In the Eau Claire Police Department Headquarters, on the wall outside the briefing room, a wall memorial pays tribute to two officers killed in the line of duty.

The plaque on the left is for Elmer Sundby.

“On July 25, 1921, Chief Elmer Sundby made the ultimate sacrifice. Chief Sundby responded to a report of a robbery. The suspect fled towards the Chippewa River. Chief Sundby pursued the suspect and confronted him on the densely wooded river bank. Gunfire was exchanged and Chief Sundby was wounded. He succumbed to his injuries the following day.”

“Chief Sundby was a 13 year veteran of the Eau Claire Police Department.”

The plaque on the right is for Robert Bolton.

“On October 6, 1982 Officer Robert P. Bolton made the ultimate sacrifice. Officer Bolton responded to a disturbance call at a domestic violence shelter. Officer Bolton attempted to question the suspect when he was shot. He was transported to a local hospital where he succumbed to his injuries. Badge #138 will be forever preserved in his honor.

“Officer Bolton was a 4 year veteran of the Eau Claire Police Department.”

The Q-word

The memorial is a sobering reminder on this Halloween night, as I head out on a police ride-along with Officer Brooks. It feels like we’re heading into a gunfight. Instead, we spend the first half hour sitting in his squad car as he finishes the documentation on a fight he busted up earlier at The Community Table. Inside the car, the dashboard lights cast a glow, and it’s quiet except for the click of the keys as he types.

I thought the dispatcher would be calling nonstop—and we’d be racing from crisis to crisis—but he’s grateful for the time to catch up. Every job has chores, and his is paperwork.

Did I want it to be quiet? Not really. I guess if I wanted quiet, I would’ve picked a Sunday afternoon. But I picked 10pm to 2am on Halloween night because it seemed like an interesting window into the life of an Eau Claire police officer. As we sit in the police station parking lot, large groups of college students file down the sidewalk in costumes, heading to the bars or to house parties.

While Officer Brooks types, I work on paperwork, too—my notes for this story. I’m mindful not to be a burden—an unnecessary distraction in a job that needs no unnecessary distractions. Yet, I’m surprised he doesn’t seem to mind my presence.

“Go ahead,” Officer Brooks says while rapid-fire typing on his laptop. “Ask me anything you want.”

“I can wait until you’re done with your paperwork,” I say. I know that if someone talks to me intermittently while I’m typing, I have to stop to fully engage, and then try to get back in the flow, constantly jerked in and out of concentration.

“That’s OK,” he says. “I can do two things at once.”

So I ask my questions, and he gives detailed responses—while still typing at the same rapid-fire pace. It’s like he has two separate brains working simultaneously.

Typing while talking...I didn’t expect this to be the impressive skill set on display this evening, but it’s relevant. It turns out this analytical, compartmentalized brain is exactly what this line of work needs.

It relates to one of my first questions. A police officer I know personally is often calm, friendly, self-deprecating, full of jokes and banter. Then, like flipping a switch, he can turn deadly serious and take charge of a dangerous situation. But afterward, he needs to show empathy and provide comfort to victims, including children and the elderly.

“I can see being a natural at one of those,” I say, “but how are you able to flip that switch between the widely different personalities you have to show?”

“I think of it more as dials than an on-off switch,” Officer Brooks says, while continuing to type. “Some of those dials in certain situations need to be turned up or down a little, and sometimes they need to be turned up to eleven.”

It’s also not something you can acquire from a handbook.

“If you don’t have it, it can’t be taught,” he says. “Like you can’t drive the Indy 500 with a Toyota Prius.”

After sitting in the parking lot a while longer for the paperwork/Q&A session, I say, “It’s a lot quieter tonight than I expected.”

“We don’t ever use the ‘Q-word,’ ” Officer Brooks says. “Because as soon as you do, things will blow up.”

Burglar

Soon after, a dispatcher alert breaks the quiet. A suspected burglary is in progress on the edge of town. Like a reflex, Officer Brooks slams the car into drive, flips the sirens, and floors it. We fly through Eau Claire, slowing only for corners. Ahead of us, cars pull over, and we slingshot through the empty lanes. We are in no-nonsense mode now. I’m asking zero questions.

We’re barreling towards a place Officer Brooks has visited many times before. Doubling the speed limit is thrilling, but it’s not a joy ride. It’s too serious for that. As we approach the neighborhood, he turns off the sirens and eventually turns off the headlights—stealth mode.

He parks, jumps out, and runs into the dark. I’ll wait in the car. Sitting alone, I wonder what I’d do if he didn’t come back. Call the police?

Heading into an unknown situation in the dark, with who-knows-who doing who-knows-what, seems beyond nerve-wracking. Yet, I noticed no signs of stress when he left the car. The same is true when he returns several minutes later. His mind always appears clear and analytical, in pure problem-solving mode.

No one was caught. Police presence seems to have prevented the crime. I expected the Water Street area to be the heart of the action and trouble, but Officer Brooks says it’s dwellings such as this one. In addition to the troublesome tenants, various other individuals come and go, living there intermittently. Drug use turns into drug dealing, which can lead to prostitution and more transience. The property becomes run down. Neighbors complain about the frequent disturbances, and it becomes a recurring problem for the police.

When he returns to the car and we drive away, Officer Brooks talks about Eau Claire’s many repeat offenders. He gets to know some quite well. He explains that he enforces the law but also tries to work with them and steer them away from future trouble. Without resignation or desperation, Officer Brooks states: “We spend ninety percent of our time on ten percent of the people, and it’s like that anywhere you go.”

Skill Set

We’re on patrol now, and I notice some drivers around us following every traffic law like they haven’t since their driver’s license road test. And I wonder if, sitting shotgun in a police car, it looks like I’ve been arrested.

We continue to patrol the streets of Eau Claire, with so little light and so many shadows. On porches, Jack-O-Lanterns still glow their crazy smiles. In yards, scarecrows and skeletons stand silent. Rope spiderwebs stretch into trees. Ghosts hang from branches, swaying in the breeze. We drift through his designated area—a roving visual reminder that help is available, or if you’re up to no good, someone is watching.

I ask Officer Brooks about how he deals with the stress that comes with the dangerous parts of his job. Eyes on the road, always scanning, he explains that nerves must be in control to think clearly. When he’s calm, he can observe everything. Think several steps ahead. He anticipates possibilities and knows how he’ll react. “And you have to control your breathing to make good decisions and to operate a weapon properly,” he says.

Officer Brooks enjoys the challenge of analyzing past scenarios to get better at what he does. He likes how the job pushes him to develop himself in every way—such as the jujitsu training offered at the police station. If it comes down to that type of altercation, he must be prepared.

We drive back to the center of town—past inflatable pumpkins, leaf bags, and plastic graveyards. As for now, we’re in another calm stretch. He drives on, knowing the night can change in an instant. Streetlights illuminate boulevards filled with fallen leaves—golden and brown, spilling in the gutters and into the street. I remember the saying, “Nothing good happens after midnight.”

We’re getting there.

Traffic Stop

As we drive down Birch Street, a car flies through the intersection right in front of us—not even pausing at the stop sign. Had we been a few seconds earlier, he might’ve T-boned the squad car.

“Whoa!” Officer Brooks says. He flips the sirens and has the car pulled over within a block. From behind, Officer Brooks turns on the post-mount spotlight and shines it on the vehicle. I’ve seen online videos of stops gone wrong, but the risk feels much more real in person. It could be anyone in there…in any condition…on any substance…in any circumstance. Even though Officer Brooks has a wife and child at home, he again appears calm and analytical. Flashlight in hand, he approaches from the back.

I watch and wait for something to go wrong. The conversation runs long, but nothing escalates. Officer Brooks returns to run a plate check, and there are no signs of serious trouble. He returns to the driver and finishes what turns out to be a routine traffic stop, the type not as popular online. But when does his luck run out on routine stops?

Background

Officer Brooks parks again for more documentation. He prefers to park the back of his squad car against a wall when he needs to focus on his laptop. There is some chatter from the dispatcher, but it’s nothing that requires his response.

I ask when he first thought this would be his chosen field. As he talks and types, I take notes in the dark. He tells me that his dad was in the Army. The “protect and serve” mentality is in his bloodline. It’s also how he was raised.

He says, “When I was in school, my parents would lecture me and say, ‘We better not ever get a call about you being the bully. We expect you to stand up for people.’ And that’s what I see this job is—standing up for people who can’t defend themselves. And that’s what 99% of officers are doing.”

While his dad wanted him to join the Army, Officer Brooks pursued a career in law enforcement—a related field that also becomes a home for many veterans. “A lot of ex-military people who know how to react to stress can use those same skills here,” he says.

He’s also noticed lots of former athletes who played team sports, since this job taps into that teamwork mentality. Beyond the problem-solving, collaboration, and physical dexterity required, the job demands a human element. “You also need to be able to talk to people,” he said. “You need to be able to de-escalate. Make an impression. Make them trust you the next time.”

He pauses, types, and continues. “The job is a calling,” he says. “The people that are good at this, they don’t find this job; this job finds them.”

It’s an interesting conversation, but it’s also after midnight. Chances are, in a city this size, someone out there will prove the old saying true.

Threat

The dispatcher’s crackle interrupts our conversation. Someone is wielding a knife and making threats near the Sojourner House. In one motion, Officer Brooks flips on the sirens, shifts into drive, and stomps the gas.

With the lights on and sirens blaring, Officer Brooks races into downtown. Every second counts, and the streets are packed. On Barstow Street, some pedestrians are unpredictable—intoxicated and oblivious. The parked cars lining the street also make it difficult for drivers ahead of us to pull over and get out of the way. Officer Brooks alternates between riding the brakes and punching the gas. He pulls up by the other squad cars near the Chippewa River, slams the car into park, jumps out, and grabs what looks like a rifle.

Click-click.

It’s probably best if I wait in the car again.

The call came in only minutes ago, and six officers surround the suspect. From the safety of the squad car, I hear their voices: “DROP THE KNIFE! DROP THE KNIFE!”

Surrounded by six officers with weapons, this guy knows it’s over, but he tries to hide the evidence by tossing the knife into the woods. The officers will track it down; it just takes longer. They eventually find the knife, along with a drug pipe.

They place the man in custody, debrief, and Officer Brooks returns to the squad car. Turns out, he wasn’t carrying a rifle. It was a less-lethal 40mm impact launcher. Its large “sponge rounds” don’t penetrate the skin, but they feel like getting hit by a baseball. This weapon allows police to incapacitate a suspect with far less risk of fatal injury. Fortunately, Officer Brooks didn’t have to fire it—but it served as a deterrent.

While it made for the most cop-movie moment of the night, it wasn’t fun for anyone involved. And it was another example of treating symptoms instead of root causes. The problems that come with homelessness, unemployment, alcoholism, meth addiction, a rising cocaine problem, and a mental health epidemic can’t be solved by a handful of dedicated officers. These aren’t police problems; these are nationwide problems. Eau Claire may be relatively safe compared to other cities—but that doesn’t mean it’s not a complex place with pockets of real trouble.

“Until we can figure out how to allocate resources to solve these problems, we’re just going to be running in circles,” Officer Brooks says, as he drives away from the scene. “We’ll just keep passing the buck to save money. And it would cost a lot of money just to put a dent in the problem.”

But he also must believe what he does makes a difference if he’s going to show up every shift. He didn’t solve the circumstances that led that man to wield the knife, but he stopped the threat. Officer Brooks says, “Even an overnight in jail will hopefully get him to think about what he did and hopefully not reoffend.”

Water Street, Rain

By the time we roll onto Water Street for bar closing, most of the city is asleep. I thought we’d be charging into bars breaking up brawls between drunk zombies and drunk superheroes. Not tonight. It may be Halloween night, but most people are just dressed goofy and acting goofier. Nothing that requires police intervention.

With two other squad cars, we park in Water Street’s median in front of Shenanigans as 2:30am approaches. The exodus of bar patrons fills the sidewalks. This can be a dicey time as all the different groups merge together in “peak form,” but a light rain keeps the crowd from lingering.

There goes Brett Favre. There goes Billy Madison. And there goes Jesus, wandering home in the first November rain.

From the driver’s seat, Officer Brooks hears and sees a couple arguing on the sidewalk. The woman turns to leave, and the man grabs her by the arm. Officer Brooks shines the post-mount spotlight on them. It’s enough for the man to know he’s being watched. He lets go, and they walk off together, still arguing. Officer Brooks drives around the corner to follow them. The argument simmers. How many problems does he prevent with his presence?

How much still goes undetected?

The rest of the revelers look defeated as they wander back to their homes, costumes falling apart.

The sun rises in four hours.

My ride-along is over, and so is Halloween.

But the problems, and the night shift, will always remain.

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