One is a combat veteran and former military criminal investigator. Another is a seasoned commander who moved to Kansas from the Austin, Texas, police department. A third oversaw law enforcement at the University of Colorado Boulder.
But with only one or two years on the job, three of eastern Kansas’ top law enforcement officers — Sheriff Eric Kirsch of Wabaunsee County, Chief Chris Vallejo of Topeka and Chief Doreen Jokerst of Overland Park — are bringing major changes to their shops.
Although their backgrounds are different, they share some common ideas: a commitment to transparency, a desire to build community trust and a willingness to do things differently.
Vallejo and Jokerst both did recent overhauls of policies that specify when and how body-worn camera footage will be released. The move is intended to add transparency for affected families and the public.
In rural Wabaunsee County, Kirsch strives for community trust through relatability. News of law enforcement events comes with humorous commentary on the office’s Facebook page. Deputies can wear jeans and have tattoos. He’ll give a ride home to anyone who feels too impaired to drive.
“It’s not enough to just enforce,” Kirsch says. “You have to pay attention, very keenly, to the people that you serve.”
ERIC KIRSCH: A ‘VERY UNORTHODOX’ APPROACH
Kirsch has been sheriff for just over a year. County residents may have met him during the previous eight years he served in other roles at the sheriff’s office.
But if not, they likely have encountered the sheriff’s office Facebook page.
The page had, as of early April, 55,000 followers — in a county with a population of about 6,900. Kirsch uses it to offer advice, warnings, education about law enforcement activities all peppered with wisecracks and emojis and delivered with informal flourishes.
He introduced himself to the county as sheriff a year ago this way:
“It was my childhood dream to become a Marine so I could go fight bad guys & then come home & catch bad guys, it’s all I ever wanted to do, exactly what I did & all I’ve ever done.”
He ended by addressing potential criminals. “Bad guys, I literally watched Die Hard so much as a kid I became a Cop because of it … not even slightly kidding so please think about how crazy that is before you think about doing any dirt in WBCO (Wabaunsee County) I fight fair and just wanted you all to know what you’re up against meow so good luck because yer gonna need it.”
Kirsch puts a premium on relatability, and a lot of it dates back to his tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.
He remembers how eye-opening it was when his unit camped in schools and homes they temporarily took over from the occupants.
“It didn’t take more than one or two of those, when we were kicking families out of their homes, when it registered to me that the look in the people that lived in those homes’ eyes were anything but loving and understanding. There was absolute hatred and animosity for us,” Kirsch says.
“We were living behind walls, not amongst the population. We were invaders.”
When it comes to policing, Kirsch tries to avoid being seen as an invader. That has resulted in policing that looks a little different from what has been the norm in small towns, says Troy Pitsch, superintendent of the Wabaunsee County School District and friend of Kirsch’s.
“One thing I can say beyond all is he has probably the kindest heart of any law enforcement officer I’ve encountered,” Pitsch says. “In a small community, his approach is very unorthodox.”
His use of social media is an example. “It’s just a departure from the conservative, very scripted language and character and presentation you typically get from small town law enforcement agents.”
“My perceptions are: In this community they either like him or they hate him. There’s no in-between,” Pitsch says.
Kirsch’s tenure has become locally famous for a more relaxed approach on a few policies. For instance, a person who is wanted on a nonviolent, misdemeanor administrative warrant is offered a brief window to surrender, with the reward being a bottle of Sanpelligrino or snacks.
This approach has worked 98% of the time, Kirsch says. “It’s not the Sanpelligrino. It’s because I’m inviting them to participate in this game. I’m getting their agreement.” It has also saved on conflicts that happen when an officer surprises someone with an arrest in front of family, he says.
The same goes for uniforms. Deputies can wear jeans and have tattoos because it reflects current cultural norms, he says. And it’s a chance to reduce the distance between residents and police. “We have a role in the community, but we’re not a monolithic force on the outskirts of society. We’re integrated,” Kirsch says.
The policy that has gotten some of the most attention — positive and negative — is the offer to provide a ride home to anyone who calls the dispatcher and says they are too impaired to drive. “Ask for the funny man, order me over as if I’m a pizza & I’ll get you home safe & sound no questions asked,” is how he puts it on the Facebook page.
That even applies to those under 21, who can’t lawfully consume, possess or buy alcohol. “I don’t want to have a carful of dead kids, so I want to remove the fear of penalty,” Kirsch says. “We want to be approachable enough so that they will call us for help.”
The idea was addressed in an opinion piece last spring in the Kansas Reflector by Eric Thomas, a journalism lecturer at the University of Kansas. While acknowledging that the offer is a small step in the right direction of keeping the partying kids safe, he also called it out as “a slight but very public enabling.”
The policy also got blowback from some parents, who were more in favor of dropping the hammer to teach drinking kids a lesson, says Pitsch.
But he and Bill Clark, superintendent of the Mission Valley School District covering the southern half of Wabaunsee County, think that a compassionate display of law enforcement actions could affect kids in the long run while immediately gaining the respect and support of the districts and students.
“If they ever have a situation where they have to interact with him, for example in a car crash, they know when the sheriff shows up who he is and that they’re going to be treated daily with dignity and respect at all times,” Clark says.
CHRIS VALLEJO: ‘LEADING WITH TRANSPARENCY’
When Chris Vallejo stepped behind the lectern to introduce himself on Jan. 28 in a small, dim room in the Topeka Law Enforcement Center, most of the reporters present already knew who he was. He had been serving as Topeka’s new police chief for a little more than a year.
As far as newsworthiness went, his presence was secondary to what he was about to announce: the police department’s new policy on body-worn camera videos and their release.
“When I accepted this role, I committed to leading with transparency and accountability. That commitment is not new. It reflects how I have led throughout my career” he said. “But trust is not transferred with the title. It is earned over time.”
Community trust has been a big issue in Topeka, which has struggled with high-profile officer-involved shootings in recent years. The body-cam footage had not been available through open-records requests and in the 2022 shootings of Dylan Walstrom and Christopher Kelley family members complained about lack of access.
“When I accepted this role, I committed to leading with transparency and accountability. That commitment is not new. It reflects how I have led throughout my career” he said. “But trust is not transferred with the title. It is earned over time.”
A police spokesman then presented a narrative of what happened in each case, followed by body camera videos and a followup on the legal conclusions, based on a Kansas Bureau of Investigation report. Both of the officer-involved shootings were ruled lawful.
Not presented at the news conference was information on the Taylor Lowery case, which is still being litigated. Lowery was reportedly shot 34 times in 2022 by police, who said he had charged them with a knife. After a two-year court battle, the family got their copy of the video and released it. It showed Lowery was bending down to pick up a wrench at the time he was shot, and the knife was out of reach.
The new policy provides for various reviews and evaluations. People directly involved in an incident can have access, as well as certain family members and legal representatives. There’s an exception for cases undergoing litigation. For that reason, Vallejo would not say much in an interview about the Lowery case. But it and other officer-involved shootings were in mind when the new policy was drawn up, he says.
Kansas law is fairly silent on when and how camera footage should be shared. The videos are considered criminal investigation records, and therefore, much of the process is left up to individual law enforcement agencies. The law does require that people directly involved in a shooting, their families and legal representatives be allowed to see the recordings within 20 days of making a request.
Topeka’s new policy goes further, saying that the footage can be released to the general public as soon as 30 days after the criminal investigation is complete, at the discretion of the city manager and after notification of the officers involved.
Vallejo and Ben Heusted, president of Topeka Fraternal Order of Police Lodge 3, both noted that the video release policy was in place before Vallejo took over. Even so, past administrations did not release them, Heusted says.
“Chief Vallejo’s practice of releasing the videos has been in line with his intentions of increasing the transparency of TPD,” Heusted wrote in an emailed response to questions. He added that once the investigations are complete, the police union fully supports their release.
Vallejo says the more transparent policy is “an attempt at the healing process from those times when we weren’t so transparent. I think people in general want to believe and find their police department to be legitimate and credible. But it’s hard to do that if you don’t show your work. That was the intent behind the body-worn camera policy. “
The transparency also extended to how the new policy came about. Vallejo says it took about a year of observing, learning the community’s history and talking to people to get a new video policy written. It also involved crucial input from local groups and a community advisory committee, he says.
“It’s a lot of emotional labor that has to take place before you make a major change,” he says. Getting that buy-in and trust wouldn’t have happened “without getting to know the community and including the community in helping write the policy as well.”
That outreach is continuing with Vallejo’s emphasis on community policing, which puts an emphasis on getting officers out of their cars when possible to talk to people. He encourages officers who aren’t tied to their squad car radio to chat for a few minutes after their calls. And he has increased, from three officers to six, the size of the unit devoted to community policing. That program assigns officers to specific neighborhoods and has been popular with residents, Vallejo says.
Pastor Carl Frazier, executive director of the Topeka Center for Peace and Justice, believes most people are happy with the changes they see. He also likes the fact that the city had a national search for the new chief.
“We’ve got new blood at the administration level,” he says. “When you hire within, you’re not really able to create new things because you’re going to do the same old things as the person that taught you. It’s a new day now.”
DOREEN JOKERST: ‘SCRATCHING AT THE SURFACE’
Overland Park is another community that has seen its share of attention about officer-involved shootings policies. In 2018, police were called to check on 17-year-old John Albers, who friends said had been posting suicidal-sounding messages on social media.
A police officer ended Albers’ life that night, firing 13 times into the family minivan as Albers was reversing out of the driveway.
The incident and its ensuing investigation got national attention, as Albers’ family pressed for a clearer picture of what happened. His mother, Sheila, continues to advocate for a more transparent process on bodycam videos.
Overland Park Police Chief Doreen Jokerst, recently announced a new body camera policy intended to do just that.
There are similarities to the Topeka policy and some differences Jokerst says. Within 72 hours of an incident, the families directly affected will be notified that they can see the videos. After an investigation is complete, those videos will be released to the public as long as there is agreement from the chief, district attorney, city manager and city legal staff.
The new policy also specifies that officer misconduct can’t be used as a reason to keep the videos under wraps.
Jokerst says policy was written in partnership with the national office of the American Civil Liberties Union, a group she worked with in Colorado before moving to Overland Park in 2024.
She also wanted to look at policy through a civil rights lens, which is why she’s talked with community groups and oversight boards.
Albers is encouraged by the changes made by Jokerst and Vallejo, calling their efforts a “historic and monumental step forward.” Police departments have invested in video tech for years with the aim of building public trust, she says. But that trust is undermined when departments don’t release the footage.
“The policy and practice of releasing the footage is what builds public trust and creates accountability,” Albers says. “Cameras without a strong disclosure policy are meaningless.”
M. Palowski Moore, a board member for the Advocacy and Awareness Group of Johnson County, also gives Jokerst good reviews. Moore noted that the group — a nonprofit focused on equity and law enforcement reform — has championed making body-worn camera files more available to the public.
“It is refreshing to know that your voice is heard and valued by officers who serve the community,” Moore wrote in an email. “I sleep better these days knowing that Chief Jokerst is at the helm steering our community away from troubled waters of the past and toward a future of calmer seas.”
However Pete O’Malley, president of Lodge 21 of the Overland Park Fraternal Order of Police, gives Jokerst a lukewarm review. He thinks she’s innovative and smart, but he would like to have her ear on things that affect the rank and file.
The union does not have a collective bargaining agreement as organizations in Wichita and Kansas City, Missouri, do. Its mission is to represent officers’ concerns to the administration, without additional filters of the “old guard” at City Hall, he says.
“I’m hoping she’ll come around and say the FOP can be an asset not a hindrance,” he says. “I don’t want an adversarial relationship.”
Jokerst says that as a new chief, she expects she’ll review all the department policies. For the most part, she says she relies on experts and academics for best practices on high-risk, high-liability policies like use of force — or “response to resistance” — and pursuit policies.
Jokerst recently added baseball hats to the departmental uniform. They’re black, with police insignia. She says the idea was inspired by officers who appeared to be suffering with hot service caps at a Juneteenth event.
The caps have ruffled some feathers among older and retired officers who view them as inappropriate, but others love them, she says.
“I say if you’re not evolving, you’re becoming obsolete. So we should always be scratching at the surface and seeing what’s out there, what’s best,” Jokerst says.
It all boils down to servant leadership. “I interview every police officer candidate that comes in our door,” she says. “I say, ‘I want you to be a servant leader. You are here for the community.’ We are here in our roles to serve in our community and we should do it with empathy and professionalism and compassion.”
