She was no taller than five feet, likely around 4’10” in her socks. Her tightly curled blonde hair was Shirley Temple-esque in its presentation. Her glasses were comically oversized, amplifying the size of her eyes to owl-like proportions.

Nothing about Judy’s physical appearance suggested that she would be anything but diminutive and kind. Despite appearances to the contrary, our 20-year working relationship was fraught with scorn, grudges and speaking to each other only when necessary. Judy treated me horribly from the first day I met her, and nearly 30 years on I still haven’t let go of it.

As a new trainee in a group of 13 new hires in 1994, my fellow recruits and I were foisted upon a largely burned-out veteran staff of polyester-clad dispatchers working in a too-small, musty basement that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and microwaved dinners.

There was no training program, no guidelines for instruction and no quantitative basis for passing or failing, and the “trainers” were long-time employees who were told they were going to have to do it whether they liked it or not.

I was assigned to Judy.

To be fair: I was a gangly, overconfident 26-year-old with a hair-helmet and an Adam’s apple roughly the size of a Honda Accord. My new polyester uniform and accompanying collar brass suggested Ichabod Crane as a department store security guard.

Judy made it abundantly clear right away that she would not be celebrating our team-up. As I sat down to train my first day, Judy peered at me through those huge glasses, her eyes the size of fried eggs, and sized me up.

“I do not want to train you. None of us are happy that you all have been hired. I just hope you figure it out, and if you don’t, I’ll be happy to be rid of you. Now, watch me call take and shut up.”

With that, we were off.

Judy had unique ways to let me know that I wasn’t doing well. Chief among them: rolling up a magazine, hovering behind me and admonishing me with, “NO, NO, NO! Are we STUPID?!” as she whacked me in the back of the head. The whack typically struck as she placed heavy emphasis on the word ‘STUPID,’ adding extra heft to the humiliation.

For much of our training together, I became intimately familiar with the general topography of Judy’s head, given that she spent the better portion of “training time” immersed in a paperback, actively ignoring me. She would pretend that she couldn’t hear me when I dared ask a panicked question while she was reading — during active training and difficult 911 calls when I most needed guidance. She would proceed with this behavior until I desperately asked the question again, loud enough for others in the room to pay attention, at which point she would slam her book down on the console and let me have it.

“I told you the answer to that question last Thursday,” she scolded. “If you don’t know the answer by now, you’re on your own. I can’t believe how stupid you are. Why are you even working here?” With a disgusted sigh, she would get back to her book.

Suffice to say that my mid-20’s male bravado was quickly subdued and replaced by the certainty that I would never be able to do this job – and I hated it.

Despite her distaste for new employees, Judy was considered a star fire dispatcher, beloved by field units. I occasionally watched her from across the room, and she intermittently met my gaze with a look of pure scorn, followed by a discernable shake of the head.

Over time, it became clear that Judy wasn’t great with new employees (the wheels of justice moved extra slowly in 1994) and she was replaced as my trainer. But the experiences that I had with her—the way she embarrassed me in front of others and her blatant, poisonous condescension—burn in my chest to this day.

We would go on to work together for over 20 years – though our time on the same shift was shortened when, about six years later, the entire evening shift went to the director to complain about her treatment of others, and she was forcibly moved to days.

Though we never mended fences and our relationship remained adversarial until the day she retired, working with Judy was not without its value.

I learned the importance of being kind, supportive and positive — traits which still define me. Learning what notto do, it turns out, may be more valuable than learning what to do.

Lessons learned, indeed.

Thanks, Judy.

 

About Kris Inman:

Kris Inman is the Director of Program Development for The Healthy Dispatcher. A 29-year veteran of 9-1-1, Kris retired in July 2023 as Director of Springfield Greene County 9-1-1 in Springfield, MO. An awarded speaker and instructor, Kris has delivered standout educational sessions, keynotes, motivational talks and yoga instruction to dispatchers across the country. He is also a long-time college adjunct instructor, teaching courses in communication and public safety leadership. Kris holds a Master of Arts in Communication and a Bachelor of Science in Electronic Media from Missouri State University. He is also a registered yoga instructor.