Officer who started Narcotics Strike Force retires

Sometime in 1987, police realized that drug dealers in North Philadelphia and Kensington had found a more aggressive way to sell drugs. Instead of using houses and cars, they were selling to anyone who walked up to them - open-air dealing that would spread to many corners in the city's poorest neighborhoods.

The top brass came up with an idea: Create the department's first Narcotics Strike Force, a team of officers who would stake out drug territories and reel in sellers and buyers. To run the squad they looked to Michael Feeney, a captain in Internal Affairs.

Feeney, by his own admission, had no idea what he was getting into. But his choices revolutionized the department's approach to the city's narcotics industry and laid the foundation for how police would tackle drug problems for years to come.

Feeney, who retires Friday after almost 37 years on the force, said he considered his time with the Narcotics Strike Force the high point of his career.

"It was an honor to start a unit, from scratch, that didn't exist," said Feeney, 60, now chief inspector of the department's Information Technology and Communication Services Bureau. "And I'm proud of what we accomplished. You could say it was frustrating, because we saw the dealers come back in after we left. But I'm not frustrated by that, because we learned so much."

In the years that followed, Feeney launched from behind the scenes some of the department's most influential projects. He oversaw construction of the forensics laboratory at Eighth and Poplar Streets, guided the department's transition to its controversial digital-radio system, set up citywide surveillance cameras, and supervised the creation of two mobile detective vans.

Sitting at his desk at Police Headquarters, his office decorated with trophies, certificates, and photos, Feeney said he was always glad to take on a challenge.

"I guess when it's something nobody knows anything about, they figure, 'How bad could I mess it up?' " he said.

Feeney grew up in Port Richmond and worked at the Frankford Arsenal as a pipe fitter. He joined the police at 24, starting in the 22d District in North Philadelphia. He made sergeant four years later, then lieutenant and captain.

Among his colleagues, Feeney acquired a reputation for excellence.

"Commanders can bring out the best in people or the worst in people," said Deputy Commissioner John J. Gaittens, who has worked with Feeney for the last five years. "Mike has always been known as someone you want to work for."

After a local television station did a segment on drugs in North Philadelphia, the department chose Feeney to lead the new strike force.

"It was a new phenomenon across the country, this open-air dealing," Feeney said. "The idea that someone would stand on the corner and sell drugs to anyone who walked by, the brazenness of it surprised me."

Feeney got volunteers and picked a team of 40 officers. He studied New York City and Miami, and when he realized his team had no office, he held meetings in a trailer.

After two weeks of training, the strike force conducted the first Operation Fishnet. In unmarked cars, plainclothes officers staked out drug corners and filmed dozens of buys without using informants. After a few hours, officers charged dealers with multiple counts of selling.

The goal was to eliminate drug activity, then leave it to the districts to keep up patrols, but the dealers returned as soon as authorities cleared out.

So Feeney's team cracked down on buyers, using a law that allowed officers to confiscate cars used in drug deals. They arrested dozens of buyers, many of them wealthy professionals from New Jersey and the Pennsylvania suburbs.

"It was an incredible window into how prevalent drugs had become," said Maureen Rush, who was Feeney's partner in the Fishnet sweeps. "We arrested people with their kids in the car."

Feeney invited reporters to shadow the strike force, and TV stations shot footage that resembled the show Cops. Sometimes the coverage caught less-than-flattering moments, like when Feeney tried to prevent a woman from swallowing a bag of cocaine. A picture of Feeney apparently choking her ran in The Inquirer days later.

"It didn't look great," he said and laughed. "But she could have died from swallowing that."

Rush, now vice president of public safety at the University of Pennsylvania, said targeting buyers had an impact.

"It didn't stop the diehards, but we didn't see the BMWs driving through anymore," she said.

And police learned how firmly drugs had taken hold in the city. One day when Feeney and another plainclothes officer were scouting a North Philadelphia neighborhood, they asked a man sitting on front steps for drugs. The man suspected they were police, but sold to them. Two days later, they arrested him in the same spot.

"In his heart, that guy knew we were cops, and he sold us drugs anyway," Feeney said. "He was willing to take the chance for 20 bucks."

Feeney left the task force in 1991 and took on a series of assignments. He moved to the forensics unit in 1998, when the city had a poor reputation for handling rapes. Within a few years, Feeney got more resources to the lab, enabling it to clear a massive backlog of untested DNA samples from rape cases and making Philadelphia a model for investigating sexual assaults.

Feeney was then put in charge of construction of the forensics laboratory. At the time, forensics officers operated out of 7,000 square feet in Police Headquarters. Feeney spent the first two weeks getting a crash course in forensic science.

"Mike needs to get a little more than the working knowledge," Gaittens said. "When people come to him and say, 'We need this,' or, 'This isn't working,' he wants to understand what they're talking about. That shows people that you care about what you're doing."

The 44,000-square-foot lab opened in 2003. With windows angled to help heat rooms with sunlight and a parking lot that drains runoff, it was one of the first green buildings in the city.

Next, Feeney overhauled the department's outdated radio system, a $62 million project that opened him up to criticism when the digital network failed more than a dozen times in its first few years.

Feeney acknowledged the system has had more problems than expected but he said critics had overblown the glitches.

"We had a radio system for 25 years that wasn't worth a damn, that stopped working all the time, and no one complained," he said. "We put in a new system that is easily 100 times better, and every time there's static, people get in an uproar."

Feeney's recent undertakings included overseeing a network of surveillance cameras installed around the city and supervising development of two Major Incident Response Vehicles, which were presented this week. The state-of-the-art vans allow detectives to access criminal records and other data without returning to their desks.

No replacement has been announced for Feeney, who leaves the department with an annual pension of about $104,000, according to pension board data.

After his farewell party Friday night, Feeney will return to the Northeast home he shares with his wife, who is a sergeant in the department, and their teenage son. He plans to do a lot of fishing and golfing over the summer, but has yet to line up his next big project.

"I know I can't just do nothing," he said. "Come fall, I'll be looking for something to occupy my time. Who knows? Maybe I'll take up the piano."