Oaths & Other Promises

There are toddlers and babies in the Council Chambers.  That means one of three things.  1 - Someone is so upset about something they’ve brought their children.  2 - There are older siblings getting some recognition.  3 - There are young mothers or fathers being sworn in as police officers or firefighters.

It’s the last one.  Mayor Gluba will be swearing in a police officer and five firefighters, thanks in part to a federal “SAFER” grant.  There are dozens of officers and firefighters present to welcome their new colleagues to the most capable police and fire departments in the region, and the most professional in the state.  Some have come from smaller departments.  Some have come from across the globe.  All have completed journeys to raise their right hand tonight.

Chiefs Schaeffer and Washburn brief the Council on how Officer Joyce and Firefighters Kinglsey, Marxen, Schadt, Floyd and Oltman have made their way to be first responders in Davenport.  You cannot help but to be impressed.  The degrees, certifications and prior public and military service give pause to anyone who thinks joining DPD or DFD is easy.  Somewhere north of 5,300 people apply to work for the City each year, and achieving a police officer or firefighter slot is tough.  They’ve survived many tests to raise their right hand and swear an oath.     

The simplest way to look at it is it should be tough.  It’s tough work, requiring tough people.  And there’s ample toughness on display, with a football captain, a Combat Medic and an Army Ranger, both with tours in Afghanistan.  But the families peel back the steely veneer for all to see.  They’ll smile.  They’ll fumble a little with pinning the badge on.  They’ll try to decide if they should go with a handshake, hug or a kiss, in front of so many people … and often just go with all three once they start.

The kids give it all away.  Their mom or dad will be solemnly swearing an oath to go faithfully and regularly into harm’s way, and the toddler or baby will just want to be picked up again, and feel protected in a room full of strangers.  Mayor Gluba will shake their hand, a family member will get the badge pinned and all the officiousness melts away when the son or daughter jumps up into their arms.  Their measure of heroism isn’t that they run toward danger when others run away.  That is their calling.    

Their measure of heroism is the daily goodbye hug and kiss. 

Godspeed. Stay safe.