Popular police chief's job on the line

Tuesday, February 3, 2004 10:30 AM PST

By Associated Press

BANDON, Ore. (AP) -- Bob McBride isn't soft on crime. But sometimes it's hard to believe he's a cop.

Last month he charged into the surf after a teenager got sucked in by a sneaker wave. Last week, McBride convinced a man to remove a pistol from his mouth--the same pistol the man had just pointed at McBride.

He rolls his patrol car window down so his black lab, Maggie, can stick her head out.

Police Chief McBride waves and smiles at nearly everyone, and they wave back.

But he may not be here for long.

Last September he was convicted of misdemeanor hunting violations, and a state board recommended last month that his chief's certification be revoked.

McBride says he was targeted.

The unlicensed guide he was moonlighting for was barred from leading hunting and fishing expeditions because he'd neglected to upgrade his certificate when he bought a higher-powered boat, he says.

He says normally misdemeanors would involve a fine, not an indictment and raids on his home.

"I was a trophy," says McBride. "A four-point buck."

But during the trial state attorney Tim Thompson said police officers should be held to a higher standard.

Some say what he did reflects his own relaxed idea of law enforcement.

He doesn't rush to lock up someone if a dose of straight talk would do the job.

His department dispatches volunteers to give rides home on New Year's Eve instead of trolling for drinking drivers.

"I like being a cop. I just don't have some of the same ideas about how it should be done," he said.

Even a governor's pardon might not save his badge.

Coos County District Attorney Paul Burgett said in a letter "I regret to inform you that, in light of your recent convictions for criminal offenses relating to the fish and game laws, we will not be able to use you as a state's witness in criminal cases."

The son of a Baltimore factory and steelworker, he started taking tests to be a cadet soon after high school.

He worked in Olympia, Wash., and became a detective. He overcame injuries resulting from an attack in a drug bust and worked briefly as an officer on an Indian reservation, a security guard and a campus police officer.

He went to Bandon in 1998.

"He'd go out of his way to help anybody," said Scott Cook, a commercial pilot and fisherman. "He just tries to get to the bottom of things without trying to get people thrown in jail.

"I don't think I've ever met a police officer who was more well-loved by his community."

Barry Winters tells of a police chief in hip waders, helping harvest

cranberries on his farm, and driving to pick up Winters' 80-year-old mother on a Sunday night after a murder had occurred on her wooded property.

"I've seen him move pianos, couches," Winters said. "He just loves helping people."

McBride lifts weights and swims with teenagers at the town teen center. He reads to kids at Bandon's schools.

He doesn't wear a gun, unless he's likely to need it.

Years ago he stopped Tim McKenzie on a tip that he had methamphetamine. He found enough residue for an arrest.

But McBride let him go and convinced him to leave drugs alone.

With common interests in hunting and fishing, the became good friends.

McKenzie started a guide business and sometimes McBride would go along to help.

The problem came when the state police got a tip in 2001 that McKenzie's license was no good.

When undercover officers convinced him to go fishing, McKenzie mentioned he knew a bobcat hunter, too, McBride.

The undercover police officers persuaded McBride to take them hunting. He wasn't listed on McKenzie's license, and was nabbed for an array of misdemeanors including encouraged the officers to shoot a grouse illegally.

The officers looked into whether Maggie, a trained drug and water rescue dog, had unlawfully eaten police dog food.

McBride says he'll probably dabble in real estate if he loses his job.

For now he still patrols Bandon each day, talking over problems with those who have them.

In August, McBride will marry his longtime girlfriend.

He can't hunt for the next five years, so he's rehearsing his role as an orderly in Ken Kesey's "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."

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