It crossed my mind last week to add my humble voice to the chorus of appreciations of the life of John Timoney, the one-time first deputy commissioner of the New York Police Department and former chief of police in Miami and Philadelphia. Timoney died this month—far too young at 68—after a battle with lung cancer.
I hesitated to chime in, in part because so many worthy tributes found their way online and into print. A New York Times obituary called him “a swaggering cop, straight out of central casting, with a Bronx brogue.” What could I possibly add? I only met him once. I thought it best to keep my thoughts to myself.
Then I changed my mind. I tell my kids all the time that if they don’t have anything nice to say, then they should say nothing at all. The corollary must be: If you do have something nice to say—especially about someone who’s recently died—go ahead and spit it out. So here goes.
I was hired to be the Manhattan Institute’s managing editor for research publications in the summer of 2009. At the time I was living in a on the Upper East Side of Manhattan with my wife and our (then) three children. Times were good in New York City. The Big Apple had never been safer, more prosperous, or more family-friendly. All of this was due in large part to the policing reforms instituted during the mid-1990s by Mayor Rudolph Giuliani and executed by NYPD commissioner William Bratton—and Timoney, his Dublin-born deputy.
The Manhattan Institute had played a big part in developing, disseminating, and celebrating those reforms. I was proud—and remain so—to be a part of that.
In 2010, Timoney’s stint in Miami came to an end. He published a memoir—Beat Cop to Top Cop—that I enjoyed immensely. It was filled with colorful and entertaining stories of his life in the NYPD, from his start as a patrol officer in the Bronx’s tough 44th Precinct to his stint as the department’s top uniformed officer. It also contained much of his personality: witty, thoughtful, compassionate.
This week, Bratton remembered his former colleague’s unique style:
As Timoney was a long-time friend of the Manhattan Institute, he was invited to give a lecture about his book. He was memorably introduced by Tom Wolfe. Like all the best Irish cops, Timoney had a literary streak.
One of my colleagues—Charles Sahm, currently MI’s director of education policy—knew Timoney well, and had plans to meet him for a drink that evening. Charles also knew that I had read and enjoyed the chief’s book, so he suggested that I tag along. I had never before been to Elaine’s, the legendary 2nd Avenue bistro where New York’s power elite mixed and mingled with writers, artists, and cops. When he was riding high atop the NYPD in the early ’90s, Timoney had been a regular.
It was a marvelous evening of conversation and conviviality. We sat with Timoney at a tiny table by the bar. He told jokes and spun yarns. Elaine Kaufman, the nightspot’s 81-year-old namesake and proprietor, held court nearby. The place was packed. The best part was watching as old friends and heavy hitters came by to shake the legendary lawman’s hand. He’d been gone—in Miami and Philly—for a long time by then. I didn’t know who most of them were, but they seemed genuinely over the moon to catch up with a man who, at that time, still had a potentially bright future in the city.
Fit as a fiddle and still in his early ’60s, Timoney could easily have succeeded then-NYPD commissioner Ray Kelly when the time came for a change. As it happened, the job went to Bratton—again.
A few years have passed now, so the details are hazy, but here’s what I remember most: Each time someone came to the table, Timoney would introduce me and Charles as “the young intellectuals from the Manhattan Institute.” The first time he said it I cringed. I wasn’t that young, nor am I an intellectual—not then; not now. But I didn’t object. The big shots at Elaine’s didn’t need to know what a prole I really was. Chief Timoney didn’t need to know that I was an average intellect, or that I’d never taken a punch.
I was happy to play the part of the young intellectual, if only for the night.
In retrospect, it’s lucky that the invitation came when it did. Elaine Kaufman died just a few months later; Elaine’s closed a few months after that. My wife and I moved to Connecticut, where we had two more children, and were we live to this day. I still work at the Manhattan Institute, as an editor for the quarterly magazine City Journal, but I haven’t had too many more opportunities to hit the town with a top cop like Timoney. I’m intellectual enough to know that these things don’t happen every day.
A sea of blue greeted his John Timoney’s casket as an honor guard of NYPD pallbearers carried it down the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Tuesday. Hundreds of cops—and friends—gathered to celebrate the life of this one-of-a-kind New Yorker. “He played a lot of Irish football. He could run you into the ground,” one friend told the Daily News. “He had stamina and he was just a great street cop. He never forgot where he came from. He was always very personable. He had that Irish charm.”
He did have that. He did indeed.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.
This piece originally appeared at Ricochet
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Matthew Hennessey is an associate editor at City Journal. Follow him on Twitter here.
Photo by Joe Raedle / Getty
This piece originally appeared in Ricochet