Of the first black officers hired in 1948 and early 1949, five survive, said Williams and Withers. Nine black officers came on the job in October 1948, and three others shortly after. Few black officers were hired in the ensuing years, until prompting by court action. Robinson rose from patrolman to captain and was the first black officer to command a bureau. A product of Booker T. Washington High School and LeMoyne-Owen College, Robinson excelled as an athlete, especially in football, his friends said. He was an Air Force veteran. In those early days, Withers and Williams recalled, black officers were not allowed in for roll call at headquarters, but had their own roll call at Church's Auditorium on Beale Street. They had a separate bench in court, but did not in those days testify in court, even when they were the arresting officer. "You had to have a tough skin," Williams said. "But we cleaned up Beale Street, made Beale Street a safe place for women and children," he said. "That was our purpose."
Robinson's wife, Valtina, said, "He did say he had a rough time, just being a black officer . . . (But) he certainly did enjoy it. . . . He stayed there 32 years." Former police director E. W. 'Buddy' Chapman said he knew Robinson as ``a quiet man, a good man . . . a pleasure to deal with." In his retirement letter of Sept. 4, 1980, to John D. Holt, deputy director of operations, Robinson wrote, "My heart will always be with the nation's finest police department." Holt died Thursday morning of a heart attack. Robinson also leaves a son, Ronald Robinson of Los Angeles; his mother, Ada J. Robinson, of Memphis, and a grandson. (By Chris Conley, Published in The Commercial Appeal, 11/27/1993)
Of the first black officers hired in 1948 and early 1949, five survive, said Williams and Withers. Nine black officers came on the job in October 1948, and three others shortly after. Few black officers were hired in the ensuing years, until prompting by court action. Robinson rose from patrolman to captain and was the first black officer to command a bureau. A product of Booker T. Washington High School and LeMoyne-Owen College, Robinson excelled as an athlete, especially in football, his friends said. He was an Air Force veteran. In those early days, Withers and Williams recalled, black officers were not allowed in for roll call at headquarters, but had their own roll call at Church's Auditorium on Beale Street. They had a separate bench in court, but did not in those days testify in court, even when they were the arresting officer. "You had to have a tough skin," Williams said. "But we cleaned up Beale Street, made Beale Street a safe place for women and children," he said. "That was our purpose."
Robinson's wife, Valtina, said, "He did say he had a rough time, just being a black officer . . . (But) he certainly did enjoy it. . . . He stayed there 32 years." Former police director E. W. 'Buddy' Chapman said he knew Robinson as ``a quiet man, a good man . . . a pleasure to deal with." In his retirement letter of Sept. 4, 1980, to John D. Holt, deputy director of operations, Robinson wrote, "My heart will always be with the nation's finest police department." Holt died Thursday morning of a heart attack. Robinson also leaves a son, Ronald Robinson of Los Angeles; his mother, Ada J. Robinson, of Memphis, and a grandson. (By Chris Conley, Published in The Commercial Appeal, 11/27/1993)
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