So, I couldn’t help it. I teared up. I guess I really am becoming a sap in my old age.
Tonight marks the end of a lengthy and successful career in law enforcement for a man that has become one of my favorite people. After 20+ years as a police officer for the State College Borough, and another 20+ years as first a Corrections Officer and later a Lieutenant for the Centre County Correctional Facility, Lt. James Smith is throwing in the towel and retiring.
Tonight in Muster, he thanked us for our service, and for doing our jobs. He told us we knew our purpose, and performed our tasks in a manner that was a credit to our facility, and smiled when he added that we did that, despite the Administration’s assertions to the contrary. That’s so like him, I thought. So like him to take this as just another day, and make it a credit to us and not to himself. And as he thanked us, I teared up. It couldn’t be helped.
I haven’t always agreed with Smitty. Nor, I’m sure, has he always thought I handled things the way they necessarily should have been. But his door was always open, and he could always be counted on for punny humor sure to lighten the mood in even the most irritating of circumstances, and a listening ear when humor wasn’t the appropriate response.
Last year, when a fellow officer I was dating was arrested in a major drug investigation, it was Smitty that pulled me aside before anyone else to ask if I was ok. I was working the day after his arrest, and it was Smitty who asked if I needed to take a day – regardless of the fact that the shift was already underway, and someone would have to be called in. “If you need it, we’ll make it happen,” he said. The respect I saw in his eyes when I said I’d stay and face whatever rumors and accusations were coming, steadied and reassured me more than any hug or comfort ever could have. And it was in his company that I would escape the whispers and the questions and the gossip in the weeks afterward, as we shared the sludge our kitchen passes off as coffee in the quiet of the Shift Commander’s office. I’m not sure I could have gotten through those weeks if not for that.
And it was Smitty who dubbed me with the nickname Jinxie – due to my more unfortunate than average luck with anything involving injuries, health problems, vehicles, appliances, and electronics. “Batten down the hatches, and man your battle stations,” he’d say, “Jinxie’s in the building!” Mischief dancing in his eyes, and a grin splayed across his weathered face.
Having to admit the Old Man was slowing down this past year was hard for me. And sadly, I kept waiting for the day that we’d get the call from his daughter that he’d passed away. After-all, the man’s 78, too stubborn to pay attention to anything his doctor tells him to do, and has the eating habits of a 7-year old child when left to his own devices. But each day he’d pull into the lot, with his shiny Cadillac, and a smile on his face. “Oh, golly, here comes trouble,” He’d say, when he’d see me, or “Well, look at this group of characters,” as he walked into Muster before shift. But his good nature was wearing thin with the bullshit the last few months. The in-house investigations and often undue scrutiny of the administration sucked the patience out of him. His memory was starting to go – he was having to write himself notes more often, and remembered the details less – and his willingness to tackle the big issues was waning. It was time for him to go.
But I’ll miss him. Tonight he and I sat in the Shift Commander’s together for the last time – him behind the desk manning the helm, and me with my feet on it, sitting in the chair on the other side. His lack of enthusiasm regarding his pending retirement worries me – and confirms my suspicions that this choice, while perhaps made unbeknownst to others, wasn’t entirely his.
“I’ll be sorry to see you go, LT – I’m happy for you for being retired, but sad for us.” He smiled, and only a select few would have noticed that it was a little watery.
“I’m not exactly doing cartwheels over it, but it is what it is.”
“What’ll you do to keep yourself busy, without this place driving you to insanity?” I tried to hide my concern.
“Well, Jinxie, I haven’t got a heck of a lot.” The look of utter defeat on his face broke my heart.
“Well, that will just leave you more time to find some trouble to get into. You know what they say about idle hands…” I grinned, and was pleased to see that he smiled back.
“Oh, what’ll my daughter do with me??” Mischief gleamed in his eyes for a moment before they sobered. He looked down then, and wiped a tear away that I respectively pretended not to notice.
“You need a warm-up on that coffee, LT?” He looked up. “I’m on break. Come on down with me and I’ll buy you a fresh cup.”
Smitty smiled wide. “Hell, with this crap you ought to be paying me to drink it.”
Goodbyes are hard. Harder yet when you know they don’t necessarily represent a new beginning. I hope that Smitty finds his niche in retirement – I know few people who have earned it more.
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