At the Starbucks today, I had a great chat with a police officer as we both were waiting on our orders. He is probably ten years my junior, but I had the sense, a “vibe” Californians generally would call it, that this man was formerly military. The bearing of a military veteran is different; I’ve talked with religious leaders whom I got that same sense and I then find confirmed they served in the military. And having the acquaintance of cops from other backgrounds, and cops who transitioned from the military, I think there is subtle differences. But I digress. This officer acknowledged that he transitioned into blue uniform of a police officer. However, his Army career and his public service had been in tandem: while recently retired from the Army National Guard, he was and is a 20-plus years veteran police officer civilian and military police.
In contrast, I got a different sort of vibe from a conversation I wandered into recently. It suggested (to me) a child’s encounter with a member of law enforcement was either embellished by the storyteller’s negative opinion of civil authority and biases, or a child’s encounter with a greenhorn LEO; the described first impression of flashing lights, and a rehearsed, “politically-sensitive” introduction to a preteen would have been handled differently by my Starbuck’s patron LEO. But in a time when it can be as hazardous for an officer – whether a conflict or a civil rights violation, in a suburb in the Southwestern U.S. as in Southwest Asia (aka the Middle East), tact might be a secondary concern.
In my childhood, a police officer would see my bike run over in the middle of the street, check to see that I was unhurt, and then bring me home to my parents in the squad car. Even a decade ago when my preteens were goofing off in the neighborhood and cops were called, my wife came out to find my kid and his friends placed against a squad car. They all were “released to the custody” of one really ticked-off Mom. It was a different time. But children of military veterans, and families where the military and law enforcement are family tradition, there is more respect given to those in authority. I’ve generally only known times when the community relied on law enforcement as much as the other way around.
I would prefer to think that a poor impression made on this young man, would be the outcome of a lack of mentoring. In the military, the best units have a reputation for building leaders and subject experts, through the years of mentoring and feedback. Such was my experience. And several of my mentors, and those who came after me excelled militarily and professionally. Several were law enforcement officers, federal marshals and agents. I’ve known a few servicemen who were an ego in a uniform, but most of the leaders I knew were humble. Such was this professional I encountered today.
But I may be biased. I support the fraternal orders of law enforcement. I am a Life member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. I am grateful for these citizen-soldiers who continue to serve our communities. Who serve our nation. Who raise sons and daughters to be responsible, thinking adults. Some choose other careers, hold different views, but treasure the country, respect its laws and order, and respect people who respect others in return. Among old warriors, a recognition and camaraderie, an appreciation of shared experience, discipline and service. Thanks for serving.
to the south is amazing – when the fog or mist lifts long enough to see the snowy mountains. The Canadian naval base is next to Victoria, a city that looks every bit as if it was lifted out of England and deposited there. For the couple of days that we were visiting, I had my first experience with craft beer. My present infatuation with micro-breweries, got started there. 
There is something instantly bonding about men ( and women) who share the common experience of military service. Yesterday, I was enjoying a little rest on my homeward commute at my little bastion of like-minded libertarians, and got interested in a conversation one of the guys was having about an exchange with a cop. Turned out this cop was practiced – but not in a good way – of embellishing some prior Navy experience. As it happened, my acquaintance, like most of those who have had some years in the military was correcting this cop’s recounting of his service by providing some firsthand expertise in the details (occupation codes known as NECs or MOS in other services, training specifics, locations) that this storyteller had fudged– as would have I in the same exchange.
In those days, there were traditions and customs, regulations and deckplate leadership. When some Sailors who were otherwise experts in their trade, had a little too much to drink on the prior night’s liberty, their shipmate including the supervisor would look ot for them. As Mess Deck Master at Arms, a temporary assignment aboard ship, the ability to encourage the crew, curry favor, or even to mentor and train some junior sailor were all part of my experience. There is nothing that someone with sea duty, can really describe to a civilian about life at sea – noise, drinking water with a little trace jet fuel (JP5) in the lines, the drills, the boredom, and port visits that another military member doesn’t instantly know what you are talking about.
Cleaning is one of those “attention to detail” skills. One of the favored techniques of boot camp instructors when our unit was housed in Korean War -era barracks, was to set us to performing “field day” (deep cleaning) the barracks. These were a magnet for dust, flaking paint and generally the decks (floors) were yellowed or dull. The reward for passing inspection was relief from a marching drill, calisthenics, or even a short recreation period. The punishment for failing that inspection was enduring the former two choices and then, to field day all over again. As a trainee at a military technical school, the same inspections and field days occur, though the “Fleet Sailor” is normally separated from the recent boot camp graduates at a training command. 
And now twenty-five years later, three boys now grown, and living in one of the dustiest environments I have experienced, with shed-prone dogs, my home has only been subject to a ‘fairly good’ field day about once a month, and a decent sweep and swab each week before company comes over. I am not complaining. Were I to dare to get out the glove, flashlight and query about pubic hairs and pee, the “Admiral” would point me in the direction of a bucket and swab and have me re-do it.
As reported by several news sources *, the Sri Lankan Navy a couple days ago rescued an elephant at sea — in a great demonstration of compassion. Leave no elephant behind! This elephant was crossing a shallow channel and was swept out to sea where it eventually was rescued — nine or ten miles out in the ocean! 
Truths, Half-truths, and Sea Stories 