TAMPA — As a young man, Eric Ward had much in common with other black men who grow up in east Tampa and struggle to make it out.
He was raised by a single mother. Part of his childhood was spent in public housing. As a young teen, his mother recalls, he had a less-than-cordial encounter with a Tampa police officer.
So what made the difference for Ward? How did he end up being named this week as Tampa's next police chief?
In interviews Friday, Ward, 48, and those who know him best pointed to three things: the strict rule of his mother, whose disapproval he still fears; the mentorship of his high school ROTC instructor, who served as a father figure; and Ward's own drive to do things right.
All of it informs how he intends to lead the Tampa Police Department.
"I've always had an interest in giving back to the community," Ward said. "There is a lot of people that played a part. Whether they realize it or not, I took note."
• • •
Ward's mother, Lutricia, 65, was a disciplinarian from the trust-but-verify school of parenting.
As teens, Ward and his younger brother Howard made money cutting lawns, and one day they brought home a clunky old lawn mower they said they bought. She didn't doubt their word, but made them take her to the previous owner's house, where the man politely informed her that, yes, the boys had paid for it.
"I didn't let them wander all over," she said. "I always told them you treat people the way you want to be treated. And when you treat women, you remember that you have a mom and a sister."
It was a message reinforced at church. All his life, Ward has attended New Hope Missionary Baptist Church. As young as 7, he listened when the late Rev. John Willis preached. Willis had a way of applying the gospel to things going on in the community, Ward said.
As a kid Ward also played baseball in the Belmont Heights Little League and football with the Police Athletic League. Sports, he said, kept him busy and gave him his first encounters with law enforcement. It was around that time that he started considering a career as a police officer.
"When he was growing up, most of his friends were getting in trouble," Lutricia Ward said. "But he said, 'I don't want to get in trouble. I want to help people.' "
Still, she remembers that when Ward was in middle school, he once went into a convenience store to buy a jug of milk. Inside, a Tampa police officer apparently thought he looked suspicious and started asking questions. Ward stormed out, muttering that he hated police officers.
"I always teased him about that," she said.
When he was in his later teens, it was considered cool to have a gold tooth. To avoid his mother's inquiries, Ward visited an out-of-town dentist to have one put in. Later, at home, he avoided speaking. But he couldn't hide it forever, and one day, she saw it.
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Explore all your options"To say she was upset was an understatement," he said. (The tooth became an asset for the young officer doing undercover work. He later had it removed.)
Today Ward still appreciates tough love. This week, when an online video showed a Baltimore mother slapping her adolescent son as he tried to join that city's riots, Ward could only smile.
"That was great," he said. "When I saw that, it inspired me that there are still parents that want to do the right thing."
• • •
In high school, Ward met the one man who had the single greatest influence on his life.
Col. Thomas McInnes, a former ROTC instructor for Hillsborough High School, took a special interest in Ward. McInnes had six children. Ward might have been considered a seventh.
"Through talking with the colonel, I realized a lot of my frustration was because I didn't have my dad involved with my life like other kids did," Ward said. "So sometimes kids just need that father figure or that mentor, and it can change your life."
The colonel pushed Ward to advance, having him lead drill and rifle teams in complicated routines.
"It was an opportunity for me to get involved in something and excel," Ward said. "Which in turn gave me something to do."
McInnes saw a leader emerge.
"He's a quick study," McInnes said. "I never had cause to chastise him or call him up short on anything."
After Ward graduated, he and McInnes stayed close. Occasionally, the two would bump into each other while Ward worked.
"Not now, sir," Ward would say. "I'm undercover."
Did he ever think Ward would be police chief?
"Thirty years ago? No," McInnes said. "But did I think he had the potential? Yes."
• • •
Ward served as an officer for more than a decade before his first promotion, to detective, in 2002. He made sergeant in 2004. Then lieutenant in 2009.
He served as a commander of the department's specialty teams — SWAT, bomb team, hostage negotiation — work that solidified his leadership skills.
But he said the defining moment of his career was the day he was sworn in at age 21. It was a big achievement, he said.
He joined the ranks in 1988, a tense time between police and the community where he grew up. In 1987, Tampa saw three days of riots. The city has changed, Ward said. And part of it, was through better relationships between officers and citizens.
Yet the most affecting moment for Ward from that time was the death of a fellow officer. He had barely a week on the force when Officer Porfirio Soto, who had served with the department for 18 months, was shot and killed serving an arrest warrant.
"That was probably the most eye-opening experience for me, the death of a police officer," Ward said. "Because I couldn't rationalize why somebody would want to hurt a police officer, somebody who's out there trying to help the community."
Where many people only complain about police, Ward said, he has always sought to make change from within.
He has done it through his involvement with the RICH Houses, police-sponsored facilities for disadvantaged kids and their families. He has done it through his involvement with the Police Athletic League. And now, as chief, he wants to do it by revamping the department's community relations efforts.
He wants officers out of their cars. He wants them talking with people, listening to their frustrations. Young people, especially.
"A kid left idle will think of things to do," he said. "We need to get them before they get to that point."
Contact Dan Sullivan at dsullivan@tampabay.com or (813) 226-3386. Follow @TimesDan.