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What we do TO people is necessary

I have been looking to get back into full-time policing and I have been asking myself, "Why?" I have been retired since 1999 from the police department, after 23 ½ years, and I left my part-time gig with the U.S. Marshal's Service a couple months ago. I mentioned this at breakfast last week with my two retired FBI friends. I didn't mention that I was feeling some internal stress about whether I could cut it again. Both of them are long-time SWAT, fugitive task force commanders, and Viet Nam vets. Somehow, without mentioning my concerns, we got on the topic of the stages cops go through in their careers and how the locker room rhetoric changes with years and experience levels.

Al remarked that the young cops are filled with bravado and a sense of invulnerability. Taking down the next bad guy, winning a physical confrontation, going to that next man with a gun call, and getting into a major pursuit are all these young officers want to do. As he talked I remembered when I was like that. In fact, when my friends think I am being too critical of police officers and some of the bad choices they make, they are quick to remind me of just how wild, crazy, and fearless I was in my younger years; and they are right. The key word here is fearless. You did not, and you will not, see me use the word brave. In my early years I often I created more danger by my actions, not less.

One example: As a young officer I watched as senior officers took more time to approach people and calls, evaluating and planning, while I responded by jumping into the middle of the fray. I went through a lot of good, experienced partners because I was quick to criticize their hesitancy. I saw it as a reluctance to act. When they criticized me for not waiting for them I thought of them as "retired on the job" because they did not want to run down that dark alley to chase everyone who fled from them. I would complain about their reluctance to get into vehicle pursuits and call them "old lady drivers." I found a million and one reasons to complain about their work and their work ethic. I was one of the "New Centurions" - the professional police officer, and things were going to be different when all these old guys retired.

Then they retired, and things were different, because now I was the old guy. Now I was taking time to evaluate and plan a little before I responded. I began to question the justification for no-knock warrants that seldom recovered anything of significance. And all my hard charging, risk taking, and putting other officers at risk hadn't changed a thing in terms of the crime rate. Strangely enough, there were still drive-by shootings, husbands still beating their wives, rapists still victimizing young women, drunk drivers still killing people on a daily basis, and there were still senseless acts of cruelty being carried out every day. I began to question why I was doing this job.

When I started in law enforcement I was told two things; 1) That at about seven years I would become a seasoned officer and 2) That somewhere between 7 and 11 years on the job, I would question my choice of careers and most likely be divorced. I was also told that at that point I would probably drop the idea of making any real difference and start viewing police work as a job; eight for eight, or eight for whatever I could get away with. I believed those trainers and when I started wondering about my choice of careers, I examined mine within those parameters and found that there was no resolution. I think that's because I was asking the wrong questions.

For a long time I tried to do the job better each day and then I started to question myself. I was witness to crime scenes that would make me cry when I got home at night. I still remember the broken bodies of babies killed by those who were supposed to protect them; the bullet holes and blood splattered walls over the bodies of innocents; and the voice of a crying mother on the phone who was half a world away, when I told her that her daughter was dead by her own hand. I couldn't stop any of those acts. At best, I was a witness to the depths of despair and depravity of which mankind is capable, and I had to make a decision to either go on with this job or quit. I stayed, but before I made that decision I had to ask myself, "Why?"

As I saw it I had at least three choices:

I could choose to stay on the street and be as vicious and hard and cruel as the bad guys; throw ethics out the window and make cases any way I could.
I could choose to retire on the job and find a nice cozy place where I shuffled papers, away from the street and any contact with victims or suspects. Or
I could make a decision to stay on the job and rededicate myself to being ethical but relentless in the pursuit of the bad guys.
I gave up the idea of trying to change the world by locking up every bad guy. That's not going to happen.

I came to realize that I could work hard with the idea that if I do this job well there will be one less victim and one less nightmare for the survivors. That made it worth staying. In this job we do to some people and we do for others. What we do to people is necessary. What we do for people is what makes it worthwhile. I am looking forward to doing for people again.

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