Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: THURSDAY, November 30, 1995                   TAG: 9511300012
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: 
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

PATROLMAN SEES DUTY IN WORKING, PLAYING WITH KIDS

Officer Levert Jackson answered the call. As the second-shift patrolman in Billy's Old Southwest neighborhood, he recognized the suspect right away.

The two hang out regularly - along with a dozen or so other neighborhood kids - in the grassy lot near the Lions Eye Bank, at the corner of Elm Avenue and Fifth Street.

Jackson, a former teacher from Buffalo, N.Y., plays football with the neighborhood kids most late afternoons - in uniform. Between handling police calls, he makes intercepting passes and rushing yards part of his official police routine.

He knows that building trust with the next generation may be his most important duty of all.

In Billy's case, he used that trust to engineer a compromise: Billy would clean up his mess, or he would face the music.

``I told the church, `Instead of pressing charges, let me try working with him,' '' Jackson recalls. ``Nine times out of 10, the parents can't pay for the damages anyway'' if charges are pressed.

For two months now, Billy's spent his Saturdays paying penance to the Second Presbyterian Church - picking up papers, sweeping, doing whatever errands the church needs done. If Jackson is off-duty, he delivers Billy to the church in his personal car.

Between football plays on a recent afternoon, the kids were asked to describe their relationship with the man they refer to as ``Jackson.''

``He's like, if somebody tries to beat you up, he'll stop him,'' 9-year-old Jawward Saunders says.

``He's like, when we're short of money, he'll give us some money,'' adds Joseph Bradburn, 9.

``I thought Jackson would be all mean and stuff 'cause he's a police officer, but he's not,'' says Antwon Hale, 10.

When it's Billy's turn to comment, the 12-year-old speaks with childlike sincerity. No one laughs or giggles when he offers his tribute.

He says, ``Jackson's like a father figure to me.''

Levert Jackson talks about the post-O.J. backlash against police as if his feelings are genuinely hurt.

``After the trial, I was feeling like the citizens didn't really trust us,'' Jackson, 25, says. ``I was feeling it from both blacks and whites.

``But they don't see me as black or white over in Southwest, especially the kids. They see me as Jackson.''

When Jackson is dispatched to a call in Old Southwest, there's a good chance someone he knows will answer the door.

The kids have told him about crimes they've witnessed - and committed. The adults have called him at the station to talk about everything from neighborhood drug activity to personal problems.

``Some of the guys I talk to, the next day I'll be arresting them for drugs. Some of the drunks that walk by here, they know not to mess with my kids.

``If I'm here by myself, they'll ask me, `Where are your kids?' ''

The community resisted his friendship when he started patrolling the area in 1992. He plotted his inroads slowly, handing out football cards and police-badge stickers.

Now the policeman lets the kids tackle him - even though he knows he'll wake up the next day sore. Now he gives them his home phone number if they - or their parents - need to talk.

``Parents will call me over when their kids are just out of hand,'' he says. ``I approach the kids with, `I'm still your friend, but your behavior is unacceptable and if it continues, I'll do my job and make sure you're punished.' ''

He expects kids to be kids, he says. He tries not to be too disappointed when they inevitably let him down. But, at all times, he demands their respect. And he gets it.

``These kids are our future,'' Jackson says. ``If you don't work with them at a young age, you're never gonna get a chance to work with them.''

A phone number. A ride home. A deep football pass in a grass-worn empty lot.

They're not official police procedures. They're not part of Levert Jackson's performance review.

But for kids like Billy, that consistency and attention may make the difference between several Saturdays paying penance - and a lifetime paying the price.