It is flattering to have police officers following this blog so here is a story for them. In the late 1950's my Uncle Ray was appointed Town Marshall of the small Wyoming town where he went to high school. His father sold the ranch and moved to Arizona for health reasons. The position didn't pay much and the Marshall was expected to have a regular job. He provided his own vehicle and equipment. The city provided lights and siren, a radio, and a telephone in his home. The local telephone operators provided dispatch.
Uncle Ray was about 6'5" with sloping shoulders. You didn't realize how big he was until he turned sideways to pass through a door. His main qualifications were; available, patience, and he could whip anyone in the area. The retiring Marshall trained him.
His main duties were rounding up loose livestock, breaking up fights, and taking drunks to jail. For serious crimes he called the State Patrol. When he needed backup, he brought his wife. She was as tough as him and could hit a flying Magpie with a .22 rifle. In the area were the decedents of Swedes and Finns brought in for logging. In the summer, Mexican migrants cut brush on the power line right of ways. The two bars in town supplied a steady group of drunks and riots in the summer. Uncle Ray took care of the riots himself and once had seven drunks stuffed into his car.
The case that gave him the most joy involved a 450 pound drunk. Uncle Ray managed to get him out of the bar but the drunk then went to the ground and refused to get up. A face full of mace didn't change his mind. Uncle Ray took out his lariat, tied one end to his car and the other around the drunk. He then drove to jail where the drunk was only too glad to walk in; didn't even want to go around town again.
Uncle Ray viewed civil rights as, "If you ain't civil, you got no rights". Miranda was the Mexican he arrested last summer. Domestic cases were settled on the spot with a good ass kicking. For the five years or so he held the job, that was a safe and peaceful town.