SURROUNDED BY OFFICERS HE’D MET for the first time just hours before, Partee slowly strolled between Camden Yards and M&T Bank Stadium. The two stadiums had been built in downtown Baltimore around the same time and with the same goal: to celebrate professional sports in a city that bled for it while driving economic impact in a city that needed it. M&T Bank Stadium was where the Baltimore Ravens, those purple-and-black gridiron warriors, did battle eight Sundays a year. Within eyeshot was Camden Yards, where the Baltimore Orioles raced around basepaths. Placing the stadiums so close to each other was deliberate. Sports fans near and far did not have to be confused as to where to go to be entertained. Downtown Baltimore was the destination.
Standing around the stadium with a legion of out-of-town cops from neighboring municipalities like Prince George’s County and Howard County was not Partee’s normal job. As a police major, he had a significant jurisdiction he was responsible for and hundreds of officers who fell under his command. He hadn’t walked a beat for many, many years, not since he first joined the police force. But going toe-to-toe with the police chief had consequences. So today, instead of spending the morning leading the officers he was trained to lead, he was patrolling with officers he didn’t even know.
The night before, Partee had gotten a call from his boss, Lt. Col. Miller: “I need you to come in and report to Camden Yards. Going to place you with some dispatched officers.” Partee was furious, because he knew exactly what that meant: he was essentially being demoted, no longer trusted or empowered to lead officers. Instead, he was going to a quiet area to serve as a glorified security guard. He wanted to protest, but he had no energy left to fight. He responded with “Yes, sir” instead of the “Whatever” that was his first impulse. He’d known that his interaction on Monday with Commissioner Batts would have repercussions; he just hadn’t been sure of what they would be or when they would come down. He worried for his job, for his livelihood, for his passion.
The Prince George’s County cops he met looked at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief. The awe was because they all had heard the folklore about Partee’s actions on Monday—that he’d been running around without a helmet, pulling his fellow officers out of harm’s way; that he’d been riding on the side of a BearCat armored personnel carrier throwing teargas in order to disperse crowds; that he’d jumped out of trees onto criminals and run up the hill by himself dodging bricks. Partee shook his head when they recounted these stories to him, telling them that not everything they heard was true. Details aside, though, they knew that Partee had met an extraordinary day with extraordinary courage. The disbelief was because this now legendary police major from Baltimore was doing beat cop patrols with a group of out-of-towners.
Commissioner Batts was the top cop in Baltimore City, and Partee was certain his insubordination was not going to be taken lightly. But when Batts approached him on Monday, West Baltimore had been under siege, and Partee was watching his officers getting hurt. At that moment, Batts’s seniority didn’t matter to Partee. But now Partee realized that Batts didn’t care about Partee’s seniority, either.
He wasn’t mad at Miller; he knew his direct boss was just the messenger. He was mad at the entire structure. But when he showed up for work and reported to the Maryland State Police’s big mobile command post, he asked the duty sergeant for a list of the daily reporting meetings. This was a normal request for an officer of his rank and authority. But the sergeant made it very clear to him that the state officers would be taking over the real work from there. From the moment that Governor Larry Hogan—in office for only three months at that point—stood in front of cameras on Monday night announcing he was deploying the National Guard to Baltimore, the message was glaringly evident: the state thought the Baltimore City police force was inept. During Hogan’s announcement the mayor sat stone-faced behind the governor, knowing that much of the blame, fairly or unfairly, was headed her way. Governor Hogan, in short sleeves, his face steely and serious, projected the image of calm competence the city needed. Partee had heard loud and clear the subtext he was sending to the city and the world: that Baltimore City needed to stand down and allow the adults to take over.
The parking lot that Partee patrolled stood silent and empty moments before the start of an Orioles game. Partee stared at the out-of-town officers around him, all wearing different uniforms than he was, and wondered how he’d gotten there.