911 POETRY / POÉSIE 911
A Day in the Life of a Dispatcher
by Karen Whaley, Arcadia (FL) Police Department
From Dispatch Monthly, June 2000 issue
I leave my home and my family too
To go to the station my job to do,
My kids don't know when I'll work or I won't
My schedule's so crazy I sometimes don't!
It's hard to leave when my family's at home
But this shift will soon change, it won't be long.
I walk in the door and the first thing I see
is the dispatcher on duty just before me.
With a quick rundown of the day's events,
A sympathetic smile and a couple of hints,
She's out the door and back to her life
And I whisper a prayer for safety tonight.
My two worlds are different in so many ways
The language we speak, the things that we say.
At home it's "Mom, can I have some more, please?"
And here, it's 10-4 and 10-29P's.
Though different at times they're similar too
Because someone's life is depending on you.
You answer the phone call after call -
A lost dog, a found cat or nothing at all.
Then the phone rings and the voice on the line
Is screaming for help and you know that it's time.
Your training takes over, you get help on the way,
As you dispatch units you silently pray
"Oh, Lord, please go with them wherever they go
They're risking their lives for one they don't know.
For every officer I have to send
Is not just my co-worker but also my friend.
They have homes and families too,
So I'm asking you, Lord, Please see them through."
As the first of the officers arrive on the scene
You hear the radio beginning to sing.
Send Rescue, and Crime Scene, and CID
Get some more units and call 1,2, and 3.
Send out a BOLO, call this girl's mom
Have her go to the hospital but try to sound calm.
The crisis is over and they're back on patrol
And you know it's okay to lose control.
A couple of tears, a few minutes alone
and back out you go to answer more phones.
The music's too loud, there's a cow in the road
The neighbors are watering in spite of the code.
The next dispatcher is a welcome sight
When she walks in and says, "been a long night?"
You give a quick rundown of the day's events,
a sympathetic smile and a couple of hints,
And when the last of my officers calls 10-42
Today my job's done and I go home too.
A Dispatcher's Prayer
by Karen Whaley, Arcadia (FL) Police
Department
From Dispatch Monthly, June 2000 issue
-
Determine - Every time I come on duty help me to determine to to the best job that I can do - the choice is mine.
-
Improve - Help me to improve my job performance every day that I may not become complacent.
-
Separate - Help me to separate any personal feelings, good or bad, about co-workers while on duty and act like a professional.
-
Protect - Help me to do everything in my power to protect the officers. They are sworn to protect and serve the public - it is my job to protect and serve them.
-
Anticipate - Help me to anticipate to the best of my ability what an officer may be faced with in a given situation and gather any information that may be helpful.
-
Teamplayer - Help me to remember that we are all on the same team and strive to be a team player.
-
Cheerful - Help me to be cheerful when doing my job and not a complainer.
-
Humble - Help me to be humble when I answer the phone and not be too quick to judge the caller.
-
Expand - Help me to utilize all resources available to me, both on and off duty, to expand my knowledge of my profession.
-
Respect - Help me to always treat the public and my co-workers with the same respect that I want to be treated with.
A Dispatcher's Prayer (2)
by Lesia
Andera
From those of us
behind the mic
who never really see the sights
We give to you the honor
and respect you so deserve,
With hope of being comrads
and seen for what we're worth.
I'm not on the
accident scene
to see the blood and gore,
I see the answers in your eyes
when you walk in the door.
I need not ask you questions,
the answers matter not.
All I can do is offer coffee,
yes, it's fresh and hot.
I'll talk with
you and keep it light
and laugh at your bad jokes.
Don't think for a minute
that I don't really know
the battle raging in your mind
that humor covers . . . but your face belies.
I cannot stop
the bullet
from the loaded gun
Nor light the darkened alley
through which you must run.
I cannot ward off the blows
you may suffer in a fight
Nor give you back the rest
you lose on sleepless nights.
I can make sure
you have the facts
and face your call prepared.
I can make sure you're not alone
and get your backup there.
I can keep for you an efficient log
to make your report complete.
Most of all, I can pray for you
each night before I sleep.
Dear God . . .
Please keep my guys safe
and lead them through the night.
Don't let them fall from snipers bullets
nor bleed from stabbing knives.
Save them from the drunk that drives
as they patrol our roads.
Return them safely to their wives
and let them always know . . .
those of us behind the mic
worry night and day.
They are the reason
that I kneel to pray.
A Dispatcher's Prayer (3)
© Capt.
Thomas D. Trent, Ford County Sheriff Office - Dodge City, KS
Lord, They're in
our hands tonight, Yours and mine -
Those guys who keep the peace and fight the crime.
They're men, with wives and families, and feelings, too.
They give themselves for our protection, those men in blue.
I know my part in
this is crucial, too.
I must inform those men in blue,
When trouble strikes, and where.
And send them quickly, no time to spare.
I cannot see the
scene from where I sit.
My eyes and ears scan the console, brightly lit.
I must wait in blind suspense to hear each "ten-four,"
As they let me know they have survived one time more.
I know a part of
them that few others ever see -
Their eyes reflecting scenes depicting how cruel life can really be.
A battered child, a senseless wreck, or a murderer set free,
A brother-in-arms shot down, never more be.
I'll make the
coffee, and keep it fresh and strong.
They'll stop by for a cup or two, but not for long -
Another call, a plea, or just a happenstance.
Duty will beckon, "Come, time to take another chance."
I'll answer the
phone and questions too.
And dig out the stats and records they ask me to.
I'll type the reports and of course, joke with them some.
I'll even put off that reporter who dials in on "nine-one-one."
Let me, Lord,
speak, calm and clear,
To those out there while I'm in here.
I'm their link, and they are mine
In this partnership of fighting crime.
It seems to me
that we're all a team -
They, You, and me, I mean.
I'll do my best, and they will too.
But, still Lord, we need You to see us through.
Amen.
A Dispatcher's Promise
By Paula Ann Gomes
Another morning has approachedas I think of my officer again.
One of the many officers that swore
to serve and to protect,
and gave up his life in the very end.
That fateful day is something that
I am not allowed to forget.
It is that memory that reappears
each time I put on my headset.
And when I sit in front of the radio
and dispatch my officers to a priority call,
I silently hope and pray
that I hear them clear,
instead of hearing them take the fall.
You see, I have always read their voices
and sent back up when I sensed tension or fear.
But now, more than ever, it is their voice
I want to continue to hear.
Taking for granted that you will hear
an officer do another traffic stop,
just should not be done.
For it does not matter how routine
the stop or call may be,
it only takes one.
When one of our brothers or sisters
is lost in the field,
the briefing room will then be left
with an empty space.
And in our hearts it is perceived,
that this brother or sister will
never be replaced.
It is my solemn vow to all of my officers
to give my very best,
and to be the voice they want to hear
in their worst times of distress.
It is for my officers that
my loyalty is firmly planted,
And it is their voices
that I will never again,
take for granted.
And God created dispatchers.
Author unknown
The angel walked in and found the Lord walking around in a small circle muttering to himself.
"What are you working on now Lord?" asked the angel.
"Well, I finished creating a peace officer, now I'm working on a dispatcher."
Since the angel could see nothing in the room, he asked God to tell him about it.
"It's somewhat like the police officer model. It has 5 hands; one for answering the phone, two for typing, one for answering the radio and one for grabbing a cup of coffee. The arms had to be placed fairly carefully since all the tasks a dispatcher does, have to be done simultaneously. The digestive system is a little complicated, since it runs on coffee and food that can be delivered, but seldom needs to get up for the rest room. I made the skin tempered Duralite covered Teflon. A dispatchers hide has to be tough enough to withstand darts from cranky officers, jabs from citizens, and lack of attention by administration, but not show any signs of wear and tear. Unlike a police officer, it only needs one pair of eyes, so that left extra room for the ears. There are five sets of ears; one for the telephone, one for the main radio, two for the other radios it has to monitor, and one to hear everything else going on around it. They fit right on the head, since it had to be extra large for the brain. The brain has to be enormous so it can remember afull set of 10 codes, phonetic alphabet, at least two hundred different voices, the entire contents of three different SOP manuels, two teletype manuals, and an NCIC code book. Of course, I left enough extra space for it to learn individual quirks of every different Sergeant, Lieutenant, Watch Commander, fire chief and other supervisors, and the ability to keep them all straight. There also has to be room for it to learn which situations need an officer and which don't, and also the ability to determine in less than two minutes what to do for any given event. There is a built in condenser so it can take an hour long explanation, put it into 30 seconds worth of radio transmission, but still get the whole story across. Those switches in the front are for the emotions. It has to be able to talk to a mother whose child has just died without showing pain, a rape victim and show empathy, a suicidal person and show calmness and reassurance, and an abusive drunk without getting angry. When one of the officers yells for help, it can't panic, and when someone doesn't make it, the dispatcher's heart mustn't break. The little soft spot just to the left of the emotion switch is for abandoned animals, frightened children, and little old ladies who are lonely and just want to talk to someone for a few minutes. The dispatcher has to care very much for the officers, firefighters and EMTs it serves, without getting personnally involved with any of them, so I added another switch for that. Plus, of course, the dispatcher can't have any of its own issues to worry about while it is on duty, so that last switch turns those off. The patience switch is turned up high all the time on the dispatcher model, and I've added an extra fuse to those to handle the overload. A dispatcher has to able to function effeciently under less than good physical conditions, and be flexible enough to withstand whatever whim the administration comes up with, while retaining its general shape and form. That warm fuzzy shoulder is there for the officers to use when they gripe, other dispatchers when they hurt, and for those who are shell shocked by a horrible call and just need someone to be there. The voice gave me a little trouble; it has to be clear and easy to understand, calm and even when everyone else is screaming, but still able to convey empathy and caring while remaining totally professional. It runs for a full 12 hours on very little sleep, requires almost no days off, and gets paid less than an executive secretary."
"The dispatcher sounds wonderful Lord," said the angel, "Where is this amazing creation?"
"Well you see," answered the Lord, "dispatchers are invisible unless they make a mistake. So it's practically impossible to tell when they are run down, worn out or in need of repair. Now that I've created them, I can't see the original model to make enough of them to go around."
A Tribute to Dispatchers
By Chief
Thomas Wagoner, Loveland Co. PD
Someone once asked me if I thought that answering telephones for a living was a profession. I said, "I thought it was a calling."
And so is dispatching. I have found in my law enforcement career that dispatchers are the unsung heroes of public safety. They miss the excitement of riding in a speeding car with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They can only hear of the bright orange flames leaping from a burning building. They do not get to see the joy on the face of worried parents as they see their child begin breathing on its own, after it has been given CPR.
Dispatchers sit in darkened rooms looking at computer screens and talking to voices from faces they never see. It's like reading a lot of books, but only half of each one.
Dispatchers connect the anxious conversations of terrified victims, angry informants, suicidal citizens and grouchy officers. They are the calming influence of all of them - the quiet, competent voices in the night that provide the pillars for the bridges of sanity and safety. They are expected to gather information from highly agitated people who can't remember where they live, what their name is, or what they just saw. And then, they are to calmly provide all that information to the officers, firefighters, or paramedics without error the first time and every time.
Dispatchers are expected to be able to do five things at once - and do them well. While questioning a frantic caller, they must type the information into a computer, tip off another dispatcher, put another caller on hold, and listen to an officer run a plate for a parking problem. To miss the plate numbers is to raise the officer's ire; to miss the caller's information may be to endanger the same officer's life. But, the officer will never understand that.
Dispatchers have two constant companions, other dispatchers and stress. They depend on one, and try to ignore the other. They are chastened by upset callers, taken for granted by the public, and criticized by the officers. The rewards they get are inexpensive and infrequent, except for the satisfaction they feel at the end of a shift, having done what they were expected to do.
Dispatchers come in all shapes and sizes, all races, both sexes, and all ages. They are blondes, and brunettes, and redheads. They are quiet and outgoing, single, or married, plain, beautiful, or handsome. No two are alike, yet they are all the same. They are people who were selected in a difficult hiring process to do an impossible job. They are as different as snowflakes, but they have one thing in common. They care about people and they enjoy being the lifeline of society - that steady voice in a storm - the one who knows how to handle every emergency and does it with style and grace; and, uncompromised competence.
Dispatchers play many roles; therapist, doctor, lawyer, teacher, weatherman, guidance counselor, psychologist, priest, secretary, supervisor, politician, and reporter. And few people must jump through the emotional hoops on the trip through the joy of one callers birthday party, to the fear of another callers burglary in progress, to the anger of a neighbor blocked in their drive, and back to the birthday callers all in a two minute time frame. The emotional rollercoaster rolls to a stop after an 8 or 10 hour shift, and they are expected to walk down to their car with steady feet and no queasiness in their stomach - because they are dispatchers. If they hold it in, they are too closed. If they talk about it, they are a whiner. If it bothers them, it adds more stress. If it doesn't, they question themselves, wondering why.
Dispatchers are expected to have:
- the compassion of Mother Theresa;
- the wisdom of Solomon;
- the interviewing skills of Oprah Winfrey;
- the gentleness of Florence Nightingale;
- the patience of Job;
- the knowledge of Einstein;
- the answers of Ann Landers;
- the investigative skills of Sgt Joe Friday;
- the energy of Charo
- and the endurance of the Energizer Bunny.
Is it any wonder that many drop out during training? It is a unique and talented person who can do this job and do it well. And, it is fitting and proper that we take a few minutes or hours this week to honor you for the job that each of you do. That recognition is overdue and it is insufficient. But, it is sincere. I have tried to do your job, and I have failed. It takes a special person with unique skills. I admire you and I thank you for the thankless job you do. You are heroes, and I am proud to work with you.
Chief Tom Wagoner, April 12, 1994
Dedicated to Paramedics, Fire and Police Officers and their Dispatchers:
Author unknown
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try and save his life.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar with.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a call. "Is this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What Hazards awaits me? Is anyone trapped?". Or to call and ask what is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?
I wish you could be in the emergency room, as a doctor pronounces dead, the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes, knowing she will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy", ever again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the ambulance or engine or cruiser, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"
I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. What if this was my daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.
I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters and paramedics out and when we call for them and our heart drops because no one answers back or to here a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife needing assistance.
I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally and sometimes physically abuse us or belittle what we do, or as they express their attitudes of "It will never happen to me".
I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to
have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is my Mommy okay?", not even
being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what
to say. Or to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having
CPR done on him as they take him away in the Medic Unit. You know all along he
did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand or
appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means to us...I wish you
could though.
PLEASE APPRECIATE AND SUPPORT THE LOCAL
EMS PARAMEDICS, 911 DISPATCHERS, FIREFIGHTERS, and LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS IN
YOUR AREA. ONE DAY THEY'LL PROBABLY BE SAVING YOUR PROPERTY OR YOUR OWN LIFE.
WHEN YOU SEE THEM COMING WITH LIGHTS FLASHING, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY QUICKLY, and
THEN PLEASE PRAY FOR THEM!
Dispatchers
by Alan Burton
Some are called DISPATCHERS. Others are called OPERATOR or CLERK; or TELECOMMUNICATOR or AIDE. Some are POLICE OFFICERS; most are not. The name is not important...BUT THEY ARE.
DISPATCHERS serve many masters, yet they are masters themselves. Some serve the POLICE, or FIRE. Others serve E.M.S., or SHERIFFS. Some serve the HIGHWAY PATROL. Many serve all of these. Yet, that's not important...BUT THEY ARE.
DISPATCHERS perform many functions. They command the radio channels that no one else understands. They make sense of the unsensible, hear the unhearable, remember everything, forget nothing. Yet, that's not important...BUT THEY ARE.
Emergency phone calls are never-ending: problems to make a priest blush; crises that defy resolution; complexities to confound a lawyer. With the clock running, someone is watching. Are they performing up to speed? Yet, that's not important...BUT THEY ARE.
Some deal with problems at the counter. Is the computer up? The officer needs the information now! Doesn't anyone realize that lives are at stake here? Isn't that important?
Expectations are high. Pay too often is low. Hours are usually long. Shiftwork and overtime, Christmas and Easter...Complaints are of no avail. There is no one to listenYet, that's not important.
DISPATCHERS are expected to know what a POLICE OFFICER knows without the same training. For who does the OFFICER look to for questions about the law, resources that are needed for help... Of course that's not important either.
DISPATCHERS are the hub. We know they are the center of the universe. We know, even if no one else does...AND THAT IS IMPORTANT.
DISPATCHING is an outrageous career. Few people can take it. Few people would want to. Few people have the stamina. Few people can afford it. AND THAT IS IMPORTANT.
POLICE OFFICERS need DISPATCHERS. FIRE FIGHTERS need DISPATCHERS. The community needs DISPATCHERS. AND THAT IS IMPORTANT. AND SO ARE THEY.
THIS WAS WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF THE FIRST NATIONAL DISPATCHERS WEEK 1987
Do you know?
Submitted by Jaeme Ahern
Penobscot Regional Communications Center, Bangor, ME
Do you know I always
check locals, on every plate, every name… EVERY time ?
that when I ask you to repeat your location, it is because I know a traffic stop
is one of the most dangerous things you do?
Do you know how hard I try to be faster, better, clearer… how frustrated I am when I cannot understand you, how worried I am that you'll think it's me?
Do you know how much I hate it when you don't
answer your status checks?
How truly frightened I am?
How helpless I feel?
How my heart pounds while I start you backup, that can never get there in time…
Do you know it matters to me…
I don't wear a badge, or a gun but I want to make a difference…
I want to make the world a little safer, a little better…
I take pride in getting the 'bad guys' and helping the good ones…
Do you know how much one 'thank-you' means, how one "good job on that" has to last weeks, sometimes months?
Do you know that *I know* that you swear at
us, think we are stupid, and lazy, have rag sessions at shift change...
That *I know* not every dispatcher tries?
Do you know I can hear you laugh at me, or
laugh with me.
I can hear when you're tired, sick or just in a bad mood.
I can hear a smile through the radio, just as clearly as I can hear disdain.
Do you know that I pray…
When I can't raise you on the radio, when you're code three, when I send you to
fights, drunks, domestics… when I am home in the dark of night, mind still
racing from the day.
Do you know that I care?
Friends in Blue
by Esther
Corby
Police Dispatcher for the
Chester County Department of Emergency Services
We have worked together for many years,
It's our voices ringing in your ears.
We try to make those long days brighter,
And hopefully, the load a little lighter.
We send you to the bar-room brawl.
And out in the rain to the nuisance call.
We worry about you day and night.
To make sure every call turns out all right.
We share your sorrows, we share your joys,
That's why we think of you as ... "Our boys."
Then why have we never said to you,
"I'm proud of you ... my friend in blue."
"Information Please"
Author unknown
When I was quite young, my father had one of the
first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well, the polished, old case
fastened to the wall and shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination
when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the
wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please"
and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my
mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the
basement. I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but
there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home
to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger,
finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.
Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A
click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information"
"I hurt my finger" I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now
that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's
home but me," I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked. "No," I replied.
"I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" she
asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help
with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my
math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the
day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information
Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual
things grown ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled. I
asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully
and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the
bottom of a cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she
said quietly, "Paul, remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please." "Information,"
said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific northwest. When I was
nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend
very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I
somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat
on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and
perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I
appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent
her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I
had about half-an-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the
phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking what I was
doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell
me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken
answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed,
"So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you
meant to me during that time."
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had
any children and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I
had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again
when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just
ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered,
"Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said. "Yes, a
very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working
part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks
ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say
your name was Paul?" "Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll
know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I know what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
Just one more thing...
by Fred Mills
The phone's too slow, so said the Chief;With radio cars, we'll catch the thief.
Not many cars, just one or two,
One little thing for Dispatch to do...
Then came the thought of the radio log;
Hey, that's modern, we're going whole hog.
They're sitting there anyway, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
We'll put in a window, the public to face;
We'll put it right here, in the radio place.
They're already here, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Ambulance, hospital, and ALS;
Med-Com's the thing to handle this mess.
Some spot at the desk, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Add aircraft and fire and call us Control;
While we're at it, add Doggie Patrol.
Same console and choir, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Add motors, the Narcs, and quite a few pagers;
All kinds of traffic, both minor and major.
We've radio already, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Another phone board, one hundred lines;
We need them all to keep up with the times.
We had phones before, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
The public's in peril, help must come quick;
Add 9-1-1, there, that's the trick.
One phone's like the rest, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
We need to control this social unrest;
Here's the thing, let's add OES.
Same building and staff, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
The bureau's too busy to answer the phone;
Call-forward to Dispatch, they're always at home.
Same number and phone, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Have booking clear warants? You must be insane.
Have Dispatch do it, they're best at this game.
Same terminal, same system, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
We need better stats to get more cops;
Run more suspects, more traffic stops.
They know how already, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
We must have more info to help catch the crooks;
Another computer to balance the books.
Like the other computer, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
A citizen wonders; What took so long?
Time all responses, we can't go wrong.
They're in there already, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
The budget's a mess, we must cut back;
Fill vacant positions? That's out of whack.
If three are needed, than two will do,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Breaks for lunches, coffee, or stretch?
Stay at the console, you miserable wretch!
Never took them before, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
Re-type ATL's to send to and fro,
No money for printers; Where did it go?
They know how to type, so it's nothing new,
Just one more thing for Dispatch to do...
No one sees the frustration, pressure, and stress;
But everyone adds their bit to the mess.
When your back's to the wall, a question to ponder,
Is Dispatch too busy get help out yonder?
My Prayer For My Officers
by Jane Rodriguez
Dedicated to:
All Officers with Columbia Police Department and
All Deputies with the Richland County Sheriffs Department
From: Your Dispatcher
Dear God,
Please watch over our Officers/Deputies as they begin their shift.
Lord, I pray that you will keep them safe from harm, so they may go home each
night to their families.
Help me to hear them because Lord, I know this one transmission may be the only
one they can give me.
I ask that you give me the strength to remain calm during stressful calls, the
ability to be multi-tasked, the knowledge of to know where they are at all
times, and patience to not take anything personal they may say to or about me.
Lord, these guys are my heart and they are just trying to earn a living by doing
what most people would NEVER do and that is the job of a police officer, So God
If you could somehow let them know I care about them , I do my best to know
where they are at all times and that everyday before I get out of bed I say a
special prayer for them.
Lord, Please watch over them and keep them safe because they are very special
men and women..
Amen
Used by
permission of author Jane Rodriguez, Columbia South Carolina
Copyright © 2000 - May use with permission from author
Our Dispatchers
Author unknown
This poem is dedicated to the Dispatchers of
all agencies. Thank YOU for being there for us!
Our dispatchers are our lifeline.
Without them we would be lost
If we did not have them
What would be the cost?
We would have no information
On the criminals we pursue.
And when we got into trouble,
Without them what would we do?
They're our link to our nearest backup,
they get info on cars we have stopped.
Without them on the radio,
We wouldn't be much of a cop.
They call out the fire trucks and medics,
And they deal with the walk ins and freaks.
And every other situation,
That through our front door peaks.
So the next time you push the button,
And into the mike you speak.
Just remember to appreciate the voice
On the other end, that's there from week to week.
Our Dispatchers are our lifeline,
I know this to be true.
Cause I sure wouldn't want to be out there,
Without one to protect us, the way that they do!
Radio Dispatcher Prayer
by W.R.
Borsch, JR
Lord help us radio
dispatchers.
We need your guiding hand.
We need your wisdom, too Lord,
To fill the demands of men.
We gather up the
traffic
from all around the state.
We're yelled and screamed at unduly,
which only causes hate.
t's ten-four this
and ten-four that.
We hear it all day long.
We have to write a thousand notes
and answer all the phones.
The patrolmen in
their cars, Lord,
they growl when we answer late
when all the really wanted
was a measly twenty-eight.
We listen to the
story of a mother
whose child has run away.
We hear of the missing husband
who drinks up all his pay.
Our job is so
confusing
we know not where to start.
We pull our hair and grit our teeth
and tear the room apart.
It's enough to
cause an ulcer, Lord.
Our nerves grow more tense.
It's just a thousand wonders
we've got a grain of sense.
So you bless us
real good, Lord.
And hold us by the hand.
Help us under existing circumstances
to do the best we can.
Amen.
Telecommunicator's Prayer
Author Unknown
Lord, in order to
do my job better, please give me:The patience of Job,
The wisdom of Solomon,
The hide of an elephant,
The knowledge of law,
The ability to see around corners, through walls and read minds,
The ability to remember the location of every street,
road, apartment and business in town and country,
And the strength to carry this load of perfection.
The Excitement I have
By David Echols
As I sit here, it is all too quiet,
I'm thankful to have such a peaceful night
To catch up on paperwork, or read a good book.
The town is asleep it seems, even the crooks,
Although they are in service, and my officers have not called
I check on them anyway, making sure it's safe with them all.
Later in the morning hours, I hear a staticy squelch,
The only audible voice I hear says "Base, I need some help."
I recognize his voice but I don't know his location,
I ask him for it but in return I hear no conversation.
Quickly I send all other cars to his assigned patrol
"Search all areas" I call to them "until he says 'under control.' "
The situation is ultimately tense
I must remain calm - I must keep my sense,
I pray "God, don't let them find him on the ground."
The seconds pass like hours
"Where are YOU?" I scream in my head
I call for his location and again, nothing is said.
I know the officers that are enroute
Are responding as fast as they can,
"Step it up" I snap on the radio waves
"We've got to find this man."
An officer reports he is on the scene "I'll be out of the car"
But in this moment of desperation
He doesn't tell me where they are.
Finally a second backup arrives, the location he is able to provide,
"All other cars start that way, until somebody there tells me it is O.K."
My heart begins to rest a bit, but not enough to feel good,
Not until every officer I have is in the neighborhood.
Many more officers are with him now
They tell me they are not hurt
"We have one in custody, we're enroute to the jail with this jerk."
He is booked and processed, pictured and printed
He sits all alone, as if serving a life sentence.
The officers are through at the jail now,
They are going back to their beats,
But they hesitate as they pass my office, taking time to speak...
"You ought to come and work with us, out here in this war,"
"You'll never have any excitement here, sitting behind these doors."
I let them think what they want to think,
And say what they want to say.
Little do they know the excitement I have,
Taking care of them each and every day.
The Voice
Author Unknown
From the voice
that you take with you,
on each and every run
The one who never sees you
when you may reach for your gun.
I give you the honor,
and the respect that your job deserves.
With the hope of you believing,
I NEVER WANT YOU HURT!
I can't see the
child struck down,
or see the Mother's tears,
And I can't see the blood and gore,
left from one too many beers.
But I can hear the emotion,
you try so hard to hide,
And I can hear the pain you feel,
of another child that died.
I talk to you and
laugh and laugh
at your bad jokes and schemes,
I even sit and listen to your
retirement hopes and dreams.
I do not see you often,
That may be for the best,
If so I might get careless,
and lump you with the rest.
I can't stop the
bullet,
I can't give you peace and make you rest,
to face another day.
I can't stop the fight before you're there,
can't wipe your sweating brow,
But I CAN hope and pray for you,
that you will be safe somehow.
I talk to frantic
people,
try to get the facts you need,
so you will be ever prepared,
to face the horrible deed.
I send you out to fight the drunk,
I pray he has no gun,
Dear God, Please help me hear him well,
and see US through this run.
And when my day is
over,
I pray before I sleep,
Dear God, Please keep my officers safe,
supply just what they need.
Help me always manage,
to be patient, kind and calm,
I know that there are many times,
they feel so all alone.
Help me do the
best I can,
get them safely through the day,
and somehow let them know, Dear Lord,
YOU WILL lead our way.
Show them Lord,
the voice they take,
everywhere they go,
wants to do the best they can,
and that I am not their foe.
Teach us Lord, that with your help,
We CAN all survive,
and do our jobs with grace and ease,
Together, with great pride.
May all of those
who wear a uniform and who protect
us everyday, come home to the ones they
love, just like they left that day.
I praise everyone
of us who work in the Emergency
Services field, whether they be Volunteer or Paid.
THANK YOU FOR DOING THE JOB THAT YOU DO.
We are dispatchers
by Ronald Seguin
A scream, a yell, a cry… for help,
in anger, in pain.We hear it all, feel it all and take care of it all.
We are the voice of comfort and support... of sympathy and of hope.
We are a source of information, a lifeline to safety.
We are DISPATCHERS! We are here to help and proud to serve.
We don't see, but we do hear and feel
Author: Connie S. Eccles
© 2001 Used with permission from author
We don't see the
anger in your eyes
when you pull over the drunk who just took a life.
We don't see the
mother who just lost her child
the fear and anger, or tears that she cries.
We don't see the baby you just saved from abuse
or the one who is responsible and still on the loose.
We don't see the
bodies all tattered and torn,
lifeless and still, away from this world.
We don't see your frustration, the anger you feel
when your night has been busy and you haven't been still.
But...
We were the ones who took those calls,
first "on the scene" taking notes without pause.
We listened to the complainant
who called in on the drunk.
The mother who was
frantic
because she couldn't find her son.
We heard the baby
crying
from all of her wounds.
We took the
frightening notices
of those who'd met their doom.
We gave you those
calls
that flooded your night.
We were beside you
in each of your plights.
We don't see the
things that you see at all.
But we DO hear them and feel them when we take the calls!
Who am I?
by Tracy Cameron
I am the voice that calms the mother into breathing life back intoher apneic infant son.
I am the invisible hand that holds and comforts the elderly man who woke up this morning to find his wife of 50 years has passed away during the night.
I am the friend who talks the disgruntled teenager out of ending her own life.
I sent help when you had your first automobile accident.
I am the one who tries to obtain the information from callers to ensure that the scene is safe for those I dispatch to emergencies - all the while anticipating the worst and hoping for the best.
I am the psychologist who readily adapts my language and tone of voice to serve the needs of my callers with compassion and understanding.
I am the ears that listen to the needs of all those I serve.
I have heard the screams of faceless people I will never meet nor forget.
I have cried at the atrocities of mankind and rejoiced at the miracles of life.
I was there, though unseen by my comrades in the field during the most trying emergencies.
I have tried to visualize the scene to coincide with the voices I heard.
I usually am not privy to the outcome of a call, and so I wonder...
I am the one who works on weekends, strange shifts and holidays.
Children do not say they want my job when they grow up. Yet, I am at this
vocation by choice.
Those I help do not call back to say thank you.
Still there is comfort in the challenge, integrity, and purpose of my employment.
I am thankful to provide such a meaningfull service.
I am a mother, father, sister, brother, son or daughter.
I am where you need me and still here when you don't.
My office is never empty, and the work
here is never done. I am always on call.
The training is strenuous, demanding and endless. No two days at work are
ever the same.
Who am I ?
I am an emergency dispatcher, and I am proud.
