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Chicago Officer's Act of Kindness Helps Heal a Cynical Chicagoan

By Mark Konkol | November 13, 2014 5:44am | Updated on November 13, 2014 6:24am
 Chicago Police Officer Alfred Williams Jr. returned Mark Konkol's lost wallet. That act of kindness is the kind of thing that can help rebuild trust between neighborhood folks and the police.
Chicago Police Officer Alfred Williams Jr. returned Mark Konkol's lost wallet. That act of kindness is the kind of thing that can help rebuild trust between neighborhood folks and the police.
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DNAinfo/Mark Konkol; Facebook

PULLMAN — When the bell rang Tuesday, I headed toward the door, spotted a Chicago police officer on the front stoop and immediately became filled with dread.

Who can blame me, really?

Anyone who watches Dick Wolf’s cop shows on TV knows unannounced police visits rarely turn out well for the guy inside the door.

And you don’t have to be a couples’ counselor to know that lingering trust issues stemming from various types of officer misconduct I’ve written about over the years — the brutality, lies, false reports, torture and false arrests, to name a few — have seriously tested the strained relationship between Chicagoans and their police department.

So, for a moment I stood frozen in the hallway.

What happened next, well, I'll get to that later.

Mark Konkol says he wanted to share the story to highlight some positives in Chicago:

You see, I’d already suffered a string of horrible days and wasn’t ready for any more bad news.

After shopping at the Pullman Wal-Mart Sunday night, I came home to clean the stinking cat box, unload the groceries, clean up the kitchen, start laundry and make dinner before the Bears game — and we all know how that could make a guy feel sick.

On Monday, I woke up suffering from recurring anxiety about what to fill this space with for the rest of the week. When I finally got a few leads, hopped in the car, saw the gas gauge nearing empty and started to pull away, I realized that I wasn’t carrying my wallet.

So, I hustled back into the house and started what just might be the most disgusting search for a lost item on record. I checked the most likely spots — the bowl where I keep my keys, the kitchen counter, dining room table, between the cushions of both couches, under said couches, under my bed, in the clothes hamper, washer, dryer, refrigerator, freezer, silverware drawer and on the floor next to both toilets.

Then, I went to Wal-Mart, checked the parking lot, asked around at Planet Fitness, searched the car, the garage and the backyard before heading to the alley and dumping the garbage can. I went through every slimy trash bag and, in an act of total desperation, even searched the soiled kitty litter.

My lost wallet-fueled depression continued into Tuesday, when I finally gave up and headed out to the Secretary of State's Office to get a new driver's license, only to get there and see that it was closed for Veterans Day.

Defeated, I sulked on the drive home and then forced myself to quell my self-loathing long enough to find a few stories, line up a few interviews and sit down at my desk to start writing for the day.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

After unfreezing myself in the hallway I opened the front door, stepped out on the porch and saw that the officer on the stoop was holding in his right hand my Chicago-made Chrome-brand wallet fashioned out of waterproof truck tarp material.

Before he could say a word, I swung open the door and exclaimed, “I love you, man. Can I give you a hug?”

The officer gave me a funny look, so I settled for a high-five.

He told me that a young lady gave it to him near the 95th Street Red Line station. And rather than drop it off in a lost-and-found box that I’d never know to search, he decided to hand deliver it to my house when he had a free moment.

When the officer handed me the wallet, which wasn’t missing a single thing, I wanted to grease him with some cash for the extra effort but thought that might be a bit disrespectful. So I settled on thanking him profusely.

As he turned and walked away, I called out, “What’s your name, sir?”

“Officer Williams, mass transit unit,” he said before showing off a friendly grin and heading to his squad car.

After he drove away, I realized that I was so overjoyed to be reunited with my amazing driver's license photo and credit cards that I forgot to get Officer Williams’ first name … or even take a selfie with him.

So, I contacted police headquarters to find out. 

As things turn out, Officer Alfred Williams Jr. is a 25-year police veteran with 16 department commendations including six honorable mentions in his personnel file.

If you’re reading this Officer Williams, thanks again, pal.

That small act of kindness might not seem like much. But let me assure you it's the good stuff that, little by little, can help heal the broken trust at the heart of a tumultuous relationship between cynical Chicagoans and the Chicago Police Department.

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