More than three decades ago, Temple University Police Officer Leroy Wimberly became a neighborhood dad. When his sons, now ages 35 and nearly 33, were younger, they’d always be bringing their friends over to their Overbrook home to eat and hang out. Many of these kids didn’t have their own dads around so, Wimberly says, “I was that male figure that they were missing in their lives.” A father figure. And a Black cop — which is something.
“Me being a police officer, you know, I wanted them to see that no matter what profession, there’s good and bad, but being a police officer, there is good,” he says. “I wanted them to see us in a different light. Not: Oh, the cops are going to lock me up. Um, you know, I’m scared to talk to the cops or approach them because I might get in trouble.”
Several years into fathering his sons and their friends, Wimberly — who served 15 years on the Philadelphia Housing Authority (PHA) police force before his current 19 years at Temple — realized there was more he could do. Today, he’s mentored hundreds of students at North Philadelphia’s Dunbar and Duckrey Elementary schools and Carver Engineering and Science High School, which saw 42 graduates enroll at Temple this school year — in no small part, thanks to him.
What lessons can we learn from someone who counts State Rep. Amen Brown among his many success stories? It’s simpler and harder than you might think: Lead with love. Be consistent. Wear your uniform.
Protecting, serving and loving
Young Americans, especially young Americans of color, have a well-documented distrust of law enforcement. This skepticism existed back when Wimberly’s boys were young and exists today. He saw why in his work through the PHA.
“In that time, [PHA officers] were put on loan to other agencies. It could be DEA, the feds, the marshals. I did undercover on narcotics. I did undercover human trafficking,” he says. Working with youth in those capacities “changed my perspective, to see how they were being treated. They needed redirection. They needed a police officer to say, Man, you know you’re doing wrong, but also letting them know, I love you. I’m here for you. You’re better than what you think you are.”
But undercover police work didn’t offer a lot of room for the sort of relationship building that makes a lasting impact on a young person. So, when Wimberly joined the force at Temple, and his captain encouraged him to get certified in Gang Resistance Education and Awareness Training (G.R.E.A.T.) for kids aged 8 through 14, he used the new responsibility as a bridge to reach North Philly kids.
“I get them to understand that I’m a cop, but I’m still a human.” — Officer Leroy Wimberly
G.R.E.A.T.’s curriculum is part of the National Gang Center (NGC) project, funded by the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention (OJJDP), the Office of Justice Programs (OJP) and the U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ). There’s a whole system to it. Wimberly tables at school events and teaches fourth and eighth graders using books Temple supplies twice a week. He talks to them about gangs, about social media — “how it’s set up to get you,” he says — and about human trafficking.
Wimberly tries to get the kids to see the value of being part of healthier groups. “A gang is a group of individuals. The activity is what defines it,” he says, “Your Dunbar classroom could be a gang. So could a basketball team.” Through G.R.E.A.T., Wimberly also works with families in coordinated after-school sessions with school counselors.
Not every student’s story is a success, but the ones who are, let him know it. “I’ve had kids that have graduated from Dobbins, from Boys’ Latin,” he says, “I’ll see them in the community, and they’ll tell me, ‘I want to go to Temple.’ And then I’ll see them the day of admission, they’re moving into the dorms, saying, ‘I told you!’”
Doing more than G.R.E.A.T.
One such student: Carver grad and Temple freshman Tyra Baker. Wimberly shepherded her through the admissions process and helped her land an on-campus job with Temple P.D. “He’s someone who’s always rooted for me,” says Baker. “He checks up on me.”
Kevin Wimberly — no relation, although Leroy jokingly refers to himself as Kevin’s uncle — is climate manager at Carver. The pair hit it off when Kevin came to Temple’s police station for fingerprinting.
“He’s very important to our students,” says Kevin Wemberly, “seeing a successful Black man that they can see and touch and talk to everyday.”
The officer doesn’t receive any extra payment for the work he does. (He certainly doesn’t get any kickbacks for recruiting kids for Temple.) But he is on the clock when he’s working in schools. And crucially, he’s always in uniform.
“It’s also seeing someone who’s a Black police officer. I know in our communities, police officers get a bad rap. Some police officers deserve it, but a lot do not, and he’s one of the positive officers,” says Kevin Wemberly. Through the years, the officer has gotten to know not just the kids, but their moms and grandmoms. “Our seniors that live in the community know that if I call up Officer Wimberly, you know, things are going to happen.”
“There’s a need, especially for us men, to stand up and be men. And I just felt as though: Why not me?” — Officer Leroy Wimberly
“He’s the definition of community policing,” says Rep. Amen Brown, who befriended Wimberly’s sons at Overbrook High School, whose own dad wasn’t around, and who spent a lot of time in the Wimberly home. He still refers to Wimberly as “Pops.”
“He sets the standard for law enforcement,” Brown continues. “I’m pro law enforcement, and I can really, definitely say that a large part of that comes from my relationship with him.”
Ofc. Wimberly seems to know instinctively that to be the adult kids need, he needs to be flexible, to help out however he can. He recently helped coordinate Read Across America’s donation of 3,000 books to Dunbar. He facilitates Temple’s youth rowing program. Baker recalls how he supported the school’s outdoor club.
“I just remember [at Carver], he made sure we had support, tools. He supplied us with everything … he was really helpful, it was fun getting in the dirt with him,” she says.
Says Wimberly, “I get them to understand that I’m a cop, but I’m still a human. And I try to empower them anyway I can and use the resources I have.”
(One of those resources: The Temple Promise, which covers tuition and fees for all Philadelphia students with an annual household income of less than $65,000.)
Getting kids on bikes.
Sometimes, empowerment means getting kids out of the neighborhood. For six years, Wimberly has run a popular bike club out of Temple’s police HQ. The club doesn’t have a name. Nor does it have a named benefactor.
It began when “an anonymous donor” tried to implement a bike program for neighborhood kids, Wimberly says, and “it fell through.” So, this person came to the Wimberly to see if he could pull it off. Of course he could.
Each spring, the officer leads a group of about 20 kids, all 10-year-olds, in lessons on bike safety and mechanics. Then, with help from some bike cops, they go on training rides: in Fairmount Park, to Valley Forge, along a 13-mile Jersey trail, leading up to one 60-mile summertime ride to Atlantic City. It’s a huge deal. Wimberly drives alongside them in a van, offering thumbs-ups.
“Our seniors that live in the community know that if I call up Officer Wimberly, things are going to happen.” — Kevin Wimberly, George Washington Carver High School of Engineering and Science
“When we get to Atlantic City, it’s a big party. They can go on the beach. We have different events. We feed them. It’s just a big fun day. A lot of the families will go down and meet the kids when they cross the finish line,” he says. He’ll never forget that first group of 10 to 14 kids that did the ride. “Wow. It was an experience … All they knew was popping wheelies and riding around the corner, you know? And it was about empowering these kids and exposing them to something different.”
At the end of the day, everyone drives back to Philly. The next day, the kids return to HQ to receive their own bike. It’s their reward for showing up, being accountable, doing the work, messing up sometimes, but always coming back.
And Officer Wimberly’s reward?
“I walk around the community; they remember me,” he says. “The hugs. The thank yous for this and that … There’s a need, especially for us men, to stand up and be men. And I just felt as though: Why not me?”
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