I’m approaching one year training for and participating in the NYPD auxiliary police program. I wrote earlier about mustering for the September 11 service. Tonight I walked in the annual memorial service for two auxiliary officers who were killed on duty on this day in 2007.

I took this picture as we were starting.

Here’s a picture another auxiliary officer took from inside the group. I’m not sure if I’m in front of or behind the picture-taker, but one of those hats may be mine.

As I’ve served more, I’m not learning as big things as fast. I’ve learned that a lot of police work includes standing around or waiting. Sometimes after standing at a post not doing much, when I walk away, I say to myself that I may have prevented many crimes. Still, sometimes we just wait in the precinct.

Waiting seems a property of serving in uniform. Firefighters may wait around their whole careers without putting out a fire. The cliche about soldiers is that it’s “Months of boredom punctuated by moments of extreme terror.”

People were shot doing what I am doing

I find myself surprised at how much people thank me. As an auxiliary, my role is to be “the eyes and ears of the department,” not to stop crime or arrest criminals. I feel I’m doing something, but not so much that people I don’t know thank me.

Today, marching, it hit me that serving in uniform is unlike anything I’ve done before. I’ve done many things beyond what others have: I’ve helped build an x-ray observational satellite still orbiting and taking data. I invented a technology and helped bring it to market. I coach executives in the c-suites of publicly traded companies. I’ve finished marathons and competed in sports at the national and world level.

But this evening I realized I’m volunteering to do something that someone shot and killed two people for doing. There are lots of cops and auxiliary cops and few have been killed in the line of duty, but nothing I’ve done before comes close to being something that people kill you for.

I serve in the precinct I live in. They were shot a short walk from my home.

Strong emotions I can’t name

I thought about the opening sequence to the movie I watched last week, Platoon. The main character arrives in Vietnam intending to serve. Moments after he lands, he sees body bags with dead soldiers. The living soldiers look grizzled beyond the point anyone who wasn’t there could imagine what led to that result.

I’m like him when he arrived and won’t experience anything that unusual, but I felt strong emotions I can’t name. I felt camaraderie for the other men and woman walking with me. I spoke to some family members of the fallen officers. I felt honor and duty. But I haven’t felt some of the other emotions before. I don’t want to glamorize anything I said or did. I was just one volunteer among many. I just want to record something of what happened.

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