The Young Man Whispered, “I Want to be Like Him”

Paragons and Paladins –

Paragon applies to someone who is a model of perfection in a quality or trait. Someone who embodies a concept—like a role model. If you ask a cop who their role models are, chances are they’ll name other cops—individuals they learned from, followed, and tried to imitate.

Cops are often compared to knights of old. There are obvious symbolic parallels: the shield, the body armor, the weapon. In both cases, they ride into harm’s way, guided by ideals like justice, selflessness, and camaraderie.

Taking it a step further, a Paladin—Latin for “officer”—was considered a champion knight. In medieval times, these men defended the innocent and upheld the law. In modern times, when we call someone a Paladin, we’re likening them to a noble warrior—defined by strength, principle, and honor.

For me, surrounding myself with Paragons and Paladins meant I never lacked for role models.

A Glimpse of What We Can Be

I’ve written before that role models give us a glimpse of what’s possible. They reflect the version of ourselves we aspire to become. When we find one, it’s like a voice whispers from deep inside: “I want to be like him,” or “I want to be like her.”

Even when life drags us through the mud, when dreams feel out of reach, role models remind us what’s still achievable. Sometimes, all it takes is one encounter with the right person—someone who impresses us, challenges us, or quietly inspires action. I’ve been lucky. Every meaningful achievement I’ve had traces back to someone who gave guidance, leadership, or simply let me learn by example.

“Don’t Cry Because it’s Over. Smile Because it Happened.”

Over the last few months, I’m sad to say the world lost two of those people. Both standouts in their own right. Both shaped by traits that left a mark on those around them.

These men—Kennis Harrell and Robert “Bob” Peterson—were strong and confident. But just as important, they were kind-hearted, funny, and full of life. That kind of combination leaves an impact.

I’ve met many like them in the military and in law enforcement—tough on the outside, quick to laugh, and even quicker to lift someone up. It’s a recurring personality that seems drawn to a life of service.

Both men inspired past stories I’ve written. Today, I write about them again—because they deserve another tribute.

Natural for Them, Extraordinary for Others

Let me start with Kennis.

Do you have a role model? Not a celebrity. Not a polished “influencer.” I mean someone real. Someone in your life. Someone you’ve watched under pressure—when things were hard, not staged. That’s the kind of role model I’m talking about.

True role models lead by example. They show up when it matters, handle stress with grace, and make others around them better. That was Kennis Harrell.

Kennis inspired my earlier piece Lessons From the Police Academy. On day one, I learned he would be our lead instructor. Along with other seasoned officers, he stressed us, mentored us, broke us down—and built us back up.

Those six months were tough. But thanks to Kennis, they were also filled with laughter. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. He had this towering presence, a booming laugh, and a sense of humor that rivaled anything I’ve ever seen. Even when my ribs were bruised from “Fight Day,” he still had me laughing.

He never lost his temper. Never showed a frown. He could make a dry lesson on penal code feel like a stand-up routine. His laugh reminded me of Muttley from those old cartoons. And he always—always—got his message across with a perfect mix of seriousness and compassion.

When I joined the department fresh out of the Marines, I figured I’d end up in SWAT. But then I learned Kennis had worked in Robbery/Homicide. And something shifted. I started to think, maybe I want to be like him.

If I Did Not Laugh, I Should Die

Abraham Lincoln is credited with the statement, “With the fearful strain that is on me night and day, if I did not laugh, I should die.” When I read that quote, I think of all my experiences that were saturated in pure misery, stress, and misfortune, where laughter kept me from going bonkers. Whether it was Marine Boot Camp, the horrors of war, personal tragedy, a rigorous police academy, or working hundreds of homicide cases, laughter and mindset were the cure for hard times and struggle. Some of the most hilarious people I’ve ever met are also some of the toughest I’ve ever seen, case in point…Kennis Harrell. In reflection, one of those tough times with tough people and great laughs resulted from 6 grueling months in the DeKalb County Police Academy. At one point, it was rumored to be one of the toughest academies in the country. That claim was a direct testament to the instructors and their philosophy of what it took to produce a tough, fit, compassionate, problem-solving police officer. It was there that I first meet Academy Instructor Kennis Harrell.

Kennis was an inspiration for a previous story I wrote, called Lessons From the Police Academy. On the first day of the academy, we learned that the towering man known as Officer Harrell, was our lead instructor. He, along with several other instructors, would stress us, mentor us, wear us down physically, build us up mentally and ultimately equip us to go forward and serve the 750,000 residents of DeKalb County, Georgia. As challenging as those days were, I’ve never laughed so hard and frequently as I did during those 6 months, mostly because of Kennis. Every day on the early drive into class, half of me dreaded it and the other half couldn’t get there fast enough. Kennis was not only big in stature, the magnitude of his personality and sense of humor rivaled the Great Wall of China. He would stand at the podium and keep our attention even when teaching the driest of curriculum. Equally, during officer survival training, when my nose was bleeding and my ribs were busted from sparring (aka Fight Day), he still had me laughing through the pain. I never saw him lose his temper, not a single frown. When he would laugh, he reminded me of Dick Dastardly’s snickering sidekick, Muttley (1960’s cartoon reference). Kennis could always get his message on the mark with a perfect mix of seriousness, compassion, and humor. When I joined the department right out of the Marines, I assumed I would be best suited for SWAT, once I became eligible. However, after learning that Kennis was formerly a Robbery/Homicide Detective in the Major Felony Unit, I wanted to know more about that special squad. Why? Because some voice inside was starting to whisper, “I want to be like him”.

“Hey Pops…”

Guys like Kennis draw people in. It doesn’t matter what your rank or years of service are. You want to be around them.

After the academy, I was assigned to South Precinct. Later, I found out Kennis had made sergeant and would be joining the same precinct as a supervisor. That’s when the “dad” joke started.

Somewhere along the line, Kennis and I started joking that he was my father. Physically, we looked nothing alike—which made it even better. Anytime we crossed paths—at the precinct or at some formal function—I’d call him “Pops.” He’d crack up, slap me on the shoulder, and fire back with something like, “You’ve lost your mind, Redlinger.”

In a job that often wants to break you, having someone like that was a blessing. I miss those moments. And I’ll forever miss my pretend dad.

Abracadabra

The first time I saw Bob Peterson was in 1995. I was a rookie at South Precinct. That place was tough. High crime. High call volume. And filled with colorful personalities.

Bob stood out immediately. Older than most of us, with a presence that reminded me of Charles Bronson. I thought to myself, That guy looks cool.

Turns out, Bob was a Vietnam-era infantry officer and helicopter pilot. A veteran in every sense of the word.

One day, he read a stolen vehicle BOLO over the radio—and as if by magic, the car pulled in front of me on patrol. I ended up catching the suspect after a chase. When I got back, Bob looked at me, smiled, and said, “Good job, Redlinger.”

Just like that—abracadabra—another role model.

Street Magic

South Precinct was peppered with rundown apartment complexes, tired businesses, sketchy motels, and older homes. The streets were filled with at-risk kids, impacted by violent crime, drugs, gangs, abuse, and so on. Like Sergeant Joe Friday says in his iconic cop speech to a rookie officer, “And the heartbreak– underfed kids, beaten kids, molested kids, lost kids, crying kids, homeless kids, hit-and-run kids, broken-arm kids, broken-leg kids, broken-head kids, sick kids, dying kids, dead kids.”

The Classic Cop Talk

Even when you try to be a proactive officer, you often feel helpless as you respond to 911 calls and stand amid the aftermath. That said, I learned from Bob how you could make a positive impact in these kid’s lives, in addition to rounding up the bad guys that hurt them. Bob could always be found lingering on-scene after a 911 call and talking to kids who gather in the street. Many times I would see him pull up to a group of children, get out of his police car and walk over to them. Before long, more kids would surround him to see what the commotion and laughter were about. Bob had a natural talent for building relationships by breaking down barriers with street magic. I would venture to say that before there was David Blaine, there was Bob “Pappy” Peterson. One of the oldest performing arts in the world, Bob’s magic helped make himself and other officers more approachable, more human. Again, that voice whispered, “I want to be like him”. So, I did. I asked Bob about his magic tricks and of course he would not reveal any secrets. However, he gave me the address of a magic shop on Memorial Drive and made a few suggestions for the amateur artist, an easy card trick, some sleight of hand illusions, etc. Before long, I was breaking down walls and building relationships with these kids. It felt good to make them laugh. They would remember me when I returned to their neighborhoods on patrol, run up to the car, and ask to see a magic trick. I would also let them crawl around the inside of the police car and play with the lights and siren. I don’t know who loved it more, them or me. It reminded me of how I grew up around cops.

Police Officer Joe Martin and a young Mohammad Ali

Later in life, I met Muhammad Ali and learned how a police officer named Joe Martin helped launch his boxing career. Just a good cop who gave a kid his time. Bob was the same way. I often wonder how many kids he helped—how many lives he touched with those simple acts of kindness and connection.

So Shines a Good Deed in a Weary World

You may recognize that quote from Shakespeare—or from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Charlie gives back the Everlasting Gobstopper instead of selling out, and Wonka quietly says, “So shines a good deed in a weary world.”

That’s how I feel about Kennis and Bob.

They chose a life of service and sacrifice. And they lived it with humor, strength, and grace. They never asked for recognition. But they gave everything they had.

So to these two true Paragons and Paladins—Kennis Harrell and Bob Peterson—with gratitude and respect:

Fair winds and following seas.