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Trial by Fire: Policing Tampa in the 70s and 80s

I am a boomer, I have gray hair, call me a cue tip. I have no problem with that.  And what seems like yesterday as well as a hundred years ago, I worked in law enforcement, starting in Milwaukee then Tampa. It was in Tampa that I got a boo boo back in 84, and that owie, changed the course of my life, accelerating what I was planning on doing by a decade.

And so.

The 1970s and 80s at the Tampa Police Department were a different breed of policing. We were understaffed, overworked, and thrown into the fire with no hand-holding. There wasn’t time to worry about how many years someone had been on the job; experience came at you fast—faster than in most departments. Where other agencies might handle a violent call once a month, we faced it daily. You learned quick, or you were done.

Our department was extremely short-handed, and there was no room for anyone to hide behind a desk or wait for backup. When you got a call, it was yours to handle, start to finish, whatever that entailed. We didn’t have the luxury of passing tasks down a line. From breaking up domestic disputes to busting up street fights, we did it all. It wasn’t uncommon to work with blood on your knuckles and dirt on your uniform after a shift, because that’s what the job demanded. Tampa was a wild frontier back then, and we were outnumbered, but never outworked.

The Tampa Police Academy was where it all started, and back in those days, it was second to none. The training we got wasn’t just about learning statutes or protocols. It was about survival. It was street smarts, real-world tactics, and developing the instincts that would keep you alive. Sadly, that training was eventually handed over to the community colleges, thanks to state statutes. Today, I wonder if they’re producing the kind of officers we used to need. There's something to be said for learning from people who’ve been in the trenches and seen the worst Tampa had to offer.

The Field Training Program (FTP) at Tampa PD was unmatched. There was no room for error. Form mattered less than the ability to keep yourself and others safe. It was all about practicality—how to read people, how to move in the shadows, and how to always stay one step ahead. You either got it, or you didn’t last long.

I was fortunate enough to work under some true leaders, men who led from the front. They didn’t have to tell you they were in charge—you knew it by the way they carried themselves. These were hands-on leaders who had been through the grinder themselves and knew what it took to make it out the other side. Of course, there were also the bureaucrats—the guys who climbed the ranks by taking tests and kissing up. They knew the rules, but they didn’t know the streets, and it showed when things got real.

Occasionally, we’d hire officers from other agencies. They’d come in thinking they knew the ropes, but Tampa was a whole different world. They learned quickly that handling calls in Tampa wasn’t the same as the slower-paced environments they came from. They weren’t ready for the level of violence or the sheer volume of calls we faced. If they stayed, they adapted fast, or they left just as quickly.

And this was all before body cameras were even a concept. Back then, you did