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Carlton: Why people become cops a mystery — but we're grateful for it

 
Cynthia Martinez, 23 of Tarpon Springs, leaves flowers at a  memorial for Tarpon Springs police officer grew outside Charlie Kondek, 45, of the public safety facility in Tarpon Springs on Sunday December 21st, 2014. 

MONICA HERNDON | TIMES
Cynthia Martinez, 23 of Tarpon Springs, leaves flowers at a memorial for Tarpon Springs police officer grew outside Charlie Kondek, 45, of the public safety facility in Tarpon Springs on Sunday December 21st, 2014. MONICA HERNDON | TIMES
Published Dec. 23, 2014

When you hear about another police officer killed, everything stops for a minute. Maybe that's especially true if you know cops — if you work alongside them as a reporter, or if they're in your family. My nephew never wanted to be anything else.

The headlines from this weekend were horrifying: The shooter in New York who turned the questions raised across America about the deaths of unarmed black men into madness, ambushing two officers in their patrol car.

And in the early hours of Sunday morning, Tarpon Springs police Officer Charles Kondek was shot in the chest after he responded to what should have been a routine call about noise.

My nephew has never been able to make me understand the lure of a job so intense and potentially dangerous, one that routinely shows you the ugliest in people. Not long ago, I attended sessions of the Tampa Police Citizens Police Academy, which aims to help us civilians better understand. One night we paired off to be "officers" responding to a suspicious car full of people parked in a dark neighborhood and playing loud music.

Like cops every night of the week, we had no idea what was in that car — someone out of gas, or someone with a gun determined not to go to jail. Citizens in these classes often shoot. When bad cops abuse the immense amount of power we give them — the badge, the gun, the absolute authority over the moment — we tend to look at all cops the same. When they do their job, it's what we expect.

My sister — the one whose son is a relatively new police officer in another town — reads these stories with something beyond what the rest of us feel.

She and I had a police encounter this past weekend, routine but also enough to get your heart going a little faster: We were about to drive across the Sunshine Skyway when she realized she was in the wrong lane to pay the toll automatically with the SunPass on her windshield. It was too late to switch lanes, so she pulled through a toll lane, figuring her car would be photographed and she would be charged later. No. The blue lights were on us in seconds.

When you are pulled over, it doesn't matter if you're right or wrong, if you can explain your mistake or if you'll soon be on your way with no more than a ticket. When an officer walks up and bends over to peer into your car, you are aware of who has the power. (My sister, by the way, ended up with a minor citation for not having her current insurance card with her.)

She would also want me to tell you the story of another police encounter, this one after her cat came in with a very large black snake in his mouth and dropped it. The snake raced under her refrigerator, disappearing up inside it (about the time I would have had to move out of the house). It was a burly sheriff's deputy — notably, also not a fan of snakes — who responded to the call, tilted the fridge and helped shoo the snake out the door.

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When you are a reporter, some cops will never trust you. Then there are those you get to know sitting outside courtrooms as they wait to testify after having worked the midnight shift, who joke and show you pictures of their kids. Two detectives I knew that way were killed by a suspect they were taking to jail, headlines long past but never forgotten.

I may not understand why anyone would be a cop, but I am glad so many are good ones.