What is it about this job? Is it the blood we cops see? The emotional effects of disturbing scenes wherein human bodies have been contorted, punctured or worse? Is it the machine? You know, layers of command structure filled with well-intentioned individuals perceived to be looking out for the “good of the department” while seemingly insulated from the consequences of a throbbing adrenaline, which can gift us with the highest of highs followed by the lowest of lows.

Maybe it’s an ever-shifting national verdict gaveled down on those who run toward the gunshots. One controversial police video and the court of public opinion is content to sentence our profession to the hard labor of ridicule and shame. One line-of-duty death, and suddenly, we’re heroes again, worthy even of thoughts and prayers. Maybe it’s all of the above. Whatever it is, years of such battering can emotionally weather the most optimistic among us. Truly, this job will cause some of us to become downright unhappy. You’ve seen it. It’s a dark unhappiness that’s eager to devour not only our careers but also our home lives.

As the leader of a law enforcement labor organization, I’m all too familiar with this brand of soul-sapping misery. The dissatisfied, after all, seek me out for relief. Got a beef with the system? Set it loose on your labor rep. Everyone knows that. And look, I’m not complaining. I spent 20 years putting my ass on the line, ensuring the flock has the freedom to disparage law enforcement with the grossest of insults based on some police video that has gone viral. 

So it’s a true honor to now be in a position that advocates for courageous sheepdogs who proudly wear the badge. It’s my job — take the grievance, evaluate if it’s fixable, develop a solution, work toward the fix and follow up. Rinse and repeat, day after day, a steady flow of cops with attitudes ranging from “I’m happy with my job, but this sucks” to “This job sucks, and I can’t wait to get the hell out so I can be happy again.” It can be heartbreaking, and managing the various stages of job-related
dissatisfaction isn’t science. There’s no how-to manual. However, as a green LEO labor organization leader, interactions with a severely disgruntled member taught me some lessons.

“Nobody calls me back anymore.” That was the first thing he told me. This guy was so pissed off at having been ghosted that he was threatening to start a third police labor organization to represent the officers in our agency. And we’re talking about a very senior officer who knows his way around things. He had my attention. It quickly became apparent why his calls for help had started to go unanswered. Our initial conversations would go 90 minutes. He was like a cellphone Rocky Balboa, unleashing marathons of verbal pummeling. Grievance after pent-up grievance. Some were legitimate. Some of the complaints, while unfortunate, were global in nature and presented no realistic opportunity for remediation. It all came out, call after call, barrages of verbal body blows until he got me on the ropes. And then, in true Italian Stallion fashion, he would land a couple on the chin. I listened to every minute of it. I should mention that while he was pleading for help, he never attacked me personally. I promised him two things:

1. I would work to fix what I could.
2. I would always call him back.

There was no promise I would fix everything. I set realistic expectations from the very beginning. Management, after all, retains powerful rights (and for good reason, by the way, but that’s a story for another day). But it was easy enough for me to identify a couple of his issues that were easy fixes. I moved to quickly resolve those problems and then built on that momentum. Gradually, the conversations became shorter. The tension thinned. I was starting to get some chuckles out of this guy. We were back on track. Getting those quick and easy wins built a bank of trust from which I later pulled as I explained to him that some of his problems couldn’t be resolved from my position. At the end of the day, he knew that I cared for him. 

Do you work for some people who need this level of care? Do you need to build your own bank of trust to pull from as you deal with the disgruntled? Let me share a few other things that have worked for me.

Call them back

It’s a rule I have. I pick up the phone if I can. If not, every voicemail, text message and/or email gets a response as soon as possible. Period. Even if I know I’m in for a verbal beatdown. You may not be able to solve the problem, but listening is helping. If nothing else, you are providing a release for frustration. Professionals make responsiveness a habit.

Coaching? Yes. Counseling? No.

If I can’t fix it, I’m usually prepared to at least offer some advice. As a senior officer in a leadership role, I enjoy many opportunities to mentor young officers. Often, I find myself in a coaching role, encouraging them to reach for the full potential a career like this offers, even through the setbacks that will naturally come. But I’m not a counselor. Be on the lookout for symptoms of mental health deterioration. Seek out training so that you have a basic understanding of suicide prevention. Be prepared to get the people you represent professional help should they need it. This job requires that we may have to sacrifice our lives for the innocent. But we don’t owe PTSD a damn thing.

Put a pause on personal verbal abuse

Patiently listening to someone dump a full load of “I hate this job and would quit if I could” is one thing. Tolerating verbal abuse or personal insults is another. But a hasty hang-up followed by ghost protocol is not the best way to handle this. Instead, put a pause on the conversation. Someone this out of line deserves a statement like, “I understand you are upset, but your personal attacks are making it difficult for me to help you right now. Let’s take a break and continue this conversation later.” 

Repeat the statement if necessary and hope for a concession that a pause is a good idea. If the attacks continue, end the conversation. Wait a few days and call back. Yes, you will most likely have to re-initiate contact. It’s what you signed up for. Start the conversation fresh. There’s a decent chance you will get an apology and dialog that is less emotional and more reasoned.

Follow through and follow up

Nothing turns people off faster than someone in a position of leadership who is little more than a black hole when it comes to complaint taking. I’m talking about the insincere “I’ll look into that” types. If you lead a LEO labor organization, your job is to help people when you can. If you commit to helping someone, follow through. You’ll likely be juggling multiple requests for help at once. Maintain a list of issues on which you are working and the name of the associated member officer. Noting this information in front of the person you are helping projects commitment. I happen to keep a running “to-do list” on my smartphone. Follow up regarding the outcomes, even if you were unsuccessful. It’s easy to take credit for the wins, but don’t be afraid of failure. Giving a damn, making an effort and ultimately failing is a dance to which all strong leaders know the moves.

Remember, if you are a LEO labor organization leader, taking the tough calls is your job. There will be rough days.  In fact, I have days where I’m one of those guys who just wants to get the hell out. But the wins keep me going. Wins like the outcome over the verbal Rocky Balboa of grievances I was describing — that guy who used to unleash torrents of “nobody cares about me” in 90-minute sessions. He is now one of my strongest members. In fact, he has solved problems for our organization that nobody has been able to fix for at least the past decade. More importantly, we are friends. But in this story, I’m no Apollo Creed. I don’t want a rematch.