“I’m not gonna to do that,” the Des Moines police officer says from the middle of the classroom.

I  fix him with a cold smile. 

“Listen, that’s the law for a police stop of a car.”

I say this more defensively than I’d like because, of course, in this room full of cops I’m just considered another know-it-all lawyer who sits safely in his office every day.

“I don’t care, it’s too dangerous. It’s unrealistic. I’m not going to do it,” as the cop crosses his thick arms and frowns. 

. . . but eventually this class of experienced cops comes around to the safe thing and the right thing and the legal thing. But first I entertain them by jumping around at the front of the room, cursing like a madman, and then demonstrating whatever legal principle I am teaching with Barbie and Ken figures and Barbie cars and a Barbie house. I am shameless. But it works.

I loved teaching cops. Why? It’s simple. They had nonstop questions. And those questions were aggressive, real life, worried, and smart. Heck, how often can you teach a class where your students are armed? One time an officer even brought his police dog into the classroom with the assurance the dog would not bite me. The dog apparently didn’t hear our conversation and bit me just enough to make sure I was paying attention — which I did after that.

It was all a show. And I loved showtime. But both the cops and I knew the classes were essentially about character and doing justice. Serious stuff. 

And regardless of the teaching and the training, there are cops out there who shouldn’t be cops. Duh, everyone who follows the news knows this. And even though there are bad apples in every profession, the consequences of a bad apple who carries a gun and has the badge of authority can be tragic. Which is why the roll of the gatekeeper is so important. 

Sgt. Brenda Ingle was a gatekeeper. She was where the buck stopped when it came to new Des Moines Police recruits. She was trainer, administrator, disciplinarian, and role model for her “kids.” And she also kept me and the other teachers on task. She was a force.

And then she retired. 

So now, many years later, we have coffee.

“Character is a big thing for me personally. In police work you have to have character because of the power you are given. If you don’t have character, then you have corruption.”

Yup, this is really how Brenda talks — clear, concise, and while you’re at it, you’d better be writing it down because there is always a Monday quiz.

Today Brenda smiles a genuine smile across her coffee cup. Well, a gruff, genuine smile, as she adjusts a gun belt that is no longer there. 

Brenda was a street cop for Des Moines Police for many years, worked at the jail for a short stint, and then found her life calling — training new police recruits until she retired in February of 2020. She ushered over 300 police recruits into their jobs as police officers. During their training, she was demanding of students, of teachers, and of herself. She expected the best. Period.

“You are no better than other people but you have to strive to be better. You have to set the example.” 

Usually, classes of 22 were culled from 500 to 600 applicants. And even after that winnowing based on past records and present skills, Brenda and her staff had to look for those recruits who were still just not suited to be police officers. 

“People love firemen because they come and save them. People hate cops because we show up and someone goes to jail or someone is dead when we get there. It is a negative job and you have to be able to mentally handle that negativity.”

There was at least one person cut out of each class and sometimes two — “either they didn’t have the character or didn’t have the nerve,” says Brenda.

She remembers a student who was perfect in every category except he was terrified during the practical scenarios. “It was very hard for me to cut him because it was not who he was, but what had happened to him in his life, his trauma, that resulted in his fear.”

Brenda pauses and fiddles with her cup.

“Did I ever make mistakes?” Brenda gives a full-throated laugh.

“The expectation from the public is that you’re going to be perfect as a police officer. And when you can’t be perfect, because it’s impossible, the public is going to eat you alive.”

That’s a bit of pressure. 

“If you can’t mentally manage being imperfect, and then to accept responsibility and move forward, you shouldn’t be a police officer.”

You sound as if you speak from experience. 

“Listen, people aren’t here to put you on a pedestal.”

Which is why I am doing just that.

Joe