THIRTY-SIX YEARS AGO … How can that be?
/THIRTY-SIX YEARS AGO … How can that be?
By: Dale Gabriel
I embarked on a journey like no other, a journey that cannot be defined, a journey that only a very small percentage of people are able to take, a journey that would take me places and show me things that NOBODY should ever have to see, a journey that would bless me with unbreakable bonds, a journey that would give me pride and jubilation, a journey that in the end, is ultimately life-changing!
I left my job that I absolutely loved as a radio announcer/news reporter, packed up my old yellow Firebird, kissed and hugged mom and dad, my then-girlfriend (now my wife of over 35 years, said goodbye, and began the long and lonely 2 1/2 drive across the state, to PA State Police Academy in Hershey.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Other than being 20 miles away at Saint Vincent College, and coming home most weekends, I had never even been away from home. The next five long months seemed like a lifetime for this college boy, being about as anti-military as they come. I never did learn to march or salute very well, something that would haunt me over the next 25 years.
The Academy classroom work was simple. Learning had never been difficult for me when I put in the effort. Pool time was easy since I had swum nearly every day possible for the past 12 years or so (although we did not have "pool duty" long because of a problem with the pool) The REST of the academy time was NOT easy.
My knees could NEVER withstand the morning run of up to 5 miles, regardless of the weather. Physical training had its ups and downs. There was fight class, actual LIVE hand-to-hand combat. Sometimes you were lucky enough to get the weak; other times, you were the weak. The shooting range, working details, and much more filled the days. My parents and troopers I knew lied to me! This was nothing like college! What had I gotten myself into? And then, there were the constant inspections. They certainly were not my friend, especially considering I did not have my mom to make my bed or do my clothes.
But after that long, hard five months and finally passing the required tasks, including the obstacle course at the exact time I needed (I still think they shaved a few seconds off my time. Just a week earlier, I was still far off.), I would become a full-fledged Pennsylvania State Trooper. Trooper Gabriel. Just like the Angel. That had a nice ring to it. I probably said that a thousand times over the next 25 years, pointing to my name tag. My coworkers can attest to that. In fact, some of them started doing it FOR me.
Other than being a father, this was easily one of most important and proudest accomplishments in my life.
I would spend the next 25 years doing what I still consider to have been very important work, taking me from Shippenville in Clarion County, to Greensburg, then home to Kiski Valley for the last 20 years. I was proud of the work I did. Proud to be a "Road Dawg" for the entire time. I was punched, kicked, bitten, spit on, run down by a car, dragged by a drunken driver, and even attacked off duty, resulting in a fractured skull and severe facial injuries. Yet, like Buford Pusser, I kept "Walking Tall."
I kept plugging away, going from wide-eyed rookie to grizzled veteran in what SEEMED like a very short time. Several times, I was among the top 10 in DUI arrests in my troop, receiving the High DUI award. For about 18-20 of those years, I had the most DUIs at my station. I probably took part in taking a thousand drunken drivers off the road, and I absolutely hammered underage drinkers. Many thought I was wrong hunting them out the way I did. Right or wrong, these were things I despised.
My very favorite thing, however, was simply the interaction with people when they were NOT at their worst, not victims, not the accused. I loved seeing kids out in public and the excitement in their eyes at seeing a policeman, still a hero to most of them. I would let them sit in my patrol car, blow the siren, just talk to them, let them know we are there when they need us, and a friend when they don't. I absolutely loved being like Superman to them.
I thoroughly enjoyed the hundreds of programs I put on at schools, old folks' homes, town meetings, scout troops, 4-H Clubs, PTA meetings and many more. I was extremely proud to incorporate, then put on for five years, "Camp Clelian," a one-day police camp for the students at Clelian Heights, a school for persons with special needs, the first of its kind to my knowledge. Each year, it got bigger and better. After the last one, I received a personal call from Governor Corbett and our PSP Commissioner. Great memories.
Unfortunately though, as only those of us IN law enforcement know, the job eats at you. It takes so much out of you, changes you. My outlook on life changed. We see a multitude of things the average person does not see. I had so many ups and downs over the years, hundreds of dead bodies, mostly fatal accidents and suicides, drug overdoses, fatal fires, even a few murders. I saw a man die screaming while trapped in his tractor-trailer, as fire raged around him, and caught his dog as he threw it out the window. I found my daughter's best friend and other kids I knew dead in a triple-fatal crash. I held an elderly woman's hand as she expired along the side of the road while awaiting an ambulance, talking to her for what seemed like hours. Delivering death messages to people, telling them they had just lost a loved one, was very difficult, completely draining you.
Over time, it hardens you. I saw people at their worst, injured, hurt and scared. Very often, however, I feel I was able to provide them some kind words, some comfort, which I believed helped them deal with whatever situation they were in.
And I was blessed to work with and become friends with so many great people along the way. Unlike a "normal" job, your co-workers become more than just your friends. They become your lifeline. They are guys and girls you know you can count on when the shit hits the fan. Brothers and sisters that you know will have your back, just as you have theirs.
It's not just those in your own department, but many of those in the neighboring stations, local police officers you work with regularly. Unfortunately, some of these brothers and sisters were taken from us at the hands of murderers. It does not matter if you know them personally or not; each and every one are family. May they all rest in peace. And now, I see many of my old law enforcement brothers' and sisters' KIDS wearing the uniform. I am as proud of them as if they were my own kids. And I pray for them as I do ALL police officers. Thank you for carrying on the tradition!
All in all, it was a great career for me. I am proud of my body of work. I am proud to have set an example in my neighborhood, someone people knew they could count on, and someone the kids could look up to. In addition, I was able to work midnight shift for much of it, which allowed me the time and ability to stay active in my three daughters' lives, which I think helped them turn into strong and successful adults.
Those of us IN law enforcement know the truth... but to those not in law enforcement, it's much different than you think. It's not like what you see on TV. It's a calling, not a job. When others run for safety, WE run toward danger. Today's world disgusts me. There is so much blind hatred for law enforcement. So much disrespect. But we are still out there doing the job every day, much of the time for people who do not appreciate it. I cannot believe it's been 36 years, and I have been retired for 11, but I still hold my head high. I am still proud to be part of a fraternity that most of the world could not or would not do.
Dale Gabriel is a retired patrol and community services officer with the Pennsylvania State Police. After 25+ years of service, in retirement, he has been working on a book of his many PSP memories. He also coaches a baseball team in a Miracle League for those with special needs. He holds a communication degree with English minor from Saint Vincent College in Western Pennsylvania.
