Farms Caller, June 10, 1994: No Prints, Evidence on Holt’s Backpack From the Harting Farms Caller, June 11, 1994: Solano Named Interim Chief Deputy Chief of Police Michael Solano, twelve-year veteran of the Harting Farms Police Department, has been named interim chief of police last night by a vote of 4-0 from the county selectmen.
“Solano possesses all the qualifications to best serve this community,” said Selectman Robert Gordon.
“I hear the people of this city loud and clear,” Solano said during a press conference last night, following his selection. “Your concerns will not fall on deaf ears.”
Solano’s first order of business is to institute a 9 p.m. curfew throughout the city.
“This will go into effect immediately for anyone under the age of eighteen,” Solano said. “Exceptions will apply for anyone with summer jobs or other unavoidable circumstances.”
Solano was asked if this curfew should be interpreted as the police department finally acknowledging the possibility that children have been abducted and not simply run away.
“The time for ignoring the obvious is over,” Solano said.
Chapter Eighteen
Fear Closes In
School was out.
Yet summer was hesitant. As if tempered by the events of the past year, it was reluctant to push the gray and mild spring away, letting it linger like bad memories. Highways shimmered with a mixture of rainwater and oil while flowers refused to bloom, disillusioned by the terminal skies.
The disappearance of thirteen-year-old Howie Holt caused the city to fold in on itself. Distrust was palpable; it was in everyone’s eyes now. Courteousness was replaced by suspicion. Father Evangeline quit bringing people up on the pulpit; his Masses were cursory and without feeling, as if he was in a hurry to be done with the whole ordeal. At the deli, Mr. Pastore no longer engaged me in idle chatter when I picked up my grandmother’s groceries. People made anonymous phone calls about their neighbors’ so-called suspicious activity. Our neighborhood watch tripled in size.
My father spoke little of the changes in the police department, though his face betrayed the stress and exhaustion from which he suffered on a seemingly daily basis. On his days off, which were few and far between, he spent much of his time trimming the shrubs and the pin oaks that had become saggy because of all the recent rain, mowing the lawn, chopping firewood we wouldn’t need until late September, or smoking Romeo y Julieta cigars in one of the old wicker chairs on the back porch. At supper, he tried to affect a pleasant demeanor, engaging in conversation as best he could, but his eyes had begun to deaden with strain and, I thought, bitter reflection.
His distancing troubled my grandmother, who complained about it not to my father but to my grandfather. She felt the job was wearing at my father. She often said, “It’s eating him up.” I wondered how much was the job and how much was Charles. Charles’s birthday was fast approaching, and with each passing day my father grew darker.