PROFILES: GERECKE TAKES RETIRMENT SERIOUS THIRD TIME AROUND

It has been 14 years since Col. Henry H. Gerecke resigned as Cape Girardeau's chief of police in a storm of controversy. He served the city from 1974 to 1981. Since his retirement, Gerecke has made peace with himself and the city he has grown to love.

While growing up in a quiet South St. Louis neighborhood, Gerecke never had visions of crime-fighting. Young Gerecke dreamed of becoming a soldier, a profession he followed for some 35 years. He retired to try his hand at police work in Cape Girardeau. He retired again and took up teaching.

Three careers, he says, is enough for anybody.

Today, he and his wife, Millie, enjoy reading, family, travel and classical music.

"Sometimes I feel the urge to work. But I sit down until the feeling passes," he says.

He laughs broadly, his eyes still shrewd behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Walking a mile most days keeps him fit physically; voracious reading sharpens the little gray cells.

Oh, he's mellowed in a gruff sort of way. A shock of white hair hints at his true age -- 73. Retirement -- his third -- suits him.

"Hank" Gerecke was the first of three sons born to Alma and Henry F. Gerecke, then a divinity student at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis.

"I was born at Jefferson and Cherokee over a saloon. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

Growing up as sons of a Lutheran minister wasn't always easy. Parishioners were sometimes quick to judge, especially when some wayward boys dropped hymn books on a janitor they didn't like.

"I don't enjoy reflecting back on my youth," he says with mock sincerity.

His father gained the reputation as "the fastest belt in South St. Louis." But he could be a soft touch as well.

Gerecke recalls one night when his mother had told the misbehaving boys to "wait until your father comes home." The elder Gerecke took the boys upstairs, put them on the bed, and got out his belt. He told them to holler when the belt hit the bed. Four or five times he hit the bed, four or five times they hollered loudly until their mother shouted up, "That's enough. You're hurting those boys."

Gerecke recalls one trip to visit relatives in Cape Girardeau when he and his next brother were quite young. A relative remarked, "`Oh my goodness, they're bringing those boys.' I guess we were rascals."

The Cape Girardeau man bears a striking resemblance to his father and namesake, Henry F. Gerecke. The retired chief's father wanted to enlist in 1917, but his father pulled him from the line because he hated the service.

Young Gerecke enlisted in the Army in 1941, as he approached his 19th birthday. As a boy, he loved to read about his hero "Blackjack" Pershing, and was fascinated by World War I.

His father followed suit, joining the chaplain corps in 1943.

That assignment eventually took him to Nuremberg, where he spent a difficult year ministering to 21 Nazi leaders during the war trials. The elder Gerecke was chosen for the assignment because he was Lutheran, spoke German, and "had spent more time in jail (having been director of prison work for the St. Louis City Mission) than any other preacher the Army had handy," the elder Gerecke wrote in a Sept. 1, 1951, article in The Saturday Evening Post.

The elder Gerecke died in October 1961.

Early on, says Gerecke, he found out he wasn't a very good soldier.

"Part of it was adjustment. Part of it was doing what I was told to do. Eventually, I became acclimated."

The war broke out and his regiment was sent to the Aleutian Islands.

"We had the hell scared out of us several times during possible air attacks. One time I jumped in a fox hole with a full mess kit. They found me eating my meal. I got in trouble because they told me I wasn't taking the war serious enough."

In a freak accident, he fell off the side of a ship. He became tangled in the ropes while trying to free a barge during an air-raid alert. He broke both ankles and was evacuated back to the states.

Later, he requested tank duty. "I wanted to ride around in tanks and shoot up the world," he chuckles. The Army had other ideas; they ordered him to military police training.

He returned to Fort Custer, Mich., for five-and-a-half months of fairly strenuous training, and then went onto criminal investigations school.

Gerecke ended up at a horse platoon in Georgia and loved the work. "I never saw so many rosters for horses in my entire life."

As the slogan implies, he found in the Army "you could be all that you wanted to be. I'm a walking example of that."

He took advantage of every school and training he could to improve his investigative skills.

In December 1944, Gerecke was sent to Nancy, France. In January 1945, a young Army nurse from Missouri arrived in town.

Gerecke became the battalion executive officer, chosen by a fellow Missourian and former member of the Missouri Highway Patrol. "He didn't know anyone, and figured I couldn't be that bad since I was from Missouri," he says.

At a hospital party, they heard a female voice question, "What's wrong with Missouri?" in the heat of an argument. "They came to the rescue of Gerecke's future wife, Millie.

Their courtship progressed despite a snag on their first date. "She got mad at me. I put my hand on her arm as we crossed the street and she told me I handled her like a prisoner."

They got engaged in France, but went home for the wedding in April 1946.

The stateside honeymoon was short-lived. By July, Gerecke had returned to Europe, and 12 days later was hit by a two-and-a-half ton truck that had been stolen by two drunk soldiers. The truck smashed into his Jeep, throwing him 30 feet into the air.

He spent the next seven months in the hospitals, recovering from severe internal injuries.

"My dad was in Nuremberg at the time. I'm sure that put an added burden on him while he was trying to deal with those war criminals."

Millie Gerecke, who was pregnant, could find out little information about her injured husband. A friend suggested she write the president, which is just what she did. She sent a 90-word telegram, which produced results. Information came more regularly during his recuperation. About three weeks before their first child was born, Gerecke arrived back in the states.

Gerecke moved up the ranks and continued his investigative training. He made a vow to become the best military policeman that he could.

"I always liked the chase; I never really liked making the arrest."

The successes far outweighed the losses. One of his proudest days came when he earned the rank of colonel.

One of his first cases was to find out who stole $300 at a hospital. He was told "not to come back" until he found the suspect. He worked, ate and slept in the hospital. At the end of four days, he found not only the theft suspect, but had uncovered a scheme of fraudulent discharges.

The work wasn't limited to cases of fraud and theft. The military police investigated murder and rape as well. In the early days, the military could take jurisdiction over the local police.

In 1950, he was reassigned to Korea. He remembers a tough farewell at the railroad station with Millie, their 3-year-old son David and baby Steven.

Fourteen months later, he was reassigned to Japan. The family joined him in 1952.

"We had a nice tour there. It was 19 months. We came home on an emergency leave after dad had his first heart attack."

Back in the states, he commanded a military prison. He later completed two tours in Panama in the Canal Zone and two tours in Vietnam.

His second tour of Vietnam -- in 1972 -- was much different than his first in 1965-66. The military was much reduced by that time, and drug cases had increased tremendously.

"I came back a little defiant. There wasn't a lot of respect. Things had changed. People came back from World War II to parades. People were happy to see you. There's no good war, by the way. Korea, we had been suckered in; Vietnam, like someone said, they stole our parade. I applaud what people did after the Gulf War for the soldiers. The troops really needed it."

His time was up in the Army since he was approaching 55. He decided to go into teaching, since he had enjoyed teaching at a university in Panama.

Over the years he continued to work on a college degree, eventually earning a bachelor of science degree in police administration from Michigan State University and a master's degree in criminal justice at Sam Houston State University.

But an advertisement for a police chief in Cape Girardeau -- home of his parents and grandparents -- caught his eye. He called then-city manager W. Gale Lawley, and after a staggering four-and-a-half-hour interview, he was offered the job.

When he arrived on the job in December 1974, the police station was in an old church at Independence and Sprigg, across the street from the existing station.

At his hiring, city leaders embraced his military training and leadership skills. He stressed the importance of training, and worked to improve the department.

Land was already bought for a new jail. Gerecke thought it should be moved to the west of town, where the community was growing. "They told me the land was bought and to shut up." A cut in federal dollars meant the jail wasn't quite as big as initially planned.

But a string of unsolved murders added pressure to a department ripe with discord. Gerecke's style of military leadership had angered some officers; concerns over low pay fueled unhappiness.

The bitterness over his last year in office remains with Gerecke. "I am what I am," he says flatly.

Gerecke remembers Lawley suggesting that several officers stirring the unrest be fired. "I went to bat for them, and he told me I was going to regret it. I should have listened to him."

Eventually, a study was made of department problems. While the report found substantial improvement in such areas as organization, training and performance under Gerecke, it also found a widespread lack of confidence in the leadership and low morale.

Gerecke was angered by the fact he was not given an opportunity to comment on any of the grievances in the report. He feels like a scapegoat.

One of his greatest strengths -- military leadership -- may have eventually been his downfall. Officers balked at a strictly-run ship with low pay. Gerecke demanded loyalty and performance. "If they collected a paycheck I expected them to earn it. That's old Army."

The last seven or eight months on the job were a low point of his life, he says. Gerecke says he was offered several other jobs, but wanted to ride out the storm.

"Finally I decided I had to leave. My blood pressure was skyrocketing. I wasn't eating or sleeping and I was smoking three packs of cigarettes a day. A friend told me I had to get out of there or I was going to die."

"Lawley told me once that they were after him, not me. I have a bad habit of interrupting. I told him that I'd retire, that I could afford it better than he could. He told me to stay, that he had already decided to retire. He left in February of 1980. I always found him a straight arrow."

Gerecke retired in June 1981.

The former chief was also angered by the fact his wife never received any recognition from the city for her rape-prevention work. She aided some 70 cases in six and a half years. Gerecke later endowed a scholarship at Southeast Missouri State University in her name as a way to reward her efforts.

Gerecke believes his influence left a lasting mark for the better on the department -- especially his attention to training and organization. At one time the department had more FBI graduates than any other department its size.

"The average life of a police chief is three and a half years. I guess you kind of wear out your welcome."

After his retirement, Gerecke began teaching police administration at the now defunct Tarkio College in St. Louis. He found the work therapeutic.

He and Millie made four trips to Europe. They visited their son, Stephen, who is in the service in Turkey. They also traveled to Australia twice to visit their son, David. Daughter Jan Marie lives in McClure, Ill. She's a nurse at the state hospital in Anna, Ill.

But they never seriously considered leaving Cape Girardeau. They enjoyed their home, church and circle of friends.

In 1983, he taught one class at Southeast Missouri State University, and was asked to teach more courses in the fall of 1984.

"I taught two classes a semester, and I really enjoyed it." He also helped set up a security program at the university.

Ironically, some of his former officers -- including an outspoken opponent -- enrolled in his courses. By 1993, he decided to retire again, allowing more time for his favorite pasttime of reading.

Last December he and his wife turned over 356 volumes, valued at $6,000, to Kent Library. Every two years they plan to do the same, keeping some of his favorites on the shelves of his study.

He also enjoys his computer, writing daily entries and communicating over computer lines with his son in Turkey. He is also crazy about his three grandchildren: Samantha and Jessica in Turkey and young Stephen in McClure.

After three careers and a life of competition and travel, Gerecke is ready to finally lead a retiring life.