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| "Mentors can be as unexpected as they are wise." |
When I was still a young officer, full of way too much piss and vinegar, I got saddled with an “old school” veteran cop. Looking back, I appreciate the value in these pairings. But at the time I wanted a younger officer, someone who would be more run and gun, more action, more fun. Like me. The old guy was cramping my inexperienced, thrill-seeking style. One shift we attended a break and enter complaint together and I hate to say it, but these can be relatively routine. As I went through the house with the traumatized homeowner, notebook in hand and ticking off each by-the-book task, I wondered if we would get a chance to get to a "real" call, something with action, a chase, something bigger. As I was wrapping up to go my partner stopped in the front living room with the victim and spent the next ten agonizing minutes talking to her about the people in the various pictures hanging on her walls and grouped nicely on her fireplace and I wondered what was going on. They talked about her children, her grandchildren, her family. As I stood there tapping my feet to go, a new call came in; other police officers were following a stolen car as my partner continued to politely ask the victim more questions about the people in her photos. More units booked into this new complaint, clearly there was a bad guy to catch, maybe even a foot chase to be had. I silently lamented about the partner I had been saddled with and how much more fun I would be having joining other teammates in this new, exciting and unfolding scene. At first I subtly nudged my partner that we should go, thinking he must have missed the initial transmissions over the radio. Why else would he be stalling? He completely ignored me and continued his conversation with the home owner who was now smiling and caught up in her own stories of her different loved ones. As they continued to talk, I not-so-discreetly began packing up my gear. Then I headed towards the door. Maybe now is a convenient time to mention I don't do subtle particularly well. I quickly said goodbye and made my way out the front door thinking he would follow behind.
Nope.
Now I was at the car, still waiting and listening intently as the other call ratcheted higher. Units involved in the stolen car were drawing up their tactics over the radio on how best to safely stop the vehicle and bring the offender into custody. Then it happened. Units behind the stolen car had activated their lights . . . there was a chase . . . the vehicle did not stop . . . now the helicopter was in the action?! I was a million miles away from the action and my partner was still inside the house, missing it all. The radio squawked again. The helicopter spotter called the driver out of the vehicle, he ran for it and the ground units swooped. Minutes later, I heard, "one in custody."
Ugh. I missed being part of the best call of the shift. As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, my partner finally emerged from the house. He got into the car and began to drive away. It would be the first of many times I was firmly put in my place. With a snap in his tone, he delivered one of the greatest lessons of my career: "When we go to calls, we leave people in a better place then we found them. Got it? We take the time, we talk to people and allow them to reflect on the things in their life to be thankful for, like family or friends. We do what we can to remove them from the trauma of whatever experience brought us to them in the first place."
He might have also added dumbass.
He was right, a life of service is exactly that, leaving people in a better place then you found them.
