As a new guy, it was probably the last call on the radio I wanted to hear. I had just finished clearing a hold-up alarm at one of the banks in town. A couple other responding officers and I made a tactical approach and then met with the manager and got the all-clear. It was a false alarm — one of zillions we’ll respond to over the course of our career. But it wasn’t the hold-up alarm that was so alarming. It was everything that had led up to it.
The sector I worked in that day was responsible for the station; that included booking and walk-in reports. After releasing a prisoner that had been held over from midnights, I hit the street and began my routine. There were directed patrols to do, subpoenas to serve, car stops to make, hands to shake, and babies to kiss. I was polite and professional, polished and shined. I bled blue, ate crime for breakfast, and pooped justice.
And then my sergeant called me.
Forgetting Something?
He told me over the radio to give him a call at the station. Of course, I imediately wondered what I had done wrong, but couldn’t think of a single thing. A little nervous, I called the sergeant’s desk. After I told him it was me, he answered with, “Forgetting something?” in a low, raspy tone that sounded something like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
What could I possibly be forgetting?
Light Dawns On Marble Head
After he posed the haunting question, I paused for a dumbfounded moment as my mouth hung open in panicked thought. Hold on a second, I was a little light on my right side — mainly because my gun was missing.
He ordered me to come see him at the station. And like a dog with his tail between his legs, I got in my cruiser and drove in with my stomach in knots. I was still on probation and this was the second time I had done it — left the station without my gun. It was locked up all nice and safe in the gun locker outside of Booking right where I had left it.
The only thing worse than being told to call the sergeant was going to his office and being told to shut the door. That was a bad omen. The shutting of doors is never good.
Tongue Lashing
With the door closed and my collar getting tighter by the minute, he let me have it, and rightly so. But it didn’t end there. Even though I was irresponsible and had done actual police work with the crowning glory of responding to a bank’s hold-up alarm without a gun, he didn’t make me feel like an idiot — I did that on my own. He not only put me in my place and pointed out my deficiency, but he gave me an actual solution so there wouldn’t be a next time. He could have left it with a tongue lashing, but he chose to use that time to teach me something instead.
Lock ‘Em Up!
And that is a lesson I have never forgotten and that I have passed on to officers I have trained so they don’t have a first time. As simple as it sounds (because it is) he told me to lock my cruiser keys with my gun in the gun locker. That way I couldn’t drive away with out it. That was it. Brilliant.
That simple act is such a basic thing, but remembering your gun is kind of a big deal — especially if you’re going to go to a hold-up alarm at a bank. Or walk walk out of the station in general.
I know most of us don’t ride around on horses, but the application of this allegory is so relevant: pay attention to detail.
“For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For the want of a horse the rider was lost,
For the want of a rider the battle was lost,
For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe-nail.”
― Benjamin Franklin
You’re going to want your gun. Just saying.
- Have you driven off with your gun left behind in a gun locker?
- How did you feel when you realized it?
- How did it turn out?
- What did you learn?
- If you’re in leadership, how can you use moments like these to teach a lesson, not just issue a reprimand?
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- It must be a firsthand account
- True
- Have a lesson, principle, or tactic to apply
- Cleaned of names, dates, and places
- Include your call sign
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