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nov. 1999
MEN IN BLUE
The biggest cop killers? Cops. Here's how job stress is destroying many police officers
by Michael D'Antonio
A vet with an M1 and a grievance had taken over a sporting-goods store in Torrance, California. The cops were trying to contain the situation, when the man poked the gun through the front door and fired. Two bullets slammed a police officer to the pavement.
Posted at the rear of the building, Jim Mock knew immediately that a fellow officer was down. Nobody had to tell him it was his friend Tom Keller. "His voice was gone from the radio," Mock remembers.
The standoff stretched into the night. It wasn't until hours later, after the bad guy had killed himself, that Mock learned his friend of 5 years had died almost instantly. A few days later, after Keller's funeral, Mock's life as a cop started to come apart.
Until then, Jim Mock had been large and in charge, a 10-year veteran of the force who savored both the status and the responsibility that came with his job. "I loved everything about being a cop," he says. His undoing began with his dreams. Within days of Keller's funeral, Mock's sleep became a parade of corpses he had seen in 10 years on the force. Brutal crime scenes he had long forgotten came back to him. "They were gruesome images--bluish skin, gashes, bloodless bullet holes that looked like punctures from a meat hook," he recalls.
Police work is full of danger, and not all of it is out on the streets. Every year about 150 officers are killed in the line of duty in the United States, but more than twice that number commit suicide. The psychological burdens of police work can be crushing. Not only do police officers have high rates of divorce, alcoholism, drug abuse, and domestic violence, but serious stress disorders are epidemic in police departments across the country as well.
Jim Mock's storchological gun. But it's nonetheless representative of the pressures faced by thousands of law-enforcement officers caught between the realities of violence and a powerful culture that thinks a man ought to be able to handle a little mayhem.
"I felt like I was blowing a head gasket," Mock says. He needed help. But like a lot of cops in trouble, he wouldn't get it.
THE COP CURE
There's a kind of natural selection that makes cops lousy at seeking help. The kind of
men
who gravitate to police work in the first place tend to believe in
the cowboy code: A man doesn't talk about his problems; he does what he
has to do. Confessing weakness is hard for most men,
and it's especially hard in a paramilitary world that values stoicism.
"We look at ourselves as warriors," says Robert Douglas, a 20-year veteran
of the Baltimore police department and author of Death with No Valor. "If
you look like you're hurting, there's a good chance your fellow officers
will not know how to handle it." Though most departments offer counseling services to policemen, taking advantage of them can kill a career. "There's no doubt that departments have used information gathered by psychological services to weed out certain officers," says Gene Sanders, Ph.D., a former police chief. Anyone who admits to feeling depressed or enraged puts his career in jeopardy, or at least risks being transferred to a desk job--"the rubber-gun squad." For many cops that's equally unacceptable. "Most cops can't even think about taking such a chance," says Sanders. "Being a police officer is more than a job for them--it's their identity."
Jim Mock was unusual. He did reach out for help. But he heard a familiar piece of advice. "My captain said, 'Keep your f--in' mouth shut about your problems,'" recalls Mock. "He told me to switch to narcotics, that would fix me."
Call it the Cop Cure. It's often the first therapy cops under stress try. Feeling wired? Take a tougher assignment, something more dangerous. Nothing like a little action to distract you from the fact that you're coming apart at the psychological seams.
Mock tried the Cop Cure, and for a while, the adrenaline rush that came with the action helped. "We were chasing Colombians and they were smart, like the Mob," says Mock. Every arrest brought him a new high. "Right from the academy, I wanted to be Supercop," says Mock, "and for a while working narcotics, I felt like I was."
But his problems weren't over. The nightmares continued, and Mock started to suffer chronic headaches and stomach trouble. Even more disturbing was the rage he felt building inside him.
"Little things would make me really angry, even stupid stuff I saw on TV," says Mock. "I was pissed off all the time, and I didn't know why." The only thing that soothed him was the narcotic of more work, plunging deeper into the danger and intrigue of his battle with the drug dealers. For a while Mock was able to hide behind the adrenaline kick.
But finally the Cop Cure failed, as it nearly always does.
"We answered a call, and I saw a nude woman, covered in blood, crawling out onto the porch," Mock remembers. He rushed in to find a baby that had been mentioned on the radio call. "There were bullet holes in the bedroom door. I hit the door, went in low, and rolled right over a body. It was the husband. I saw the crib and just prayed there wasn't a dead baby in it. Thank God, the baby was alive."
But this time, when the rescue was over, the rush that usually followed the action never came. "After that, even at home I had only two moods--pissed off or totally numb," he says. "I was emotionally dead to the world."
Becoming unresponsive is common among cops who have overdosed on trauma, according to David V. Baldwin, Ph.D., an Oregon psychologist. "Their way of dealing with the anger is to numb out entirely."
Mock began to retreat from his wife. Over the next few weeks, he was plagued by dramatic mood swings. His headaches felt like an ax in his skull. His stomach and bowels were on fire.
THE FRUSTRATION FACTOR
Though Jim Mock's problems were precipitated by Tom Keller's death, they were a long time coming. Even in the absence of a particular traumatic event, many cops are hammered by stress. "Every day you're dealing with the crap--the deaths, the car wrecks, the creeps the rest of the world doesn't have to notice," says Mock.
Exposure to violence is not just bad for the soul; it's bad for the brain as well. Studies on
men
who have endured trauma and chronic stress show chemical and structural
changes in the brain. According to Anthony Morgan, M.D., director of a
study of stress in veterans, "men
with high circulating levels of stress hormones often don't feel their
world is a safe place." Although we see police officers as authority figures, in a sense they don't have much control over their working lives. They live in a fundamentally responsive and stressful mode. "They can't turn down a call, ever. And they can't back down, no matter how bad a situation becomes. They must resolve the problem," says Sanders. "But 90 percent of the time, they know their solution isn't really going to work."
When you mix alpha males with the dregs of society and ask them to fix unsolvable problems, the frustration factor can be explosive. Over time, many cops grow angry at the system, the legal technicalities that keep them from getting convictions or even putting bad guys on trial. They often feel both helpless and unappreciated. "Sometimes I think all we can do for the dead and the dying is bear witness," says Mock.
LIFE IN COP WORLD
Like a lot of cops in trouble, Jim Mock didn't seek professional help. Instead, he tried to bull his way through his problems and sought comfort by moving deeper and deeper into Cop World.
"Police officers often divide the world into Us and Them," says Dan Goldfarb, Ph.D., a police psychologist in suburban New York. "It's the cops against everybody else--not just the criminals, but even the civilians who don't understand the pressures of being on the job." Under the best of circumstances, cops have powerful tribal instincts. They socialize with other cops, drink at cop bars, work out in cop gyms, even live in cop neighborhoods. When things go wrong, Cop World is a haven.
Experts believe, however, that for cops, one of the keys to handling stress may be the ability to disconnect from Cop World--to see being a cop as a job, not an identity. "The most well-adjusted cops usually have friendships outside the department," says Sanders. Spending time with people who lead different kinds of lives gives them perspective on the job.
But Jim Mock fell short on coping strategies. He found all his friendships in Cop World. And when he started to wobble, he spent more and more time away from home and eventually succumbed to a temptation that's often a big part of law-enforcement subculture: sex. Like many police departments, the Torrance force had groupies who found the power and the uniform irresistible. Mock started having affairs. Briefly, the sexual excitement of infidelity was another narcotic and helped him keep going.
In the end, it was Mock's wife who saved him. Aware that their marriage was failing and afraid of what a divorce would do to the kids, she persuaded him to go into couples counseling. The therapist understood what Mock was going through and suggested an intensive outpatient treatment program at a hospital in Ventura County.
The drowning man grabbed the lifeline.
THE JOURNEY BACK
On the first day of therapy, Mock was tempted to walk out. But when he was pressed to talk and describe for strangers what it's like to be a cop, Mock began to appreciate exactly how much trauma he had experienced.
"I suddenly realized I've dealt with a lot of terrible things," he says. "Once at a convenience-store robbery, this guy died while I was holding him. Then his wife pulls up in a taxi and I've got to tell her her husband's dead. After a while, you don't feel anything."
Mock started to understand that the anger building inside him was the product of grief he had never recognized. He took a small first step toward healing.
But Supercop didn't die easily. After a few days in the outpatient program--and some antidepressant medication--Mock went back to work. "I thought I could handle it. And I didn't want people thinking I was really sick," he remembers.
Mock was taken off the street and spent most of his time reorganizing the department's property room, where old case files were kept. He found that he had lost the ability to turn off his mind and just numb out. Somehow the seal had been cracked on the vault of his feelings. Though he was taking antidepressants, his moods swung even more violently than before. And now, instead of loving his work, he hated it for what it had done to him. The uniform he had once loved felt like a straitjacket.
"My anger was coming to a boil. I was enraged at the administration of my department, at the way the courts work, at society. I was enraged by what I'd seen people do to each other. I was enraged at God." Mock defied department rules against extra firepower and bought himself an automatic assault rifle, 1,000 rounds of ammunition, and a flak jacket. He put them all in the trunk of his car.
Several days later, he broke down. When he came across a file from a murder he had worked years before, his heart started to race. Then, when he saw the pictures of the 16-year-old girl who had been killed in a
drive-by shooting, he lost control and tore the department's briefing room apart.
At first the department considered having Mock admitted involuntarily to a county psychiatric hospital. But a couple of fellow officers intervened on his behalf. They put him in a police car and drove him back to the hospital in Ventura County.
This time Mock was admitted as an inpatient. He was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Named by doctors who treated Vietnam veterans, ptsd often afflicts people who experience devastating events and try to squash the pain. As time passes, both depression and hypersensitivity can set in. A noise, a smell, almost anything can dredge up long-buried hostilities.
"With ptsd, you feel like you're back in the traumatic situation, even though you're not," says Baldwin. "You feel more vigilant, you have a heightened startle response. You feel as if you're going crazy."
Jim Mock would never work another day as a cop.
THE RETURN OF THE KNIGHT
Once Mock was stable enough to return home, his problems were far from over. He had panic attacks with alarming frequency. Almost anything could trigger one: a memory, a drive on the meaner side of Torrance.
He had planned to go back to the job, but his progress was slow, and finally it became clear to him and his doctors that he would never be able to function again as a cop. He filed for disability, and, separated from the world he'd known and stripped of his identity, he waited days, weeks, and months for the decision.
Mock's paranoia flared. He became convinced that his disability claim would be turned down, and he contemplated a future with no job and no income. He even began planning his revenge. He started by finding out the addresses of the disability board members and fantasized that he would terrorize them. Jim Mock had fallen a long way. He had begun as a tough cop who had graduated second in his class and had hit the streets full of ambition and optimism. Now he was a psychologically disabled man, desperately holding on to his sanity. "I felt abandoned by the department, the city, and many of the other officers," he says. "I was labeled a 'psych' case, which in law enforcement carries the same effect as leprosy."
Eventually, Mock's disability claim was approved. In the 18 months since leaving Cop World for good, Mock has concentrated on learning to manage his ptsd. He's still haunted by nightmares. In one of the most recent, he dreamed he was a police officer again, but the Torrance station house had been transformed into a hospital emergency ward, jammed full of wounded people on blood-drenched gurneys.
Despite the persistence of his dreams and other symptoms, Mock has pushed himself toward a return to some kind of work. Recently he made some money as a classroom trainer for law enforcement. Though his therapists warn against anything connected to Cop World, he says it's all he knows. He sees this return to the edges of police work as part of his struggle to heal himself. Every time he drives through Tom Keller Square, in the middle of downtown Torrance, he salutes his fallen friend.
Not long ago, Mock made an uninvited visit to the Torrance police department. Long fascinated by the age of chivalry, he bought a pewter model of a medieval knight on horseback. He painted the cape red and the horse black, to represent his rage. Late one night a friend let him inside the police station. Mock dabbed epoxy on a spot above the door to the jail and set the knight in a place where it can be seen by any officer who happens to glance up as he brings in a prisoner for booking.
Mock last checked a few weeks ago, and the knight of rage is still at his post.
SIDEBAR:
THE DREAM POLICE
How real are those TV cops? We turnedto a higher authority: a real one
Men
love the phrase "justifiable homicide." Maybe that's why we love cop shows
so much. But how much is based on reality? We turned to James "Wags"
Wagner, a 22-year veteran of the New York City streets and coauthor of
Jimmy the Wags, Street Stories of a Private Eye (Morrow). Wagner policed
Alphabet City back in the '70s, when it was considered impolite not to
return gunfire. Wags worked the street, and it shows. "If the public
doesn't jam you, the job will," he says. "And if you wind up using your
gun, it's always on an 18-year-old honor student. The paper runs a school
picture of the kid in a blue
gown. But if you saw him on the street he'd scare the sh-- out of you."
We asked Wags to rate TV cops on a scale of 1 (a complete fake) to 10 (the real deal).
* Sipowicz, NYPD
Blue:
He's got the attitude and the lingo down, says Wags. "But a detective
in the NYPD is supposed to dress right; it's part of the mystique. I
would have given him a 10 if it wasn't for those short-sleeved shirts."
(The precinct on the show is modeled after the one Wagner worked at.)
Rating: 9* McGarrett, Hawaii Five-0: A little too smooth, says Wags. "He solves every crime by ordering Dano to 'seal off the island.' But I do love his shoulder holster that defies gravity, and I often wonder why all the cars have no interior rearview mirrors." Rating: 6
* Crockett, Miami Vice: "Good music and cute policewomen, but nothing to do with real police work. I remember my days on the nypd when I tooled around in a Ferrari, too. A total scam." About Don Johnson's new show: "Never seen it." Join the club. Rating: 4
* Barney, Barney Miller: "Barney and the guys typify what goes on in a squad room, with black humor and conflicting personalities. I'd give them a 10 if they solved a crime once in a while." Rating: 8
* Baretta, Baretta: "Did this guy stand on his toes to make the height requirement? Too loud and brash to work or play well with others. This guy's a little wiseass." Rating: 4
* Munch, Homicide: "Met him [Richard Belzer, the actor who plays Munch] in a club. A good rendering of a burned-out, cynical detective." Rating: 8
* Joe Friday, Dragnet: "Ever hear of casual Friday? This guy would be a chore to work with--too stressed, too gung ho. He would probably turn in his own mother for shoplifting. Good PR for the LAPD, though." Still, Wags wanted Joe Friday's badge number, which was 714. "But the NYPD retired it to Jack Webb." Wagner wound up with 717. "That's as close as I got." Rating: 6
* Kojak, Kojak: "I met him--he used to do his show in my old precinct. He's the detective we all want to be, only we'd want hair: cool, smart, and gets all the women despite his ugly mug. A little too bossy for my tastes. Also, detective lieutenants are basically administrators; they don't go out on the street." Rating: 6
* The cops on Cops: "Cops don't talk like that. These guys talk like that because they're on camera! I refuse to watch that show. My wife loves it! I say, 'Turn that damn thing off! I told you all these stories, and they went in one ear and out the other!' They talk like, 'Yes, sir. Would you mind sitting down--let me dust it off for you.' It don't happen like that!" No rating.
* Belker, Hill Street
Blues:
"Good depiction of a dirtbag undercover. If you're out there long enough,
you begin to act like the enemy." Rating: 7* The cast of Law & Order: Great stories aside, the cops and prosecutors are on the money." Rating: 9
* Ponch, CHiPs: "What an a--hole." No rating.
* Chief Wiggum, The Simpsons: We love him, but Wags had never heard of The Simpsons. No rating.
--Greg Gutfeld
END
Subject: Cops and stress on job|Stress on job and police|Suicide rate and cops|Divorce rate and cops|Alcoholism and cops|Depression and cops|Emotional stress and cops
Keywords: STRESS|WORK - PROFESSIONS|SUICIDE|DEPRESSION
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