"You're a Cop?"

“You? A cop? How did that ever happen?”

When I told people what I was doing, that was their first thought. It reminded them of the 1960s TV series, “Car 54 Where Are You?” You have to play the cards when they are dealt. Coming out of the Marine Corps, my skills were good but limited. The job market had nothing to offer for a person with my skill set—a BAR gunner, and an explosives installation and removal specialist.

 I quickly learned to never be surprised by what surprises you. I had not planned on a career in law enforcement, but when you need a job you go after whatever is available. 

It was a radio ad—The Tucson Police Department is hiring at a NEW paygrade of $90 per week. That was good money in 1961. I jumped at it, little expecting I would remain a cop for fifty years.

It was typical in that era that most police recruits were former military, so the stress and discipline of rookie training was a piece of cake. Nevertheless, I was impressed with how intense the academic training would be—criminal law, case law, courtroom procedures, crime scene investigations, traffic investigations, juvenile versus adult protocols, firearms, pursuit driving, report writing, serving different cultures and living a life that was vastly different from that of your family (weekends, holidays, and odd hours.)

After the academy and field training, I began my first shift alone. My decision-making had to be fast and accurate. I will always remember two quips from my shift lieutenant--“It’s better to be tried by 12 than carried by 6,” and “Sometimes the bear gets you, and sometimes you get the bear.” And a sergeant would finish a briefing session with his favorite quip, “Be careful out there.”

That little tidbit I later heard on the TV series, Hill Street Blues.

My very first call has stayed in my mind all these years. It was a man reporting an abandoned car in front of his house. I drove up to it, ran the tag number on the radio, and was advised it had been stolen several days earlier. I contacted the registered owner who of course said he never left his keys in the car, but sure enough, the key was in the ignition. 

“Sure,” I said to myself, “you never left your keys, but you don’t need to BS me. You’re just trying to soothe your own conscience. I really don’t care.” I dusted for fingerprints on the mirror and wheel and sent him on his way. The joyriders, probably a couple of kids, just drove around, burned up his gas, then dumped it on a side street and went home.

That was my first official police action. Indelibly imprinted on my mind forever.

Since then, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge. Some of it a raging torrent, some peaceful little streams. It has been a life of challenges and boredom; bringing a baby into the world in the back seat of a car when a young mom gave birth in the middle of a movie at the Midway Drive-In theater; being there when someone passed from this life to another; delivering death messages, and doing those things society wants us to do but they don’t what to know what we do or how we do it. 

At times, we paid a dreadful price.

In half-a-century I was a Patrol Officer, Undercover Organized Crime and Narcotics Supervisor, Detective, Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Deputy Chief, and Chief of Police in three departments in Arizona and Texas. I never looked back with regret. It was a fabulous career.

 

Stay tuned for more insights into a long and interesting career, and join us at www.thomasjnichols.com or https://amazon.com/Thomas-J.-Nichols/e/B00BD861OM