was afraid of not waking up again. It was not unlike many of the nights I was alone undercover, the fear of not being in control.
So many thoughts crowded my mind as I stepped inside the cave. And there they were: the shooting, the way I set myself up for professional suicide after PJ’s death, being suspended and investigated by the Internal Investigation Division, resigning from the department without charges after agreeing not to talk, and the situation at the Russian embassy.
I thought about how society perceives a person to be in life. Society expects a person to act, look and be a certain way. Society would not understand my actions as a cop.
“Society would not understand my suicide in seminary” I looked at my image in the mirror. “I do not fit the image of someone who should be granted ordination.”
“What am I doing?” I thought. I sat down on the edge of my bed in the dark dorm room. “Why do I want to do this?”
No one answered.
I fixed my pillow so that it would stand upright at the head of the bed and against the wall. I positioned myself, rested my back against the pillow, and sat in the silence.
As I sipped from the glass, I held my old friend that was with me since 1974. My gun warmed in the palm of my hand. It became a part of me again. I finally started that journey inside that chasm of my mind and drifted into the dimness of my soul.
Chapter 2: THE ACADEMY
“Mikey, why did you want to be a cop?” That question made its way to me as each of us shared our reasons for joining the police department.
As I sat in the back seat of Rich’s car and watched the traffic on the Baltimore Beltway, I thought about an answer.
I stared at my reflection in the window, which mirrored my life. I was 26 years old and still searching for fulfillment, excitement and a sense of self-worth in my life.
In the eight years since I graduated from high school, my journey took me on roads and experiences I never would have imagined to see or travel.
I made a commitment to join the Air Force before graduation. Maybe I wanted to prove something to myself. As a child, I was always fat and self-conscious. Although I had very little self-esteem, I usually was accepted by most of the groups in school. Then my lack of confidence and how I perceived myself always held me back from most social activities. How I became a drummer in a rock band during my senior year still amazed me.
“I was always a dreamer,” I looked out the window of Rich’s car on the way to our first day in the academy. Even as a child, I had an interesting imagination and was always very idealistic. Maybe that was why I joined the police department. On the other hand, maybe I wanted to confront my fears one more time. Maybe I was just running from life again.
I remembered enlisting in the Air Force because I wanted to go to Vietnam. I think I wanted to prove something to myself. Two weeks after graduation I was in basic training in San Antonio, Texas and it was like a nightmare from which I could not wake up. Up to that point I lived a very sheltered life and the discipline, mental and physical control of basic training did not adjust well to my personality. Very early in life, I realized I had authority issues.
Eventually I did graduate from basic training, after being set back because of physical limitations, and I was assigned to Bolling AFB in Washington, D.C. For some reason, the Air Force gave me a career field assignment as graphic art illustrator, although I possessed no artistic ability. Not exactly Vietnam.
Maybe the Air Force knew something about me that I could not see in myself, my creativity. However, I was determined to get to Vietnam. It took a year and a half of transfer requests to finally get to where I wanted to be, Southeast Asia and into Vietnam.
When I returned to the United States, I was assigned to a reconnaissance wing in Tucson, Arizona. Nevertheless, life, once again, changed course for me. I fell in love. For me, this was a dream come true because of my insecurity with women.
“Life is a series of decisions and choices,” I looked at the image of my face in the window of Rich’s car that first day. I chose to take an early discharge from the Air Force, turn down a promotion and return to Baltimore in November of 1969 because of love.
The next four years seemed like a roller coaster ride. My future wife already had a daughter. I searched for a profession that was satisfying, rewarding and could support my new family. Although I had everything I wanted, a family, I still could not settle down and appreciate what I had in life.
As I continued to think about why I wanted to be a police officer, I reflected on the professional opportunities I gave up in the last couple years. After the Air Force, I worked at Westinghouse as a printed circuit draftsman, although I had no experience. I was very good at convincing people I was something that I was not.
Fortunately, a unique position was created for me with the Bureau of Customs in Washington, D.C. because of my wife’s influence. The Bureau needed a graphic art department at headquarters and I was chosen to create it. I became a department of one with no immediate supervisor. A dream opportunity. A secure government position. But, again, I was not happy or felt satisfied. I became bored very quickly and continued to drink more. Self-destruction also became a way of life for me, although I did not realize it at the time. Within a year and a half, I resigned and went to work at a gas station.
Our financial situation, and my self-worth, deteriorated rapidly. I had been an alcoholic since the 11th grade and now it became a way of life. Our second daughter was born and we were struggling as a family. I was running from life and responsibilities again.
Finally, a friend helped me get a job with Prudential Insurance. Again, I was a failure. I did not have the personality or mentality for sales. As I continued to lose money, I also lost interest in my work. I deceived myself and everyone else. My only escape was in the numbness of alcohol. These combinations would lead me to apply to the Baltimore City Police Department.
“Not really a good reason to be a cop,” I stared out the window as we got closer to the academy.
Was this the answer I should give to the guys in our carpool? I was an alcoholic with a family in financial debt because of my professional failures, authority issues, no sense of accomplishment, unsatisfied with my opportunities and running from the reality and responsibilities in life.
But then again, maybe I still wanted to prove something to myself. I missed the adrenalin rush of the war games – the game of life and death. At least I could carry a gun again legally.
“So many personality conflicts,” I contemplated as the Baltimore Beltway continued to take us to our new adventure. The window of the car manifested images of my past and became the door into my psyche and soul, offering a glimpse into my future as we traveled the Beltway toward the academy.
I was the only child of lower middle class parents. Although my father worked a couple part-time jobs most of his life, he always stayed with his first and primary employment on the assembly line in a dirty warehouse making insulators for General Electric. His basic philosophy was that when you have a job stay with it. He could never understand why I continued to search for something better or more challenging.
My father left school in the eighth grade. I was never proud of him. Then, I never remember my father being proud of me. My mother had a hard and physical job pressing shirts in a factory. I never appreciated my parents. I only knew that I did not want to
