Someday I hope you understand. I spent 8 years of my life doing a job that I loved. A job that’s different from anything else. A job that’s done by people different than anyone else. There are good men, and women, who do that job, because they want to help…to make a difference. And, yes, there are bad men, who abuse their position and their authority, for their own gain. The good cops would be the first to condemn the bad, if they knew the accusations were true — but sometimes they are hard to believe.
I spent 20 minutes that changed my life. 20 minutes looking down the barrel of a gun. 20 minutes wondering if my daughter would ever know her father. 20 minutes wondering if my mother would bury another child, a year to the day after she buried her first. 20 minutes watching my partner stand in the open, unarmed, attempting to negotiate with a strung out junkie for my release. 20 minutes watching friends, and others I had never met, putting their own lives on the line in an effort to save mine. When it was all over, I received phone calls and letters from officers all over the state offering support, to someone they never even met, because they knew tomorrow it could be them. As for the citizens of the town I had sworn to protect they came to the police station to inquire if anyone was taking up donations to pay for the suspect’s defense.
I spent another 20 minutes chasing another suspect. A suspect armed with a knife. A 14-year old suspect. Another officer’s grandson. My friend’s grandson. With a knife. A knife he was more than willing to stick into my side. If I had shot him, the media would be outraged &mfash; "He’s only a child!" If I didn’t, I might be a name on a wall somewhere. If I shot him, I’d have to tell my friend his grandson had died…because I had no choice. That I had no choice would bring him little comfort. A young boy would never grow into a man. Through the grace of God, we were lucky that day. Officers from another department, whose budget allowed them to have decent equipment, arrived and were able to subdue the boy without killing him. He was subdued with equipment we were denied, so the city would have money to move power lines from one side of the street to the other, to make it "pretty."
Another 20 minutes, another suspect. This time, another officer who had broken the covenant. An officer gone bad. He’d robbed banks to support a drug habit he got while working narcotics. It’s a danger no one talks about. To be credible, to do your job, sometimes you have to use, or you may be killed. You get addicted. You’re as much a victim as the officer lying in the streets…but no one says that. He got addicted, and instead of seeking help, he robbed banks. He broke the law he swore to uphold. He was hunted down by those not unlike the officers he worked with everyday. He sits in prison wondering how he ended up a criminal. Maybe it’s his own fault. Maybe it’s not. But he broke the covenant. He’s no longer worthy to wear the badge, and now he sits in jail, scorned by those he once called "Brother." The officer was arrested. 20 minutes.
Another 20 minutes. The call came out...a simple traffic stop. Then the sound of shots. "I’m hit... officer down. I’m down. Use caution... possible automatic weapon." As he lay bleeding on the road, he warned other officers so they would not meet his fate... before he requested an ambulance and reported his location. 20 minutes looking for a suspect we knew was armed, and wouldn’t hesitate to open fire. 20 minutes wondering if I’d lose another friend today. 20 minutes wondering if that’s the car. 20 minutes wondering if today is the day. 20 minutes. The officer lived. 20 minutes.
Another 20 minutes. 20 minutes in the cold and the snow. 20 minutes filling out an accident report. 20 minutes documenting the carelessness of a driver going too fast in the rain. 20 minutes that would end with another accident. Another driver going too fast. When she hit the guardrail, did she know she was going to change the life of my friend forever? Did she know he would spend a year learning to walk again? A year where he wouldn’t be able to lift his children due to the pain? Did she know that when he finally did return to duty, he would only last a few more years before the pain became unbearable? Did she know that by driving without insurance, the burden on his family was made even worse? Did she care? The officer was permanently disabled. 20 minutes.
Another 20 minutes. 20 minutes in the cold and the rain. 20 minutes waiting on the procession. 20 minutes waiting to offer a final salute to a fallen officer. The interstate was lined with red and blue lights while we said goodbye. A lot of us didn’t know him. We all knew he would come if we called. We all knew we would come if he had. We would miss him. His post would be filled with another young face... another young officer who wanted to help…but no one would take his place. His wife was now a widow. She would miss him more than we would. At home he couldn’t be replaced. The officer died. 20 minutes.
Watching the news everyday... you hear about another officer’s 20 minutes. A police shooting. Someone injured in custody. Another internal affairs complaint. You ask yourself "What if it was me?" You pray that someone, somewhere, understands. You pray that someone understands how 20 minutes can change your life forever. You pray that that officer will be treated with compassion and fairness. You pray that someone understands. For you also have had your share of "20 minutes." Tomorrow another officer will have his.
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