Younger people often see the older generations as, if not obsolete, certainly “behind the times.” In my younger years, I was as guilty of this as anyone. On the other hand, I also respected my elders and, in many cases, viewed their advice as chunks of wisdom. This was particularly true when I started my law enforcement career some 30-plus years ago.

My mentor was Walt, a grizzled, white-haired former Kansas City, Kansas, police officer who had come to serve our small town after taking a few years’ sabbatical from police work. I spent a lot of time with Walt in the year and a half I worked with him. Most of my experiences alongside him were as a starry-eyed young reserve police officer wanting to learn every aspect of the job. I would get into the patrol car with him and spend an entire shift absorbing knowledge that would serve me well throughout my career.

Walt was truly an old-time copper. In an era when semiautomatics were on almost every police officer’s hip, Walt carried a six-shot nickel-colored .357 Magnum Smith and Wesson revolver with a 4” barrel. It was an imposing weapon, and those who had the misfortune of staring at the business end of it would never forget the impact of that beast. In fact, I recall an incident at the end of a short pursuit in which the driver had that chrome monster plastered to the side of his head and was told to not move. The only answer the driver could respond with was soiling his underwear loudly.

He was not shy about telling me what he believed I needed to know to be successful in law enforcement.

While sharply dressed is not how I would describe Walt, he was nonetheless intimidating. Just one look from him was enough to change the mind of most would-be resisters. His voice was deep, articulate and no-nonsense. He looked at you like he was willing to accept nothing short of complete compliance, and he almost always got it.

His time at KCPD was in the 1960s and early 1970s. Walt had seen a lot of things. Those were turbulent times scarred with racial strife, antiestablishment sentiments and a sense among police officers that survival was based on an officer’s awareness and ability to read people. Walt could figure out folks quickly. Sometimes I wondered if he was a mind reader.

Walt was far from politically correct. He had a decent verbal filter in public, but he was older, experienced and had seen a lot more in his previous 13-year tenure with KCPD than I would probably see in my entire career. While he was not the epitome of physical fitness, his imposing size and demeanor undoubtedly kept most bad guys toeing the line.

Perhaps what I appreciated the most about Walt was his stories and advice. He was not shy about telling me what he believed I needed to know to be successful in law enforcement. Sometimes they were tidbits of innocuous information, like “Never let the perps intimidate you,” and sometimes they were the gut-punch endings to his detailed stories. Regardless of the method of delivery, his messages always hit home with me. Not a year would go by on the job that I did not reflect back on my time with Walt. He was the proverbial blue knight I looked up to, literally and figuratively.

There was, however, another side to Walt. He had an enormous sense of humor. I can’t count the number of times he had me in stitches from his stories and off-the-cuff explanations. For instance, one time I asked him why he carried a revolver while the vast majority of other officers carried semiautomatics. His answer was that having all those extra rounds available is great, but semiautos can and do malfunction — you can “snap, crackle and pop all you want to,” he said as he gesticulated pulling back the slide on an invisible pistol, tapping on it and putting in a new magazine, “but in the end, those rounds are useless if you can’t shoot back.” Walt made his point, though I carried a Glock throughout the majority of my career.

I also knew Walt wasn’t perfect. There were things I learned about him that I chose to overlook. These were not anything remotely illegal, but they probably delved into immoral. Perhaps this was one of the biggest lessons I learned in life: Even your heroes are human, make mistakes and sometimes do things you wouldn’t do yourself.

Walt ended up moving halfway across the country to take a job as a small-town chief of police. I visited him a few months after he moved and rode along with him for old times’ sake. It was great visiting with him again. In 2000, on our way down south for vacation, we stopped in his part of the world and my family and I met him for dinner. He seemed happy and it was great to catch up on old times. That would be the last time I would see Walt, though we had a few phone calls in the coming years.

Last year, Walt passed away. He had moved back to Kansas, where he was born. I contacted an officer in the area to check for me, and it was confirmed he had departed this world. I don’t know the circumstances, nor do I want to. I want to remember Walt as I knew him — a respected old-time copper who took me under his wing.

If you’re lucky enough to be mentored by an experienced officer with a gift for conveying a message, count yourself very fortunate indeed. I had no idea at the time what impact our time together would have on me, but in retrospect it was one of the greatest times of my life. I credit Walt with a goodly portion of the success I’ve had in the law enforcement world. He instilled in me core ideologies that are part of my being today. I hope there are more Walts out there continuing the good work.