Editor’s note: This essay is part of “Stories from the Street,” a Police1 series featuring first-person reflections from officers across the country. These essays are about the lived experiences and moments that changed how officers think, lead and serve. If you have a story to share, we’d love to hear from you. Submit your story here.
By Matthew Sayler
On the surface, learning to make good decisions in patrol seems like something officers pick up over time. But the truth is, most of us learn it the hard way — by leaning on a sergeant, making mistakes and figuring it out under pressure. Early in my career, I had a supervisor whose approach to teaching stuck with me for years, and it changed the way I trained my own officers. What follows are a few moments that taught me why developing supervisors really starts on day one.
The value of the first-line supervisor
The most important person in any department is the first-line supervisor. They control the flow of information between the administration and the officers in the field and the other way around. But too often we don’t teach people how to do this job until they’re actually doing it — and then we throw them into the role with barely any guidance.
I’ve heard the stories from the old-timers: “Here’s your keys, here’s your gun, don’t get me sued.” That was the whole training plan. Luckily, that’s changed. But somehow we still treat first-line supervisors almost the same way. “Congrats on the stripes, don’t get anyone killed and don’t get us sued.”
Why decision-making starts earlier than we pretend
Patrol is the face of any department. Very few cases go to detectives, and even fewer ever get near the admin level. The uniformed officer is the one the public sees. They’re the ones who end up on YouTube making the department look good or bad. We’ve all watched videos and thought, “Man, that was not the best choice.” And the truth is, we’ve all been there ourselves.
How a sergeant reacts when an officer comes to them with a question affects how that officer sees the whole department. And how a sergeant communicates admin directives determines how those directives actually land. Supervisors make the final call on most things that happen in patrol. We act like decision-making just magically turns on when you get promoted, but that’s not how it works. You have to practice making decisions long before you ever have authority.
The lesson that got drilled into me early
When I was a young officer, I had a sergeant who was like a monk from a Kung-Fu movie. Quiet guy, but when he spoke, everyone shut up and listened. I was fresh out of FTO and calling him constantly because I didn’t want to screw up. After a few too many calls one night, he pulled me aside and told me:
“Stop calling me and asking me what to do. Call me and tell me what you plan to do — or what you’d do if I wasn’t here. Then I’ll either tell you that’s good or tell you what I’d do. One day — probably soon — you’re going to be the one making the decision when it really matters. Or you’re going to be the one getting the call from a new guy. Start practicing now.”
And he was right. I was at a small department — fewer than 20 sworn — in a city with a high level of violent crime. We were never fully staffed. By the end of my second year, I was basically running two- and three-officer shifts. The phone rang nonstop because every call turned into a decision someone had to make, and more often than not it was me.
Later I moved to a bigger agency that handled the whole county. You’d think that would feel different, but during COVID we were down officers constantly, and guess what? I was running shifts again. By my sixth year there, I was making more decisions than ever.
Then I promoted to sergeant, and the cycle repeated itself. I had an eight-person night crew, but I had more experience than the bottom five combined. I couldn’t walk across the room without the phone ringing about something.
Passing the lesson down the line
One of my newer officers at the time called me a lot and always apologized. He’d say, “Sorry, Sarge, I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.” And one day it hit me — he needed the same thing my old sergeant had done for me.
So I pulled him aside and said, “Stop calling me to ask what to do. Call me and tell me what you plan to do.”
I explained the same thing my sergeant had explained to me: one day it’ll be him making the big decisions, and he needs to work through things now while someone is still there to backstop him.
Once that shift happened, the whole crew changed. Instead of “What do I do?” it became, “Here’s what I’m thinking.” They felt confident. They felt trusted. And their decisions got better, faster.
Breaking down decisions the way my sergeant did
My old sergeant had another habit: he would question everything I did. He’d show up on calls, read my reports, and ask, “Why did you choose that?” To the point where one day I finally asked him if he didn’t trust me.
“I’m on your side,” he said. “We wear the same uniform. I’m already biased toward what you think. If you can’t convince me, you’ll never convince a jury.”
That stuck hard. Now when I talk with officers, I sit down with them and walk through the decision step by step. Not to hammer them — to help them think. To help them see where their reasoning was strong or shaky. Most of the time, I let them make the final call. And there have been plenty of times where I honestly thought their plan was bad — until I heard the whole thought process. Then I’d realize their decision was actually the right one for that situation.
Supervisors aren’t always going to get it right. Sometimes you make a decision with no time, no information, and no help. But the number of bad decisions goes down when you’ve been practicing the skill from the beginning instead of starting the day you’re promoted.
Supervisors don’t need to be perfect
Most officers respect supervisors who admit when they’re wrong. What they don’t respect is someone who refuses to budge just to prove they’re “in charge.”
I went to an in-service course for supervisors shortly after promoting. I had the same attitude a lot of us have — “Sit here, get my certificate, get back to work.” But one thing stuck with me: “Manage people, not problems.”
“If you manage people,” the instructor said, “they’ll take care of the mission. If you manage the problem, you won’t take care of your people — and the mission will fall apart.”
Morale comes from feeling valued and trusted, not free pizza. When officers get to make decisions that reflect well on them and the department, they take ownership. When supervisors guide instead of control, officers grow into better leaders without even realizing it.
Supervisors need to notice when people are struggling
We teach officers to look for suspicious behavior on the street, but we miss warning signs in our own squad rooms all the time.
I once worked with a giant of a man — huge guy, strong as an ox, but “jolly” is the only word for him. Always upbeat, always joking. One day he walked into briefing irritated, short, and slamming the phone down. Totally out of character.
I asked him what was going on. He said he’d spent the weekend at drill, got home exhausted, tried to sleep before his shift, and ended up in an argument with his wife and daughter who wanted time with him.
We were at minimum staffing, so I couldn’t send him home that night. But I told him, “Tomorrow we’ll have the numbers. Take a day. Spend time with your family. Pick your daughter up from school. Reset.”
He brushed it off at first. But an hour later he called and asked if he could still take the day. He did, and by Friday he was back to himself.
Leaving something behind that matters
I’ve watched a lot of people leave this profession — retirements, resignations, firings. And every time, the department keeps going. They hire someone new. They promote someone else. The phone rings for the next guy.
If you want to leave an actual legacy, it won’t come from rank or how many years you served. It comes from teaching people how to make decisions before they ever wear stripes. It comes from helping them understand how to think, not just what to do.
And if you do it right, someday a young officer will talk about you the way I talk about that old sergeant — the quiet mentor in the Kung-Fu movie who didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck with you your whole career.
About the author
Matthew Sayler is currently serving as a patrol Lieutenant with 15 total years of experience on the road. He has spent time on the Montana Post Council, as a board member of the Montana Police Protective Association, President of his local bargaining unit, and has won awards for his work with Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Victims. He holds an associate degree in criminal justice.
