Sheriff solidifies political foundation

Martin Kuz

Sunday, Oct. 17, 1999 | 10:26 a.m.

Sun reporter Jace Radke contributed to this story.

Make that Jerry Keller 2, Michael McDonald 0.

Keller, the Metro Police sheriff, wasted no time after word leaked last month that the city of Las Vegas might divest from the department to create its own police force. He mounted a furious grass-roots and political counterattack, ricocheting from rallies to TV appearances as he lobbied against Metro deconsolidation.

The public-relations blitz paid off Oct. 7 when Mayor Oscar Goodman yanked the plug on deconsolidation, ensuring that the agency would remain a joint operation of the city and Clark County.

The study came at Goodman's request. But media reports pinned the push for deconsolidation on McDonald, the Las Vegas city councilman and former Metro officer who last year clamored for a financial review of the police department's books.

The independent auditor hired by the city not only wound up praising Metro's fiscal restraint, but then reduced the audit fee by half -- to $90,000 -- because the job proved so easy. That put Keller one-up on McDonald.

The death of deconsolidation 10 days ago marked the sheriff's second political thumping of the councilman. Despite both men taking pains to pooh-pooh any hard feelings, the make-nice rhetoric fooled no one, according to Dr. Richard McCorkle, head of the UNLV criminal justice department.

"It's pretty clear that Sheriff Keller came out on top in that scrap, even though they're making all sorts of conciliatory gestures toward each other," McCorkle said.

In a broader sense, the defeat of deconsolidation signals Keller's consolidation of power.

The 52-year-old sheriff, voted into office in 1994, won re-election last year when his opponent -- cowed by Keller's popularity and campaign war chest -- withdrew before Election Day. If formidable then, Keller now appears invincible.

Fear rippled through Metro's ranks a month ago. The prospect of the agency's demise, no matter how remote, galvanized police unions, Las Vegas Valley residents, political power brokers -- almost everyone, it seemed -- to back Keller. Today he leads a department that stands as unified as it ever has since the city and county merged police services in 1973.

Keller, dubbed a "very astute political animal" by McCorkle, waves away any suggestion of his own omnipotence.

A 30-year law enforcement veteran who joined the Clark County sheriff's office in 1969, Keller was a patrol officer until his promotion to supervisory ranks in 1975. He climbed to sergeant a short time later, notching stints with Metro's SWAT team and Internal Affairs Bureau. He made lieutenant in 1984 and captain three years later, serving as commander of the criminalistics bureau and two patrol area commands.

Keller took over the administrative services division upon his promotion to deputy chief in 1993, then bested Ralph Lamb to become sheriff a year later.

Measured against that record of service, Keller refuses to tout the beating back of deconsolidation as the summit of his career.

Instead, he prefers to extol the dedication of "the men and women of Metro," a phrase he repeats time and again like a Gregorian chant. A rapid-fire speaker, Keller often refers to himself in the third person, which has the subtle effect of making him sound less like a sheriff and more like just another cop.

"This really hasn't been a political issue," he said of deconsolidation. "People haven't been talking out in support of Jerry Keller. It's been in support of good, solid police service. It's been in support of the unselfish men and women of Metro."

The statement could be interpreted as genuine humility, or a sound-bite uttered by a politician in sheriff's clothing. Or both. Indeed, those varied opinions continue to fill the sizable ears of the 6-foot-5-inch Keller even as the specter of deconsolidation fades.

Clark County Commissioner Lance Malone, an outspoken foe of deconsolidation, called the recent groundswell of pro-Metro sentiment "a sure sign that the sheriff has been doing a fantastic job for us. He has the ability to communicate very well; he's the first one to say when he screwed up. The public likes that."

State Sen. Joe Neal, D-North Las Vegas, senses among his constituents less confidence in Keller.

Neal authored a bill passed by the Nevada Legislature in 1997 that led to the creation of a Metro citizen review board this year. He crafted the measure in response to intense public demand for independent investigation of alleged police misconduct.

A spate of incidents since 1996 involving the use of force by Metro officers, and Keller's defense of their actions in some cases, troubles Neal.

"When you have a tendency to close ranks and get behind the officers, especially when there's wrongdoing, then the public doesn't get the benefit of your leadership," Neal said.

"Maybe it is a fault within the sheriff himself, but he has not been able to instill in his force that there's a difference between being a police officer and being a military force."

Political science

The sheriff's eighth-story office at City Hall sits two floors below those of the mayor and the City Council members. Still, Keller could be excused if he felt that they were the ones looking up at him.

Andy Anderson serves as executive officer of the Las Vegas Police Protective Association, the union that represents Metro's 1,770 commissioned officers and 400 corrections officers. In working to sink deconsolidation, Keller taught its proponents a lesson in political science, Anderson said.

"He mustered support from the county commissioners, the casino powers, the community. He showed leadership," Anderson said. "But at the same time, he allowed his employees to get out there and he let them speak up for Metro."

Anderson and his counterpart, Sharon Greguras, president of the LVPPA's 1,100-member civilian branch, portrayed the large turnouts of Metro personnel at anti-deconsolidation rallies as payback for Keller's loyalty to the rank and file.

"Whenever he talks somewhere, he's always talking about 'the men and women of Metro.' He's always sharing the credit, and that has an impact," Anderson said.

Greguras said that under Keller's predecessor, the late John Moran, the janitors, dispatchers and others who comprise the civilian ranks were made to feel "like second-class citizens." Keller changed that by boosting the size of the civilian staff, increasing their pay and inviting Greguras to attend his executive committee meetings -- an offer Moran never extended, she said.

Respect for Keller -- if less so than a keen sense of job security -- compelled the civilian staff to hop in the trenches when talk of splitting Metro surfaced, Greguras said.

"I've never seen the department more united in my 13 years here. If anything, as hard as this was with all the talk of deconsolidation, our department has never been so together and united. This is a turning point, and the sheriff has to get credit for that," she said.

Anderson and Greguras vouched for Keller's sometimes explosive temper, which most often flares over internal disciplinary matters. A mulish obstinancy -- or what Greguras described as "a typical cop's 'I say so' attitude" -- also defined Keller's early years as sheriff.

But Keller has matured as a public figure, blunting his outbursts and learning to listen, Greguras said. She cited his composure during TV appearances with Goodman and McDonald, who took turns looking addled while discussing deconsolidation.

"I have never seen him handle something this calmly. He kept his cool. I'm sure it took every ounce of patience and calmness, but he addressed the issues. If it had been me, I would've come across the table at them," Greguras said.

True to form, Keller downplayed his role and cued his favorite phrase in analyzing the politics of deconsolidation.

"If anything, this has been a chance for the city and the community to see just how hard the men and women of the Metropolitan Police Department work. This has been about them," he said.

"I don't see a lot of political animal in me. I don't see this as a crowning achievement. An officer responding to a life-threatening situation -- those are the defining moments in a cop's life."

Critics question the authenticity of Keller's relentless modesty, but even they acknowledge his grass-roots savvy, a trait absent in the three sheriffs that preceded him. Moran, John McCarthy and Lamb disliked the flesh-pressing aspects of the job and saved their speeches for the briefing room.

Not so Keller, a man who never met a hand or microphone he didn't want to grasp. His legacy may lie in the raft of outreach programs he has launched that address a range of social problems, from domestic violence to youth drug use. Keller also cooked up "First Tuesday," a program that gives residents the chance to visit their patrol area command each month to voice concerns.

Keller's approval ratings reflect Metro's thrust into the community during his reign. Nearly half of the 401 respondents to a recent Las Vegas Sun/Las Vegas 1 telephone poll characterized his job performance as "good to excellent." By comparison, 7 percent gave Keller "poor" marks. About one-fourth of those polled were neutral.

Veil of mystery

Metro has tugged off its veil of mystery under Keller, said Lt. Joe Greenwood, chairman of the Police Managers and Supervisors Association, which represents the department's captains, lieutenants and sergeants.

"We had Sheriff Moran and he wasn't a big talker, and Sheriff Lamb was pretty quiet. But Sheriff Keller is what I like to call up-front and out-front. He has the ability to clearly and precisely state what the department is doing and how we're doing it," Greenwood said.

Those ground-floor efforts, more so than the sheriff making calls from a lofty perch at City Hall, spurred people to speak out against deconsolidation, Keller insisted. "I didn't get on the phone to anybody," he said. "What people said and did, they did that on their own."

Boyd Gaming Corp. President Don Snyder was one who called Keller to see if he needed help. Snyder, president of the Fremont Street Experience at the time of its opening, worked with Keller to coordinate police patrol at the $70 million downtown attraction. Boyd Gaming contributed $5,000 to Keller's re-election bid last year.

"From my point of view, Sheriff Keller just knows how to lead," Snyder said. "He provides the kind of leadership this community needs."

Leadership from the perspective of a casino executive with offices on Las Vegas Boulevard, however, differs from that of the president of a minority advocacy group with offices on Martin Luther King Boulevard.

Gene Collins, head of the NAACP's Las Vegas branch, twice voted for Keller. He lauded the sheriff for upping diversity within Metro through recruiting of minorities, as well as for his willingness to meet with a variety of minority leaders.

Nonetheless, Collins noted, Metro still lacks minorities at its upper echelons. Department statistics reveal that of the 27 officers who hold the agency's highest-ranked positions -- sheriff, undersheriff, deputy chief and captain -- two are minorities and three are women.

Out of 2,087 commissioned Metro employees, 1,697 are white (81 percent) 193 are black (9 percent), 144 are Hispanic (7 percent), 40 are Asian (2 percent) and 13 are Indian (less than 1 percent). Nine percent, or 230 officers, are women.

The racial divide in the department, Collins said, fans a distrust of Metro among minorities in the community. Moreover, despite Keller's intolerance of discrimination by his force, complaints of racial profiling -- officers allegedly stopping pedestrians and drivers simply on the basis of their skin color -- flow into the NAACP office every week, Collins added.

"Those kinds of things signify that the sheriff is not being told the truth by those in the field," he said. "He has to rely on his subordinates for an accurate report of what's going on, and he's not getting that."

Keller deserves kudos for beefing up community policing and preaching racial and ethnic sensitivity within Metro, according to Gary Peck, executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Nevada.

Yet more than once Keller has failed "to give credence to those who, with good reason, criticize the department for very real, systemic problems involving discrimination and abusive police behavior," Peck said.

The Las Vegas Sun/Las Vegas 1 poll showed that of the 401 respondents, nearly half -- most of them white -- believe that Metro treats all people fairly regardless of race, color or economic status. Almost 40 percent -- the majority of them minorities -- disagreed. A string of racially tinged incidents in recent years may explain the gap.

Off-duty Metro officer Ron Mortensen killed a 21-year-old Hispanic man, Daniel Mendoza, in a drive-by shooting three years ago. Mortensen received a life sentence for the slaying.

Christopher Brady, another off-duty Metro officer who drove the vehicle Mortensen rode in, received a nine-year sentence in August after pleading guilty to violating Mendoza's civil rights. Keller fired both Brady and Mortensen, who are white.

Last year, LVPPA Vice President Dan Holley drew criticism for referring to Martin Luther King Jr. Day as "Martin Luther Coon Day" during a training academy class. Holley received a reprimand and later issued a public apology.

In February two Metro officers were accused of taunting a group of youngsters with racial slurs and breaking the arm of 12-year-old Parrish "Pookie" Young while arresting him. Young's family retained an attorney and may sue Metro.

The Mendoza shooting fueled public outcry for a Metro citizen review board, a concept that Keller at first opposed but now says he welcomes. His detractors seize upon that initial resistance as evidence that Keller, for all his common-man appeal, puts cops first, citizens second.

"He's a police officer," Neal said. "And like any police officer who came up through the ranks, the sheriff has a tendency to agree with the actions of his officers in many cases and ignore the concerns of the public. And I find that somewhat distasteful to the public."

Neal argues that the sheriff should be held accountable for his decisions more often than once every four years. He may propose a bill in the next legislative session that would change Metro's top job from an elected position to an appointed one.

The switch, Neal said, would sever a sheriff's ties to special interests -- ties that critics insist pull too hard at Keller, the recipient of campaign donations from the gaming industry's dominant players. He collected almost $500,000 in contributions last year from Circus Circus Enterprises, MGM Grand Inc. and Mirage Resorts Inc., among others.

"When you're getting money from the big-time contributors, you soon find yourself in a strata in which you're looking down on the public," Neal said. "And when you reach that status, you start to become dangerous because you start to believe you're the one with the power."

The right balance

The charges pose no surprise to Keller. He has heard them before, along with accusations that his officers too often use excessive force. He counters with numbers. Lots of numbers.

Serious crime in areas served by Metro dropped 12 percent between 1997 and 1998, according to the state Department of Motor Vehicles and Public Safety. Homicides decreased by 21 percent, rapes by 16 percent and aggravated assaults by 31 percent. The overall crime rate in Las Vegas has decreased 40 percent since 1994.

Two years ago Metro had 875,000 "contacts" with the public and received 1,198 complaints. "There's not one business, big or small, that does its work as well or with fewer complaints, percentage-wise," Keller said.

Mentioning the likes of Mortensen, Brady and Metro officer Michael Ramirez -- fired after he forced a couple to perform sex acts at gunpoint -- Keller denied he goes easy on his officers. But he also pointed out that coroner's juries cleared his officers of wrongdoing in the highly publicized shooting deaths of John Perrin and Timothy Blackburn earlier this year.

"We don't have the luxury of including public emotion, rumor and innuendo into the investigation of fact to establish the sequence of events," Keller said. "The public doesn't always understand that."

While critics rap Keller for being soft on crime when his officers are the perpetrators, sources within Metro said privately that he panders to public opinion by coming down too hard on them. The polar views suggest that Keller perhaps has struck the right balance between the political and internal demands of his job.

The LVPPA's Anderson, who works with officers when they file grievances over disciplinary action leveled against them, attested to the sheriff's no-nonsense style.

"Jerry Keller acts swiftly. The crap he gets for cover-ups and (stuff) like that, I'm here to tell you, there's none of that going on. He disciplines swiftly," Anderson said.

Anti-sheriff grumblings during Keller's tenure reverberate no louder than when Moran or McCarthy were in office, Anderson said.

And at least for the moment, Keller's success in shooting down deconsolidation likely muted even his harshest critics within the department. A similar silence is heard from some of his detractors outside Metro as well -- McDonald did not return phone calls seeking comment on Keller.

So with the threat of deconsolidation past, Keller returns to the day-to-day grind of policing the country's fastest-growing metro area. Even with an office on the eighth floor, the lifelong Las Vegan and father of four likes the view just the same.

"I enjoy going to work every day with the 3,700 men and women of Metro ... I'm having a ball, so who knows?" Keller said. "I may go another 50 years doing this. This is great stuff."

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