Well, after 29 years I will retire tomorrow at the end of my shift. I will miss the honorable men and women I have worked with... not the defense attorneys, judges, criminals, politics or people who don't have the courage to stand up for what is right or honorable. In police work you see the very best in people and the absolute worst. I want to remember the very best.

I also intend to stop and see as many retirees as I can... many feel left out and cut off from the working troops. Sad in our work we have the tendency to use "once you are out... you are out", philosophy. No wonder so many officers eat a gun after they retire.

I am going to post a poem my sister in law wrote for me titled "The Last Shift". I know I will feel this way around 5:00 P.M. on my last day. If anyone would like to reprint this information, please give proper author credit with footnote.

He flicked on his windshield wipers.

Funny how he'd never gotten used to the sight of blood.

He recalled vividly another rainy night, and his first fatal.

How his pulse had quickened in a crazy combination of dread and excitement when the call came through... 12-16-A (a fatal accident.)

He swallowed hard remembering.

There was no way he could have been prepared for the actuality.

Maimed metal, so twisted it didn't even resemble a vehicle any longer; shards of broken glass glinting wetly in the red revolving lights.

And so much blood.

When they loaded her body into the ambulance, he had turned aside and vomited, as much from despair as horror.

It was all so needless.

But that was the name of the game.

He squinted through the lines of rain that blurred his windshield.

If there was anything he hated about his job, it was the sense of futility, of not being able to change what he saw:

Abused children, addicts, drunken drivers, child molesters....

The difference was with some it was a matter of choice.

He lit a cigarette.

Then again, he wasn't there to judge. Just to do his job.

His radio blared suddenly, the flat precise voice of the dispatcher loud in the quiet.

---There's a 12-29 in progress at 574 West Third. Do you copy?

---Copy, he replied--I'm enroute.

He swung the patrol car in a tight bootlegger's turn, and flipped on the overheads. No siren, though, in a family beef that might just make things worse.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

White knuckle time.

The woman's smile was a grimace,

her swollen eye purpling under the yellow porch light.

--No officer, she insisted--there's no problem.

Relief and frustration mingled as he watched the door go shut.

Strange how the sidewalk seemed shorter going back down it.

He reported back to the desk man and dismissed it from his mind.

Twenty-five years.

He smiled wryly.

It was not possible.

Twenty-five years of Christmas dinners gobbled on a half hour lunch break; of vacations postponed and plans canceled.

Of 3 A.M. phone calls with the terse two-word command to "suit up"

But it hadn't been all bad.

He must have fed ice cream to a score of lost little kids, and rescued innumerable motorists from flat tires, blizzards, and empty gas tanks.

He glanced at his watch.

Time to head for the barn, he thought, and for an instant, that first fatal flashed against his inner eye.

He saw again the quiet house, darkened in sleep, the porch light snapping on at their knock, the bath robed mother's face blanching as she saw the two uniformed troopers on her doorstep.

---We're sorry, ma'am.

He had not known until they got into the car that the wetness on his cheeks was not rain, but tears.

Now he pulled into the patrol office parking lot.

As he yanked his keys from the ignition, he realized with a pang that he wouldn't be needing them anymore.

They'd be turned in along with his uniform, his service revolver, and the remainder of his standard issue.

No more patrols. No more wary approach of the traffic offender inviolate in his own car. No more court dates on days off.

No more letdown when someone copped a plea and got off.

No more exhilaration when he saw his influence weigh a youngster away from trouble.

He had made it to the end.

Not like some, going out in a box.

He sighed wearily, then grinned as he pulled the mike towards him and signed himself out.

by Linda Syverson Dent

(Linda Dent is the sister-in-law to Oregon State Police Senior Trooper (Ret.) Robert Dent of Bend, Oregon).

Copyright 1994-2000/Constable Group, Inc.

Dear Superintendent Ruecker:

I wrote this letter earlier today and will be reading it at my retirement dinner. It replaces the simple memo of intent to retire written months ago to the previous Superintendent, who retired last month. This letter contains many things I have always felt. It is time I come forward and share them with you.

Mr. Superintendent, you and I don't know each other very well, but I am the type of person who wears my heart on my sleeve, much like the great philosopher, "Popeye," who once said "I am what I am and that's all that I am."

I am just one of many who have worn the uniform and badge of the Oregon State Police with a great deal of pride and honor. With me, it has been 25 of the best years of my life. It has always been more than a job; it has been a way of life. Ever since I was a little boy I wanted to be an Oregon State Police Trooper and in my heart, I always will be. Now it is time to turn over
the reins to the young, energetic and idealistic young troopers, who feel they are going to change the world by arresting every criminal in sight. Their spirit and devotion to duty, I still so admire. It reminds me of myself, in years gone by.

In this work, as you know Mr. Superintendent, you see the very best in people and the absolute worst. I want to leave the department remembering the very best. I will miss the honest, caring men and women I have worked with all these years and my honorable friends who gave their lives for what they believed in...not the self serving defense attorneys who "meander" to a different drummer, nor the Bunny hugging judges who are not brave enough to be strong, or compassionate enough to be just, nor the self indulgent criminals who care for nothing but themselves. They are the ones that lack the courage to do what is right... after all... it is a matter of having some honor.

Speaking of honor and doing what is right.... I would like to thank you for taking the time to personally contact me two weeks ago while you were in Bend. I appreciated your sincere expression of thanks for my years of service, charitable work, the passage of the "Fallen Officer's Bill" and your comment about how you would have liked to know me better. I remember when you took the time out of your busy schedule to congratulate me on the passage of the bill at the Governor's Office when it was signed, as did my station commander Lt. Ron Nelson. He traveled 150 miles to stand with me during the signing ceremony, as did many of my friends who are in the audience tonight. I want to express my appreciation to Major Lee Ericksen, who is present tonight, for testifying for the "Fallen Officer's Bill" during the Judiciary Hearings, to Sgt. Paul Collinsworth who, on many occasions, allowed me to change my shift so that I could attend meetings off duty to facilitate the passage of the bill. It is honorable men, like the four of you, and many more men and women of the Oregon State Police, that made it a privilege to serve.

Well, Mr. Superintendent, it is time to go, I hereby, officially retire from the Oregon State Police but more importantly, I am tendering my resignation as a "grown up." That's right... I have decided I would like to be a 10 year-old again.

I want to return to a time when life was simple, care free, and idealistic. When all you knew were shooting marbles in the dirt, patched jeans, red trap door Long Johns, Cracker Jacks, and BB gun fights with my brothers... and trips to the woodshed with Dad when we misbehaved. Dad believed a willow stick instilled humility quite easily with a little flick of the wrist. Mom
believed in instilling humility to. She proved on several occasions that Ivory Soap would clean everything, including my big mouth, when I talked back.

Anyway, I want to skip rocks across the pond behind our farmhouse, where I grew up with four older brothers, who are still my heroes. I again want to swing from a giant pine tree, run a lemonade stand on a hot summer's day, rabbit hunt, and throw Cow Pie Frisbees, at low flying crows. I want to go to a Piggly Wiggly store again and think that it's a big shopping mall. Us boys couldn't afford to buy candy at the show house so we loaded up on Hershey chocolate bars and rolls of Neccos and hid them in our patched and hand me down clothes. We didn't know we were poor, it was that there was five of us to feed and we all lived on dad's police salary in those days. My Dad once said, "I started out with nothing and I still have most of it left." Nevertheless, what he and mom did give us was worth gold... love, self-respect, the value of a hard day's work, and always to remember those who had less than we did.

Anyway, Mr. Superintendent, I want to go back in time to when youngsters opened doors for ladies, and said "Your welcome, Ma'am" and addressed a man as "Sir". I again want our schools to have prayer for our blessings, the pledge of allegiance to honor the men and women of our Armed Forces, for teachers to instill discipline with self pride, to have a dress code that says your underwear can't show over the tops of your pants that are three sizes too big. In addition, teach what respect really is, like standing when a lady walks into a room or taking off the hat with a hand over the heart when "Old Glory" passes in review. I want our schools to be like they were when I was a kid... where drugs, guns and violence were unheard of and where students didn't call their teachers by their first names. I really believe part of the crime problem we have is that parents too often tie up their dogs and let their kids run loose. When you let them run loose, it is almost impossible to call them home. We as a society spend so much of our time trying to find the fountain of youth... we forget the fountain of knowledge our parents and grandparents possess. It's time we tap the fountain of smart.

I again want to think the world is fair and so are the people in it..... That everyone is honorable and good, and the ones that are not will get what they really deserve, meted out by judges who care more about the rehabilitation of the innocent victim than the arrogant and uncaring criminal.

I want all of my childhood buddies to have heroes like I did, and still have... brave police officers, courageous firefighters, Navy SEAL's, gutsy politicians like Ben Westlund, or bosses who risk their careers to stand up for their people when they're right. Not like our President and Commander in Chief, Bill Clinton, who has taught my little friends how to lie, cheat, and take advantage of young girls (his daughter's age) in the bathroom of our White House, as if it were a cheap motel. His mother would be ashamed...

I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of in-house and outhouse politics, car and computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, or dealing with unscrupulous defense attorneys and the dregs of society... which in my opinion, too often are the same thing.

I want to remember being raised by my father policeman and a saint named "Mom," a lady who taught me that fighting for something I believed in was worth a black eye... Or, Dad, who told me some things were worth fighting and dying for, and that I would learn that as a police officer. Dad was right... I remember my friends and heroes... Bret, Jim, Scot, Dick, whose dreams and those of their families' were buried with them. All of them have made the ultimate sacrifice like the three surviving families in our audience tonight. I want to forget about what humanity has done to itself but remember those who lost their lives trying to change it and their loved ones left to endure.

I want to believe that anything is possible and forget the dream stealers. I want to forget the hassles of life. I want to get excited by the smell of fresh mowed hay, a Saturday afternoon picture show and all the little things again.... like sitting in a porch swing with my best friend and confidant, who has always championed my causes and shared my dreams and whose sense of humor helps me maintain my perspective. She is still my 28 year bride and childhood sweetheart... Kathy, who is at my side now, as she has been for all these years.

I have not sought promotion above Senior Trooper or desired to ascend in rank, as it would have meant moving and uprooting my family from their friends...besides, this is my home. My mother told me that "No one is a failure who has friends," and from the looks of the large number in attendance, I have just been promoted to the highest rank.

I want to believe in honorable and kind people, and the fun of hanging out with my 12 pound, four wheel drive dust mop (dog) named "Gizmo." I know that the fountain of youth flows from the spirit, after all, Forrest Gump was right.... Happy is as happy does."

My mother could not be here due to prolonged illness. She will not be able to share in this wonderful evening all of you have bestowed upon me. I remember what she told me long ago, "Don't do anything in your life I would be ashamed of son, as I will be watching." Well, Mom I hope I have made you and Dad proud.

Anyway, Mr. Superintendent, it's time for me to go. The horse has expired and its time to dismount. I want to go play with my little buddies. I am picking up all my marbles; I will take my friends, my badge of honor and my memories with me. I am officially resigning from being a grown up. There are many more good and honorable people in this world and it is now my time to go out and meet them. 

Cordially,

Robert L. Dent
Senior Trooper (Ret.)
Oregon State Police, Bend, Oregon, USA

Constable Public Safety Memorial Foundation, Inc.

Constable Group, Inc.     Copyright 2000 Constable Group, Inc.

At his retirement party, Senior Trooper Dent presents Mary Lou Sanchez with an all expense paid trip, for her and her two children, to attend the National Law Enforcement Officer's Memorial Services in Washington D.C. The family has not had the opportunity to attend the national services until now. They are anxious to see their loved one's name on the memorial wall, after twenty years.

Mrs. Sanchez's husband, Lake County, Oregon Deputy Sheriff, David Sanchez was murdered in the line of duty 20 years ago in Paisley, Oregon. Sanchez was transporting a local trouble maker to jail after creating a disturbance at a local high school. While enroute to the correctional facility, his murderer drew a concealed handgun and shot the deputy 17 times (after reloading he shot him ten times in the back and another to the head.) The murderer was convicted, served less than five years in prison and lives not far from the Sanchez family.

Dent wore an original English Bobby's uniform, donated to him by the Bedfordshire Police in England. Chief Constable O'Byrne and Det. Sgt. Dick Coleman (Ret.) felt the uniform would assist Dent and his Constable Public Safety Memorial Foundation, raise money to help surviving families. They were right... at the conclusion of the retirement party, Dent's friends donated almost $2,000 to his foundation.

Note: The U.S. Section of the International Police Association has made special arrangements with its members to personally greet, escort and take care of the Sanchez family while in Washington D.C.