I had now been with the department for nearly 19 years. I had had a great time. I didn’t have to go to work- I got to go to work. The folks I had worked with were, for the most part, top end. I had done the road patrol, public information, crime prevention and now marine operations. I had met a lot of interesting folks along the road. I additionally had been with the Honor Guard for a few years, managed to go to the Police Olympics for 10 years as an active officer (and twice as a retiree). I was planning on staying with the marine unit until the twenty-year mark, which would allow me a paycheck while sitting at the beach or whatever. And then, it happened. The city was looking to get younger from a payroll standpoint, so they circulated a letter offering those with 17 or more years an early retirement. They would pay the remaining three years, give a lunchroom party for those who left, and then hire new blood without old school attitudes which, to some degree, had become liability. Normally, the long-term employee would hit the 20-year mark and go for the “Drop” plan, which would allow them to stay on, but with an absolute dismissal at 25 years. As for me, I was thinking the early out was a good thing. I was actually tiring of the routine. I didn’t envision me doing the “Drop” thing. If I were to return to road patrol, it would be a re-learning experience that I didn’t think was too alluring. So, I submitted the letter for the plan. In fact, I was probably one of those eligible to gain the most benefit from the plan.
After the department was made aware of those who would be leaving, I was pulled into the Chief’s office. He told me that he had researched a plan which had been OK’d by city hall, which would allow him to rehire me as a civilian. There was a specific gig he had in mind and wanted me to consider. There was also a captain who had another position he felt I would do well at. I was humbled, to be sure. But my wife and I had been thinking about moving from the immediate area. The latter plan won out.
It was now February, the anniversary date that all working personnel strive for. I was leaving. It was just another day for most. I drove my car into the parking lot and made my way to the building which served as our base- a working version of home. Instead of briefings and heading to a vehicle and driving to the boat ramp, I was busy doing paperwork to finalize my career.
For the most part, the folks that had hired me had either moved up or moved on. My contemporaries had, in some cases, left the police department for other services. There were a handful of us left. Of the three I went to the academy with, I was the only one remaining. I was back in the department, meandering through the halls, saying my goodbyes, staring at the walls for the last time. I was given a retirement gathering (cake and coffee) in the break room. Most of the people I worked with were in court on this particular day, so other office personnel and officers attended the festivity. At the conclusion, I thanked everyone and made my way slowly towards the door. Having surrendered my badge, gun and equipment, I was able to get my retirement identification card and badge. I had been awarded a plaque encompassing my years of service, for which I was grateful. I was told that my name would be added to the Wall of Honor, which was later confirmed by my son, Bryan, who took a picture of it many years later.
On the way to the exit doors, I made my way to one of the police radios and announced “ID 152.” “ID 152?” responded the dispatcher. “The last 10-7.” This was the code meaning out of service. Her response was something to the effect of “10-4, thank you for your service and good luck.” As I cleared the building and was headed to my car to head home, the chief caught me. “I’m sorry. I was in a meeting (at city hall) and couldn’t make it to your party.” He continued by stating that the opportunity was still open for my return and added “…you are a class act.”
It was the day after I had retired. During the day shift, there was a high speed pursuit that began in Boca Raton. This was a multi-unit endeavor. It began on city streets, worked its way onto I-95 and eventually into a dead end street in the county. The suspect was trapped and now facing three police units. The officers were in a defensive posture which trapped the male suspect, who was armed. The officers advised the suspect to drop his weapon. He refused and remained in an aggressive offensive position. During the next few moments, shots were fired. One officer didn’t fire throughout the incident. A second officer fired and struck the vehicle. A third officer, who was a S.W.A.T. team member, shot the suspect in textbook fashion- twice to the center mass, once to the head. The suspect was dead. Shortly after, the officer who had had his legs run over was brought to the scene. He was able to identify the suspect as the one who had driven over him in a parking lot at a hotel. I saw a picture of the suspect on the news that night, and immediately recognized him as the guy who tried to draw me in to a confrontation at the convenience store. In a boxed quote from the suspect’s Mother, she stated that her son “had reasons for being skeptical of police”.
While the questions of “what if?” arises regarding what would have happened had I continued as a cop, I must be grateful and thankful that I reached the end in one piece. I was given many opportunities to “protect and serve”, which is why I took the job in the first place. There is a fraternal bond that exists with those who like the military, attempt to do the right thing at the right time. I’m honored to have had the opportunity.