I am a writer. One of my characters is a law officer, and I’ve been putting off writing his story because there are so many details I could get wrong.

That’s what I wrote in the “Tell us why you want to attend the Citizen’s Academy” box. I can only assume that the Clark County Sheriff’s office also believed that I would get many details wrong. Because I got in.

Tuesday, April 9: Beth and Melanie enter the Clark County Sheriff’s Office.

First, the office itself: a podium at the front, next to the wall so that everybody in class could see the white projector screen at center stage. I reflexively looked up. You see, the staff at the Vancouver Library regularly fights prolonged battles with the overhead projector in the Columbia Room. Which is why, upon seeing the screen at the front of the Sheriff’s classroom, I immediately hunted for the ceiling-mounted projector. And there it was. A small, black device with a camera lens. The projector was only the first of several small, black devices with camera lenses that I would see in the next three hours.

To the right were windows with aluminum blinds, and on the wall, photos of the police vehicles and police dogs and police horses of yesteryear. There was a framed photo of an adorable German shepherd. There was also a framed black and white photo of a police van from back when vehicles were still a novelty item. The van was broad and bulky had what looked like torpedo tubes along the sides. It was easy to imagine two dozen cops in clown wigs pouring out of it.

On the left side of the room were two sets of locked double doors, marked “Storage.” Next to those was a mysterious door with a numerical lock. No one ever mentioned the door. Make of that what you will.

The man who stood up to talk to us first introduced himself as. . . I almost didn’t catch his name, because I was too busy thinking about how unexpectedly handsome he was. And also how much younger than me he was. In fact, nearly all the law enforcement officers in the room were younger than I was, which was more or less a good thing. It depends on your perspective. From my perspective, I was on the side of the room filled with people long past retirement age.

Beth has moments of prescience. When we were pulling into the parking lot before the class, I mused about who might attend an eight week course of this type.

“We will be the youngest people in the room by a considerable margin,” Beth said.

We were the youngest, not counting a couple of curious twenty-somethings and the unattainable men in uniform.

Sergeant Chris Nichols, who will hereafter be referred to as Sergeant Handsome, congratulated us, explaining that not everyone who wanted to get in was accepted. They based the decision in part on whatever reason you gave them for wanting to attend. I thought about asking what reasons were considered unacceptable, but decided to wait until the policemen had time to get used to me.

Sergeant Handsome directed our attention to the coffee and cookies in the back. You know what? The cliche about old, overly strong coffee in police stations is apparently not a cliche! To quote one of the people sitting behind me: “Yeah, that coffee needed cream.”

We were asked to introduce ourselves. My heart sank.

It wasn’t as painful as I feared it would be. Turned out, about half of the people in the room were involved with law enforcement. The woman who was a retired US Marshall. The guy whose son was on the Portland PD. The retired cop who, in his words, “Wanted the good stuff.” And the pretty young blonde in the front row who moved like she would beat anybody up without hesitation, and wore a jacket with “Animal Control” on the back. I later discovered (via flagrant eavesdropping) that she did, in fact, work for Animal Control. I am sure she’s the one they call when the wolverines get loose.

I introduced myself, explained my completely frivolous reason for being there, and asked what the room was normally used for. Answer: The room is used for training and classes. My mental picture of hard-jawed, steely-eyed cops receiving their day’s assignments in the briefing room was shattered. 

Beth said, “FVRL is always looking for opportunities to collaborate.” Yeah, right.

Neither of us said, “we want you to tell us cool stuff about murder and science and police dogs.” I don’t think we fooled anyone, though.

Sergeant Handsome reminded us about the rules of conduct. Which included: Do not bring weapons. Do not wear clothing advertising drug paraphernalia. And do not drink alcohol before you come to class. While I was still busy being irritated at past attendees who did bring weapons, wear marijuana-themed shirts and git likkered up prior to entering the Sheriff’s office (thus necessitating the warnings), Sergeant Handsome also asked us to turn off the ringers on our phones, and to wear closed-toe shoes.

“From next week on, everybody needs to wear the polo shirt we gave you. That’s your uniform,” Sergeant Handsome said. (Polo shirt photo below. Yes, you will also, at some point, get photos of Beth and me wearing our shirts.) The woman who issued us those polo shirts is an officer named Kasey Frazier. She is actually one of Charlie’s Angels. Her hair is loose, wavy and long enough to brush her shoulderblades; her face is elegant and aloof; and you can tell at a glance that she knows what everyone, everywhere, is supposed to be doing. She drew our attention to the coffee and cookies in the back.

Sergeant Handsome told us that the CC Sheriff’s office was founded the year they struck gold in California. He also told us that as of 2024, the police were finally permitted to wear body cameras. These cameras are about the size of a Twinkie and are clipped to the front of the uniform at mid-chest. They are small, black and have a camera lens. This year, special (small, black) devices (with lenses) were added to police vehicles. These devices can photograph your license plate while you are dashing past at well over the speed limit. Which means that even the Sheriff’s vehicles have better video equipment than the Columbia Room at the Vancouver Library.

The Sheriff’s Office is currently training three K-9 officers (and their canines) and hopes to have these folks out doing cop stuff in the next few weeks. Apparently the course is particularly grueling. I can’t wait to learn more. Almost as important: the deputies are using drones.

Drones!

Sergeant Handsome says they use the drones in combination with canines to resolve issues non-lethally. One of his favorite stories was about (and I will try to repeat this verbatim, so you get the lingo): “There was one guy with a gun, shots were fired. And he ran into a nearby wooded area. The guy running the drone sent it in and played “What Does The Fox Say?” over and over until the guy came out with his hands up and said, ‘Enough. I give up.'”

It was all Beth could do not to start making fox sounds. I can only admire her self-control. Especially because I’m certain at least a third of the people in the room had never heard the song and no idea what the Sergeant was talking about. 

Is there more to this story? Oh, yes. We are about to meet the charismatic Sheriff Horch. Find out more in Part 2!