By Roy Wenzl
The Wichita Eagle
WICHITA, Kan. — A student recently brought a pocket knife to Anderson Elementary School.
Nobody got hurt.
But rules are strict.
Knives are forbidden.
The knife got taken away.
The school investigation revealed that the boy who brought it to school had no malicious intent.
But the investigation also revealed that five other fifth-grade boys knew the knife was in the school for several days. And said nothing.
So the principal called a Wichita police captain she knows.
Send someone to talk to these boys, she asked.
The captain sent Chris Robinson.
‘Not a short-term guy’
Officer Robinson wears a badge, a gun and a heavy, protective vest under his tan shirt.
He stands 6-foot-5. He towers over most fifth-grade boys, who don’t usually stretch up more than 5 feet.
The captain asked Robinson to go to Anderson Elementary in south Wichita near Hydraulic and Pawnee.
Robinson said OK.
“But one more thing,” Robinson told him.
“This isn’t gonna be just one talk.”
He’s been a cop for 20 years.
He’s fought hand-to-hand with criminals. He got shot at once.
On the job, he has talked to hundreds of kids over the years.
“So I am not a short-term guy,” he said.
There every week
They sat in a circle around him on a recent Tuesday, eating hotdogs, five fifth-grade boys.
Kendrall Ransom.
Abraham Trevizo-Orozco.
Jose Ventura-Mireles.
Anthony Monjaras-Osborne.
Isaac Martinez.
“Treat all people with respect,” Robinson told them.
“Don’t ever tell lies.
“Always tell the truth.
“Don’t ever lose your trust. You can be a rich man, but if you lose your trust, you become a very lonely person.”
Robinson has come to Anderson Elementary School every week for five weeks, mostly on his own time.
‘That’s not your dollar’
One day, early on, he gave each boy $1.
“That’s not your dollar,” he told them. “That’s my dollar.
“One day I’ll ask for it back. Promise me you’ll give it back.”
All five promised.
Two weeks later, he asked the boys to give the dollars back.
Three did.
Two didn’t.
“Do you understand what this is about?” he asked. “This is about trust. Trust is a big thing. Can you be responsible? Can you keep a promise? When you lose trust, when nobody trusts you? That’s a very lonely feeling.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” they said.
The principal, Lynn Simnitt, says there was nothing wrong with these boys.
All five have attentive, caring parents, she said. All five work hard.
But the meetings with Robinson have challenged them, she said.
Future plans
Poverty, Robinson told the boys, is something he knows.
“When it rained,” he said, “we couldn’t eat a cooked meal, because all the pots and pans in the house were collecting water.”
But poverty teaches compassion, he told them.
He became a police officer 20 years ago. And 19 years ago, the poverty that had been a part of his childhood spoke up inside him and reminded him of hardship, of need, of want.
He began collecting toys from other cops, every Christmas, to give to kids who had cancer.
The boys took in the story and sat quietly for a few moments.
Then one boy said he wanted to collect toys for sick kids. Two other boys said the same.
They kept talking. They raised hands to ask questions or to tell Robinson what they were thinking.
“I changed my ways,” Jose said. “I stopped lying.”
“I was really bad,” Abraham said. “Now I’m not.”
Abe said he wants to be a professional cage fighter.
Robinson grinned.
Isaac said he wants to be a soccer player when he grows up.
“Maybe I can teach you some moves,” Robinson said. He flicked his head — a tiny flick of a big head atop a giant, unmoving body.
“See how fast I am?”
The boys grinned.
Someone in the room asked Robinson how long he will mentor these boys.
Robinson takes a step closer to the little table.
He towers over them. He outweighs all five boys by more than 100 pounds apiece.
“I want to be there for you,” he said.
“I want to see you through sixth grade.
“Seventh grade.”
He thought for a moment.
“I want to see you graduate from high school.”