By Charles W. Stokes
People often approach me and tell me how impressed they are with my tactical awareness and general command presence as a law enforcement officer. [1] Despite what most believe, I was not “born ready” to be a cop on the cutting edge of excellence and skill. Like almost everyone else, I began my journey to competence at the police academy.
The academy was a place obsessed with rigidity. Everything had a correct way to be worn, carried, said and done, and any deviation — intentional or otherwise — was treated as something to be corrected.
Because I struggled in the classroom, I looked for another place to redeem myself. I decided the shooting range would be where I proved my worth. After all, I had grown up shooting guns and was determined to earn the class marksmanship award.
With diligent effort, I steadily improved throughout range week.
The day of the final qualification round was cold and somewhat windy. Even so, I was shooting better than I ever had before. With each successive round of fire, I was clearing the holster faster and faster. Even better, it felt like I couldn’t miss the center ring of the target.
At the fifteen-yard line, as I rapidly jerked my pistol from its holster, it became caught on my patrol jacket. Instead of slowing down, I tried to pull through the resistance.
My hand shot forward empty, and the gun clattered onto the ground in front of me.
Nobody on the firing line missed what happened.
As if throwing my gun on the ground wasn’t bad enough, it landed directly on its rear sight. The shift was imperceptible until we moved to the twenty-five-yard line, where I discovered most of my shots were landing about a foot and a half to the left of center.
Fortunately, Deputy Simms, who was qualifying next to me, accidentally slung a few rounds onto my target, and I still managed to pass the qualification.
Encouraged by my narrow success on the range, I became convinced that one of the most “tactical” things police officers do — room clearing — would be where I truly distinguished myself from the rest of the class.
Room clearing, at least in my estimation, was not especially complicated, and I quickly developed a few ideas to simplify it further.
When we encountered a bedroom with a closet tucked into the back corner, I had what I thought was a particularly clever solution.
“Just put a couple of holes through the door before you open it,” I suggested to my partner, confidently waving my red gun at the closet.
An instructor, clearly interested in our conversation, happened to be walking by at that moment.
“I hope you aren’t considering firing warning shots,” he admonished, reminding me that warning shots are illegal in our state.
I responded that warning shots were exactly what I meant and that, of course, I would never actually attempt them.
Even so, I extended my lead in class demerits.
Toward the end of the academy, cadets participated in use-of-force scenarios using specialized handguns loaded with Simunition rounds.
One such scenario was fairly straightforward: the officer begins in the back of a convenience store when a masked robber enters and holds up the clerk at knifepoint. The officer’s job is to shoot the robber and end the threat.
Of course, the instructors had set up the cadet’s handgun to malfunction after the first shot.
Despite that twist, even I managed to get through the scenario without too much difficulty. Cadets who had finished were allowed to sit off to the side and observe, so I had a clear view of the next attempt.
The cadet entered the store, assessed the situation and eventually drew down.
He fired a perfect center-mass shot.
Directly into the store clerk.
When he attempted to fire again, the gun jammed.
He began frantically trying to clear the malfunction, inadvertently dropping the magazine in the process. He grabbed a spare magazine and inserted it backward. By the time he corrected that mistake, he had forgotten entirely about clearing the jam.
He looked up in desperation at the scene unfolding in front of him.
“Please stop stabbing him,” he pleaded with the robber.
A few nights before leaving for the academy, I sat down with my uncle and watched the classic movie “Police Academy.” After attending the real thing, I am convinced that some version of the events in that movie has happened in an academy somewhere.
All in all, the police academy was a fine experience. The demerits, the dropped guns and the ill-advised closet-shooting suggestions all served a good purpose in teaching me not to take myself too seriously. Because if a guy can’t chuckle at the memory of dropping his duty pistol in front of the entire firing line, the job will eventually find far less funny ways to humble him.
Footnote
1. Note: The first sentence is a lie. Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
About the author
Charles Stokes is a law enforcement officer with three years of service, currently assigned to the patrol division of a rural sheriff’s office. After beginning his career in a small rural agency, he continues to focus on patrol duties, traffic safety and personal development.
