A Bad Good-Bye

For 33-year veteran Miami Police Sgt. Marilin Garcia, goodbye was anything but routine (transmitted over the air as a "Retirement radio call")

“This place was an amazing department to work for until the back stabbing and personal attacks started from my immediate supervisors and the First,” Garcia said over the police radio. “And if you don’t know who the First is, the First of nothing. To the chief and the First of nothing, you guys are in denial. You think you’re doing an amazing job, but in reality, you have destroyed this police department and the morale, except for your circle, which is definitely took care of.”

Garcia then refers to the prior police chief, Art Acevedo.

“I thought that Acevedo was bad, but at least one thing's for sure, I knew where he was coming from. To the First, you have a nasty attitude. So do yourself a favor and take some interpersonal skill classes so you know how to treat people right. And finally, to my immediate supervisor, Maj. Garrido. You are a liar, a snake in the grass, a cancer to this department. The hardest thing of being a female in this department was being surrounded by many males knowing that I was more of a man than you.”

Haven't many police officers, either retiring or resigning for (fill in the reason) been tempted to do this? Even at excellent departments, the frustrations and tensions inherent in policing can pit good people against good people, "Them" against "Us." Or, just me. Not every good-bye is a reluctant, tearful one. Sometimes, rancor takes over.

I'll bet Sergeant Garcia felt a lot better to get this off of her conscience. There were probably back splaps, "You go, girl" texts and at least the first round of post-ceremony drinks didn't come out of her pocket. But...

June, 1986. I had announced to my organization that I was leaving, taking my career in a different direction. I had been accepted at Syracuse University's College of Law and would enter the Class of '89 that August. Upon successful graduation, and passing the bar exam, I would enter practice as an attorney.

Many of my work friends encouraged me to vent my spleen at my department, the command staff and the state of policing there. I had street cred, they argued. Many of their grievances would finally be aired, and perhaps even addressed. In a sense, I owed it to them. I had nothing to lose, and they had everything to gain. 

I presented my sergeant with a "Short Form Resignation" my dad had given me - Mickey Mouse flipping off the reader, as a joke. For a number of reasons, I declined the invitation of my peers to do anything else. 

Fast forward to June, 1991. Life has intervened - I am divorced, we have sold our house in Liverpool (NY). I have made plans to return to Colorado, to be close to my kids. I have not worked nearly long enough as a lawyer to qualify for a Colorado waiver to admission (I had to take their bar exam). I need a job. So, I call a friend employed at the police department I had left five years before and wonder, in passing of course, if they are hiring.

They were, and I was rehired. On the day I reentered police work - Labor Day, 1991, my former sergeant presented me with the resignation letter I'd given her. And, we had a good laugh.Twenty-eight (largely successful) years later, I retired for good.

I wouldn't want to tell Sergeant Garcia, or anyone for that matter, what they should say on their way out of the law enforcement door. All I know is that in 1991 when I needed a job, needed a boost to my self-esteem and needed to feel at home, I reaped the good fortune I had unknowingly sown five years before.