Racist Cop Arrests Black Man in Diner with White Child — Unaware He’s a Judge, City Pays $1.1M

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On a quiet Saturday morning at Miller’s Diner, what should have been a simple fifth birthday celebration turned into a viral flashpoint about race, policing, and parental dignity.

Dominic Wells, 53, had made a ritual of bringing his daughter Zoe to the small neighborhood restaurant every weekend. Staff knew them by name. Waitress Sarah would pour his black coffee without asking and greet Zoe with extra whipped cream on her pancakes. That morning, Zoe wore a paper birthday crown and giggled as she tried to balance whipped cream on her nose. It was an ordinary, joyful scene.

Then Officer Ryan Kelchure of the Harllo Creek Police Department walked in.

Responding to a vague call from a customer who said something “didn’t look right,” Kelchure entered the diner and headed straight for the booth where Wells, a Black man, sat with his five-year-old white daughter. Without first consulting staff or assessing any sign of distress, the officer began questioning Zoe.

“Is that your dad?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she replied.

Kelchure pressed further, asking whether she was being told to say that. Wells calmly identified himself and offered his driver’s license and adoption documents, explaining that Zoe was his legally adopted daughter. He had fostered her for 18 months before finalizing the adoption three years earlier, after the tragic deaths of her biological parents—his longtime friend and the friend’s wife—in a car accident.

Despite Wells’ cooperation and the lack of any visible threat or disturbance, Kelchure radioed for backup and reported a possible child abduction. The word “abduction” echoed across the diner, drawing stunned silence from customers and staff. Several people began recording on their phones.

Two additional officers arrived. Wells again explained the situation, displayed documentation on his phone, and declined to leave his daughter alone at the table. According to witnesses, he remained calm throughout the exchange. Sarah and multiple customers vouched for him, noting that the pair had been regulars for years.

Nevertheless, Kelchure insisted Wells was being obstructive and ordered him to stand. When Wells requested the legal basis for the arrest, Kelchure handcuffed him in front of Zoe.

The child did not scream, witnesses later said, but her eyes filled with tears as she reached across the table for her father’s hand. The image of a small girl in a birthday crown watching her father placed in handcuffs would soon become the defining photograph of the incident.

Moments before being led away, Wells made a quiet but pivotal statement: he was a sitting magistrate judge in the county, with 12 years on the bench.

Sergeant Paul Donovan arrived shortly afterward. After verifying Wells’ identity on the county court website, Donovan removed the handcuffs and apologized. Wells, still composed, requested that all badge numbers be documented and that the incident report reflect that he had identified himself prior to the arrest.

“My title should not have been what protected me today,” Wells reportedly said before leaving the diner with Zoe. “My rights as a human being should have been enough.”

By the end of the weekend, at least a dozen cellphone videos had circulated online. Within days, millions had viewed the footage. News outlets across the country ran the story, often highlighting the stark contrast between Wells’ calm demeanor and the officer’s escalating response.

Under mounting public scrutiny, the department launched an internal investigation. Personnel records later revealed that Kelchure had conducted six prior welfare checks involving Black men with white children over his nine-year career. All were cleared, but none had been examined collectively as a potential pattern.

Within 48 hours of the incident, Kelchure was suspended without pay. Three weeks later, he was terminated. The department cited violations of use-of-force policy, false statements in his report, and evidence of racially discriminatory conduct. Video footage contradicted his claims that Wells had been aggressive or uncooperative.

Wells filed a federal civil rights lawsuit alleging unlawful detention, false arrest, racial discrimination, and emotional distress inflicted on a minor. Faced with extensive video evidence and numerous witness statements, the city opted to settle for $1.1 million within 90 days.

As part of the settlement, the city agreed to implement reforms, including mandatory bias training, updated welfare-check protocols, and the creation of an independent review board for discrimination complaints.

Wells donated a significant portion of the settlement to organizations that provide legal support to victims of racial profiling and fund therapy for children affected by traumatic police encounters. The remainder was placed into Zoe’s college fund.

He returned to the bench and has spoken sparingly about the incident. In a brief public statement following the settlement, he emphasized that the case should not hinge on his judicial status. “The next person may not be a judge,” he said. “That is exactly the point.”

A year later, Zoe celebrated her sixth birthday at the same diner, in the same booth. Staff had reserved the table with a small sign reading “Wells Family.” For Wells, returning was a deliberate act—an assertion that neither prejudice nor humiliation would claim another piece of his daughter’s childhood.

The episode continues to resonate as a reminder of how quickly assumptions can escalate into injustice—and how the presence of cameras, witnesses, and legal accountability can reshape the outcome. For many observers, the most enduring image remains that of a child reaching for her father, a moment that crystallized the human cost of bias in policing.