Passing the Badge

By Blake Cordell

From rural Oregon to the frozen streets of Anchorage, ride along with a police K9 handler and live adventures through his eyes. These stories offer an immersive glimpse into the world of policing, inviting you to feel the raw emotions, humor, and adrenaline that pulse through the lives of police officers. Written by a veteran police officer who not only shares his own stories but weaves in the captivating stories of his father, a former K9 handler. "Passing the Badge" is a rare and authentic glimpse behind the scenes, revealing the human behind the uniform.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blake Cordell
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223876229

Book preview

Passing the Badge

Stories from Law Enforcement

Blake Cordell

Independent

Copyright © 2023 Blake Cordell

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

For my father.

Whom I love, deeply respect, and owe so much.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Foreword: Tell me a story

My new partner

The man I tried to save

Our first attempt

Writing a war hero a ticket

The man who I gave my clothes

Hey officer!

Stay hydrated

We are here to assist

Drove impaired, took a life

To the last drop

A tragic end

Nike’s first capture

Trainees

Always be careful

Nike’s first bite

Keith: The tiny horse

Whisps of fog

Unprovoked

We were nearby

Keith: A brief pursuit

Thrill kill

What is this?!

Needle eyes

Keith: The shoplifter

Guns and cookies

Right place, right time, wrong guy

Keith: That’s a nice gun

He’s right there!

Keith: A friend’s promise

Nike’s timing

I was determined

Keith: All over a pizza

Keith: Yellow snow

We took a swim

Just in time

Keith: Name dropper

Put your hand up

Near miss

Keith: Reflections

Keith: He’s got moves

Early morning rush

Keith: Mannequin

RV in the back

Pain or paper

Keith: Give me my hooker

Village people foot pursuit

Down the mountain

Keith: Don’t move!

Keith: Never off duty

Strike!

Keith: Clear the airway

The bridge

Keith: Unexpected assistance

Up the ladder

That’s a lot of blood

Welfare check

Keith: Unexpected arrival

Keith: Gut instinct

Decision point

Keith: Surprise!

Keith: Suspicions

Mile long track

Keith: El Camino

It’s an alien!

Trouble with a cousin

Doing us a favor

Applying my skills

Firestarter

A fight in the yard

Sister in law’s house

Keith: Assumptions

You’re here to kill me

Keith: How did you do that?

I retire tomorrow!

Keith: Christmas tree

Here for a pack of smokes

Keith: Bite suit surprise

Keith: I know what I am doing

Keith: Retty and the family

Keith: Retty’s ending

Drive it like you stole it

The field on fire

Senseless murders

Tips for officers or aspirants

Epilogue: But then, I left

About the Author

Acknowledgments

To my wife, for her encouragement, support, and love over the years. To my children, for giving me time and space to write. I love you all.  

Special thank you to Dr. Ryan Dingman, editor.

Foreword: Tell me a story

People always ask me to tell them stories about my job as a police officer. Most are curious about law enforcement and know almost nothing about it. They see the police drive by, hear about what they do on the news, or watch shows churned out by Hollywood. Few truly know and understand the world of law enforcement, leading to a mysterious and almost mythical world. Simply stated, law enforcement is fascinating, even to those who live in it. 

In almost all cases, law enforcement is a world of extremes. It spans the spectrum of dedication, happiness, darkness, satisfaction, and heartbreak. The unusual becomes normal and any moment could change your life. Being a police officer changes how you live your life and even the way you think about the world.

To me, the choice to become a police officer was an inevitability. My father was a police officer, and I knew I would be as well. When I looked at my father wearing his uniform or getting ready for work, I was awestruck. He was a completely different person; strong, tough, had all the answers, and was my hero. I wanted to be just like that someday, the one everyone looked to for answers. I wanted to solve the problems and make everything better. I wanted to make people feel safe, just like my dad did for me.

As an adult, I decided to be a police officer for myself and my own reasons. I knew there would always be a need for the police in some form or fashion so there was job security. The paychecks would be steady and the work meaningful. I have a deep-seated love for my community and country, and besides my service in the military, this career was a way that I could keep the community I love safe and prosperous. I knew it was a difficult job and believed I could rise to the challenge.

These stories are my father’s and my experiences. I recorded these stories as I remembered them or perceived them. I will not pretend to be perfect and as a result in some stories I include details that show I am a human with feelings and admit my mistakes when I made them. Some stories don’t have every piece of information in them. Since I wrote about my own experiences, every fact didn’t need to be included. I tried to add what happened ultimately so you as the reader have some closure. Keep in mind, I wrote these stories as a human being wearing a uniform, not as a faceless cog of the state.

I will not share some details, or some details have been changed so I can protect people’s privacy and feelings. I met some people on the worst day of their lives, whether it was a victim or a suspect. Nothing I wrote about is to make fun of or disparage anyone except myself at times. I just wrote it as it happened. Some stories will never be told because they are either too painful or sensitive for all involved. 

These stories are already public records, and there is likely less detail in this book than what is available to you as a member of the public. They are just told from my perspective. This book is not intended to be an official statement of the things that happened, nor should it be interpreted as such. The stories are each stand alone and are told in non-serial fashion.

I am just sharing my stories with you. I hope to make you laugh, think, and learn. Some of these stories will sadden you or take you aback. Some include stories of violence that may be uncomfortable. Violence is a part of the human experience but it never looks or feels good. We should consider ourselves so fortunate that most of us are strangers to evil and violence, so appreciate the good times in your life.

My goal is to honor the men and women of this great nation who have sacrificed for the greater good and to give back to the American people who love and respect the people who keep them safe. Your expressions of gratitude have turned bad days around and truly let me know that most people care for their law enforcement officers. So, keep waving or say hello when you can. You never know if that police officer just went through something horrible and your wave could tell them that you care. Remember, police officers are doing the work for you, whether they know you or not.

My new partner

I always wanted to be a K9 handler. I love dogs and appreciate how intertwined dogs and humans have become throughout history. We became co-dependent, and ever since the first dog was domesticated, we have helped each other and thrived together. I can say that I have never seen a happier dog than a working dog. Having a job gives them purpose and, when done correctly plays, into deeply rooted instincts. Consider a police dog. They track, find hidden people, find dropped items, and bite to apprehend a suspect. Dogs are hunters, especially the breeds we select to work for us.

I wanted to be a police dog handler not for the glory and glamour but because it had always felt right. Humans and dogs are meant to work together, so handling a police dog was something I felt called to do, and believed having a K9 partner was the natural progression for me as a police officer.

I was fortunate enough to be selected to handle a strong-willed Belgian Malinois, named Nike. The previous handler had gotten him but wanted to change departments. Nike was young for a police dog, about a year and a half old. Unlike the other department dogs, I had not spent as much time with him. I saw Nike work and he was so high-energy that I didn’t think he would be good at his job. I didn’t want him; I wanted a lower energy German Shepherd that wasn’t a total spaz. I eventually learned I was wrong about Nike and I was never so glad to be wrong. He was perfect for me. 

To be selected as a handler, I went through a process that included written submissions, interviews, and meetings. At the end when I was called into the chief’s office and given my K9 Officer badge, it was a momentous feeling. When the chief handed me the badge I ran my thumb across the letters, K9 Officer. Electricity surged through my body. A dream I thought would never be realized had come true. At the same time, I knew the next several years of my life instantly required much more work and become more dangerous. But for every ounce of hard work and moment of danger, there would be immense rewards in satisfaction with a job well done.

That same day I moved my things into my new patrol car and headed to the previous handler’s house. Luckily, I had a nice dog kennel at home so I could take possession of Nike immediately. I didn’t have to wait for a kennel to be built. I reflected on my new situation in life with nervous sobriety as I made the long drive.

I met with the handler at his house and I took a moment to gaze upon Nike through the kennel fencing. Nike sat inside the kennel, watching the handler and glancing at me occasionally. He looked a little unsure of what was happening. I asked every question I could think of, like what were his commands, his temperament, things he needed to work on, etc. I took notes as fast as I could.

Soon enough, the handler got him out of the kennel, and Nike ran around, excited to be out. We got him into the car, and the former handler went inside his house. I took a moment to pet Nike through the open door. I held it partially closed, just reaching a hand inside because I was worried he might jump out and run off, causing my new career to end before it started. Would he even listen to me if it came down to it?

I got into the driver’s seat and twisted around to look at Nike. He was curled up in the back of the dog compartment, watching me with raised ears and toasted caramel brown eyes.

I smiled at Nike and told him, We’re going to have a lot of adventures buddy, you and me.

The man I tried to save

The gate exiting the police parking lot could never open fast enough and always felt like an eternity. BEEP BEEP BEEP! as the sensor felt my car and sounded the beeper to warn that the gate was opening. I sat in my car with the radio blaring updates, my emergency lights flashing, and the siren keyed to go. The beep from the light system always gave me an adrenaline spike just out of a Pavlovian response. If the lights are on, that means something exciting is happening.

Oh my God, hurry up! as the gate lurched and squealed into movement. I saw the other officers line their cars up behind me, their lights flashing also. We were all waiting for this stupid gate. A few seconds more, and I had just enough room to squeeze my car through and flip the siren on. Time to get there.

So many calls began this way. I tried to stay caught up on my paperwork so I did not get too far behind and have my piled-up work make me look bad. It was a losing fight nearly all the time. There was no way to stay caught up with so few officers for so many people who needed service, so a lot of time was spent typing in the office. As a result, there were many times waiting for the gate to open so I could get to where there was trouble and do what I could to make it right.

I did not know I would fail that day, but it would not be my fault. Most of the time bad things already happened or were going to happen no matter what. Sometimes, I could pull a victory out of what appeared to be a defeat; other times, I was just there to document what happened. This is part of the life as a police officer. I try not to let failures stick in my mind, but sometimes they are there whether I want them to be or not.

Sometimes, a face, an injury, or a scream would pop into my head when I was not expecting. Other times, I found myself spacing out, reliving someone’s death, only to snap out of it minutes later. I know it happens to others, but no one talks about it. To talk about it could get sideways glances or for the others to think you are weak and undependable.

A man had been stabbed. He was bleeding very badly and the medics could not respond because the suspect was still at the house. The police had to get there first to ensure the scene was safe so no medics would get caught up in the violence. It has happened many times before, even in our own town. I remember finding a news article from years ago in which medics didn’t wait for the police to assist them with a suicidal male and a medic was shot by the very person he was there to help. We can’t fix the past but we can make ourselves better. So now the medics wait for the police. It makes sense, seeing as we have body armor and weapons.

I drove towards the house, taking the fastest route I could. My siren echoed eerily off the buildings and reverberated through the side streets. The man was bleeding badly and the woman who called was his mother, who was frantic and begging for help. I checked my rearview mirror, sticking with my habit of scanning 360 every couple of seconds while I was going code. I can see the other officers behind me with their lights flashing. We needed to get there and get this guy some help.

Another officer arrived before me, and a supervisor arrived right after me. I popped my trunk and grabbed my aid bag so I could do something medically to help. The first officer and I headed toward the house, my heart pounding. The victim’s mother stood by the front door and quickly waved us over.

I saw a guy I recognized as an older brother to a kid I went to junior high school with. He was standing in the middle of the driveway with his arms crossed high on his chest, head lowered. He looked pale, terrified, and resigned. I soon learned that he was the suspect and had stabbed the man I was there to help. I wondered why he was still here because most people flee.

I did not have time to reflect on my question because the first officer and I headed inside of the house to see what we could do for the victim. The supervisor and other officers went to talk with the suspect and eventually handcuffed him. I had recently gone through a medical aid class specifically for stabbings and shooting victims. I was ready for this; I knew I was.

The front door was on the upper floor of the house at the street level and the lower floor had been built into the side of the hill. We went in the front door and the male was sitting in a reclined chair facing away from the door. Puddles of blood, bloody smears and footprints were spread in places on the upstairs floor. I evaluated the amount of blood I saw and felt like it wasn’t that much, so the guy should be fine. 

I moved to the front of the chair, and my spirits fell. I could see he was in bad shape. He was incredibly pale and had a gray pall to his skin that only happened when the heart was not pumping blood or had no more blood to pump. His eyes cast about listlessly, and he rasped and moaned. I pulled gloves onto my hands while I looked at the wound on his left side, a few inches above his pelvis. His aging mother tried pressing a dish towel to the wound, but it was soaked. I saw his t-shirt was stuck to the towel and in the wound. There were clots as large as a baseball and smaller in the towel, and some had fallen into the chair.

The man moaned and threw one arm to the side and held the other hand to his forehead. I told him we were going to help him and asked him to sit still. I knew I had to see what I was dealing with before I could do anything. I grabbed the towel and peeked behind it, careful not to take the towel off. I could see a large blood clot trying to plug the stab wound.

At the same time, the man inhaled sharply, and the wound wrenched open and air rushed in through the wound. Apparently, this had been happening all along, pulling any potential clots out of the wound. The wound looked like a black cavern and was frightening to see. I quickly pressed the towel back over the wound.

I thought to myself, I’m in over my head. What do I even do? I took a deep breath, still holding the towel over his wound. The man made a guttural rasping sound and flailed his arms. Help me, he moaned. We tried to reassure him as we worked. I was careful not to tell him he would be okay, because it appeared that he might not be. I assured him we would help him.

I told myself, "I can do this. I know what to do, and he needs the help now. A voice in the back of my mind spoke up, This guy is dying; there’s nothing you can do." I had to try. No matter if it seemed hopeless. I had to try.

I asked the other officer to find the shears in the med kit as I held pressure on the stab wound. Blood oozed onto my glove, all over the floor and was stepped and slipped in. The med kit got knocked into some blood as it was jostled around the room. I thought it was gross, but there was nothing we could do about it. I can’t find the shears! They’re not in here!

I had to cut this man’s clothing off, and trying to do it with a knife was a pain, not as easy as the movies made it out to be. I hurriedly looked around the room and saw a pair of scissors on the coffee table. I grabbed them and we cut his soaked shirt off and exposed the wound further, revealing that it was even bigger than I thought. I could have put both fists together and easily stuck them into his side. So much blood soaked through the chair that it created a large puddle under the chair and it only grew as we worked.

My mind raced, trying to remember what to do. The recent medical training was taught by a trauma doctor who served in the Army. He deployed to Afghanistan and had firsthand experience with some serious injuries. One thing he told us stuck with me because I knew I would face it. Sucking chest wounds. He taught us about occlusive dressings and how to improvise by covering a wound with a rubber glove and then applying a bandage over the top. If the wound was big enough, you could stuff the gloves in. This was supposed to help stop the air from being sucked into the wound, which increased the risk of a collapsed lung.

I pulled my extra gloves from my pouch, peeled the towel away from the wound and began stuffing the wound with my extra gloves. I realized that I must look like a crazy person, stuffing gloves into a stab wound, but it was all I had and it had to work. He took another big breath, sucking the gloves against the wound. The gloves stopped the air this time. 

I heard a fire engine roar up the street outside. I felt a huge sense of relief that they had much better equipment and training than I did. It felt like an eternity but had likely only been just a couple of minutes. The other officer and I kept talking to the man, reassuring him that more help was coming. Better help was coming, I told myself. The male continued to groan and thrash, his gray skin contrasting to the tan chair.

I leaned in to focus more attention on his wound, and suddenly the man raised a bloody hand and cupped my cheek. My eyes flashed up and met his blue eyes for a brief second, in a moment I will never forget.

I felt panicked and grabbed his hand and told him, No no no! Don’t get blood on me. I instantly felt ashamed for being selfish, but the risk of a blood transmitted disease is too great to allow a stranger’s blood to get on me. Try to relax. The medics are here! The man dropped his hand from my grasp and his movements and breath slowed.

The medics pushed in a gurney and quickly took over. The man was still trying to talk and move but his movements were feeble and incoherent. It seemed like the man’s body was moving, but he was no longer conscious. His eyes were only half open and they no longer flickered around the room like they did before. The medics quickly loaded him up and left with a roaring engine and blaring siren. 

I felt listless. What do I do now? The few minutes we spent rendering aid felt like nothing, but like years at the same time. I knew that I had blood spread across my uniform, face, and arms, there was no way I didn’t. I went out to a patrol car and began using hospital grade wipes to clean my face and gear. I called these wipes Cancer wipes because we were told that if you use them on your skin they can give you cancer. It seemed worth the risk. As the chemicals from the wipe stung my skin, I knew I was trying to wipe away the memory of him cupping my cheek, but it wasn’t working.

The other officer came out with me and we checked each other over for blood. There really wasn’t any blood on us, but it felt like there was. It seemed inevitable given how much blood was in there. A firefighter offered to spray disinfectant on our boots and we accepted. He sprayed the disinfectant which instantly foamed into the tread of our boots and left bloody, foamy footprints. The firefighter assured us the foam could kill anything that might be on our boots.

The detectives soon arrived and began to take over. I assisted where I could in stringing crime scene tape, looking for evidence, or anything that might help us. The detectives quickly decided to take the suspect to the station for an in-depth interview.

I was asked to pull security on the crime scene and watch the front door. I soon learned the man died right after he left the house. I was shocked. I knew he was very injured but we had gotten to him quickly. It didn’t seem like there was enough blood loss to warrant his death. There was a lot of blood in there, but I knew humans had a significant amount of blood in them. I was frustrated, but knew I couldn’t have done much more for him. I later learned his kidney had been essentially cut in half and he had died from catastrophic blood loss.

I stayed there for some time, waiting for some investigators from the state crime lab to arrive and help process evidence. I saw the detectives go into the house through a bottom door. I asked them why they were going down there; hadn’t the man been stabbed upstairs? No, I was told; he was stabbed downstairs and was taken upstairs to get help.

While watching the front door, I walked into the living room again and took in the scene one more time. I slowly turned a circle, soaking in the details. The stillness and silence raised a feeling of discomfort within me. The discomfort turned to profound sadness. I did not know this person, nor did I necessarily want to. But he was a person, like me, and being so close to his death had spun our lives together in the strange way that significant events tie people together. I was maybe the last person he coherently saw in this life. That is a significant role for someone to be given for another person.

For the first time, I noticed a staircase in the corner and walked over to it. I could hear voices and see the occasional flash of light in the rooms below that told me the detectives were in the room where the stabbing occurred. I pulled my flashlight out of my pocket and shined it downstairs. What I saw did not seem real. A catastrophic amount of dried blood coated the floor, stairs, and smeared on the walls. There were drag marks, scuffs, and boot prints in the blood that added to the surrealistic nature of what I was seeing. Horror movies got it wrong. I turned my light off and walked out of the house, no longer interested in looking around.

I learned through other officers and the news that the investigation revealed the stabbing was in self-defense. The man who died was allegedly attacking the other man with some sort of tool. The death was found to be a justified homicide.

Our first attempt

A couple weeks after Nike and I got out of the K9 academy, I got a call of a woman who wanted to help set up her ex-boyfriend. I took the call for service and looked the boyfriend up, finding that he had several felony warrants and a history of violence against the police.

When I was faced with a situation where the K9 might be used, I always looked up the suspect’s history if there was time. Technically speaking, I could use the K9 to apprehend someone for a felony warrant if it was serious enough. That wasn’t quite good enough for me. Not only did I want to have more proof that the suspect was a danger or flight risk, I wanted to make sure the use of the K9 was necessary.

For example, someone could have a felony warrant for a serious financial crime, but there might not be a history of violence or escape to justify, in my mind, the use of the dog to apprehend them. On the flip side, someone could have a benign warrant, even a misdemeanor, but they had a deep history of violence that would make the use of the police dog the safer alternative for apprehending the suspect. There were a handful of such people in our area, but even so, they wouldn’t just instantly be bitten. If there was time to get them to surrender, I would take as much time as possible. Sometimes decisions had to be made instantly, so I had to show I had a track record of weighing factors to show to any observer that my intentions were pure.

As a brand-new handler, confidence in my abilities and dog were budding at best. In this call, the suspect’s warrants, and history of violence against the police, as well as escape, solidified that using the dog to apprehend him if he ran or fought was the correct decision.

An older, much more experienced officer jumped into this call with me. He was the kind of officer that knew everyone and his sole joy was chasing bad guys. This officer had a habit of ribbing and picking on the younger officers. Not in a bad way, it was just a small thing he enjoyed. He told me that this suspect was guaranteed to run. The officer jokingly picked at me, saying that I better be quick or I would let the suspect get away. If I let him get away, then I wasn’t going to be a good K9 handler. Getting picked on only stressed me out more, but in a way he was right. To be a good K9 handler, the officer had to have an overwhelming drive to catch bad guys. Anything less was a waste of a K9 team.

We set up a place and time with the girlfriend and she agreed to text me when she had the fugitive in the car. After a short time, the expected text came and she said she was picking him up at the post office. I drove towards the post office and happened to pass her. I could see the suspect in the passenger seat and tried to act nonchalant so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

I turned my head away from the car but because I was wearing my sunglasses, I still tracked them with my eyes. A career criminal, especially one with warrants, is always on edge and paranoid. They will often run or act oddly when they see an officer, which is usually a clue if the officer is paying attention. The wicked flee when no one pursues...

I made a U-turn and got behind the girlfriend’s car. The plan we discussed is that I would pull her over for something and then recognize the suspect and arrest him. I never got the chance.

As soon as I flipped the lights on, his door popped open and he hit the ground running. I slammed the car in park and threw the door open, yelling before I even got all the way out. Police with a police dog, stop or you will get bit! The suspect did not even slow down. He ran away from my patrol car, up the street which was uphill. Leaning forward, arms pumping, feet firm and confident. He did not even look back, running with full afterburner. His shirt billowed out behind him and his shaven head stood out to me as it bobbed back and forth in rhythm with his strides.

I opened the back door to get Nike, who was already jazzed up from the yelling. I was worried he would get out and run from excitement, so I trapped him in and grabbed his vest. I pulled him out of the car and watched the suspect round the corner, now on the sidewalk. I could not see around the corner and did not just want to let Nike go charging around it, not knowing if someone else was there. I could just imagine that Nike knew he was chasing someone, but if he did not see who he was chasing to begin with, there was a risk he would just tag the first person he saw.

I froze, not knowing what to do. I could not just let Nike go to potentially bite whoever was around the corner, but I did not want to take the time to get my longer tracking leash. All I had was a three-foot lead (working dog leash) around my waist, the same one my dad used for many years. I took the lead and put it on a D-ring on Nike’s vest and thought maybe I could track like that. I immediately felt silly because it was certain not to work. Nike did not have enough room to work at the end of this short lead. I ran up the street, Nike in front of me on the tiny lead. I felt defeated already.

We ran around the corner and no one at all was there. The suspect had disappeared. It had been seconds since he turned the corner so I should have seen him. I called out on the radio about what happened and several other officers started heading our way to help search the area. I figured that the most likely option was that the fugitive was hunkered down in the bushes to my right since that’s where I last saw him. There was the strip of bushes, a chain link fence, and then essentially an 8-yard cliff to the back parking lot of the post office.

I dismissed the idea that he had jumped down because I thought it was certain that he would have been hurt since the landing was on pavement. Nike and I began checking the bushes and found nothing. Nike was interested in going into the bushes at a point shortly after the corner, but totally lost interest when we went further.

A few minutes later, I heard from the other officer that he caught the fugitive a short distance from the post office. I called and asked him where the fugitive went after he turned the corner. The officer asked the fugitive and relayed to me that the guy did indeed jump from the cliff and kept running. The fugitive was caught by the other officer because he hurt his legs when he landed. I felt relieved that I did not let Nike charge after the suspect because Nike would have leaped after him and been killed in the fall.

It was a lesson for me to trust my dog, because he was interested in the spot where the fugitive jumped the fence, I was just too new to interpret that behavior change. We had not trained on how Nike could tell me he wanted to cross a fence, so I when I pulled him away, he obediently followed. We later worked on a signal where Nike would stay and put his feet on the fence where the suspect crossed over. 

Most times he would try to jump over a fence on his own, but I wanted him to be careful because there was so much barbed wire all over. I preferred to lift him up and then lower him to the other side so he didn’t hurt his legs or get cut on something.

I learned not to dismiss impossibilities so easily. Some people are so desperate to get away that they will risk getting hurt, or hurt themselves, to get away.

In keeping with his fashion, the older officer kept custody of the fugitive to get the credit and then made fun of me for not catching him. I didn’t mind, if the bad guy got caught by someone, I was happy.

Writing a war hero a ticket

You meet all sorts of interesting people on car stops. I was a School Resource Officer for three years before I handled a K9. It was an interesting duty that had many freedoms. You had to be self-motivated, and primarily self-supervised because nearly all calls for service came to my cell phone, rather than through dispatch. We were often just as busy, if not busier than patrol, but patrol would not know it. I met many good people and had some extra time to make good cases instead of having to shag patrol calls all day.

One sunny spring day towards the end of my SRO tour I was running LIDAR (laser speed measuring device) in a school zone on a main neighborhood road. The road was long and straight which resulted in more speeders than other school zones. This was bad because the