“I recognized that all the good things happening to me were made possible by others, and I had to find some way to say thanks to the officers it all began with—the ones who trained me in the academy.”
Just about six years ago, I was a rookie cop going through field training on the streets of Atlanta as my last hurdle before graduating from the Herbert T. Jenkins Police Academy—arguably considered the state of Georgia’s elite training ground for prospective police officers. The city of Atlanta is broken up into six zones, and you go through two weeks of riding with a field training officer in three of them before graduating and receiving your permanent zone assignment, where you’ll wear the badge, tote the gun, and perform the job solo. Of course, that’s when the real education begins, and you either learn to swim or you sink beneath the waves.
Looking back, if there was one sentiment I had at the time, it was gratitude. Becoming a police officer was a lifelong goal of mine, and I had moved 900 miles away from my small New Jersey town to answer that calling. I was grateful to my wife for throwing caution to the wind and taking a leap of faith in following me across the country. I also felt indebted to my father—a retired cop himself—for planting the blue seed in my head that was now in full bloom as I neared graduation.
Aside from the gratitude I felt, there was an intense sense of pride burning inside of me. I was already married with one daughter and I had another on the way, but having my dad pin that silver badge on my chest at the graduation ceremony was the defining moment of my life up to that point. My thoughts were that anyone can find a good woman to marry them. Anyone can father a child. Not everyone can be a cop. Despite the harsh realities, disappointments, and drawbacks of the job, I still believe that to this day.
During that momentous time in my life, I recognized that all the good things happening to me were made possible by others, and I had to find some way to say thanks to the officers it all began with—the ones who trained me in the academy. Firearms training was a breeze and I was a natural at it, but the emergency driving course was a different story.
I had never been expected to drive a vehicle in the way I was expected to at the Atlanta Police Academy before, much less a Ford Crown Victoria—slaloming cones at high speeds in reverse, stopping on a dime to skid out to safety, and parallel parking without rear or side view mirrors all under the pressure of a time limit. There was one particular officer who coached me through it, and on my last attempt to complete the course before being recycled through to the next academy class for a second try, I passed. I realized that I owed her an enormous debt of thanks.
Then there were my academy mates. We all helped each other in different ways. Some provided the brains to help others when studying for exams, some pushed them through the strenuous physical training regiment, and some simply helped pass the time as we struggled through the monotony of six months of police academy life.
Together, we all choked on OC spray (or what I affectionately refer to as devil’s piss). We all bled together as we punched, kicked, and grappled during defensive tactics training. We all got screamed at, talked down to, and pressured by instructors who were preparing us for the even worse treatment we’d soon receive on the mean streets. I knew I owed a few of these men and women something to remember it all by.
When I got onto the street for the FTO program, I had three different training officers in different stages of their careers who taught me the basics of street survival, proper tactics, and how to manage the job with my personal life. There’s nothing like riding with another man from one 911 call to the next in search of danger, truth, and righting wrongs for the first time. I needed all three of them to feel appreciated for putting up with my constant questions, rookie mistakes, and quirky behaviors. I found challenge coins.
The law enforcement challenge coin isn’t much different than those popular in the armed forces. Traditionally, departments issue challenge coins to their officers to boost morale, but their first known origins date all the way back to the Roman Empire, where soldiers would be awarded them upon proving their mettle in battle. It is a tradition that has survived centuries.
The story behind the modern challenge coin that we know of today originated during WWI, when the lieutenant of a US pilot squadron designed solid bronze medallions donning his squadron’s insignia. As the legend goes, one recipient pilot found himself behind enemy lines somewhere in Germany after being shot down and captured. The airman would eventually escape captivity and make it all the way to the French border—but when he finally encountered French forces, he had already been stripped of anything that could identify him as an ally or prove his allegiance.
Amid the fog of war, the French feared that this strange man in stolen civilian clothing speaking an unfamiliar American dialect was an enemy spy, and the pilot was set for execution—but fate intervened. When the pilot’s German captors stripped him of all his possessions, they somehow overlooked the challenge coin that he had been given by his commander. Just before sending the accused spy to a tragic end, one French would-be executioner recognized the squadron’s insignia, and the pilot’s life was spared. Instead of receiving a bullet, the pilot was given a bottle of wine! I love the concept of carrying a coin around in your pocket that has no monetary value but is somehow worth more than anything money can buy.
When I decided to purchase a sleeve of twenty APD challenge coins, I wanted them to symbolize the appreciation, admiration, and brotherhood I felt toward those instructors, academy classmates, and field training officers to whom I would give them.
If for nothing else, I wanted to be able to give “Smokin’ Joe” something to say thanks for helping me overcome the nightmares I was having where my gun would jam when I needed it, or for being there alongside me when I saw my first dead body—a gruesome motorcycle accident—on our very first call together.
I wanted to be able to thank “Keo” for instilling in me to always put on my duty belt and bullet-proof vest before I got in my car and made my commute into work because “your mindset has to be that you’re always ready for anything that comes at you whenever you have this uniform on—even if your shift hasn’t started yet.”
I even wanted to thank “Grenada,” an older officer who taught me that this job is a marathon, not a sprint, and that any slow day at the office was a good one.
During my time with Atlanta PD, I worked on several different units and teams. The men from all over the country that I rode with, drew weapons with, fought alongside, and even fought with at times taught me so much about life and about myself. When you’re a cop, you spend more time with people like these than you do with your own family—and you spend that time making sure your brother or sister gets to go home over anything else.
Anytime one of us would move on to another unit or leave the department, I’d give them an Atlanta Police Department challenge coin with Saint Michael—the patron saint of law enforcement—on the back to remember the banter, the laughter, the trust, the fights, the arrests, and the close calls.
Ordering those challenge coins was one of the best decisions I ever made on this job.
