Trending Topics

Life lessons from the “old guy” at the police department

In Police1 “First Person” essays, Police1 Members candidly share their own unique personal insights on issues confronting cops today, as well as opinions, observations, and advice on living life behind the thin blue line

Editor’s Note: This week’s PoliceOne First Person essay is from PoliceOne Member Bill Ross. 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 Bill Ross, Police1 Member

I vividly remember the day I received that call from the Detroit Police Recruiting Section. It propelled me down a path filled with excitement, disappointments, fear, and every emotion you can imagine over the next 20-plus years.

The police academy director welcomed us aboard with a stirring speech. It had each one of us ready to skip the academy altogether and immediately begin fighting crime with our bare hands. I was officially a “new guy.”

During those first years, my concerns lay only with how many felony arrests I could make each month, not what would happen to my family if I were killed or injured and could not work again. After all, it wouldn’t happen to me, right?

My Partners, First
After applying for and being hired by the City of Warren, I hit the ground running and continued my quest to be a top performer. I worked hard and partied even harder with my partners.

I looked around at the “old guys” who simply came to work, took their runs, and wrote a few tickets as being lazy. I wanted to infuse a breath of fresh air into the aging department and, due to retirement turnover I had plenty of other “rooks” to help me do it.

The new guys were taking the reins and the old guys could just move out of the way, we young guys surmised.

Through my years of service, I have been bitten, had bones broken, ankles sprained, knees blown out, and I’ve been in knock-down drag-out fights ―with both men and women. I’ve lost track of how many stitches I have received. I’ve pursued the bad guy at high speeds and chased more people on foot than I can count. I’ve wrecked scout cars (no, it was never my fault).

The whole time, I knew my partners had my back. After all, it is us against them, right? We would stand together forever against the tyranny of the criminal element and win the fight.

We thought, “What can I get done today?” We sat through roll call taking notes, preparing our minds, uniforms and scout cars for the next eight hours of hitting the streets.

After our tour of duty, I would sometimes “debrief” at the local cop bar, workout, run, or simply go home and sit in silence, watching television.

But what did I ever do to prepare myself for life after police work? Contributions to a retirement account, I used to think, was all I needed to think about.

I was wrong.

I had been a go-getter for years. Although not disrespectful, I looked a little sideways at the old guys of my early years. I didn’t knowing their names, nor did I care enough to introduce myself. Moreover, I wasn’t concerned with how my actions and attitudes at work carried over into my personal life, and I damaged many relationships because of it.

I think differently now. I walk the hallways of my department every day and see yet another face I don’t know and go out of my way to introduce myself. There is some level of respect on their end, I presume, but little care of who I am or what I do here.

I am now the “old guy.”

I still come to work every day and prepare. I no longer work the street, but I check emails and run through a checklist of things that need to get done each day. I continue to dig, dig, dig, but it’s with a computer researching grants.

My Partner, Now
I still make contributions to my retirement accounts, for sure. But the most important investment I make in my post-police life these days is to kiss my wife goodbye each and every day. I tell her I love her. I make sure I let her know when I have arrived safely at the station. Then, I tell her again, “I love you.” You simply cannot make enough deposits into the bank your spouse holds in their heart for you.

My days are no longer filled with arrests, foot chases and traffic tickets. My days are now filled with administrative duties and planning financially for a retirement that, suddenly, is not that far away. I’ve grown to realize something very important over the years as I grow closer to turning the page on this chapter of my life.

A while after I leave this job, nobody will even know I am gone, let alone care about my record of accomplishments. The name on my door will change with a swift swap of a name plate.

Somebody else will do my jobs.

My only partner will be my wife.

I’m 49 years old. I am the “old guy” now.

I’ve enjoyed the ride, but I understand we are all just passing through. The memory of us and our heroics will fade like the department composites―ghostly black and white photos of heroes that came before us hanging in the dark, back hallway on a wall nobody ever looks at. Put away.

I know now it is not just about arrests, getting guns and drugs off the street, or how many tickets I can write. The impact this job can have on our lives outside the department needs to be known and addressed early by every man and woman that wears the badge.

You need to work as hard at home as you do at work.

I implore the new guy and the old guy to understand and remember this: Protect and serve to the best of your ability. Always give 100 percent at work while keeping safe your community, your partner and yourself.

No matter how old you are as you read this the time is coming — faster than you can believe — for you to walk out the door on your last day. If you have done it right, as your career comes to an end and you pull slowly up your driveway to begin the rest of your life, the person smiling, and waiting for you in the doorway, will be the one that was there with you for the whole, wild ride.

Cherish that person. Nurture that relationship early, often, and throughout your career, so that when you walk out of the barn for the last time, your “partner” will still be there.

Take it from the old guy.

The contents of First Person essays solely reflect the views of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Police1 or its staff. First Person essays shall not be used for advertising or product endorsement purposes. Reference to any specific commercial products, process, or service by name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, does not constitute or imply any endorsement or recommendation. To submit a First Person essay, follow the instructions on the Police1 Article Guidelines for Authors page.

RECOMMENDED FOR YOU