The Police

Years ago I once had a student in a night class who was older, already the graduate of a police academy who wanted to get an academic degree as well while working full time in a nearby precinct.  We struck up a friendship when in the course of a student-teacher conference he and I indicated to each other that we were gay.  Nothing important, just a bond, a chance when alone together, to relax the guard that we both maintained constantly around other people.  He often drove me home from the campus into downtown Manhattan where I lived, a very kind gesture on his part, and a time when we could chat.  He was a mild mannered fellow, and although a big guy with broad shoulders and an air of strength and determination, and he came to class in uniform, I had a hard time thinking of him as a cop.  I remember once on the way home in his car, I brought up the subject of security as we idled at a stop light in the inky darkness of Central Park, and was amazed when he opened his glove compartment to reveal to loaded revolvers.  Well, of course, dummy, he was a police officer.  He was one of the gentlest males I have known.  Once when driving through a neighborhood, a little black child darted out into the street, and my officer friend screeched to a halt.  The boy stood paralyzed with fear, and this big, big guy in his uniform got out, knelt down, put his hand on the boy's shoulder and proceeded to give a soft gentle paternal admonitory talk.  We sometimes did things together socially, and one night we were down near Sheridan Square sitting in an outdoor cafe when  an enormous roar went up in the air, male voices in extreme emotion.  Because we had just passed a storefront where I had seen a bunch of guys massed before a television screen, I knew instinctively they were cheering a touchdown or something similar.  My friend who had not happened to witness that jumped up at the sound, crouched down, his hand on his back hip, then relaxed, smiled apologetically.  "It's hard not to react," he said.  I once asked him if he ever thought of explaining his sexual orientation to his colleagues in the precinct house, and he replied that bonding is all important among police officers, and a lot of male bonding took place as the men horsed around semi-clothed in the shower room and dressing room at work, and he had noticed the strong homoerotic tinge to their horsing around, something essential to heterosexual bonding that homosexual men always notice and straight men would die to learn they practiced.  So, no, he said, because it would ruin all the comradery if he were to do so.