"Thirty-three years at the OPD is nothing to crab about"
Sgt. Buchholz reflects upon his service to the Oxford community
BY RACHEL WADDICK
NOV. 8, 2007

According to Detective Sgt. John Buchholz, sitting in a Volkswagen van smoking cigarettes and reading magazines all day will not result in a positive college experience.

“That’s basically what summed up my first and only semester at Wright State [University],” he grinned, shaking his head slightly. “But get this! I flunked everything, but I got a D in Geology. I didn’t once go to that class, and I got a D. Now that alone is impressive.”

Buchholz contributes this positive outlook on life to his mother, whom he refers to as the “cruise director” of the family.

“I have no regrets. I live my life right here, right now, with the person I’m with. My mother was the same way when I was growing up, and she still is,” he says, shrugging gently. “Being positive is what gets people through even the hardest of times.”

It is obvious from the moment you meet him that John Buchholz isn’t the average police detective. An average sized man, his warm demeanor and soft eyes are anything but daunting, which according to him works towards his advantage.

“I’m a little off the wall, but not intimidating, and that’s important. Nothing makes people withdraw into themselves and become unhelpful quicker than an intimidating detective,” he says.

Born and raised in Englewood, Ohio, a town north of Dayton, Buchholz was the oldest child of eleven – six sisters and five brothers. When asked about his siblings, he counts on his fingers, squints his eyes, and mumbles quietly to himself to make sure he’s covered each one of them.

“It’s hard for us to keep ourselves straight,” he explains. “I mean, at one point I figured out I had over 150 first cousins. My mom was one of nine, and all of them happened to have a bunch of kids. My dad, though, was only one of three. Yeah, only…everything’s relative, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t deny that having a family of thirteen with only one employed wasn’t hard at times. His father worked as an electrotyper at a factory in Dayton, responsible for setting the print for various magazine publications.

“He worked there for 35 years,” Buchholz says, his eyes getting wide. “It was amazing. I mean, I know I’ve worked here for what will be 33, but the difference is he hated his job. He would come home, and I just knew he hated doing it. That’s why I knew that I would have to love my job, no matter what it was. I wasn’t going to come home every night miserable and exhausted. I’m going to come home wanting more.”

But law enforcement was not what Buchholz had wanted to do his entire life.

“When I was in high school I thought I wanted to be a priest,” he says. “Oh, how things change.”

He went to visit a seminary for 3 days as a 16 year-old, afterwards deciding that it ultimately was a profession he admired, but not one he wanted to dedicate his life to. It was shortly after this visit that Buchholz’s friend from Englewood who had just enrolled in the Randolph Township cadet program.

“I liked it. I thought it was pretty good, in fact, probably because I like things to have a certain type of order to it. I enjoyed the fact that I was helping out in a way. There was an excitement there of never knowing what was going to happen next,” He smiles. “Yeah, that was the beginning.”

His first Volkswagen van and cigarette-filled semester at Wright State was during the Vietnam draft, and Buchholz had drawn a low number. He knew he was going to be drafted, and figured that he might as well join the air force, a section of the armed forces he had always been interested in.

“It all happened so fast. I remember coming home after enlisting, and telling my parents. Two weeks later, I was gone. That was in 1970.”

The first village he was stationed at was in Phan Rang, an air force base surrounded by mountains in the middle of the jungle.

“I have no idea why anyone thought an air force base in the middle of no where was such a good idea. But, either way, I was there, and that’s the way it goes,” he says.

Next was Cameroon Bay.

“It was like living on a beach – oh no, but not in a good way.” Buchholz frowns and wrinkles his nose as if detecting a foul odor. “There was sand everywhere. I mean everywhere. And the breeze didn’t help, because then there would be sand in your mouth, in your ears, in your eyes…everywhere. How unpleasant.”

The location he spent the most time was in Saigon, where he became a member of the military police as a result of his positive experience in the cadet program. “This was my favorite location, but maybe that’s because I’m biased,” he grinned.

Saigon was where he met his wife.

A native from Vietnam, Hanh was introduced to Buchholz through a friend. It took two weeks for them to decide to get married.

“It was love at first sight, as corny as that sounds.” Buchholz pauses, sits back in his chair, a distant look on his face as if trying to remember in detail what it was like to first fall in love with the woman he has been married to for almost 35 years. “My stomach felt torn up. It felt like I was suddenly sick. For me, I knew I was in love because the only other thing that could make me feel like that was the flu. And I didn’t have the flu.”

He pauses once again, and then emits a soft, smooth laugh. “It might sound cute, but it’s the wedding story that makes this so memorable.”

Because he was only 20 years old, the military required parental permission for soldiers overseas who wanted to get married.

“I mean, picture this. I was in a war zone, and here I am waiting for my Dad to send me a notarized permission slip for me to get married. I still have that permission slip…I have it to this very day,” he says.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, it turned out that Hanh and Buchholz got married in two weeks after he turned 21 years old.

“…on November 18th, 1973. We share the same anniversary that my parents do. In fact, one of my sisters got married on November 18th as well. There are three of us that celebrate our wedding anniversary on that day. It’s a good day,” Buchholz nods. “But,” he interjects suddenly, as if startled awake by a loud noise, “we almost didn’t get married at all.”

The young couple was engaged for 5 months, because the Central Intelligence Agency had to investigate Hanh’s background to make sure she wasn’t a spy or a danger to the United States.

“Her mother and sister were killed in the war, but I was able to meet her Dad. Only met him once though – he died shortly after I met him. Stepped on a rusty nail, or something. Either way, he died, and we almost weren’t able to get married,” Buchholz says as he removes his classes and rubs his eyes for a few moments, mumbling, “Oh, I was not pleased, not pleased at all…”

While Hanh and her family were Catholic, there were certain Vietnamese customs that were incorporated into the religion. One such custom was such that if a father dies while the daughter was engaged, it was possible that the couple would be unable to get married for 2 years.

“It was a little crimp in our plans,” Buchholz says quietly, almost bitterly. But then he perks up. “Lucky for me, it all worked out!”

In Vietnam at the time there were no funeral homes, so the body of the deceased would remain in state in a house of a family member, and the ceremony would be performed. During the ceremony, it is customary for the daughter and fiancé to close the father’s eyes. If the eyes remain closed, the father is said to be at peace with the marriage, and the couple can continue with their wedding plans; however, if the eyes pop back open, the father is considered to be unhappy with the marriage, and the couple must wait 2 years.

“Well, you’d better believe I gave those eyes a little extra nudge,” he says, nodding and smiling. “Whether it was my doing or not, those eyes stayed closed, and we were approved to be married.”

Although there were a few family members who were hesitant to see her marry an American soldier, Hanh’s family was generally very accepting and all were present at the wedding. The Catholic chaplain on the air force base conducted the ceremony where Buchholz was stationed. They rented out half of a local restaurant for the reception.

“I was aware that there was a custom where I would have to toast to the elders of her family, which is why I brought with me a couple of bottle of Seagram’s. I’m not a drinker – I’ve been drunk a total of four times in my life, and each time I’ve gotten violently ill – but I figured one toast couldn’t hurt. Well, I soon found out that I was supposed to toast each elder individually. I remember getting to elder eighteen, and after that, there was no way I was going to remember anything. Oh, but I do remember someone dragging me up the steps to my apartment,” Buchholz says, squinting and nodding slowly as if reciting a memorized poem for English class. “Yeah…that restaurant was a good time. I was definitely drunk.” To this statement, he laughs heartily.

When Buchholz and his family visited Vietnam in 2006, the first time his wife had returned to her home country in 33 years, they went to visit that very same restaurant.

“Hadn’t changed much, in fact. There were still two holes in the ground out back for toilets. My kids were so amused they took pictures,” he says.

The “kids” he is referring to are Jackie and John, each born after Buchholz and his wife returned to the United States in 1974. The newlyweds spent two years in Albuquerque where Buchholz was stationed for the remainder of his time in the service. He began to apply for jobs as a police officer, writing letters to departments across the country that had openings, not receiving a reply from most. The few that he did get a response from seemed uninterested, until he wrote a letter to the Oxford Police Department in Ohio.

“I remember the city manager at the time – Lee Davis, I’ll never forget his name – wrote me back. He liked my resume because he said that they were giving a Civil Service Exam to those who would potentially be hired [at the OPD], and he asked if I’d like to take it. Unfortunately, it was being given three days before I got out of the service, so obviously I had to turn it down. I didn’t hear from him for a while, though,” Buchholz says.

But Lee David didn’t give up. He called Buchholz back a few months later, right before Buchholz was about to be discharged from service, and told Buchholz that he had been able to pull a few strings, and was sending him a copy of the exam so he could take it at the air force base. Buchholz’s Squad Commander administered the test. When he heard from the OPD a couple of weeks later, he found out that he did very well on the exam.

Unfortunately, his superior performance on the exam did not directly result in being hired.

“I still remembered when they called me to tell me that they were hiring two people, and I was third on the list,” he says. “They told me they had a dispatcher position open that I could take so that when another position would open up for a patrol officer, I could slide into that. My daughter Jackie had just been born, and I couldn’t just uproot my family to Ohio for a position as a dispatcher. Well, a week later, they called back and told me that one of the hired officers hadn’t passed a physical test, and I was hired.”

There was no hesitation from Buchholz when asked the exact date he started as a patrol officer at the OPD – July 14, 1975. He attended Middletown police academy, and accepted a $2,000 pay cut from the service.

“I just had a hunch [being in law enforcement] is what I was meant to do,” he says. “I was paid $11,500 a year in the service, but I started here at $9,500. That’s a lot of money to lose when you’re young and have a new family to support. But I knew that in the end it would be worth it.”

In 1982 Buchholz was promoted to patrol sergeant, but Officer Shelly Sikora said that he was suspended and almost wasn’t given the promotion.

“I know he got in some sort of trouble, and make sure you make him tell you the whole story,” Sikora said, raising an eyebrow. A younger looking woman with a cartilage piercing on her ear and a witty personality, Sikora promises to divulge any secret she can about Buchholz just to see him squirm “He’d do the same to me, so I don’t fee so bad. And don’t let him muscle you! He’s not perfect. Besides, it’ll probably make you laugh.”

When Buchholz was asked about the suspension in question, he paused for a minute and frowned. For a few moments it looked as though he was angry for having been asked about his mischievous activity, but instead, he asked simply, “Which ‘trouble’ are you referring to?”

After being sarcastically prompted by Sikora, his eyes got wide as he remembered. “Oh yes. Okay. Well, the practice in the old days was if you confiscated beer, you wouldn’t throw it away as we do now when we take it from underage individuals, but you would take it and put it in a room with other confiscated personal property. Well, everyone would go in there once in a while and take home the beer – it wasn’t condoned behavior, but it wasn’t really prevented. Well, they decided to stop this practice with me when I took home five Miller Lite bottles. From what you know about my drinking abilities, you know those five bottles would have lasted me a year! Anyways, they found out about this and suspended me for a day for taking it home.”

“Don’t worry, he still got promoted right on time,” Sikora interrupted

“Yes, yes I did,” responded Buchholz, a grin on his face. “The following week all of us up for promotion went before the interview board. One captain from Hamilton made me tell the story of my suspension, just sitting there and laughing because he thought it was so ridiculous. I must’ve made an impression, though, because I got promoted. So there!” he pointed at Sikora, smiling from ear to ear. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

Sikora, who started as a patrol officer but who has been working closely with Buchholz for 3 years, says she knows him well because they are both very similar.

“We’re both hyper. Sometimes I have to sit John down and say, ‘Hey! Listen to me! This is an important case, and I need for you to stop bouncing off of the walls for a second.’ While I keep him in check, he keeps me in check, because he knows how to handle me when I’m mad. I’ll scream and yell even if I know I’m dead wrong, but John is always there to help fix the situation. We might not see eye-to-eye all of the time, but if we get in a fight one day, the next day is a clean slate. He never holds grudges. That’s really hard to do and I respect him for that.” Sikora pauses, then grins slightly and mumbles, “But he sure is different.”

“He’s crazy. He’s absolutely crazy,” says Kathy Buttery, a records clerk who has worked at the OPD since 1978 and has known Buchholz for her entire career. “He’s not your typical police officer. In fact, he’s known around here as being a kind of a tight wad. He’s definitely kind of cheap. For example,” she says as she adjusts herself in her chair, re-crosses her legs and clears her throat, “a few years back, you used to be able to take your Coke bottles back to the grocery store for a five cent refund. The big joke with John was that he would drive around in the cruisers on duty and go around collecting Coke bottles anywhere he could find them. You’d get into his cruiser after a productive day and there would be all of these bottles just rolling around everywhere. Someone would always be saying, ‘Here John, here’s a bottle right here! Come pick it up,’ and we’d call him ‘dumpster diver’ and such. He always took it well, though.”

The recounting of this story makes Matt Franke laugh. A taller, larger man, one gets the impression he is the exact physical opposite of Buchholz. Quiet and carefully spoken, Franke has known Buchholz for almost 30 years.

“I met him when I was a firefighter and I had just started working in Oxford. It’s a small town, and the firefighters and police knew each other,” he says. “But yes, I am very familiar with John’s ability to be cheap. In fact, I have two good stories to share.”

Franke recalls a story in which he and Buchholz were on patrol together. They always worked nights with each other, and when times were slow, they would pull up next to each other in their cruisers and talk for a few minutes before continuing on. “Well, one night he pulled up next to me, and we’re talking. It was a few minutes before I realized that someone was sitting in the front passenger seat next to him. I sat there for a few minutes trying to figure out who it was, but I couldn’t. Finally, I asked him. ‘John!’ I said. ‘John, who is sitting next to you?’ And he just looks at me and says, ‘Nobody.’ Well, I took out my flashlight and shone it in the passenger seat, and there’s a table lamp strapped in with a seat belt. He found it out with the garbage while on patrol and decided it would make a nice addition to the house. I have to tell you, I’ve never laughed so hard.”

Franke pauses another couple of moments, reminiscing about what he refers to as “the Lamp Incident”. He soon realizes that he has more to share, and his eyes get a little wider as the sides of his mouth turn slightly upwards. “This, though, is my favorite cheap John story. Apparently, he was down talking to some kids who had gotten in trouble for some reason in the high school parking lot, which used to be gravel. John had a young officer with him, someone who wasn’t that experienced. When the kids began to walk away after everything was sorted out, John went up to the young officer, made an “x” n the gravel, and says, ‘Remember this spot.’ The crowd disperses, and the officer thinks that they’re about to retrieve some evidence. Instead, it turns out John had spotted some lose change on the ground, but didn’t want to pick it up in front of all of those kids!” he hardly chokes out the last three words of his story, because he is laughing so hard. Tears form in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “Can you believe it?” he continues, eventually sighing. “Oh, that guy’s crazy.”

“Yes, I’m crazy,” Buchholz agrees. “I got really crazy when I came into my own, though. I was immediately comfortable as soon as I worked here because of the great people, but I really found my niche in the mid – 1990s, when I still worked as a patrol officer but was also a school resource officer at Talawanda High School. While it was time consuming and not my favorite job, it was then I realized that I really enjoyed working and helping out young adults.”

In 1996 Buchholz attended the Southern Police Academy, a mandatory 15-week course for all command staff, which includes chiefs, lieutenants, and sergeants. Buchholz, who knew that it meant 15-weeks away from his family, didn’t want to go.

“I was in silent protest. Basically, I wore my undershirt inside-out,” he says, completely straight faced. When asked to elaborate, he waves his hand as if he didn’t want to go further in detail. He pauses, then nods to himself, sits forward in his chair, and continues. “Okay, this might seem stupid, but when we wear our short sleeve uniforms, we have to wear a v-neck t-shirt underneath them. For protest, I wore my v-neck t-shirt inside out, so no one could see it. The important thing is, the chief knew. Well, it didn’t matter, because the chief finally sent me to the SPI.”

After all of the silent protesting and hesitation to go, Buchholz admits now that it was “the best experience” he has ever had.

“So, when I got back in November of 1996, we had a division meeting. That was when I officially ended my t-shirt protested, and I turned it right-side out,” he says. “That was also when my job changed.”

Buchholz was aware that when he returned from the SPI he would be taking over as detective sergeant. He has vivid memories of questioning his ability to act as lead detective. While he went through a decent amount of training, the first year as detective sergeant Buchholz didn’t have a detective to assist him.

“It was just me. I was only alone for one year, but that first year I learned quite a bit. I learned how to prioritize cases. It was trying to solve a very serious puzzle, and trying to do it fast and all by myself,” he says.

It was during this time Buchholz also found out that not everyone will always approve of his methods and how he handles cases, interrogations, victims, and witnesses. Realizing he would be unable to please everyone was a wake-up call, but it never intensely bothered or upset him.

“You know, if people don’t complain about you, you’re not doing anything,” says Buchholz, his voice rising slightly and slowing down his words in an attempt to have them leave a lasting impression. “In this job you’re going to make some wrong judgments, say wrong things, offend people, et cetera. This is not a career where you can play it safe. It’s why I love it.”

Aside from being detective sergeant for over ten years, Buchholz has also been involved with the Oxford Kiwanis Club, a professional service organization since 1990, and has been the Kiwanis advisor to the Talawanda High School Key Club, another service organization, since 1991. It is apparent that from the way Buchholz talks about his work and his extracurricular activities that he likes to stay busy and be involved, especially at the high school and collegiate levels.

“I like working with high school and college kids. They’re both similar in a way because they’re looking for adult approval of their ideas and their goals and where they’re headed. It’s important that adults pay attention to them and give them the time and sincerity that they deserve,” he says, nodding gravely. “I believe that 95 percent of students at Miami are great, great kids. The people we run across are people making mistakes, not criminals. You always have to treat people the way you want to be treated, and I follow that in my everyday life.”

Buchholz has also revived the Citizens Police Academy, a program designed at informing and familiarizing the citizens of Oxford and the general public over the age of 18 with the different aspects of law enforcement. The fall session had 20 individuals enrolled, 7 of which are students. Buchholz hopes the spring session will be just as successful.

Buchholz’s attachment and love for his work is obvious when asked about his retirement. He grows a bit uncomfortable, clearing his throat more often and shifting in his seat frequently. His voice diminishes and becomes quieter, his hand motions slow and become more muted. And yet, he has no intentions of just walking off the job and not looking back.

“My goal for retirement is getting my time back. What I mean by that is I don’t want to work nights, I don’t want to work weekends. I want to be able to have as close to a 9 to 5 job as possible. Right now I am on call all day, every day. I love it, but I need a change of pace,” he says, nodding vigorously as if trying to convince himself of his own words.

“I love working for the city, and I really hope I can work part-time when I retire. I want to get more involved with my church, St. Mary’s. I think I want to do the consolation committee, the organization that helps the family when a church member dies. I also really want to stay involved with young people. We have to see how it goes, but I know if I don’t get a certain amount of interaction with Miami students, I’ll be very disappointed,” he says.

His voice becomes louder and less hesitant as he talks about how he has just under 290 days left. “The only reason I know that isn’t because I’m counting down. Everybody else counts, and puts the new number on the board in the hallway. It’s like they’re going to throw some party when I leave,” he jokes, laughing. “They want me the heck out of here,” he says and winks.

While it is obvious he wants to remain involved, he scoffs at the idea that he would run for any local governmental position. “I have people come up to me constantly and tell me that I should run for city council,” he states, his voice trailing off and his cheeks growing slightly red as if embarrassed. He pauses, shakes his head, looks down at the table, adjusts his glasses, and eventually raises his eyes, his voice renewed and the color disappearing from his face. “Now, really, why would I want to do something like that? Their meeting are at night,” he says, his fist tapping lightly against the table. “At night! No more nights! No more weekends! That, and I’m not a very political person. I mean, I’m a Republican, but I vote for who I think is best. But I sure don’t want to get involved in petty politics. In local politics, everyone’s wrong, and everyone’s right.”

With retirement pending in August of 2008, Buchholz recognizes that while he still has a job to do, his approach to the job has changed. “At this point in my career, all I can do is mentor and train and impart knowledge. The day I walk out will be the day all of my experience goes with me. I am well aware that the next person who has my job will do it a little bit differently, but I believe that the focus has to be on the victims – my focus has always bee on the victims. I have found if you take care of the victim, everything else falls into place. If you concentrate too much on the bad guys and ignore the needs of those who have been hurt, you’re really not going to do much good at all.”

He becomes humbled when asked what his main goal for retirement is. He pauses – the longest pause of the entire interview – opening his mouth and shutting it a couple of times as he tries to find the right words to say. “The main thing I wanted to do was retire while I still love it,” he says slowly, his gaze intense and his body completely still. “I’ve had a great run. I still love it, and I’ll still be loving it when I retire this coming August. I’ve had my ups and downs, but you know what? Let’s be honest: I can’t crab.”