How Sheltered Are We?

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1979

I’m a freshman at Palmdale High School, really interacting with what would be considered “minorities” for the first time, even though my mother’s family is of Mexican descent.  On campus I hang out with my junior high friends. People I spent the last seven years with in a small rural town. They’re white, but that’s not why I hang with them. It’s because there were no African American and very few Hispanic families in my community. You see, I wasn’t raised to think along racial lines. So when I began my high school career, the first thing I notice is the separation on campus. Jock Hill and Head Lawn I understood.  But the Hispanic and African American kids were separate. By choice or not, I didn’t know at the time. As it was later told to me, African Americans were not allowed to live in town until recently. They lived in a rural community east of Palmdale called Sun Village. What? I never understood that, and still don’t today. Looking back now, I understand the civil rights movement was relatively recent history, but this wasn’t the south. I was told recently by a patriarchal African American from Sun Village that his family, and many like his, actually moved to the area because the area reminded them of a part of the south he was from. Open and untouched, albeit, hotter and drier.

So, was I told African Americans couldn’t live in the city for reasons of racial intolerance or because that was how some of my new friends were taught? It goes to show you how influential people can be in our lives.
I grow up playing sports and being active in my community. Not directly exposed to acts of hate, but certainly of intolerance. Sad to say, but I’m guilty of laughing at those “off color” or derogatory jokes. Funny thing is, I don’t really know why, because I never had a sense of entitlement or that I was better than anyone for any reason. Perhaps peer pressure had a stronger influence on me than I previously thought.

Fast forward to my early adulthood. My mom tells me my dad and I are exactly alike. I can’t see it. We actually don’t have a great relationship due to our constant head butting over what now seems like stupid things. I’m stuck in a job that pays well, but I can’t stand it. For the first time in my life, my L.A. County Sheriff’s Sergeant dad tells me to look into law enforcement. Why not? He seems to enjoy it, makes a good living for his family, has job security. So I start the process to become a deputy sheriff. The more I progress in the hiring process, the more eager and enthusiastic I become about being a deputy sheriff. I’m hired in 1990 and my first assignment, like most new deputies, is a custody facility. Wow what a culture shock seeing how divided jail culture is. My dad worried about me. He thought I might be heavy handed because of my young temper. He tells me the best career move, or life move for that matter, is to be nice to people. I dismiss him, because I am nice already, aren’t I? But five years working a custody facility can turn a person to a cynic, and it did turn me. He saw it.

I go on to my patrol assignment at the age of 29, Antelope Valley Station. A pretty diverse community by that time, but still predominantly anglo. My dad re-instills his philosophy of how treating people right will get me farther than being an ass to them. “People used to thank me for arresting them, I was so nice”, he used to say. He reminds me that not all people I take to jail are going to be bad. They’ll be somebody’s family member, friend, etc., and may have just had a series of unfortunate events happen. Yeah, whatever dad. I’m here to take bad people to jail.
Here it comes. At the age of 29 I have my first epiphany (Big word. I like it). My field training officer and I are working the Lake Los Angeles area and we arrest a woman for possession of methamphetamine. She is clearly not in a good place, strung out on that horrible drug. I treat her with compassion during the entire process. There’s no reason not to. I finish with her booking paperwork, and as I am about to leave, she puts her hand on the booking cell glass and tells me, “Thank you for being so nice, Deputy Jennings. You saved my life.” At that moment, I realize my mom was right all those years. I was just like my dad, hard as it was to admit. Thanks dad. You and mom did a good job. That realization shaped me into the person I am today. 

So the question to me was, how do I help other people come to the same realization? That question is what got me into community based policing programs, and ultimately, the S.H.A.R.E. Tolerance program. It’s been my pleasure to help this program spread its wings into the community. I knew we had something special here when we partnered with the Museum of Tolerance to help define how we would move forward. If we can get enough of our youth to realize they have the ability to influence others, maybe we can help them effect change on their campuses, their communities, and even their homes.

My generation doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to race relations, international relations, the economy, etc.  I’m confident that with the right tools, our kids will do a much better job.

Dave Jennings, Sergeant
S.H.A.R.E. Tolerance Program

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