In 2004, at the age of twenty-three, I strode into the Salt Lake City Public Safety Building for the first time. My grin was nearly perpetual. Would this be like the TV show Cops?

“Where do we go first?” I asked, bouncing on my toes. Bryce glanced at me from over his shoulder, chuckled, and said, “Line-up meeting with the Gang Unit.” Line-up meeting, I thought, and envisioned a row of thugs behind two-way glass, a witness about to identify the guilty. Instead, we entered something between a classroom and an office supply closet. Papers, files, notebooks, markers, staplers, wire baskets, so on and so forth, cluttered desks and tabletops. Confusion knocked my grin down a notch.

Eight or nine men crowded the walls and tables. The cops in plain clothes, their badges displayed on their belts or hanging from chains around their necks, outnumbered those in uniform. Rival conversations hummed in the air, peppered with sporadic laughter. I hadn’t heard that much cussing in years. They discussed the photos of gang members taped to the walls. Intimidating faces, some covered with so many tattoos they appeared more ink than flesh. I just smiled, soaking it all in.

Bryce slapped my shoulder. “You ready to go?” I shrugged, trying to act cool, but my stupid grin likely ruined the façade. “Ahh-ya,” I said. “Ready when you are.” Bryce tossed me a bullet-proof vest. Wow. I thought the cameras were about to roll, like I was in an action film. Bryce and I exited the room and I imagined us walking in slow motion, tough guy music in the background. Bryce led me to his car and we met up with his partner, Shawn Wheeler. They sat up front, me in the back. It wasn’t long before we had our first call crackle over the radio: Man with a knife at a TRAX light rail station.

It seemed like mere seconds and we were parked near the raised platform where passengers embarked or disembarked from the trains. Cars passed on either side, adding an element of danger to the situation. “Stay in the car,” Bryce said. I nodded, thinking, Yeah, just like the movies. No. Better. This was real. I could see everything from where I sat.

Bryce and Shawn approached someone matching the description dispatch had given: white male in his twenties, black hat and backpack. They chatted with the guy, then they were searching him, patting him down. They could’ve found a bazooka and I wouldn’t have been more excited.

I poked my head between their seats. “What happened?” Bryce snorted and shook his head. “Seems the guy had a rather large pocket knife sticking out from under his shirt. Whoever called 911 freaked out over nothing illegal.” I nodded and kept nodding. Okay, so this wasn’t a shoot-out or anything, but still exciting.

Later, after sundown, we stopped for a bar check at a downtown pub. Still wearing my bulletproof vest, I followed Bryce and Shawn inside. I crossed the threshold and Techno music thumped my ears; stale hops mixed with food and a dozen other odors hit my nose; laser lights crisscrossed the space above heads and shattered crystal twinkled from a couple disco balls.

Every eye considered us. “5.0 in the house,” someone called. “Hide your weed,” a man said, and his friends laughed. “Oh, someone’s in trouble,” a woman said. Shawn leaned towards a guy holding a glass mug, said something beside his ear, and the guy laughed and spilled some of his drink.

Time moved too fast; the night ended too soon. I didn’t want to go home, but there I was, 3:00 a.m., at my front door, bright-eyed and smiling, sneaking inside my dark house, feeling like a teenager after a date that had led to a first kiss. Oh yes, I was in love.

In our bedroom, Stacey was a dark shape beneath the covers. I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned across my side of the bed and shook her shoulder. Her eyes hadn’t even opened before I was jabbering about everything that happened. Stacey clicked on her bedside lamp.

“I mean, I never thought about being a cop before, but, babe, I…uh…” The flat, annoyed expression on her face finally registered. I closed my mouth, shrugged, and gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess this could’ve waited until morning.” Stacey sighed, touched my arm, and her face softened. “You would make a great cop,” she said. That simple statement carried all the approval I needed. I’d do it. I was going into law enforcement. Funny how life takes you places you never expected to go.

Hiring on with a police department in Utah proved a lot harder than I anticipated. The competition was fierce with hundreds of applicants for every opening. In 2006, the overall vibe towards law enforcement was still somewhat positive. Cops were your friend. Cops saved lives. Cops kept the peace. Law enforcement didn’t seem all that politically polarized. At least not to me.

Committed to my goal of becoming an officer, I decided to increase my likelihood of being hired by putting myself through the police academy. I didn’t have the money, so I paid with a credit card: $2,500 for Cat 1 certification then another $2,500 for Cat 2 certification.

My most memorable moment at the police academy came in the form of a special guest speaker. Chief Randy Jacobson of a local police agency, a veteran with nearly forty years of experience, stood behind the lectern of the stage and addressed our class of nearly 20 recruits. He warned us of what we would face as officers, the kinds of people we’d deal with, and the sacred opportunity of helping others. We would see firsthand the hell people can make of their lives and the toll being in law enforcement would take on our own lives. And then, to conclude his remarks, he asked the audience, “Who do you work for?”

Recruits began raising their hands and Chief Jacobson would point and say, “Yes, you.” “We work for the people.” Chief Jacobson shook his head. “We work for the community.” “Yes, yes,” he said, “but not the best answer.” “I’ll work for you, sir,” someone said. “Give me a job.” Chief Jacobson smiled, rolled his eyes, and waited for the laughter to subside. His expression firmed and his eyes sharpened. Finally, he said, “I want to make this really clear. You work for God, and I never want you to forget it.” The auditorium stilled. There was shock on some faces, confusion on others, but mostly there was a sense of weight. Those heavy words pressed down on us. That sentiment penetrated my soul and left a mark on me like nothing else I learned during the next few months at the academy. You work for God.

“Anything I’ve ever put my mind to,” I said, “I’ve done it.” From my side of the desk, I looked up at Chief Cainam, being sure to make eye contact. The man, lanky and near six and a half feet tall, reminded me more of a retired basketball player than a cop. We were on the eighth floor in a large, corner office overlooking the East side of the Salt Lake valley.

“Anything,” I continued. “From junior high student body president, to the All-Star Baseball Team, to number one in singles on high school tennis. I even made it on Evander Holyfield’s record label and opened up a country show for Collin Raye. Sir, I will be one of the best officers you have.”

Chief Cainam smiled in an amused, fatherly way, but also with something I could only interpret as longing. “Collin Raye?” he said. “Really?” “Yes, sir. I enjoy singing.” “Well, Eric, I think you will make us proud.” Nailed it, I thought, and grinned. Chief Cainam stood and reached his hand across the desk to shake my hand.

Then I was gliding out of the office, floating down to ground level, out the double glass doors of the Salt Lake City Police Department building, and into the beautiful spring day.

I couldn’t restrain myself. I half jogged, half danced to my white 1998 Chevy Trailblazer. I caught my reflection in the glass of a building on the other side of the sidewalk. I paused beside the driver-side door. I was a young man in a suit and tie, grinning ear-to-ear. I grabbed the front of my shirt and pretended to rip it open, like Clark Kent becoming Superman.

I slapped the top of my car. I had to call Stacey. I had to share this moment of euphoric triumph. Stacey answered. “I got the job!” “Are you serious, babe?” “It’s not official, but I know it. I know it.” “Oh, that’s great. So awesome.” “On my way,” I said. “See you soon.”