Editor's Note: I praise this author and her article, in honor of all officers of the law who adhere to the code of fairness, honesty and justice.
| THE MAN BEHIND THE BADGE by Darlene Palenik |
He is invisible until we need him. He comes out of nowhere, pacing us until the flashing lights appear that send fear coursing through us. He goes about his job, shift after shift, day after day, night after night. We call on him when we are in crisis. Needing the comforting presence of that uniform and badge to make us feel safe when our worlds are falling apart. Blaming him when things don't seem to move fast enough to make us feel secure. Never understanding that he is bound by constraints of law and is limited in the help he can give us when we want him to do so much more. This is the reality of the life of a patrol deputy. Trapped between his obligation to the law and his desire to serve. He rides on shifts that can be so busy that he can't take time to eat as he races from call to call. (And haven't most of us heard the rumors that cops are always hungry?) Occasionally, there may be calm moments on a shift before the next crisis occurs. But when an emergency call in progress comes over the radio, nothing matters except getting to that call in time to try to make a difference. Yet we, unintentionally, impede his progress by staying in his way, as precious seconds tick past, seconds that could mean life or death for the person calling for help. Our reality is that we don't understand. Most of us fear a deputy wearing a uniform and a gun. We fear the power of the badge. Not because of anything he's done, but because of the nature of his job. A thankless job that forces him to deal with the worst of society and look on all of us with suspicion. Yet he always has to remember that there are good people out there, innocent victims of crime who need his help. This conflict comes up many times on a shift. What starts out as a routine call can escalate into something more dangerous without warning. People who seem innocent may not be what they seem. A deputy lives on the edge, never knowing if he'll come home or if this shift will be his last. Sometimes we think of a deputy as cold and unfeeling. Many times that is the image he has to present. He has to steel himself against what he sees in order to do his job. He can never let us see his human side that lurks just below the image. So we forget that a deputy is a person who may have a family, friends, dreams, hopes and goals just like the rest of us. We tend to put him above us. On another level. Unapproachable. We may feel that he's always watching us, waiting for us to make a mistake so he can stop us and give us a warning or a ticket. Even the sight of him walking towards us fills us with dread. We ask ourselves what we've done to catch his attention. We would prefer that he walk past us, letting us go on with our lives. We never think to say something simply to acknowledge him. To let him know that we appreciate him being out there protecting us. We never realize how many times a day a deputy makes choices that can impact his life or our lives. Not stopping a car that's going above the speed limit because it would delay him from getting to a call from someone who is waiting anxiously for help. We never think of the risk a deputy takes every time he makes a traffic stop. He is afraid, just as we are, because he doesn't know who is in that car. He can't tell if the driver has a gun, or if he'll see drugs or weapons and will have to take the routine stop to a higher level. Or if the driver has an outstanding warrant and he'll have to arrest him. All we care about is the inconvenience, and how to talk our way out of a ticket, never realizing that he is stopping us to try to keep us safe, not for his own personal gain or prestige among his fellow deputies. He does what he does because he cares about keeping us safe, no matter the risk to himself. I grew up in New Jersey and as a child, I lived across the street from a patrol cop. I remember seeing the patrol car in the driveway, seeing my neighbor in uniform as he came home and left. I knew he had a reputation for being the toughest cop in the department of our city, and he worked in the worst area. He was very kind to us, but we never spent much time with him or his family because he seemed unapproachable. Even though I saw him often, he was a cop. Not someone I feared, but someone who was on another level. We lived in different worlds ― across a narrow street, yet miles apart. He was the cop who would come over unexpectedly with a big bag full of to-die-for Italian rolls, give them to us and never take a penny in return. And would never tell us where he got them so we could return the favor. He considered me a part of his family and got me onto a skybox onstage at my first rock concert, then made sure I met the band afterwards. He got me and his children front row seats at my first (and only) wrestling match. He enjoyed crashing celebrity parties and was friends with the most important people of that era. Yet, above all, he was a dedicated cop. Police work was his life. The one time I remember seeing him as a cop was when the race riots of that era threatened our neighborhood. He told us that our neighborhood was targeted to be burned. When asked if we should leave, he said no. That we would be safe. And we remained safe. Though he paid a high price for making that promise. Years passed. I moved away; he retired from the police force. I saw him from time to time and he always welcomed me into his home. He was no longer the man behind the badge. He was a neighbor I'd always respected, but could only now be his friend, until I returned to the neighborhood one day and was welcomed in by his son and his wife. The officer, and friend, had died. In all those years, I'd never thought to thank him for all the endless hours he'd put in to keep me safe. To keep the harsh realities of crime away from me. I never appreciated him until it was too late. I will always regret that I never simply said, "thank you." If you call a sheriff's department, a deputy is the first person you will see. The primary responder who comes out to assess what needs to be done. He will take control of the situation and either resolve it to the best of his ability or turn it over to someone else. He'll leave the scene, hoping never to return. Because if he has to return, he hasn't done his job properly. He never knows the ultimate outcome of what he's tried to do. He just keeps moving from one call to the next. He isn't a superman who can solve everything to your satisfaction. He can only hope that what he has done will somehow, in some small way, make a difference. On a rare occasion, he is given the opportunity to make a real difference. A deputy is a person with feelings just like us, and sometimes just knowing that someone has appreciated something he's done would make all the difference in a job that is often difficult. The only people who can understand the way he feels are his fellow deputies. They depend on each other, trust and support each other in ways few outsiders can understand. They face dangers we can't even imagine every time they go on the road, often wondering if what they do really matters. Any of us who has received help from a deputy knows how much we appreciate the assistance he gives us. It is only after he has left, after the crisis is over and we have a chance to think, that we wish we could have thanked him. Do we ever think of writing to the department to mention what he did for us? I did that once, and received a letter from the Police Chief, thanking me. I'd forgotten how a simple note of appreciation can mean the world to someone who is overworked, underpaid and always criticized but seldom given credit for a job well done. I'll try never to forget that again. A few words of encouragement can make anyone's day. It can mean even more to a deputy. Copyright 2004 by Darlene Palenik |
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