This week’s PoliceOne First Person essay is from PoliceOne Member Gavin Graham, an 18-month rookie with aspirations to one day become an FBI HRT team member. In PoliceOne “First Person” essays, our Members and Columnists candidly share their own unique view of the world. This is a platform from which individual officers can share their own personal insights on issues confronting cops today, as well as opinions, observations, and advice on living life behind the thin blue line. If you want to share your own perspective with other P1 Members, simply send us an email with your story.
By Gavin Graham
Police1 Member
It’s been more than 18 months since I first put on my uniform, pinned my badge to my chest, and set off into the world as a deputy under a sheriff whom I had nothing but respect for.
I had spent my whole life aiming to be in law enforcement, from the day my mother died to the day my grandparents kicked me onto the streets at 16 on a side of the country I had never seen. I had battled homelessness, injuries that could have ended me, and a lack of friends or companions to help me.
I was ready to make a difference in this world, even though I was nothing more than a Class 2 Deputy working at the local jail. My goal has been to do like the uncles I had around me as a kid, working on the beat, stopping crimes, and helping the public. I may be working the local detention center now, but my goal is still to become an FBI HRT team member.
Helping Others
I have always striven to help others, even when I was on the streets myself. If I could find a way to help I would get it done. I have helped law enforcement officers at accidents, stopped and helped people on the side of the road. I’ve even helped the local fire department with an apartment fire where I lived.
Even in my first few months in training, I tried to do what I could to help others.
I was on my way home one night around dusk. I was in full uniform, but we hadn’t yet qualified for weapons (or even OC!), so all had on my belt was a set of handcuffs I had bought myself. Of course, what happened next would lead to ridicule from a lot of the other guys, but at the time, I believed I was doing the right thing...
Driving along, I noticed a light blue Oldsmobile with a handicapped license plate on the right hand side of the road, between the on-ramp and the road.
At first I thought nothing of it because I didn’t see any movement or any lights on. As I passed, though, I happened to see the hazards on the front end were on.
I turned around and pulled up behind the car and turned the hazards on my personal car on and went to check on the car. I didn’t think about not having a weapon or possibly being attacked because I was in uniform. I was a deputy! I took an oath to help people!
The gentleman had run out of gas, and his roadside assistance company couldn’t find his location, so he was sitting on the side of the road because he couldn’t get help.
Neither of us had a gas can. I was new to the area, so I called the dispatch number for my agency and asked for some assistance. I guess it was a slow night because about 20 minutes later two marked cruisers showed up and talked to him. They then addressed me — the rookie Class 2 deputy who was an entirely different breed from these veteran Class 1 deputies — and told me they couldn’t help him because he wasn’t in distress. They told me I shouldn’t have even bothered them for something like this.
Then they left.
I decided that I wasn’t going to let the guy (who couldn’t even walk) sit on the side of the road. I called his roadside assistance number and after a total of four hours got him going again.
To me, I had lived up to that oath that I swore in front of the sheriff, to help those who couldn’t help themselves, and was proud of doing what I had done. Apparently to my coworkers I had just been a stupid rookie. They made sure I knew it.
Being Prepared
Looking back on it of course, I can admit that being a deputy in full uniform with no weapon, I should have just kept driving. Nowadays, I don’t walk out of my house in uniform unless I have my service weapon, and in civilian clothing I carry my weapon, two magazines, handcuffs, flashlight, and two sets of gloves. I carry a spare vest in my trunk with a work-in-progress first aid kit and a pretty good roadside emergency kit (including gas can).
I am proud of that fact because if the stuff ever hits the fan I know I can do my job as a sheepdog. I don’t care if my platoon calls me Tackleberry.
I’ve been made fun of because I’ve been seen helping Highway Patrol with accidents if they are by themselves. To me, if you wear the uniform — no matter the color — of a law enforcement officer, and you are in need while I am around, you won’t ever be without help.
To me that’s what the “brotherhood” of the thin blue line is all about. In the end I hope that I can do what I set out to do, make a difference worth being proud of, doing this uniform and the brothers that have passed before me the honor and justice it deserves.
