Dispatch

Yesterday I received an impromptu tour of our city's Police, Fire, and 911 dispatch center. It was amazing, like an air-traffic control center. The cockpit was dimly lit and a grid of screens and monitors glowed above each station. The skills required to navigate all of this under stress were awe-inspiring. The grid of imagery showed the dispatchers views of the main city park, the cell blocks downstairs, and the area surrounding the headquarters. They had a black curtain they could close when they are distracted by activity in the lobby or getting harassed by those creepy "First Amendment" guys.

The dispatchers are rigorously trained. They have to learn everything in the gigantic 3-inch-thick manual of public safety codes and procedures. They have to navigate both receiving and transmitting a stream of information as they are listening to angry, frightened, and distressed callers. They have to know exactly where each officer and public safety unit is at all times. "Most important is safety," one dispatcher told me. "I love my guys and I need to keep them safe."

"When you love what you do," another chimed in, "the eight hours flies by."

"I have to know where my five guys are are even if there is a power outage. We have to know the names of all of the streets in the city and where they are and be able to offer navigation tips to the guys when they are pursuing a suspect. We use Google maps and enlarge the birds-eye view. All of this as calls are coming through. It gets really intense in here. Some people train and can't handle the stress. You do take it home with you. I had a suicide call recently and the caller didn't make it. That was hard. But when you love the work . . . I've been here 2 years and she's been here a year."

I loved the darkened environment, the intensity, the collaboration through space and with a special language. The dispatchers are there! They are invisible gods directing the officers through safe avenues. I had no idea how deeply involved they were.