By Catharine Richert

MPR News/90.1 FM

If you find a penny on the ground in Kenyon, there’s probably a story behind it.

Police Chief Lee Sjolander has been leaving these pennies around his southern Minnesota town for years as a way to cope with the bad things he sees and experiences keeping the peace in this tiny town of 1,800 people.

“It’s closure. It’s to come back and say, ‘OK. What did I do right, what should have happened, could have happened,’” he said. “You have to put it away and move on. And the pennies are a way of doing that.”

Sjolander, 52, has written publicly about this very personal ritual. It’s one way he’s helped flip the stereotype of the hardened, stoic police chief. He is candid about the lessons he’s learned from a traumatic childhood and his own struggles with mental health.

In doing so, he’s reshaping the role police play in Kenyon.

The cops here take in stray animals and take care of them with money raised from people living in the community until the animals are adopted. Bikes lined up in front of the station are donated and free to anyone who needs one. A well-stocked food shelf is just inside the station’s front door, which is always unlocked.

For Sjolander, who has been chief for 12 years, a childhood marked by memories of a neglectful mother who abused drugs and alcohol, poverty and hunger play a huge role in how he approaches his job.

“I can relate to a lot of what I see because when I’m talking to somebody and they’re like, ‘You don’t know what it’s like to not have a parent,’” he said. “I’m like, ‘Dude, I was there.’”

As a child, Sjolander carried the burden of taking care of his chaotic household.

“My role was the caregiver,” he said. “While a lot of kids are learning to ride bikes and playing with their buddies, I’m taking care of my younger siblings, making sure the meals are made, clothes are clean, homework is done.”

Late one night when he was a teenager, after his mother and her boyfriend had a particularly violent and scary fight, Sjolander left.

“The noise and the chaos and the screaming and spitting and the broken stuff,” he said. “I have to get the heck away from this.”

Sjolander eventually went to the police and ultimately landed in foster care through high school with a couple that he considers his parents.

Sjolander said he spent years being angry at his mother. It was only as an adult that he realized that all those abusive topsy-turvy relationships, the drugs and the alcohol were a sign his mother was struggling with something deeper and darker.

“I think it’s mental health,” he said. “I think she had a lot of demons and issues.”

Today on the job, Sjolander encounters a lot of people with demons. It’s a trend playing out across Minnesota and the nation as cops are increasingly called to help people in the middle of a mental health crisis. Often, without access to better resources, these calls end with people landing in jail or the already packed emergency room.

In Kenyon, Sjolander said he tries to avoid both scenarios by helping people before they’re in crisis mode.

“If you can back up a little and say, ‘OK, what’s going on with you?’ ‘Well, I can’t get a job.’ You’ll notice we have job postings out in the front of our office here. ‘I’m trying to feed my family.’ Well, we have the food shelf right here,” he said. “We don’t judge people.”

Sjolander’s unconventional approach to policing has caught the attention of officials in Washington, D.C. In 2016, he was invited to a White House forum where chiefs from departments around the nation met to brainstorm ideas on building public trust and confidence in the justice system.