Nothing focuses the mind during a search warrant like discovering a diamondback rattlesnake in a dresser drawer.
We put high sensation-seeking folks like you in a highly structured bureaucracy and are shocked when it stresses the heck out of you.
Kids, lawnmowers, dogs, court, phone calls, worry, sunlight, spouses, chores, side jobs, storms. Everything seems to conspire to deny us our rest.
You can always tell the veterans because they don't wear hats or fake mustaches anymore.
Crime fighters have a unique problem. Our meals are part of our socialization, our warrior bread-breaking ritual.
Routine doesn't just make us comfortable, it actually "detrains" us, robs us of our edge, and can even steal our lives.
I focused on several likely hiding places: a container of Comet cleanser, filled with just cleanser; a PVC piece of pipe—only a bomb; a box of "SOS" pads....wait a minute!
Something wasn't right. The apparent drunk hadn't felt right, smelled right, or acted right.
I especially love the folks who are not only stupid but self-righteously stupid, which ought to have its own special term like "extremepidity."
I was driving into town to get ready for a late swing shift and found myself admiring the massive towering anvil-headed clouds bearing down.
Every time someone tries to kick our butts and we have him fully subdued and cuffed and searched we should look deeply into his eyes and say, "Thanks, I needed that!"
Somewhere in crime fighters' brains is a junction of sensation and risk that makes us truly appreciate a good repast.
Dave Smith recounts his LAPD SWAT training, when he was "in the midst of a training scenario requiring a Spiderman-like trip from the top of a very tall building to a window on the sixth floor ... With only the hookers and cabbies of downtown Los Angeles to bear witness, I stepped backward into space 14 stories above the street."
I find the world is filled with more and more "noise" that makes it difficult to find the actual "signal" that is the information we truly need.
To the experts, this naked fellow was shot excessively at close range even after he had raised his legs in surrender…that's right, his legs.
An elderly woman passed us rather crisply and we were aghast to read the back of her shirt: "I'm 65 and a grandmother, but I'm ahead of YOU!"
I could shoot a pistol with either hand…while normal Southpaws and Righties had spent their lives neglecting their sad hand on the other side of the brain.
One of the strangest things we do in our crime fighting career is play a strange game I like to call, "You Bet Your Badge." Having the thrill of that badge being pinned to your chest instantly enters you in the game where things you do and say can cause that wonderfully important piece of metal to be removed.
Procrastinating can take a terrible toll on us if we let it get out of hand. And a lot of officers do.
The door of the unmarked unit swung open and a giant of a man pulled himself out of the car. His humor and informal leadership skills made him not only our favorite instructor but the one who we all hoped to become.