Everything about campus looks different from inside a Tufts University Police Department (TUPD) squad car. Strolling down Professor's Row on a Friday night, an inconspicuous student could spot dozens of open containers. But riding shotgun with TUPD Captain Mark Keith, I didn't see a single beer or a solitary joint. Just handfuls of quiet, contemplative students staring back at us, many with hands hidden haphazardly at their sides or behind their backs.
We cruised campus slowly and meticulously for over an hour, and the whole time, as I asked carefully worded questions about life as a TUPD officer, Keith scanned the sidewalks.
"They think we're invading their space," he said of the students, some of whom tensed noticeably as we drove by. "And I guess I understand that a little." What Keith then went on to explain is that most of what Tufts cops do is perform minor services. Helping people who are locked out of their rooms. Helping people who are locked out of their cars. Police escorts. And more often than you might think, helping people get rid of lurking bats.
"I've gone after bats a couple of times myself," Keith said, smiling. "Mostly in small houses. Sometimes you're successful, sometimes you're not... 90 percent of what we do is providing services to campus."
Unfortunately, we didn't respond to any bat calls that Friday, but we did respond to a few others.
As we approached the corner of P-row and Packard, a scuffle broke out on the sidewalk, with two male students exchanging shoves and insults.
Keith hit the brakes - almost daring them to continue - but didn't reach for the door. About five seconds later, they spotted him.
"Heeeaaay! I love you, man," said one student to the other, drunkenly embracing his former adversary and smiling at the car. Keith smiled back and continued on his way, parking the car next to the tennis courts, where we had a good view of the corner.
"This is where all the foot traffic is," he told me. "I don't know what everybody's doing before 11 or 11:30 p.m., but when 11:30 hits, campus is a completely different place."
We sat on the corner for half an hour, waiting and watching. As we lay low in the parked car, I listened to scanner broadcasts from the Somerville police. Keith didn't blink an eye as the local police exchanged broadcasts, breaking up a mugging and pursuing the suspect in a stabbing. Somerville can be a scary place when compared to the confines of campus.
I was relieved when a friendly TUPD broadcast came across the airwaves. Apparently, a Somerville resident had phoned in a complaint regarding a party at 57 Curtis Ave, where a group of noisy students were assembled in the street.
"I think we'll go check it out," he said calmly, starting the engine.
The Captain drove slowly toward the house in question, all the while keeping an eye on everyone that walked by. I asked him how many people are stopped each weekend for open containers.
"Not too many," he said. "We could probably stop and question a lot more people than we do, I think." He picked up the radio, cutting himself off. "This is 205. I'm on location."
"10-4 Captain," the response came immediately. Keith switched off the engine and turned to me. "Why don't you hang here," he said, stepping out of the car.
I didn't see any students on the street. In fact, I couldn't even tell which house was hosting this alleged party until he went in.
About 30 seconds after Keith entered the house, a stream of about 20 students stumbled out single file and headed back up the street towards campus, some giggling and others grumbling.
"It's interesting," he said when he returned to the car several minutes later. "All we did was to ask to speak to someone who lived there and everybody started leaving. I told them 'You don't have to send them all home, you just have to keep the noise down a little.'"
Pausing at the stop sign above Hill Hall, Keith went on to explain that while many noise complaints come from local residents, a large number also come from Tufts students themselves, especially in apartment-style housing such as Latin Way and Hillsides.
As we idled at the intersection, a group of boisterous girls strolled across the crosswalk, all scantily clad in revealing Halloween costumes. One, sporting a cat costume featuring a tight leather suit, stopped and stared provocatively at the car. Keith smiled as the girl licked her lips and snapped a whip in our direction.
"Does that happen often?" I asked carefully, partly envious and partly curious.
"Occasionally," he responded, still wearing the same sly smile.
While most of Keith's duties as Captain are administrative, he opts to spend Thursday and Friday nights here on campus rather than at home with his family.
"There's a little more stuff going on then, so I try to get out and be a little more proactive on campus," he said.
At about 1:30 a.m., when it became clear that the party scene was pretty much dead for the night, Keith parked the car on the academic quad. For half an hour, we wandered from one academic building to another making sure the doors were locked, and occasionally walking through a building to check things out.
When we were finished I thanked Keith for his hospitality and headed home to engage in a little under-aged drinking on my front porch. Reflecting on my brief foray onto the other side of the fray, I realized that TUPD officers see a different campus than we do. Don't get me wrong, I'm no fan of their behavior of late, especially in breaking up so many parties before they even start. But on the individual level, I think we have a pretty good deal. Don't throw a beer in their face, and they won't get all up in yours.
