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Show The Park Record A-24 Officers’ spouses share concerns about negativity Employment also down as anti-police stigma grows KURT HANSON Associated Press PROVO, Utah – Considering the recent shootings in Dallas and Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and the general negativity directed at police officers as a whole, there may have never been a harder time to be a police officer. Employment rates in law enforcement are reaching lows, with most police departments down about 12 percent from their approved employment levels. And police academy class sizes are about half the size they used to be, reported the Daily Herald. But officers aren’t the only ones dragged down by the negativity brought against them daily; just ask their spouses. Spouses and families of police officers often worry about their loved ones day in and day out, but more so lately. They recognize that not every officer follows the law as they should, but criticism of the badge is often undue in their eyes. “People come in like Monday quarterbacks and criticize everything they do,” said Nolan Robinson, whose husband, BJ, works for the Orem Police Department. Emily Grow, whose husband, Carter, works for the Provo Police Department, said before police officers were cast in the limelight, due in large part to the shootings of black men such as Mike Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, she was proud to say her husband was a police officer. “It was exciting, it was the career he always wanted,” said Grow. There were obviously stressors, as Sherise Crosby said. Crosby’s husband, Mark, is a sergeant for the Provo Police Department. “I knew what I was getting into,” she said. “I stressed about it sometimes, but at some point, you have to kind of shut that off.” But law enforcement has come under a scrutiny that spouses and families could not have imagined. “There are so many more people who just hate police,” Grow said. “People are going out of their way to kill them.” Crosby said she feels like her husband’s uniform is like a giant sore thumb, for better or worse. “He’s out there in his uniform so no matter what kind of job he’s doing, that automatically makes him stand out,” she said. “I worry because he is a target.” Nolan Robinson recounted how a year ago, she was with her husband and children at an area restaurant. The cashier was audibly making crass marks about police and Robinson called him out, especially since her children were with her. “My kids were hearing that. How do I tell them that their dad is a police officer and that he’s a good person?” she said. The stress many spouses once had to endure has only magnified in recent years. “At any given moment, someone can pull a gun on them,” Grow said. “He’s on the SWAT team, so there’s always an hour or two when you can’t get a hold of them, and that’s scary.” Chief John King of the Provo Police Department said that after the shooting in Baton Rouge, he held a cookout with the families of the Provo police officers to not only get to know them, but to also quell fears and concerns. “We talked to the family members about the training, the equipment and the tactics we use to keep each other safe,” he said. King said he reminded the families of police officers to remain positive in the negativity, and if that doesn’t work, to talk it out. “We have formal, professional counseling available through the city for not just the officers, but also for family members,” he said. King said he regularly encourages his officers to talk with their families to gauge how concerned they are. “When I was a younger officer, I didn’t realize how stressful it was on my kids,” he said. “Unless you talk about it, you don’t know what that level of fear is.” Robinson said she believes respect has been lost over the years, including respect for law enforcement. “I honestly feel like parents in society, they’re not teaching their children to be respectful of anyone,” she said. “This generation is very entitled and partly that’s to blame on our generation. But we’re not teaching them responsibility.” Robinson credits this lack of respect as a primary reason police are under such criticism. She said she wishes people could respect her husband the way he deserves not only as a police officer but just as another human being. “My husband is actually one of the best people you’ll ever meet. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who says anything negative about him,” she said. Crosby said in tense situations, her husband is the strong one and has to command the situation. It’s a part of the job. But at home, she knows a different man. “He’s very approachable. He’s very friendly. He loves talking and getting to know people,” she said. “He would do pretty much anything to help someone.” “It’s funny, because that’s the side of him that I know and see. But he has to put on a different face when he’s on the streets.” Robinson said she wishes others could recognize that police officers have their own loved ones whom they care about, just like anyone else. And just like anyone else, she said, they’re imperfect. “Police officers are human too, but people expect them to never make mistakes,” she said. “He’s not there to make the laws. He’s just there to enforce them.” Grow’s husband always wanted to be a police officer, but lately, she said she has been speculative. She asked him recently why he doesn’t find work elsewhere. “He told me, `Well if all the good guys quit, who’s gonna stand up? Who’s gonna do it?”’ she said. “He makes sacrifices; I need to be willing to sacrifice time with my husband.” Despite the negativity and the expected anxiety, the spouses and families of police officers gladly stand by their men and women in uniform. “I’m still proud of him even though people look down on him,” Grow said. “I’m still proud to be his wife.” Town of Vail celebrates 50th anniversary marked with events all over town ROSS LEONHART Vail Daily VAIL — Four years after the ski resort popped up in 1962, a handful of property owners living off the land voted to incorporate as a municipality. The vote that welcomed Vail as Colorado’s newest town was passed, 43-19. Building the town of Vail from the ground up followed as the first Town Council was formed Aug. 23, 1966. Everything had to be created, from speed limits to public transportation to police and fire services to whether or not the town would have a library or an ice rink to paved roads and eventually heated roads. “No one was telling us what to do, and no one knew what they were doing,” said Diana Donovan, who, with her husband, John, was among the first families in Vail and served on the Planning and Zoning Commission as well as Town Council. “We just did what felt good and seemed right.” Fifty years later, the town celebrated everything the former staff and employees cre- ated with a birthday celebration at Donovan Park on Tuesday. From Vail’s first doctor to its first town manager, Vail’s unique history filled the pavilion with stories to be told. “The legacy, the spirit and the town that they’ve created has set the bar so high and set a standard that not only are locals able to appreciate, but our guests who come from all over the world,” said current Mayor Dave Chapin, who met with the town’s previous mayors as part of the celebration. ‘As big as it is today’ The 50-year celebration included events across town on Tuesday, and in Mayors Park, Vail’s 13 mayors were honored with the unveiling of a new centerpiece listing their names and terms. At Donovan Park, former and current town of Vail staff and residents gathered to celebrate five decades of progress. “I don’t think anybody envisioned that Vail would be this big,” said Blake Lynch, Vail’s first town manager. “They knew it would be a successful ski area and community, but I don’t think anyone thought it would be as big as it is today.” Looking back, moving forward Nearly 90 town employees, past and present, were honored Tuesday for working 20 or more years. Among them was Charlie Turnbull, of the town’s public works department. “The town has been really good to me and my family. This is one of the greatest organizations to work for,” Turnbull said. “I wouldn’t be here for 39 years and going on if it wasn’t such a great organization.” He said he remembers when he first started doing similar work on a smaller scale. “Back then we only plowed and maintained everything from Vail Run east,” Turnbull said. Rod Slifer served on Town Council for 16 years, 11 of them as mayor. He can’t remember why it was an odd number, but he does remember his solution to a transportation issue, when he got 16 buses from then President Gerald R. Ford after a trip to Washington, D.C., he said. “The first time I was on (council) was some time ago,” Slifer said, “and there wasn’t as much participation from the citizens of Vail, and we got a lot done because there were a lot of things to get done.” Kerry Donovan, state senator and daughter of Diana and John, said it’s a neat time to be in Vail where you can still talk with some of the founders of the town. Kerry served on the Vail Town Council, like both of her parents. “As long as people remember their roots, we’ll be fine in the future,” she said. Sat/Sun/Mon/Tues, August 27-30, 2016 MORE DOGS ON MAIN By Tom Clyde Dead car walking I usually like to keep a car for a long time. Not until it rusts away in the driveway, but typically 150,000 miles, sometimes a little more if it is still holding together. I also take reasonably good care of them with regular oil changes and service. OK, so maybe not quite as rigid at the manual recommends on some stuff, but the major stuff gets taken care of. My current car is a diesel Volkswagen. I bought it out of a sense of moral obligation. If I’m going to live in a very impractical location (30 mile round trip for a quart of milk), it seemed like the ethical thing to do. Buy a car that got the best fuel mileage I could find. It helped assuage my moral sacrifice that the car is just plain fun to drive. I love it. It turns out the car is a criminal. It’s one of those fraudulent Volkswagens that is programmed to cheat on the emissions tests. VW couldn’t get their “Clean Diesel” cars to actually be clean, so they did the next best thing. They cheated, and programmed the computer chip to recognize when it was connected to the emissions testing equipment. When plugged into the tester, the VW runs incredibly clean. It also reports significantly lower fuel mileage, and produces terrible, little-old-lady performance while connected to the tester. But when they unplug the tester, this crooked little monster knows it has been set free. It’s no longer being supervised, and reverts to its criminal ways. In this case, the criminal ways are that it performs like a sports car, produces better than 50 mpg on an average day, and apparently emits a fog of toxic exhaust gases about 40 times greater than it does when connected to the test protocol. Think of it as the Russian track and field athlete providing urine samples to the Olympic testers — samples bought from the Mormon missionary standing outside the booth. So VW is in big trouble all around the world, and is spending a minimum of $15 billion, in the U.S. alone, to settle with the owners of the criminal cars, and who knows how much more to pay fines and penalties to the EPA and similar agencies around the world. There isn’t a way to fix it, so VW is going to buy me a new car. They will pay me about $18,000 for a six-year old car It all seemed so easy, until the ‘check engine’ light came on this week.” with over 100,000 miles on it. It didn’t cost a whole lot more than that brand new. The bad news is that they aren’t going to buy it for a few months. Maybe December, maybe next spring. The practical reality is that they have every incentive to drag it out because it’s costing them $15 billion, and even if that didn’t slow them down, the logistics of buying 500,000 cars in the U.S. alone have to be daunting. They are going to send them to the crusher. I thought they might be able to make some repair and sell them again in China or someplace that doesn’t care about emissions as much. But the court ruled that they can’t just shift the illegal pollution into somebody else’s lungs. They have to come off the road. So the maintenance issues seem pretty straightforward. If the car is going to the crusher, it’s certainly not getting a new timing belt. I might put a quart of oil in it, but I’m not about to pay for an oil change. If the tires really begin to look scary, I’ll put the snows on it in October. They won’t pay me a dime more if it goes to the crusher with new tires. It all seemed so easy, until the “check engine” light came on this week. Usually that’s some software adjustment or something minor. Sometimes it’s something major that will leave me standing on the side of the road. With VW, it could just mean that nobody is maintaining their crusher-bound cars any more, and the service department is terribly lonesome and wishes some of us would stop by. I’ve tried ignoring it, but I’m sufficiently OCD about taking care of the car that it really bothers me. None of the usual pokes, prods, kicks or curses have cured it. I just can’t put black tape over the light. So I guess I’ll take it in to the dealer and at least get them to tell me what it means. I can make the decision on what to do, whether to fix something, ride it out, or park it after I know whether it is something that matters. Besides, it will be a good opportunity to start shopping for a new car. There’s a Subaru dealer just a couple of blocks away. Tom Clyde practiced law in Park City for many years. He lives on a working ranch in Woodland and has been writing this column since 1986. SUNDAY IN THE PARK By Teri Orr Summer scrapbook revisited Every day we woke up with a To-Do list. One anchor activity and then a handful of other possibilities if time allowed. Vacationing with a nearly 15 year old — just the two of us — was magic. We had never ventured away from her family before and honestly, I wasn’t certain how it would all work out with my granddaughter. But six days in the Pacific Northwest kept us both fully engaged and laughing — lots and lots of laughing. Like the last night at Roche Harbor when we were sitting outside on the deck when it was time for Colors. The staff there, each night in the summer, has a ceremony at sunset over a loudspeaker that reaches out to all the boats in the harbor and our tiny historic cabin on the hillside. Each flag — the United States flag, the Canadian flag, the Washington state flag, the official Roche flag — comes down with a prerecorded spirited song, from “Taps” to “Stars and Stripes Forever.” And a cannon blast, a real cannon with a blast of smoke you can see from miles around. So all three nights we managed to be on our deck for Colors. On the last night, since we knew the order of the procession — she, the musician (she plays drums and the guitar) and me, who loves all kinds of music — we decided to produce the show. From our porch. So we pretended to conduct the fake orchestra and we made announcements and we lit the fuse for the cannon. And then we dissolved into giggles. Really, more like snorting hard laughter. Her grin lit up her face with the thin braces with blue wires shining through — it was a beautiful sight all week. Like the day we had the kayak tour with a guide and we paddled miles along numerous islands where we saw real totem poles on beaches and harbor seals popping up and down. But mostly when she held the tiny crab in her hand when we stopped at some tide pools for a rest. She was simply in awe of the sea life. We spent three hours on a tiny boat with about 15 other people as we searched for whales one day. She had stayed up late the night before and it was the only morning she was a bit grumpy about getting going. Still, we both chose to sit on the front of the boat, bundled in blankets with sea spray hitting our faces. We saw islands and sea lions and oyster catcher birds. When finally we heard whales had been spotted, the boat changed course, and we hung on to our places. The boat started pitching in huge swells. We clung to the metal railing. It was like some cross between a roller coaster and bronco ride. Finally, when the boat turned off its engine and we waited, we were rewarded with first a black dorsal fin and then another and then a breach and a spouting and another. So we pretended to conduct the fake orchestra and we made announcements and we lit the fuse for the cannon. And then we dissolved into giggles.” For nearly an hour. It turns out two pods, K and J, were swimming together. The naturalist identified eight different family members. Iz’s grin, in the turquoise windbreaker, holding onto the railing and shooting picture after picture of the whales, was just joy. The next afternoon we were over in the tiny town of Friday Harbor and we heard what sounded like live music. She thought it was coming from a bar, which meant she couldn’t go in. But upon exploration we discovered it was a small park and there were wooden xylophones or whatever they are called and some drums, played by “the cutest old hippy people.” Yes, they had on tie-dyed shirts in bright colors — the men and the women — but they didn’t seem that old. Maybe just a few years older than me. I listened to a song and loved their enthusiasm but I suspected Iz was ready to move on. She asked to stay. So we did. The musicians were professional and joyful. At one point she turned to me and said “this just makes me so happy... to see them so happy.” It was at that moment I realized the kid is gonna be alright. In the three years between 13 and 16 in my own life, I lost my only uncle, then my mother’s father and then his wife, my grandmother. Then my father and then his father. My memory of those years is filled with confusion, loss and deep sadness. Iz is lucky enough to have escaped any of that and when I looked at her on this trip, I saw a glimpse at the teenager I might have been. And that made me happy. The curling red bark of the rare Madrone trees, the church bells from the tiny white chapel overlooking the harbor, seeing the moon in the early morning reflected on the water in Roche and again in Victoria, totem poles at the British museum and on the island beaches, high tea in the Empress Hotel, street buskers around Victoria Harbor, wide ocean views from the top of the ferry… I have all these vacation snapshots safely in my mind. What I learned was every day should end with a ceremony — a song, a recognition of guests, music and a bang. All teenage girls should know days of unfettered adventures and joyful discoveries in nature. And so should their grandmothers. And I know it can’t be every day but maybe it can be more. More days where the world is open for discovery and so are we. I can’t make that happen for anyone, even myself, on any predictable basis. But what I can try to do is consider it more. Not every day but at least more Sundays in (and out of) the Park… Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record. She is the director of the Park City Institute, which provides programming for the George S. and Dolores Doré Eccles Center for the Performing Arts. |