When Jerry Turning, Class of 1995, first learned that his two-year-old son Eric had Autism Spectrum Disorder, he didn’t know it would set off a new calling: educating fellow first responders on the neurological condition.

Bridging the gap

Article by Diane Stopyra Photos courtesy of Jerry Turning April 25, 2025

Retired police captain and Blue Hen alumnus Jerry Turning provides autism training to first responders across the nation

Jerry Turning is terrified that his brothers are going to hurt his son.

“When I talk with them, I’m extremely emotional,” he said. “I lay it all out: Listen, I’m one of you. I will back you up tomorrow. But I’m scared to death, and I’m begging you to listen.”

The University of Delaware alumnus (Class of 1995) is not referring to any biological brothers, but, rather, to his police brethren. A longtime officer with the Tinton Falls Department in New Jersey, he holds the job and his fellow men and women in blue in the highest regard. But, as the father of a son with a common developmental and neurological condition, he’s also aware of a stark reality: “There’s a big gap between what law enforcement knows about autism and what it should know.”

A handful of programs are working to close this gap, including UD’s Delaware Network for Excellence in Autism and UD’s own police department, which will undergo professional development in this area this summer. But, until recently, no one was tackling the problem on a national scale. Enter Blue Bridge. Founded by Turning in 2021, the company offers autism training sessions across the country. So far, he’s reached thousands of officers and other first responders, equipping them with tools they need to better understand and serve a growing demographic — individuals with autism represent around 2.2% of the nation’s population, or approximately 5.4 million (and counting) people.

Eric Turning is the inspiration behind his father’s work to educate first responders on Autism Spectrum Disorder.

“It’s not an over-there issue,” Turning said. “This isn’t something law enforcement professionals will encounter at some point in their career — it’s here now. And these people with autism? They aren’t broken; they don’t need to be healed or fixed. They’re amazing individuals, but the world isn’t set up for them — and neither is policing.”

For many years, Turning was a respected member of his department’s K-9 division. In other words, he was the one dispatched when an autistic member of his community went missing. But it wasn’t until his own son was diagnosed in 2007, at the age of 2.5, that he began to see his role in a new light.

“When a doctor tells you your son is autistic, it has a way of grounding you really quickly and humbling you real fast,” he said. “I was knocked off balance. As I went to work learning what this meant for my family, it became clear: Everything I was learning as a dad was directly relevant to what I should have known as a cop.”

Specifically, Turning discovered that people with autism experience the world differently — sight, smell, taste, touch and sound — and the brain of an autistic individual may become overloaded with sensory information. This neurological bombardment can manifest as jittery or erratic movements, rocking, yelling or other behaviors that mimic (“and I mean directly mimic”) physical indicators of drug impairment, wrongdoing or ill intent. As a result, an innocent individual merely overwhelmed by, say, the loud music or bright lights of a Walmart can end up apprehended — or worse — by law enforcement.

“No officer wakes up one day and decides he’s going to assault a special needs kid,” Turning said. “When mistakes happen, it’s for a reason: A cop misunderstood or misinterpreted what he was looking at. And it’s not the officers’ fault. They’ve been failed by the system.”

As he learned more, Turning started writing: both a fictionalized book about the policeman dad of a boy with autism and a nonfiction blog chronicling his parenting journey — a form of “cheap therapy,” he said. The latter quickly gained popularity among families and caregivers in the special needs community. When Turning revealed his profession on that platform, he received “messages from parents around the world asking questions and expressing fears or sometimes a little bit of anger. I became the one touch point people could reach out to about these sensitive or scary topics, and I realized I could take this bigger.”

“Cops are given things to look for, certain body language clues, when they’re interrogating someone,” said Jerry Turning. “You’re told if you rely on these clues, you’ll be successful at your job. And 99% of the time, that’s accurate — I don’t want to besmirch the training. But for a large and growing segment of our world, the rules don’t apply.”

When Turning retired from the force as a captain four years ago, he launched Blue Bridge, and he’s been presenting communication and de-escalation strategies to officers, firefighters, EMTs, medical professionals and bus drivers ever since. (In the aforementioned Walmart example, he said, officers can turn down lights, lower their radio volume or simply create the safe space an individual may need to regulate their own nervous system.) Sometimes, Turning is meeting with three first responders in the basement of a firehouse; other times, he’s presenting to packed auditoriums. Prominent clients have included the Federal Air Marshal Service and the San Diego County Probation Department. Demand is so great, Turning recently provided “train the trainer” sessions, teaching nearly 30 new Blue Bridge employees how to advocate for the cause.

The Blue Hen attributes his success, partially, to his time at UD, where he earned far more than a psychology degree: “I always felt welcome on that campus,” he said. “I learned how to be an adult there.” But his ability to connect with police officers from across the nation is likely down to his open and honest delivery.

“I flat-out admit: Most of the stuff I teach I’ve learned from failing miserably,” Turning said. “I’ve lost my son five times, requiring help. I’ve been paralyzed each time, unable to function, and that’s taught me so much. The trauma of your nonverbal 7-year-old going missing in a waterpark somewhere? I can only compare it to combat.”

Turning’s son will turn 21 in June. And, as his kid has grown, so, too, have the officer’s fears. But Turning has hope he will eventually reach every department who needs this training and effectively put himself out of business — in the best way possible.

In the meantime, he feels buoyed by comments he regularly receives from Blue Bridge participants.

“People thank me for helping them understand their community — or even their own child — better,” Turning said. “Occasionally, someone with their own diagnosis will approach me to say: ‘I understand myself better now.’ That’s just magic to me.”