“My father was a police officer before me, and I always wanted to follow in his footsteps. Pop was pleasant, kind, and reasonable but could stand his ground like a damned demon when he had to. Of course, he had had his fears like any man, but I didn’t know it at the time…”
Seeing the consistency in the man’s cop persona balanced with the way he behaved around his family and friends made me realize that not all lawmen have to be the aviator-wearing robots with high and tight haircuts that popular culture loves to portray us as.
The truth is that any cop worth their salt relishes being a protector. We’re proud to wear the badge that strikes fear into humanity’s worst, who in turn strike fear into the greater society when we’re not around. While I’m no sadist who actually wants to go out and hurt anyone, I reject the “hug a thug” and “kinder gentler police force” mentality that millennial officers have been indoctrinated with in our era of policing. If there comes a day when criminals don’t fear the police, society is in big trouble. In the meantime, we’ve got to overcome our own.
When people aren’t calling us cowards with guns and criticizing us when we get shaken, they’re thinking something might be wrong with us for signing up for this gig in the first place. As a guy who has known all kinds of cops beyond a friendly smile and a wave throughout my 31 years, I don’t necessarily disagree with the idea of us all being a bit odd. We are cops, after all.
Either way, the questions are always being asked. What kind of person becomes a police officer? Who volunteers to go to battle against the menaces and truly parasitic members of our society? How do we deal with the fear involved? Good luck getting an honest answer from a cop on that last one.
Like with anything else, the ideal cop finds the right balance—but even the best can make that one huge mistake. This career is a walk on a tight rope.
When fight or flight kicks in, some will cower while others will rain down the fury of hell. You could say that some were born for this and others are just collecting a paycheck. You can see it around guys who don’t think about the dangerous realities of the job enough. Bad tactics and a lackadaisical mentality pervade. It’s an easy way to get yourself or someone else hurt.
Other guys think about the dangers way too much, and it can lead to overcompensation and cowardice. These are the ones most often getting sued, fired, or imprisoned; in some departments they make rank. Like with anything else, the ideal cop finds the right balance—but even the best can make that one huge mistake. This career is a walk on a tight rope.
Just the other day I was approached by an old married couple as I stood outside my car on a detail. After striking up a conversation with me about the unusually cold Georgia weather and the latest instance of their car being broken into, they went into those “How do you do it?” questions.
I used to put way too much faith in my ballistic vest, entirely too much stock in my own physical might, and far more confidence in my own intelligence than I ever had any right to.
My younger and dumber self might have wanted to respond to the couple like Achilles does the small child sent to wake him up for battle in the opening scene of the movie Troy. After witnessing the seven-foot Thessalonian that Achilles is matched against for a duel, the child tells Achilles, “He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t want to fight him.” Achilles just looks down off his horse and replies, “That’s why no one will remember your name” before riding off to slay the giant with a single blow from his sword.
It was a preposterous thing for me to do, but I really used to pretend that I was bulletproof back then. That’s how I dealt with the fear of chasing armed suspects, fighting to put handcuffs on bigger and stronger men, or being outnumbered while pulling over cars in bad areas late at night alone. I used to put way too much faith in my ballistic vest, entirely too much stock in my own physical might, and far more confidence in my own intelligence than I ever had any right to.
This risk-taking behavior is known as “tombstone courage” in my profession, and I’m lucky that I didn’t get myself killed on a few occasions, to be honest. “He thought he was Achilles” would have been a fitting epitaph should I have drowned in the deep water I was swimming in without a proper life vest. Thankfully, my style has changed a bit since. Maybe it’s no better now than it was then—I’ll let you be the judge.
We’re not helpless, we’re police officers—and a man built like Mr. Olympia holding a gun can still crap his pants.
I used to love horror movies as a kid, but they would scare the hell out of me and cause me to lie in bed at night letting my imagination run roughshod. I’d imagine someone was breaking in through the basement window, I’d envision something watching me from the shadows, and I’d have a sense that there was some evil force closing in. We’ve all been there—that feeling of helplessness.
Eventually, I developed a coping mechanism that took the bite off scary movies. I’d shut my eyes and imagine Michael Myers making his way into my home with that butcher’s knife. I’d count his footsteps down the hall. I’d listen to his breathing getting closer. I’d hear the creaking of the door to my bedroom as it slowly opened. Then, my ears would ring as old Mike let out a loud, disgusting shart—total plot twist. I told you we cops can be odd people.
Suddenly, this terrifying masked killer would be exposed by his fatal error—and I’d capitalize on it. He’d try to leave squishing around in his jumpsuit like an overgrown man-baby with a dirty diaper. With his head hung in shame and face blushing beet red under that mask, I’d have the upper hand with a clear mind. Myers was only human, and he was just as scared to be in my house as I was for him to be there—but he shit himself and I didn’t. How can anyone be afraid of that guy? Sweet dreams.
The “shart method” worked like a charm with horror movies when I was just a kid, and a version of it still works for me to this day as a grown man policing the streets. It reminds me that the bad guys are more scared of me than I am of them because I represent a steel cage or worse if they go that route. It’s also what makes them so dangerous. While I can’t afford to underestimate anyone, I won’t be putting anyone on a pedestal either. We’re not helpless, we’re police officers—and a man built like Mr. Olympia holding a gun can still crap his pants.
Get all the way in or get all the way out. Paychecks don’t matter if you’re dead.
Maybe this all sounds unnecessarily crude, but it’s not like I can’t point to a real-life example. A friend and I once chased a shirtless robbery perp with the physique of a superhero who was actively shitting himself with every step he took until we cornered him behind a building. I said, “Brother you can have that collar.”
A hunter’s mentality sets up a scenario where you can be no more afraid of the threat that lurks in the darkness than your prey. The upper hand is yours to lose so long as you’re being vigilant to train in all aspects of this game every day. It’s not about “tombstone courage,” it’s about confidence in knowing that you’ve prepared yourself for the threat in front of you. Being cautious, calculated, and prepared to execute on your training will keep the poo off you.
Whether it’s a young guy learning he’s not made of glass in a boxing gym somewhere, an old head developing a sterling silver tongue to talk their way out of anything, or a 110-pound female officer mastering her firearms skills and warrior’s mentality to put down the threat that will one day come—this is the job we’ve chosen. Get all the way in or get all the way out. Paychecks don’t matter if you’re dead.
It might be taboo to say in 2018, but I want the Michael Myers of the world to fear us and shit their pants when we’re coming for them. It’s not what I told the nice old couple approaching me on that detail, but that’s my mentality on dealing with fear as a cop.
