Bacsi comments on "Multiple Murder by Cop on the Danziger Bridge During Katrina":
My dad was a small town cop who retired as the town marshal of a three man police department. Not much of a career, right? Except for the fact that I had quite a collection of knives including a Mexican toad sticker and one of those little Japanese darlings the girls hide in their hair, that he had collected from wannabe derring-doers by himself, all the while with his service revolver in its holster. Back then it was legal to keep souvenirs of that type, so no, he wasn't a thief.
If it had been legal to keep confiscated firearms I would have had another collection that would have included a shotgun he took after he walked up to a mental patient who was going buggy in the street, again with his service revolver in its holster - yes, the shotgun was loaded, yes, the perp had fired it, and no, my father was not stupid.
He was proudest of the Boys Club he ran for years, and I think the incident that gave him the most pleasure was finding a little girl who had gotten lost one night. He considered his job as being keeping the peace, as in keeping things peaceful so that ordinary citizens could live their lives in peace and not fear. It was a matter of trust and he always viewed his 'police' powers as being discretionary, meaning that if you screwed up he would let it pass if he figured you really didn't mean to cause trouble. But heaven help you if he caught you speeding in a school zone, and he always patrolled school zones when the kids were going and coming. The skeletons in the closets he knew about he didn't use to cement his power and position, he would simply say something like: 'Fred, you remember what happened last time you got drunk, so let me take you home and I'll even speak to the wife so she'll unlock the door.' He had no use for self-important city officials and would write them up for drunk driving or speeding just like anyone else. He quit two job because of the pressure put on him for that attitude, which resulted in him going to work in the woods at almost fifty to keep food on the table, before he was recruited as the town marshal by some folk who had a serious need for an honest police department.
The best story I've ever heard about him was back when he was a patrolman, this was from someone I met years after he died. She said she had been an alcoholic for years, and one night she got into a rip snort'n fight with her spouse who she caught making up to another gal in the local tavern across the street from the police station. The bartender yelled at her that he'd called the cops and she ran out into the alley and jumped into her car and threw it into reverse and stomped on the gas just as two cops stepped into the alley mouth. She blew threw them and lit out for home. Before she got out of town a prowl car came up on her ass with lights flashing and siren howling but she was so scared she kept going for a mile or more until she sobered up and finally stopped. The cop came up to her window and when she could stop crying and shaking, asked her what was wrong. She told her story and he finally asked her that if he let her go would she promise to go straight home and stay there. She promised and he told her to go. She looked at me when she finished that story and said: 'That cop was your dad.'
That cop was a 'peace officer', and they are a rare breed but can still be found if you look hard enough. If you have the good fortune to ever find one, then you might just take some time and give them your support, because beyond a doubt the establishment does what it can to discourage them at every turn, just like it does to anyone who won't be bought, bribed, or intimidated.