You probably haven't heard much about the Milwaukee Police Department's Harbor Patrol. But that just means they're doing a good job.
In fact, the team of three boats and 12 officers, led by Sgt. Don "Boots" Jensen, is literally the first line of defense on Milwaukee's lakefront -- a jurisdiction that extends a surprising 48 miles east of the coast. And while they perform the duties you might expect -- stopping drunken boaters, performing search and rescue operations -- they also play an important role in the Department of Homeland Security's plan to keep the city safe from much bigger threats.
The protection of Milwaukee's shoreline is layered and overlapping these days -- and that's a good thing. Along with the police, the Coast Guard and the Department of Natural Resources play a part. But Jensen's officers are the best of the best out there -- and they need to be, because backup is sometimes 20 minutes away.
"It's just you, the water and the boat," says Jensen, a 25-year veteran of the force. "The best weapon is your brain."
On the day we go out for a routine patrol, we're sailing in a 30-foot workboat. Sturdy, heavy and relatively wide, it's not the fastest ship in their small fleet (they also have a 21-ft. RIB, or rigid inflatable boat they acquired and rebuilt from the Navy.) The department does most of its own repairs and practically strips its ships down the nuts and bolts each year for a comprehensive overhaul.
Alongside Jensen is Dan Bell, an officer with one year of Harbor Patrol experience and 15 years on the force. Piloting the boat is Dave Feldmeier, a 12-year veteran who's been on the unit for eight years. According to Jensen, Feldmeier is one of the best coxswains you'll ever find. Bell has extensive dive experience -- though each of the officers is trained for anything he might encounter on the water.
"The selection process includes a physical agility test," says Jensen. "You need to be able to swim, think, react, have instincts and be coolheaded." Last year, he says 20 men applied for the unit. Two were chosen.
We ease out from the slip at McKinley Marina and head south toward the breakwater. On the way, we pass the 68-ft. mega yacht that belongs to Minnesota Timberwolves guard and River Hills resident Latrell Sprewell. Jensen's team recently spent several hours helping the boat get unstuck when Spree ran it aground outside Atwater Park in Shorewood.
"It wasn't his fault," says Jensen, explaining that Sprewell is actually a careful and competent boater. And even though Atwater is technically in Shorewood, MPD still responds to calls outside its jurisdiction. Basically, they go where they're needed most.
A routine patrol for the unit involves observing the several critical systems around Milwaukee -- water intake spots, Jones Island, the industrial infrastructures near the Hoan Bridge -- all the places that could be potential targets for terrorists.
The lake is divided into three zones, explains Jensen: the inner harbor, the outer harbor and the open water of Lake Michigan. Once we pass the no-wake zone, Feldmeier opens the throttle; the ship lurches forward, and we head northeast.
In just a few minutes, we're idling about a mile east of the intake station on Lincoln Memorial Drive, in what looks like a nondescript area of open water. But in reality, we're about 18 ft. above a water intake crib. Anyone with a map can find it, but it's certainly not marked. It's one of the spots that provides Milwaukee with drinking water -- and naturally, it's a target for those who would like to inflict harm.
The three officers visually inspect the area for anything suspicious: bubbles to indicate a diver or a filmy residue on the surface. And what if they see bubbles? "We wait for him to come up," Jensen says with a smile. They use the boat's sophisticated radar and depth finding equipment, too, giving the area an electronic sweep -- nothing looks out of order.
The intake cribs are on the checklist the team carries with them. That's just one of the differences in their job, says Bell, since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11.
"There are a lot of targets," says Feldmeier. "The job has always been important. Now we just split our responsibility."
The boat powers up again and heads south toward the Summerfest grounds. We slow down next to the new Discovery World, and Jensen points out the new museum with pride. You can tell he's enthusiastic and passionate about Milwaukee, and he sees the city from every day from an angle few can appreciate. More people need to be highlighting the positive stories in our city, he says.
Jensen puts his money where his mouth is.
After the emotional experience of conducting the recovery efforts for Quadrevion Henning and Purvis Virginia Parker last spring, Jensen felt a strong urge to personally make a difference. He led the charge to partner with the Boys and Girls Clubs to develop an inner city swimming program, which has already taught more than 200 kids hows to swim. He's also a boating instructor and helps people learn water safety.
"You've got to give back to the community," says Jensen. "And you can give back more than money."
As we idle past Summerfest, the new DNR boat pulls up -- and it's a formidable ship with giant engines. Jensen admits that MPD boats can't keep up some of the speedboats he encounters, but this new boat is fast. Really fast. The two crews chat for a few minutes, and it's obvious that the different departments really work together -- another change since Sept. 11. Jensen says the crews know each other's wives and children and are planning a get together next month. They laugh together, and when something unfortunate happens, they cry together, too, he says.
It's obvious the former Marine Corps veteran who will retire next year has gained some perspective during his time in law enforcement. He's seen a lot of death in his time, he says somberly. He remembers some, doesn't remember others, but says he always remembers the sounds of the widows and orphans. But Jensen also acknowledges the up-side of the job, too. He relishes the lives he's saved and the friends he's made.
Heading under the Hoan Bridge, the crew looks for suspicious activity -- someone walking on the catwalk or a car parked on top -- fortunately, nothing is out of order. But just last night, there was a jumper. He didn't survive -- only one person has ever lived after jumping off the Hoan, Jensen says. And for some reason, they always jump off the inland side of the bridge.
Idling up the Kinnickinnic River, we're joined by a Coast Guard boat -- another powerful and impressive ship. Jensen asks if they'd like to take part in a towing exercise. "Who's towing who?" asks one of the Coast Guard crew. Jensen, the eldest officer aboard the two boats, offers to be the tower. And in a few minutes, the two boats perform a swift, "side by tow," in which the police boat guides the other ship to a nearby dock outside Riptide restaurant. A group of five young women eating lunch, puzzled by the exercise, ask what's going on and jokingly offer help. The officers play along, smile and wave back.
The police boat comes prepared for just about anything. In this exercise, it's easy -- the seas are gentle and the Coast Guard boat isn't damaged. But had it been a sinking ship, the police boat carries vacuum pumps to displace water quickly. And of course, they're armed with plenty of fire power -- but no guns are outwardly visible. The Coast Guard boat has a machine gun mount on the stern, points out Jensen -- but right now it's empty. If a high threat level should occur, Jensen says the Guard can lock down the lake in a hurry.
Coming about and heading back to the lake, Jensen announces that it's time for a man overboard drill. And he's not kidding. He quickly sheds his blue police uniform and changes into a swimming suit. Bell smiles and shakes his head, uttering something to the extent of "I can't believe he's doing this."
"Watch this," he says. "I won't tell them when I'm going over and see how quickly they respond." If it's longer than a minute, he says, let them know he's overboard.
And just like that he jumps into the chilly water. Not 10 seconds later, Feldmeier yells "man overboard," and quickly brings the boat around in a circle.
Bell grabs the "monkey claw," a flotation device on the end of a rope, and instructs the "victim" to remain calm. He tosses the life preserver to Jensen while Feldmeier cuts the engine.
And just like that, the two officers pull Jensen back on the boat, barely getting wet in the process. The water is a cool 71 degrees, but the seas are choppier than they looked. But as a leader, Jensen says it's important for him to do these drills every once in a while.
But now he's cold, and with a storm rolling in, it's time to head back.
For this elite group, today was another routine patrol. The officers watch everything with more attention than a casual observer -- from checking if kids on boats are wearing life jackets, to seeing who's lingering around the pumping station, and even making sure there are no bodies washing up on the shore. These cops understand the need to be vigilant.
But they also know that theirs is a thankless job. They're privy to information, leads and busts that civilians will never know about; however, they take satisfaction in knowing their job contributes to the greater good. "Hey, if we wanted money and glory, we'd be in the NBA," jokes Feldmeier.
That's something to remember when they get those distress calls in the middle of a foggy night, surrounded by 10-ft. seas, which Feldmeier says is the worst part of the job that he really loves.
"If you don't do something positive, then you didn't do your job," says Jensen.
In fact, the team of three boats and 12 officers, led by Sgt. Don "Boots" Jensen, is literally the first line of defense on Milwaukee's lakefront -- a jurisdiction that extends a surprising 48 miles east of the coast. And while they perform the duties you might expect -- stopping drunken boaters, performing search and rescue operations -- they also play an important role in the Department of Homeland Security's plan to keep the city safe from much bigger threats.
The protection of Milwaukee's shoreline is layered and overlapping these days -- and that's a good thing. Along with the police, the Coast Guard and the Department of Natural Resources play a part. But Jensen's officers are the best of the best out there -- and they need to be, because backup is sometimes 20 minutes away.
"It's just you, the water and the boat," says Jensen, a 25-year veteran of the force. "The best weapon is your brain."
On the day we go out for a routine patrol, we're sailing in a 30-foot workboat. Sturdy, heavy and relatively wide, it's not the fastest ship in their small fleet (they also have a 21-ft. RIB, or rigid inflatable boat they acquired and rebuilt from the Navy.) The department does most of its own repairs and practically strips its ships down the nuts and bolts each year for a comprehensive overhaul.
Alongside Jensen is Dan Bell, an officer with one year of Harbor Patrol experience and 15 years on the force. Piloting the boat is Dave Feldmeier, a 12-year veteran who's been on the unit for eight years. According to Jensen, Feldmeier is one of the best coxswains you'll ever find. Bell has extensive dive experience -- though each of the officers is trained for anything he might encounter on the water.
"The selection process includes a physical agility test," says Jensen. "You need to be able to swim, think, react, have instincts and be coolheaded." Last year, he says 20 men applied for the unit. Two were chosen.
We ease out from the slip at McKinley Marina and head south toward the breakwater. On the way, we pass the 68-ft. mega yacht that belongs to Minnesota Timberwolves guard and River Hills resident Latrell Sprewell. Jensen's team recently spent several hours helping the boat get unstuck when Spree ran it aground outside Atwater Park in Shorewood.
"It wasn't his fault," says Jensen, explaining that Sprewell is actually a careful and competent boater. And even though Atwater is technically in Shorewood, MPD still responds to calls outside its jurisdiction. Basically, they go where they're needed most.
A routine patrol for the unit involves observing the several critical systems around Milwaukee -- water intake spots, Jones Island, the industrial infrastructures near the Hoan Bridge -- all the places that could be potential targets for terrorists.
The lake is divided into three zones, explains Jensen: the inner harbor, the outer harbor and the open water of Lake Michigan. Once we pass the no-wake zone, Feldmeier opens the throttle; the ship lurches forward, and we head northeast.
In just a few minutes, we're idling about a mile east of the intake station on Lincoln Memorial Drive, in what looks like a nondescript area of open water. But in reality, we're about 18 ft. above a water intake crib. Anyone with a map can find it, but it's certainly not marked. It's one of the spots that provides Milwaukee with drinking water -- and naturally, it's a target for those who would like to inflict harm.
The three officers visually inspect the area for anything suspicious: bubbles to indicate a diver or a filmy residue on the surface. And what if they see bubbles? "We wait for him to come up," Jensen says with a smile. They use the boat's sophisticated radar and depth finding equipment, too, giving the area an electronic sweep -- nothing looks out of order.
The intake cribs are on the checklist the team carries with them. That's just one of the differences in their job, says Bell, since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11.
"There are a lot of targets," says Feldmeier. "The job has always been important. Now we just split our responsibility."
The boat powers up again and heads south toward the Summerfest grounds. We slow down next to the new Discovery World, and Jensen points out the new museum with pride. You can tell he's enthusiastic and passionate about Milwaukee, and he sees the city from every day from an angle few can appreciate. More people need to be highlighting the positive stories in our city, he says.
Jensen puts his money where his mouth is.
After the emotional experience of conducting the recovery efforts for Quadrevion Henning and Purvis Virginia Parker last spring, Jensen felt a strong urge to personally make a difference. He led the charge to partner with the Boys and Girls Clubs to develop an inner city swimming program, which has already taught more than 200 kids hows to swim. He's also a boating instructor and helps people learn water safety.
"You've got to give back to the community," says Jensen. "And you can give back more than money."
It's obvious the former Marine Corps veteran who will retire next year has gained some perspective during his time in law enforcement. He's seen a lot of death in his time, he says somberly. He remembers some, doesn't remember others, but says he always remembers the sounds of the widows and orphans. But Jensen also acknowledges the up-side of the job, too. He relishes the lives he's saved and the friends he's made.
Heading under the Hoan Bridge, the crew looks for suspicious activity -- someone walking on the catwalk or a car parked on top -- fortunately, nothing is out of order. But just last night, there was a jumper. He didn't survive -- only one person has ever lived after jumping off the Hoan, Jensen says. And for some reason, they always jump off the inland side of the bridge.
Idling up the Kinnickinnic River, we're joined by a Coast Guard boat -- another powerful and impressive ship. Jensen asks if they'd like to take part in a towing exercise. "Who's towing who?" asks one of the Coast Guard crew. Jensen, the eldest officer aboard the two boats, offers to be the tower. And in a few minutes, the two boats perform a swift, "side by tow," in which the police boat guides the other ship to a nearby dock outside Riptide restaurant. A group of five young women eating lunch, puzzled by the exercise, ask what's going on and jokingly offer help. The officers play along, smile and wave back.
The police boat comes prepared for just about anything. In this exercise, it's easy -- the seas are gentle and the Coast Guard boat isn't damaged. But had it been a sinking ship, the police boat carries vacuum pumps to displace water quickly. And of course, they're armed with plenty of fire power -- but no guns are outwardly visible. The Coast Guard boat has a machine gun mount on the stern, points out Jensen -- but right now it's empty. If a high threat level should occur, Jensen says the Guard can lock down the lake in a hurry.
Coming about and heading back to the lake, Jensen announces that it's time for a man overboard drill. And he's not kidding. He quickly sheds his blue police uniform and changes into a swimming suit. Bell smiles and shakes his head, uttering something to the extent of "I can't believe he's doing this."
"Watch this," he says. "I won't tell them when I'm going over and see how quickly they respond." If it's longer than a minute, he says, let them know he's overboard.
And just like that he jumps into the chilly water. Not 10 seconds later, Feldmeier yells "man overboard," and quickly brings the boat around in a circle.
Bell grabs the "monkey claw," a flotation device on the end of a rope, and instructs the "victim" to remain calm. He tosses the life preserver to Jensen while Feldmeier cuts the engine.
And just like that, the two officers pull Jensen back on the boat, barely getting wet in the process. The water is a cool 71 degrees, but the seas are choppier than they looked. But as a leader, Jensen says it's important for him to do these drills every once in a while.
But now he's cold, and with a storm rolling in, it's time to head back.
For this elite group, today was another routine patrol. The officers watch everything with more attention than a casual observer -- from checking if kids on boats are wearing life jackets, to seeing who's lingering around the pumping station, and even making sure there are no bodies washing up on the shore. These cops understand the need to be vigilant.
But they also know that theirs is a thankless job. They're privy to information, leads and busts that civilians will never know about; however, they take satisfaction in knowing their job contributes to the greater good. "Hey, if we wanted money and glory, we'd be in the NBA," jokes Feldmeier.
That's something to remember when they get those distress calls in the middle of a foggy night, surrounded by 10-ft. seas, which Feldmeier says is the worst part of the job that he really loves.
"If you don't do something positive, then you didn't do your job," says Jensen.
Andy is the president, publisher and founder of OnMilwaukee. He returned to Milwaukee in 1996 after living on the East Coast for nine years, where he wrote for The Dallas Morning News Washington Bureau and worked in the White House Office of Communications. He was also Associate Editor of The GW Hatchet, his college newspaper at The George Washington University.
Before launching OnMilwaukee.com in 1998 at age 23, he worked in public relations for two Milwaukee firms, most of the time daydreaming about starting his own publication.
Hobbies include running when he finds the time, fixing the rust on his '75 MGB, mowing the lawn at his cottage in the Northwoods, and making an annual pilgrimage to Phoenix for Brewers Spring Training.
