03/25/2026
Friends/Followers:
This is Mike Ruse. I’m one of the admins on this page - for the last month posting press releases, but usually the guy that would sometimes post town photos that people seem to like, occasionally followed by the classic “Nothing better to do?” comment. Womp womp.
I find myself in a very unique position. After 37 years of my body having morphed into the shape of a car’s bucket seat, I am retiring, and now starts my last 24 hours as a police officer. Since I don’t expect any forthcoming ceremony of salutes or court bells to ring, nor am I the type to record myself getting emotional during a “last call” over the radio, I figured I’d briefly commandeer this page with lots of words - since I can’t possibly be fired (?) - and write what I aptly call my own “career obituary”, as it folds in on itself like a collapsing star. If reading isn’t your thing, there’s some old pics to poke fun at - if that’s your thing.
There exists a little-known “45-minute rule” in law enforcement. Roughly 45 minutes after you walk out the door for the last time, you are inexplicably forgotten. Doesn’t matter who you were, how shiny your boots were, good or bad, or how many stars, bars or stripes you had pinned or sewn to your shirt, regardless of fabric color. Once you’re out of the cop club - you’re OUT. Seen it hundreds of times. I’m at complete peace with that.
Lately, the internet algorithms have picked up on my age and searches for palm trees, and begun serving me advertisements for books and courses about life “beyond the badge.” They usually feature a sorrowful-looking middle-aged person staring into the distance or a wall like they’ve lost their identity. I have to admit, I find that image (and logic) bewildering. The version of retirement I picture involves a linai, a smile, and blowing on one of those party kazoos. Nothing about this (for me), has ever ‘been’ my identity. I’ve noticed through the years that for many, being alive is something you work through, not something you are - and I embrace the latter. Remove the polyester uniform and 20 pounds of stuff, and my arrangement is no more or less precise than anyone else. With the exception of my 4 lower teeth having been knocked away. (A little gift from some guy who called himself Rambo years ago).
I began this occupational ‘journey’ in the spring of 1989, sworn in at my hometown dept., Springfield Police - during my senior year at Norwich University. Did the full time academy in 1991 (55th Basic). Figured I’d be least likely to last, but stand before you as one of the last two or three - by a long shot. Since then, I’ve worked at local, county, state, and federal levels. Some great agencies. Some awful. A mental scrapbook of thrills, chills, and long stretches of empty space. I promise I won’t bore you with any mid-tier war stories.
I’ve managed to stay *mostly* out of trouble, aside from silly infractions like wearing a blue t-shirt instead of a white one, or the time I got chewed out and written up for going blue lights/siren with an injured cat to a vet (hey, I love animals, made sense to me). I’ve smashed a few cars and I’ve made countless embarrassing and humorous mistakes. Usually it was my big mouth to blame. Still, I like to think I’ve made a small difference here and there. But let’s be honest - sometimes police officers are just call centers with a face. Recognizable at the worst possible times, usually when you’re out grocery shopping or eating out. To some, we’re just a label or badge number, like we’re machines assembled in a factory at birth. Which is funny, because outside the sheriff’s department, I never actually had a “badge number” - despite being screeched at for it hundreds of times. (Pro-tip: we mostly have radio call numbers, and those can change, but more importantly, we have names, given to us by actual moms and dads).
Policing today is not the same universe as when I started. If you dropped a retired officer from the late 80’s/early 90s into a cruiser today, they’d probably be suspended by lunch, or arrested. From analog to digital, cruisers with no AC to climate control, AM radios to Bluetooth, dirty ashtrays to dirty cupholders, black jacks/batons to tasers, clean shaven to beards, handwritten reports to algorithmic audits, classrooms to boring (and often useless) online power points. It’s difficult to express how much institutional memory goes into working one job at length. Many of the changes through the years were necessary. A few are just checkboxes on annual training forms - or - used as claws and teeth if someone in the system wants you gone. That’s just reality and the evolution of anything.
Dry sarcasm aside, I hope the next generation steps up. This work needs decent people (of any age) - humility, intelligence, sensitivity, thick skin, and yes, a dash of humor - ala Emeril *BAM*. You won’t last long without it. That includes politely chuckling at donut jokes when you’re in line to buy a coffee, or *someone raises hands* - “I didn’t do it”. And you have to laugh when you stop at a cute lemonade stand and all you have is a 10 and the kids have no change. Applications are way down. The hiring process can be ridiculously bureaucratic, long and frustrating - even if you’re already certified/transferring. Failing an entrance test once doesn’t mean you don’t belong. Departments differ. If you feel called to this work, keep chasing it, even if you sometimes don’t hear back.
Whether people “like the police” or not, the role isn’t disappearing. Communities still need steady hands.
As for me, I’ll be leaving this little online send-off with Nickisha, and our golden doodle, three cats, filling up the car, and heading south to a house that’s waiting. Try to hop to Germany to see my son Max, and Leighanne and cute little grandson, Christopher. I’ll continue working - just not wearing a vest that smells like 37 summers, and my back will not miss wearing a Sam Browne belt. I’m looking forward to doing the things I care about without dragging around the full weight of the ‘cop’ label - particularly in grief and consciousness studies.
And since I’m still technically in charge of this page for a smidge longer, I’ll shamelessly plug my latest book, Biased Universe, on Amazon/KDP (and to avoid a classless marketing funnel, the Kindle member version is free - and always free as a pdf at atomicdrift.com). Instead of a T-shirt that says “I worked four decades as a cop and all I got was this lousy shirt,” you get this Facebook post. Because I didn’t get a shirt. I’d be shocked if there’s even a card. I’m walking out of this occupation like the 45 minute rule started in 1989, 37 years ago. And it’s literally just as I always imagined it to be. And I like it.
- Be kind to others.
- Everyone is wrestling internal demons and balancing invisible negotiations.
- Take nothing personally.
- If you can remove barriers or reduce unnecessary suffering for others - even in the smallest way - it truly matters.
- Slow down (mentally AND on the highway)
Michael J. Ruse, WC8
OUT.
